Guide:
Dwemeris
Thoughts
"Speech"
"Dovahzul"
Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4
Chapter Warning(s): Dialogue Heavy. Transition chapter.
Last time… His befuddled expression is completely worth it. I laugh as I dance out of his reach when he tries to catch me, waving merrily as I start my way up north. "See you in three weeks!"
Chapter 48 – Under a Cold Sky
Placing the horn at the shrine - once I find the damned place - is a far cry from difficult. I have to honestly admit though, that walking straight into a Thalmor ambush came as a bit of a shocker, really.
"Submit to the power of the Dominion, Talos worshipper!"
Oh, for Sithis' sake.
I spot the group of Thalmor, two mages and three in battle gear brandishing swords and axes, run towards me as they yell about how horrifically my death will be for bowing before a false human god.
I don't even worship Talos. I couldn't care less about the guy. God. Whatever.
I'm almost dispassionate about it as I slash, hack and Shout my way through the assholes that hunt people down for their faith.
The White River valley is more of a red river valley after roughly twelve minutes.
Once I'm looming over the last surviving member of the group of Thalmor, one axe hefted over my shoulder and the other pointed at his throat, I let out a small sigh.
"I'm pretty sure you'll all end up on some special plane of Oblivion for this, if Auriel doesn't save your hides. Well, wherever you go, make sure to say 'hi' to Elenwen for me when she finally gets there."
The Altmer seems almost amused, emotions flickering too quickly across his resigned expression for me to identify.
"…Who do I say the message is from?" he drawls, raising a slow eyebrow even as his breath rattles from the ribs I shattered with Unrelenting Force.
I give him a good-natured grin. "Fjaldi. Son of Sithis, Son of Meridia. Dragonborn too, I suppose."
My opponent dies not in the most glorious way – but laughing.
Something twinges in my chest. I know that most Altmer aren't necessarily bad people. Ondolemar, Aicantar, Calcelmo and the elves at Winterhold College are but a few examples of that, and this guy also didn't seem to be a horrible guy.
I'm not a professional politician, but I know there's more to the 'Aldmeri Dominion' than perfect obedience to their law and perfect belief in their ideals. I'm certain plenty of Altmer and Bosmer don't get much of a choice in their lives.
A small sigh passes my lips as I clean my blades with a rag, rather than wiping it off on the dead agent's corpse. It seems… disrespectful.
I turn to Talos, ignoring the pain in my ankle from where I miss-stepped, with a wry smile.
"Please don't be too harsh on them." I ask the silent statue softly.
In the snow dancing to the ice and blood covered ground, it almost seems like he winks.
…
The gates of Whiterun are a welcome sight. My ankle, the damn thing, has been throbbing something fierce during the long, laborious walk back. I'd noticed a little too late that I'd shoved most of the healing potions into Marcurio's pack before we left Solitude, and I didn't want to waste any of the four measly remaining bottles on a minor sprain.
The guards at the gate are ecstatic to see me again.
"Hail, Thane!"
"T-That's Thane Fjaldi? Surely not?"
The first guard shoves the second one with his shield, as they'd been chatting in front of the gate rather than standing on either side of the wooden construct.
"Ah, don't mind Mitch, my Thane. He's new. Since you aided us in defeating the dragon at the Western Watchtower, the guard has grown. Whiterun has never been safer. I was there at the watchtower, you know."
I blink and give him a gentle smile. "Ah, you were? I'm glad to see you are doing well, then."
He nods enthusiastically, and begins to regale the new, younger guard with the events at the Watchtower even as he merrily waves me into the city.
This world is truly more varied than it was in my childhood.
Adrienne is the next to see me, and she pauses her work at the workbench, where she's improving the fit of a steel helmet, in order to greet me.
"Good afternoon, brat! It's been far too long! What's with the leg?"
I chuckle nervously when I see her hawkish eyes zoom in on my limp when I hobble over to talk more easily, and she's fidgeting with concern within seconds.
"Had a run in with some Thalmor."
"Thalmor?!" She exclaims in a hissing breath, eyes flicking around to see if anyone heard my comment warily. "Are you mad? What did you do?"
"Er… I was caught at a shrine of Talos..?"
She deadpans, anger deflating in front of my very eyes. The hammer she had raised threateningly is lowered back to hand loosely between the fingertips at her side.
"Well," the Redguard huffs wryly, "At least Heimskr will be glad to hear that." Another critical once-over as she takes in the new lightning-induced tears in my armour.
"That's not the armour you left with." A shake of my head. "It held out admirably, but…" she waves me off impatiently.
