"I wonder, sometimes, why I never spent as much time in Winterhold when I was younger," Cry commented, as Vilkas helped her down from the carriage they'd rented, "but then I remember: it's too fucking cold here."
Vilkas smiled in amusement. "You're a Nord, Cry," he said, lightly. "And Dragonborn, on top of that. The cold should be the least of your issues with the whole city."
"You're probably right," Cry sighed, peering around. Winterhold was the northernmost Skyrim city, and as such, appeared to be fairly untouched by the civil war, or otherwise. She was mildly impressed, but that did not shift her distaste for the city in the slightest. It could hardly be called a city.
"Well, the less time we have to spend here, the better," she decided, sliding her arm through the crook of Vilkas's elbow. "How do you think we're going to get into the College?"
"With charm," Vilkas answered.
"Hm, then I guess I better do all the talking," Cry teased, and she laughed when he bent down and tossed some snow at her in retort.
They headed down the main… street, to where the entrance to the College of Winterhold sat, at the end. There was someone standing there, unsurprising, acting as a sentinel of sorts, and she glared at them both as they approached.
"Cross the bridge at your own peril," she said. "The way is dangerous, and the gate will not open. You will not gain entry."
"Why's that?" Cry prompted.
"What is it that you expect to find within?" the guard retorted.
Cry sighed. "Assistance," she said. "I need to speak with your librarian. I'm the Dragonborn."
"The Dragonborn. Hah! And I'm the heir to the Thalmor Embassy!" the sentinel retorted.
"It's true, she is Dragonborn," Vilkas put in. "She could prove it to you."
"Could she?" The sentinel seemed disbelieving, and she looked Cry up and down. "I bet."
"I could," Cry said, "but it would draw quite a bit of attention, and I'm not sure any of us want that."
The sentinel continued to study her for a moment, before letting out a breath that appeared in front of her face as a cloud. "Fine," she muttered. "Follow me."
Cry and Vilkas exchanged a pleased glance, before doing just that.
She led them across the bridge, which Cry had to admit was fairly perilous. When they reached the large steel gate on the other end, the sentinel did some kind of magic that caused it to open.
"The library is in the building across the courtyard, down the stairs behind the door on the right of the main hall inside," she said, turning to them.
"Thank you," Cry said, pleasantly, and then she led the way into the courtyard on the other side of the gate.
They crossed it, following the stone path, to the building on the opposite side. Cry decided that she didn't like the feeling of the College, but chalked it up to the fact that she'd never liked magic, or those who used it. Vilkas seemed to be just as uncomfortable.
"The sooner we talk to the librarian, the sooner we can get out of here," she murmured to him. He grunted in agreement, and pulled open the door of the building the library was found in.
They found the space easily enough. It was hard to miss a room filled with bookshelves. Cry wrinkled her nose as soon as she walked inside, and looked at Vilkas.
"This place smells perfect for you," she told him, and he rolled his eyes.
"Can I help you?"
They turned towards the new voice, and Cry smiled at the orc that was standing behind a counter near the rear of the room. She walked closer to where he was.
"Hello," she greeted. "I think you can help us, actually. We're looking for an Elder Scroll." The orc gazed at her, unmoved. Cry reached the counter, and placed her hands on top of it, drumming her fingers. "You've heard of them?"
"I have," the orc grumbled. "I wonder what you plan to do with it, once you have one. Do you know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand girl?"
Cry frowned at him. "I know what it is," she said, defensive. "I just don't know where to get one."
"No, and you don't know how you'd read it, either," the orc retorted. "Only a person whose mind has been rigorously trained to do so can read an Elder Scroll, which, I imagine, yours is not."
"Well, no," Cry said, "but, like, maybe I'm built for it. I'm Dragonborn."
"Dragonborn or not," the orc said, crossing his burly arms over his burly chest, "do you really think I'd let you see it, if I had one?" Cry merely gazed at him, and the orc shifted on his feet. "But… are you really the Dragonborn? The one the Greybeards summoned?"
"Yep," Cry responded, dropping her arms to her sides. "And I'm here to… fulfill a prophecy, and I need an Elder Scroll to do that."
The orc studied her for a long moment, before he sighed, dropping his own arms again. "Fine," he said. "I'll bring everything we have on Elder Scrolls to you, but it really isn't much."
He walked away, disappearing behind a bookshelf, and Cry turned around to find Vilkas. He had settled down into one of the many armchairs in the space, holding a book. Cry smiled to herself, feeling as though she'd burst with her affection for him.
"Here." She turned back to the orc, who had reappeared, and was setting three different books down on the counter. "Try not to spill anything on them."
"I have nothing to spill," Cry answered, pulling the books closer and flipping the rattiest looking one open.
