THE WAY OF THE VOICE
The Dragonborn
In the expanse of frozen wilderness, they found an emblem. An inscribing of the past.
The jester lays his black gloved hands on the stone in front of them. "Mother what do you think this means?" He puzzles over it. All it said was the dragons were the bane of the land and the Voice was their only weapon and their only weakness.
She stands behind him, a shadow peering down, her velvet dress is covered now by a deep crimson cloak to shield her from the worst of the snow. "It is history. Nothing more." She says. Cicero scrambles away from the emblem when he sees his queen is continuing on without him. He needed to make sure he is ahead of her, if only to protect her from all the nasty creatures on this mountain.
The Night Mother casts her gaze over the land beyond. Mountain peaks rise from the valley in a jarring expanse of winter. She ignores the beauty and only searches for one thing: dragons in the distance. They are far enough away that they won't be a problem right now.
Something roars at their approach. Her eyes brush over the form of a wild polar bear. Such a shame they were hard to tame. Cicero rushes to land a blow to the great beast, and to defend his queen no doubt, but she only casts her power across the trail. The bear is soon falling to ash from the onslaught of electricity.
She glides to where the jester is panting, and unfortunately bleeding, but she just lays a hand on his shoulder to keep him steady. "Keep going." She commands.
"Yes, Mother." He gasps while retrieving one of his new daggers from the fresh snow.
They keep walking, there were so many steps up to the monastery. She sent letters to the monks here, commanding them to come to the Castle but they declined. Not even she could bring them down from the mountain.
"Mother are you cold?" Cicero asks again.
"No. Keep walking." She tells him. Once again, she wishes Eve killed him when she had the chance. She had many chances to and never took it. The Night Mother supposes she could do it herself, but he is useful. If only the Listener wasn't so stubborn.
And once again she is back to regretting letting Eve leave the Castle that day. If they kept her a little longer, they could have broken her down enough to do all the Night Mother wishes. All she had to do was go capture that lover in Riften and threaten to torture him, the girl would have been wrapped around her new finger.
Speaking of her body, she's pleased with the person Babette brought to her. A young strong thing from the nearby fields. Far better than communicating from her corpse in the grave. The only thing that got on her nerves was when people thought she was someone younger than she is. Some rich noble girl. It only takes a moment for her to show them they're wrong…
A pilgrim is at another emblem. The Night Mother keeps Cicero from running off to read it. He has such a fascination with it all, the journey, the conquests, the drama surrounding the Night Mother's reign. She hasn't taught him yet how insignificant it all is.
The woman glances up from her prayer. "Yes?"
"How much longer until we reach the monastery?" The Night Mother asks, she is surprised at how girlish her voice sounds, but again, little things like that are just minor details.
"Not much longer. I have not counted the steps like others have. Just keep going." The worthless wrench replies. What a disrespectful and foolish way to talk.
The Night Mother decides on something else. Instead of electrocuting her to death, she calls on what the Nords say is the Thru'um.
Unrelenting Force flows through the air, like a shockwave, and blasts into the woman. She screams as her body goes flying over the mountain edge with the sudden wind. Cicero laughs, "How brilliant Mother! What a splat she will make! AHAHAHA."
"Keep moving." Is all she says.
Cicero takes one more look over the mountain. "Yes Mother." And he scrambles to keep up with her.
The monastery was what she expected: a nearly crumbling fortress tucked into the mountainside. The Night Mother takes no time looking around like her henchman is. She just throws the doors open and lets her presence be known. "Come out cowards! The Dragonborn is here!"
That would bring them scurrying from the shadows, and once again she is right. Four cloaked figures approach. All older Nord men, but now they seem fearful. She smiles under her cloak. They know who she is.
"In the turning of the age, a Dragonborn appears." One man stops before her. She decides not to keep any more pretenses and lets the hood fall. They all gasp. Surely, they've heard the stories by now.
"You know why I am here." She purrs, "I only sent three letters requesting you, only to be denied each time…"
"A murderer is not worthy of being called Dragonborn!" One of the men steps forwards. But she has no patience. Unrelenting Force flies from her quick mouth, throwing the man back into his companions.
"Would you rather I let your world be plunged into chaos when Alduin brings back all his brethren? What then?" She curls her red painted lips into a smile. How lovely it felt to do that after over a millennium of rotted ones.
"You would be destroyed as well." Another man speaks. He has fire in his eyes.
Good, they're willing to put up a fight. That means they have precious wisdom that will be useful to her. "Oh, me? All I have to do is create portal into Oblivion and just…fly away!" She flutters her hands for emphasis. But that is a dead lie. Oblivion, as interesting as it would be, is ten times harder to corrupt and control. Not that it would suit her after all, there aren't many mortals there. And all those Princes to contend with…
She nearly shivers at the thought of them. They had the gall to follow Eve around and take her away from the one who knows best? Daedric Princes of corruption and they were being so…noble. How wasteful.
The men seemed to be communicating with each other between shared glances. Cicero tugs on the Night Mother's cloak. She knows what he wants. "Not now."
"But Mother, they slander you." He whispers harshly.
"Not for long." She keeps her eyes on her prey. She sees the moment they give up and concede.
