Chapter 56: What is Lost in Translation
A biting gale threw eddies of snow against our backs; layers of leather and fur thrashed around us like frantic flags, punishing our slow progress. We had stabled the horses in Ivarstead as the trek was too perilous for a horses hoof, and had progressed in silence for at least an hour as conditions had grown too turbulent to maintain conversation.
High above us the sky was bright and blue with delicate, insubstantial wisps of white its only decoration. My eyes stung every time the zephyrs twirled around me, for I could not risk lowering my gaze. Not since we had passed the ninth marker.
With good reason. I held my hand up and stopped the others in their tracks, for I had insisted on taking the lead. Once I sensed their attention, I wordlessly motioned toward the ridge.
"Oh, the Gods are not smiling on us today-" Vilkas growled under his breath.
"It's seen us," Lydia cut him off. "Celeste, get out of here. Vilkas will find you once we're done."
"Not a chance," I drew an arrow, aimed, and flickered Vilkas a nervous glance. His brother had nearly been killed on this site. "If the Gods have a hand in this, it's a test," I murmured. "One that I will pass this time."
"If they want to test your ability to run," Lydia drawled, unmoved. "Get her out of here," she ordered Vilkas swiftly. "Throw her over your shoulder if she won't go quietly."
Lydia drew her dual swords with an echoing rasp of steel. The sound was immediately swallowed by the winds, as though the Throat of the World had taken a great gulping breath of air in anticipation.
"Not going to happen," I grit out, sidling away from my shield-brother as he took a step toward me. "We take it together."
"Your arrows won't fly true in this weather," Lydia insisted. "You have no idea what you're up against-"
"Trust me," I tracked its movements and – yes, finally it was within range. I loosed my arrow and reached for another at once. "I really do."
The winds were swirling unpredictably; they captured my arrow before it reached its mark and sent it flying to the left.
The frost troll, unaware and undeterred, lumbered ever-closer.
Cursing, I threw my bow over my shoulder and took a deep, measured breath to reign in my frustration. I could channel it elsewhere. Fus Ro it is. "Get behind me," I commanded. Lydia made a sound of protest and I shot her a hard glance. "A Shout will tumble it, but I'll still need you to advance once it's down. You'll have seconds – make them count."
"Do what she says," Vilkas muttered; his fingers flexed around his sword handle before he drew.
I turned back to the approaching frost troll; drew my barely-used short-sword, just in case, and took another steeling breath to focus. The world quietened; perhaps Kyne, in sensing my intent, called for her vassals to observe.
Perhaps this was a test, after all.
If the Gods were to blame the frost troll's appearance, I wondered if they thought our lives a joke. It confirmed what I had wondered; whether there was a nest up here, for I had read that trolls rarely patrolled in isolation. I had to wonder how Klimmek managed the Greybeards' deliveries on a weekly basis, for he was no fighter. I had only seen it before Vilkas because I'd been on alert for this particular adversary, and the wind had been at our backs, carrying its smell from his heightened senses. Gratefully, this one had been waiting in plain sight, tall on the highest peak overhanging the pilgrim's path, which mean it was taking its time to find a way down to us; crucial time that gave me a moment to plan.
A moment that was now at its crux.
As I opened my mouth to Shout the troll into a rock wall or tree, or whatever would reverse its progress, another sound split the silence; a keening, distant but firm, commanding the air to carry it to our location.
My companions ducked; both sounded cries of alarm, but I stood taller and listened as words of a dovah flew to me.
"Ni wahl zu'u naak hi, ufiik!"
Do not make me consume you, troll, flit through my mind.
The frost troll immediately turned and fled.
"It's leaving," I deadpanned; watched it lope away.
Vilkas shot past me and a firm hand landed on my arm, towing me in my shield-brother's wake.
"As are we," he glared at the receding form then to the peak above. "I would rather face ten trolls than a dragon on this mountain."
Lydia jogged into my field of view; slowed to match Vilkas' pace. "Agreed," she snapped.
"Vilkas – let go of me," I insisted, baffled, belatedly remembering that they hadn't heard the translation. "It's not after us."
Vilkas unclenched his hand and shot me a warning look. "What did it say?"
"It..." I blinked; turned my eyes to my feet to watch my step for we were moving faster than we had been before, and the pass was just as icy. My heart thudded loudly in my ears; blood pumped from unspent adrenaline. "It threatened to eat the troll."
Lydia spluttered, exasperated. "That makes little sense."
"I know," I confessed with a huff of disbelief. "But...that's what it said."
They replied with almost matching expressions; I would have laughed had the uncertainty not hung so thick between us. There was no question that the keening roar had belonged to a dragon, so why hadn't it attacked us? Had Alduin awoken it only to order it to observe? And why had it called for the troll to retreat?
Was it possible that this dragon was somehow fighting Alduin's thrall?
"Do you think it...knows you?" Vilkas posed with some apprehension, doubtless confused by the bright hope that flowered in my chest at the notion.
I shook my head.
"Okay," Lydia shushed. "It has given us time, whether it knows it or not. Let's not waste it."
"Aye," Vilkas agreed.
Slowly, as though testing, the wind swirled fresh snow around the ankles of our boots. Silence reigned as we made our final push for the fortress.
Both Lydia and Vilkas were visibly tense; coiled and more watchful than they had been before. When their eyes were not on the path before us, they were scanning the heights of the Throat of the World.
Finally the Greybeards' sanctuary swam into view. The swirling flurries gusting across the pass made the structure look as though it existed on a river of foamy white water.
"That troll..." Lydia suddenly spoke up. "When you said you understood what you were up against, what exactly did you mean?"
My heart thumped, but I schooled myself to express nonchalance. "You know this is not my first journey to High Hrothgar."
"Hmm," Vilkas mused accusingly. "You knew the dragon would scare it off? A warning might have helped us."
"I did not know it," I owned quietly. Farkas was fine now; would he be mad if I told them about the encounter? "There was no dragon last time," I added cautiously.
"Gods," Lydia muttered under her breath, visibly shuddering. "Maybe I don't want to know."
"Well I do," Vilkas insisted quickly.
"There's not much to tell," I evaded just as swiftly with a shrug. "A troll attacked us and I Fus'd it off the mountain. End of story."
My shield-brother's eyes narrowed, clearly sensing there was more. "You call yourself a bard?" he baited.
"Ooh," I turned to him fully wearing a more satisfied grin. "Good idea, brother; I'll write a song about the battle. When I have the time, that is," I added reasonably.
"Of course," Lydia groaned. "So you're not going to tell us?"
I winked at her. "I would hate to spoil the ending."
"You just told us how it ended!" she persisted in exasperation.
"No, I take it back," Vilkas barked a humourless laugh. "Frost Troll Surprise, is a song I have no desire hear."
"Too late," I quipped merrily. "Though I may change the name-"
"I'll just ask my brother what happened next time I see him," he added, promptly apathetic.
"Vilkas, no!" I whined.
"Is that another tablet?" Lydia's pointed interjection carried a frown of confusion.
I turned my attention toward it, grateful for the distraction. Farkas and I hadn't found many on our first journey, but Lydia and Vilkas had found all nine so far between them, and now, possibly a tenth.
"Maybe," I jogged toward it. It was half-buried in lumpy snow; a rock fall, covered long ago by many heavy snowfalls. There was no way Farkas and I would have seen it last time; we had been fighting for our lives at this very place.
My curiosity warred with trepidation; my knees sank into softer snow as I knelt before the stone, for it had fallen from its setting. The other etchings, now a sequence of events, had briefly chronicled a time where dragons had ruled and explained that humankind had risen and attempted to overthrow them. They had failed, time and time again, until Kyne had wept for man and directed an agent of hers called Paarthurnax to teach humans how to use the thu'um.
Pushing aside old, crusty ice marring most of the writing with the blade of my gloved hand, I shuddered, recalling the fifth stone with bitter clarity.
Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world,
Proving for all that their Voice too was strong
Although their sacrifices were many-fold.
Perhaps the words were intended to inspire, but the refrains revealed an alarming truth that none of my history books or songs had outlined. Alduin had come before. He had been defeated, but now? He was back, and there were no armies of man and mer schooled in the Way of the Voice to fight dragonkind as Alduin revived and forced his kin to pick us off. Our armies were at war with each other. Only a handful of people knew anything about thu'ums; most of them resided on this mountain, kept apart from the world and its troubles.
