Song of the Dragonborn
Rhapsody
Movement III
As she ascended the steps into Dragonsreach, Mohana heard the uneasy whispers of the guards and the few townspeople still milling about at that late hour. Apparently the voice she'd heard and felt ringing all the way to her core wasn't just in her head- every single person in Whiterun, and she presumed all of Skyrim, had heard it as well. They all wondered what it could mean. She heard snatches of their conversations, but none of the words made any sense to her. 'Greybeards'. 'Dragonborn'. 'High Hrothgar'.
The word 'Dragonborn' stuck out to her more than any other, for it had been what some of the soldiers gathered at the scene of the dragon-slaying had called her after she'd shouted that strange word she'd learned earlier at them.
What in Oblivion could they possibly mean by Dragonborn? Mohana wondered as she pushed open the doors to Dragonsreach.
Jarl Balgruuf was slouched in his throne, waiting on her to report back with the news from the Western Watchtower. "So, what happened at the Watchtower? Was the dragon there?"
Thankful her eyes were hidden under the hood so the Jarl couldn't see them rolling, Mohana replied, "Oh yes. The watchtower was completely destroyed, but your dragon problem's taken care of."
"And we cannot thank you enough for that. This was a mighty deed. By my right as Jarl, I now name you Thane of Whiterun, and confer to you all the honor that entails, Ashtoret. You've done a great service for me and my city, and I'll not forget that." Jarl Balgruuf replied, making his declaration of thane-hood known to his aid, Proventus. His expression went from grim to pensive in the next moment. "But... there must be something else. Did something strange happen when the dragon was killed?"
Mohana hesitated for a long moment before answering. "I might be something called 'Dragonborn.'"
The Jarl's eyes went as wide as those of the guards at whom she'd shouted. "Dragonborn? What do you know about the Dragonborn?"
Mohana simply shrugged in response. "That's just what the men called me after the battle. It felt like I drew some sort of power or understanding from it as it died, but I don't see what that has to do with anything."
The Jarl of Whiterun shook his head to contradict her. "Not just the men. The Greybeards seem to think the same thing."
There's another one of those terms I kept hearing again... Mohana thought. Aloud, she asked, "Greybeards?"
"Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the World."
Seems very... meditative. "What do these 'Greybeards' want with me? If all that noise earlier was them trying to get my attention."
"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice- the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or Shout. If you truly are Dragonborn, they can help you to use your gift."
As the small crowd gathering around her began discussing her nature and fate- related to the Dragonborn, at any rate- Mohana found herself unpleasantly reminded of the final investigation her fellow Penitus Oculatus agents conducted on her upon Amaund Motierre's orders. In order to preserve herself from a triggering episode, Mohana turned her thoughts inward to see if she truly believed in all this, as Proventus was terming it outside of her mind, "Nord nonsense" of Dragonborns and Voices and Greybeards. Her gut had never lied to her about her beliefs before- and now was no exception. Logically, she wanted to discount the lot of it, as it seemed to fit neatly into the Nordic narrative of Talos worship, but her gut was screaming at her that nothing else about the strange events in Bleak Falls Barrow made any sense at all if she were not Dragonborn.
"I suppose it would be worth looking into..." she murmured, almost as if outside of herself.
She stayed long enough to hear how to arrive at High Hrothgar from the Jarl, and then she set off on the long trip towards Ivarstead and the seven thousand steps that would lead her to her next destination.
Ivarstead had proven particularly difficult to get to, and the directions from the Jarl had been less than helpful. Mohana found herself getting lost no less than four times before she finally managed to find the true path. When at last she found herself standing in the tiny little hamlet, it was nighttime on Turdas. It had been the middle of Morndas when she'd first set off from Whiterun after the fateful dragon slaying.
To say that Mohana was exhausted and disgruntled would be an understatement. But to say that she was disheartened in her journey would be a bald-faced lie. If anything, the difficulty faced in even arriving at this point in her journey only strengthened her determination to ascend to the top of the steps where High Hrothgar and the Greybeards awaited.
It's taken me this long to get here. I'll be damned if I let seven thousand measly steps stop me from reaching the Greybeards now! she thought, pushing back her tiredness and yearning for rest. She glared up at the seven-thousand steps, pulled her hood tighter over her head to prevent it from being blown back in the sudden breeze, and began her trek up the side of the Throat of the World.
