Arngeir worried for the young Dovahkiin. He'd grown fond of Mairon after their first meeting back in Frost Fall, though he feared the path she walked down. As a test of her worthiness, he'd sent her to retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, and while she'd done admirably, her thoughts seemed far away and unfocused when she returned.
He cursed himself for a fool. He should've seen the signs. The Blades- both of them- had corrupted Mairon, turning and using the Voice as a weapon. There was a reason that he and the other Greybeards had taught her Unrelenting Force and Clear Skies, the mildest and least destructive Shouts.
He jumped as the outer door slammed open, the frigid mountain air bringing a flurry of snow into the hall. Before becoming a Greybeard and following the Way of the Voice, Arngeir had been a moderately powerful mage. While he had felt the Dragon Soul in her before, he was almost forced to his knees by the sheer amount of Aetherial power that Mairon possessed now. She stood before him, wearing a silver and sapphire circlet, a black robe, simple leather bracers, and well-worn leather boots. While her apparel was simple and cheap, her equipment was, to say the least, shocking. Across her back was strung a Daedric bow, complete with a quiver full of arrows, and a matching pair of Daedric swords, oppositely enchanted with Fire and Ice.
Her lips were drawn and her eyes were hard, but when they saw him, they softened. Confidently, she strode towards him, bowing respectfully.
"Arngeir," she said simply.
Hearkening back to the day that she'd gone up to meet Paarthurnax, hearing the bones of the Earth shake under his feet, he said, "Alduin... we heard the Dragonrend Shout from here... you defeated him?"
She started in surprise, having almost forgotten. "Yes, but he escaped. I need to find out where he went. I figured I should end all of this once and for all."
Arngeir's brows furrowed as he searched his memory. "I feared as much. I thought it was him we saw flying east after your battle."
With no prelude or warning, she simply said, "I need your help. I need to capture a dragon."
Eyes wide, he scoffed, "We are not warriors. What is overlooked in the Dragonborn is not permitted to any other followers of the Way of the Voice."
"I'll worry about capturing a dragon. I need your help to stop the war," she said, as if that were the simplest thing in the world.
He almost laughed outright at this. "You misunderstand our authority. The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs," he said, trying to bring her back to reality.
"Jarl Balgruuf won't help me while the war rages." Of course, he thought. She needs to capture a dragon in Dragonsreach.
"I see. The dragon will lead you to Alduin, but without the Jarl's help…" he began, seeing the way this would end.
"Both sides respect the Greybeards. They will listen," she answered.
"Paarthurnax has made his decision to help you. This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems. So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak to them. We will see if they still remember us." he said, worried still that this quest would be too much to put on the young girl's shoulders, and hoping that the two leaders would put aside their petty squabble for the fate of the world.
"I'll be off right away, then," she said while bowing. "Thank you for your help, Arngeir, I'll be back soon."
"You are welcome, Dovahkiin. Wind guide you."
She left as suddenly as she came, sweeping out the door with a flourish of her black robes.
Not days later, a very cold and miserable General Tullius showed up with his entourage. Arngeir welcomed them all, gave them the customary greeting and warning to not expect the other Greybeards to speak to them. Seeking to speak to Tullius, to try and get a jump-start on the truce, Arngeir approached the General, inviting him out to the courtyard. However, seeing that the General had a lot on his mind, Arngeir simply waited for him to begin speaking.
"She rode one," he said finally, confusing Arngeir.
"Pardon?"
"That's the way she convinced us the dragons were a threat. She flew a damn dragon into the Courtyard, scaring the hell out of my men. When she went inside to talk to me, it flew off, but she just shouted at another once she was outside Solitude and headed east," Tullius explained, clearly shaken by the event.
Arngeir was shocked. She'd ridden a dragon? And it had gone where she commanded? Something tickled the back of his mind, and the name Miraak wandered through his subconscious in search of something to connect with. Elisif made her way toward the two of them before Arngeir could ask for more details, and asked for Tullius's time.
