The next morning, Rena awoke with no intention of getting out of bed. Even if this wasn't a good bed, it was far better to her strained muscles than standing up. She'd read The Lusty Argonian Maid if it wasn't banned from the barracks. She was worn from travel and war. She just wanted to catch up from all the excitement.
However, you don't get to rest in the Legion. She didn't see who, but someone in armor pulled on her sheet and flipped her onto the stone floor. No sleeping in in the Legion. She sighed and donned her armor for duty. Ansgar was at the door, waiting for his comrade, probably the one that woke her up.
"Come on," he ordered, "Tullius wants us."
The two officers climbed the stairs to the general's war room, passing some disheveled vagrant on the way. When they arrived, there were two officers with Tullius. One was Legate Rikke, his chief lieutenant. The other was an unfamiliar Imperial with the blade of a Tribune. On the table was some sort of spiked helm. Tullius seemed to favor the helm.
"Do you know what this is?" he asked, looking at his young officers.
Rena looked over it. "Some sort of special Nord helm?" she inquired.
"This is the Jagged Crown," he grinned, "a Nord artifact. If Ulfric were to get this, he would use it as a sign he had the right to rule. But it's ours now."
Ansgar took one look at it and said, "If you're not going to use it, I'm gonna take it."
Tullius picked it up. "It's going to under lock and key for now until Jarl Elisif's crowning," he explained.
Jarl Elisif was High King Torygg's widow. She was young, inexperienced in statecraft, leaving everything to her steward. The Empire supported her claim to the throne, seeing as there was no heir apparent and Ulfric's claim was considered illegitimate. And yet, Tullius was sent here as military governor. Rena got the impression there was some puppetry going on.
The Imperial officer approached her and Ansgar. "I'm Tribune Solana Barsotti," she stated, "I'm your new commanding officer."
"Hm," Ansgar remarked, "I'm not sure this one would be good for a cavalry company." Referring, of course, to Rena.
Barsotti looked a little confused. "I'm not a cavalry commander," she explained, "You're being transferred to an infantry battalion under Legate Quentin Cipius. Don't worry, you're getting reinforcements." She turned to Rena. "You are getting a promotion."
The tribune picked up a captain's sword from the table and handed to Rena. She knew this was coming, Tullius said as much, but it just wasn't something she was used to. One-hundred people now counted on her as a leader, to know what's best for them and lead them to victory. If she failed them, for any reason, she wouldn't be able to forgive herself.
"General Tullius will explain the rest," Barsotti explained.
Ansgar and Rena were led out into the lobby and officer started to join. Rena counted and there were as many officers there as there were in a regiment. About sixty or so. General Tullius, having put away the Jagged Crown, stood up on a bench to get the officers' attention.
"Soldiers!" he exclaimed, "Open war is upon us. We've received word that Ulfric Stormcloak is preparing to invade Whiterun if Jarl Balgruuf doesn't side with him. If Whiterun hold is taken, Ulfric will have the roads. We must stand in his way."
Whiterun Hold was incredibly valuable for the war effort. The roads would cut out a lot of the travel time to maintain the rest of the holds. Tundra cotton, an essential ingredient in potions of magic resistance, was only found there. And it was the ninth hold of the province giving a distinct advantage to whoever they sided with.
He continued, "Once we have permission from the Jarl, you'll be deployed to Whiterun to defend the city from the rebel forces. Prepare for the long haul." He sighed. "I know many of you have mixed feelings about fighting your fellow Nords. Some of you may be fighting friends and family. I have nothing to justify this. We are on different sides of this war, but we didn't start this. We will end this war. Pray to the Eight Divines your loved ones survive."
The lobby was dead quiet. It quickly became as grim as a wake. Many of the Nord officer barely talked. The Imperials tried showing them respect, but their local counterparts were unreceptive. They were just reminded that they were fighting their brothers and sisters in this war. They didn't want this. Rena knew they just wanted to serve the Empire, but it was getting harder. If the Legion was sent to put down her home county's rebellion, it would have the same effect on her.
Ansgar barely paid attention to this. He was asking Barsotti if he could keep some of his riders, which was allowed. Rena got the impression he'd be unpopular with the Nord soldiers. He was unpopular with her, but that was a mutual understanding.
However, Rena wanted to check something out. Who was the vagrant that gave them the Jagged Crown? It couldn't have just been a random sellsword or traveler. The Stormcloaks would keep this as close a secret as possible until it was in Ulfric's hands. Someone knew its importance. Someone knew Ulfric was after it. Someone knew what to do with the Crown.
