I know, I know, you're wondering why I'm drinking when I had said earlier that I had lost my taste for drink back in Cyrodiil. Well, to put it simply, and to avoid spoiling too much of the story, there are some things that leave a mark on the soul. Things that neither time, nor alcohol can fully wash away. I'm simply doing my best to speed up the process. Just… don't tell Lydia that I'm drinking again. She'll drag me back to Breezehome by my lute strings.

So, I left off at having promised Aela that I would respond to the summons of the Greybeards, right? Well, before I could so much as wash off the sweat from my morning workout, I was summoned by Kodlak. The old man had found out about the swath of revenge I'd cut through the ranks of the Silver Hand, but though he disapproved of how far I had gone, he had summoned me for a different reason. He told me that as he aged, his thoughts turned towards Sovngarde, and feared that his connection to the Daedric Lord of the Hunt, Hircine, would trap his soul in the Hunting Grounds, Hircine's personal Plane of Oblivion. He requested that I go to the Glenmoril Coven, kill the witches, then return with their heads. Naturally, I agreed, anything to help such a strong soul reach the glory of Sovngarde. But, I told him that I must first climb the Seven Thousand Steps. He did not argue, stating that we each had our own calling. I left Jorrvaskr with the promise that the moment I had the heads, I would return.

However, it took time to prepare to leave. I first had to travel down to Falkreath, for though parts of Lakeview Manor were still under construction, the girl I had adopted, Lucia, was living there under the watchful eye of Rayya, the Housecarl I had been afforded upon my rise to Thane of Falkreath. Since I would be taking Rayya and her deadly scimitars on my journey, I would need to bring Lucia to the safety of Breezehome within Whiterun's walls, where Lydia would care for her until I returned. Aela also promised to keep an eye out when she could, I just hoped she wouldn't be teaching the girl to hunt quite yet.

The moment the sun broke over the horizon, Rayya and I were off, boots eating up the northern road around the massive mountain on our way to Ivarstead. We were passing by Valtheim Towers when an arrow dinged off of my shoulder plate. Rayya immediately pulled out a bow and began to fire back. While her aim was not nearly as good as Aela's, it was enough to pull the bandit's attention away from me. I nodded to her as I drew my mace, silently telling her that I would go in. The door opened as I neared it, a Redguard woman charging through with a steel longsword ready to take my head. I squared up, using the handle of my mace to stop her blow. Now, I am no honorable warrior, I learned most of my fighting moves within some of the seedier drinking halls in the Empire, so as I held her blade away from my neck with a single hand, my steel plated fist crashed violently into her face. The satisfaction of the crunch it made only increased as she dropped her sword to clutch her face with both hands, leaving her completely unprepared for the head of my weapon as it whistled through the air, caving in the side of her head.

I entered the first tower, only to dodge yet another arrow from a Dark Elf standing at the top of the stairs. "You'll be so much easier to rob when you're dead!" he shouted as I poked my head around the door again. His next arrow flew past my ear, and I ran up the stairs as he tried to notch his next. My jabbed hard with my mace, the pointed head of it easily tearing through his leather armor, and a quick twist spilled his insides to the outside. Stepping out onto the wooden ramp, I was nearly crushed by a falling body, arrow lodged deep in his throat. It bounced on the half-rotted wood before continuing its descent to the river below. Knowing Rayya would be coming up behind me, I began to cross the bridge.

Half way across, I heard a battle cry, and a very broad woman came rushing at me, dwarven warhammer held high above her head. I slowly edged backward, the bridge was too narrow for me to properly dodge, and I knew it. Lucky for me, Rayya's aim continued to hold true, and the lovely housecarl loosed an arrow that pierced through the bandit chief's left thigh, causing her to stumble to a halt. Hard to run when you've got a bit of wood through your leg. Bolstered by my new advantage, I closed the distance between myself and my enemy. She'd righted herself by the time I got close to her, and managed a horizontal swing from her right side. I easily ducked below it, and as she overbalanced, unable to put her full weight onto her injured leg, I sidestepped her and planted my boot firmly into her backside, and with a hard shove, kicked her off of the bridge. She tumbled, ass over teakettle, unable to right herself, until she came to a very sudden stop, her face becoming quite intimate with a large rock protruding from the rushing waters.

