Ulfric had her another two times that night, and come morning he felt younger than he had in years with Svala sleeping soundly next to him, his body pliant and relaxed.

Unfortunately, it couldn't last. The dragon had moved on and she was adamant on leaving for High Hgrothgar as soon as possible. They had a meager breakfast of some goat cheese and grilled leeks before finding her unnamed horse waiting for them by the entrance to the cave. He was slightly stunned to see the stallion awaiting them, but she did not, offering the horse a green apple before climbing atop it.

They rode off in silence. At one point during the journey, he wondered aloud why she hadn't asked after Sofie. Her posture had gone rigid and her response was chilling: "She'd be better off if I never returned." Was she joining the Greybeards?? Surely not. She was a warrior...wasn't she? It seemed the more Ulfric discovered about Svala, the more a mystery the woman remained to him. It was both what he allured and detested most about her.

Once they finally reached Ivarstead, she pulled the horse to a stop before turning to him. "I have to go alone. I'm sure someone inside the Inn can get you back to the palace safely."

He frowned. "You forget, I trained with the Greybeards. While they might not agree with my choices, I have no doubt they would be hospitable."

She rolled her eyes. "Not everything is about you, Ulfric. I just need to go alone." Her tone stated that this was not a choice. He toyed with the idea of fighting her on it (she was just so delicious when she was angry) but there was a weariness on her face that gave him pause.

"Be careful out there," he murmured to her, his fingertips going to her face, trailing along her scar. She recoiled angrily before nearly shoving him off the steed. She rode off quickly; he watched her until she became a speck in the distance. He said a silent prayer to Talos for her before heading into the inn to drown his sorrows and having to arrange travel back to Windhelm.

The inn was crowded, he found, and bursting with music and singing and life. Surrounded by a roaring fire in the hearth was a red headed man in plain clothes, playing a fiddle with a blonde Nord sitting on his lap. She was playing a lute and singing with him while the rest of the patrons joined in. "And the braggart named Ragnar was boastful no mooooorreeeee...when his ugly red head rolled around on the floor!"

Ulfric took a seat up front, closest to the bards, studying the man closely. He wasn't a real bard, that much was plain. The ginger haired man was as alert as him, even if he acted a drunken fool. The girl was hiding something too- she was pretending to enjoy herself, but he could sense her discomfort and anxiety whenever she looked at her partner. They knew each other. He grabbed a tankard of what was ever closest to him and took a deep swing. Ale. He grimaced- he didn't particularly care for ale. Still, if he drank enough of it, at least he could forget about the scent of Svala's hair (juniper berries and fresh earth) for a while.

"Another!" A bald Nord sitting beside him called with a slur, raising his cup in the air. The male bard smiled mischievously, cat like blue eyes meeting his own gaze. "Aye, ok. Let's change this up a bit, shall we?" He murmured something in the blonde's ear and she gave him a surprised look before nodding, strumming softly on her lute. The man began to sing in a low, hoarse voice:

"We drink to our youth and to days come and gone

For the age of aggression is just about done.

We'll drive out the Stormcloaks and restore what we own

With our blood and our steel we will take back our home.

Down with Ulfric! Killer of kings

On the day of your death we'll drink and we'll sing.

We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives

And when Sovngarde beckons every one of us dies."

Ulfric's thick fingers gripped his tankard tightly, his eyes narrowing at the singer. How dare he? Ivarstead was under Riften's control, and he had control of Riften. He wanted to have the man arrested right then and there, but he remembered sullenly that he was supposed to be lying low until he could arrange transport home.

"Strong, silent type eh?" The blonde bard had sidled up to him, the song having finished, smiling at him flirtatiously. She refilled his ale without him asking, and took a seat on the empty bench next to him.

"The song," he muttered with disgust. "I was under the impression this was Stormcloak territory."