"What does this one say?" Lydia asked.
"Not much," my throat was dry; I swallowed before I spoke again. "The Voice is worship, follow the inner path. Speak only in true need."
As I read the words aloud, the wind ebbed. Crossing my brows at the sudden stillness, I glanced around us. Lydia hmphed, clearly unimpressed.
"That's it?" Vilkas asked. "Nothing of you?"
"Nothing of me?" I turned and squared him with crossed brows as the breeze reappeared; fluttered against my cheeks. "Why would an ancient tablet speak of me?"
Vilkas and Lydia exchanged a swift, uncertain glance, then my housecarl stepped forward, offering her hand.
"Celeste is right. The stones before this one have spoken of the past, not the now," she helped me to my feet.
"I don't know," Vilkas remained unconvinced. "Whoever wrote these intended on passing their wisdom to somebody. Who better than the Dragonborn who would have to face Alduin someday?"
"You're reading too much into it," Lydia told him gently before I had an opportunity to consider. "They are meditation stones for the pilgrims who walk this path," she added. "A message to the Dragonborn would not have been placed on a mountain for anyone to read," she flashed me a glance. "Right?"
I shrugged. "I don't know what they mean," I admitted openly.
We stepped onto a smooth, wider path sprinkled only with the lightest dusting of snow most recently swept across it. Vilkas and Lydia continued musing over the meaning of the stones as we approached the stairs at the base of the fortress, but I said nothing as I considered for myself.
Follow the inner path, I repeated. Speak only in true need.
What could it mean? While I doubted the stones were some ancient message left for me to decode, the tenth stone had not spoken of the battle with the dragons or the formation of the Greybeards' order. The stone had been hidden in plain sight, and its words could have been meant for anyone who made it this far.
My companions hesitated when we reached the landing.
"...do we knock?" Lydia whispered.
I flashed her a look and pushed the door inward. There was nobody to meet us in the entry chamber – but then, there had been no telling when I would return, and no troll attack to alert them to my arrival. The dragon had seen to that.
They have been eaten by the dragon, an unhelpful voice chorused in my head. I pushed the thought away, but my heart plummeted. Surely not; not with the thu'um at their disposal!
What will I do if they are gone?
"Hello?" I asked cautiously. My call bounced between the close walls and the torches within fluttered as the door closed behind us with a thunk, echoing with abandoned finality.
Stop spooking yourself, I commanded, taking a determined step forward. "Master Arngeir?" There was nothing to fear within these walls; I had learnt that on my last journey. "I'm back," I called a little louder.
Still, no reply.
"Okay," I lifted my eyebrows, spun around to my companions. "I'll show you to our room."
The eeriness left me as we wandered the long, tall halls that led to the room Farkas and I had occupied. The hallway hearths were all lit and warm; books lay open on tables beside mugs of still-steaming brews and inked quills. Wherever the Greybeards had gone, they had not been gone for long.
"Food," Vilkas murmured somewhat longingly.
"Help yourself," I instructed, motioning toward one of the preparation tables. "There's no ceremony here," I advised. "No meal times, either. Eat when you're hungry."
"Who makes a meal and leaves it unattended?" Vilkas reached toward a bowl containing an untouched slab of roasted beef.
"Vilkas," Lydia scolded; Vilkas whipped his hand back.
Amusement flickered through me; he wouldn't really eat another man's food, would he? Though when I thought about it, Tilma had always taken care of the Companions meals, and he had lived in Jorrvaskr since he was a child. Did Vilkas even know how to cook? I supposed I would find out soon enough. "Why don't we unpack first?" I tried not to laugh.
Vilkas conceded defeat. "If it's here when we get back..." he murmured with a sigh.
"Yes, where are they?" Lydia asked thoughtfully. "They must have heard the dragon. They're probably outside, searching the skies."
"Or talking to it," Vilkas added with droll humour. "Asking it to leave them alone. It's their job to speak the dragon tongue, isn't it?"
"Sort of," I murmured and pressed on. Vilkas was not incorrect, but the way he had said it reminded me of how he disliked how the Greybeards literally placed themselves above the daily and very real needs of more common folk.
Well. He had insisted on coming, and he would learn for himself what they were about.
No paper flowers or toys adorned the small, high-ceilinged dorm; in fact I doubted it had been entered since Farkas and I had ventured out. A fine layer of dust blanketed every surface including the flagstones, and the lanterns at the end of each bed were cold and long unlit.
Lydia stood in the doorway, her face a mask of disappointment. "You are certain you were expected?"
"I didn't write ahead," I offloaded my bow then pack onto my bed; a cloud of dust surfaced on impact. It was heavier than usual, owing to the costumes I had assembled the previous night. They had been unnecessary for the journey with Lydia and Vilkas, but I was certain that I would have need of them, some day. "Farkas took that bed," I motioned to the one opposite mine. "Those two haven't been slept in."
"Ever?" Lydia murmured as both she and Vilkas moved toward the end of the room.
"This is adequate," Vilkas decided; his pack thumped onto the bed against the far wall, causing another puff of dust to temporarily appear.
"Adequate?" Lydia sat gingerly on the stone bed opposite Vilkas' and huffed bleakly. "What were you expecting?"
"It's really not so bad," I voiced, hands occupied as I freed my lute from its protective furs. I had not dared wear it since we had commenced the seven-thousand steps, for I didn't want it damaged by exposure. "They put me here because there's a bathroom next door," I found a place for my lute on the dresser at the end of my bed, and returned to my pack.
"How...thoughtful," Lydia muttered dryly.
Retrieving the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, for it was near the top of my pack, I flashed her a smile. "You will be thanking them when you're soaking in a hot bath tonight."
"They have hot water?" Vilkas asked quickly.
Lydia sat up a little straighter. "How?"
I turned away; a cheeky suggestion that they try out the facilities together suppressed – for now. "Ask them yourself. Come on," I started for the door, horn resolutely in hand. "They'll not have gone far."
–
They were outside, crossing the flat, snow-covered courtyard I had taken many of my lessons in, walking toward the doors we had just exited out of to find them. A vivid memory flit across my thoughts as I looked across the pristine whiteness; the moment I had been taught Wuld, and the subsequent practise. I had nearly sprinted clear off the side of the mountain; Farkas had not been pleased.
I lifted my hand in greeting as the Greybeards, hoods raised against the whipping wind, turned their silent heads toward us. I had meant to wave, but as my fingers were closed around the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller it appeared as though I was holding it up as proof of my success.
"I'm back," completely useless words, but a more poignant greeting eluded me.
"And you have brought more company," Master Arngeir returned in a curiously flat tone.
It was the coolest he had ever been to me, and I stood taller, blinking in confusion. "Family," I corrected, lowering my hand. "This is Lydia – my housecarl and shield-sister," I introduced, "and Vilkas, Farkas' brother and Harbinger to the Companions-"
"I'm not-" Vilkas hissed.
"Companions," Arngeir echoed quietly, thoughtfully. "My apologies," he shuffled closer; the guardedness gone. "I did not mean to assume."
"Assume?" I echoed swiftly.
"It matters not. What does is that you have completed your final trial," he opened his hands toward me.
I placed the horn into a waiting palm. What had he assumed? "As promised," I murmured, ruffled.
With a small sound of disapproval, he handed the horn back to me. "Give me your hands, Celeste," he instructed patiently.
"Oh," I flushed and passed the horn to Lydia – she was closest to me – then gingerly placed my gloved fingers on top of his.
With a small smile, Master Arngeir lowered his eyes. "Sky above; voice within," he lifted his head; I realised, too late, that he had been bowing to me.
"Sky above-" I hurried, lowering my eyes.
"Under the aegis of Atmora," he continued undeterred, cutting me off, his voice resonant with ceremony, "I name you Ysmir, Dragon of the North."
Behind me, Vilkas sucked in a sharp breath.
Arngeir's eyes twinkled as his gaze flickered to my shield-brother. "I would advise your friends to return indoors for the next part."
