"Are you sure you don't mind me coming with you?" Vilkas asked, and Cry glanced back at him, an eyebrow cocked.

"You're asking if I mind?" she queried. "Hm. Didn't know that was something you could do." Vilkas offered her an exasperated look in response, and Cry grinned, turning forward again, climbing another few steps. "There's no point in asking now, anyway. We're almost to High Hrothgar."

"I know," Vilkas said. She could hear the smile in his voice. "That's why I waited to ask. I knew you wouldn't send me back down."

Cry rolled her eyes to herself, and kept going.

The gray stone of High Hrothgar came within sight after another fifteen minutes or so, and Cry paused, waiting for Vilkas to step up beside her. They studied the building together for a moment, and then she looked over at him.

"What do you think?" she asked.

"It's beautiful," he replied, earnestly. "Did you know it was constructed in the 1st Era, in the year 416?"

"I didn't," Cry replied, "and I don't think I needed to know that, either."

"Sure you did," Vilkas said. "You're in charge here, aren't you?"

Cry snorted, softly. "I don't think I'd say that." She tilted her head towards the building. "Let's head inside. I'd rather be able to get back down the mountain before the sun starts to go down, if we can."

"Fair enough," Vilkas agreed. "Let's go."

They headed towards High Hrothgar together, Vilkas holding the door for her. Cry stepped through, out of the wind, and exhaled in relief, glancing around the main hall. It appeared to be vacated.

"I bet they're all in the rear courtyard," she said after a moment. "We should go see."

"No need, Dovahkiin." They both turned, and Cry smiled slightly when she saw Arngeir emerge from the shadows of the room. He dipped his head to her. "It is good to have you back."

"Thank you, Master Arngeir," Cry said, and then she gestured to Vilkas. "This is Vilkas. He's the Master of Arms of the Companions, and my current traveling companion."

"Sir," Arngeir said, and Vilkas nodded back. Arngeir turned once more to Cry. "Have you come to ask our assistance, Dragonborn?"

"Yes," Cry said. "And in a fairly serious matter." Arngeir gazed at her, expectantly, it seemed to Cry, and she let her shoulders fall. "I'd like to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin."

Immediately, Arngeir's expression turned stony, which surprised Cry very much. She hadn't known he had any emotion other than even-keeled. "Where did you learn of that?" he asked. "Who have you been talking to?"

"Does it matter?" Cry returned frowning.

"Yes," Arngeir replied. "For matters of such gravity, we need to know where you stand. Or who you stand with."

Cry glanced sideways at Vilkas. He lifted an eyebrow in response, clearly indicating that only she could make this decision. Cry looked down at the floor for a moment, before lifting her gaze back to Arngeir's.

"I have nothing to hide," she said, plainly. "The Blades have been helping me."

Arngeir release a noise akin to a scoff. "The Blades," he said. "Of course. They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds." He looked at her, frowning. "They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?"

"The Blades are helping me," Cry told him, feeling defensive. "I am not their puppet."

There was a moment of silence, and then Arngeir seemed to deflate. "No, no," he said, quietly. "Of course not. Forgive me, Dragonborn. I have been… intemperate with you." He sighed, and looked at her again. "But heed my warning: the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have."

Cry looked at Vilkas again, to gauge his reaction to this. He was studying Arngeir, his brow furrowed. Cry had to admit that she agreed with the uncertainty on his face. She'd been working with Delphine and Esbern for quite some time, and they'd given her no reason no to trust them, but she'd relied on the Greybeards for just as long, to give her locations of Words of Power and such.

Why can't everyone just get along?

Instead of speaking her frustrations out loud, she instead went back to the business at hand. "Will you teach me the Shout?"

Arngeir shook his head. "I will not, because I cannot," he said. "I do not know it. It is called "Dragonrend," but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice."

Cry shook her head, confused. "I thought you knew all the Words of Power?"

"Not to Dragonrend," Arngeir answered. "Those were lost in the time before history began. Perhaps only its creators ever knew them." He glanced briefly at Vilkas, who was still frowning, before turning to Cry once more. "I am not the one to speak of it to you."

"What's so bad about this Shout?" Vilkas asked, speaking up for the first time.

Arngeir let out a weary sigh. He walked away from them a few steps, looking down at the floor. "It was created by those who'd lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult," he began after a moment.