Rena checked around. The castle blacksmith mentioned someone of her description getting an order for Imperial armor and leaving the castle grounds. She asked a shifty looking squatter if he saw anything and he said no, but a passing beggar said he saw the vagrant heading to the Winking Skeever, the best and only inn in Solitude. The innkeeper, eager not to gain the ire of a Legionnaire, said the vagrant took a room upstairs.
Upstairs, she found the right door and knock. An underdressed Dunmer poked her head out, mumbled something about poor life decisions and put her head back in. Maybe she should've come back at a better time.
Skathi reached the town of Ivarstead last night. She had been traveling since midday and found herself quite worn from that. She stayed at the Vilemyr Inn, as it was the only inn in the town. It was a small town, all things considered, even smaller than Riverwood. It had the same straw and wood buildings as the former, and a mill, but maybe twelve people without the one or two guards around.
As Skathi had her morning stew, she had nostalgic pangs at the small sights of this town. While her recollection of her hometown was lacking, this place felt like she was back there. She had the same feelings in Riverwood, brief as her time there was. Whatever reason she forgot where her home was, and of all the places she had been since then, she would love to find somewhere like this to settle down with someone, even though no one loved her.
She bought some bread for the road and set out for High Hrothgar; Lydia close in tow. Fortunately, the Seven-Thousand Steps were right on their doorstep. This little town laid in the shadow of the great mountain, built supposedly for pilgrims to the peak where the Greybeards' temple stood. The convenience was remarkable, though it waned in the years to come.
On the way to the Steps, she found a conversation between a Nord and an Elf. One was old, the other was young.
"On your way up the 7,000 Steps again, Klimmek?" the young Elf asked.
"Not today," the Nord, presumably Klimmek, replied, "I'm just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The path isn't safe."
"Aren't the Greybeards expecting some supplies?" the Elf presumed.
"Honestly, I'm not certain," Klimmek admitted, "I've yet to be allowed into the monastery. Perhaps one day."
As the Elf went on with his day, Skathi could not help but take interest. He was remorsefully unable to fulfil his task he had clearly done for years, and she was already going to the top anyway, so she might as well offer her aid. It was only the polite thing to do.
"On your way to High Hrothgar?" Klimmek asked as Skathi approached, "About to make a delivery up there myself."
A lie, but that was excusable. "What types of deliveries do you make to High Hrothgar?" The outsider inquired.
"Mostly food supplies like dried fish and salted meats," he explained, "you know, things that keep fresh for a long time. The Greybeards tend not to get out much, if you catch my meaning."
Skathi felt she was missing an innuendo, but she could see some meaning in that. They lived in a monastery, there for meditation and training, not tavern town the road. A trip to the butcher was out of the question, and hunting was unlikely in such a terrain. She did wonder what he got out of this arrangement though.
"And in return?" the outsider inquired.
"Well, it's kind of an understanding between us," Klimmek explained I mean, "it just wouldn't feel right to charge them for a bit of preserved food. Trouble is, my legs aren't what they used to be and climbing the Seven-Thousand Steps takes its toll."
Looking at his legs, it was clear his legs had seen better days. He hardly kept to one side for long, if at all, and his feet were constantly moving, despite being stood still. It was clear even standing was painful for the old Nord.
"I could do it for you," Skathi offered.
"Really?" Klimmek smirked, "That would be kind of you." He picked up a large knapsack and handed over to the outsider. "Here. Take this bag of supplies," he continued, "At the top of the steps you'll see the offering chest. Just leave the bag inside and you're done."
Taking the bag in hand, was well weighted. Considering it was meant to feed the monks until the next while longer, it had to be heavy. Anything else and she might worry they were underfed.
"Anything I should watch out for during the climb?" Skathi inquired.
"Well, there's the occasional wolf pack or stray, but that's all I've ever had to deal with," Klimmek shrugged, "Shouldn't be a problem for the likes of you. Other than that, watch your footing. In these wintry conditions, the stairs can be treacherous."
As Skathi and her housecarl began to walk the trail up the mountain, she heard, "Be careful up there," from the old Nord.
She would need the care. The Seven-Thousand Steps were long and hard, as well as frozen. One wrong move and she would fall right back down this ancient staircase and have a perfectly preserved body for the burial. A humiliating death for the Dragonborn, prophesied hero of Skyrim. Oh well, at least everyone would forget about her.
Skathi found many markers on her way up. On them were etched tablets that told the story of how Kynareth granted mortals the Voice. At one or two, a pilgrim would be there, if only to meditate on the words, not climb the other six-thousand nine-hundred steps. They were pleasant, she supposed, but she would not remember them for long.
