Chapter Thirteen - Lessons From The Master
One mountain to climb after another. First she and Vilkas had trekked deep into the Reach, battling Forsworn at every hilltop. Then as they neared Karthspire, a dragon had swooped down and stirred up yet another huge fight with an unusually well-armed encampment of the regional tribes. Laure and Vilkas had nearly skirted the entire camp, which sprawled over both banks of the Karth river and up across the opposing hillsides, when the fire-breathing Dovah attacked.
Before Laure could say, "Ysmr," lightning and fire were arcing across the long valley, hurled by sorcerers, atronachs, and as it turned out later, Esbern and Delphine. What had been planned as a quiet infiltration was now a full blown battlefield, and the two Companions found themselves right in the thick of it. The dragon strafed overhead, Shouting fire at anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Laure and Vilkas took cover wherever they could at the time, staying close together, swiftly disemboweling a snarling hagraven, then moving on and up.
They met up with Delphine and Esbern on a tall lookout as the burnt remains of several Forsworn pillagers and raiders smoldered. The dragon had finally landed down below and was being encircled by the scant few tribesmen and women remaining alive. The four above watched with interest as the beast lashed about with its tail, snapping and Shouting long infernos at the tiny figures swarming around. Yet another scantily clad woman with a wildly painted face was snapped up and crunched, her cries cut short.
Laure ended the dragon with a few carefully placed arrows, and when the remaining Forsworn opted to turn around and attack rather than take their lives and run, she shed no tears when she had to cut them down. After that, it had been simple enough to cross the river again, then climb the short trail to the cave network leading to Sky Haven Temple. Once in the temple itself, they were able to find the information they were seeking. Alduin's Wall.
Carved stone told the tale of Alduin's original banishment and gave clues to how he might be defeated again. A Shout that somehow brought Alduin from the skies. Hence her current journey up the Throat of the World to ask the Graybeards what they might know of this Shout.
Arngeir greeted them in the vestibule, "Greetings, Dragonborn. It is an honor to have you here, as always."
"Master Arngeir, thank you for receiving us. Might we refresh ourselves? It is a long journey up."
"Of course, follow me. I trust you found the location of the Word of Power we directed you to?"
"Yes, your advice has been most helpful." She and her mate followed the Graybeard into the modest living quarters of the monks, where they were able to wash and change into dry clothes. Arngeir approached with a wooden tray covered with sliced cheese, dried fruits, a steaming stew.
"I suspect you aren't here for simple conversation; may I ask what brings you on the long trek up to High Hrothgar?"
"As you know, I have been seeking a way to defeat Alduin. Recently I was told there might be a Shout that was used when he was originally banished. A Shout that made him vulnerable somehow."
Laurelin had become somewhat accustomed to the shortness of the monks. They rarely spoke, and every word was measured and meaningful. So when Arngeir spluttered angrily, she was taken aback.
"Where did you learn of this...who taught you of this?"
"It was carved into Alduin's Wall in an Akaviri temple. I was made to understand you might know of this Shout."
"You've been contacted by the Blades, have you not? They always interfere in matters they know nothing of-"
"They are helping me learn how to defeat Alduin. I don't see that as interfering. Will you teach me this Shout?" Eating was suddenly forgotten, lost to frustration and sudden anxiety.
"This Shout was used once before, to what end? Alduin's role is to bring about the end of the world. Perhaps it is time to let it die, and be reborn."
"I don't believe that. If for no other reason than whatever latent power I had before has awakened. The Gods want this world to have a chance; why else send the tool to defeat Alduin? The Gods want us to care. To fight back. When we have stopped caring and living, when the fight is all gone from our spirits, then let Alduin have his end. But not now, nor any time soon I hope."
Arngeir looked as though he was going to object, but the earnest, determined looked on the Dragonborn's face made him pause. What she said had merit, but he was still reluctant to share what he knew. "Those who used it before only postponed the eventual reckoning, you will only accomplish the same thing in the end. Do you still wish to proceed?"
"Of course. How could I ever rest or feel content, knowing I had walked away from my destiny? If not me, who else? No other Dragonborn has decided to turn up and help. I didn't want to be this, but here I am, more or less of my own free will. Are you willing to help me, or shall I search elsewhere?"
