Author's Note:
Tried something new this chapter. I've always loved the tablets going up the Throat of The World. It really makes you feel like you're on a pilgrimage. With every tablet, and every new height reached, you learn something new. Not the subtlest of metaphors, but I love them. So I alternated the writing on the tablets with what happens in this chapter because why the fuck not?
-xx-
Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus.
Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs.
For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land.
At the bottom of the mountain a tablet greeted her, and an altar to Kynareth. She kneeled in front of the altar and drank from its fountain, the cold water feeling like an inner purification, cleansing her from the inside and preparing her from the journey. The pack from Klimmek was heavy in her hands, but her heart felt light.
Ivarstead was a nice village, she mused. Quieter than Rorikstead and much smaller, but it seemed safer, nestled between the mountain and the lake. And well, not being so close to the Reach clearly helped.
Or well, safer until now.
Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus
The Dragons presided over the crawling masses
Men were weak then, and had no Voice
The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times
Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices
But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts
A roar sliced through the sky, and then everything was fire and brimstone. A dragon descended upon the village, a jet of flames licking away at several rooftops. Amina dropped her waterskin, and ran back towards the village, across the bridge and through the crops, leaving a path of trampled corn in her wake.
The dragon landed in the middle of the village square, knocking over stalls. Screams pierced the air as people trampled over each other to escape. Even the few guards that approached it look ready to flee, their hands trembling, shuffling around the dragon to avoid its maw.
Amina felt like puking, but swallowed it and continued forward. Those people needed her, godsdamnit. If not the Dragonborn, they needed a Companion.
The dragon spotted her, and took flight, knocking over the guards with the wind its wings made. She pelted him with arrows, but the thing's hide was much tougher than it looked. She was making it even more mad by poking it.
"Foolish joor, you think you can take me?!"
"Dinok saraan, hi hinzaal Dovah!"
The dragon roared. "You speak our tongue?! What kind of joor are you?"
The Dragonborn, taught your language by eating a pal of yours. "A well-read one!" she yelled, and the dragon swooped down on her, trying to catch her in its jaws and break her in half. There was no escape, its bite thrice her size…so she jumped in.
There was only darkness, and the dragon's foetid breath. It jostled her around with its tongue, coating her in saliva and trying to swallow her whole, but Amina was having none of that. The moment it started trying to move her, she jabbed down her sword right in its tongue and through its bottom jaw. It roared, shaking its head and trying to get rid of her, but she held fast, hands on her sword and feet nestled between its teeth. A wave of heat pushed over her, and she screamed in alarm. Fire started bubbling in the dragon's throat, like a volcano waiting to erupt. Amina backed away, only to have her back hit its closed maw. It had effectively trapped her, like a sweetroll in an oven!
She bashed her shield against its teeth, shattering them and making the dragon roar in pain. It released its fire breath at the same instant. Just as the flames started to lick at her armour she jumped out, followed by a roaring stream of flame that singed her skin and her hair. She fell to the ground and rolled, turning towards the dragon with her shield raised to protect herself from its fiery onslaught.
The dragon roared, its maw full of blood and broken teeth, and Amina roared back at him. Dragon and woman stared at each other.
"Pelt it with arrows!" Amina yelled, and the guards, as if woken up from a dream, started raining arrows on the beast. It roared as a few of them pierced its wings, making it lose altitude. The men screamed in victory, and emboldened by their success they started shooting even more arrows, shredding the dragon's wings until it fell to the ground. Amina then delivered the killing blow –
They were flying over the tundra, racing to see who was the fastest, the strongest. They had been stationed as Alduin's generals there, honored beyond belief, and had served to keep the local Dragon Priests in check. Every week they were worshipped, fields of humans bowing at their feet and asking for their guidance. He and Mirulmnir, soul-brothers, forged from the same principles of the honourable hunt, inflictors of Alduin's will upon the world. The humans were weak, unknowing, and so the dragons had taught them writing so that they may worship them better. Dovahzul was not suited for writing with their soft claws, so they scribbled their own form of writing, and had surrounded statues and murals in their name with their words. And all was good.
She was lifted into the air carried by the wind of the dragon's soul, and the loud music of its existence filled her ears, a chant of roars and Dovahzul and religious rites performed by his subjects. Its memories were a whirlwhind in her mind, from its birth in exotic Akavir, to its flight over the Padomeic Ocean and its rule in Tamriel. She gasped for air, her whole body exploding in a supernova of light, and it was over.
She fell to her knees and held tight onto the earth, burying her fingers in the soil, feeling queasy and unsettled. She felt a churning in her chest, as if her own soul was making room for the other to settle in, to absorb it into its own home and make it part of itself.