I glanced back at them; Vilkas shook his head, slowly but firmly. Lydia cast him a swift, uncertain glance, finally replying with; "Where she goes, we go."
"As you wish," Arngeir conceded with another small tilt of acknowledgement. "We shall complete the ritual further afield so you might observe. Celeste?" he released one of my hands and motioned for me to move toward the others. "If you would join us?"
I found myself nodding as I stepped down automatically, nerves peaking as I drew to a halt in the centre of a circle of wise, knowing eyes. Ritual?
"I would advise you to cover your ears," Arngeir called over his shoulder to Lydia and Vilkas.
I turned on the spot so I could see them; watched as they both haltingly, begrudgingly brought their hands up. I was uncertain if I had ever seen the pair look so unhappy.
Then the Greybeards spoke as one in the language of the dragons, and my concern for my shield-siblings was pushed aside. There were so many words, knit tenuously together by a strange, disjointed cadence that I had heard from no dragon's maw before. Perhaps the words were ancient and had to be spoken thus to retain their solemnity, but they made the dragon tongue seem rigid and uninspiring.
While my mind translated, I understood little of what they said. They spoke of Stormcrown and a worthy brow; of Kyne, Shor, and again, Atmora of old. Despite the monotony of their words, they shook me to my core, igniting the coiling spark deep within me that spiralled up from the recesses of my soul, bright and golden and exultant to be addressed. It formed a shield around my worldly shell, and listened.
It was like absorbing the soul of a dragon in reverse; my mind relaxed, momentarily, blissfully weightless. The earth moved beneath our feet, but there was no ethereal light to blind my senses – at least, none but that which shone deep within me already. I wanted to both laugh and cry at once, but remained silent and watchful.
And when the world stopped shaking; when the Greybeards stepped back and spoke no more, the brightness coalesced and settled not to its darkened recess to be forgotten until needed again, but tight around me, warm and satisfied; as terrifying as it was oddly reassuring.
See, I asked myself?
It was a deep inner voice; a part of me that seemed smug, as though it had been waiting for me to realise something.
The ritual seemed to require only my attention, and the only word I spoke was Dah; push, after Master Wulfgar taught it to me.
It was the final word I had vowed to learn before I faced Ulfric to avenge my family, so it was ironic that upon learning it, I understood with startling clarity that I would not be the one to kill him, be it with Voice or steel.
And somehow, at this moment, that was okay.
As the power of a full Shout resonated within me, I realised that the tenth tablet's words had been a message, a weight of responsibility, and a warning for me and others who carried the dragon blood before me, who had scaled this mountain seeking answers, and left it wielding a power to bring their foes to their knees.
Speak only in true need.
And revenge on Ulfric Stormcloak was not True Need. He was tiny; insignificant. A squabbling, grasping speck, whose actions would snuff him out of existence and history no matter how brightly he burned.
"It is done," the tension in Master Arngeir's shoulders eased; a relaxed smile took its place on his aged face. "You are one of us now, dovakiin."
"Thank you," I let go of a deep breath, and grinned. "You will have to explain to me what that really means," I whispered.
His smile widened, but before he could reply, my housecarl bellowed from the stairs:
"Can we uncover our ears now?"
–
"So they made you Queen of the Greybeards?" Vilkas asked from the quiet seclusion of our room.
"What?" Lydia and I asked in unison.
Vilkas continued to meticulously transfer the contents of his pack into the chest at the end of his bed. "Ysmir, Dragon of the North," he waved his hand, "and – what was it? Stormcrown languishing with no worthy brow, bestowed upon you?" Vilkas arched an eyebrow; I had translated the exchange for them minutes prior. "Sounds like a coronation," he surmised.
"I'm not sure that's what Stormcrown represents," Lydia considered. "You are being too literal. Don't you remember The Arcturian Heresy?"
"What – no," I crossed my brows at Lydia, for while I didn't remember the whole, I did recall that Stormcrown had something to do with Talos in that treatise. "Stop it, both of you. They were – ceremonial words used to induct a – a Dragonborn into their order," I glanced between them; they seemed unconvinced. With a start, I realised they were the same words spoken to a young Tiber Septim by a previous generation of Greybeards.
"Do you see a crown?" I pointed to my head to finalise my point. "I am their student. They would not make a student their Queen. I'm not sure Greybeards even have established leaders, and I'm certainly not...not..." I spluttered; the word royalty caught in my throat.
"Establishing Celeste as their leader would serve little purpose," Lydia added in a reasonable tone. "Perhaps it was merely...the Greybeards way of displaying their respect for her," she seemed to be reaching.
"By naming her Ysmir?" Vilkas glanced between the both of us, aghast. "And yes, I have read Arcturian Heresy," he seemed almost offended.
"Whatever the intent or meaning, I assure you I am none the wiser," I rose; gave up on unpacking my bag for the moment. The weighty uncertainty was a little too much. "Excuse me," I made for the door.
"Celeste – no, wait," Vilkas called after me, regretful. "We're...sorry."
"It's just that this is all so very curious-" Lydia attempted.
I hazarded a glance over my shoulder; caught my shield-siblings' apologetic smiles. "It's all right. I don't understand it either," I murmured, "and I value your...take on what it might mean," I swallowed, turning back to the door. I did appreciate their input; their intellects on the tangled riddle that was my purpose.
"It's okay to be scared," Lydia supplied gently. "I'm terrified, and I'm not the one everyone's calling Dragonborn," she tried to make light of it.
With a huff, I shook my head. "It's okay. I'm," I motioned toward the door, as though it explained everything. "I need some..."
Air. Time. Space.
My eyes fell on the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller lying amongst the clothes on my bed. "Answers," I settled with a sigh as I scooped up the ornamental horn.
"Do you want us to come with you?" Lydia offered.
I shook my head as I paused in the door arch; turned back with a practised smile. "You have done enough today. Relax," I proposed quietly. "Have a bath, take some dinner, read something. There are lots of interesting books," I flicked Vilkas a glance. "You're going to love it."
I closed the door on my bemused shield-siblings and hurried away from everything they had been throwing around; ran from how close I feared they had come to a truth I couldn't bear to wear.
What I had not told Lydia and Vilkas of was the presence that had woken at the Greybeards call; one that I could still feel with me now, like a wispy, silken cloak fluttering around my shoulders.
But no, presence was wrong; it was unequivocally me, not another dragon whose knowledge I had absorbed. And it hadn't truly awoken, either, for I had known it – or I was there. It was more like another sense or new emotion; a piece of my personal puzzle, resolutely slot into place, and my surprise was in that it fit me so well. The Greybeards words, while uninflected, had invoked a feeling – a very strong, powerful idea yet to be realised – or a history yet to be written – that I was going to have to get used to living with. They had drawn up potential to be actualised, like the forgotten words of a familiar song waiting to be heard for the first time in eras.
I had to admit that I was scared. I did need to talk to Master Arngeir, about everything – not only what their ritual had meant, but of Delphine and Ulfric, of my sister – of my encounter with Alduin, and subsequent realisation about the dragons. It was time to put everything I had learned to him, and hope that his replies would banish some of my fears.
It took a while to find him, but I eventually located the Greybeard sat close to a hearth, leant over a book and munching on a piece of plain bread, busily scanning the pages before him.
"Master Arngeir?" I came to a halt on the other side of the table.
"Celeste?" he sounded confused; sat taller in his chair and glanced beyond me. "Your companions are lost?"
"No," I shuffled, trying a smile; held out the Horn between us. "I was wondering if we could...talk about this?"
With a patient smile, he spared it a glimpse before his eyes found mine. "The horn is yours now," he began. "You look tired, Celeste. Did you not sleep well, while you were away from us?"
"Oh – no, I'm all right," I faltered; took a seat perpendicular to his. "What I meant is – I didn't find the horn in Ustengrav."
"I don't understand," he frowned. "How did you come by it?"
"Delphine Comtois gave it to me," I watched him closely.
I regretted my bluntness at once; the surprise seemed to bring him pain. He considered for a time, saying nothing, growing paler and nodding shallowly. "So," he murmured eventually with a small, tight smile. "It is as I suspected. She has found her lost Septim."
"Okay, so you're calling me that too, are you?" I sighed to the ceiling; let out a bleak sort of laugh. Of course he knew.