Once more Arngeir tried to avoid directly answering, "Use of this Shout takes you far from the path of wisdom, I don't think you understand how evil it is-"
"Arngeir. Rek los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul. Rek fen tinvaak Paarthurnax," thundered the voice of Einarth from the doorway. Vilkas and Laure were both wincing in pain as the unexpected fury of the usually silent monk was still echoing in their sensitive ears. Einarth stared pointedly at Arngeir a moment then bowed to Laurelin and moved away.
"Apologies, Dragonborn. Einarth has just reminded me that it is not for me to decide where your path takes you. That choice is yours alone. Now, I don't know the Shout you seek; however, if you will follow me to the courtyard, we will teach you the Words you will need to reach the summit of the Throat of the World so you can confer with our leader, Paarthurnax. Perhaps he can tell you of Dragonrend."
"You have my thanks, Arngeir. I know I ask much. I would not involve you if it wasn't important. And I'm pretty sure I'm not the only one who isn't ready for the world to end." She and Vilkas had to slow their excited steps to match the measured pace of the four monks as they all moved outside.
The courtyard was hemmed on one side by the dark stones of High Hrothgar, with the increasingly sheer walls of the Throat rising above. To the other side was a stomach-churning sea of low clouds swirling swiftly past. Unpredictable breaks showed a vista of the lower mountain ranges nearby, the occasional lazy twist of blue and white as the White River flowed by. Everything else was obscured by fog and rain.
Up here though, the rain was snow, driving every which way as the wind whistled and howled, working the cold right into Laure's bones. Thoughtfully pulling a sabre cat pelt from his pack, Vilkas wrapped it around her shoulders and watched as the four monks gathered nearby.
One of them whispered, causing brightly glowing glyphs to appear on the flagstones. Laure studied the three different Words, listening to the dragon souls she had absorbed, but not needing them, as the Greybeards themselves had given her the insights she needed along with the Words. She quietly rolled the Words around in the back of her throat before nodding and pushing her wind-whipped hair out of her eyes again.
"Winds guide you, Dragonborn. Perhaps we will speak more when you return." Leading her to the steps that continued to wind up and around the sharp peak, Arngeir bowed, then watched with mixed feelings as she and her mate edged up to the gale that raged just at the top of the stairs. Her Voice echoed over the courtyard as she Shouted, "Lok, Vah Koor!" and the winds dropped away, bringing a strange hush. She glanced over her shoulder and waved before picking her way through the drifts of snow and ice, mate close behind.
When they had passed from sight, Arngeir turned and gave Einarth a reproachful stare. Einarth said nothing, but met the other man's gaze levelly, before bowing and turning back to his devotions.
Vilkas hoped she had a reason for lugging two dead goats up the last few hundred yards of the slope. They each had a still warm but rapidly cooling carcass thrown over their back. She had used her new Shout repeatedly while they made the long ascent into the bitter cold of the highest elevations, clearing away the worst part of the weather, if not exactly warming them.
Eyes on the tracks she made as she climbed and scrambled the last few yards before a relatively level shelf of stone just below the summit, Vilkas at first didn't notice the shadow that drifted over, only belatedly hearing the booming creak of vast leather wings pumping slowly. He moved to drop his burden and noted his mate staring up with a small smile on her face, pivoting to watch the huge dragon circle overhead, she didn't seem surprised to find a dragon up here, and so he reasoned, "This must be Paarthurnax," as the great creature landed with a jarring thud.
The dragon's massive head turned their way, and his deep, resonant voice penetrated the awe the two Companions felt. "Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah ... my mountain?"
Laure dropped the goat over her shoulders and straightened up, gazing with some trepidation at the huge dragon looming overhead. "I am Laurelin. The Graybeards sent me up to learn from you, if you will teach me."
"Drem. Patience. There are formalities that must be observed at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it if you are Dovahkiin!" He shuffled his huge bulk around, massive tail whistling through the air over Laure and Vilkas' heads, and Shouted a torrent of fire into the curved span of a Word Wall nearby. When he was done and the steam had drifted away, bright runes glowed on the surface of the Word Wall.
Paarthurnax swiveled his head, saying, "A gift, Dovahkiin. Understand fire as the dov do. Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!" He gazed expectantly at Laurelin, who shrugged and strode over to the wall, studying the script carefully. The new word blazed in her mind, Shul, shining hot and bright like the sun itself. Stepping back from the wall, Laure prepared to "greet" Paarthurnax, taking a deep breath before pouring out all three words of her Fire Breath Shout.