The woman shrugged. "This is Ivarstead. We try to remain as neutral as possible." She smiled brightly at him- Ulfric just wanted to drink in peace. "I'd be happy to play something else for you! My name is Lynly Star-Sung, I'm the bard here."

He snorted, jerking a thumb in the singer's direction. "Then who's he? Surely Ivarstead isn't in need of two bards."

Lynly blushed, only confirming his suspicion that she already knew the man. "A traveler. He's been staying here for about a week now, says he's waiting for someone. A woman," she waggled her eyebrows in suggestion at him. "But he pays well and he's not a bad bard either, so I don't make a fuss."

"Why would you make a fuss?" Ulfric asked more to himself than to her, but she answered it anyway, eager for him to notice her. "I happen to know he's involved in some shady dealings," she told him in a conspiratorial whisper. "But I probably shouldn't have told you that."

His eyebrow arched at her, deciding he would need to be sweet with her in order to get the full story. He placed his hand on top of her own, the perfect picture of chivalrous sincerity. "My lady, if this man is bothering you I would make it my duty to see him dealt with at once."

She chewed her bottom lip, looking back at him through hooded eyes. So predictable. If he were in the mind to press it further, he was sure it wouldn't take much more to get under her dress. "Oh no, good sir! Nothing like that. I just know him from home, and I'd rather not remember my home, my lord." A brief flicker of pain crossed her face and for a fleeting moment, Ulfric almost felt pity on her, but as quickly as it came it had passed.

"And where is home?" He asked her, flashing her a charming smile. "You must be a true daughter of Skyrim; your beauty is resplendent." Immediately, he chastised himself. He was supposed to be Gunad, not Ulfric, for Talos's sake! He couldn't be talking about "true daughters" of Skyrim. Luckily, this woman was as bright as she was talented, and if she made the connection she didn't show it. "Riften!" She chirped with a deep blush, before clapping a hand over her mouth in surprise a second later.

Of course. Even when she wasn't around to toy with him in person, her very presence in his life provided its own complications to compete. The pair must be connected to Svala somehow...they were all from Riften. It mattered not that Riften was the closest hold to Ivarstead...no. There was a connection there. As he was going to continue pressing Lynly for more information, the ginger man called "Svidi!" in a way that was supposed to sound cheery, but he could hear the hidden, hard edge. The blonde's head jerked up before sheepishly looking back at him in fear. "Please don't tell Sibbi," she asked him in a rush. He hadn't the slightest who this Sibbi even was. She ran up to the bard and hissed at him, so sharply Ulfric could barely hear it in the din of the inn, "Bryn, you're going to get me killed."

Bryn. He saw red. Abruptly finishing his ale and slamming a few septims on the tabletop, he marched out before the urge to strangle this Bryn with his bare hands became too strong to resist. The cool mountain air did nothing to quell his rage, however, and only made him simmer in it. Him? That sleazy, drunken fool was her Bryn?? Stupid Imperial dog, probably a lowly sneak thief, probably even faking the accent.

As Ulfric stewed in his anger, he remembered that the nearest Stormcloak camp wasn't too far from Ivarstead, maybe an hour or two walk away if he was brisk about it. He made it there by midday, his body still thrumming with angry energy despite his fatigue. The camp was relatively small, and most of his troops did not recognize him at first, until he bellowed to speak to the man in command.

Rorgun Asisorssen was one of his earliest, most vocal supporters; however, the man was nothing more than a gilded politician through and through. Ulfric had always suspected he was in the Black Briar's pocket, and the man could hardly hold his weight with a weapon. Still, he had a good mind for strategy and was a respected (or feared) presence in Riften that would help keep the Jarl in line. "My Jarl," Rorgun said with a bow. "It is an honor to have you in my camp. How may I assist you?"

