Eyvindur woke up with the sun. It peeked between the young mountain tops and infused everything with a golden haze, unobstructed by clouds or blowing snow. He rose and breathed in the cold, silently thanking Talos for such a day. It would make the rest of the climb to High Hrothgar easier. He shook the snow off his bedroll, then set it on his pack near the remains of the fire to make sure it was dry before he rolled it up. While he waited, he ate his allotment of the dried fish and cheese he had brought. He had brought along enough for three days, just in case something went wrong.

He heard the small voice of his charge as he ate. She muttered something incomprehensible and rolled over in her sleeping bag. He debated with himself over waking her up, but decided it was best to leave her. Her lack of sleep in Ivarstead had slowed them incredibly, and he didn't want her to hold them up again today. Besides, her weakness was concerning. Though she'd sworn it was nothing, her limp was obvious and she'd practically collapsed at every prayer altar. No, best to let her rest as long as possible. She woke some time later, as he was filling in the hole he'd slept in, hiding the fact that they had ever been there.

"Is someone after us?" she asked groggily, sitting up and letting the snow slide off of her. He looked in her direction but could see nothing but a petite black outline.

"It's just a common courtesy, no one wants to see the ruins of our campsite on their holy pilgrimage."

"I'd be happy for the extra help."

"It's all part of the journey. Braving the harsh weather on your own is a tribute to the Divines, and your own strength of character!"

"I see…" she watched him carry on with her brow furrowed. He watched her too, out of the corner of his eye. Eventually she got up and followed his lead without an argument or any further comment. He let out a breath. Since the moment she'd been entrusted to his care she'd been nothing but difficult, and it was nice that for once an exchange ended without an argument. When they finished, he handed her the same breakfast he'd had and she ate in on the trail. She said very little, but was certainly much more up to eating than she had been before, that was good.

"I'll admit, I'm impressed with you," he tried, "I was expecting it to take a lot longer to get going than it did."

She chuckled between mouthfuls. "Not the lazy layabout you expected eh? I can be quick when I want to be, and right now, I want to be. I'm tired of being cold all the time."

"You southerners are so soft," Eyvindur laughed good-naturedly. He saw her bristle out of the corner of his eye, but she either realized it wasn't meant as an insult, or she was just too tired to argue.

"Guilty as charged," she smirked. "Give me aspen trees over snowbanks any day. I wonder when I'll be able to see them again…"

"You may be able to see them from High Hrothgar, it's the highest point in all of Skyrim."

"That's not what I mean..." She went quiet, and Eyvindur found himself in the middle of an uncomfortable silence. He glanced over at her a few times. She pulled her furs closer and watched her boots kick through the snow. Her poorly hidden limp was more pronounced than it was the day before despite the extra rest. She looked sad and tired, and it would only get worse for her before she reached the end of her travels. He groped around for words of encouragement.

"I... know right now this all seems unfair to you, but you've been chosen for a higher purpose. The Divines have put their faith in you above anyone else. Doesn't that give you just a little bit of pride? Of faith that perhaps you were meant for something beyond Riften?"

"No," she replied firmly. Her eyes did not rise from her boots. "The gods can take their higher calling and stuff it. I don't want anything beyond Riften."

Rage flared up in Eyvindur's chest, fanned by more than a little distaste for his companion. "Mind your tongue," he warned angrily, "this is a sacred place."

"I don't-" Eyvindur put his hand up to stop her before any more blasphemy came out of her mouth. She snarled at him and turned away. He caught himself glancing up to the sky, looking for any indication that The Divines had heard her. Ahead on the path, a woman was sitting quietly in front of one of the ancient totems. They approached cautiously as not to disturb her, and when Eyvindur kneeled to pray next to her, she didn't stir. The dunmer stood stupidly watching them. He was aware of her but did his best to ignore her, and eventually she wandered off.

Mighty Talos, he prayed, offering the same words he had at each altar, please accept my love and hear my words, for I am but your humble servant. My life has been lived only to follow in your footsteps, but as I do so now, I feel hollow. I always dreamed that someday I would go to High Hrothgar and be your champion, but you have overlooked me. I would not dare challenge your choice in the dragonborn, for you are wiser than I could ever hope to be, but when I look at her I fear for all of Tamriel. She is heathenous and crippled, and though I try to see in her what you must see, I cannot. She is weak and ill prepared for the weight that you have placed on her, and I can only do so much to help. That is why my prayers are not for me, but for the Dovahkiin. Please, Mighty Talos, for her, for all of Skyrim, find it in your heart to guide her as you have guided me in the past. We need you now...