"Yol Toor...Shul!" The flames hit the wall and poured in a curving tumult to spill out around each side of her. Finally the crackling stopped and steam rose swiftly into the cloud cover.
Paarthurnax sounded pleased as he observed, "Geh, pruzah. The dovahsos, the dragonblood runs hot and strong in you, Dovahkiin. Hmm, why do you climb so high? It is not for the pleasure of my...hmm...tinvaak. Conversation. What answers do you seek?"
Laure gulped quietly. His long, curved neck arched high above, and all she could see was scales, teeth, and the worn stump of a broken spike jutting from his chin. He was massive, his ancient body scarred, and this was the closest she had been to a live dragon that wasn't actively trying to destroy her. Summoning her courage, she met his reptilian gaze, nearly losing her thoughts as she looked deep into the intelligent eye examining her.
"The Graybeards sent me to you; I must learn a Shout they do not know if I am to defeat Alduin. Can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout, Paarthurnax?"
The mighty dov seemed to scowl a bit as he mulled over his answer. "Hmm. I have been expecting this moment. It has been long since Alduin was banished, but I see he and the Dragonborn return together. Such is the will of Akatosh. Krosis, apologies. I confess, I do not know the Shout you speak of. Dragonrend," he growled out the last word, teeth gnashing. "That Shout was not created by any dov, but by joor, mortal men and women who suffered greatly under the tyranny of Alduin. Into that Shout was channeled all of their rage and sorrow, fueled by hatred of the dov. I was not here to see it used on Alduin ages ago, and those who knew it perished. However, perhaps you may still find what you seek. If you brought a Kel, an Elder Scroll, here to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound where Alduin was defeated and time was injured, perhaps you might be allowed to see back, learn the Words that were used."
Vilkas finally chimed in, disbelief overwhelming the awe for an instant, "An Elder Scroll? Impossible!"
Paarthurnax swiveled his head and perused Vilkas with an unblinking stare, sniffing slightly. "Child of Hircine, few things are impossible. Many are improbable, yet extraordinary things happen every day. You should know this, bahlaan ahmul, do Fahliil Dovahkiin. Find the Elder Scroll and bring it here, and then we shall learn what may be learned."
Vilkas was transfixed again, unable to tear his gaze from the scarred face that seemed to drop out of the sky. He was reminded that he was very young, and this dragon was very, very old. He didn't understand most of the dragon tongue, and he decided he needed to get on that lack in his education soon. As quickly as they could get down the mountain. Remaining steadfast though, he encircled his shivering mate in his arms and asked another bold question. "Do you know where we might begin our search for an Elder Scroll?"
"I do not. Ask young Arngeir if he has heard rumor." Laure and Vilkas both smiled at the reference to "young Arngeir." Paarthurnax backed a few huge paces away, then launched himself into the air. With a soft bellow, he circled once, then landed on top of the Word Wall, draping his bulk comfortably over the narrow perch. Laure backed away to ease the angle she needed to crane her neck in order to look up at the behemoth dov.
"Thank you, Paarthurnax. My mate and I brought up some fresh meat that we would like to share, if that is agreeable to you. A small offering of thanks. Now I wish I had brought more." She dragged the goats over to Paarthurnax with Vilkas' help and then backed away.
The great dragon seemed to smile, "Rek-Ah, Huntress, I welcome your gift. I will wait until you have descended to enjoy them."
Laure couldn't help herself. Chuckling that a dragon was concerned about its eating habits with her and Vilkas she remarked, "My people are cannibals, and he's a werewolf. Don't let us stop you if you would like to enjoy them before they freeze solid."
"You're a werewolf too, moon-sister," muttered Vilkas as he dug in his pack for something to eat, himself. He was reminded that they had left High Hrothgar hours before without eating. He thought he was hungry then. He felt ravenous now.
"He knows that, but the point remains, neither of us are likely to be to sickened if he gulps down two goats. Those things are a bite each. In beast form you and I could eat that much easily."