Arngeir nodded, still sad. "Our seclusion protects our archives from the political circus that has coloured the more...official take on events at the close of the third era," he murmured. "Once Delphine realised this, there was no keeping her from our halls. For years she played the part of a disciple, and in our ignorance, we believed her sincere."
"Yes, she told me she studied here for a time with Ulfric Stormcloak," I admitted. There was much she hadn't told me, and I decided to come clear, before Master Arngeir got the wrong idea. "But your suspicion is false. She doesn't care about me, really. And she has some very strange ideas about my purpose."
"Yes, I expect she does," Arngeir was the one who seemed tired now. "But if you are not allies, are you at liberty to divulge the nature of your acquaintance?"
"I have no desire to follow her path," I fixed him with an open look, and relief crossed his features. "I'm one of you now, Master. I'll tell you everything."
I told him of our journey; from our stopover in Whiterun to the trek through Ustengrav; the brief scuffle outside of the tomb and the necromancers within, searching for the horn. The word wall, the note, and the journey to Riverwood. On how we had met Delphine; the pattern she had found, and that she knew where the next dragon would be.
"She wanted to catch the group who were reanimating long-dead dragons, and thought that if we could get there first..." I sighed. "She was convinced it was the Thalmor."
"Delphine believes everything is influenced by Thalmor," Arngeir interjected wearily.
"I know that now," I lifted my eyebrows. "But at that time, I didn't know enough about her, and was hoping she could lead me to discover my purpose. Which – she did in a round-about way," I huffed incredulously. "But I'm getting ahead of myself. There was a dragon in Kynesgrove," I met his inquiring eye. "What none of us expected was to witness another dragon, summoning it from its burial mound and ordering it to kill us."
He stilled. "Another?" with a nervous shuffle forward, he leaned closer. "What did it say, precisely?" he whispered.
I closed my eyes, recalling Alduin's spell or curse, or whatever it was. The words snaked up through me; clear and certain.
"Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse. Slen tiid vo."
The sharp intake of breath from my Master encouraged me to open my eyes.
"Flesh against time," he muttered, suddenly as white as fresh snow. "There is only one who encompasses that Shout's knowledge. Alduin is back?" he managed.
I nodded once. Given what I had read on the etched tablets mere hours ago, I had assumed he would understand. I proceeded with my dialogue; outlined the rest of the exchange and battle and death. Master Arngeir listened, quietly fascinated and horrified.
Eventually, I explained what Sahloknir's departure had taught me.
"You were correct in your belief that the search for the horn would open my eyes to my true purpose," I glanced down to the oddly-shaped object; smiled at it wistfully. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller had led me on a much longer, stranger journey than I could have anticipated. "Had Delphine not taken it, and Farkas and I not pursued her, it might have taken me years to come to a similar understanding," I lifted my gaze again, to gauge his reaction. "I will save them. I will not rest until the dragons are free of Alduin's compulsion. Only then will Skyrim have a chance for peace."
Nothing could have prepared me for the sheer relief that crossed my Master's face as he sagged back into his seat. "You do understand. You are the first to – but of course," he opened his pale eyes, full of pride, "you see into the heart of the matter. The Gods chose wisely."
I did not feel the sense of betrayal I had when Delphine had withheld information; quite the opposite. Pride swelled within me – I had earned his respect. "Why didn't you tell me?" I asked gently. "When we first met, you promised me that you did not know why I was Dragonborn."
"You mistake my manner, Dovakiin. When you first came to us, I did not know of Alduin's return," he explained gravely. "But long have the Greybeards understood that a mortal with the soul of a dragon would not be placed on Mundus to bring destruction to either their blood or soul kin. It is the arrogance of man that assumes an avatar of Shor must exist to make war; to forward the desires of humankind and overwhelm the reign of the Aldmeri."
"Avatar of Shor?" I spluttered. Sudden, inexplicable indignation swelled within me.
"My apologies," Master Arngeir lowered his eyes. "I did not intend to offend."
"No, please," I tried to measure my tone, but words snapped out of me. "Explain what you mean. I am tired," I resisted the urge to stand and storm away; to throw open the doors of High Hrothgar and Shout my fury into the night. "Just when I think I'm starting to understand what this means," I indicated myself, "I am assigned...another baffling label."
"I do understand your frustration," Arngeir placated.
"Well I don't," I slammed my eyes closed; forced myself to take a few measured breaths. "I don't even understand why you have made me so angry," I bit out.
"And I would never presume to tread the path of enlightenment with you," he murmured. "Had I told you all I know when you first came to us; the secrets of the Greybeards and the minutiae of our order, the weight on your grieving heart may have crushed you. You would not have been the first Dragonborn to be driven mad by expectation," he sighed regretfully, and adopted a more defeated air. "I am sorry you feel I have let you down, Celeste–"
"So am I," I whispered, trying to dash the accusation from my tone.
"- but matters of trust are rarely simple."
Had I not said the same to Delphine? With a spear of shame, the blade edge of my anger dulled.
"You have determined a true, selfless purpose that no dovakiin before you has realised, entirely on your own," he continued, suffused with approval.
Not entirely. I bit my lip to keep from interrupting, for it felt as though he was on the brink of another revelation.
"I am certain it is your reluctance to draw a blade or bowstring before asking those questions that you are constantly asking yourself that will save them," he opened one palm to me, "and by doing so, us," he opened the other. "It is time for you to speak to our grandmaster. I have no doubt he will tell you more, and you will understand."
"Understand what?" I faltered; my frustration now a smoking memory circled by bemusement.
"Man. Dragon. Alduin, and time. Your future through your past," he smiled. "And while I doubt it to be requisite of your destiny, it is my hope that you might come to understand us."
–
The dark night had teetered over the precipice of midnight at least an hour earlier. I stared at my gloved hand, raised toward the handle that once turned would put me outside. My eyes travelled to the dense, grey cloth covering my arm.
Would it protect me? Yes. Yes – I had made the decision to trust the Greybeards. They were not Blades; more pointedly, they were not Delphine. Master Arngeir would not send me out to meet my death.
Arngeir had given me two gifts before I had left his table. The first had been a Shout which meant sky, spring, summer; words he said would make it possible for me to scale the heights. While it would keep the worst of the weather from harming me, the other gift had been a set of grey robes of similar design to those that the Greybeards wore.
"Must I leave at once?" I asked as I had donned the thick, weighty robes.
"As we must travel through time in its linear form," he answered, "it would be best if there were no further delays."
"But the dangers-?"
"-are only the misgivings you take with you," had been his parting words. "Danger does not await you there; only truth."
With a heavy breath that clouded before my lips, I made contact with the door handle and pushed out. A whirl of fresh, biting snow brushed my cheeks, stinging like thousands of tiny needles.
I took a step, then another toward the swirling greyness obscuring the path to the peak. My boots squeaked through the ice and in the distance the wind howled mournfully. Shadows danced before me, cast by Masser aloft, counterpointing the world of darkness with its dusky pink light.
"Companions, Celeste," Vilkas' gruff voice swam to me.
I had thought it a memory until I registered the crunch-crunch of heavy boots and noticed another shadow beside mine.
Turning to face my shield-brother, "Thank the Gods," I breathed a sigh of relief.
He startled when I threw my arms around him. "Are you all right?" he asked; a quiet, concerned rumble.
Nodding, withdrawing, I fixed him with a warm smile as some of my tension eased. "Where's Lydia?"
"Asleep," Vilkas replied offhandedly. "As you should be. What do you think you're doing?"
"Asleep," I echoed gratefully. "Good. I'll be back before she wakes," I considered the peak. "I think."
"Back?" Vilkas began, exasperated. "Back from where?"
"To the summit," I crossed my brows. "To get some answers. I didn't lie to you."
"Your answers are up there?" he waved toward the snow dancing pirouettes before us. "Are the Greybeards trying to kill you?"
"Master Arngeir taught me a Shout to deal with the weather," I took another step, more confident with my shield-brother at my back. "Apparently the temperature isn't so bad, once you neutralise the wind-chill. Watch," I faced the black and swirling north; took a deep breath as the words rose within me. "Lok Vah Koor!"
