Once inside she was greeted by a group of monks. They were dressed in long, black coats with hoods over their faces, making them look mysterious and dark. The room she found herself in was huge like everything in this place. There was a big, empty space in the middle, were the monks stood in a circle, looking at an uncertain Ruthalia. More stairs were leading to another couple of iron doors, and to the left and right were corridors. Ruthalia suspected that they must lead to their quarters and kitchens.
She saw a hole in the ceiling right above the circle of monks and silver moonlight vaguely lit the large room; a few lonely torches contributing little to the darkness.
"Dragonborn, you have finally found your way to us." One of the monks now spoke to her, drawing her attention to him. "Step closer."
She did as he demanded.
Honoring their names, they all had gray beards. Their eyes were dark spots behind their hoods and, even though she could barely see them, she felt their looks all over her.
I shouldn't have come, she thought as she looked around nervously.
"How do you know I am Dragonborn?" she asked.
"Why else would you be here, child?" he answered the question with a question, a slight smile spreading over his wrinkled and worn face. Ruthalia returned the smile uncertainly.
"But before we can be sure however, you must pass a test. Follow us to our courtyard, there you will be able to demonstrate your skills and what you have learned so far." With no further explanation he and the other monks were climbing up the stairs. Still feeling strange and klutzy, she followed them through the doors.
They opened onto an expansive courtyard behind the building. The place was huge. A big field of snow and ice. Further down she could see steps, leading to some sort of altar it seemed, a fireplace in its middle. To the left she made out a giant, iron gate with no purpose whatsoever. It opened only to a few more yards of snow, before it all stopped at the edge of an icy cliff.
Freezing yet again, she stepped up to the monks who were all standing in a half circle, welcoming her in their middle.
"Now, present to us your Words of Power, the Thu'um," demanded one of the Monks, who later introduced himself as Arngeir, the leader of the Graybeards.
After presenting a short series of words, they taught her yet another which allowed her to sprint as fast as the wind and, in order to prove that she could, Ruthalia had to use it to get through the gate before they closed it.
Preparing herself mentally as the gate slowly opened, she stood ready and waiting for their sign to start. Her light brown eyes watched the Monk next to the gate closely. Just as he opened his mouth to use a Word of Power that would close the gate faster than closing it by hand, Ruthalia reacted and felt the familiar stirring inside her stomach.
It crawled all the way through her lungs and came out in a blow of striking power. Before she even realized it herself, she was out the gate, staring at the Monks a few yards behind. She blinked, confused, and shook her head. A proud smile snuck over her face.
"Well done, Dovakiin, now do it again," Arngeir said.
Once the Graybeards were satisfied with what they had seen, they all went back inside to finally give Ruthalia what she had come for in the first place. More information.
Arngeir told her what it meant to be Dragonborn, or, as he had called her earlier, Dovakiin. Dragonborns were humans born with a dragon's soul, which enabled them to use the Words of Power and unlock those by devouring other dragons' souls. Every human being was able to learn the words, but for Dragonborn it was naturally a lot easier. There were usually three words for each shout. Each word would make the shout more effective and stronger. There had been several Dragonborn before her. However, there was only ever one within a hundred years.
Arngeir marked a few places on her map of which he knew where to find more words. And, at a final trial, Arngeir told her to retrieve the horn or Jurgen Windcaller, which was supposedly hidden in the tomb Ustengrav.
Ruthalia sighed at the thought of yet another tomb.
They did not give her more explicit information, so Ruthalia thanked the Monk and got ready for her way down the giant mountain. But just before she was out the door, she remembered the Draugr.
"There's a question before I leave," she started.
"Go ahead, child," the old man encouraged.
"I have stumbled across creatures. I have read books about mythology here and there, and I believe the creatures I found are called 'Draugr'. They were protecting a tomb in which I found the shout I have demonstrated to you. When I was fighting a bigger one, he used a shout on me. How is that possible?"
"The Draugr are ancient Nords that once lived in Skyrim. Some of them once served the Dragons, that is why they have the knowledge of some of the Words. They are now bound to protect the many tombs scattered across Skyrim, trying to keep whoever dares to enter from reading them and achieve their power. They are foul creatures, unworthy of their existence, yet punished by exactly that. Be careful, although, they are not the strongest nor most dangerous things you will encounter on your journey. There is still bigger evil out there."