He sat in nervous contemplation, waiting for some hint that Talos had been listening. In his youth, a feeling of warmth and reassurance had often accompanied prayer, and he would rise feeling as if the world had been lifted off of him. This time he felt only the cold of the mountain. Disappointment and fear filled his chest.

When he finally stirred, he found the pilgrim sitting cross-legged next to him and observing him with a gentle smile on her face. She was a nord, ordinary-looking and generally plain. Her rough leather clothes and furs showed that she was a woman of the wilds.

"Well met, traveller," she said politely.

Eyvindur greeted her the same. "May I ask your name?"

"I'm just a pilgrim. I'd prefer to leave it at that, if you don't mind. You are on a pilgrimage as well, I assume?"

"Not this time… did you hear the call of the dragonborn?"

"Yes of course, I was just outside Ivarstead when it happened. It's an exciting time… are you… heeding the call?"

"Helping the dragonborn to heed it." He gestured behind him, and saw with dismay the dragonborn's legs sticking out of a nearby snowbank. She looked like she'd just flopped down like a child. He coughed uncomfortably. She did nothing to look more regal.

"Ahem, well, we should be on our way. We must not keep the Greybeards waiting," Eyvindur muttered in embarrassment. He stomped over to the spot that the rogue was reclining and glared at her. She replied with a lazy smile.

"Are we going already?" she asked innocently. Eyvindur held his hand out to her, and she took it. He didn't have enough self control to stop himself from yanking her to a standing position. She tried to keep her smile off her face, but curtsied to the pilgrim on their way past.

"You are an uncultured imbecile," Eyvindur growled.

"What? No, I curtsied, that's the definition of class," she snorted, no longer able to keep in her laughter. Eyvindur wouldn't even make eye contact with her.

"You may be bitter about all this, but the least you could do is have some respect for your title."

"I'll keep that in mind. Don't you worry Eyvindur, I won't embarrass you in front of the Greybeards. Not on purpose at least."

He grabbed her arm and spun her around to look at him. Something between rage and desperation was burning in his eyes, and it scared her. "I don't mean the Greybeards. People have expectations of the dragonborn. The dragons have returned, people are scared, and you are their hope."

The smile slid off of her face. He released her arm and trudged ahead of her. She didn't move to follow him right away. He knew that she wasn't on his heels, but at that moment, he didn't much care. "Do you have any idea what your place is in all this? Do you realize what it means if the dragons are returning? The entire world is afraid, and the only person they have to look to is you. They need someone they can believe in, someone who looks like they can save them all. But instead, they have you! They have some half breed rogue who can't take care of herself and doesn't care about anything but her beast man and her gutter city!"

His voice had been steadily rising with his frustration, and the last few words were spoken as a roar that echoed off the mountainside. He turned back to continue berating her to her face, and found that she was far below him on the path, staring out over the mountains. His hands balled into fists.

"Dovahkiin!" he raged. She glanced in his direction and then back over the mountain. A one second pause, then her head snapped back to him, her eyes wide in horror.

"Eyvindur!" she cried. She didn't get a chance to warn him before a searing pain and bone crushing impact threw him forward into the snow. He tumbled down the stairs, scrabbling for a hand hold. He came to a stop just a few feet from the edge of the cliff. He could see the downward plunge below him. His head was spinning. His back felt like it was on fire. He rolled over, pressing his wounds into the cold snow. A frost troll stood over him, snarling and brandishing its massive claws. Its left hand was shining with his blood.

An arrow came whizzing over him and struck the troll in the throat. It squealed and reared back, giving him time to claw himself out of the snow and back up onto his feet. The dragonborn notched another arrow and let it fly, this time landing it in the trolls arm. She looked from it to him as they both came barrelling down the hill.

"Don't stop firing!" he howled. He was close enough to see the fear in her eyes. "Their wounds heal on their own!" She grabbed a third arrow and aimed again, but this one missed its mark completely. By the time she'd prepared a fourth, the beast was upon her. Eyvindur scooped her up around the middle and continued to run, striking her with such force that the wind was knocked out of her. The bow and arrow fell into the snow and he did not let her stop to recover it.

