High Hrothgar
23rd of Last Seed
Alduin the World-Eater's gaping fanged maw opened wide, his lethal black fangs dripping ectoplasm. His crimson eyes glowed with violent malevolence. He spoke to Sal-Gheel with a voice louder than all the winds upon Skyrim's mountains and all the waves of its oceans. But the Dragonborn understood not a single word that was issued from his serpentine mouth in the Dragon tongue.
Sal-Gheel and Lydia arrived in Ivarstead early afternoon. Alfarinn took Misty to the stables before heading off to the Vilemyr Inn, leaving his passengers alone.
The Argonian had only slept once during the trip. He promptly started up the Seven Thousand Steps. Lydia finished strapping on her favorite Steel Armor and walked right on his tail. The snow fell softly around them in concentric spirals from the heavens above. The familiar heavenly white landscape of the mountain rose before them like a long-forgotten vision.
A young Nord pilgrim sat cross-legged in front of the first emblem wayshrine. As they approached, he promptly stood up, clasped his hands together and bowed to Sal.
Sal turned to Lydia, perplexed as the Nord pilgrim returned to his cross-legged stance. "Why did he do that? What is he bowing for?"
Lydia smiled and took his hand in her own. "It's because of you, Sal-Gheel. All of Skyrim reveres you since you vanquished Alduin. You are our exalted mortal hero, the Last Dragonborn. Take the praise however you wish; you more than deserve it."
Sal sighed and shook his head, turning away from the emblem wayshrine without even looking at it. "Dragonborn…" he spoke the word hesitantly, but reverently. "Pilgrims would think twice about acclaiming me if they realized who I truly am: an ordinary Argonian tormented by his own fragmented mind."
The rest of the climb upwards was rather uneventful, except for each wayshrine having a Nord pilgrim whose bows to the Dragonborn spoke louder than words. Sal said nothing in return and only bowed back.
"Feels like a lifetime since I've last been here," he whispered to Lydia, ascending one of High Hrothgar's stone staircases.
In the center of the main chamber, a solitary robed hooded figure sat with his back to them facing the perched stone brazier. His head and hands were both raised skyward in silent worship. Lydia held back in the shadows while Sal stepped into the light. The robed hooded figure turned its head in his direction at the sound of his approach.
"Sky Above…" he began.
"Voice Within," Sal finished.
The figure stood to his feet and turned around, smiling. "Dragonborn."
"Master Arngeir," Sal held a closed hand to his heart and bowed modestly.
"A tremendous honor to see you again within our sacred halls, Dragonborn," Master Arngeir of the Greybeards gestured for Sal to stand up straight, and he obeyed. "Long has it been since you last graced our halls with your legendary presence."
"Likewise, Master Arngeir," Sal expressed honestly. "I am as ever humbled in your presence now as the first time I came to High Hrothgar, and every time since. Now, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there is something pressing on my mind about which I felt prompted to seek your insightful counsel."
"Of course, Dragonborn," Master Arngeir inclined his head. "I wholeheartedly understand if you require our help. We all do. The Greybeards live to serve you, after all."
Three more robed and hooded figures appeared and formed a small circle around Sal, a circle of peace, serenity, security, and comfort.
"Master Borri," Sal acknowledged the other Greybeards individually. "Master Einarth, Master Wulfgar. It is an honor to see you all."
"Dovahkiin," Master Einarth spoke in his booming Voice. He spread his hands and nodded solemnly.
"What troubles you, Dragonborn?" Arngeir asked sincerely. "Ever since you once used our holy monastery as a place for dispassionately secular political debate, I doubt anything could be as bad as that now. Fear not our judgement. Speak your mind."
Sal wrung his hands and averted his eyes downwards to his thick brown bear-fur boots. Lydia saw the nervousness in his eyes in the blazing orange brazier light as he massaged his wrists. The tentative anxiety and blatant trepidation portrayed in his face were as clear as spotless glass.