"We had no idea who the Dragonborn would be. We certainly didn't expect you. But who are we to stand in the way of destiny?" The first man moves forwards, giving her a hopeful look.
There was that word again. "Destiny". As if she was fated to walk Nirn again on two feet and didn't work for so many years to earn it. "Carry on. We have business you and me. I need more Words of power."
The others begin to protest but the first man is clever enough. He knows this is the only way his precious monastery won't crumble to pieces after Alduin attacks. "Yes, we will give you more Words. On the condition that you never step foot in here again. And keep everyone here from being taken by the Dark Brotherhood. Let the monastery be."
Her smile falls, "Have you been a bad man? You know what Sithis does to those who aren't…the kindest in society." She tsks.
"Enough of this! Lets just get this over with!" One of the other men steps forwards and lets his Voice be heard. The ground shakes and soon another word glows from the ground. She takes a few steps over it. The power flows like a river, a spell, settling into her bones. She sighs when it takes hold.
"You know that you are not the first Dragonborn to set foot here. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortalkind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age…that is not ours to know." He tries to remind her.
She gives him a cold look. Who else would be of Dragon Blood? Certainly no one she's come in contact with so far. Not the coward, Eve, she never had the backbone. Not Cicero, he was too crazed, even for Akatosh's taste. Astrid…maybe. But she was too easy to kill. No, no one came to mind.
"Do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you?" The monk prods.
"You dare think that of Mother? She's not a coward!" Cicero snarls from the folds of her cloak. He was never far from her.
"If anything, I am the only one who has the temperament and discipline, monk. You know my story. You know how long I was in the coffin." She smiles again. She is proud of it. How long she stayed with the world, even though it was challenging at times. But the Listeners always provided a source of entertainment…usually.
"The training…" He begins.
She quiets him, "I know all I need to. I need more Words. This one is not enough of a force." She won't let them on to how desperate she is. Over the past few weeks while the Dark Brotherhood began taking over the northern holds, she scoured the land for more Words. Only a few revealed themselves, even though she could absorb them, she could not seek them out. Many of the new members did that for her. But some were far too slow.
She grimaces when she thinks of the last initiate. An Argonian thought he found a Word nestled in a pine forest up in Solitude. It turns out it was a stone inscribing done by necromancers. She left pieces of him for the necromancers to find. Have them practice bringing the dead to life when they had nothing but a head.
"You have Fus, meaning "Force" and now Ro which means "Balance". This will make Unrelenting Force more powerful." The monk continues, "We have one more Word, 'Whirlwind Sprint' if you wish to practice it, we can go out in the yard."
"Unnecessary and a waste of time." She checks her fingernails. They weren't manicured like she wished but then again, Eve's never were. Funny how one gets used to another's body after so long.
"As you wish." He signals for another monk who shouts a Word into the ground. The power absorbs just like a dragon's soul.
"I guess that is all." The Greybeard keeps his eyes trained on her, "If you wish for more knowledge, we have to ask for something in return. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav."
She puzzles over this. It is most definitely some sort of trap, but they know how powerful she is. They already fear her, it would be easy to have them tortured until all their knowledge is bestowed upon her. "And what is this Horn you seek?"
"A Greybeard artifact. When you bring it, we will know you are the true Dragonborn." He replies.
The Night Mother laughs, "We will play this little game then…expect me back in a few days."
They say nothing when she bursts through the door again. Cicero runs ahead to get it for her, but she just uses her new Voice. The door flies open with the new power. Exhilarating. "Mother, I respect your every wish. But why not kill them? Gut them until they had to give you power?"
Why indeed. "They don't respect me or what I stand for. We need to get this artifact for them to see the truth."
"But Mother, respect is secondary to fear?"
Sometimes the jester had a few moments of clarity. "Yes. But we need them alive, it is better to win them over with respect."
"They called you a murderer, those people never respect a murderer." He cries, he keeps tugging at her dress, trying to turn her around and slaughter the whole monastery.
"They will when I tell them about the Daedric Princes and all they're doing to Skyrim. You are too young to realize there is always a greater monster out there, and it is always best to choose the evil you know. The Greybeards will come around to us, just wait. The Princes are unpredictable and the black dragon wants to devour the world. I am their only hope at a sense of structure."
"Patience." He whispers, "What of the Listener? You don't think she's doing anything to harm us?"
The Night Mother stares down at her Child, what a silly and maddened man. Annoying and tedious. But always on her side, unlike her other Child. "I have no doubt. But whatever she's planning with her 'friends' in Oblivion is nothing compared to my power. Don't let your fear consume you. It always dulls the blade of my Champions."
"Yes, Mother." He says and lifts her cloak to keep it out of the snow the whole way down the mountain.
Cicero's Journal Entry
26th of Mid Year, 4E 202
The Greybeards are useless, sniveling, cowards! How dare they keep the knowledge to themselves? How dare they act like they're better than Mother! I love her with all my soul…but this is a mistake. Cicero wished he could turn around and finish the job for her. But it is not her wish…
Mother says the Horn might be useful. To kill them is shortsighted. She is right. We need to see what other powers they keep before sending them to Sithis.