Ruthalia looked at Arngeir thoughtfully for a while. Something told her that he was wrong, that there was more to the Draugr than he knew, than anybody knew. But she remained quiet.
Nothing left to say or ask, she expressed her gratitude again before she finally left via main iron door. On the way down, Ruthalia decided she would stay in the same inn again for another day, and the next morning get her reward for delivering the supplies. The weather had fortunately improved some. It was still ice cold, however, and she encouraged her horse to move faster once she was seated on its back.
She wondered about the Dragonborn who had come before her … What kind of people had they been? Had some been as afraid of this power and responsibility as Ruthalia was? Or had they all embraced it like true heroes?
Ruthalia had never seen herself as a hero or a legend, and yet it was exactly that role that had been thrown at her. It was now up to her to catch it or to let it hit her. Or was there a way to cower? But had she not cowered enough in her life? Maybe this was the chance she needed to prove to herself that she was more than just a simple hunter, more than just another abandoned wood elf in a world full of prejudice, crime and betrayal.
As she reached Ivarstead, exhaustion had finally caught up with her. The sight of the Vilemyr inn, with its warm lights flooding out of the windows, was the most beautiful sight she could have imagined at that moment.
It was deepest night by now. The village lay silent and sleepy and nobody was out except a few guards that were patrolling the area. She entered the inn and stopped in front of its keeper, more asleep than awake she asked to rent the same room again. With a friendly smile he shook his head. "You don't need to pay me this time. You have done us all a big favor. Use it for another day, elf."
With a tired smile she nodded and headed into the room. She dropped on the bed and fell asleep the minute her head touched the soft pillow.
"Excuse me. Ehm, are you Ruthalia? I am to deliver this message to a wood elf named Ruthalia. So, you are Ruthalia, yes? Then this is a message for you. Ehm, are you listening? Or are you not Ruth-"
"Yes, yes. I am listening, just give me the damned message!" she growled and sat up in the bed, blowing red strands of hair out of her face. The courier handed her a sealed letter and was out the door as fast as he had appeared. Still tired, Ruthalia rubbed her bleary eyes and took a deep breath, scratching her back while unfolding the letter.
"Dragonborn – I need to speak to you. Urgently. Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I'll meet you there. – A friend.
P.S. I might be in possession of something that would be of use to you."
Ruthalia wrinkled her forehead and read it again.
And again.
And one more time.
Now who could this be from? she tried to figure out desperately, tired of having to run from one place to another.
It was obvious that the person needed something from her, but what and why? What was there that she could give anybody? The person must have been watching her, how else would they know her name and that she was Dragonborn? Or had somebody been spying on her? Was she in trouble? She could not recall having been caught stealing supplies back in Riverwood. Was it a trap? And what was it this 'friend' had that she could have a use for?
She had only been in Skyrim for more than a few weeks. Thinking hard, she tried to remember places she had been to. So far she had only stumbled across a few ruins. The only big city she had seen so far was Whiterun, and then there were the villages; Riverwood and Helgen. Although Helgen, she thought grimly, was probably not a village anymore.
Riverwood, on the other hand, had only been a little village she had traveled through during her escape from Helgen. So, it must have been in Whiterun.
Rubbing her chin thoughtfully she went back to the day she had first set foot in the big city.
It had been a sunny and warm day. It was right after she had escaped from the attack in Helgen. Ralof, the Nord who had aided her throughout the attack on Helgen, persuaded her to go to Whiterun – to tell the Jarl of the dragon that was heading for his city.
Ralof had also introduced her to his sister. She was a proud, practical woman who equipped Ruthalia with a few supplies to make it to the city in one piece.
However, Ruthalia had not been able to resist that little pouch of gold, that Ralof's sister was obviously carrying in one of her dress's pockets.
"Only the strongest survive," her master had said.
Or the trickiest, Ruthalia thought as she gave the woman and her brother one last warm smile.
And then she was off, walking down a small, narrow road that wound itself down a steep hill. The way was leading through beautiful forests, followed by a relatively large river, that had been her companion ever since she had entered Riverwood. Its peaceful rushing, along with the songs of the many birds, soon lifted Ruthalia's mood and let her forget about the hassle and horror of Helgen.
Whistling a simple melody, she increased her pace.
In few short hours, she stopped before long, slender stairs built of perfectly white stone. The stairs wound up to a gigantic building, overlooking the whole city.