"Armour is not meant to last forever, I know that. But you're meant to last a little longer than this week, Fjaldi. Off to the temple of Kynareth with you – let Danica take a look at that ankle."
I glance down at the offending appendage. "It's not that bad…" I hedge, but Adrienne is having none of it.
"To the temple. Now." And when I don't move fast enough for her liking, she takes it upon herself to drag me to the Wind District by my arm, ignoring my spluttered protests at the manhandling and the smothered amusement from the citizens and guards we pass by, including a very befuddled Lydia who is buying goods at the marketplace.
"I'll take two more." I hear my Housecarl mutter to Ysolda with a laugh in her voice.
"Certainly."
And now it's definitely laughs I hear. My ears burn. Luckily, Danica is free to help me, and even though I don't approve of Adrienne's meddling, I can't find fault with her when the pain is all gone after only moments of rubbing healing salve onto it.
"Thanks Adrienne."
She clasps me on the shoulder hard enough to make me stumble, shark-like grin splitting her face.
"Don't let your pride get in the way of your health next time, it'll be thanks enough."
I manage a feeble smile, which falls off my face when I set foot into Breezehome, shutting the door behind me carefully with a low huff.
She's right. I think somewhat uneasily: I shouldn't let my pride get in my own way. I need to be more cautious keeping myself in check in the future. I'm… pretty sure part of it is the fault of dragon souls, but that is no excuse for careless behaviour.
I'm happy to get some reprieve from the laughs and happy greetings when finally I look around the smallest of my properties: when I spot the immaculate order and cleanliness of everything. Ondolemar is sitting by the fire, cross-legged on the floor with his back leaning against a cupboard and his nose buried in a book. He ignores me as I approach, and I shake my head with a sigh.
Now's no time to get lost in thought: I have a friend to, if not apologize, talk to.
…How to gain his attention without touching the Ex-Thalmor Altmer? Lydia is still at the marketplace, hopefully buying enough for three and playing it off as new rations. I clear my throat imperiously.
"I got ambushed by Thalmor for Talos worship."
"The First Emissary has died because of severe stick-up-the-ass syndrome."
"I've contracted Vampirism and want to ask you to be my regular donor..?"
This goes on for a while, until…
"Ondolemar, I'm dating."
… Cue a shocked pause from the other as the Mer's finger stills on the page, pointed ears flicking the only other sign of surprise. Geez.
"You're what?" He asks slowly.
Finally.
…Wait, really? THAT's what sets him off?
Outwardly, I merely chortle, plopping down next to the ex-Thalmor with a large grin. "Is that so weird?" The high elf merely blinks at me for a moment. "So you were still exclaiming nonsense, then?" He assumes mildly, and I shove him in mock-annoyance, the grin widening.
"Not this time." He must see it in my eyes – the dopey, love-sick expression I've been trying to cover up since my arrival.
A keen gaze sweeps over my form, Ondolemar's head tilting slightly sideways.
"It does make one wonder… Who was meritorious enough to hold your interests?" He drawls lazily, his nose turned upwards as if he saw a Skeever instead of my travel-worn self.
I give him a confounded look. "Friend, what does 'meritorious' even mean? And I'm not giving you a name. You'll have to work for it." I lean forwards, resting my elbow on my knee and my chin in my hand. "Show me your great skill, oh master of deduction."
I can't help the large smile still on my face as the Altmer ponders for a while.
Lydia enters the room with a bag full of groceries, and I stand to help her clean it away. "Glory upon you, my Thane! I am glad you came. Lyonmelar -" oh right, that's his name now "- has been bored and cleaned up this entire house twice. I used some of the money in the bedroom chest to pay for the expenses of the books he's reading. I am so very sorry, my Thane."
"It's fine. It's on me. I saddled him with you, after all."
"…I am sworn to carry your burdens, my Thane." She replies mechanically after a pregnant pause. She glances around the small house as if she can't quite seem to locate something of interest – like a butterfly after someone points it out. "Did you travel here alone?" I shake my head ruefully.
"Not at all. I split with them at Fort Greymoor. They're taking care of some business up in Solitude while I handle some other… stuff." I give 'Lyonmelar' a sideways glance as I speak, the Altmer sitting a bit straighter. He must want to get out of here really desperately.
'Lyonmelar' is stuff, in this case.
I give them both my most charming grin. "So, after defeating Potema Wolf-Queen's resurrected form I decided to get my affairs in order in case Alduin comes surprise calling while I'm in the bath or something."
Translation I'm sure they both already grasp: I can die at any second because I am prophesized to take down one of the most dangerous creatures in Nirn and realised that he's not the only thing after my life. I'm making some precautions in case of the worst – my untimely death.