It had been my first attempt but the effects were immediate; the tempest was swept up, up and away, leaving only still, pristine landscape and a clear, star-filled sky.
"Very impressive," Vilkas drawled. "But your answers can wait until morning."
He didn't sound that impressed, and I turned back to him with questions in my eyes. "What do you think being Dragonborn means, Vilkas?" I asked gently.
"That the Gods-"
"Don't," I cut him off at once; sharper than I had intended. "They have given me an affinity for languages. That's in the past, and we are looking to the future. I have told you everything that has happened, and between us, all we have is a theory; I need to stop Alduin from controlling the other dragons. I still don't know how I'm supposed to do that. Do you?" I lifted my eyebrows.
He pursed his lips; his eyes narrowed slightly. "No. I wish I did."
"You and me both, brother," I reminded kindly; gave him a half-smile.
Vilkas' eyes softened. "Then we do this together," he nodded toward the peak. "We'll be back before Lydia realises we're gone."
"Do what you feel is right," I gave in, because it was easier than arguing and truthfully there was no way I could stop him from following me. I started along the path; eerily quiet, frozen twice by ice and, it seemed, time.
My shield-brother fell into wordless step beside me.
"Lydia's not going to like this," I cast him a dubious sideways glance.
"I know," Vilkas hesitated to sigh; lifted his silvery eyes to the skies before continuing. "But she will forgive you."
"Me?" my breath puffed as a cloud of white; I gave his arm a shove. "You're awfully confident she won't get mad at you."
The bulk barely moved. My shield-brother's eyes flickered my way as he smirked. "It was your idea," he offered a half-shrug - suddenly vividly reminding me of his brother.
"So loyal," I huffed, turning away to watch where I placed my feet on the seldom-trodden path. The faintest tickle of wind brushed my cheeks then fled. I would need to use the Shout again soon. I crossed my arms against the cold; creeping in, but not yet intolerable.
While we walked, I distracted myself from the looming confrontation by musing over Vilkas and Lydia, fully aware that Vilkas would pick up on my regard. They had been outwardly professional since we had left Whiterun, but I had caught just enough beyond camaraderie between them to keep my suspicions alive.
Another small flurry whirred before us – then another, and I stopped Vilkas to Shout the way clear before it got any worse.
Once we were moving again, I cast him a sidelong glance. "You're being very quiet. Is something on your mind?"
He smiled secretively. "Don't say it."
"Or rather, someone?" I lifted my eyebrows cheekily, undeterred.
"You are terrible at this, you know?" he chuckled. "Aren't bards taught subtlety any more?"
I snorted. "Difficult to be subtle when you can sense what I'm thinking," I pointed out. "I know – why don't we save all this pointless innuendo I have planned, which as you have declared, I am not very good at, and you just...tell me everything?" I proposed brightly.
"You'll have to be more specific than that," Vilkas couldn't keep a straight face.
Marvelling at the good humour and the ease it loaned him, the desire to tease my shield-brother softened. With a more genuine smile, I shook my head in wonder. "Love suits you, Vilkas. Don't hide it."
He laughed again; more quietly this time, to his boots. "I must tread lightly, Celeste," he owned. "Companions don't..."
"I remember," I supplied when he failed to continue. Companions rarely found love. "What made you change your mind and let my housecarl in?" I asked.
Vilkas scanned our path, but his expression was still moderate and calm. After a moment's consideration, he replied. "She found out what I am, and hasn't run away."
"That's it?" I wanted to hit the unromantic oaf again; harder this time.
"That's a fairly big deal," he murmured, a little stern. "It's trust. Belief. Seeing past the...monster," his tone hinted at deep-seated regret.
"She sees you," I realised quietly. Wasn't that what all of us wanted; someone to brush away the facades; the titles and uniforms and curses and lists, exposing us but accepting who they found?
"Hmm?"
"Nothing," I understood. "Well," I huffed as we turned a corner; the path grew steadily steeper. "You have my blessing. You could not have chosen better."
"I wasn't asking for your permission, sister."
"And yet, you have obtained it," I raised my eyebrows again; my eyes danced. "Aren't you pleased I asked you both to High Hrothgar?" I pipped smugly. "You may thank me by naming your firstborn 'Celeste'."
Vilkas grated a groan to the stars. "Shouldn't you prepare for your fateful conversation with destiny or something?" he drawled. "Why does he live up here on his own?"
My smile faded and I glanced up the slope ahead, reluctant to speculate because I had only just found out that the Greybeards had a master for myself. "I don't know. There must be a structure or cavern for him to call home. Somewhere to light a fire and cook. I suspect the other Greybeards visit him regularly with supplies," I shrugged. "Isolation must be part of his meditation regime."
Vilkas grew more subdued. "As is often the way," he allowed thoughtfully.
"Until they find someone to see past the monster," I pushed hopefully with a cheeky tilt. "You are together, then?" I queried.
It was another lame attempt to lighten the air before I met with my destiny, or whatever Vilkas wanted to call it. For the present, I believe that was why Vilkas allowed it, and I was grateful he endured my taunts.
"Not as such," he shrugged evasively.
"Why not?"
He arched a heavy brow at me. "Did I teach you nothing?" he asked after a weighty pause.
It took me a moment to understand his meaning. "This isn't a battle, Vilkas," I chided. "It's Lydia."
"Many a lesson honed for battle can apply to other areas of life," he retorted, glancing swiftly ahead. "I will do this my way."
I trained my focus just as swiftly, scanning for signs of movement. Nothing. He's evading.
"If you observe for too long," I hissed quietly in case he could see something I could not, "you will miss your opportunity entirely."
He flashed me an unimpressed sideways glance. "Something's up there."
"Yes," I reminded him. "That's the whole point of coming here."
"Something big," he ignored my frustration, indicating that we move to the side of the path. "There is too much weather on the peak," he grumbled.
"That tends to be the way with mountains," I sighed, but let him usher me toward the dark grey rock wall to our left.
Vilkas held up his hand for silence; his eyes were bright and watchful. For a moment, he observed and listened, then finally unhooked his bow from his shoulder with a curl of distaste. "It's a dragon," he pronounced.
"Oh," I hadn't expected that; if anything I had still believed Vilkas' attention to be on my probing questions. Glancing to the swirling snow at the peak, growing thicker and closer by the moment, I realised that soon I would need to use Lok Vah Koor again, which might draw the dragon to us.
"Probably the one that persuaded the troll earlier," Vilkas continued, grabbing for an arrow. He cast me a swift nod, suddenly the hardened warrior. "You ready?"
My gaze flickered toward the peak again, and I shook my head. "No," I admitted honestly, holding out the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller as though it explained why I had set out unarmed. "I didn't bring my bow-"
"What?" his eyes widened; hard and accusatory.
"Master Arngeir told me there was no danger here!" I defended hastily.
"At least you can Shout," he grumbled; placed his arrow and shuffled forward, "or throw that piece of curled bone at it. Let's get this over with. Can you clear the way?"
Something wrong sparked at the back of my mind, and I found myself shaking my head again. "This doesn't make sense," I frowned, eyes drifting to the swirling snow obscuring our view of the dragon Vilkas could sense. "Master Arngeir wouldn't have sent me up here-"
"You're the Dragonborn and they just named you Ysmir," Vilkas cut in roughly. "This is probably another one of their tests."
"But he would never-" I spluttered in disbelief, cutting myself short as doubt speared through me. With an incredulous laugh, I found my voice. "You're right, this is a test!" I realised, grabbing his bow arm; urged him to lower it.
Vilkas' silvery eyes flickered to me, filled with doubt, and his arrow remained trained. "Explain. I'm listening."
"When I was talking to him," I let my hand fall back to my side; my eyes widened in accomplishment. "He congratulated me for asking questions."
"You are a master of that but I hardly see how-"
"No, I mean the right questions, before firing," I nodded deliberately to his bow. "He said the only danger here was that which I brought with me," I lifted my eyebrows to him; paused as I took in his unimpressed expression. "See beyond the monster, Vilkas," I encouraged.
With a curse, he lowered his bow. "I thought they were sending you to meet their leader?" he grumbled.
