Guide:

Dwemeris

Thoughts

"Speech"

"Dovahzul"

Warnings/Disclaimer: see chapter 4

Chapter Warning(s): a dragon being a little shit, people sassing and snark and getting in trouble. Flippancy, #SavePaarthurnax2kALWAYS

EARLY UPDATE! Why? Because I felt like it, that's why.

Last time…

…I can certainly do without the cold, though, I can't feel my toes.

Chapter 14 – Sprint to High Hrothgar

…

Yep. I hate the cold. It's official. I hate horses. And the cold. My toes are freezing off, my ears are freezing off, my nose is freezing off - and thank Xrib for warming enchantments!

My teeth clatter dangerously, my axe is bloody from a frost troll, and Anneke – damn her, stupid Nords and their stupid ice resistance – is walking behind me. The woman seems peachy keen, completely unaffected by the freezing gales of wind whipping in our faces and the snow that stirs beneath our feet, making my movements sluggish even as it looks as if the knee-high frozen water doesn't faze her in the slightest. I feel betrayed.

Once I'm back off this accursed mountain, I'm using whatever money Klimmek gives me to buy a 100% cold resistant cloak. Seven hundred, seven thousand or seventeen thousand steps, it feels as if there's no difference – some of the parts of the 'stairs' even go back down, rather than up, in a winding road up the Throat of the World.

Ugh. I want a good old Dwemer Lift.

"S-s-s-so help me K-k-Xrib, I'm f-finding a faster way up this d-d-damned mountain." I yell into the unforgiving wind, hearing Anneke snort behind me. I agree that there some humour in this, but before my blue lips can twist into a smirk I remind myself that I's not supposed to stand her right now.

At least someone could spare her a set of leather men's armour, so she isn't entirely unprotected against the barren cold. It barely fits her, though, so when I finally get back down – where it's warm - I will either adjust her armour or make her something better. Caught up in musings of armour, I barely hear the strange sound over the icy winds howling in my well-covered ears.

A roar pierces the air.

And not just any type, oh no. If only I were that lucky. No, it's a roar that has recently been featuring in my nightmares.

I freeze on the spot, eyes going wide as dinner plates as panic grips my heart. "Is- Is that a-?" I hear Anneke shout behind me in shock, and I swiftly turn and grab her hand, pulling her along as fast as I can until her legs start working on their own again. "DRAGON!" She screams, and I cannot help but curse loudly in Dwemeris.

Then:

"No fucking shit, now RUN!"

She doesn't need any more encouragement than the blast of fire nipping at her heels, the scorching heat intensified thanks to the contrast with the air around it.

And then we're sprinting up and down the steps as quickly as we can manage, the dragon on our heels and the stone slipping underneath us. I let out a startled yelp when a blast of flame nearly sends me flying right off the slope of the mountain, and wildly waving with my arms, I escape death by the skin of my teeth, screaming like a little girl – which I know I will later deny.

The terror squeezes my throat, preventing me from drawing air even as I pant heavily, my vision wavering and narrowing down to only the barely visible road ahead.

"RUN FASTER!" I yell loudly, and when tiredness holds me back, dragging my feet, I down a stamina potion in one gulp, fumbling with the bottles between blue fingertips, throwing one to Anneke as I pass her by. "We cannot outrun it for much longer!" She calls wildly in return, uncorking the green concoction, ducking and stumbling under another fiery barrage.

I snarl, dragging her back up and ignoring the steam billowing from my arm, hot and painful and scorching against my too-cold skin. "We don't have to!" the monastery lies right ahead, two last flights of stairs leading up to stone double doors.

"Get inside!" I call to the miner, "I'll distract it!" She has a family. I do not. Families always come first. I think grimly, grimacing and drawing my weapons as I turn on my heels, the snow scraping underneath me proving my suspicions – footing is very unsure. The gales of wind whipping about us can easily blow me off this mountain.

Damn the Greybeards for living at a place so inconvenient.

"OVER HERE YOU TOOTHLESS DUMBASS SON OF A BITCH!" The creature eyes me in disdain as I swing my axe to draw its attention, the golden Dwemer metal gleaming with crimson red that splatters onto the white snow left and right. Frost trolls are the least of my problems. Especially the remains of this dead one.