"Oh," Vilkas said, under his breath.

"What?" Cry asked, looking between the two of them.

"Do you not read?" Vilkas asked her, and Cry shrugged.

"Fiction."

He offered her an affectionate look, and then said, "Alduin's Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim during the Merethic era. The men who were part of it worshipped many different animals as… avatars of the gods. Alduin, and other dragons, were among them."

"Correct," Arngeir said. "In return, the dragons granted the humans that followed them with insurmountable power. So long as they obeyed the dragons, of course. In order to maintain this obedience, the Dragon Priests established very strict laws, and demanded tribute from the ordinary people."

"It was an awful period of time," Vilkas said. "Just reading about it, I can't even begin to imagine what everyone went through under their rule."

"Eventually," Arngeir said, "the men rebelled against the dragons, and their priests. I hope you've at least heard of the Dragon War?"

"Oh, yeah," Cry said, waving her hand in the air. "Of course." In reality, she'd only very recently learned about it, after reading the book that Vilkas had suggested to her on dragons, but he didn't need to know that.

"So, as you might imagine," Arngeir said, "Dragonrend was produced from the severe hatred that those who invented it had felt their whole lives for dragons. And when you, Dragonborn, learn a Shout, you envelope it into your very being. You, essentially, become the shout." He looked at Cry, meeting her gaze. "If you were to learn this particular Shout, you would be taking the anger and hatred of those who created it into yourself."

Cry turned away, crossing her arms. She didn't like the sound of that, at all, but what else was there for her to do? She needed to defeat Alduin.

Although, she supposed it didn't even matter, if the Shout was lost.

"What else am I supposed to do, then?" she asked, looking at Arngeir once more.

The Greybeard seemed reluctant to share this next bit with her. "Only Paarthurnax, the leader of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses."

"Paarthurnax," Cry repeated, frowning.

Arngeir nodded. "Our leader. He surpasses us all in his knowledge of the Way of the Voice."

Cry lifted both her eyebrows at this. "If that's true, why haven't I met him yet?" she queried.

"He lives in seclusion at the very peak of the mountain," Arngeir explained. "He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege."

"Well, great privilege or not," Cry said, "I think I need to see him."

"You were not ready, when we first welcome you," Arngeir said, "and you are still not ready." He shook his head. "But thanks to the Blades, you now have questions that only Parthunaax can answer."

Cry leaned up on her toes. "So, how do I get up to see him?" she prompted, and Arngeir lifted his gaze to the ceiling for a moment, clearly exasperated. Vilkas leaned over and nudged Cry with the back of his hand, and she brushed him off. "Master Arngeir?"

"Only those whose Voice is strong enough can find the path," the Greybeard said, lowering his eyes again. "We will teach you a Shout that will show you the way. Come."

He turned, and started towards the doors leading to the rear courtyard. Cry turned to Vilkas, smiling, only to lose it when she saw his own expression. "What?" she asked him.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" When she furrowed her brow, Vilkas gestured vaguely. "I didn't like the sound of you… enveloping anger and hatred into you."

"Oh." Cry smiled, a little, and reached out, placing her hand on the back of his neck. "Vilkas, you don't need to worry about that. I've enveloped so many Words of Power at this point, I doubt three more are going to do anything too serious to me."

"But -"

"Vilkas." He met her gaze, and she lifted her eyebrows again, just a little. "It'll be fine, I promise. Who knows if this Parthunaax can even give me the Shout? We might have to figure out something completely different."

Vilkas didn't really look pacified by this, but he posed no further attempt at argument. Instead, he leaned down until he could kiss her. Cry smiled through it, and when he pulled back again, she kept his forehead against hers, by maintaining the grip she had on the back of his neck.

"It'll be fine," she repeated, softly. "Trust me."

"I do," Vilkas said. "Of course I do."

"Good," Cry replied, and she let go of him. "I guess I better go learn that Shout. You wanna watch? It's kinda boring, but you might get a kick out of it, being an intellectual."

Vilkas managed a smile of his own. "I'd love to watch," he said. "If it's anything like when you absorb a dragon's soul, I'm sure it'll be fantastic to witness."

Cry laughed, and took his hand, pulling him after her towards the doors, and then out into the courtyard.

The Greybeards had all gathered near a large gate, up a small incline. Cry and Vilkas trudged up to join them, and Arngeir gestured.