The pilgrim was waiting at the bottom of the hill, war axe in hand. Eyvindur came level with her and dropped the dragonborn into the snow unceremoniously along with his crossbow, then drew his sword and prepared to fight. The dragonborn snarled something and rose to her feet and drew her own weapon, an iron sword. The air around it crackled with a fiery heat, and when she swung it back and forth, fire sprang from the blade. The troll snarled and reared back away from the flames. Emboldened, she lunged forward and slashed open its arm. The wound cauterized immediately, and would not heal. A backswing from the troll sent her into the snow almost six feet away. Eyvindur saw the sword fly off in the opposite direction, behind the troll. Now she was without any kind of weapons. He tightened his grip on his own sword.

"I'll draw its attention, you try and strike it's spine!" he ordered the pilgrim.

"Aye!" she called back, and readied herself. Eyvindur whooped and hollered at the top of his lungs. The dull eyes of the beast followed him, claws at the ready. When it was good and distracted, the pilgrim launched herself at the back of the beast, burying her hatchet between its hairy shoulders. It roared and whipped around, grabbed her by the head. With one violent flick of its wrist, she went limp. It regarded her with bored interest for a moment, then cast her body away and focussed on Eyvindur. He was aware of the sheer drop behind him as the troll beared down on him. There was nowhere to go.

A bolt from his massive crossbow pierced through the troll's torso. It grunted oddly, and took a step towards him. It wobbled on its thick legs, and he had just enough time to dive out of the way before it toppled, pitching over the side of the mountain. The dragonborn lay panting in the snow next to his crossbow. She stood up and stumbled over to him. She looked like she may collapse in the snow next to him, but managed to stay on her feet. Her arm was clutched to her side, no doubt aching where she had landed on it. She offered up her hand but Eyvindur waved her off and got slowly to his feet on his own.

"Will you be alright?" He asked her, looking her up and down. She didn't reply, just nodded.

"I've lost my sword…" she murmured weakly, looking out over the snow field. Her head snapped violently back away when she saw the body of the pilgrim lying nearby. There was no blood, but she lay haphazardly in the snow like a discarded child's toy.

"There is nothing we can do for her up here. I'll pack her in snow and let the Greybeards know, they will make sure she makes it to Sovngarde safely."

"I… uh… yeah. Okay." She made a large awkward circle around the pilgrim's body, confining her search for the sword in such a way that she didn't have to look at it. She tripped over the hilt before she saw it, buried partially as it melted through the snow. She pulled it out and shook it off. The blood of the troll was burnt to crusty flakes on the weapon. She wiped it off hastily and resheathed it before moving on to retrieve Thiessen's bow.

She did not turn around the entire time that Eyvindur took to carefully pack down the body. The pilgrim wore an amulet of Talos around her neck, and he carefully set it atop the mound. When he was finished, he went to collect the dragonborn. She was shaking, and not from the cold.

"H-have we got anything for your back?"

"A little snow is all it needs, we will make it to the Greybeards today… if we hurry."

They trudged away together, but they didn't get very far before Ransom began to wane. Her limp slowed her greatly, and she held her arm close to her body. The prayer altars came and went without them stopping. They'd lost too much time and were moving too slowly for him to stop and pray. Besides, each time he looked at the prayer altar, he thought of his petition to Talos moments before they were attacked, and a chill ran up his spine.

The sun was setting and the wind was picking up. It roared around them and pulled at their fingers. It slipped into the slashes in Eyvindur's clothes, and he could feel the chill working its way into his skin. He'd never been so cold as he was in that moment. His companion wasn't doing much better. She tripped on one of the steps and pitched forward. She didn't rise.

"Take my hand," he offered, tapping her on the shoulder. She shrugged him off, but again did not rise. He leaned down, with great effort, and slipped his arm under hers. She did not complain.

It was completely dark before the walls of High Hrothgar loomed out of the maelstrom. She stared straight up the sheer, black stone wall. Ornate carvings splayed out over the stone work. The massive black doors opened, and a small, old man in black robes came out to the step.

"Who comes to our doorstep?" the old man asked. Eyvindur rested a worried hand on the shoulder of the thin dunmer. She hung limply at his side, panting with exhaustion.

"Master Greybeard, I present to you, the dragonborn."