I keep taunting the humungous beast, praying that Anneke can get those Greybeards to at least come out to help me. Whoever even said I was Dragonborn? I cannot use the Thu'um, as far as I know. Ugh, I never should have come here.

The irony that bandits always give that as a warning, yet they don't stand a chance to my axe, and now I didn't get a warning and I'm the one about to die doesn't escape me. My mind whirls and races with possible ways to get around the dragon, to escape and get inside the monastery.

On the outside, I just laugh hysterically as I dodge another fire jet, and this time, the dragon lands close enough for me to get a hit in. Within a few fleeting seconds its jaws come far too close for comfort, and I cry out in alarm when I fall backwards and –

"FUS RO DAH!"

That wasn't me.

The dragon stumbles inelegantly, and I scramble backwards towards the steps as quickly as I can, facing the creature and glancing at the two men in grey robes up the stairs. I reach out using my inborn ability, searching – searching, aiming for that one smidge of knowledge, every last detail of it as it floods my mind. What was that? It blew a dragon back!

Fus. Force. First word of the Unrelenting Force Shout.

I bite my teeth, Fus? Fus, is it? Xrib, Akatosh, whoever is listening, please..! I take a deep, shuddering breath, and the word seems to press against every corner of my skull, crawling viciously up my lungs and into my throat – the dragon pounces again, a bloody gash across its nose and even more livid than before.

Shit. I want to say. Or better yet, cry out like a scared child.

"FUS!" Passes my lips instead, and it hits the dragon like a woman hits a man grabbing her – with a slap in the face. It's barely enough to stun the dragon. But it has to be enough. My throat burns and aches and scrapes as if sand has been poured down it, the sensation making me swallow involuntarily, sending fresh stabs of pain through my airways. Can't pause. Can't wait. I'm so confused. This hurts.

I'm already back on my feet and running towards the beast before I'm even registering what I'm doing – then, very similar to what I did with Mirmulnir, I clamp my thighs on either side of the creature's maw after vaulting onto its neck, my dagger stabbing away at its eye violently.

After the third stab, the dragon collapses before lying still, and the steel breaks off and remains stuck in the creature's empty socket.

Holding the useless handle of my dagger, I let myself drop onto the thick layer of snow with an 'oomph', staying down as my ribs still protest from slamming into the dragon's unforgivingly hard scales.

"I don't ever want to do that again." I moan in protest, even as Anneke hurries down the stairs to haul me up and the dragon starts to dissolve into little, familiar pieces – "Crap, Stay back!" I call at her, and she stops dead in her tracks, eyes locked on the dissolving dragon on the doorstep of High Hrothgar. I have worse things to worry about than a dying wyrm, though.

I'm down to just one axe?! I really, really need to step up my game, why do these weapons shatter so easily facing a dragon? A pause. Maybe… I can use the bone, too? A large weapon will be far too heavy for me, but, a dagger..?

As with Mirmulnir, the light comes towards me, and this time I squeeze my eyes shut and brace myself against the wave of energy that would have knocked me off my feet had I been standing. The feeling of flight overtakes me for a precious heartbeat, and I choke on a gasp as the pain sets in and the name – the name Bexwoljul pounds against the inside of my head, within my skin, on my tingling lips.

The pain in my skull fades quickly, as it did before, and I remain on my back for a few more moments, trying to just breathe.

I used the Thu'um. I shouted. I absorbed a dragon soul twice. I – Am I truly Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr? Am I… Dragonborn?

I sit up slowly, shaking my head so my hair properly covers up what I don't want others to see. Only then do I notice Anneke as she kneels next to me, her brow furrowed even as excitement and awe play in her eyes, warring with the type of concern only a mother can have. It reminds me of Ma. The memory of my mother looking at me like that send a dull spike of pain to my chest – dull compared to the heart-wrenching ache I had before, at least.

"Are you alright?" I shrug mutely, frozen in contemplation for a few moments more, before muttering a rough thanks as I get back on my feet with her aid, my eyes searching out the two men in hooded grey robes, while their gazes burn holes into my back.

And thank you, strange men, for not being useful AT ALL after that first Shout.

I look back at the dead dragon on their doorstep briefly, mostly unconcerned now that the threat has passed.

