Chapter 13

Warm Weather Brings Out The Crazy

XxXxXx

Whiterun, Skyrim – Midyear 4E 201

It was significantly warmer in Whiterun since the last time he was here. Of course, that had been back in the beginning of the year, still during the cold part of the year. Now it was high summer and the landscape had completely transformed. Mousy brown bracken had sprouted beautiful delicate purple blooms, white flowers with bright yellow centers bloomed in between spreads of blue, yellow, purple and red mountain flowers. The crisp air was now sweetened like honey with the scent of thousands of flowers. Elk and deer had shed their thick winter coats and were slicked out for the summer, darting in and out of the thick grasses as Nevano passed by.

The warmer air also seemed to make Whiterun's citizens come alive. Instead of the curious, yet icy, reception he had gotten the first time he had walked through the streets, they were far more welcoming to the outsider walking among the market stalls. The warm air also did wonders for Nevano. The more distance he put between himself and Winterhold the more his nerves settled. Keening stayed safely strapped to his back and Wraithguard secured to his belt, hidden by his cloak. Though the feeling of them back in their old spots brought up some memories he'd rather stayed hidden in a corner of his mind, he felt secure knowing that they were safe with him.

The Bannered Mare was just as raucous and cozy as it had been when he had last visited it, the fire still roaring in the center of the room and drunk Nords laughing and telling ridiculous and obviously much embellished stories of their exploits while chugging down impossible amounts of mead. Gunjar was easy to find; he was the only quiet one in the entire building, tucked away into a corner.

Nevano sat down at the table, catching Saadia's eye as she passed and giving her a flirty grin, getting a warm smile in return, before turning his attention to the Nord in front of him. "You…look horrible."

"It's been a long few months my friend." Indeed Gunjar looked terrible. Dark circles bagged under his eyes, making him look like he had been punched in the face multiple times. He looked like he needed a stiff drink, a good meal and a few days of solid sleep, "Very long few months…though I think things are coming to a head."

"Look, why don't I at least buy you something to eat and you fill me in on what happened." Nevano pulled out a small pouch of septims and waved Saadia over, "I still owe you dinner for making a joke in the Thalmor Embassy. You look like you need it anyway."

Gunjar gave him a grateful smile and over the next hour, and an impressive amount of food, filled the Dunmer in on what he had been working on. Apparently after they had gone their separate ways outside Solitude, Gunjar had gone down to Riften and rescued the Blade Esbern from Thalmor agents in the Ratways. They had then met back up with Delphine in Riverwood and journeyed all the way to the Reach to find Sky Haven Temple, Skyrim's version of Cloud Ruler Temple. After that, Gunjar had journeyed BACK to the Throat of the World, met with a dragon of all things on the very summit of the mountain, gone north across the continent to search for an Elder Scroll, delved into a Falmer infested Dwemer ruin, gone back to the mountain, battled Alduin and now was back in Whiterun because in order to defeat Alduin once and for all there was a very…convoluted plan that Gunjar seemed very hesitant to explain. All in just a few months time.

Nevano blinked, "So…Alduin was the dragon we saw in Helgen. He's the so-called world eater and heralds the end of time. He's been raising up dead dragons to be his minions and they all hold a grudge against humans. Does that make them zombies? Oh and you can only beat him by going to the Nord afterlife and kill him before he can build himself back up from your last fight by eating Nordic souls?" Nevano tilted his head back and forth, "This will definitely make for a great story once you beat him. What do you need help with?"

"Just like that?"

"A Nord asks a Dunmer for help in defeating a dragon sounds like the beginning of a bad joke." Nevano tipped back his bottle of beer. He had no idea WHY he kept drinking this stuff. It never got any better no matter how many times he tried it, "I actually like bad jokes. I used to have bad joke contests with my old guild mates, see who could tell the worst joke possible. Got in trouble more than once for telling horrible jokes when potential clients came in and they would turn right back around and leave. Used to piss off Modryn to no end. My point is, a friend asked me for help. So yes…just like that, I'll help."