She furrowed her brow almost immediately, unable to decipher any of the words on the first page as actual Common speak. She looked up at the librarian again.
"Is this supposed to be a joke?" she asked.
He peered at the book she had open, and snorted. "This is the work of Septimus Signus. He's the world's master on the nature of Elder Scrolls, but… well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long."
Cry frowned. "Where did he go?"
"Somewhere up north, in the ice fields," the librarian said with a shrug. "Said he found some old Dwemer artifact, but… well, that was years ago. Haven't heard from him since."
"So he's dead?" Cry guessed, the hopes that she'd allowed to rise just the slightest bit ready to sink back down.
"Oh, no," the librarian assured, quickly. The hopes sparked just a little. "But even I haven't seen him in years, and we were close. Became obsessed with the Dwemer, and I supposed he was really focused on figuring out that artifact."
Cry sighed. "So, to find him, I'll have to go on a trek through the ice fields outside of Winterhold?"
"Yeah," the librarian responded, smiling benignly. "Enjoy."
Cry groaned, a little, and spun on her heel, heading for the door of the library. Vilkas hurriedly stood up and followed after her, waving to the librarian as he went.
"So?" he prompted once he and Cry were making their way back across the courtyard.
"We're going on a bit of a hike," Cry replied, glumly. When Vilkas lifted an eyebrow, she shook her head. "Apparently, there's someone who knows quite a bit about Elder Scrolls relatively close by. The downside is that he appears to be insane, and he lives somewhere in the ice fields beyond Winterhold."
"Oh." Vilkas shrugged. "Well, if we need the information he can offer us, there's no reason to complain."
"I guess not," Cry said, "but I'd prefer it if we didn't have to go looking for his house in the middle of the ice fields."
Vilkas smiled a little as they reached the other side of the bridge. "Don't worry," he said. "You'll probably have to shield me from the cold."
Cry doubted that very much.
It didn't take as long as she'd feared it would to find the outpost where Septimus Signus had camped out. It was the only building or sorts in site, across an ice covered field that Cry was positive would break apart under her feet with every step she took.
"It's solid," Vilkas assured her. He'd taken her hand in his, in order to coax her onto the field in the first place, and now he was tugging her along again, as she'd paused at the sight of the wooden door built into the side of what seemed to be an iceberg. "Come on, we're almost there."
"Wait, Vilkas," Cry started, unwilling to move. He looked at her, and she glanced around. "What - where do we go from here, if he isn't able to help us?"
"I'm not sure," he replied, "but perhaps we can think about it after we know for sure whether or not this Signus fellow can help?"
Cry studied him for a long moment, her brow furrowed, uncertain. Vilkas offered her a smile, and gently squeezed her hand.
"It's going to be fine," he assured her. "You won't have to figure it out on your own, I promise."
Cry lowered her gaze, and nodded, stepping closer to him. Together, they walked the rest of the distance towards the shack, which Vilkas pushed open the door of. They then ducked inside.
Cry immediately noticed, and was amazed by, how warm it was inside. After climbing down the ladder just inside the door, she glanced around, examining the narrow hall surrounded on all sides by ice that they had entered into, curious.
"Strange," Vilkas said, running his fingers along the surface of the ice. "I'd read that people used to make their homes within ice huts, but I'd never fully understood how it was that they were liveable." He turned back to Cry. "I guess with the ice melting, and then freezing over again, it adds an extra insular layer to the whole thing."
"Great," Cry said, "but not necessarily what we're here for, is it?"
Vilkas's shoulders fell. "Right, sorry," he said.
"Don't apologize for knowing things," Cry told him, "but maybe we can chat about ice huts later." She started down the hallway, and Vilkas followed after her.
The hallway opened up into a large space, extending down in a ramp that led to the bottom. Peering over the edge of the ramp, Cry spotted who could only be Septimus Signus at the bottom, pacing in front of a large golden object.
She glanced back at Vilkas. "What's that?" she asked, nodding towards the object.
Vilkas examined it for a moment, and then shook his head. "I couldn't say," he replied. "It looks to be of Dwemer make, but I don't know what it is, exactly."
"Hm." Cry looked once more down at Signus, before she continued down the ramp. As she got further down, she could hear Signus mumbling to himself. It sounded like nonsense, and her hopes dimmed just a bit. Even if this man did know about Elder Scrolls, the likelihood of him being able to articulate his knowledge was slimming.
"Septimus Signus?" she began, reaching the bottom of the ramp, and he turned to look in her direction. She lifted a hand in greeting. "My name is Cry. I'm Dragonborn. I heard that you know about Elder Scrolls?"
Signus's eyes flashed a bit, with the light of intelligence. "Elder Scrolls," he mused. "Indeed. The Empire. They absconded with them. Or so they think." He turned back to the dwarven device behind him. "The ones they saw," he continued. "The ones they thought they saw. I know of one."