"I'll lay it plain, Master Arngeir," Sal spoke up at length, still daring not to meet the Greybeards' eyes. "Nightmares; persistent, dark, and lucid nightmares. I can't rid myself of them even after reaching out to the Divines for help. You are my last resort."
Arngeir cupped his elbow in one hand and stroked his beard with the other. "Nightmares, you say? The Divines have not come to your aid?"
"No, Master," Sal confirmed with a curt nod. "They weigh upon me like a second set of scales."
The other three Greybeards shared similar perplexed expressions between each other. Minutes of thoughtful silence passed, save for the sporadic crackling of the braziers. Lydia dared not shatter it as she came abreast of Sal.
"My point is, Masters," Sal finally spoke up, trying not to sound pretentious. "I would ask for your wisdom as to how I can combat my nightmares and cure myself of them, after discerning their cause."
"I see. You are desperate to cure yourself," Arngeir dropped his hands by his sides and nodded sympathetically. "We can do nothing else but speculate. Yet these speculations would not be unfounded without circumstantial evidence. If I may ask, what visions do your nightmares entail?"
Sal clasped his fingers together and closed his eyes, reaching back through his memories. "Sovngarde, Alduin the World-Eater, and his devastating enraged Thu'um. I have never beheld such a wrathful fury and chilling vengeance in any other living being in Skyrim or otherwise."
When Sal's voice faded into silence, Lydia spoke up. "Last night, he had a flashback to the aftermath of one of our final battles in the Skyrim Civil War. He confessed to me that he feels burdened by guilt after asking me to fight alongside him. He remembered how I nearly died in that last battle at the blades of the Stormcloaks."
"I believe it's my fault," Sal finished the statement, averting his regretful, remorseful gaze. "I asked her to join me in the War, and I nearly lost her because of it. It's all my fault…"
Arngeir and the other Greybeards hung on Sal and Lydia's every word without interruptions or judgments.
"Your condition deeply concerns us, Dragonborn," Arngeir observed. "I say that with the utmost earnestness, for we are all genuinely concerned for your wellbeing, as is your Housecarl."
He gestured for Sal and Lydia to follow him. "You both must be exhausted from your trek up to High Hrothgar. Come share a meal with us and rest your weary limbs. We will discuss your tribulations in greater detail once you've relaxed."
Sal and Lydia relaxed around the Greybeard's odd stone oblong table. They drank warm hearty Nord wheat ale and helped themselves to bread with butter and soft cheeses.
"I've asked this question many times to different people, Master Arngeir," Sal explained, distractedly laying cheese on one slice of bread. "What's wrong with me? Why are they occurring now, of all times?"
Arngeir stroked his beard again, watching his fellow Greybeards feasting around him. "You've considered all possibilities and failed to come to the answers. You said you also reached out to the Divines?"
"Yes, to Talos and to Kynareth," Sal specified, sipping his wheat ale. "Neither have provided what I sought them out for."
"A supernatural influence, then, must be the most probable cause," Arngeir swirled his ale around in his tankard without drinking it, thinking. "Whatever the case may be, the truths will come to you in their appointed time, Dragonborn."
"In their appointed time?" Sal raised a scaly eyebrow, dubious.
"Patience," counseled Arngeir placatingly. "Let Talos and Kyne move on their own timetables."
"But that still doesn't answer my question," Sal reminded the monk desperately. "What do I do to free myself? I need counsel, not hard facts."
"Yes, we know, Dragonborn," Arngeir took another sip of his ale. "In that case, we offer one potential course of action. Face your problems directly. The more you run away from them, the faster they will catch up to you. You'll never truly escape your nightmares until you confront them head-on."
"Confrontation is the plan you suggest, Master Arngeir?" Sal tilted his head to one side skeptically. "Maybe my nightmares are trying to teach me a lesson."
"They may be showing you visions of the past to prepare you for the future." Arngeir nodded fervently. "Confrontation is the most effective method of problem solving, Dragonborn. Courage is its own reward. Surely your time in the Civil War, your experience in Sovngarde, and your final battle with Alduin taught you that."
