Yes, I had felt like Delphine's tool at some point, fetching her information and allies when I could've been slaying dragons and making money. Surely, when her lips curved the wrong way at any mention of the Greybeards, I attributed it to her general distrust of everything that isn't her. But to have Arngeir so openly accuse me of letting myself be used by her?

"Now, thanks to the Blades, you have questions only Paarthurnax can answer."

As if I were unable to get myself entangled in problems beyond my skill level without help. Fuck that old man.

Of course, he was not familiar with the fabled Dragonrend shout. There was likely only one living person who may know the words to force a dragon to the ground: Arngeir's mysterious leader, Paarthunax, who had sequestered himself atop the highest peak in Skyrim, protected by a thick fog of bewitched frozen clouds who would kill anyone who didn't know the right shout to clear them.

As if he had never sent me on a fool's errand, either. Well, now I'm taking this to your spiritual leader. I'm the hero of legends, not some child whose custody has to be fought over, as if I were completely unable to make my own rational decisions.

If I could only keep my mind revolving around my grievances against Arngeir and Delphine, or the compulsive, harsh coughing brought about by the constant shouting, I could avoid dwelling on the fury of them having made me leave Aela behind, waiting in High Hrothgar's courtyard.

Her face of relief was probably the worst part of it all. Like most Nords, she had always despised magic, but she had also been wary of the Greybeards from the start - which made little sense, sinde they were meant to be highly respected. Moreover, on our last visit to High Hrothgar, my initiation ceremony frightened her enough that she stopped talking to me for a couple of days. Suddenly her newfound tolerance for Delphine made sense, and felt slightly like betrayal.

On the other hand, it did not feel like an ambush, not the way finding an ancient dragon atop that mountain did. My bow immediately found its way into my arms, my strongest glass arrow pointed straight at its belly.

The dragon did not Shout at me – it was more like a whisper, as if blowing air to cool down a spoonful of broth. Soothing, clearly unaggressive, but hard enough to make me drop my bow.

"Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah ... my mountain?"

Seriously? I'm supposed to tell a dragon that I need the shout to kill dragons?

"I'm here to learn the Dragonrend shout. Can you teach me?"

Instead of killing me, he asked me to observe formalities. He Shouted fire at a wall, and wanted me to Shout back. And I thought the Embassy business counted as suicide. Of course, if Paarthurnax wanted to eat me, he would do so anyway as soon as I turned around.

The dragonblood runs strong in me, he said. I think he meant it as a compliment. He still questioned my motives – why did I want to kill Alduin? Why did I have to do it? Somehow, keeping the world alive just so I could have a manor with servants seemed to him like insufficient justification for all this trouble. What's worse, it was. Strange that it would take tinvaak with a huge thousands-years-old monster to realise it.

There's people whose suffering wounds me now. There's a comfort in doing things that alter people's lives – I am now an agent of change, not a pawn of low birth or crappy luck. It feels bloody good to be so.

Paarthurnax seemed satisfied by that. Small consolation for the fact that he did not know Dragonrend either. However, he did seem to have some semblance of a plan about how to learn it – by using an Elder Scroll through a Time Wound, to travel back to those who invented it in the first place, thousands of years ago.

He did not look to be fond of Skooma. Near impossible as it seemed, finding an long-lost and immensely powerful magical artefact made sense when it came to time travel, in a way that fetching a horn or reopening an old temple never did. Of course it would be no foolish errand. Right?


As soon as I reached home, I hugged Farkas as if it was my job to keep him from disappearing. He giggled, only partially because of the weird gesture Aela made behind me, seemingly implying I have lost my mind.

"Uuugh, little one. Let me breath!"

"I don't feel like it." I replied.

"Don't argue with her – she's lost her last hinge while atop a cursed mountain. She's now more stubborn than your brother and less coherent than Torvar last First Planting festival." Aela pointed out, before dumping her sweaty furs on a nearby chair.

"Well, the brains of this operation are off to a long shower. It's getting dreadfully hot again, the return trip has been unbearable." She continues, and immediately left us.

"Go away, you stink." I yelled, before turning back to Farkas "Who would've known the tough Aela would practically melt at the first ray of sunshine?"

"She's not the only one. I'm dying to go for a swim. This summer will scorch everyone."

"My dear, that'd be Alduin. Good thing I now have a brand new plan against him, and no way to go around it. Is your smaller half around?"

"No, he's gone East for some reason. Should be back in a couple of days. Am I any good?"

Sure, why not. He had probably never heard of an Elder Scroll, but he was prone to abrupt bouts of social wisdom that could come in handy. Explaining it all to someone new would make me feel less stupid about it, at least.