"Who's Modryn?" Nevano looked up at Gunjar. The young Nord looked back, eagerly awaiting his answer. The elf was hesitant, really hesitant. This subject was still…tender. In fact, he wasn't sure he could tell it but Gunjar…Nevano felt his defenses melt. Gunjar desperately needed to hear a story, a good one. He had just been through hell and back again and he was about to go through it again. He felt like he owed this kid, the only actual friend he had in this land, to tell him the story, his story.

"Modryn Oreyn was the champion of the Fighters Guild in Cyrodiil back some 25 years. He had been a part of the guild for…several hundred years. He had been her champion for as long as I can remember." Nevano leaned back in his chair, "The guild was his life. He was a fighter born and bred. I know he was born in Morrowind but other than him telling me he came to Cyrodiil when he was pretty young, I don't know the whole story. I never asked. Anyway, the mer was good at his job. Actually that's an understatement. He was great at his job. He took good care of the guild and all the fighters in it, sometimes he was the ONLY one to take care of the guild and its fighters. But by the NINE was the man short-tempered. He was grumpy, cranky and pushed you to your limit and beyond. It was great."

"Great?" Gunjar snorted into his mead.

"Oh yeah. See, if you gave it your all and didn't act like a complete idiot, you would get along just fine with him. Acts of stupidity would get you screamed at, cussed at, head slammed into a wall or thrown clean out of the guild hall and into the great oak tree." Nevano grinned as fond memories surfaced, "Actually he would bellow and curse anyway. If a new boot could stand one round of Modryn's 'pep talks' then they would make it in the guild just fine. If they ran away crying, they would likely quit within a week or two. I loved watching all of that. We would actually sit around and wait to see who the idiot of the day would ignite that temper. He yelled at me too of course but it rarely bothered me. I got the job done…he would just nitpick at me if I did something that he considered stupid. The things he considered stupid I considered 'acceptable risks'. I said agree to disagree but he never agreed to that… "

"You speak of him very fondly."

"Yes…" Nevano sighed and leaned against the table, looking for a bottle that had something left in it, "You see, I was born an Ashlander. But I was stolen from my family and tribe as an infant, a raid by either a rival tribe or slavers. They took whoever they could capture and sold them into slavery. I was considered a novelty because of my eyes. I was sold as a…house pet of sorts I guess you could say. I won't go into the unpleasantness of my childhood but suffice to say it was really ugly. I ran away, I spit, I clawed, I fought, I did whatever I could to make my…ugh I hate saying 'owner', my… 'tormentors', there that's better, to make their lives that much more difficult. Because I was a Dunmer and apparently worth some value, I kept being sold to someone else who wanted to deal with me instead of just killed outright. Eventually, after dealing with the worst scum that Morrowind had to offer, I was sold illegally to some bastard in Cyrodiil. It's been so long I can't remember his name but there I hit rock bottom. I was…ready to die then. But Modryn saved me. He took me in; got me healthy, taught me how to speak common, taught me how to defend myself…just took care of me. He was the first to ever show me kindness. No one had ever done that for me my entire life. I wouldn't be here if it weren't for him. I'd be long dead. He was the closest thing to a f..to a fa…"

"A father?"

The very word, so simple, rocked Nevano to his very core. How he wished he had been able to say that way back when! "You know…I never called him that, not to his face. I was…too late. The Thalmor sacked Chorrol during the Great War. Most of the fighting men were off at the Imperial City so it was mostly civilians. No real resistance, no real reason for the Thalmor to attack. But they did. Modryn fought. He was an old mer by then but he wasn't one to ever let something like age stop him. He fought to defend his home, his fighters…but the Thalmor killed him. He was already dead by the time I got there. I lost it. I slaughtered every Thalmor in that city except one. I cut his tongue out and sent him running back to the Thalmor army as a message of…I don't know what message I was trying to send. I was just mad. Modryn was the only thing I had in this world and they took him from me. After I lost him, I lost myself. I wandered for years trying to lose myself until I came here and met you on a cart bound for Helgen."

"You never got the chance to tell him did you?"

"I'm fairly positive he always knew. My dumb arse just waited too long to say it."