"Beyond this gate lies the path to Paarthurnax," he said. He then waved his hand over the ground, speaking three Words of Power as he did so: "Lok… Vah… Koor."

Cry approached the words, which glowed against the snowy ground, and smiled a little as she learned each one, learned their meanings. She then looked at Arngeir again, who nodded.

"I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies, Dragonborn," he said. This will be your final gift from us. Use it well."

Cry nodded in agreement, and bowed her head as Arngeir's knowledge of the Shout, Clear Skies, moved from him to her. Her mind was flooded with years of study and meditation in the span of ten seconds, but she did not stagger, as she had before, when learning from them. It seemed she'd gotten fairly used to it.

Soon enough, however, it was over, and she lifted her head again. Arngeir looked a little wearier, now, than he had before. "Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time," he told her. "The pah to Parthunaax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit." He glanced at Vilkas. "I am afraid you cannot go with her, sir."

"What, why?" Vilkas asked immediately.

"It would not be safe to have two travel on the path," Arngeir told him. "And you are not part of our order. It would be blasphemy."

Vilkas seemed to be very annoyed by this, and was clearly prepared to argue. Before he could, however, Cry stepped in, knowing that Arngeir knew more about this than them.

"He's right, Vilkas," she said, soothingly. When he turned to her instead, flabbergasted, she shook her head. "I'll make it up safely on my own, and I'll come down safely, on my own. Wait here for me."

"Cry."

"Vilkas."

They studied one another for a long moment, before Vilkas relented with a sigh. "Fine," he said. "But if you don't come down within the hour -"

"There's nothing you'll be able to do about it, so don't finish that sentence," Cry told him, patting him on the cheek. "But I'll be back."

She turned to the gate, which swung open as though she'd commanded it to, and she blinked when she realized how quickly the wind was blowing on the other side, especially in comparison to where she stood. It created a white sheet of snow in front of her, one that she could not see through.

"Well," she said, under her breath. "This should be fun."


Cry hiked up the last bit of incline, and paused at the edge of a snow covered clearing of sorts, at the very height of the mountain. She shivered a little, involuntarily, and wrapped her arms closer around herself, peering around. There didn't seem to be any sign that anyone lived up here.

"Shit," she mumbled, walking further into the clearing, and moving beside a large stone wall that shielded her from the worst of the wind. "Arngeir - dammit! All because I've been working with the Blades."

Almost as soon as she finished speaking, a very familiar noise reached her ears, even above the rushing wind. She straightened up immediately, feeling the vibrations of an approaching dragon through the ground. She moved away from the wall, reaching up to pull her sword free from its scabbard, but hesitated as she watched an aged dragon land on top of the wall she'd just been leaning up against. It peered down at her for a moment, an intelligent glimmer in its slanted eyes.

After a long moment, during which Cry was debating turning tail and racing back down the mountain, the dragon spoke.

"Drem Yo Lok," it began, its voice rocky with age and wisdom. "Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah… my mountain?"

Cry was amazed. Out of all the dragons she'd done battle with, this was the first to speak in the Common Tongue. And, apparently, this dragon was also the leader of the Greybeards. The day had really taken a turn.

"I wasn't… expecting you to be a dragon," she said after a second.

"I am as my father Akatosh made me," the dragon replied. "As are you, Dovahkiin."

"So you know who I am," Cry said, and Paarthurnax shifted on top of the stone wall, which she realized belatedly was actually covered in faded Words of Power.

"Forgive me," he said. "It has been long since I last tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech."

Cry shifted her weight to her other foot. "So… you're the master of the Greybeards?"

"They see me as master," Paarthurnax allowed. "Wuth. Onik. Old and wise. It is true that I am old…"

Cry let out something that might have been a laugh, under other circumstances. "Why do you live up here on a mountain, if you love conversation?" she asked him.

"Evenaar bahlok," Paarthurnax said, and at her blank expression, continued, "There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. Dreh ni nahkip. Discipline against the lesser aids in qahnaar… denial of the greater."

"I guess that makes sense," Cry said, although she didn't want to know what greater hungers he was thinking about.

"Tell me, Dovahkiin," Paarthunax began. "Why do you come here? Why do you intrude on my meditation?"