"Oops." I mutter, entirely unrepentant at the large stack of bones I find. I search around until I find Klimmek's supplies still tied to my knapsack, abandoned in the snow, and I drop it in the offerings chest even though I'm quite sure the Greybeards are standing right at the top of the stairs, seeing what I'm doing.

Call me petty for not giving it to them directly when they just let me fight a dragon ALONE.

Then, I take all my time to pat the snow off my clothes and armour, ignoring how Anneke keeps getting more twitchy by the second. "Let's go inside," I suggest when she seems too close to bursting at the seams for comfort, "it's far too cold to have a normal conversation here." Blinking lazily at her affronted look at my apparent dismissal of the honoured Greybeards, I stalk up the last set of stairs at the side the Greybeards are definitely not, and enter the monastery.

…

The inside of High Hrothgar is dark, damp, still cold but not as much as outside, and all in all most certainly… depressing. These Nords can really do with some colour. Like.. Gold. Or blue. Like my people did for centuries because they have an actual sense of taste, ugh. Greybeards, grey houses, what's next, friendly grey dragons? I snort at the thought, letting Anneke close the door behind us as I take slow, measured steps further in.

There's really not much of interest here, and the stonework is quite shabby, at that. Not even the most accomplished mason could work well under these weather conditions I suppose.

From behind me, a voice suddenly speaks, and I spot four men in total even as Anneke lags behind in awed reverence. Of what, I cannot say. Surely not the architecture.

"So, a Dragonborn appears, at this turning of age." I turn on my heel slowly, not liking how they seemingly surround me thanks to many encounters with bandit groups on the road.

"I'm here because you lot caused an earthquake down in Whiterun."

I reply acridly, keeping my voice neutral and letting a little amusement seep in. Anneke makes a choked sound behind me. Was that a supressed giggle I heard? Well, it would be odd for Whiterun to be the only city to notice the trembling and the loud yelling… I mean, the Thu'um.

I have respect for those who I feel earn it. Like Jarl Balgruuf, who remains steadfast in the middle of a war, doing all he can to keep his people out of the conflict. These men, whilst apparently owning powerful voices they've trained extensively, have not done much to gain my respect. While earning it is quite simple, really.

Such as, say, actually doing more to help me with the dragon than giving me a few measly seconds to gather my bearings.

I manage a slightly strained smile to the man who spoke before letting my face fall back into neutrality. I'll probably stay stuck on that one for a while. I can hold a grudge, when given enough reason.

"Yes. We already saw that you truly possess the gift, just outside." I nod tightly, refraining from cussing the man out only because of my own curiosity overruling the anger. "I am master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards." One of my eyebrows twitches upwards. He calls himself Master? Is that arrogance, confidence, or ignorance I hear? Or perhaps he does not mean it in the proper, Dwemer sense of the word.

"Now, tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?" I blink in surprise, before drawling: "I already know about the legends of the Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr, master Arngeir, and what it means to be such. I might, however…need a little help in getting there. Guidance, if you will."

As much as my pride wants me to brush them off, I know I cannot find everything out by myself. I need someone to help me along, to guide me so I do not stray and let the power control me.

Also, shit, I'm Drak'nakaraat Threinmûr, after all. I might as well write up a will right now.

"Indeed. We are here to guide you in your pursuit, as we have done to those of the Dragon blood that came before you." I am born of dragonfire… I am not even a Dwemer, not fully. I am a dragon, just as much, if the stories are to be believed. Dovahkiin.

"And I thank you for it." I answer slowly, "but, when you say… there were ones to come before me, am I not the only Dovahkiin?"

"You are not the first," the old man allows, briefly crossing his arms, "There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortal kind. Whether you are the only one…is not ours to know. So far, you have been the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say." I hang my head only slightly, feeling like a heavy weight has been placed on my shoulders. I'm troubled by this, I admit. I'm just…

"But… I'm just a blacksmith." I struggle to find the words, even as the Greybeard stares at me with seemingly unending patience as I run a hand through my hair out of sheer frustration.

"I'm not even – Xrib's forges I'm not even supposed to still exist! People expect the Dovahkiin to be strong, righteous, brave, a Nord, or at least of Men! How can someone like me..?" I trail off, defeat creeping into my posture.

Endure. Dwemer endure. Am I to endure this unavoidable fate? A shuddering breath leaves me. "Why pick me?" It's hard enough being the last of my race assumingly left alive after being punished by the same gods that now force this path upon me. Aside from Xrib and Sithis, what god or divine has ever bothered to help, if I'm meant for… this?