"I need safe passage back to Windhelm," he commanded gruffly. "I also want someone sent to Whiterun to collect Ralof's remains, then deliver them to Riverwood. He has a sister there, Gerdur, and his noble sacrifice to our cause must be recognized appropriately." In all truthfulness, he only did this hoping he would receive Svala's favor. He considered it recompense for what he would say next: "There's also the matter of an Imperial spy posing as a bard in Ivarstead. He is currently residing in Vilemyr Inn and has red hair. I want him escorted to Windhelm in chains; I would question him personally."

Rorgun looked surprised for a moment before nodding vigorously. "Of course, my Jarl. It should be done. I will send my best men to arrest him and a few to escort you back to the palace." The Jarl nodded once, his thoughts still lingering on this Bryn and the nature of his relationship with the Dragonborn, and how he was going to be able to secure her for himself once and for all.

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7,000 steps was a bitch to climb once, but having to do it twice? Well, Svala had never been more grateful for the love Ulundil had for his wife. She made it to High Hgrothgar in half the time than it took her on her original visit (though she suspected it was due in part to not having to stop to battle frost trolls and ice wraiths).

Unfortunately, Arngeir was no help. Not only did he know nothing of Dragonrend but he outright refused to aid her all together. While her gut instinct had told her to persuade him using the sharp end of her blade, she ended up pressing enough that he eventually folded, honestly admitting he did not know the Shout she required but that his master, the master of all the collective Greybeards, might. However, said master lived at the peak of the mountain and reaching him would be no easy feat. At least she got a new Shout out of it; clearing the skies could come in handy with all the time she was spending in Windhelm.

Svala had never been so cold. Being a Nord, she had a pretty hearty resistance to Skyrim's normal frigid temperatures, but climbing the Throat of the World was something all entirely different. Her blood itself felt as though it were crawling to a freeze inside her veins, and the longer she climbed the fuzzier her reason for the journey became. High Hgrothgar was no palace but it had fire and mead and warm beds...

When she finally reached the top, she almost jumped out of her skin. A damn dragon was there, curled up, watching her intently. Immediately, her hand flew to her sword, drawing it defensively in front of herself. The Greybeards had sent her up there to die?? Weren't they supposed to serve her, the Dovahkiin?

"Drem Yol Luk. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthunax," the dragon spoke to her in a deep rumble, similar to the one that haunted her dreams, but lacking the same sense of malice. "What brings you to my strunmah...my mountain?" His mountain?

"I wasn't expecting you to be a dragon," Svala blurted, still staring wide eyed at the old beast. He was rather old, she realized, noticing the dull scales and tattered folded wings. Older than any dragon she had ever fought, so she wasn't keen on upsetting him. "Er...master?"

Paarthunax laughed and the ground beneath her feet shifted. "I am as my father Akatosh made me...as are you, Dovahkiin. Are you a Greybeard, kiir, child? Only they call me In, master."

"You're the master of the Greybeards?" She asked, stunned. No wonder Arngeir hated the Blades; if given the opportunity, Delphine would be eager to add Paarthunax's head to the walls of her little inn.

"They see me as master. Wuth. Onik. Old and wise," the dragon snorted, blowing a torrent of hot air in her direction. At least it warmed the chill which had taken up residency in her bones. "It is true I am old..."

She was beginning to lose patience- divines knew what Bryn was doing in Ivarstead while waiting for her. Perhaps even Ulfric had stayed...the thought both terrified and excited her. "You already know who I am."

"Yes. Vahzah. You speak true. Forgive me, it had been long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave into the temptation to prolong our speech." Paarthunax sounded so melancholy and lonely that her irritation with the old Dovah vanished. "Why live alone on a mountain if you love conversation?" Svala asked, sheathing her weapon.

"Evenaar Bahlok. There are many hungers...it is better to deny than to feed... Dreh ni nakip. Discipline against the lesser aids in qahnaar, denial of the greater." A shiver passed through her for a moment, once again reminded that as kindly as it seemed, the beast could devour her within seconds.

"I need to learn the dragonrend Shout," she blurted (again), anxious once more. "Can you teach me?"