Cry exhaled, and straightened her shoulders, looking up at the dragon. "I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout," she said. "Can you teach it to me?"

Paarthurnax released a sound similar to a hum. "Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first."

Cry quickly moved backwards as Paarthurnax took to the air again, only to circle and land in the snow beside her.

"Here my Thu'um!" he exclaimed. "Feel it in your bones! Match it, if you are Dovahkiin." His head swung towards the Word Wall, and Cry watched in fascination as a dragon, for the first time, did not use its Voice to attack someone or something. Instead, he blew fire at the Wall, using Words that she was very familiar with.

He then turned to her. "Now, show me what you can do," he invited. "Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah. Do not be afraid. Faasnu. Let me feel the power of your Thu'um."

"At you?" Cry asked, amazed, and Paarthunax nodded. She hesitated a moment, before reaching for the correct Word of Power within her. "Yol!"

Fire washed over Paarthurnax, and the dragon closed his eyes for a moment in appreciation. "Mm, yes," he hummed. "Sossedov los mul. The dragonblood runs strong in you. "It is long since I had the please of speech with one of my own kind."

Cry smiled a bit at this. She enjoyed hearing this like that, and coming from a dragon, it meant even more.

"So. You have made your way here, to me," Paarthurnax went on, drawing her attention again. "No easy task for a joor… mortal."

"You don't need to correct yourself," Cry told him. "I know a bit of the Dragon language."

Paarthurnax seemed amused by this. "I'm sure you do," he said, agreeably. "Nonetheless, your journey must have been a difficult one, even for you, dovah sos. What would you ask of me?"

"Dragonrend," Cry repeated.

Paarthurnax dipped his head. "Yes," he said. "I have expected this. You seek your weapon against Alduin, not tinvaak with an old dovah."

"Sorry," Cry said. "Maybe some other time, when he isn't going to destroy the whole world."

"Yes, of course," Paarthurnax said after a moment.

There was a moment of silence. Paarthurnax seemed to have fallen into deep thought. Cry hesitated a moment, before saying, "The Greybeards didn't want me to come."

Paarthurnax let out something akin to a sigh. "Yes, they are very protective of me," he agreed. Bahlaan fahdonne. All the same, I do not know the Thu'um you see. Krosis."

Cry's shoulders fell. She shouldn't have been surprised to hear this, and really, she wasn't. Mostly disappointed.

"How do I learn it, then?" she asked, mostly to herself, but she was grateful that Paarthurnax had an answer for her.

"Drem," he said. "All in good time. First, a question for you." Cry tilted her head, waiting. Paarthurnax copied the motion. "Why do you wish to learn this Thu'um?"

"I thought that was clear," Cry said. "I need to stop Alduin."

"Yes," Paarthurnax said, thoughtfully. "Alduin… zeymah. The elder brother. Gifted, grasping and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"

"The prophecy says that only the Dragonborn can stop him," Cry said, and she gestured to herself. "Dragonborn."

"True," Paarthunax replied, "but qostiid - prophecy - tells what may be, not what should be. Just because you can do a thing does not always mean that you should. Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing but a plaything of dex… of fate?"

Cry considered for a moment, before shrugging. "I like this world," she said. "I don't want it to end."

Paarthurnax dipped his head in agreement. "Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the Egg for the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

"The next world will have to take care of itself," Cry decided.

"Paaz," Paarthurnax allowed, clearly amused again. "A fair answer. Ro fus… maybe you only balance the forces at work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end. Wulsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end may delay it. Those who work to delay the end may bring it closer."

"Sorry, but I'm not so sure I buy into all that," Cry said. "I just want to do what I can to stop Alduin from killing everything. Can you help me do that or not?"

Paarthurnax examined her for a moment. "Do you know why I live here?" he finally asked. "At the peak of the Mohaven? What you name Throat of the World?"

Cry shrugged again. "Dragons like mountains?"

"True," Paarthurnax said. "But few now remember that this is the place where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad… perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated."

"I never really thought about it," Cry admitted.

"Here is where the ancient Tongues brought Alduin to battle," Paarthurnax said.

"Using Dragonrend," Cry pushed.

"Yes and no," Paarthurnax allowed. "Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to… defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin, but this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel - the Elder Scroll. They used it to… cast him adrift on the currents of time."

Cry had furrowed her brow. "An Elder Scroll," she repeated. "Those are just fables, I thought."