"Oh it's never too late." Gunjar suddenly brightened, "See, I never knew my father. He had gone off to the Great War and got killed by the time I was born. It was just my mother and I, the gods bless her soul, and I was…a bit of an ungrateful child. I wanted to go out and be a great warrior like my father. As I grew older, her health started to fail. I never noticed, I was too busy running around our farm swinging a wooden sword and terrorizing the animals by pretending they were bandits or daedra or something like that. As soon as I was old enough, I ran off and joined a mercenary band. Two years later, my mother died. I went back…just the one time. See, I never said good-bye to my mother when I left…but I got to say good-bye one last time. I know she heard me. Hopefully she's proud enough of me that if I see her when I go to Sovngarde to defeat Alduin she won't hit me upside the head."

Nevano shook his head, "You never cease to amaze me how you can be so damn cheerful even in the most depressing of conversation topics. So, now that you have effectively distracted me from our original subject." Nevano tapped his fingers on the table, "Exactly what did you want my help with?"

"Oh ah, well…you see…" Gunjar rubbed the back of his head, going from somber to cheerful to sheepish in record time, not meeting the elf's eyes, "It's…it's an insane idea. Paarthurnax was the one who suggested it. See, Dragonsreach here in Whiterun was actually called that because it really once held a dragon a long time ago. It was…basically a pet."

"Gunjar…"

"So this plan…its crazy, insane and extremely dangerous… but I wouldn't ask if I didn't think without a shadow of a doubt it would help."

"Gunjar…"

"I mean, I know the keep is old and its mostly historical now but it can be done!"

"Gunjar, stop evading me and stretching this out like you're trying to propose marriage to me. If you get down on one knee or pull out that amulet of Mara or whatever, I'm going to throw this beer in your face and walk out of here." Nevano sighed, "You're going to trap an Azura damned dragon in the jarl's keep aren't you?"

"Oh yes." Gunjar nodded, "I got the Shouts to bring it in and everything. I just need permission from Jarl Balgruuf. I just doubt he'll give it…"

"You are putting a LIVE DRAGON in his keep. I doubt he'll be thrilled with this prospect."

"Yes well…shall we go? I've been putting this off for well over a week waiting for you to get here."

"Would you like me to hold your hand while you ask him?"

"Shut up, elf."

Jarl Balgruuf was, understandably, rather hesitant but not for the reasons they originally foresaw. Nevano was completely shocked when, after thoroughly outlining the plan, he agreed to allow Gunjar to trap a dragon in his keep…and was immediately unsurprised to hear the catch: Gunjar had to find a way to call a temporary cease-fire to the civil war so Whiterun could remain safe (or as safe as it would be with a live angry dragon in the middle of it). Apparently not even dragons and the threat of the end of the world was enough to stop the civil war and Whiterun was apparently in the sights of both the Stormcloaks and the Imperials.

"Are you sure about this?" Nevano asked as they hiked along the road to Ivarstead, "From what I've heard the Greybeards are these legendary hermits that no one is really sure they exist because no one has ever seen them."

"Oh they exist." Gunjar said confidently, "And they are the only neutral party in Skyrim."

Nevano opened his mouth.

"The only neutral party respected enough to broker a temporary ceasefire. No one will dare assassinate the other at High Hrothgar." Gunjar quickly corrected, "Stop smirking, I knew what I meant, it's not my fault you nitpick."

"Of course I nitpick!" Nevano's smirk grew into a grin, "I told you about the man who raised me! I learned from the very best!"

"Talos save us!"

"That won't make you very popular with the Thalmor will it?" Nevano ducked as Gunjar chucked a rock at him.

It took them two days to travel to Ivarstead. It was a pretty walk for Nevano, who had spent several months fighting his way through snow and ice. High summer had come to The Rift too, making the trek far easier though it certainly made things interesting as frisky bears often came bounding out of the woods to play. Of course 'play' actually meant 'play with your food until you finally settle down to eat the battered corpse'. They must have killed half a dozen bears along the way. Other than that and the lone saber cat that Gunjar scared off with a Thu'um, the walk was quiet. That is, until the strangers came along.