I grinned, happy to have figured it out – not only Master Arngeir's palpable relief earlier, but also why a dragon had stopped a troll from attacking us. "The dragon is their leader," I whispered to him and the winds beyond us. A sudden desire to see and speak to my kin overwhelmed me, and a Shout left my lips; this time, an exultant song. "Lok Vah Koor!"
The Shout whirled from me and the path cleared as it had each previous time. As the eddies whisked away, a darkened form swam into view, tall and looming, silhouetted by the light of Masser behind it.
"It's a structure," Vilkas pointed out, shouldering his bow.
"A dragon word wall," I corrected, for it was the same height and shape as those I had stood before deep underground and plucked fragments of knowledge from.
"But where-?"
"Drem yol lok," I addressed the skies, the peak, the wall, transcending my native tongue for the words carried not only a greeting, but a promise. "Come on," I grinned at Vilkas, then ran for the clearing atop the Throat of the World, untangling the horn I had brought from the folds of my heavy grey cloak.
Drawing a long breath, I lifted the ancient horn to my lips, and blew.
"Fwooooo-ahhhhhhh," two notes blared; strong and clear and full of intent.
"Celeste," Vilkas hissed after me. "Lydia is right, you are terrifying-"
He continued to scold in an undertone, but I didn't hear any more over the thump and creak of snow falling to the ground and the shuffle of leather as a form, shrouded by the wall, rose before us.
The night paused; Masser was obscured and the shadow lifted itself up, and up, and up.
"In-Jun?"
Both acknowledgement and question, delivered by an Ancient. It resounded within me, like a victory, but the word was wrong – no, undeserved.
Doubtless it sounded an inhuman growl to my shield-brother, for Vilkas grabbed my arm, warning, begging me to go no further. The tension around him was thick and tangible, but he said nothing.
"Dovakiin," I corrected solemnly. "Wa wo los zu'u tinvaak?"
After a brief hesitation, "Zu'u los Paarthurnax," the dragon replied in a deep thrum.
"Paarthurnax," I repeated in realisation.
"What is happening?" Vilkas whispered harshly.
"Aan tiid," I asked him, eyes darting to my worried shield brother. "I asked his name. Paarthurnax," I grinned in triumph. "It's the dragon that first taught us to Shout."
"Us?" Vilkas' grip on my arm loosened; his gaze fell to the enormous dragon. "The one from the tablets?"
"The same."
"But –" Vilkas scoffed. "That would make him – dragons are not immortal, Celeste-"
"The mun grohiik is correct," Paarthurnax spoke, and not in the dragon tongue but in human words that caused both Vilkas and I to startle. As one, we turned slowly to observe him.
"Life of a dovah must seem unslaad in your fleet-ness," he continued obscurely.
"What?" Vilkas baulked.
Paarthurnax's words weren't entirely correct, but my reaction was not dissimilar to my shield-brother's. I shrugged the remnant of his hold off, idly palming him the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller as I took a hasty step toward the looming figure. "You speak our tongue?" I asked, baffled. "How?"
"The pruzah of exile and bok, age," the dragon shuffled and a rumble that might have passed for a laugh left him. "I am very wuh. And, I had a worthy Jun."
"I hear him, but I don't understand?" Vilkas queried in a hiss.
A part of me was frustrated by the constant interruptions, but it was a small enough part to push aside. This would have been terribly confusing for him; a combination of strangely-formed words and growls, and I had to acknowledge that Vilkas' coiled anxiety had seamlessly shifted into curiosity. "Jun," I voiced the word phonetically, as it was delivered to me. "It means..." I considered quietly, "mentor, but with more, like a leader, too," I couldn't settle on a single descriptor and was reluctant to relate the full meaning; something about king and loyalty and guiding light. I turned back to the silhouette of Paarthurnax; taking in his height with a flutter of nerves. I had seen only one dragon larger than he.
"I will explain the rest later," I murmured hastily to Vilkas, suddenly remembering why I was here. "Dreh mu tinvaak dovah, uv mun?" I asked out of courtesy; if I desired answers, perhaps it would be easier for Paarthurnax to speak in his native tongue.
"Over tiid I have learned the benefit of both. Mu tinvaak as the rok, the sacred words, will it," the dragon lowered his head. "There is many to mindoraan."
Vilkas seemed to understand enough of Paarthurnax's broken speech to get by. "Don't lose your answers on my account. I'll wait," he advised; placed a cautious hand to my shoulder. "Be...careful, sister," he added in a lowered tone. "Eyes open."
"Always," I promised.
With a short hmph, which I chose not to interpret as disbelief, he turned and retreated toward the side of the clearing where a few large boulders had collected. If the winds picked up again, he would at least be sheltered from it.
"Your zeymah does not ov, trust zu'u," Paarthurnax acknowledged stoically.
"Ni," I confirmed, turning back to the grandmaster of the Greybeards. "But he trusts me," I tried to find the dragon's eyes and shuddered a sigh that misted before my lips, failing to locate anything but menacing shadow.
Perhaps Paarthurnax could sense my disquiet; he lowered his maw to the ground so that we might be eye to eye. The brightness of Masser blinded me, and I lifted a hand to shield the worst of it until the dragon's head stopped moving and his eyes found mine.
I stared, stilled by eyes the colour and age of agate and diamonds. "Fah pogaan sul, zu'u lost hon Alduin bel," he admitted. "Zu'u kornav drey ok daal, nuz ni fod."
For many moons I have heard Alduin's summons; weary words, rousing a frown to my face and a sad tightness to my chest. I knew he would return, but not when.
My eyes flickered over his face; took in scars of past battles and wars not entirely won. "He has summoned you here?" I queried, glancing about the clearing for signs of a burial mound, finding none. "Yet you resist his call," I pointed out. "How?"
"Not I," Paarthurnax corrected. "He awakens dov; awakens hunger. There is no resist; only viik of our nature. But his words have long not reached me, while I remain het, Monahven, and deny."
It was a little confusing to speak to him in my own tongue, for it didn't seem to encompass the gravity of what I thought he was explaining. But it was as much as Vilkas and I had guessed, prior to understanding who he really was; he was able to suppress a darker nature through isolation and meditation. "I have felt it," I admitted quietly. "But I didn't know others could withstand it. That's why I'm here," I settled.
"You have come to deny your existence?" he seemed quietly surprised.
"No – to learn how you fight his will!" I amended hastily. "Zu'u fen fun. I have tasted the fus of Alduin, but I have also felt that of the dov," I rushed. "I understand that I am mortal with the sil of a dovah, as Bormahu made me. It is my duty stin, to free my sil- and slen-fron from Alduin's command."
"Grik, hi bo wah zu'u, wah hon hin slen-fron dah Alduin sizaan wah fin rath do tiid," he acknowledged gravely.
His words chilled me: So, you come to me to learn/hear how your flesh-kin pushed Alduin adrift on the currents of Time.
"What?" I wondered if I had misheard – mis-translated him. Whatever he had meant, he had not said defeat as the tablets on the pilgrims path implied. "I came to learn of who I am, and my purpose," I shook my head in an attempt to dislodge the confusion. "They did what? Is that what I'm supposed to do?"
"Dii kiir, the path you tread must be your own. I can tell you only that which has vod; passed, gone and funt, failed."
A sinking feeling settled in the pit of my stomach; not even Paarthurnax, this great, ancient dragon who had been tasked by Kyne to teach humankind their ways knew how to truly overcome him.
"Had Bormah granted me the mulaag to complete your quest, Alduin would be dilon unslaad," he continued.
Dead for all eternity.
"All right," I made myself say; took a moment to close my eyes; to breathe. He didn't know what I needed to do, but I had not expected the grandmaster of the Greybeards to reveal that, dragon or not. "Then, tell me of the past," I requested. "Master Arngeir said you could teach me my future by my past," I recalled hastily, meeting the dragon's too-beautiful, too weighty gaze. "Who am I?"
Paarthurnax made that throaty sound again; the one I assumed was his version of a chuckle. "I blink and you stand before me, asking the same question, bii-miin mal Jun?"
Blue-eyed little guide/king/mentor?
"Why do you keep calling me Jun?" I hissed with a hasty glance in Vilkas' direction. My shield-brother had lit a fire while we had talked; his stern features, swimming in shades of flickering orange, were focussed on the flames.