"You mean to say that I won't find all the answers unless I seek them out for myself?" Sal asked, his grip loosening on his tankard of ale.
He suddenly became hesitant, almost dismayed. "If the Divines won't do their job, then I'll have to take matters into my own hands. The problem is, I don't know if I have the power to do it."
"Whatever do you mean by that, Dragonborn?" Now it was Arngeir's turn to tilt his head with skepticism.
"The Thu'um, Master Arngeir," Sal explained, taking a bite of his buttered bread. Swallowing, he elucidated, "Since I came back from Sovngarde, I haven't used the Thu'um even once. I've never felt the need. Now I'm afraid I've forgotten it."
"Ah…" Arngeir raised a knowing finger in the air. "Memory is a fickle thing; enigmatic, multilayered. Your mind is not simply a box to be opened and closed, with memories and knowledge deposited and withdrawn like a bank vault. It contains a universe of its own measured by boundless dimensions and profound nuances. This, Dragonborn, is where meditation becomes most beneficial."
"Meditation, of course," Sal nodded, truly understanding. "I think I begin to grasp why you do it so much on High Hrothgar."
"Indeed," Arngeir brought his bread to his mouth. "Search the depths of your memories and rediscover the Words of Power. They remain in the deepest recesses of your mind, waiting to be recalled. They were always there, even when you may think you've forgotten them. Open your third eye and see for yourself, Dragonborn."
"That's it, then?" Sal stood up abruptly, prepared to leave, taking Lydia by surprise. "Less counsel and more instruction? Did I come all the way here for nothing, then? It's like I'm searching for the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller all over again."
"We are putting you on the path to uncovering the truth of this matter, Dragonborn," Arngeir confessed, shaking his head apologetically. "Some answers you need to discover for yourself. I apologize that we cannot be of more help. The Greybeards are an order of passivity, not of action. We are men of devout humility and not of blind politics. Besides, you recovered Windcaller's Horn, did you not?"
"So, all you are able to do is show me the door of revelation," Sal realized.
"You alone must pass through it," Arngeir completed the thought for him.
Sal sat back down, completely humbled. He stared deep into his half-empty tankard of ale, dazed, distracted. Lydia reached out and took his other hand in her own, interlacing her fingers with his. He turned to her wearing a worried and anxious face.
"Can I be the Dragonborn everyone expects me to be, Lydia, with or without the Thu'um?"
Lydia cradled Sal's hand in her own, her smile radiating the brightest human warmth. "You're not just the Dragonborn, Sal-Gheel. You're my Dragonborn."
High Hrothgar Courtyard
Sal stared wide-eyed at the raging howling wind barrier that obscured the pathway up to the Throat of the World. The biting raging icy cold stabbed under his scales and against his skin, causing him to shiver uncontrollably. Wrapping his arms around himself, he climbed up the staircase and met Lydia by the circular fire pit.
Sensing his confusion, Lydia spoke to him comfortingly. "We have confidence you still remember the Thu'um, Sal-Gheel. Now you need to have confidence in yourself."
Sal said nothing and nodded back nonchalantly. But what if I can't remember the Shouts?
His musings were broken by Shouting from the top of the large stone tower in High Hrothgar's Courtyard below. Arngeir's Unrelenting Force cleaved the howling winter wind in half, giving it pause for a split second before resuming shape again.
A second Shout followed it from the far cliffside beyond the metal gate as if in answer: Master Wulfgar's Frost Breath burst the sky asunder in a beautiful blast of powerful blue-white ice crystals.
Perhaps there is hope for me yet, Sal thought to himself, holding a hand to his heart as though it had grown wings of confidence in his chest.
While Lydia added another log to the fire, Sal sat down cross-legged and closed his eyes, retreating into the depths of his mind.
He found himself standing in the Argonian Assemblage from two days ago, showing Shahvee the patch of fresh leather he'd tanned from the wolf fur.
"Oh, that looks fantastic, Sal!" exclaimed Shahvee.