All around her were loud bangs and crashes. The night sky was filled with all sorts of pretty orange and purple lights. Flashes and crackling and dancing lights filled her vision with wonderment and her heart with a combination of awe and fear. She didn't understand what was going on, so she ran towards her mother and father for answers. She tugged on the sleeve of her mother's robes, trying desperately in her childish way to get her attention. "Mama? Mama, what's going on?"
Gentle brown eyes filled with fear and concern looked down at her, tears shining in their depths. From just that look, Mohana could tell that something was horribly wrong with her mother, and she didn't know if she could fix it. She felt herself being swept into her mother's arms and held close. Her mother's voice was soft in her ears as she soothed, "Shhhshh, it's all right little one. Settle down, Mohana, nothing is going to hurt you..."
Mohana hadn't realized until that very moment that the pretty lights and loud noises were something to be worried about, so she began to act counter to her mother's advice, her voice growing into a loud and plaintive wail. Her screaming made the bangs cease for only a moment, and led a voice outside their tree-house say, "They're definitely in there. Break down the door."
Mohana felt her mother's arms close tighter around her, squeezing her, making it hard to breathe. The soft words of gentle comfort in her ears did nothing to ease her worry and her screeching, for she could hear beneath the soothing tone that her mother was panicked. A deep voice resonated through the corners of the house, making her cling now to her mother's shoulders. Moments later, her father entered the room.
At first, the sight of her father filled her with a sense of comfort. Daddy was so strong. Surely he would take care of whatever was making Mommy so scared, right?
Her hope shattered in the next moment when she beheld the absolutely terrified look etched upon her father's face. He was in as much a state of panic as her mother, and looked worn out- almost like someone or something had injured him. His expression was grave as he turned to Mohana's mother and said, "We don't have much time. We have to pack up and leave."
Mohana felt her mother nod against her before she found herself being set down on the floor. She found herself looking into her mothers' eyes as the she knelt down to see Mohana eye-to-eye. "Little fairy, I'm going to need you to do something very important for me. Can you run and pack up all your clothes and toys like a big girl for me? Go as quickly as you can. It's like a race, dear."
She still didn't understand, but she nodded anyway. Mommy told her, so she needed to do it. She ran for her tiny bedroom, grabbed her little knapsack, and shoved as much as she could into its depths before rushing back out to meet her parents. Mommy and Daddy were standing there waiting for her, already packed. She saw that they had their weapons on them, and made sure she armed herself with the little dagger they had given her for her birthday that past year.
The flashes and bangs were back again, louder and brighter and more insistent than ever before. The little door of their house wouldn't hold for much longer. Mohana watched in bewilderment as her mother ran for the bedroom she and her father shared, shouting something about a treasure she needed.
"Leave it, Hasna!"
Mohana let out a tiny squeak at the sound of her father's voice. He'd always been very kind and gentle before, but his tone in that moment was harsh, commanding. Frightening, even. Her mother stopped in her tracks, shrinking deep into herself in fear before nodding in understanding. Mohana felt herself being lifted into her mother's arms again, and she reached out weakly for her father.
"Papa-?"
The look her father had on his face when he turned to face her that time was nothing short of pure devastation. "I'm sorry, little fairy. Go with your mother. Stay safe. Papa loves you very much."
Her mother seemed to understand her father's words more than she did, and held her closer in her arms. As the door crumbled from the weight of the arcane assault barraging it, her little head dropped against her mother's shoulders, tears streaming from closed eyes as she heard her father draw his sword and cry out, "Never should have come here-!"
The corpse of a Cave Bear laid before her, no less than five arrows sticking out of its body. Mohana smirked, quite satisfied with her efforts as she began to skin it. As she did so, she found herself consumed by another wave of nostalgia. She could almost feel her mother's gently guiding hands showing her the proper way to skin a dead animal, the way to gain the most hide with the least effort expended. She remembered Hasna's arms and hands over her own, showing her how to shoot her very first bow so many years ago.
When she'd trained with Faendal, Mohana had almost felt a sense of shame overwhelming her when she realized just how much she'd let the skills her mother taught her rust. Admittedly, she'd always much preferred using a sword and shield- they were the preferred weapons of her father, a once proud warrior of Valenwood. But she'd never been ungrateful for her mother's teachings of archery. Sadly, the further she rose after joining the Legion, the less she had to use her skills in archery until she'd nearly forgotten all she'd once learned.
Thinking on her days in the Legion brought to the forefront of her mind yet another memory dredged up from days long past.