One of the guards approached her, and it reminded her of Whiterun.
"The rumours are true! Could…could you be the Dragonborn of legend?"
"I just gave you a light show after killing a dragon. What do you think?!" she snapped at him, her eyes still glowing. When he recoiled in fear, her gaze softened. She closed her eyes, drew in a deep breath, and the light subsided, her skin and eyes no longer glowing, yet again normal and dirty from battle.
"Apologies, friend. This whole dragon soul sucking business always unsettles me. I didn't mean to snap at you, I'm just not feeling like myself."
The guards helped her up, but avoided her for the rest of the day and looked at her suspiciously, even while the villagefolk gathered around her and asked her questions. She felt immense guilt for snapping like that, and wondered exactly how un-human had she looked in that moment.
-xx-
Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man
Together they taught Men to use the Voice
Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue
The wind comforted her, and she knew Kynareth was pushing her forward. She knew the goddess had given man The Voice, and now she was leading her to where she could master it. As she read the tablet, she wondered who Paarthunax was, and how could a man be so formidable as to learn The Voice for the first time.
The breeze nipped at her skin, and snow nestled itself on her eyelashes, on her shoulders, on every part of her that stood still enough for it to settle. The world was blinding around her, only white and wind and a flurry of snow. When she turned her head to the left she saw the whole of Skyrim laid bare at her feet from the edge of the mountain, and she had the sudden urge to fly. She stood at the edge of the world, and the wind was a whirlwind around her, and for a moment she felt that this was where she belonged, half-way up towards the skies, almost in flight. Although she was unsure whether she would've felt the same if she hadn't had Mirulmnir inside her. The fact that she wasn't as cold as she should've been was a constant reminder of the extra soul coiled inside of her. She wondered if she'd burst if she killed too many dragons, took too many souls. Was there any dimension to a soul? Was the body capable of holding only a definite amount of a soul, like a soulgem…and if so, was her body truly special, god-made to be able to house all the souls of all dragons who crossed her path?
She shook her head and pressed forward, her steps heavy in the snow, sinking up to her knees where the steps weren't visible. She wondered how come the steps could be seen when the rest of the mountain was covered in snow as tall as a small child. There were too many weird things surrounding this whole Dovahkiin business.
The man at the inn had said there were 7000. In her mind she could almost hear Vilkas say that 7 was a fortuitous number, and then his voice continued by wondering why there was a multiple of 7 and not a multiple of any other significant recurring number in lore. They'd had this discussion once after training, when Amina had questions and Vilkas was in the mood for speculation. But Farkas had the most reasonable reason of all, she mused: there were 7000 because that's all it took to get to the top. She stifled a chuckle.
She looked down, past the forests and the plains, and saw Whiterun, lonesome in the distance, and wondered what the Companions were doing at the moment. It was morning, and Farkas and Vilkas were probably training, Aela and Skjor hunting, and Kodlak…what did Kodlak do in the mornings? She suddenly realised that she never took much of an interest in the old man's affairs, just went to him for advice. She suddenly felt guilty for using him like this for guidance, and not offering anything in return.
She knocked on the heavy doors one, two, three times. There was no answer. She set down Klimmek's supply pack and his notes, and knocked again. Yet again no one answered.
-xx-
Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world
Proving for all that their Voice too was strong
Although their sacrifices were many-fold
Eventually, she decided to go for a…louder approach. She readied her breath, and then she shouted: "Fus Ro Dah!", and the power of her thu'um shook the walls and made the heavy metal doors wail in their hinges. Unfortunately for her, snow in high places does not play well with loud sounds. The whole mountain shifted with a groan.
The doors banged open and she was pulled in just before she got engulfed by a torrent of snow.
The man in front of her seemed to be as old as time, his face pale and lined manifold. His eyes were kind and soft, even a tad…amused?
"That was quite foolish of you, Dragonborn."
Amina flustered. "Yes, well, you wouldn't answer."
"The doors were open."
"They were?!"
"Yes. But I daresay they'll stay closed a long while until that snow melts. Or until you use your thu'um to melt it down so we may get back our supplies."
"Uh, yes…right. Give me a moment." Amina massaged her throat in discomfort. If she shouted one more time, her voice would probably be horse at the end of it, and for the reminder of the day. But well, she needed to clean up her own mess.
She pulled open the doors and was immediately pelted by snow. It was everywhere. No light could pass through, it was like a barrier against the doorway. She sighed. This was going to need a huge Shout to get through.
When she was done, she found the old monk seated on his knees in a meditative position on the stone floor. Around him were three others, their faces obscured by their grey hoods. The monk made a graceful gesture with his hand and motioned her to sit in front of them.