Instead, she paid attention to the wolves. There were quite a few on the path, but she was warned about that. She and Lydia dispatched them easily enough, but then the odd bear would make things complicated. No matter, she was used to fighting animals for years.
Less so regarding trolls. They were a good way up when they encountered a frost troll, tall, white furred and three-eyed. Skathi hardly fought them before, usually avoiding them whenever possible. When she had no choice, she still stayed as far away as she could. This would require cunning.
"Fuck him up, Lydia," she commanded her housecarl.
Lydia sighed and raised her shield for battle. She charged the troll, sword in hand, and attacked the beast, blade in its chest. It took stabbing the same way an adult takes to being poked by a needle and threw her aside. She picked herself up and tried again, but her next attack was just as fruitless.
Truthfully, this was just to see Lydia get thrown around. Skathi was cold with her to the point of being heated, so she appreciated the troll's brutality. Still, she needed the sword-hand, so dealt with the beast the same way she dealt with trolls before. She crouched behind cover, drew her bow and loosed an arrow straight in its mouth and it fell, dead.
Lydia looked at her thane. "Was this really necessary?" she hissed.
"The arrow? Yes," Skathi answered, "Your part? No, I just want to see you in pain."
That little part of their relationship on display over, they continued to ascend until they reached the temple at High Hrothgar. The temple was old, stone as worn and chipped as the mountainside, mortared together with the snow and ice. And just as Klimmek said, an offering chest laid at the entrance.
Skathi put the knapsack of supplies in the chest and walked toward the entrance. As she opened the ancient bronze door, it sounded an echo as though it had not been used or maintained for an age. Entering, the temple itself was still warm, despite the freezing chill of the winds outside. It was good, as she had been walking for hours and was painfully tired.
As the door closed behind her, Skathi was greeted with a voice as old and wise as the tallest trees of this world.
"So, a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."
Skathi found it coming from an old man in thick robes and a hood. He was flanked by three other monks of close age and dress. They moved without noise as though wind, not men. These ancient few were surely the Greybeards.
"I'm answering your summons," Skathi submitted, bowing her head in respect.
"We will see if you truly have the gift," the lead monk stated, "Tomorrow."
Maybe she should've come back at a better time.
The past two days were tense. The Jagged Crown had gone missing with Ravani and Divines know were either went. Ulfric, in lieu of the crown, had gone to the war room and spent much of his time there in planning for the next battle. Rumors had it they would be invading Whiterun hold soon enough. This war was going to escalate, fast.
Jeanne understood this and had been preparing for battle. The court wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving, had given her tomes and training in destruction magic, which she practiced in the yard. She was also accepting tips anyone had on her sword arm and reading books around the subject. Her studies were to keep her alive out there, as she should.
She was in the middle of throwing fireballs harmlessly onto a wall when someone entered the yard. Ravani had returned, looking worse for wear, having clearly been on the road. Her skin and clothes had been covered in dirt and dust, and her apparel had been supplemented with clothes that came from who knows where. The Dunmer had not had it easy getting here and was clearly tired.
"Ravani!" Jeanne greeted as she ran to her, "Where have you been? Do have the crown? You look like you need a bath."
Ravani nodded stiffly. "I do need a bath," she replied, "No, I don't have the crown, but I do have something else."
She said nothing more as she entered the palace, Jeanne following suit. The guards didn't stop them, clearly recognizing another shield-sister, despite the fact she had lost her colors. What had happened to the Jagged Crown? Ravani's gloom was understandable, but where had she lost it? And what did she have that was still worth giving to Ulfric?
The war room's discussion went silent when Ravani entered. Ulfric furrowed his brow, disappointed that she had taken so long. The Dunmer's worn expression hardened in his presence. This was the man that she had sworn to follow, so what was it that brought this displeasure.
"Do you have the crown?" Ulfric inquired.
"No," Ravani stated with understated venom, "but I have brought a message from the Jarl of Whiterun."
"Is that so?" the unimpressed, but interested Jarl remarked, "I've been wondering when he'd come around."
In a flash of movement, Ravani brought an axe down onto table with enough force to pierce the wood and map on top of it. The Galmar and the guards drew their weapons to defend, but the Dunmer's hand never left the axe and the axe never left the table. She gave a hardened stare at Ulfric, who looked disappointed and enraged.
"You're quite brave to carry such a message," he sneered, "It's a pity you've chosen the wrong side. You can return this axe to the man who sent it. And tell him he should prepare to entertain visitors. I expect a great deal of excitement in the city of Whiterun soon."