"I have a little errand to run while here in Whiterun. I'll be done before we leave tonight – Wouldn't want anyone to catch wind of a strange Altmer showing up right after a certain other Altmer mysteriously vanishes, right?" I gain two understanding nods in return, Lydia eyeing said high elf coolly before sharply turning to put away the food she's bought.
I observe the complete and utter frigidness, like a glacier in the middle of summer, that is my Housecarl Lydia. Then I turn my head in the slightest, most subtle way I can, to the left to see Ondolemar, nose buried in a book. Like a glacier in the middle of summer.
Those two would be perfect for each other.
Biting back an exasperated sigh, I leave them be for the bedroom. I have an assassination to prepare for.
It's the least of my problems, really.
…
I return long after dark, not even bloodied but exhausted beyond belief.
I shut the door to my bedroom behind me, locking it securely and telling Ondolemar that I am not to be disturbed under any circumstance. The place is furnished, but it still seems empty, like a gaping black hole.
My body relaxes for the first time in what feels like an eternity.
I crawl under the covers, my breathing becoming more haggard as I throw my Brotherhood gear into an instantly forgotten dark corner, and my hands shake violently by the time I get into a simple tunic that's dyed in a color that does not instantly make me want to vomit.
The room is spinning and black edges the corner of my vision. I lie on my back, my mind going over the things that happened and finally, finally, I allow myself to sift through the buried events, to really look at what sort of fucked up things had happened to me.
I killed someone for the sake of payment.
Potema, Elisif, Marcurio, Sheogorath, Dragonborn, Thalmor, Rayya, Delphine, end of the world, Alduin, Astrid, Veezara, contracts, Elenwen, Etienne, Malborn, and death, so much death and danger and fear and gods I can't I -
The nervous breakdown hits me hard and instantly. I can't breathe, and my entire mind shuts down.
…
I wake up late, still sore and exhausted with a sore throat from the screaming, salty tracks tracing my face from the tears, red scratch marks from my own nails all over my arms. My vision is blurry, but I still manage to recognise the Altmer.
Ondolemar hovers over me with a damp cloth, carefully patting down the slowly dripping wounds. I don't question how he got in here.
"We're not leaving the house today. Sleep."
I merely croak miserably in agreement and close my eyes again. I should be protesting, should want to go and not miss any time.
"'M sorry."
"Don't be. You deserve rest as much as any other. So rest. Lydia is covering for you."
My mind can however only conjure up a single sentence before I fall back asleep:
Rest at last.
I sleep for two days straight.
…
The walk up the steep cliffs towards High Hrothgar is as painful, as arduous and as cold as always – though I'm pretty sure it's three times colder this time, even though I can't tell if it's because of the approaching winter months or the cool, stoic indifference of both my companions.
Ondolemar acted like he never set foot in my room, like he never dabbed ointment onto my self-inflicted injured and calmed my mind. It was not surprising, but at the same time more hurtful than I thought to see him go without acknowledging it.
You're a good Mer, my friend.
Unsurprisingly with his and Lydia's attitudes though, the journey is even worse than usual. By the time I finally, finally, step into the ancient monastery, the creaking old doors slamming shut solemnly behind Ondolemar, I can't even bring myself to crack a tired grin, my mood too sour to truly appreciate the awe written clear as day all over Lydia's face, in a stark contrast to her earlier stoicism.
Once I find Arngeir on a chair in one of the side passages, the footsteps of Lydia bouncing loudly off the walls despite her obvious attempts at staying quiet, I waste no time trying to find the answers I've been seeking since leaving the Blades' Temple.
"Arngeir… I have come with questions." The aged man smiles warily, tucking the loaf of bread he'd been eating into his robes.
"Dragonborn, I believe there has not been a moment since you came to Skyrim that you have been without them." He chides.
I grin sheepishly, rubbing the back of my neck at Ondolemar's amusedly muttered "If only you knew". Clearing my throat, I force all feelings of embarrassment and, really, all my feelings in general to the back of my head.
If Delphine's reactions had been anything to go on, the Greybeards would not like that I'd been in contact with the Blades.
Which would make finding answers impossible.
Even so, I can't really see any way around it, and Arngeir will get suspicious if I do not pose my inquiry outright, as I've always done before.
"There is a Shout I must learn. One that was used very few times in history, by your old Nord heroes. I believe it may have been used to defeat Alduin, or at least set him back enough to be defeated. I need to learn what Shout was used so I can replicate the effects and hopefully put an end to that bastard's reign."
The old Greybeard stiffens, the lines in his face going taut with confusion and anger, even as he stands up to tower over me imperiously, causing Ondolemar to take a half-step forwards, flexing his fingers in warning.