Bandits dispatched, we quickly looted the camp. Rayya came up to me with an old steel sword, one that looked to have been handed down through generations. "My Thane, did not the Hunter Ahren mention that his father's sword had been stolen by a group of bandits?"

"He did, my dear Rayya. Hold on to that until next we see him, will you?"

"Of course, my Thane."

"You know, Rayya, you could call me by my name. formality does not suit a face as lovely as yours." I said with a smile, hoping to loosen her up a bit.

She shrugged, almost nonchalant, but I did not miss how her fingers danced along the pommel of her scimitars. "Perhaps, my Thane. However, you are, in fact, my Thane. Let us keep it that way."

By far not the coldest rejection I'd received, but still. Knowing I'd be unable to sway her any time soon, I simply continued on down the road. There were no more distractions, save for the roar of a far off dragon, and finally, after a long, winding trail, we found ourselves in Ivarstead. Truly a quaint little place for the start of a pilgrimage.

A Nord, perhaps just a few years older than myself, stood by the bridge that led to the steps, talking to a rather chipper young Dunmer. And I couldn't help but overhear a little tidbit of information. When they parted ways, I called out to the man. "Pardon, my name is Homvar. Did I hear you say you make the trip up the seven thousand steps regularly?"

The man grunted. "Name's Klimmek. Aye, I usually bring food and supplies up to the Greybeards at High Hrothgar, but I'm not anymore, and the steps take a toll."

"My companion and I will be starting up in the morning, and in exchange for a bit of information about what to expect, I'm sure we could be pursauaded to take them up for you."

"Of course. You might come across a wolf pack, or a wandering stray, but you look like a capable sort, so it wouldn't be anything you can't handle. Beyond that, you just need to watch your footing. The ice doesn't care how good with a sword you are, and the fall will kill you."

Despite myself, I grimaced. It would be just my luck that instead of dying in battle against the dragons, or something else similarly worthy of its own epic, I slip on a rock and come tumbling down the side of the tallest mountain in Skyrim. "That is indeed good to know. Sounds like we have an idea of what to expect. Now, about those supplies."

He nodded, handing me a fairly large sack. "Once you get to the monastery, just place these supplies in the offering box."

"Simple enough." I grinned at him. "Thank you for the information. See you when we come back down. Rayya, let's go find ourselves a room in that delightful little inn over there."

The Vilemyr inn was every bit as quaint as the rest of Ivarstead, one large room with a roaring fire in the middle, a few tables and benches, and the bar in the back with a stern looking Nord leaning against it on his elbows. We checked into a single room, grateful for the two learge pitchers of hot water, as the sweat and grime from the road is not conducive to a good night's sleep. Doffing our armor, we washed ourselves quickly and silently, though I did sneak a few glances over my shoulder to watch the way the torchlight played off of her wet back and arms. I could get used to having so many strong and beautiful women in my life. I will say that I was a bit disappointed when she came to bed in a pair of old breeches and a white cotton tunic. "You don't need all that, my dear Rayya." I mused, even as I crawled into the slightly too narrow for two bed wearing a pair of trousers, nearly pressing myself up against the wall to make room for her.

"The weight of your eyes while we bathed tell me otherwise, my Thane." Ahh, so I'd been caught. At least she didn't sound all that upset about my straying gaze, so I would take it as a win for the night. She did, however, stay as far away from me as she possibly could on the bed.

Our rest was pleasant, and as dawn broke, we began our climb. Or, at least we were going to, until I saw the stone etching at the base of the mountain.

Before the birth of men, Dragons ruled all Mundus

Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs

For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land

Now that was truly sobering to think about. And these beasts were once again returning to cry havoc upon the world? What was I thinking, meaning to be the one to stand against them? There was simply no way I would be able to do this alone if they wielded power to darken the skies. I shook my head, sighing as I looked over my shoulder to Rayya. I wasn't alone, and had many strong companions at my side. Maybe I could do this, I thought to myself. So, I took out a roll of paper and began to write out the inscription. Maybe I could put what was on these tablets to song and verse, later. Satisfied, I led us upward.

We didn't get far before we noticed something amiss, unfortunately. A pair of dead foxes and a goat, each with large pieces missing from their hides. The bites were much too large to be those of a wolf, and Rayya immediately confirmed my suspicion.