A carving in the Dragon script appeared in the forefront of his view. Superimposed beneath it was the word "Look" in cursive Tamrielic. The second O had been struck through.
Look – Lok
"Sky"
Several weeks ago, he was on the Windhelm Docks, holding a cuirass of steel Armor in place on the Workbench while Neetrenaza hammered it.
"Kaoc," Neetrenaza shamelessly rattled off a vulgar swear in the Argonian native tongue, Jel. "I swear on my egg this Windhelm winter frost is cutting through my scales and into my skin," he grumbled in his usual pessimistic manner, hammering the cuirass hard as if channeling his frustrations and stress into every whack. "I can't abide any more of it, Sal-Gheel, no more than I can abide those slothful, lethargic, thankless Nords who make us break our backs every day for them."
"Fear not, my egg-brother," Sal-Gheel tried to instill some optimism into his friend and brother-in-law. "Spring will be here soon. The honey-golden sun and its life-giving warmth are not far off."
The Dragon letters wrote themselves a second time in his third eye with invisible hands.
Far – Vah
"Spring"
A year prior, he and Shahvee were a month into their new marriage. Sal knelt by the Tanning Rack, watching his wife Shahvee show him the ropes of tanning animal fur.
"Make every single movement of the knife as methodical as possible, Sal-Gheel," Shahvee explained, holding the steel Dagger at the upper left-hand corner of brown bear fur.
She began to make slow diagonal downward cuts to the lower right-hand side. "Tanning requires the utmost attention to detail. Every stroke counts. It's not like chopping wood or tempering metal. You need to tan right down to the core of the fur into the desired shape. But I am more than confident that you can learn it easily, my love."
The final Word of Power burned into his vision.
Core – Koor
"Summer"
Sal's eyes snapped open. Three Words of Power flashed amber-golden in front of his eyes, one after the other, brighter than the sun yet clear as a cloudless sky.
Lok
Vah
Koor
He immediately sprang to his feet and sprinted to the foot of the wind barrier. Lydia didn't even flinch as he rushed past, giving him an encouraging, expectant smile.
Sal steeled himself and faced the raging howling blizzard between the two giant stone pillars that obscured the landscape beyond.
Then he took a deep breath and curled his hands into fists. His Dragon spirit within him was stirring, growing, roaring. The familiar power of the Thu'um was building anew within his body.
"Lok Vah Koor!"
Clear Skies rocketed outwards from his mouth and slammed into the buffeting blizzard head-on, dispersing it instantly and revealing the snowy pathway behind ascending high into the mountains, to the Throat of the World.
Sal burst into laughter, wild, proud, a mix triumphant and relieved. He pumped his fists in the air and danced on the spot.
"I remembered it! Clear Skies! I've still got the Thu'um!"
"That's the Dragonborn I remember!" Lydia exclaimed at the top of her lungs, joining Sal in his victorious cheering laughter.
Sal turned to Lydia. "Lydia, for your own safety, I think you should stay here. I only need to talk to Paarthurnax and Odahviing. It shouldn't take me too long."
He flinched as Lydia abruptly thrust herself in front of him. She held her armored arms out between the stone pillars like a human barrier, glaring disapprovingly at the leafgreen-scaled Argonian.
"Sal-Gheel, if you think for one single second that I'm going to let you do this alone, believe me when I say that you are setting yourself up for a divine smackdown. If you're going through something, I'm tagging along to find the solution with you."
"Why?" Sal folded his arms incredulously and resisted the urge to snark. "Because you're my Housecarl?"
"No," Lydia stated forcefully and fixed Sal with a bold, hard, and confidently assertive glare. "Because you're my Thane, and I am sworn to carry your burdens. I don't care how strong you think you are, Dragonborn. Don't think for one gods-forsaken second that you don't need me. You're having nightmares. You're under a lot of stress and anxiety. Your mind is unstable and full of confusion."
"Unstable?" Sal suddenly snapped. "Understatement of the era, Lydia. I'm a loose cannon waiting for someone or something to light my fuse!"