She swore Paarthunax smiled at her through rows of jagged teeth. "Drem, patience. There are formalities which must be observed at the first meeting of two of the dov." She wanted to dispute being considered a full dragon- it wasn't as though she were flying around Skyrim eating people and destroying property, but he cut her off, continuing: "By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are truly Dovahkiin!"

In a heartbeat, Svala suddenly understood with horrifying clarity what was about to happen; Paarthunax Shouted at her, "Yol toor shull!" and a fiery inferno was suddenly hurtling towards her very vulnerable, very mortal body. To her utter amazement, however, the flames hardly even reddened her skin; instead, the fire swirled around her form, performing a protective shell. The energy from the flames only helped to stoke her anger at the dov before her, for endangering her, for toying with her. Paarthunax shouted, instructing her, "Now, show me what you can do! Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!" And she immediately responded, screaming tonelessly and watching the flames shoot out of her mouth, as well as the ones encircling her body, all in the direction of the old dovah. When she was done, her knees buckled in exhaustion, and she fell onto her ass in the snow.

"Aaaah yes," Paarthunax crooned, eyes closed, as if savoring the feeling of the fire on his scaly hide. "Sossedov los mul. The dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind." One enormous yellow eye opened, staring her down intensely. "But you must be cautious. Your soul lacks ro, balance. You linger in the vod. You must be only in the nu."

She rolled her eyes; if she had wanted another mystical lecture, she could've stayed with Arngeir. "Do you know Dragonrend or not? I'm kind of on a schedule here."

"Krosis. Sorrowfully, no. It cannot be known to me. Your kind, joorre, mortals, created it as a weapon against the dov. Our hadrimme, our minds cannot even...comprehend its concepts."

Svala sighed, deeply irritated. Why was nothing ever simple? "How I am supposed to learn it, then?"

Paarthunax chuckled, making the ground rumble once more. "Drem. All in good time. First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this thu'um?"

She rolled her eyes at the old dragon. "Umm...because I have to defeat Alduin? Big black dragon destroying the world?"

"Yes. Alduin...zeymah. The elder brother," she felt her eyes go wide at Paarthunax's words- Alduin was his brother? That suddenly made the whole conversation rather awkward. "Gifted, grasping, and troublesome, and so often is the case with the firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?"

She remembered Esbern's words as he paced Delphine's inn. "I...there's a prophecy, right? I thought only the Dragonborn could defeat Alduin."

"True," Paarthunax agreed, humming softly. "But qostiid, prophecy, tells what may be, not what should be. Just because you can do a thing does not always mean you should. Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing more than a plaything of dez, of fate?"

"So I should, what?" She snapped angrily. "Just let the world end? It's easy for you to say that, you big immortal beast, but some of us don't have the luxury of waiting for the next world to come rolling around." Her thoughts turned to Bryn, Sofie, Lydia, Ralof, Ulfric. "Besides, I happen to like this world. I don't want it to end."

The old Dovah nodded. "Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say things must end, so that the next may come to pass. Perhaps this world is simply the egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

Her head was beginning to spin from the taxing conversation she was having with the dragon. "The next world will have to take care of itself- divines be good, I won't live to see it."

"Paaz. A fair answer. Ro fus...maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of the world. Even we who ride the currents of time cannot see past Time's end...wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end may delay it. Those who work to delay the end may bring it closer." Oblivious to the sense of horror his speech had given Svala, Paarthunax continued. "But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the monahven? What you name Throat of the World?"

She resisted the urge to groan. "I thought you were answering my question."

"Drem, patience. I am answering, in my way. This is the most sacred mountain in Skyrim. Most sacred mountain. The great mountain of the world. Here the ancient Tongues, the first mortal masters of the voice, brought Alduin to battle and defeated him."

"Using the Dragonrend shout, right?"

Paarthunax's large head shook, sending small pockets of snow to fall off the stone cliffs of the mountain. "Yes and no. Viik nuz ni kran. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today seeking to...defeat him. The Nords of those days used Dragonrend to cripple Alduin, but this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the kel- the Elder Scroll. They used it to...cast him adrift on the currents of Time."