Nevano heard them before he saw them. It was impossible not to: they were running along, crashing through the undergrowth like pair of drunken giants with no regard to stealth. He frowned and rapped on Gunjar's heavy armor to get his attention and pointed out into the woods when the Nord turned around. He didn't draw his swords yet, not yet, but he stood ready to draw at a second's notice. Finally they came crashing up. There were two of them. Nevano couldn't tell what race or gender they were as they were completely covered in ragged brown robes and a strange skull-like mask. Nevano felt the muscles in his stomach tighten; these two stunk of crazy.

"You there!" one called out to Gunjar, ignoring Nevano completely, "You're the one they call Dragonborn?"

Something about the way they said it confirmed Nevano's initial impression of crazy. What he could see of their eyes through the mask were bright and maniacal. At best they were two idiots who came up with a crazy theory on their own over too much drink or hallucinogenic mushrooms. At worst, they were cultists. Slightly hidden by his cloak, he slid his hands to the hilts of his swords. Judging by the way Gunjar tipped one shoulder forward, the shoulder that the haft of his massive axe hung over, he was getting the same impression.

"Yes, I am the Dragonborn. Who are you?"

"Your lies fall on deaf ears, Deceiver!" The other leaped forward, drawing a dagger, "The True Dragonborn comes! You are but his shadow!"

Gunjar whipped his axe forward off his back, easily slicing through the flimsy cloth and opening the madman's chest before he could even strike with his dagger. Blood gushed like a waterfall and he dropped to the dusty ground like a sack of flour. The other raised his hands, his fingers starting to glow blue. Then blue fire erupted from the robed figure's chest. Gunjar jumped back, positive it was a powerful spell until the robed figure screamed and tried to grab at it, but succeeded only in slicing off a few fingers on the incredibly sharp Hopesfire. Finally he went down too. Gunjar looked up at Nevano.

"Damn crazy cultists." Nevano said, tugging at Hopesfire, "Nothing completes a nice warm sunny day than insane s'wits in robes screaming one thing or another jumping at you."

"Who ARE these guys?"

"Crazies?" Nevano shrugged and managed to tug his sword free. He gave the command for the flames to bank so he could clean the blood off, "You've become well known enough that the basket cases should be crawling out of their holes now."

Gunjar frowned and picked up a note that was stuffed in one of the robed assailant's belts, " 'Board the vessel Northern Maiden docked at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Gunjar before he reaches Solstheim. Return with word of you success, and Miraak shall be most pleased'…what in the nine hells is this? Solstheim? Where is Raven Rock?"

Nevano sighed, "Raven Rock is a settlement on Solstheim, used to be an Imperial settlement. East Empire Company if I remember right. Had ebony mines there. Seems you got a crazy fetcher to deal with after you kill Alduin."

"Nevano…" Gunjar sighed and crumpled the note in his fist, "This is…far more than I bargained for."

"Don't think on it." Nevano said bluntly, taking the note and setting it on fire with the meager, and only, fire spell he knew. "You have a job to do NOW. Focus on that. This…Miraak, whoever he is, can wait. Alduin cannot. Insane soul-sucking dragon beats out maniac every time. Oh, and by the way, a hero's work is never done. Generally you don't complain about lack of work once you become a big fancy hero. Everyone wants you to do something."

"Have you ever been through something like this?"

"Oh yeah. I was still trying to get all the little prophecies completed, I was being chased by Ordinators, I couldn't really sleep because there was a chance an ash vampire would find me through my dreams, everyone feared and hated me because I was a heretic and no one wanted to be arrested for helping me…and then I get attacked by the Dark Brotherhood of all things. Someone ordered a gods damned HIT on me. But I had to choose: Dagoth Ur or Dark Brotherhood? I chose Dagoth Ur. It took…a good several months before I was healed up enough after that to go searching for the source of the hit but its one step at a time. After all this, after you and I go our separate ways for good, I still have things I need to check up on. Work is never done, evil never sleeps and all those fancy sayings."