"Troll. Filthy monstrosities." Her scimitars were immediately in her hands, and I readied my mace, as well as bringing my simple Flames spell to my fingertips. It was a terribly weak spell as far as Destruction Magicks went, and I was in no way proficient with it, but with fire being the only way to slow the unnatural rate at which trolls healed from wounds, it was better than nothing. We found it just ahead on the path as it feasted on another goat, and I let loose with a thin stream of fire. The beast's matted fur ignited within moments, and it howled in rage, a stinking, flaming mess. Oh sweet Divines, the smell. If you've never had the misfortune of having your nose invaded by burning troll fur, count yourself lucky and hope that you never do, for it is nearly as deadly as the creature itself.

I released the spell, and Rayya charged in, her curved blades whirling away as they carved into its hide. I was truly fortunate to have her with me. Yes, she was a beauty, and her dark skin made such a wonderful contrast to the stark white snows of Skyrim. But more than that, was her strength, her almost zealous devotion to the dance-like art that was her swordplay. It was truly awe-inspiring, and I thought to myself, perhaps, once this mess was all over with, she would trade in her swords for fans, and she could dance for me and my lute. We would be rich, of that I had no doubt.

Ahh, Sorry, got caught up in my thoughts again. Where was I? Ahh yes, Rayya quickly dispatched the troll, and we left it's smouldering carcass behind. Maybe I would bring the idea to her the next time we took a rest.

The second etching was nearly half a day's climb farther up the path, and we stopped there for a brief rest, and a small meal. The snow was thick there, disturbed only by the few goats that brayed and flitted about, and below, Ivarstead could barely be seen through the wintry haze. Above was little more than a blur of grey skies and rock, so I took out my paper, and transcribed the second passage from the stone tablet

Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus

The Dragons presided over the crawling masses

Men were weak then, and had no Voice

I could not help the frown on my lips as I read through the two passages. There was no structure to them, and it would take nearly all my prodigious talents in the art of rhyme to create something useable out of it. After a few more moments to breathe the cold air, we continued onward.

Though briefly held up by a large snow bear -the pelt would make for wonderful lining the next time we needed to enter the mountains- we managed to make it to the third etching just as the sun dipped below the horizon. It was too dark for me to read the tablet, and being too tired to do more than put together a small wind break, I decided to leave it for the dawn. I wrapped myself in the thickest blanket I thought to bring with me, and leaned against the rocks, knowing that Rayya would take the first watch.

I awoke with a start, barely able to make a thing out in the darkness other than Rayya's stoic form leaning against the nearby tree. I cleared my throat to let her know that I was awake, but she made no indication she had heard me. "Rayya, dear, how long have I been asleep?" Still no response. Growing concerned, I heaved myself off the ground. Grabbing her shoulder, I turned her toward me, and what I saw nearly stopped my heart: Rayya's eyes were closed, her long eyelashes frosted shut, breath coming slow and shallow over lips that had turned bluer than the warpaint on her face. She was still as the grave, the surest sign that her body was beginning to shut down. I let loose a stream of curses that would make even Clavicus Vile blush. I was certainly not going to let her freeze to death on this Divines forasken rock. Not if I could help it. I carefully pulled her to where I had laid myself earlier, and wrapped her tightly in the still warm blanket. I then gathered as many branches and bark as I could, igniting the pile with a short stream of Flames. Climbing underneath the blanket, I began to remove our armor. Now, I'd always run a little bit warmer than any non Nord I'd come across, probably some manner of inherent trait of our blood that people smarter than me have likely written tomes on, but that also meant that I'd have much more body heat to share. Unfortunately, to do that, I would have to throw propriety to the wind and undress her.

In almost any other circumstance, for almost any number of reasons, I would have been more than happy about this, but an unresponsive, half-dead woman in my arms does not make for a romantic moment. Also, let me tell you, taking wet breeches off of someone that can not help you with them would have killed any lustful notions that I had been carrying at such an inopportune time.

Finally, with us both down to our skivs, I pulled her cold back to my chest, just as small tremors began to work their way through her body. I sighed in relief, knowing that she would be fine come morning.

It had to have been nearly an hour before the shivers slowed before stopping altogether. I had almost fallen asleep, despite the situation, when I heard her speak. "Apologies, my Thane."