The armor of an Imperial Legionnaire was never known to be a particularly comfortable uniform, but Mohana found herself wishing that the studs weren't so annoyingly large and heavy as she stood, sweating in the Sun's Height heatwave that called itself weather. The blindingly bright bricks of Solitude were not helping her sense of discomfort and annoyance, as the sun in her retinas was forcing her to squint.
Her squinting was noticed by her commanding officer- a then freshly-appointed General Tullius- who approached her with a sharp note in his voice. "Eyes wide open, soldier. Can't see threats coming if your eyes are half shut."
Mohana bit back her snarky retort about how she wouldn't be able to see threats coming if she were BLIND either, and nodded in response, wrenching her eyes open. So much as she disliked her current state of discomfort, the thought of the proud expression that would rest on her father's face whenever she arrived home that afternoon kept her complaints at bay.
It had taken rather a lot of effort on her part to get herself noticed and recruited into the Legion, especially with her mother's worry that joining the Legion would draw Thalmor attention to their family once more. But after a long and arduous process of training, re-training, and running errands for the Legates, she was finally accepted and welcomed into the fold. She stood next to her brothers-in-arms, a sense of pride filling her. She would serve Skyrim, serve the Empire and be glad of it. She was part of something more than herself, and it meant the world to her and her father.
"Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II, and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire!"
Her heart swelled as she heard her voice echoed by those of her brothers-in-arms. This was an oath they all took and swore to uphold together. One that would last them until death. So they made plain with the next words spoken.
"May those above judge me, and those below take me if I fail in my duty! Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!"
Upon the swearing of the oath, and the confirmation of their placement in the Legion, a cheer ran through the gathering. They whooped and celebrated for a long few moments before General Tullius quieted them and reminded them that they still had much training to do. Legionnaires they might have been, but there was always room for improvement, and the demands of the Empire were not, by any means, small.
But harsh training and harsher battles could wait for another day. This was a day for celebration. So she told herself as she ran home to proudly inform her mother and father in Dragon's Bridge of her acceptance into the Legion.
They really do expect you to hold to that oath. Mohana mused, folding her arms in around herself to protect her body from the harsh cold and harsher winds. The temperature had dropped further and further as she'd ascended the steps, leaving her freezing. Loyalty and success for life, or you die. At the time, I thought nothing of it... and I wish I had. Knowing then what I know now, would I still have taken that oath...?
She shook her head to clear it. Never mind. No sense worrying about it now. What's done is done, and all in the past.
She gazed up at the imposing amount of stairs which stood before her, mocking her ascent towards the monastery where the Greybeards resided. I think I've passed up half these stairs already. Three thousand five-hundred steps behind me, three thousand five-hundred steps to go.
She gritted her teeth and held her arms closer around herself, and forced herself to climb up the stairs again.
The cold of the prison cell seeped into her bones, leaving her folding in on herself like an infant. She somehow doubted the bruises given her by her fellow Penitus Oculatus agents would heal any time in the near future, leaving her milky tan skin painted in splotches of red and purple. Finger-shaped splotches.
It had been weeks since she'd had a proper meal, longer still since she'd been able to get a decent night's sleep. Now her every night was haunted by nightmares and nightmarish memories of The Katariah. The time of happiness she'd experienced, the fellowship of the Legion, when the threat of civil war was but a distant whisper, seemed a distant memory. Almost like a dream.
Now, her hours were dominated by hunger, cold, and fear. Sharp tongues and sharper weapons pointed in her face. Inquisitors and torturers seeking information from a screeched-raw throat that could give no more. No, she didn't know Savri was an assassin before the incident aboard the Katariah. Yes, she'd been playing poker with a comrade of hers that night, but no, she did not do it with the intent of letting an assassin slip onboard. She knew nothing of the Stormcloaks' actions, nothing of the Dark Brotherhood. Nothing of Savri's ultimate fate, save that she ran her through. Yes, she should have acted sooner. No, none of this was planned or deliberate. She didn't mean, didn't want for any of this to have happened!
Her sentence had already been decided, they informed her earlier. As if it had ever been in question. For the crime of allowing the Emperor to die on her watch, and daring to survive the ordeal, she was to die a traitor's death.
Though the crime of sedition had lain only with her parents- and only to the Thalmor- she was to pay the price in blood for the actions of another. It simply wasn't fair, that they laid all blame at her feet. As if they could have done anything to prevent catastrophe aboard the ship themselves.