"You do?" Cry asked, her eyebrows rising.
"Forgotten. Sequestered." Signus was still speaking, as though he hadn't heard her. "But I cannot go to it, not poor Septimus, for I… I have arisen beyond its grasp."
Cry looked at Vilkas. "What is he saying?" she asked, helpless.
Vilkas looked at Signus, and approached him. "Septimus," he started, and the hermit turned to him. "We need to know about the Elder Scroll. You said you know of one."
Signus turned against to the dwarven device. He reached out a hand, and placed it on the smooth surface. "The ice entombs the heart," he said, lowly. "The bane of Kagrenac and Dagoth Ur. To harness it is to know. The fundaments." He sighed. "The Dwemer lockbox hides it from me. The Elder Scroll gives insight deeper than the deep ones, though. To bring about the opening."
"You have the Elder Scroll with you, then? To help you open the lockbox?" Vilkas queried.
"I've seen enough to know their fabric," Signus said. "The warp of air, the weft of time." Cry leaned forward a little, waiting to hear the magic words. "But, no. It is not in my possession."
Cry blew out a disappointed breath, and turned away. Vilkas, however, was not finished.
"Where is the Scroll, then?" he asked.
"Here," Signus said, and when Cry turned back to him, he smiled a bit. "Well, here as in this plane. Mundus. Tamriel. Nearby, relatively speaking. On the cosmological scale, it's all nearby."
"All right," Vilkas said, and Cry could tell he was losing his patience. "Can you help us get the Elder Scroll or not?"
Signus grinned at him. "One block lifts another," he said, putting up two fingers. "Septimus will give you what you want, but you must bring him something in return."
Vilkas looked at Cry, who could only lift her shoulders. Signus seemed to know where an Elder Scroll was. If they had to do something for him in order to get that knowledge, what other choice did they have?
"Fine," Vilkas said, turning back to Signus. "What do you want?"
Signus hopped a little, gleeful, and spread his arms, indicating the dwarven device. "You see this masterwork of the Dwemer. Deep inside their greatest knowings. Septimus is clever among men, but he is but an idiot child compared to the dullest of the Dwemer." He turned to them, and tapped his temple. "Lucky then they left behind their own way of reading the Elder Scrolls. In the depths of Blackreach one yet lies."
At both Vilkas and Cry's blank expressions, his grin widened. "Have you heard of Blackreach?" he asked. "'Cast upon where Dwemer cities slept, the yearning spire hidden learnings kept.'"
"So the Elder Scroll is in Blackreach," Cry said, "which is where, exactly?"
"Under deep," Signus said. "Below the dark. The hidden keep. Tower Mzark. Alftand. The point of puncture, or first entry, of the tapping. Delve to its depths, and Blackreach lies just beyond. But not all can enter there. Only Septimus knows the hidden key to loose the lock to jump beneath the deathly rock."
Cry had to take a moment, to rub at her temples. Talking to this man was really giving her a headache. Vilkas placed a comforting hand on her back, speaking to Signus: "How do we get in?"
"Two things I have for you," Signus said, and he hurried over to a table against one side of the space. "Two shapes. One edged, one round." He turned back to them, holding out two shapes, as he'd said. He lifted one. "The round one, for turning. Dwemer music is soft and subtle, and needed to open their cleverest gates." He lifted the other. "The edged lexicon, for inscribing. To us, a hunk of metal. To the Dwemer, a full library of knowings. But… empty."
He held out both shapes, both lexicons, and Vilkas took them. "Find Mzark and its sky-dome," Signus instructed. "The machinations there will read the scroll and lay the lore upon the cube. Trust Septimus. He knows you can know."
Vilkas looked down at the two lexicons for a moment, examining them. Neither were marked in any way. He turned to Cry, and placed both gently into the pack she wore, at the bottom so that they wouldn't move around much.
"Thank you for the information," he said to Signus, and then he looked at Cry. "Come on."
She followed him back up the ramp, and then down the first hallway outside. Once they were back across the ice field, on stable ground, she turned to him.
"Thank you," she said. "I would have… lost my patience a lot sooner, than you did."
"I know," he said, smiling slightly. "That's why I took the lead." He glanced around for a moment, before sighing. "Well, where do you think we should start looking for this… Tower of Mzark?"
"He also mentioned Alftand, which is an ancient dwarven ruin," Cry said, remembering all the maps that Esbern had had at his disposal. One had been of all the locations of dwarven ruins within Skyrim. "It's southwest of here." She looked at Vilkas. "I guess that's where we could start."
"It's not like we have any other ideas," Vilkas said. "Let's give it a try."