"So. A Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the ages."
"Well, I appeared because you summoned me. Had you not summoned me, I wouldn't've appeared. I didn't even know you dealt with Dragonborn business until the Jarl told me." she croaked, straining to speak.
The man nodded. "As you already have shown us the power of your Thu'um, there will be no more need for further testing. Your Jarl has told you what is expected of you, yes?"
"Training. And mastery of the Voice. And more training. He told me to expect to be here for a couple of months."
"You sound wary, Dragonborn. Are you displeased with your place on Nirn?"
"No…I was, before. Very. But I've made peace with it. No, actually, I lie…I've not made peace with it at all. But if this is what I need to be, I guess there could be worse things to be in life. But that's not why I am wary, Master…?"
"Arngeir. My companions are Borri, Einarth and Wulfgar. "
"Master Arngeir, right. I'm not wary because I have to train, I'm wary that…time will pass, I guess. There's a war raging down there, and I fear that if I come back after a few months, I'll find the world changed irreparably."
"Ah, yes. Time is inescapable, but so is changed. The world will greet you changed, yes, but so will you greet it. You have lost yourself at the door, Dragonborn. I'm afraid you will not find yourself once you go out, neither here nor in the rest of the outside. What you will find however will be of much use to you, that I can assure you."
"I'm afraid I don't understand you, Master."
"You will, in due time. When the fruit of your mind is ripe. You are young still, much like the world. However, there are always those that seek to pluck a fruit before it's deemed fully grown. This is why we have summoned you. But before we answer your questions, you must. Tell me, Dragonborn, why did you come here?"
"Because you summoned me, Master."
The corners of Arngeir's mouth tipped slightly upward, just a twitch.
"Yes, but that was a choice you made. You could have not heeded our summons. You could have gone your whole life without walking up our 7000 steps. So I ask again, why have you come?"
Amina looked at her palms resting on her knees, and bit her lip. A minute passed, in which the monks stood deathly still, as if they were statues. She could feel their eyes on her, waiting for her answer. But she felt she had no decent answer to give, just the truth, which seemed so underwhelming and unworthy of the question asked.
"I am…scared. And curious. I'm afraid of what it means to be Dragonborn, but I'm curious about the same thing, as well. I understand that I have big shoes to fill, and that I'm important in some way to this world, and I'd rather not be, not like this, but…I want to know what I can do to became what I'm intended to become. Might as well, since there's not much choice in it." Her mouth twisted. "I've learned in a very short span of time that there's no escaping fate. Just dodging it until it finds a more efficient way to get at you. So. I want to be the best Dragonborn this world has to offer, I guess, and help it how I can. I mean, I don't believe I've been given the power to shout things to smithereens just so I can have fun with it. There must be a bigger picture, some other purpose I should prepare for. Or so my friends tell me."
The monks smiled, clearly amused at her ramblings.
"We are here to aid you in this pursuit, just as the Greybeards before us have sought to guide those of the Dragon's Blood that came before you. There have been many before you, Dragonborn, many like you and unlike you, in many ways. You are but one facet of a precious jewel, given to Nirn as a gift from Akatosh himself."
Arngeir then looked towards the other monks, and nodded. They nodded back.
"Very well, Dragonborn. Your answer has satisfied all of us. Your training starts today."
-xxx-
"Dear Vilkas,
The silence here drowns me whole. The Greybeards never speak, except for their leader, Arngeir, and even then he talks in half-riddles and whispers. I much preferred your shouts and half-riddles. At least those I didn't strain to hear. I'm trying to get used to the quiet, but it's very hard. When I speak, no one answers. I've started speaking to myself just to hear a sound. I feel like I'm going mad.
The mornings begin with meditation near the fire, and then more meditation in the snow. I alternate between burning up and freezing. The cold here is unlike anything I've ever seen. We meditate on the meanings of the words of power, although the Greybeards linger on one word while they make me contemplate entire sentences. They said that as Dragonborn I learn faster. I'm not that sure of that. Every meditation feels like throwing myself into a void of stupidity. The more I think about them, the less I feel I understand. I understand these words, but they feel entirely alien. When I say 'fire' in our tongue I associate fire with what fire does – warmth and burning and the smell of cooking and standing next to the fire, and the slow shining embers of the pit at home and Jorvaskrr's. Yet when I say 'fire' in the Dragon's tongue I feel it in myself, and images unlike any I've ever seen pass in front of my eyes and then out of my mouth. It's weird. I don't think I'll ever get used to it.