Svala had only ever heard of the Elder Scrolls in stories her mother used to tell her, legends of scrolls so powerful they could change time and space. However, she remembered hearing stories about the Dragonborn too. "How does any of this help me?"

"You lack patience, Dovahkiin," the dragon chastised her. "Tiid krent. Time was...shattered because of what the Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that kel, the Elder Scroll back here...to the tiid-ahraan, the Time Wound...with the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time you may be able to...cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it."

"And how am I supposed to find an Elder Scroll?" She asked in exasperation, throwing up her hands. "It's not like they're available in any old shop!"

Paarthunax blinked one large eye at her, essentially shrugging at her plight. "Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will guide you. But you must find your ro in order to succeed."

All she was currently interested in finding was a hot meal and a soft bed, but given that most dragons had tried to kill, rather than converse with her, she didn't want to be rude. "Thank you for your knowledge," she gave Paarthunax another small bow, wondering what was appropriate. "I'm sorry in advance if I end up killing your brother."

Paarthunax gave her another toothy, unsettling, not-quite smile. "May you choose wisely, Dovahkiin. It has been an honor having tinvaak with you."

After climbing back down 7,000 steps, exhausted and starving, Svala found herself having supper with the Greybeards. While the cabbage soup was neither particularly warm or tasty, it was something solid within her stomach. A few bottles of weak mead later and she hardly cared to find a bed, dosing on and off between sentences. Eventually, Arngeir had Wulfgar show her to a spare, stone bed. The next she knew, the sun was shining through the gaps of the cobbled walls and alerting her to a headache she didn't remember having.

"Ah, you're awake." Arngeir appeared, bringing a cup of water and a wry smile. "So, you spoke to Parthunaax. The dragon bloodburns bright within you. Did he tell you what you wanted to know? Did he teach you the Dragonrend Shout?"

"Dragon likes to talk," she muttered, draining the cup greedily. "But I suppose I understand the need for all the cloak and dagger now." Arngeir's mouth thinned into a tight line as she continued. "No. But he told me how to found out."

He nodded, shocking her. She had expected another fight disguised as a political discussion. "So be it. If he believes it is necessary for you to learn this...we will bow to his wisdom."

Svala smirked. He was about to eat those words. "I need the Elder Scroll the ancients used. Do you know where to find it?"

"We have never concerned ourselves with the Scrolls," Arngeir blinked, shocked. "The gods themselves would rightly fear to tamper with such things. As for where to find it...such blasphemies have always been the stock in trade of the mages of Winterhold. They may be able to tell you something about the Elder Scroll you seek."

She frowned- she had never cared for mages, even before her capture. Corrium only added to that distaste. And Winterhold was even more miserable than Windhelm. "Paarthunax said my soul was out of balance," she found herself telling the Greybeard slowly, surprising even herself at the sudden change in subject. "And a few times I've...well...it's like I've become fire. Do you know anything about this?"

The old man shook his head in surprise. "I can't say that I do. Perhaps it has to do with your dragonblood." Something in his eyes shifted as he stared at her- she realized he was no longer looking at her as though she were fully human, after a moment. Now she was a specimen, an oddity, to be studied. Balgruuf's mage looked at her the same way after she killed that first dragon.

"I need to go," she told him stiffly. "Thank you for your hospitality." Arngeir nodded at her, oblivious to her irritation. Still, even as she began the descent of 7,000 steps once more, she found herself wondering just where she would go to first.

Lydia and Wuunferth had been captured. Brynjolf was waiting for her in Ivarstead for an answer to his proposal. Ulfric obviously expected for her to return to Windhelm. Arngeir and Paarthunax wanted her to find the damn Elder Scroll. She groaned- how was she supposed to find balance in this mess?!

She rode in the direction of the inn, needing a stiff drink. The rest could wait.