Ravani took the axe from the table and left the war room, leaving a hole in the map and table where Windhelm had been. Jeanne was shocked this had happened. She didn't understand what this meant, nor did she expect the result. She knew Whiterun had been abstinent in this conflict, but how it suddenly changed by this.
Most of all, she didn't know what changed for Ravani. She didn't know where Ravani came from, probably the Gray Quarter, but she obviously vowed to fight for Ulfric, the same as Jeanne. She clearly tolerated the Stormcloaks' attitudes towards Dunmer, but was that no longer true? Jeanne didn't know why she did it, but she wanted to know.
The Breton ran after Ravani as the guards raised shield and swords. "Let her leave," Ulfric ordered, "She is no longer welcome in this city as long as I live."
Ravani turned to face him. "I'll hold you to your word," she replied.
Jeanne just stood there as Ravani left the palace. She had a feeling she would never see her again. Even if she did, she may not have a choice but to kill her. The first Stormcloak she could call a shield-sister was now her enemy.
But she had questions. She turned to Ulfric, who was staring at the ripped map. "What was that?" she asked.
"It is said that men who understand each other often have no need for words," Ulfric explained, never looking up from the map, "There are but a few simple truths behind one warrior giving another his axe. By me denying Balgruuf's axe, I have declared us enemies. Faren's flare was aggressive, but pointless."
Jeanne nodded, assuming it was a Nord tradition. "Would you have sent your axe to Balgruuf?" she asked, assuming he was Whiterun's Jarl.
"Only if I had the Jagged Crown," Ulfric stated, "Having it in my possession is a declaration of my right and intention to rule. It would've been obvious. By Balgruuf sending this message, he reveals that he or one of his allies has the crown. And Balgruuf would never make this declaration without Legion support."
The implications of this were plain. "Do you think the Legion has the crown?" Jeanne speculated.
"Possible," the Jarl replied in the middle of realizing he couldn't read a ripped map now, "The response time for all this makes more sense, but we should still make sure it isn't in Whiterun."
"Is that why you're invading?" Jeanne asked.
Ulfric looked up. "No," he replied, "All of this is just war."
Jeanne nodded and left. She had been taught no lessons as to the nature of war. Her parents gave her no lessons, as they didn't want her to go down this path. She had to assume the invasion of Whiterun wasn't personal, as having it could be advantageous. If it wasn't, she didn't know how to feel. Ultimately, she was just another soldier in a war she didn't fully understand.
Without any knowledge of how to react to this, Jeanne just went back out to the yard and practice her magic again. The weather was cold, the coldest weather she ever felt, but she told herself that her fire would be enough to warm her, but she knew she was lying to herself. She practiced until nightfall.
When she was worn and the sky was dark, she let herself rest in the yard, possibly ready to fall asleep. She noticed some put a blanket on her shoulders, picked her up and brought her to her bed in the barracks. Jeanne didn't know who, not paying attention enough until they left the room, closing the door behind them.
Dinner with the Greybeards was silent. Not one word was said, save those Skathi would say out of the courtesy her mother taught her. While she was used to a lack of speech with her food, the fact that there were others, and not one said a word, made her anxious.
The next morning, the outsider found a set of robes laid out with the same design as the Greybeards'. They were elegant and lined with fur inside. It itched and scratched, so Skathi wore her dress underneath it to maintain her focus. She would need it for her training. Once she was dressed, the Greybeards led her to a foyer and were all present.
"Shout at us, Dragonborn," the speaking monk, called Arngeir as she learned, ordered, "and let us taste your Voice."
Skathi had to prepare herself. They meant the power she stole from the dragon; not what children make when something wrong happens. She had only used it once before and it felt strange to use it, like she was spitting fire that would burn her alive if it wanted. She calmed herself and gave Shout with the only word she knew would work:
"Fus!"
The force was thrown simple pots and vases but was powerful enough to push Arngeir and another monk aside. They were stumbled against the walls, pushing them to the floor. This was unintentional and Skathi was about to apologize, but the speaking monk was quicker to speak.
"Dragonborn, it is you!" he proclaimed, collecting himself, "You are welcomed to High Hrothgar." He inquired, "Now, tell me why you have come here."
The was only one answer Skathi could give. "I'm answering your summons, master," she explained.
"We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar," Arngeir stated "We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny"
"What is my destiny?" Skathi asked.
"That is for you to discover," he replied, "We can show you the Way, but not your destination."
That left the outsider without comfort. She needed direction, not some ambiguous destiny to strive towards. She needed a reason to be here. Otherwise, she would be content to be queen of woods, if not for the guilt of ignorance. Unless she was presented with an objective, she would just useless.
"I'm ready to learn," she muttered.