She traced her fingers over her ribs, which felt much closer to the surface of her skin than she would have liked. Another shiver of cold ran through her, and she curved her body further in on itself. She felt barely more than a foot tall, and wanted to squeeze herself into that small of a space. Her fate filled her with a void comparable to the one dwelling in her stomach, made her wish her existence would simply cease then and not wait for the headsman to do his job.
Better to die now, and not give them the satisfaction of her head and her lost honor later. But there was no means she had to take her life. Not readily. Not easily. So she waited, dead inside, for her fate to finally arrive.
Her legs felt like water, her knees ready to quake and collapse beneath her. Her eyes were frozen open and nearly rendered blind in the wind and snow and rising sun, but at last, at last she had managed to arrive at her final destination. High Hrothgar was just ahead, the entrance to the temple in sight. She wasted no time in making a break for the entrance, straining with every muscle in her body to pull the stone doors open before stepping inside and closing them behind her.
The sudden change in temperature and lighting delivered an unpleasant shock to Mohana's system at first. The influx of soft heat felt as if it were burning her numbed body, her eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden darkness that lurked inside the temple's walls. Outside, the winds shrieked and howled in her ears- in here, the silence was nearly deafening. When at last she found herself adjusting to the change in environment, she stepped forward- only to find a figure standing in the center of the main hall in wait for her.
"So... A Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age."
The voice was barely above a whisper, but it seemed to resonate endlessly in the close, quiet space. As the figure approached her more closely and stepped into the torchlight, Mohana saw that they Greybeards received their name for their wisened appearances as well as their devotion to an ancient art.
Her old sense of duty was filling her once more, and she answered, "I'm here to answer your summons."
The old master nodded. "We will see if you truly have the Gift. Show us, Dragonborn, let us taste of your Voice."
A taste of... my Voice? Mohana wondered, confusion writing itself on her face. Ah. He must mean that power, that strange word I used earlier.
Her throat was already vibrating in preparation for letting lose the power. She took a moment to remember what the word she had shouted earlier was, and then found it leaping from her throat on its own.
"FUS!"
The elderly man standing before her staggered back several steps, making Mohana's heart skip a beat or two in panic before she realized that he'd likely been faced with much more powerful voices in the past. When the Greybeard recovered, he said, "It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Angeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"
Mohana hesitated for a long moment, taking some time to think over her answer very carefully. In all the old tales I used to read as a child, when speaking to an ancient order you have to be extremely careful with your answers. Answer wrongly- or selfishly- and you forfeit your life as the price...
Aloud, she replied, "I want to learn what it means to be 'Dragonborn'."
Arngeir, seemingly satisfied, nodded. "We are here to guide you in that pursuit. Just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you."
Mohana blinked in surprise. "So I'm not the only Dragonborn?"
Arngeir sagely responded, "You are not the first. 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. You are the only one who has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say."
A gift from Akatosh? So is this supposed to be some kind of Divines-given blessing? Just that thought alone set her head to spinning. Her entire life had been spent rank and file, always hidden, nothing too special or spectacular. Even amongst the Penitus Oculatus, she was but one of the group. In uniform, they all looked the same. She wasn't anything all that special- until now. I think Akatosh might have chosen poorly, in my case. I don't know the first thing about any of this...
It was in reflecting on her own ignorance in the subject matter that she remembered the other reason why she came. "So you summoned me here purposefully, Master?"
Master Angeir nodded slowly. "We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."
"And what is my destiny?" Mohana asked slowly. I don't know if I'm going to like this answer...
"That- is for you to discover. We can show you the Way, but not your destination." Master Arngeir replied simply.
With that answer, Mohana felt a surge of emotion in her heart. She could pursue this path and still be left with her freedom? The thought of something like that was simply inconscionable before. Perhaps it was simply the words spoken by the old master influencing her, but Mohana swore for a moment she could feel a dragon's wings stretching out in her heart- stretching as if it would soon take flight. The sensation elated her, and her excitement was clear when she said, "I'm ready to learn."
"You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift." Master Arngeir confirmed. His voice became grave as he spoke his next pronouncement. "But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen."
Mohana's discomfort with Arngeir's piercing question led her to physically squirm beneath his piercing gaze. Can I do this...? Am I really ready?
She abruptly shook off her doubts. The fact remains that I have to be ready for... whatever this is. And if I'm not ready now, I'll stay here and train this gift of mine until I am ready.