"Exactly!" Lydia retorted, grabbing Sal tight by the shoulders. "These are not the kinds of problems you face on your own. I already know who Paarthurnax and Odahviing are. I was there when we met Paarthurnax for the very first time on the Throat of the World. Don't think I've ever forgotten the day when we trapped Odahviing in Dragonsreach. I'm going with you whether the Dragons or the Greybeards or even you like it or not. I am Lydia, Housecarl of Whiterun; and I don't take rubbish from anyone, not even the great and legendary Dragonborn. So, snap out of this closed-minded selfishness, Sal-Gheel. Or Talos help me, I will smack you senseless myself!"
Sal could not mistake the fire burning in her eyes; a Nord's fire. If looks could kill, she'd burn holes through my skull, he admitted to himself.
"All right. You can come, Lydia."
Lydia nodded over his shoulder, and Sal turned around to see Arngeir coming up the steps.
"I heard your Clear Skies from the tower. Your Thu'um rings within you the same as it did a year ago; the same as it always has. I knew you could do it. Well done indeed, Dragonborn. You've made us proud."
"Thank you, Master Arngeir," Sal nodded meekly. "We'll be going up to see Paarthurnax and Odahviing now."
"May the aspect of Akatosh walk ever by your sides, Dragonborn and Housecarl."
The Throat of the World
The Throat of the World was calmly serene, devoid of its usual storms and instead treated to an enchantingly peaceful snowfall strewn about every which-way by the eastern mountain winds. Paarthurnax rested meditatively upon the side of the Word Wall. When Sal walked up to him, he saw the hint of a smile on the ancient Dragon's face.
"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin!"
"Drem Yol Lok, Paarthurnax!"
As before, Lydia remained outside of the Word Wall while Sal stood within it below Paarthurnax.
"Zu'u siiv hin dov zii, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax spoke to Sal kindly in that familiar, profound, venerable voice. "I sensed your Dragon spirit coming to my mountain. For what need have you come to the Monahven, the Throat of the World? Lingrah vod tiid. It has been a long-ago time since you last came here."
"I'm afraid I am the courier of terrible news, Paarthurnax," Sal explained, heaving an impatient sigh for having to describe his problem for perhaps the third time that week. "Though I loathe to be the one to break the everlasting peacefulness of the Throat of the World, I feel compelled to do so. I have been cursed with a strange blight, Paarthurnax. Nightmares."
"Nightmares?" repeated Paarthurnax. "Such troubles are a mortal plague, a concept unknown to the dov. What torments you, Dovahkiin? What haunts your nightly visions?"
Sal closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out with a long calming exhale. He looked over his shoulder at Lydia, who mouthed at him, "It's all right."
Sal again stared down at his snow boots, not meeting Paarthurnax's eyes.
"I see the multicolored skies of Sovngarde. I feel the thick foggy blue-white mists plaguing its grounds. I hear the whispers and murmurs of the dead of Skyrim. Then, in the distance, I sense Alduin the World-Eater. He hovers above the Hall of Valor, watching and waiting. I hear his powerful voice in my head, taunting me.
"Then, at last, I stand alongside your Three Tongues, Paarthurnax. Alduin descends like a massive godlike shadow. He insults his four challengers; me, most of all. We fought him in a violently vicious conflict of Voices. The combined four-fold echoes of Dragonrend ring in my head to this day. Alduin roars profanities and derisions in the Dragon language. He opens his mouth wide as though he intends to eat me. That's the moment my nightmares end. I wake up the moment before he is vanquished."
He looked up at Paarthurnax, who gazed back at him with that same unreadable expression.
"Hmm…." Paarthurnax mused aloud. "I sense that you do not know where your vulon vol¸ your night horrors, came from?"
"No, Paarthurnax," Sal shook his head. "Which is why I came to you and the Greybeards for answers."