"Who did put out the hit on you?"

"His esteemed majesty, King Hlaalu Helseth."

"Wait wait…the KING of Morrowind put out a Dark Brotherhood hit on Morrowind's greatest hero?"

"Yes yes he did, the prick." Nevano finally sheathed Hopesfire, satisfied it was clean. "I'm enjoying this ego stroking by the way."

"Prissy elf." Gunjar rolled his eyes, "So Alduin first…then Solstheim. Feel up to a vacation?"

"Solstheim is NOT a vacation." Nevano kicked the bodies off to the side of the road. The wildlife would take care of the rest. "NOTHING about that island is a vacation. It's cold, it's infested with all sorts of things like horkers the size of those big hairy horses you Nords like so much, rieklings that ride on pigs, by the way the pigs are delicious, and let's not forget the were-beasts because not all weres come in wolves. Yes, a real nice vacation. Just come right out and say it: You want me to come with you and bring my witty charm and amazing sword arm."

"Oh look there's Ivarstead!"

"Lucky for you, Nord!"

They didn't stay long in the tiny town, just long enough to stock up before heading up the mountain. Nevano wasn't the most experienced mountain climber (he rather doubted that time in Red Mountain counted so much as mountain climbing as it was pure survival) so he allowed Gunjar to dictate what they stocked up on while he fended off a desperately bored and curious young woman. She had never seen a Dunmer before and asked nonstop questions at rapid-fire speed. Finally Gunjar, who could barely stop laughing long enough to get a full sentence out, told the girl to go home. Nevano stayed plastered to the wall as she left, his ears ringing from her constant chatter. Finally, after Gunjar spent a good twenty minutes convincing Nevano that the girl wouldn't accost them again when they passed her family's farm, they made their way to the bottom of the 7,000 Steps.

Nevano sighed as he looked up at the path that wound up and up and up. This was not like climbing Red Mountain. This wasn't like hiking through the Colovian Highlands west of Chorrol. This was a mountain that, should it so desired, could wipe out anyone climbing its slopes with a simple puff of frigid mountain air. Even in the hottest weather, the mountain was always cloaked in snow and, even though it was the middle of summer, it wasn't unheard of for violent snowstorms to build up on the slopes. If Nevano were honest with himself he'd admit he was more than a little intimidated. But he wasn't, so he didn't say anything as they started up the path.

"Is it really 7,000 steps? Or is it 7,000 actual foot steps to the top?" Nevano wondered out loud after a while, watching the fifteenth goat in the past five minutes bounce on by.

"I think it's because there are 7,000 steps carved into the mountain path." Gunjar answered, "I didn't stop to count the last few times I was here…"

"Just wondering. Please don't start counting…" Nevano said rubbing at his eyes. The sun was reflecting off the snow, producing a glare that was slowly becoming unbearable. He tried closing his eyes so that he was looking through his lashes, a trick for keeping ash off his eyes, but even that didn't help. He could only squeeze his eyes shut against the stinging pain. He tried to keep his eyes closed and open them occasionally to make sure he was still following Gunjar, but every time he opened his eyes even the slightest bit, blinding light whited out his vision in an agonizing flash that didn't fade.

"Nevano? Are you ok?" Gunjar finally asked, "You nearly walked off the path…"

Nevano didn't answer him right away. Instead he dropped to his knees in the snow and dug blindly through his pack until his fingers found the smooth surface of what he was looking for. Stowed away in a side pocket was a scrap of an old boiled netch leather helm. Actually it was just the protective eye lenses. Normally Nevano didn't bother wearing a helm. He just could never reconcile the feeling of something on his head, constricting his movement or his field of vision. However he had taken the lenses off the netch leather helmet and fashioned it into a band that went around his head. He had only worn them while wandering the Ashlands during ash storms. He had forgotten about them until now but maybe they could help alleviate the pain he was in now or at least allow him to keep his eyes open for longer than an instant.

"Oh you have snow blindness."

"Snow blindness? Are you kidding me?" Nevano exclaimed, "I knew snow was possibly the most uncomfortable thing nature could throw at you but it can BLIND you as well?"