"You are a Breton. Most consider your people to be of Men." Arngeir rumbles, and I chuckle dryly. "Actually, most consider my people to be extinct." I look him straight in the eye. "I am Dwemer. I know the Calling, an inborn Dwemer ability that lets me draw experience from others, like how I knew to use the word of power seemingly just by hearing it." I bow at the waist. "My sincere apologies for gleaning information in your mind without your consent. It shall never happen again." I glance nervously at Anneke, who is busying herself with her nails even as I can sense her every sense observing us. Then I lean slightly closer to the Greybeard.

All things considered, he remains rather calm. Unfazed, even. "Reading minds alone is not enough to prove that you are of the Dwemer. As it stands, I ask you not divulge what information you found to anyone outside these walls, or even your companion." I agree easily enough. It might be best to pretend to be a Breton of mixed blood, though I can't use a single spell. "Regardless of your… heritage, we will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfilment of your destiny."

I let out a long-suffering sigh, rubbing my temples agitatedly.

Figured that so very few believe me – but have they not seen stranger things in this world than something seemingly extinct walking the lands, and I'm not talking about the seemingly mostly extinct dragons? My people are… were, extremely advanced. What's to say Time travel hadn't been invented yet? The Elder Scroll my father had whispered to me about, the one hidden in Mzulft with the three keys held by the three connected cities, didn't that one hold information about time?

Shit, has it been left unattended for so long? What if the Falmer – wait no, if the Falmer had gotten to it none of these people would still be here by now. I suppose I shall follow the simple orders of the Greybeards for now, and when Arngeir asks me if I can learn - "My father was a scholar and if I've inherited anything, it's his curiosity" - they reward me with two more shouts. The second part of Unrelenting Force and the first word of Whirlwind Sprint.

I wonder if I can glean this information from a dragon, since it's just parts of their language to them. Learning Dovahzul alongside more of the commonly used Tamrielic should prove useful. I might as well start calling myself a linguist soon.

Once Anneke and I are outside again, she bursts into chatter, clearly having held back out of respect: "I didn't know you were Dragonborn! You should have said something! I almost cannot believe this… I'd never thought I'd see the Voice used, nevermind by a friend! This… This… What will you do next? Shall we go retrieve this Horn of Jurgen Windcaller?"

I pause in my steps back down the mountain to regard her amusedly.

"I'm still headed to Riften." I remind her as gently as I can, "I've decided to visit Winterhold, too, if only to see the college. I want to know if the Voice is a type of magic or something different altogether, and I also wish to find out what my exact role is perceived to be by your people. The college of Winterhold has the highest chance of holding that information, as well as more on this… Windcaller person. Knowledge is power, and power is something I still sorely lack when going up against dragons. Who knows, they might even spare me a lot of trouble and have a Dovahzul dictionary."

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and muttering about never trusting wizards, but the direction that we're headed is no longer subject of discussion, as she starts going on about Klimmek and gaining any possible discounts at the inn.

…

That night, I have yet another inexplicable dream. This time, the strange scholar doesn't show up. Instead, I'm a child again, sitting on my father's lap as he talks about concepts and ideas that my young self could never have understood. Now, however…

"You see, Fjaldi. Time is a fickle thing. The slightest change, or shift, or action, or even a stray thought, can throw it off its path. Which is why something small, like the 'invention' of charcoal, can amount to something as great as our entire written language."

"But Da, what can a thought do? If I think of extra dessert, will I get extra dessert tonight?" A laugh, kind and deep like a drum, echoes through the room, the flickering fire casting omnious shadows on my dad's face, making it nearly unrecognisable. "Oh, but Fjaldi, don't you see? You being here, in this life and era, has already changed Time and Space beyond compare."

I wake up drenched in cold sweat, breathing hard. I don't manage to fall asleep again.

A/N: A Dovahzul dictionary would save so much time. Learn all the words of power from a book. Just like you learn any other language. Can anyone make that a Mod? (For pc players, if anything, since I'm loyal to my PS4). Also, the situation with the dragon is the exact same as what happened to me in-game. I'm walking up the steps, when BAM. First dragon encounter where I have nobody nearby who can kill it for me. Scared me shitless that first run…