Paarthurnax turned his head to the left, and Sal followed his gaze. There in the corner rose the mysterious Time-Wound, the physical manifestation of a Dragon Break, swirling and lifting aimlessly into the air without cease or discharge.
"The Time-Wound…" Sal observed in an awed whisper. "It's still there. Could it be responsible for what's happening to me?"
"Tinvaak hin morah." Paarthurnax turned back to him. "Speak your thoughts."
"I know it's not a Daedric influence, otherwise I'd recognize it right away," Sal looked back at Paarthurnax and counted off on his fingers. "No dark magic curses of any kind, either. I'm also certainly not the type to have an overactive imagination. So, by process of elimination, what could it be?"
He was suddenly cut off by a roar of "Dovahkiin!"
Lydia instinctively jumped backwards and landed on her rear end in the snow. In her place landed a red Dragon between him and Paarthurnax, kicking up snow everywhere. Sal shook off the sudden wave of snow and greeted him with a broad fanged smile from ear to ear.
"Odahviing!"
"Wuth fahdon, Dovahkiin!" Odahviing greeted him cheerfully back. "Drem Yol Lok! Many greetings, old friend and fellow dovah!"
"The same to you, Odahviing!" Sal hit his fist to his chest to return the greeting. Lydia got safely to her feet and gave Sal a thumbs-up.
"I overheard you and the Old One talking, and already knew of your plight, Dovahkiin," Odahviing reassured Sal.
"No harm done, Odahviing," Sal waved a hand dismissively to likewise comfort the red Dragon. "You were right to eavesdrop. I need answers," he emphasized more forcibly. "Truth, wisdom, insight, whatever you call it. I don't know how much longer I can handle these nightmares. I feel like my very mind is being ripped apart and they are preying on my mental health."
"Ov hin onikaan," Paarthurnax advised him. "Trust your wisdom. You already know the answer to your own question."
Sal looked back at the Time-Wound. As if in some sudden trance, he walked to it in wordless silence.
It seemed to magnetically draw him in. He stepped within it and closed his eyes.
His mind bent and twisted and turned, pulling apart and snapping back together again. Flashes of bright blue-white celestial light, shining star constellations, unnatural shapes and esoteric symbols flickered erratically in his pupils before disappearing. Voices louder than the winds resounded in his ears like a disordered toneless chorus, although he scarcely made out what they said.
His eyes opened, and his face fell with dawning horrific realization.
"The Elder Scroll!"
"Geh, Dovahkiin," confirmed Paarthurnax. "The Kel, the Elder Scroll. Tafiir hin hahdrim. It made a thief of your mind. Deep in your heart, you always knew this to be true."
"But why?" Sal whispered, coming out of the Time-Wound. The voices in his head faded to silence and the mountain filled his vision once again. "It was the Elder Scroll!" he raised his voice. "I don't deny that I always knew the truth, if not subconsciously. But why is this happening to me? That Elder Scroll was the only means for me to learn the Dragonrend Shout to defeat Alduin!"
"Durre suleyk, a path to cursed power," Odahviing clarified. "When you read the Kel, you allowed it to gahrot hin hahdrim, steal your mind. Its power transferred onto you. We see its effects. You suffer from it, Dovahkiin."
Sal held a hand to his head, his eyes widening. "Of course! The Elder Scroll! While it showed me the vision of Alduin's banishment and granted me the knowledge of the Dragonrend Shout, it imprinted its information onto me! My nightmares must be a result of the residual aftereffect of the Scroll! It's been stirring my memories and twisting them into nightmares!"
He dropped his head into his hands. "Xuth!" he swore in Jel. "Kaoc! Waxthuhi! Why didn't I see it earlier?"
"It all makes perfect sense, Sal!" Lydia came up to him and placed her comforting hands on his shoulders. "Don't you remember what Septimus Signus said? Most go mad within days of reading the Scrolls on end without the discipline or proper mental protection against its power. Those truly unlucky enough eventually lose their sight and live forever with permanent blindness."
"You're not helping, Lydia!" Sal shouted at her angrily, growling into his palms.