"Are you up to a nice chat out in the back porch or would that endanger your Nordic icy heart?"

"Sure. It's usually my brain that's the problem, I hear." He jested, as we crossed the hall. It was always sweet to hear him be self-deprecating about it.

"It's contagious, too. Athis called me so the other day."

"Then you should've given him your fist."

"I was too tired. And hungry. He had sweet rolls"

We chose two chairs near the edge of the porch, so I could sunbathe while he had easy access to the apple basket.

"You always look tired now, little one. Is it the beast blood?"

"For once, it's not, or at least, it's not just the beast blood. It's one thing to get restless sleep, it's different if you simply don't sleep. I have too much to think about. Jorrvaskr crumbles around us…"

"It does not. The world does, with the war and the dragons and all. We're just part of it."

"You really are too nice for your own good. Anyway, an ancient dragon told me I need to get an Elder scroll, and relatively young monk said I should go to the College of Winterhold to see if they have one around – even though nobody's seen one for centuries, apparently it's worth the shot."

"Shit."

"My sentiments exactly."

"What's an Older Scroll? How old does it have to be?"

I chose to act as if he were joking.

"Apparently, an Elder Scroll, or Kel, is an artefact from outside time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. Thousands of years ago, the heroes who originally slayed Alduin used one to create a special Shout, and then instead of killing him, they banished him through time to some unknown point of the future – that is, now, apparently. I'm too find this Kel and take it back to the place where they broke time, to go look for them and learn this shout, so I can finish the job they wrecked."

"Uh. How do you know all this?"

"From the really old dragon, who's Alduin's younger brother, apparently."

He gave me soft, sad stare.

"I'm not mocking you, Farkas. This is why Aela thinks I've gone gaga."

"Did she not talk to this dragon?"

"She was not allowed up the Throat of the World by the bloody monks."

"Well, no wonder you can't sleep, little one. Wine?"

"Please. You don't think I'm crazy too, do you?"

"Nah. Not any crazier than everyone else lately, at least. Njada's come back from Falkreath saying she found a talking dog. We may want to look into that."

"If it's a well-behaved pup and she teaches it to do its business outside, I don't mind. How fares our new slayer?"

"Nicely. Vilkas said he's to be sent for his trial next week. Will you stay for it?"

"Sure. It's not like I've got any urgent clue to follow. I have no idea where to start, actually, so I think I'll just be Harbinging until the world ends."

"Maybe my brother will know." He scratched his stubble a bit. "This is serious business, Sira. I'll be honest with ya, I don't like it one bit."

"What do you mean?"

"A necromancer possessing Athis? Elder artifacts that break time? The College of Winterhold? We are warriors, little one. This is not our field. The Companions try to stay away from magic."

"I'm not just a warrior, though. I'm Dragonborn. Call me pompous if you will, but I will have to figure out a way to enrol and investigate."

"If you must, you must. The real shame would be to run from your duty, right? Maybe Belethor has one of those scrolls?"

We both laughed at the thought. If asked, Belethor was likely to dye a normal scroll and then sell it for the price of Dragonsreach.

"How did you know about Athis?" I asked, with a more somber tone.

"He told me the other night. I think he needed to tell someone, or thought I wouldn't understand enough to mind. He's feeling horribly guilty about it, thinks you hate him and all. You know he's not close to the others."

"I don't hate him. I need to find a way to prove it to him, though. Should be the easiest task on my list, right?"

"Aye. Now, if you want something more hands-on, there's some Redguards in town looking for a woman."

My ale did not go through my nose, but it came close. It took Farkas a few seconds before realising why.

"Oh, no, that's not what I meant." He started blushing fiercely. "I didn't mean hands-on-you."

"You'll have to provide me with a better description before I decide where their hands are going." I kept laughing. Damn, it's been too long since my last visit to Falkreath.

"No, no. Be serious!"

"Oh, but you are lovely when blushing."

"That I am. They're looking for a specific woman. They were Alik'r warriors, they said, and were asking around the market stalls. A Redguard woman who's a fugitive, apparently. I thought maybe they could contract with us."

I'd seen Alik'r before once, back in Anvil – briefly and from a distance. They had a fierce reputation, so pickpocketing them had been out of the question.

"Could be worth it. The Alik'r are mercenaries themselves, buth highly reputed, so they may not be interested in subcontracting, though, unless they really need the help. Thanks for the tip, mate"

"You're welcome, little one. If you want to send them a message, please send Ria. Think of poor farmboy."

"Oh, I'd be thinking of him the whole time! What do you take me for?"