"Not permanently…usually." Gunjar said, "If you go indoors for a few days after you first feel the pain you'll be ok. I've seen some mountain men come in with their eyes nearly swollen shut and bleeding from staying out too long. The older ones who've had repeated bad cases like that say they see black spots in their vision. But if you wear those lenses it should help."

Nevano slipped the darkened lenses over his eyes and nearly groaned in relief, "Dunmer weren't made for snow. I've said it before and I'll say it again. But somehow, we inadvertently came up with some pretty good protective gear. Thank you ash storms."

"You know, the way you talk about Morrowind, I don't know if I want to visit or not."

"I would encourage you to visit…" Nevano looked up at him and grinned, "I just don't think you have the stomach for it."

"I don't have the sto…what are you saying, elf?" Gunjar asked with a mock growl.

Nevano laughed, "Not many can handle our idea of fine dining."

"Oh? What is Dunmer cuisine like then?"

"Ever heard of Kwama?" Nevano smirked, though his stomach growled as he thought about the foods he greatly missed from his homeland, "It's an insect-like creature that lays these massive eggs that're bigger than a chicken. We also eat the kwama themselves. So you take some scrib jelly, which is deliciously sour, pour it over a whole mudcrab, add some hot spices mixed with a touch of canis root and marshmerrow and all of that boiled together and served over saltrice."

"Wait, the WHOLE mudcrab?"

"Yup! Don't waste potential meat." Nevano said, "Oh and rat meat stew. Lots and LOTS of spices added to the meat then thrown in the pot, maybe some nix hound meat too, and throw in some hackle-lo leaves for a bit of fresh flavor. Can add a few other vegetables in there but it can stand alone as a meat stew. Delicious. Of course, don't forget the scrib jelly. Once you get used to that stuff…I'll slather it on anything."

Gunjar made a face, "Ok ok I see your point. Just…stop. I don't want to hear anymore about your weird eating habits."

"Hey in harsh environment like that you eat what you can!" Nevano's smirk took on a wicked edge, "Why do you think there are no horses in Morrowind? The Imperials brought them to Vvardenfell…and the Dunmer promptly ate them. That was a meal no one could resist. That and they were eating a LOT of saltrice and whickwheat. Can't have that."

"Enough!"

Nevano laughed. Thanks to his Dunmer heritage he had a stomach made of steel. There wasn't much he couldn't, or wouldn't, eat. Morrowind, Vvardenfell in particular, was a harsh environment, where anything that had the slightest possibility of being edible was eaten, including a few things that SHOULDN'T be edible but was consumed anyway. The result was an incredibly interesting array of foods that often scared off those who weren't prepared to eat parts of an animal that other, more abundant places, often considered trash.

As they climbed higher and the air got thinner, Nevano found it far easier to concentrate on pulling air into his lungs than to carry on any sort of conversation. The Throat of the World was far taller than any mountain in either Cyrodiil or Morrowind. His lungs simply weren't used to working for useable air this high up. Then, to add insult to injury, it started snowing. Not the cute fluffy flakes that children like to play in. It was snowing thick, heavy clumps that felt like rain when it hit.

By the time they got to the steps of High Hrothgar, Nevano was a very unhappy mer. He was chilled to the bone, to the point where every step was felt like needles were stabbing him mercilessly and his digits were completely numb. The snow hadn't let up in the slightest, instead it had gotten worse. Wind-driven waves slapped Nevano in the face far worse than any scorned woman could manage…and he had encountered quite a few of those in his life. But no woman, no matter how upset he had gotten her, had ever threatened to freeze his ears to the point he was a bit concerned they would snap clean off. At least he could see. The lenses made it so that he wasn't worried about wind-whipped tears freezing to his face. Small comfort.

"We're here."

Nevano looked up to a massive dark stone building that seemed to grow right out of the side of the mountain. He had seen far more welcoming prisons: the icy stones were dark and forbidding, lit only by the offering fire in front of steps. "Ok I keep seeing those creepy looking carvings on everything. What is that?" Nevano pointed to the very archaic carving he had first seen on the doors to Dustman's Cairn on the massive doors to High Hrothgar. Though he had gotten used to seeing them, it didn't make them any less disturbing.