I chuckled, unable to help myself. Of course she would apologize for 'failing her duties'. "I'll have none of that, my dear Rayya. Many people underestimate the cold of nights in our mountains, and the icy breath of the Throat is worse than most."

She nodded before attempting to push herself deeper into my embrace. "I understand, my Thane. I will need thicker clothing for our next endeavor, then."

"I'll have someone fashion that snow bear pelt into a lining for you. It should be warm enough, and I think you would look lovely in white furs."

This managed to earn a silent laugh from my Housecarl. "Even now, you think of those things, my Thane. I would imagine you were having lustful thoughts even as you undressed me."

"I would never!" I scoffed. "At least not until I knew you were out of danger."

Her laughter came more readily, this time. "You are persistent, my Thane, but I do not dislike it." She took one of my hands and placed it on her firm stomach, and I could feel the muscles. "I will, however, do nothing more than this while on this forsaken rock." She stated, letting herself relax against me."

That was perfectly fine by me, I am a patient man, after all. "Get your rest, my dear Rayya. I will wake you once the sun has risen."

I can tell you this much, the sunrise I saw that day, while sitting halfway up the Throat of the World, was one of the most beautiful natural events I have ever seen in my life. The way the reds and oranges bled through the darkened sky, piercing the haze of the eastern ranges was truly stunning. Combine that with a beautiful woman resting in my arms, and I was loath to have it end. But, I had a task to complete, so, I quickly and carefully removed myself from her embrace before dressing. The frigid air was quite bracing as I stood to begin strapping on my armor. Definitely helped to take my mind off of the little morning issue I found myself with.

I made sure Rayya was awake before I took out the roll of paper I had been using to record the etchings.

The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times

Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices

But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts

This will be almost impossible to make into a song, at this rate, I thought to myself as I turned toward Rayya. She was dressed once again, though I could see evidence of a second pair of clothes beneath her armor. Probably for the best. Shouldering my pack, we set off once again.

I noted, as we continued on, that there were ornate stone columns rising our of the snow in addition to the piled rock markers along the path. They seemed older than even the carvings in Bleak Falls Barrow, but were almost untouched by the harsh winds. The question remained, though. Why were they there?

The fourth etching came into sight, where we met with a pilgrim named Karita. She apparently made the trip up the steps every few years. Truly dedicated.

Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man

Together they taught Men to use the Voice

Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue

Kyne? Kynareth is responsible for all of this? The Divines, and mentions of war, finally, we were getting to the sort of thing that draws the audience in, and I couldn't wait to get to the next etching.

The path wound, up and down, around large outcroppings of rock as the winds only became stronger through the day. Finally, as we passed through a cut in the ice and rocks, I could see the monument with the next etching. I barely resisted the urge to run toward it, eager though I was to record the next passage, and it was good that I didn't otherwise I would have likely missed the shifting of rocks overhead and been crushed by the simply gigantic frost troll that jumped down at us.

I barely avoided the first swipe of its jagged claws, landing roughly on my backside even as Flames erupted from my fingertips. Weak and unfocused as they were, though, they did little more than singe the beast's dirty white fur. I did my best impersonation of a mudcrab and scuttled backward a bit before I was able to get up on my feet, mace out and ready. Unsurprisingly, my dear Rayya had charged in my stead, drawing the thing's attentions away from me, harrying it so completely that I was sure I saw confusion and fear in its black eyes.

Refocusing on the fight at hand, I let forth another gout of Flames, somewhat stronger, this time, and strode forward. Once the fires had caught on it, I swung my mace with all my might, turning its kneecap into the finest of bonemeal. It toppled like a sick tree, howling all the way down until Rayya was able to play the part of headsman and lop the damnedable troll's head off.

Though I was tired, and breathing heavier than I would have liked, I gave my dearest Housecarl a wide grin, earning a confident smirk in return before waving me off toward the etching. I truly did enjoy her company, she knew me so well.

Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world

Proving for all that their Voice too was strong

Although their sacrifices were many-fold

Finally, I had a name for the villain of this ancient epic. Alduin. I still needed to find out who this Paarthurnax was, and what role he played in teaching humanity the Voice, but maybe the old monks I was on my way to see would have at least one answer for me.

By the time we reached the sixth tablet, the snow had begun to obscure the steps. I was eager to make my way to High Hrothgar, if only to get away from the cold for a moment.