"You have shown that you are Dragonborn," Arngeir stated, "You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen."
Skathi felt cross at him. He just said she had to find her destiny, but he implied with this that he knew something of it. Was he afraid she would go off to meet it without training? If this is how they would treat, she would go off and do just that.
"Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout," the speaking monk stated, "Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn. When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power."
"All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power," he continued, "As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger. Master Einarth will now teach you "Ro," the second Word in Unrelenting Force. Ro means 'Balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus, 'Force', to focus your Thu'um more sharply."
One of the monks stepped forth and breathed "Ro," against the ground. Like fire, words burned into the ground in the language of her first word. She looked upon it and she could understand it. It all came to her naturally, as though she was relearning a skill from when she child all over again. She was quick to learn the new word.
"You learn a new word like a master," Arngeir remarked, "you truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step. You must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts.
"As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly," he continued to explain, "As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'."
Einarth opened his arms and ribbons of energies flew out from him. They writhed through the air and found their way into Skathi's mind. It was much like when she absorbed the dragon's power, but far less ancient in how it felt. She could almost see into his mind, experiencing his own life before her very eyes, but not. It was strange.
"Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um. Use your Unrelenting Force shout to strike the targets as they appear."
"Fiik Lo Sah!"
One of the monks Shouted and a ghostly form akin to him appeared. Skathi calmed herself and tested her Voice upon it with "Fus Ro!" and it disappeared into nothing. They repeated, summoning another apparition and she Shouted it to dust again. One last time, they summoned the form and she sent it back from whence it came.
"Impressive," Arngeir remarked, "Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri."
Skathi was almost lost as to who to follow, as she only knew two of their names. As such, she just picked on and let him lead her out the back of the building. The weather was as cold as ever here, though her robes held her against the cold well enough.
"We will now see how you learn a completely new Shout," Arngeir stated, "Master Borri will teach you 'Wuld,' which means 'Whirlwind'."
"Wuld," one of monks spoke. Like before, dragon text appeared on the ground as though it branded into the stone and snow. And like before, Skathi learned it without much effort. She wondered why it took years if it could be this easy.
"You must hear the word within yourself before you can project it into a Thu'um," the speaking monk stated, "Approach Master Borri and he will gift you his knowledge of 'Wuld'."
Like before, the ribbons flew and gave a look into another's mind, but this was different. Instead of the force and will break rock, Skathi found the understanding of the wind and how to be one with it. She felt she could throw herself into the air and she would fly across it without resistance.
"Now we will see how quickly you can master a new Shout," Arngeir stated, "Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn. Master Borri."
"Bex!"
From the other side of the courtyard, a gate opened. Without any sign of preparing his body, one of the monks flew to the words, "Wuld Nah Kest!" he shouted and was launched to the other side the gate. Such speed, faster than birds of prey or sabre-tooth tigers that propelled him forward. Skathi could hardly believe one could reach such speed.
"Now it is your turn," Arngeir stated, "Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes."
Skathi stood next to the speaking monk and calmed herself. This would be somewhat difficult to learn a new way to wield her Voice. Instead of this force effecting others, she would be affecting herself. She would be thrown through the air, nothing else. She tried to loosen her body, but to no avail. This was going to be stressful.
"Bex!"
At the sound of Borri's Voice, the student shouted, "Wuld!" and was thrown across the courtyard. She felt as though she were one with the wind, as though Kynareth were guiding her to her target. It was the same way when she loosed an arrow toward its target and it instantly kill its appointed fiend. The only difference was that she was arrow.
Without any sense that time had gone by, she reached the other side of the gate and almost off the cliff behind it. It was exhilarating, if not terrifying. She felt free from this world, if only for a moment. Once Skathi gathered herself, she approached Arngeir for the next lesson.
"Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is astonishing," the speaking monk remarked, "I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself." He trailed off, as though in disbelief.
"I don't know how I do it," Skathi stated, "It just happens."
"You were given this gift by the gods for a reason," Arngeir explained, "It is up to you to figure out how to best use it. You are now ready for your last trial."
"Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav," he continued, "Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."
"As you wish," Skathi replied, bowing her head, "Is it alright if I rest first?"
"You may," he answered and headed back to the temple.
Skathi sat on the stone and snow in the courtyard, exhilarated by the experience, but it soon faded. It was replaced with a strange serenity. From this mountain peak, nothing could pass through the clouds. It was like all the world's problem would not reach her here. It felt good, even if guilt gripped her and told her that she should be down there, not up here.
But that was not for today. Today, she meditated at the Throat of the World, breathing in the air as cold as death, but welcoming as the morning sun.