"Such is the nature of the Elder Scrolls," Paarthurnax chimed in, attempting to stop Sal and Lydia from arguing. "They exist and they do not exist. They are and they are not. They are perpetual and perennial. Kruziik Kel los unslaad. The ancient Elder Scroll is eternal."
"Consider yourself blessed, Dovahkiin," Odahviing added. "Your dovah spirit protected you from the most adverse effects. But be wary now that you know the truth. Leh hin zii liivrah; lest your spirit diminish. Your mind may not be so stable now that it has discovered such a terrible truth."
Sal straightened up. He and Lydia walked back to the Word Wall and stood between the two Dragons. "What do I do now? How do I cure myself? Do I simply wait for the Elder Scroll to go away?"
"Niid," Paarthurnax answered, shifting his weight. "It is not as simple as that. The Elder Scroll's power is already ingrained deeply inside of you."
"Alduin is gone!" Sal raised his voice above the winds of the mountain. "I defeated him in Sovngarde! The Dragons in his service have converted to the Way of the Voice! Ulfric Stormcloak is slain and the Empire won the Skyrim Civil War! I was never supposed to have problems after this! The Elder Scroll meant to show me Dragonrend that one time and then nothing else beyond that! It wasn't designed to linger in my mind the way it is! Why is this happening?!"
"Sal, I wish there was an answer, I truly do!" Lydia sighed and stared at Sal sympathetically. "But I'm at a loss about what to do now that we know what's happened."
"Tell me what to do!" Sal screamed at the top of his lungs at the two Dragons, desperately, furiously, helplessly. "Help me get the Elder Scroll out of my head!"
"Krosis," Odahviing expressed flatly. "Our apologies. Mal mindok. We know little about how to help you."
Sal roared at the top of his lungs, his frustration and impatience boiling to the surface. Paarthurnax and Odahviing did not budge. Lydia gaped at Sal, surprised, fearful, conflicted.
Sal clutched at his head, staggered backwards and hit the Word Wall, half-slouching against it. Lydia held back a strangled sob and clapped a hand to her mouth, staring at him pitifully.
"The Thu'um remains alive and well in you, Dovahkiin," Odahviing observed. "We sense it. That is a sign that you are stronger than you think. Let the Way of the Voice be your miraad, your doorway, to true enlightenment."
"Lahvraan hin mulaag, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax counseled. "Gather your strength. You will find the answers on your own."
"On my own?" Sal grumbled, bending over and dropping his head between his knees, rocking unsteadily on the spot. "I don't have the strength to wait that long! I need the solution now! Get these nightmares out of my head before they get worse! I want this blasted Elder Scroll gone!"
"That begs the question," Lydia turned to Sal with sincere confusion. "What did you do to the Elder Scroll after you came back from Sovngarde?"
"I donated it to the College of Winterhold," Sal explained, resting his hands on his knees and ventilating, still hunched over. "I knew they could use it more than me. No doubt Urag-gro Shub is keeping it under locks and keys of both the mundane and the arcane type."
"Your life is now your own, Dovahkiin," counseled Paarthurnax. "Your Thu'um remains as strong as ever before, perhaps even more so now. Kulaan ahrk dovah; you are a prince among the dovah. Do not ever forget that."
"We helped you find the truth, Dovahkiin," added Odahviing. "You decide what to do with it."
Feeling utterly chastised and pacified, Sal bowed low to the two Dragons. "Thank you, Paarthurnax and Odahviing. I appreciate and accept your timeless wisdom. I'll be returning to High Hrothgar. I hope to see you two again someday."
"You are one of the dovah," Paarthurnax reminded him as Odahviing resumed his flight. "Never forget you have a place here at the Monahven. We are both honored to count you amongst our fron, our kin."
"Before I go," Sal stepped up to the Word Wall till he was standing directly below Paarthurnax's nose. "For old times' sake, I wish to meditate upon a Word of Power."