"A dragon." Gunjar went up the steps. "A lot of ancient Nord history is tied to the dragons so they're everywhere."

"Right. Because something that looks like a cross between a goat and a dremora couldn't be anything BUT a dragon…" Nevano muttered, crossing his arms tighter across his chest.

"If you get right down to it, a dragon IS a cross between with a goat and a dremora…just with wings." Gunjar pushed the heavy doors open.

Nevano's reply died on his tongue as blessed warmth washed over him as several massive braziers flared brightly, fighting back against the harsh wind. At that moment he honestly didn't care that High Hrothgar was decorated in that ancient disconcerting dragon-style. He couldn't care less if a dragon with dremora horns and bleating like a goat sent from Mehrunes Dagon himself came swooping down. There was warmth. He could feel his body slowly thawing, the snow that had settled into all the little crevices on his clothing was melting. At this rate, he was going to wet for the next week, or he was going to re-freeze and be a solid block of ice. Neither prospect sounded great but it was better than being outside with the snow and wind.

"Who is this?" Nevano's ears twitched. The old man who approached them spoke with a voice that, at first glance, seemed frail. But there was a definite note of power in there. A power that Nevano had heard in Gunjar's voice, especially when the young Nord got angry. "Not a Blade then? What happened? We heard the Dragonrend shout from here. Did you defeat him?"

"Oh no. Arngeir this is Nevano." Gunjar said respectfully, "He's been helping me. He's not very fond of the Blades. And I did but Alduin escaped. I need to find his portal to Sovngard."

"I feared as much. I thought it was him we saw flying east after your battle."

"I need your help. I need to capture a dragon." Gunjar blurted out bluntly. Nevano swore to himself that one day he would teach this boy some semblance of subtly.

"We are not warriors. What is overlooked in the Dragonborn is not permitted to any other followers of the Way of the Voice." Arngeir said in a reproachful tone that set Nevano's teeth on edge.

"I'll worry about capturing a dragon. I need your help to stop the war."

"You misunderstand our authority. The Greybeards have never involved themselves in political affairs." Nevano really had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Arngeir sounded entirely too much like the priests of the Divines. They droned on about not getting involved with anything but would happily tell you how to live your life while be very clear about their displeasure in certain (most) life choices.

"Jarl Balgruuf won't help me while the war rages."

"I see. The dragon will lead you to Alduin, but without the Jarl's help…"

"Both sides respect the Greybeards. They will listen." Gunjar stood up straighter as he made his declaration. Nevano felt a small smile tug at his lips. The kid was so confident that this plan would work that he couldn't help but believe this crazy plan would work as well.

"Paarthurnax has made the decision to help you. This is the road we have to walk. Even the Greybeards must bend to the winds of change, it seems." Arngeir looked into the flickering flames of the brazier, "So be it. Tell Ulfric and General Tullius that the Greybeards wish to speak to them. We will see if they still remember us."

"There's no need for you to travel all the way to both Windhelm AND Solitude." Nevano spoke up, a little alarmed that Gunjar would actually turn right around and run back down the mountain. He didn't really think to run across the entire province did he? "That'll take weeks you don't have. Send a raven to them, send a message to Whiterun to send a courier, something. They can climb the damn mountain themselves. No need for you to do so that many times. If they're too prideful to not answer a well-worded message then we'll send the next one attached to a dragon."

"The Dunmer is intuitive." The Greybeard said, nodding sagely, "I would suggest that route as well."

"Then that's what we'll do." Gunjar nodded and left to go write the letters.

"I DO have a name you know…" Nevano muttered darkly to himself, following Gunjar into the depths of High Hrothgar.

XxXxXx

A/N: We are getting close to the end of the main quest story line, y'all. That doesn't mean this story will be coming to a close, oh no no no. This story has only just begun. I feel like I'm going a bit too fast but I AM eager to get really going on the main plot of this fic.