The next day, Ulfric showed up with his own delegation, though before any fighting could ensue, all within the mountain froze as they heard the screech/roar of a dragon. All readied their weapons, both ranged and melee, but the dragon landed down the slope, revealing a black-robed figure that quickly dismounted. Still standing on the upper steps, the entire assembly watched as the figure shooed the dragon off, and began climbing the steps toward the doors. Most went back inside as the dragon flew off to the north, including Arngeir.
Hearing a muttered greeting a few minutes later, he saw Mairon stride into the firelight. "So, you've done it. The men of violence are gathered here, in these halls whose very stones are dedicated to peace. I should not have agreed to host this council. The Greybeards have no business involving themselves in such matters," he said, showing his annoyance at trying to keep the two groups civil, and the frustration he had with her about bringing a dragon to High Hrothgar.
"Don't worry. I'll get them to agree to peace," Mairon said, staring with flinty eyes at the Jarl of Windhelm rather than meeting his own.
"Peace?" he scoffed. "I doubt it. They may put their weapons down for a moment, but only to gather strength for the next bloodletting. They are not yet tired of war. Far from it. Do you know the ancient Nord word for war? 'Season unending.'.. so it has proved."
"This was the only way to get Balgruuf's help," she countered, finally meeting his eyes. He shivered at what he saw there. Rage. Hatred. Yet still, something familiar.
"Yes. Which is why I allowed this... violation of all our traditions," he replied, then sighed. "But regrets are pointless. Here we are. Take your seat at the council table and let us see what wisdom we can find among these warriors of Skyrim."
The discussions went just as well as one could expect from two parties that absolutely hated each other. He and Mairon sat at opposite sides of the table, firmly dividing the two parties. More than once during the discussion, he saw her rubbing at her temples, her expression growing in anger and annoyance until she snapped.
"Enough." she said at first quietly, though the assembly continued talking and shouting over her."I said ENOUGH!," she finally bellowed, drawing a Daedric dagger and slamming it inches deep into the stone table. The entire room went silent, save for the crackling of fire.
"I could kill you all with a single word. A single word," she said, looking at the faces of each person in turn, before continuing. "The only reason I do not, is because of my respect for Arngeir and the other Greybeards."
Her eyes were hard as she stood. "There are dragons roaming Skyrim, burning, destroying, and killing innocent men, women and children, and all you can think of is your petty conflict."
She turned to look a frightened Elenwen in the eye. "What difference does it make to you if a people choose to apotheosize a hero?" She pulled something out of her pack, the sight of which caused Elenwen, and strangely, Elisif to stiffen in surprise. "So you recognize this then?" Mairon asked.
"Of course," Elenwen hissed angrily. "How dare you-"
"Don't even start," Mairon said icily. "For those of you who don't know," she said, picking up the bow and showing it off to the assembled guests, "This is Auriel's Bow. It's a bow of high-elven make, belonging to a very specific High Elf that," she gestured towards the sky "became a part of Akatosh. Now, I've done quite a bit of studying, and I've spent my fair share of time in Apocrypha."
The assembled notably stiffened at this in fear and in shock. Not many casually admitted that they had walked a realm of Oblivion and survived, nor did many escape sane.
"I've learned a few things. First off," she said, putting the bow down and ticking things off on her fingers. "Talos, is powerful. Not only is he a spirit of immense power, he meddles constantly. He's also made of three different souls working together and apotheosized as one. First is Hjalti Early-Beard, who many of you know as Talos Stormcrown, the Dovahkiin, a fragment of Akatosh. The second was Ysmir King-Maker, a Shezzarine, also known as Pelinal Whitestrake. The third, is Zurin Arctus, Imperial battlemage, and most importantly, an aspect of Magnus. Through Aetherial tomfoolery, the three fused into the Talos Oversoul and became effectively the most powerful of all spirits, being an aspect of Aedra, Daedra, and Magna'Ge all in one. Now, can we get on to more important things like saving the world?"