"They are, and they are not," Paarthurnax said. "They have always existed, and yet have never existed. They are… fragments of creation. The Kelle - Elder Scrolls, as you name them - they have been used for prophecy. Your own prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll. But prophecy is only a small part of their power."

Cry blinked at him. "Are you saying that the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time? To here?"

Paarthurnax sighed again, shaking out his wings. Quite a bit of snow had fallen since they'd first started to talk. "Not intentionally," he said. "Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. I knew better, however. Time flows ever onward. One day, he would resurface. Which is why I have lived here, and for thousands of years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when."

Cry had been studying the sun. She could tell that it was nearing four o'clock. She'd need to get back down to High Hrothgar relatively soon, if she and Vilkas wanted to get back down the mountain before dark.

"How does any of this help me?" she prompted, deciding that if Paarthurnax didn't have an answer for her, it was time to go.

"Time was shattered here, because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin," Paathurnax told her. "If you brought that Kel back here, to the Tiid-Ahran, to the Time-Wound… with the Elder Scroll that was used to break time, you might be able to cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

"Travel back in time?" Cry said, incredulous. "That's ridiculous."

"You would not interact with anything there," Paarthurnax. "You would not be more than a spector, a witness to what occurred here, all those centuries ago."

Cry still didn't think she believed such a thing was possible, but it appeared to be the next thing to try. She needed Dragonrend.

"Fine," she said. "It's worth a shot. Do you know where I might find the Elder Scroll?"

"No," Paarthurnax said. "I know little of what has passed in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I."

"I'm not," Cry said with a sigh, and then she perked up. "But I know someone who is. I'll talk to him, see what he thinks."

"Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax told her. "Your blood will show you the way."

Cry nodded in agreement. "All right. Hopefully, we'll be able to find it."

"Destiny knows the answer to that," Paarthurnax said.

Destiny, Cry thought with a snort, as she started back down the path that would return her to High Hrothgar.

She reached the rear courtyard more quickly than she was able to climb the path; it seemed that reaching the top had allayed whatever magic made the wind blow so hard. She was unsurprised to find Vilkas waiting there for her, and she smiled when he stood up in relief at spotting her.

"How did it go?" he asked, taking her hands.

"Fine," Cry assured. "He's a dragon."

"A dragon?" She nodded, and Vilkas hummed. "Well, stranger things have happened. What did he tell you?"

"We need to find an Elder Scroll," Cry answered.

"And Elder Scroll. Those are meant to be myths," Vilkas said. "A… a way for authors to tell their stories, without having to worry about plot points not making sense in the end."

"I thought so too," Cry said, "but apparently, the ancient Nords used one to cast Alduin forward in time, which is why he's here now." She shook her head. "Paarthurnax thinks that I can use the Scroll to see into the past, and learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

Vilkas gazed at her for a moment, and then he said, "If anyone will know where to find an Elder Scroll, it would have to be the Lorekeeper, at the College of Winterhold."

Cry smiled, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I knew you'd have an idea," she said, happily. "We should head back down the mountain now. We can get a room in Ivarstead, and then travel to Winterhold tomorrow."

Vilkas nodded in agreement. "Let's go," he said.

They headed back into High Hrothgar, but Cry hesitated when she spotted Arngeir, kneeling before one of the many different posts of worship inside.

"Give me a second," she said to Vilkas, who dipped his head, and walked away a few paces.

Cry walked over to where Arngeir was, waiting for him to speak to her, which he did so, after a moment: "You've met with Paarthurnax. The dragonblood shines brightly within you. What did he say?"

"I have to find an Elder Scroll," Cry replied.

Arngeir sniffed. "Then I wish you luck," he said. "It is doubtful that it still exists within Skyrim, if it even exists at all."

Cry crossed her arms. "I wish you would understand my point in doing all this," she said. "I only want to save the world. What fault could you find in that?"

"The way you plan to go about it," Arngeir answered, simply. "Farewell, Dragonborn."

Cry continued to stare at him for a moment, before giving up. She walked back over to where Vilkas was, and he looked past her towards Arngeir.

"Not good?" he asked, and Cry lifted one shoulder in response. Vilkas sighed, a little, and tilted his head towards the doors. "We should go."

"Yes," Cry said. "Good idea."