"Fine, fine, there's just a part of me that screams out when a giant dragon is trying to be courteous; don't deny it that little thing. Call me crazy." They were bickering quietly and in a good-natured fashion as they wrestled with gloves and knots and buckles while holding hunks of cheese in their teeth.
Behind them, Paarthurnax puffed a soft exhalation and roasted the goats in a single breath. Laure and Vilkas were immediately quiet as they glanced over, spying the smoldering goats nearby. They all ate in relative silence after that.
Vilkas carefully picked his way through the calf high, slushy snow that Laurelin had led them through-a shortcut, she had proclaimed, involving clinging to a sheer cliff face like his mother's breast, while edging along the icy shelf overlooking the tops of a stand of trees nearly directly below. Once past that and thankfully on solid ground again, they waded through brush buried in drifts of wet snow, over a small ridge, and there in the distance was Whiterun, lights blazing in welcome from Dragonsreach. Still high above the vale, the lovers stopped as one to admire the sunset.
With his arms wrapped around her, chin nuzzled in under her ear, Vilkas inhaled her scent and smiled. He would never forget the day his brother went to Winterhold. It was the day he realized he was more interested in a pale, skinny mer than he cared to admit at the time.
She had limped by him, exhausted, to go admire a sunset. Coming to a stop himself, a few paces behind her, he had caught the mingled scent of her and his brother drifting from her hair into his nose. The beast inside had flared with jealousy for an instant, before the man he was quelled it ruthlessly. Just a moment later, she had turned, her profile gloriously lit from behind as the sun slipped further down. Her pale hair had been lifted in the slightest breath of wind that feathered over the plains and glowed palest gold. The ice in her eyes was a bright twinkle in the dusk, her fine features an alluring silhouette. She had turned and given him a brief smile over her shoulder, sharing the moment with him, and him alone. His heart had clenched up tight, made his breath seize up in his lungs until she turned back to the suddenly pale-seeming panorama beyond. Slowly he had released his breath. What was that all about? He remembered thinking in bewilderment. Realizing now he had already been falling in love with Laurelin, and her inner fire, that somehow outshone the setting sun that day.
Yesterday he had watched her chat with a dragon, give it a light snack, then spend all evening communing and meditating with the ancient creature, deepening her understanding of the dragon tongue, while he himself had huddled near the fire, avidly trying to make sense of it all. This morning he had watched and paced anxiously as she scaled the last stretch of ice and stone that separated them from the apex of the entire continent. Scampering on all fours up to the sharp spire that the Throat of the World tapered to, she stood up and Shouted into the wind, pure elation fueling her Thu'um.
Vilkas' heart had jumped to his throat when she slid backward on the icy stone from the force of her Shout. She caught herself and used a hand to hook herself to the pinnacle, looking outward, laughing into the teeth of the bitter-cold air, and seeing little more than wind-blown snow and thunderheads. She caught her breath, then her next Shout sounded a moment later.
"Lok Vah Koor!" The panorama that unfolded as the clouds cleared and the sun shone down was breathtaking. Her eyes watered at the sudden brightness of the sun glinting off the snow-clad peaks; he could see her palming tears from her eyes, then staring out again, raptly scanning every way she could, eyes wide.
Behind Vilkas, Paarthurnax had rumbled what could only be hoped to be a chuckle. "She has such fire. Do you believe she is strong enough to destroy Alduin?"
"She is Dragonborn. If she can't, then I don't know who can. Another of your kind perhaps."
"Few of the dov are strong enough to challenge him. The Dovahkiin was given a special gift; none of the true dov may absorb the soul of a fallen rival. She represents the essence and strengths of each dragon she has defeated, distilled into a spirit determined not to fail."
"So you think she has a chance?"
"Extraordinary things happen every day, Companion." They had both lapsed into silence, watching her slide down the rocky slope once more, carrying a pickaxe in one hand. "Hin fahliil Dovahkiin, fen ag rahgol. Zii drem vokri. Your elf Dragonborn, she will cleanse the rage, restore peace to your spirit, if you but ask." That had certainly given him much to think about on the long journey down.
Today she was in his arms, watching another astonishing sunset paint the heavens. Whiterun was a dusky silhouette against the bold swathes of color in the background. Shivers ran down his spine when he thought of how close he came to letting her slip away. What if she hadn't kissed me back, that first time in Driftshade Refuge? Vilkas liked to think other opportunities would have risen, but he was glad he had taken that initiative when he had it. When the evening zephyr picked up, they started themselves down again, hoping to pick their way to the road before full dusk.