"That must be Dragonsreach," she mumbled, looking up to stare at the impressive construction. There was an ornate bridge at the top of the stairs, leading to the big double doors. Dragonsreach was surrounded by a moat which was filled with a dozen lively salmon.
As she entered through the big twin doors, she found herself in a huge room. Many long-tables were arranged in the middle, leading all the way up to the throne dais. Over the throne - which was a golden beauty, covered with the best and softest materials - hung the huge skull of a dragon. Its big maw hung wide open, razor sharp teeth sticking out. Torches lit the room and created a cozy, comfortable atmosphere. Conversations filled the room and Ruthalia thought that a kitchen must be near, according to the delicious fragrance in the air.
She stepped on a soft carpet that lead all the way up to the throne.
Ruthalia didn't get far, however. A bulky dark elf was heading towards her, a sharp sword ready in her hand. She wore regular leather armor. Her hair was black and short, the little that would have hung down to her shoulders, was tied together. Her face was harsh and expressed hostility.
"What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors," she said, stopping only a few yards away from Ruthalia.
What's wrong with all the people here? One is grumpier than the other, Ruthalia thought with a lifted eyebrow. "I have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack," she answered flatly.
The dark elf lowered her sword a little and seemed to relax some. "Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."
With that she walked off, expecting their intruder to follow her. The burly woman stopped before the Jarl's dais, where he sat casually on his impressive throne. He wore fine clothes that spoke very obviously of his rank. The golden crown, unusually delicate, was sitting marvelously on his head. His facial features were rough and hard, exposing him as a true Nord. He was of middle-age and well built but Ruthalia could tell that he relied more often on his guards than on his own strength.
His steward was standing right next to him, wearing clothes almost as fine as the Jarl's.
"So. You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?" the Jarl said. His icy blue eyes had the effect that Ruthalia straightened her posture.
"Yes, and last I saw it was heading this way."
Heavy silence followed Ruthalia's words. The Jarl and the steward were sharing worried looks with each other, before the steward suddenly looked guilty.
"By Ysmir, Irileth was right," he mumbled. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?" the Jarl said to his steward, still nervously playing with his fingers. Ruthalia watched the whole scene quietly. She was uncertain what else to do. She had done what she had been asked and all she wanted now was to leave. However, as she looked around, she noticed a person in one of the room's corners, half way hidden behind a big pillar. She could barely make them out but could tell that the person wore a hood to cover up their face. The hands against the pillar were delicate and small, Ruthalia figured, therefore, that it was a woman.
"My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once." argued the dark elf, whose name - Ruthalia guessed - was Irileth. "It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains -"
"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him," the steward interrupted.
"Enough!" the Jarl's strong, demanding voice drowned out the argument and startled Ruthalia, who was still watching the hidden person. "I will not stand idle by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irilieth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."
"Yes, my Jarl," the dark elf responded at once, and was on her way.
"If you'll excuse me, I will return to my duties," Proventus declared and headed for another room. As soon as he was out of reach for eavesdropping, the Jarl turned to Ruthalia. Feeling observed and examined under the Jarl's eyes, Ruthalia straightened at once.
"Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. Here, take this as a small token of my esteem," and with these words he lifted himself out of his throne and had a servant come to his side, to give him a steel armor set, which he then handed to Ruthalia. She took it and bowed lightly.
Holy bluebell this is heavy!
"There is another thing you could do for me," the Jarl added. "Suitable for someone with your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and … rumors of dragons." With a gesture of his hand, she followed after him.
Ruthalia withdrew from her memories.
She shook her head and scowled. It had not been then, no. There had been nobody during her first meeting with the Jarl that could have sent her the letter. It was someone who still tried to remain unknown and hidden.
Someone who still tries to remain hidden …
Her eyes widened, figuring it out. The woman she had seen in Dragonsreach, the one hiding behind the pillars, Ruthalia had also seen her after the dragon attack in Whiterun. At the same place, in fact!
What she still did not know, however, was why that person wanted to meet her, or if it was a trap. She had no idea whether this enigmatic figure needed her, or intended to harm her. The letter expressed urgency, but that, too, could be a trick.
Suspicion grew thick in Ruthalia's gut, but so did her curiosity.
She jumped out of bed and gathered up all her belongings. She expressed her gratitude to the innkeeper again, and left the building.
Ruthalia checked back with the man for whom she had delivered the supplies, to collect her reward.
It was another sunny and relatively warm day and no cloud was in sight. She saddled her dark brown mare and was off to meet the hooded stranger.