"I take audience with your past as you bring them before me, dovakiin," Paarthurnax's eyes were obscured as he blinked; upon opening, his cat-like pupils widened, then thinned as Masser's glow reached them again. "Even as you tinvaak, so do your forebears," his small ears flickered in emphasis, as though he were a horse shooing flies. "Some of them are very noisy."
"My apologies," quietened, I wondered again if I was hearing him correctly. With a sigh, I realised that this conversation would be about the Septims, whether I wanted it or not, if he was already implying that I had brought my ancestors with me. Perhaps there was no avoiding this discussion if I wanted to understand my future by my past. "Who is the loudest?" I asked with a huff. "What do they say?"
Paarthurnax's amusement was still plain. "It is I who am sorry, dovahkiin. You ask questions Jun asked of me, when first we tinvaak. I have missed him, these gein eruvos. He is, as you say, the loudest."
"Then," I steeled myself, standing taller, "tell me about him, and how he came to guide a dov in anything?"
"Ol hi hind. As you, he was sossedov; dragonblood," he began.
"Was he a member of the Septim family?" I asked plainly. The stained glass relief of Talos above his shrine in the temple at Solitude drifted, unbidden, to the front of my mind, and I unwittingly shivered.
"He was a child of many families, his vahzah blood unknown to him in laas," Paarthurnax acknowledged. "He was dovakiin, though never named thus, and his sil shone with a purpose contrary to other sossedov before him. I called him Daanteyvo," Paarthanux recalled with a fondness to his tone. "Orin brit ro is not as sizaan on dov as jul would have you think. Daanteyvo taught me to lovaas."
I had never heard the name Daanteyvo in my life and wasn't certain why it was so amusing, but it served to pique my relief and interest; I had been certain he would say Tiber Septim. But this name, a dragon name for a human, meant doom tale undone; literally the story of ill-fated destiny, turned around. This man had somehow taught Paarthurnax to sing, though in the context multiple translations of lovaas applied including laugh and irony, owing to the preceding orin brit ro.
An ancestor who had taught a dragon to laugh or sing did not sound so formidable; he did not fit Tiber Septim's historical profile at all. The moment the solemn weight slipped from my shoulders, as though I did possess some inkling of bygone premonition, several pieces of the puzzle cast about by Delphine and Farengar and books I had read long ago clunked into place. "This...Daanteyvo was the son of Martin Septim?" I cautioned.
"He told me of both his monah ahrk bormah," the dragon mused.
"Yes but did he say their names?" I asked swiftly. As much as I had shied from the truth, now I was on the brink of it I wanted to hear him say those names; both Passero and Septim.
"It was for monah that he came to Monahven," Paarthurnax continued as though I hadn't spoken. "He was very...tiiraaz to leave his brod."
Brod; family.
"He had children of his own, this is making more sense," I nodded.
"Over time, it was for Bormahu, who was sos bormah, that he remained."
"The Septim-Passero line must have continued through the family he left behind...but," I frowned. "Why come here on his own? Wouldn't his whole family be at risk of exposure?"
"He had aged five eruvos when he came to Monahven, and did not leave in laas," Paarthurnax told me with a disgruntled huff. "I understand little of drun, cause for jul," the dragon replied. "I understand what it is to be exiled from one's kin, and he felt the loss of his with all his joor and dovah sil."
"He spent his entire life here?" I confirmed in a small voice; Paarthurnax's grumpiness sent a guilty flush through me. I was dwelling on matters that didn't further my purpose. "Okay. So he didn't know who he was. Then...what could a five-year-old...teach you?" I tested.
Paarthurnax snorted in satisfaction. "He did not remain five for lingrah, as is the habit of jul slen to burn bright and snuff out. We grah many lessons," he replied. "Daanteyvo did not fear me, and when first we met, he named me zeymah."
Now I was certain he'd used the wrong word; brother.
"But see – you doubt him, and deny your kiin sos," Paarthurnax accused, though I felt no aggression from him. "He had a gift for rotahrksit," the dragon continued. "Many of his pelle remain with the Sadonvum-"
My mind raced and my eyes widened. Gift for language/writing – many of his books are with the Greybeards!
"-though he did not pel all he koraav-drey."
Did not write all he saw. "He had visions?" I confirmed.
"Through tinvaak to un Bormahu. He saw vahzen."
Truth. He talked with Akatosh and saw truth.
I nodded again, mentally preparing for the conversation I would have with Master Arngeir when I returned to High Hrothgar. Delphine had undoubtedly stolen one of Daanteyvo's books – the passage she had hired Farengar to translate within – but I would need to see any books that remained. And-
"Fen hi fun zu'u pah?" I begged. I had to soak up anything he would tell me.
"Geh, mal dovakiin. But first, what is your kiin name?"
Again, I flushed; I should have introduced myself far sooner. Of course he wouldn't want to continue calling me dovahkiin; much as I would never simply address him as dovah. "Celeste Passero," I spoke hastily; watched him for response. Did he know my family name; had his Daanteyvo told him the same?
"Your monah gifted you a strunmah title, mal dovahkiin." Paarthurnax repeated, testing the sounds as he ran them together. "Selahst Pahsahro,"
The translation of my name as the dragon spoke resonated, bouncing around my mind; a string of flowery words pertaining to a balanced spirit who simultaneously belonged and was instrumental to all. "No – no, that's not what it means," I tried not to laugh.
"I shall call you Selahst, briinah," the dragon decided with aplomb, adding the more accepting sister afterwards. "And you may call me Paarthurnax or zeymah, should it please you as it did un Daanteyvo."
"Okay," I settled with a smile; Selahst I could live with, for without the Pah Sah Ro it meant little of consequence.
"Selahst, zu'u ofan wah hi, lingrah vod do un Bormahsebormah;"
Paarthurnax did like his ceremony, it seemed. Selahst, I gift to you, in the history of our father's father's and so on father...
He lifted his maw to the skies. "Yol...Toor...Shul."
Fire inferno sun.
My eyes widened as Paarthurnax's Shout lit up the inky sky. I realised what he was doing just in time to keep from taking cover.
My shield-brother had no such knowledge; from the boulders, Vilkas cried out in alarm.
"It's okay!" I snapped quickly, holding my hands toward him so he wouldn't leap to my defence. "He's teaching me," I called over the roaring whoosh of flames as they spiralled on an unnatural updraft, surrounding and warming me.
Not an hour ago I had absorbed the knowledge of Lok Vah Koor from Master Arngeir. He had switched on my awareness of the power behind those words in a rigid, emotionless manner, conveying that when said with focus and intent, the sky would become clear of clouds. I had slipped into the knowledge like I might have a new pair of boots.
Accepting the knowledge of Yol Toor Shul from the ancient being before me was as much a gift as it was a curse, stretching and tethering my mortal coil to a use it was never intended to endure, much less execute. It stirred a challenge within me, a taunt of what I could become, and unlocked something instinctive; a primal means to summon and breathe fire. It was so important and natural that I wondered how I hadn't come across the solution for myself.
When the words stopped ricocheting in my head and Paarthurnax asked me to show him my Voice, I nodded and closed my eyes to centre my focus.
I cleared my mind so I would not overthink it, and summoned the memory Paarthurnax had bestowed on me; both glorious and terrible.
"Yol Toor Shul!"
Heat gathered and flooded my mind, my veins, my throat, then erupted into the world. It was a promise, a liberty; profanity and celebration in its most powerful, potent form.
My eyes flew open and I was breathing fire. When I closed my mouth and it stopped, there was laughter from Paarthurnax and cheering from my shield-brother.
"Rinik pruzah. Very good," Paarthurnax rumbled. "Now, Selahst, I will tell you of vod."
The past.
–
"Celeste? Can you...?"
"Sorry. Lok Vah Koor."
I wondered if the winds were growing as tired of my interference as I was of commanding it to bend to my will. Nevertheless, the skies obeyed, and the downward pass was cleared of wind and snow, for now.
Vilkas and I commenced our descent and I stole a glance over my shoulder. Both wall and dragon on the peak of Monahven were still in silhouette, now bound in pearls of a rising sun that turned the edge of the wall and the extents of Paarthurnax's scales a molten gold.