"Which calls to you, Dovahkiin?" Paarthurnax stared down kindly at Sal. "Fus, Feim, or Yol?"
Sal considered it for a few seconds. What Word of Power did he most desire to remember at this time? "Feim, Paarthurnax."
"'Fade' in your tongue – mortals have greater affinity for this word than the Dov," Paarthurnax explained. "Everything mortal fades away in time, but the spirit remains. Ponder the meaning of spirit. Unslaad zii. Where mortal flesh may wither and die, the spirit endures. That is Feim, let that meaning fill you. Su'um ahrk morah – breath and focus. You will find that your spirit will give you more strength."
Sal bowed again, and Lydia followed suit. "Thank you again, Paarthurnax. Farewell."
He began climbing down the path back to High Hrothgar, Lydia right on his tail.
High Hrothgar, Main Chamber
"The Elder Scroll?!"
Arngeir folded his arms in adamantly fierce disapproval, shaking his head at Sal.
"I honestly expected much better from you, Dragonborn, learning a Shout from the power of an Elder Scroll."
"My last resort!" Sal retorted, stepping forward in an uncharacteristically confrontational manner. "Paarthurnax suggested it! It was the only way I could learn Dragonrend to defeat Alduin in Sovngarde! You knew this, Arngeir!"
"To learn an unnatural Shout through the use of an Elder Scroll is utter blasphemy!" Arngeir lifted a rebuking finger in the air. Lydia backed away, but Sal stood resolute, defiant. "It defies all convention and opposes a lifetime of study through long meditation!"
"But you also know that I ultimately had no choice in the matter," Sal reminded him, pointing a reminding finger at the monk. "Neither did Paarthurnax and neither did the Three Tongues. They developed Dragonrend out of desperation. It was a Shout born of their collective hatred and rage towards Alduin. I looked upon the Elder Scroll, and now I'm paying the price for it. The Scroll is the cause of my nightmares. It's the cause of everything, affecting my mind in ways I never thought possible."
"Mark you, Dragonborn, we do not frown upon the Elder Scrolls by their very nature," Arngeir folded his arms within his sleeves, lowering his voice to a grave tone. "We do not hate the Scrolls themselves; we only discourage its usage to learn the Way of the Voice. That being said, your initial animosity is well-founded. I wish to harbor no ill will towards you, and the others feel the same."
"As do we, Master Arngeir," Sal inclined his head submissively. "You showed me the door of revelation and I passed through it. It led me to the truth: that the Elder Scroll is responsible for all of my problems. So, you did help me, even if you don't think you did."
"You know the cause," Arngeir observed knowingly. "Now you must find the cure. I anticipate that will be much the harder task."
"Not as hard as slaying the firstborn of Akatosh," Sal commented, folding his arms boldly across his chest. "Or traversing the realm of the Daedric Prince of Knowledge and Fate."
"You may deal with your problems as you see most fit," Arngeir waved a hand dismissively. "We will stay here at High Hrothgar as we have continually. Remember too, Dragonborn, you will forever be welcome here for as long as you live."
"Please don't feel ashamed or think you've failed me, Master Arngeir," Sal smiled reassuringly at the Greybeard. "I sought out you and your Greybeards for your counsel, the same as I did when I first discovered my true nature as Dragonborn, and you called for me from this very sanctuary. You've helped me in more ways than you realize."
"If that is the truth, then I accept your explanation," Arngeir nodded. He turned away to return to his meditation. "The true battle is within yourself, Dragonborn," he looked over his shoulder at Sal. "I would've thought you understood that completely by now."
With that, Arngeir walked away, leaving Sal and Lydia by themselves. Sal scarcely hesitated, pivoting on his heels and leaving High Hrothgar without another word.
Outside at the foot of the stone stairs, Sal folded his arms deep in thought, staring absentmindedly into the snow. Lydia stood beside him, stamping her steel Boots to stave off the cold.
At length, Lydia spoke up, putting a comforting arm over Sal's shoulders. "Let's go down to Ivarstead. I think you need to clear your head."