Lydia, torn between her Nord heritage and her responsibility for me, wavers briefly but doesn't otherwise react.
"Where did you learn that? Who have you been speaking to? Surely you've not gone to see them?"
I grimace, steeling myself for his anger and disappointment. Strange, I don't really want to disappoint them. These old geezers must have wormed their way onto the small list of people I've come to respect, and look up to, if at least a little.
"If, by 'them', you mean the Blades, I am afraid it was so."
Then, quickly adding: "Delphine took the horn from Ustengrav, and I knew I could not return without knowing where it went. I was… Strongly encouraged to follow along with her demands." I press my lips into a thin line, bowing my head in shame as I'm only now realising that the Greybeards would have at least understood that I didn't go after the horn after finding out it was taken.
Once again, my inborn curiosity, and in this case my anger at being manipulated, caused me to dig an even deeper grave for myself, so to speak.
"The Blades! Of course." Arngeir sighs, and the disappointment is palpable. I wince when he continues: "They specialise in meddling in matters they do not understand… Their reckless arrogance truly has no bounds. They've always sought to turn the Dragonborn away from the path of wisdom. I take it they tried with you?"
Oh well, I can't stand Delphine. Might as well throw her in front of the carriage.
"They claimed my power was not dangerous, though it is glaringly so. After all, Ulfric Stormcloak abused the Thu'um to kill the previous High King, didn't he? Elisif herself told me what she saw back then." I start off strongly with the first sentence, though I fall into quiet mutterings near the end, mumbling pensively, hesitantly, as Arngeir observes me solemnly, still oh-so-painfully angry with me.
"However, it doesn't detract from the fact that the Blades, or Esbern, at least, have been helping me to figure out how to handle… all this Alduin stuff." I make a sweeping gesture with my hand, as if to stress how I'm unable to handle it.
Ugh. Have I learned nothing, after all this time? Showing weakness here in Skyrim is the equivalent of a death sentence.
…And after everything, after facing dragons and Jarls and Daedra, I still consider the Greybeards wiser than I. They can help me, right?
My eyes meet Arngeir's. "I am not their puppet."
Heart pounding nervously, I wring my hands together behind my back, staring at the wall ahead as I wait for the verdict as if I were a child again, being chided for not washing my hands before dinner and being handed a punishment.
Though if they choose to punish me now, I'm sure it'll be more than just having to do all the dishes by myself.
"…No, I suppose you aren't. My apologies, Dragonborn -" it's Fjaldi, FJALDI, damnit, how hard is it to call me by name? I still don't much like that title. "I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning: The Blades may claim to serve in your best interests, but those claims are nought but falsities. They do not serve the Dragonborn. They never have."
"I understand." I nod, feeling a wave of relief washing over me that makes my knees feel weak. Marcurio would never let me live this down if he knew this.
"So then… You can teach me?"
The man, to his credit, seems almost bashful about it. "No. I fear I am unable to teach you, for I do not know it. I do know that it is called 'Dragonrend'. But the words of power used have long been lost to us. I admit, it is not a loss we regret. A Shout of that nature does not belong within the Way of the Voice."
Great. Next thing you know I will have to time travel AGAIN, but now just to learn a damn Shout. Still…
"Then, those old Nord heroes who used it, they created it? Were they the only ones to ever know it? Was it not written down?"
"…It can be assumed that they did create it. They were the ones to live under the reign of Alduin's Dragon cult, terrible and cruel beyond what we may imagine. As far as we know, it has not been put to paper or stone."
Oh, I have heard horror stories all the way back in Nchuand-Zel, used to dissuade us from becoming overly curious about the world outside the cities.
So caught up I am in the memories of being told such stories over the dinner table and before bed, in a safe and quiet home underneath the stone, I miss the next few sentences.
"…Use this Shout, you will have to take that evil within yourself."
I think I will be asking Ondolemar If he heard it later, that sounded quite important.
"If not for using this Shout, how can I possibly defeat a dragon who can bring other dragons back from death itself? I would hate to prove Esbern right, that all is lost to us."
Arngeir gives me a long, considering look. "Only Paarthurnax can answers those questions for you, if he so chooses."
A few minutes later I'm standing in the courtyard, in a strange déjà vu of the last time I was here – to learn a new Shout. Only then it was Whirlwind Sprint. Lydia and Ondolemar stay back cautiously, out of the roaring winds and icy cold, in the relative shelter of the partially covered parts of the monastery – that is, the giant pillar near the fire pit.
"We will grant you the understanding of Clear Skies. This is our final gift to you, Dragonborn. After this, only Paarthurnax, if he wishes, may teach you more. Use this gift well."