They would have a few days to rest and take care of whatever business may have piled up while they were gone, then they were bound for Winterhold. Master Arngeir had indicated they should begin their search for an Elder Scroll at the mage's college north of Windhelm. A few days of relative inactivity before they were on the road again in search of improbable answers.
Spare time. Laurelin vaguely remembered what that meant. Once upon a time, not so very long ago, she had been the very epitome of indolent. Granted she had run her skinny ass from one end of the province to the other, north to south, Markarth to Winterhold. She had run, hidden in shadows, lied, picked pockets, and stolen countless bits of treasure and information. The payoff had been a few short years of languid rolling in wealth. Modestly done of course; it would never do to have too many notice your prosperity. She had liked to keep a relatively low profile.
That was all blown to bloody fucking Oblivion now. Letters arrived from all over the province, all begging for assistance from the Companions, but more specifically, the Dragonborn. Word was spreading, and she struggled to winnow her way through the small matters that didn't truly need her attention, trying to prioritize her list of innumerable places that had legitimate problems she could solve.
Dragons. Everywhere now, they descended, ravaged and terrorized. Days were now filled with rumor and tales of dragons, hunting them down, slaying them, recovering and rebuilding. Soothing bereaved families who had lost loved ones in fiery attacks.
And now Ulfric Stormcloak had sent a letter requesting an audience. She let the parchment slip from her fingers to the desk top.
"May I?" Vilkas' deep voice broke her reverie. She nodded and he opened the letter, scanned it quickly then met her uncertain gaze. He knew she felt conflicted about Ulfric for many reasons, but to decline an invitation written by the Jarl himself was hardly politic. "What will you do?"
"I have no idea. My first impulse is to tell him to find a creative and preferably handcuffed way to fuck himself." Vilkas raised an eyebrow but let her continue. "Yet as much as I would love to say that, I think I have to accept. What does he want?"
"At a guess, you working for him. Whichever side of this pointless war can claim your support will probably win."
"But I don't support either one. The only reason I would support one over the other would be if I had no choice but to choose. Or if I thought it would help, but it won't. Not in the end. The only ones who win in this game are the Thalmor."
"I don't disagree with you, love. It would be pointless to become involved in the conflict-"
"Whose side would you join if you had to choose?"
"I...I couldn't say. I would dearly love to believe Ulfric, to pledge my blade to his cause and have it mean something. The Empire that protected us is weak and blind to its peril. But Skyrim alone can not hope to stand against the Dominion."
"So there really isn't an easy answer. Why does this fall to me as well? I'm not a war leader."
"People will grasp at whatever offers even a slender thread of hope. I'm sure it is assumed that if you can stop dragons, you can stop a war. Or win it."
"Shit. Should we try to fit in a stop in Windhelm before Winterhold, or after?"
"After. We may need to delay an audience if any information we receive is time sensitive. I feel our priority right now is the dragons."
"Precisely what I was thinking. What do you know of Winterhold?"
"Very little, just a bit of history. Recently there have been rumors of magical disturbances and a powerful explosion that rocked Winterhold and threatened to send it into the sea with the rest of the city."
"My sources sent word that the old arch-mage was killed in an experiment overseen by a visiting Thalmor ambassador. The new arch-mage is still trying to piece it all together again. They might not be very keen to have strangers poking about, but I can't think of any other place or person that can put us on the trail of an Elder Scroll." She pulled in a deep breath and leaned back. "We can head out tomorrow or the day after."
"I'm ready whenever you are, love."
Farkas came in a few moments later, something small rolling around in his giant palm. "Finished this for you, sorry it took so long. That stuff is a challenge to work. I think I finally got the hang of it though."
Laure plucked her new dragonbone toothpick from his hand and held the slender thing up, admiring the smooth finish. He had even carefully carved a tiny wolf head into the small grip.
Vilkas rolled his eyes. "All the useful things he could craft for you out of those bones, and you chose a toothpick."
"It amuses me to think I can clean my teeth with the bones of a creature that could pick its teeth with me. Thank you, Farkas." She smiled slyly as she tested it out and found it did an admirable job of getting her teeth clean.