"My Thane, perhaps we should stop here for the night, there is a small depression in the rocks up there that would shield us from the winds and snow."

She was right, of course. If I couldn't see the path, I would be likely to slip and end up dashing myself upon the rocks below. "You just want an excuse to get me back into the blanket, don't you, my dear?" I teased, fully expecting to be rebuffed now that her life was not in danger.

She surprised me by a slight lowering of her eyes, something that I would not have even caught if I hadn't spent so much time studying her mannerisms. Oh, the poems I have written about that beauty, the sonnets for that strength. "You are… comfortably warm, my Thane."

I was almost struck dumb by such a response. Almost being the key word, for I was certainly not going to let such an opportunity pass me by, not after such a long hunt. "Who am I to deny such a request from a stunning creature as yourself, my dear. Let us strike up a fire and get ourselves some well deserved rest."

Night found us wrapped tightly in the blanket, having used the snow bear pelt as a bit of extra padding, and though we kept our trousers on, the shivers that travelled up my spine as her smooth and sculpted back pressed against my bare chest had nothing to do with the cold. I pressed my lips to the hollow of her throat that earned a murmur of approval, and I knew she could feel the evidence of my excitement, but she kept my arms trapped across her taut stomach. She, of course, repeated her earlier words about not getting carried away while on the mountainside, And I would not complain, for I'd much rather be able to lay her out on the finest of beds, to be able to see her writhe in pleasure, anyway.

Morning came entirely too quickly for my tastes, and though we were on the west face, the snow readily reflected all that light into my poor eyes. We dressed quickly, and I finally made my way over to the sixth monument.

With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer

Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice

Whilst Dragons withdrew from this World.

I found it wholly interesting that this Dragon War seemed to predate the birth of the Empire. There was simply so much research I would need to do in order to flesh out the story of the Dragon War, though. Kynareth, Paarthurnax, Alduin, how did these three come together in this story? Honestly? I'm still not entirely sure, which is why you aren't hearing that story being told in any mead halls, yet.

But, I'm getting distracted again.

The next etching was barely over the next rise, and though I hadn't expected more, I was glad for it.

The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled

Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation

To understand how Strong Voices could fail

Jurgen Windcaller? If memory served, he was the first High King of Skyrim. Did he command the Voice? If so, it would definitely explain how he had been able to become High King, and why Ulfric Stormcloak thought it to be a good idea to ride into Solitude and Shout High King Torygg to Oblivion and back. This story, which no one seemed willing to ever tell, was pulling at my very soul, and -at the time, mind you- bringing the story to life was going to be my magnum opus.

Looking further down the path, I could already see the next etching. Did this mean that I was getting closer to the summit?

Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned

The 17 disputants could not shout Him down

Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World

That meant that Jurgen was responsible for High Hrothgar's existence, right? Truly, I was learning so much from these etchings. Just ahead, I could see the outline of a building, an imposing grey against the bright sky. I must be nearly there, I thought, and that would mean that I was nearing the end of the etchings.

The next one was embedded beneath a statue of Talos.

For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name

Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar

They blessed and named him Dohvakiin

I couldn't help but wonder if this called into question the claims from The Book of the Dragonborn regarding the Amulet of Kings. Was Tiber called to High Hrothgar so that he could take the rule of the Empire away from the possibly failing blood of Reman Cyrodiil's heirs? I tell you now that this whole thing was becoming frustrating. I hadn't even reached the temple yet, and I had more questions that needed to be answered.

Finally, in the shadow of High Hrothgar itself, I found the tenth, and final, etching.

The Voice is worship

Follow the Inner path

Speak only in True Need

I've never been a truly religious man. I mean, I know the Divines exist, having read many eyewitness accounts of the day Akatosh descended upon the Imperial City at the end of the Third Era. I even thank them from time to time. But, I could never be called devout, and this Way of the Voice business was starting to look a bit like religion. I looked up the stairs, my heart growing heavy. I had a feeling that I was going to regret answering their call.

There was nothing for it, though, so with a deep breath, and after dropping Klimmek's Supplies into the chest, I pushed open the heavy doors between myself and my apparent destiny.

And that, my friend, is where I believe we should take ourselves a little break. Stretch your legs a bit, have some of that fine cheese over there, maybe. Because I think you'll find that we're in for quite a trip. Sam, old friend, how about a round for all these lovely people?