"Come on. You need sleep," Vilkas spoke quietly; his hand fell to my arm more in comfort than encouragement. "As does he," my shield brother flicked his head toward the dragon.
"I need to speak to Arngeir," I murmured, palming my scratchy eyes in frustration as I turned back to the path. "Have to...get those books."
"Later," Vilkas insisted with a hint of sternness to his tone.
If there is a later, was on the tip of my tongue, but I clamped down upon the sullen, useless words. Besides, if I said them out loud, it might make them true.
Grimacing, I conceded with a nod because I was too weary to fight him.
Paarthurnax had told me no more of my family or Daanteyvo, but perhaps there was nothing of relevance in that regard after all. Paarthurnax and I had talked for hours about his family; his past as Alduin's General, and of how he had abandoned the dragon army to serve Kyne. Then had come the long, terrible story of mortal struggle; how Alduin had been banished and his reign delayed for a future generation of Nords to face.
The ancient Nords had assumed we would not forget that time. They had assumed we would continue learning; continue honing the thu'um, and, over time, find a way to permanently banish Alduin, when he reappeared.
Paarthurnax had not hidden the truth; there was no way to kill Alduin, at least with the small, underdeveloped grasp we had of death. Alduin was immortal; the son of Akatosh Himself. Alduin was not for us to judge, regardless of his crimes.
The ancient Nords had sent him forward in time, to our time, though they hadn't been in control of the when, only the how. Many had preached this as his defeat; a misuse of the word, though they had known no better in the wake of Alduin's disappearance.
And to Alduin's mind, the war had never ended.
Over those thousands of years, passing as a single instant to Alduin, we had forgotten the struggle against the dragons; grown complacent in our fragile peace, and cast aside the Way of the Voice as archaic and unnecessary. Only the hermits atop this mountain, and a fraction of disciples perceived as odd and out of touch with the real world, remained to study it, and even they had stagnated over its purpose.
There had been no Dragonborn to meet Alduin in battle then, but my dragon blood offered me no instinctive means to permanently banish him. There was no clear path forward; no Amulet of Kings, no Oblivion gates to seal, and no legendary pact with the Gods to guide me to a solution.
The only course I could present to Paarthurnax, once I understood what had passed, was that I repeat what the Ancient Nords had done to delay the final confrontation. I could only hope to send Alduin forward in time, and then teach the Nords to remember for next time. Bring the Greybeards', or at least the Way of the Voice, to Skyrim, and pray that whenever Alduin appeared, thousands of years in the future, we would have the strength and knowledge to meet him, and banish him for eternity.
"This is zok revak strunmah in Keizaal. The great mountain of the world. Here the kruziik Tongues, the first joor masters of the Thu'um, brought Alduin to battle. But he was not truly defeated. The bron used Dragonrend to cripple him, but this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad."
Shouts had always been created by dragons whose command of their language allowed for experimentation during the quiet eons before man flared into existence. Like ancient bards and mages, dragons had honed their language and life-force into spells to create moods and mountains, turn foes hearts to stone or rivers to ice and steam, and toy with the loyalties of the mind and fabric of reality. A Shout was a declaration; an observance and offering to the glory of nature and life and spirit.
But to cripple Alduin I would have to learn this Dragonrend, a Shout devised by the Tongues that nobody remembered. The Shout that had been an abomination; a mockery formed by the arrogance and desperation of those who believed they had the right to twist nature's intent to suit theirs.
I could not blame the Tongues for their actions against Alduin, but it felt like a failure to follow the same path, even if it would secure the freedom of the dragons and humans of our time. My actions would doom a future generation to Alduin's fury by the most cowardly means possible.
If I could even manage it. First I would have to...
I shook my head in disbelief as Paarthurnax's regretful words replayed in my mind.
"The bron used a Kel to send him forward, but birthed tiid-ahraan through their misuse. The wound that remains when Time is shattered. With the Kel used to break tiid, you could wundun to the other end of the tiid-ahraan. There you might learn Dragonrend from those who created it."
So, I needed to travel back in time using an object that existed in legends and flux. An Elder Scroll; Kel in the dragon tongue. One of the strange, leftover pieces of creation that only a fraction of songs or books dared speak of.
Where would I find an Elder Scroll?
–
"He was a Greybeard at the start of the fourth era," Master Arngeir explained. "Daanteyvo by our grandmaster; Master Vonius by our records," he motioned toward a memorial plaque, under which stood a small, dusty shelf brimming with large tomes.
Dante Vonius, 4E 1 – 86, the plaque read.
Dante Vonius to Daanteyvo, I repeated, rolling my eyes. Paarthurnax's amusement suddenly made sense, though I did not recognise the surname. "He was a Passero?" I mused in a flat tone, wondering at my sudden lack of genuine interest.
Perhaps because who he had been and who I was didn't truly matter.
"You may find that answer in his books," the Greybeard proposed. "They are yours by right, and may offer you insight I cannot," he sighed at the cover of the book he held. It was bound in thick hide, dyed midnight black. "It is written that Master Vonius visioned of many things. His writings are largely indecipherable, though there are periods of lucidity."
"Okay," a more grateful reply eluded me. "Can you?" my eyes found Vilkas, and I motioned toward the books.
With a short sound of assent, Vilkas knelt before the shelf.
Lydia crossed her brows; her emerald gaze flickering uncertainly between Master Arngeir and I. "And what of the Elder Scroll, and Dragonrend?"
"The Greybeards cannot help you," Arngeir intoned, his expression at once guarded. "No records survive of that time."
Okay. I had been feeling flat since I had returned from the Throat of the World, and had told Vilkas and Lydia the essentials before we had sought out Master Arngeir.
His reply, refusal, whatever it was, still failed to rouse an emotional response within me. I merely nodded, resolved to return to my room with the books. I'd have to try read them later. We had to pack. Had to leave and find someone who did know something of Elder Scrolls. "All right."
"No," Lydia cut me off. Her hard eyes were on the Greybeard, full of judgement. "Nobody likes this. But we cannot sit idle until a better course presents itself. You will help her with anything she asks."
"We know naught of Elder Scrolls or Dragonrend," Arngeir admitted. "Such blasphemies are the calling of heretics, not followers of the Way."
"Then we're leaving," Vilkas turned to me, standing with an armload of books. The shelf beneath Master Vonius' plaque was now empty. "I know where to find a few heretics-"
"You mean mages?" Lydia arched an eyebrow.
Vilkas shrugged dismissively, adjusting his hold. "Same thing."
I faced Master Arngeir again. If I didn't try to make amends, make myself feel something, I understood that I would be saying goodbye to something very important to me, though I couldn't pinpoint what. "I'm sorry I disappoint you, Master. I don't agree with learning a thu'um made by men to cripple dragons. But I don't know how to stop Alduin," my voice cracked; an edge of pleading entered my tone. "That task must now fall to a future dovahkiin."
"You mistake me," Master Arngeir replied gravely. "I am not disappointed in you. I am disappointed that we have failed you."
I met his watery eyes with a frown, but couldn't find any more words to reply, not from lack of feeling but suddenly too much of it. My throat tightened around a lump that threatened to choke me.
He hazarded a brief, cheerless smile, then continued. "Perhaps your journey to uncover these taboos will open your eyes to...an alternative that marries your heart and spirit to the needs of your people. "
Though I couldn't muster a smile in return, I nodded. "I hope so. I will return when..."
I examined my future, flashing before my eyes as a series of clinical points.
Find the Elder Scroll. Bring it to the Time Wound. Learn Dragonrend.
Cripple Alduin. Send him forward again.
Teach Skyrim the Way of the Voice. Hope that they hear me.
It felt false but it was to be my destiny; my legacy, and it was painfully not good enough. I wanted more, so much more, but for the moment, I had no choice but to follow the path already laid by the ancient Tongues.
Find another way, I encouraged in desperation.
"If I return with the Kel..." I faltered, swallowed, and opened my mouth to try again. No words emerged.
"We'll find it," Lydia finished supportively, misinterpreting my reticence. She urged me to move with a gentle arm around my shoulder, for support. "And if not," she hesitated; sighed, and the breath that left her shuddered.
"We'll find a way," Vilkas supplied; a rough encouragement as much as a command. "We always do."