Uther IV

It was cold. Damn cold.

I rolled out of the stone bed and put on my robes for the day. This way of life bored me terrible but I could not become Miraak. I had seen too much while in Mora's realm. Too much had happened. I would do my best to live my life in the snowy courtyard of High Hrothgar.

The Graybeards seemed pleased with my decision. I had completed my training with them and instead of seeking power I sought to study the Way of the Voice. The problem with that is that I knew true power. I had turned my opponents on themselves. I could control another's actions by bending their will to my own. I had done things I was ashamed to even think of when I returned to Skyrim.

My return to Skyrim was kept a secret. Lydia was gone. Teldyrn Sero was left behind in Raven Rock. No one knew that I had returned, much less that I was with the Graybeards.

I had heard the rumors of the war. I felt bad for Jarl Elisif. The woman was beautiful and the Divines were unkind to her. She was not blasphemous, she worshipped all but Talos. Many followers only worshipped one of the Nine. I hoped Jarl Ulfric was merciful on her when they took the city.

I was impressed with the rumors of Jarl Ulfric's son. The boy would be twenty three or four now. It had been three years since I had met the future Jarl of Eastmarch. He was a good lad. He was polite and respectful, but I suppose being a legitimized bastard has that effect on you. Not only would he make a good peace time Jarl he was leading the Rebellion while his father sat at home. The young man pulled off several brilliant victories. He had earned his honorific "The Young Bear." He is twice the leader his father was when he named the Bear of Markarth.

A slow murmur rose from the Graybeards as they began their morning pray before we would break our fast with bread and potato soup. It amused me that we did this every morning as all but myself and Arngeir can't speak. It sounds like thunder in the room as they ask Kyne's blessings.

After morning meditation we moved to the courtyard when we heard someone banging on the door at the front. When I walked with Arngeir we found a Nordic man out of breath.

"We do not normally welcome pilgrims inside the monastery, but you seem to be in haste." Master Arngeir told the man. "What is your business?" He asked.

"I am here to talk to the Dragonborn." The younger Nord replied between breathes. I felt the blood in my face rush to my stomach and thought I would vomit. "Also, I have your supplies from Ivarstead." He lifted a large sack.

No one knew I was here. How could this man come here for me?

"I'm sorry to tell you but Ysmir is not here." Arngeir informed the man. He did not recognize me by the title the Graybeards did. The Dragon of the North.

"Who's Ysmir?" He looked at me in confusion. I used Unrelenting Force with a whisper to make him think I could not speak.

"Oh, right. The Dovahkiin. The Dragonborn. Whatever he is called. We recognize him as Ysmir."

"Wasn't that an old king of Skyrim?" He asked.

"His name was Wulfharth. He was a man who became a king. He is known as Dragon of the North. He was a Dragonborn. He came before Tiber Septim." Anrgeir answered.

"So the Dragonborn is like Talos reincarnated?" The man spoke, he looked stunned at the thought. There we go Arngeir make me seem even lazier for hiding away here.

"That is a matter of debate. I'm sorry, but he is not here." Arngeir made a shooing motion with his arms.

"Well can you do something for me then? If he comes here, give him this." The man nodded and handed out a scroll. Anrgeir looked to me and motioned. I stepped forward and took the parchment from the man.

When I got inside I unraveled the letter and read,

Thane Uther, Dragonborn.

We need you. I know you have no desire to help Skyrim and you want to hide from whatever happened to you on that damned island but help is needed all over Skyrim. I don't mean the Stormcloaks. I mean the Reachmen are sacrificing people to Hircine, I mean the Dragon Cult has risen up and are recruiting new people to be priests. The Emperor killed his own brother recently in Wayrest. People are starving in the city because this civil war is taking farmers out of their fields.

You can worship the sky all you want to, but the people need you. You swore an oath to the people and for some reason the Divines blessed you with the Dragon Blood. Get off your ass and do something about it. I am still waiting for you in Riverwood.

-A friend

"Arngeir have you heard all of these things?" I asked after letting him read them.

"Well I had heard most of them, but I did not know the Emperor had turned on his own brother."

"You knew that the people were starving?" I looked at him.

"They eat as we do, we get by." He stated matter of factly.

"You are choosing to eat this crap!" I yelled, the thu'um catching in my throat.

"As do you, Dovahkiin." He looked at me with a bored look on his face.

"Do the Reachmen really sacrifice people to the Deadra?" I asked him.

"I do not know if they are now. I had heard rumors from Klimmek but during war time rumors always break out. The Reachman have always worshipped Deadra and Aedra together. I do not know the specifics of how."

"And the Dragon Cult." I looked at him. No question.

"They were prevalent back when the Dragons were here last. The Greybeards do not interfere with the ways of the world below." His tone grew tense.

"Well I am no Graybeard." I took my robe and tossed it at his feet. I went to the shared living quarters and pulled my armor out of a chest and put on the Nordic steel again. It had been too long.

Leaving the monastery behind I set out for the war torn nation below. Skyrim needed a Dragonborn and I had been absent for too long.