They make me shout well into the night after meditation. My throat is sore and my tongue burns. At the end of the day every muscle in my body aches, as I've been shouting with my whole being.
They've given me a dictionary of the Dragon tongue. I'll make sure to make a copy and bring it home for you to study…but you owe me. For now, I'm sending you a copy of the tablets I've found travelling up to High Hrothgar. They might be interesting to you.
Thinking of you all back home,
Amina"
-xx-
"Amina,
I think your ache comes from the fact that body must be honed at the same time as the mind, else there is misbalance. Of course, your mind learns faster the shouting and the Dragon's tongue, but your body cannot catch up equally fast. I suspect you'll be sore and aching some time longer, still. I have no advice to give about your Words. Dragon's tongue isn't on the list of languages I've studied…yet. You might just convince me yet. Though I doubt I'd be able to exercise it by talking with a dragon over a mug of mead.
I'm sorry about the cold. Here it's very warm. We're all huddled around the fire. It's all quite pleasant and quaint. Much more silent than you were here, of course, but at least the ringing in my ears finally paused. I dread the day you come back and this sweet, sweet silence flees from our halls."
Amina half-laughed. She could almost see the teasing smirk on his face. She then continued reading.
"A copy of that dictionary would be greatly appreciated. I've seen your penmanship before, and I'd say it's acceptable for such a task. Your letters are full and round, entirely readable, unlike other members of this hall, who seem to be writing with their feet.
The tablet writings are very interesting. I've asked Farkas to leather bind them and added them to my collection. I've been trying to decipher their meaning every night before bed when I had a spare moment. What intrigues me most is this 'Paarthunax' the tablets seem to be referencing. He seems to be placed by them in equal footing with Kyne - Kynareth, whereas if he were taught the Voice by her he would not be. Thus, a mystery: how did he know the Voice without having been taught?
Ponder that question while meditating for me.
- Vilkas"
-xx-
"Dear Vilkas,
It's been two months. I'm learning rapidly, they say. Perhaps in a couple more I'll dare go down and face the world again. But right now it's not safe, if not for anyone else, then for me. The more I learn, the less I can control these…powers. I dream at night and find myself screaming at the ceiling, rattling the whole building. I'm afraid I'll make it collapse on me soon. Master Arngeir says it's normal, and that it will be over in a few weeks…probably…although they all suffered for years with this.
I could never understand how your beast blood kept you up at night, and why you spent most of them looking at the sky with Farkas, but now I do. I wake up clammy and afraid, with a sore throat, so I go to the courtyard. And I look at the edge of the world laid bare at my feet and I calm down. I lay in the snow until the fire burning inside of me subsides. The stars here are very bright. You'd love them.
I still don't know who Paarthunax is, even though I've asked them numerous times. They say he's their teacher, but nothing more.
Yesterday Arngeir mentioned something very strange, something about whether I am the only Dragonborn of this age or not. He always pesters me about my lack of discipline. I guess this was his way of telling me that I'm quite expendable. That, or it was a veiled threat about throwing me off the edge of the courtyard if I gave him cheek again.
I think you and he could commiserate about having me as a student over a cup of tea. I'm afraid the silence hasn't dulled my ' sharp tongue' as you called it. I've been training as not to let it dull my sword, either. I can't wait to get back and train again with you. I feel stiff and I'm itching for an adventure, a fight, anything really.
The days pass by and they're the same. They're pleasant, but identical.
How is everything in Jorvaskrr? I miss you all terribly,
Amina"
-xx-
"Amina,
The fact that they refer to Paarthunax in the present tense is worrisome. Perhaps another Dragonborn that has achieved immortality though whatever arcane means? That would also tie in with what your Master Arngeir said. And yes, he is quite right. You do give an obscene amount of cheek for the little thing you are. If you weren't so talented, it really would not be worth training you. We'd all end up in jail after strangling you with our bare hands in frustration. Though the best pupils are always the cheekiest, so we'll forgive you for that.
We are all as you left us, with one added pest in the form of Silver Hands who just won't quit. Why they embark themselves in such a futile pursuit and think us base prey after we've struck down each wave they've sent our way, I have no idea. Of course, they'd never be so bold as to attack Jorvaskrr, but one does wonder how far their lunacy goes.
Another novelty is Bree, the serving girl. She's quite taken with my brother. It's very amusing.
I envy your view of the stars. Although I do not envy you having to look at it alone. We're waiting for you to come back, my brother and I, to share the sky together. We may consider allowing you to intrude on our brotherly time once or twice every week.
We miss you too. It's far too quiet here. I fear your monastery's silence has taken wing with your letters and has infested our halls. Perhaps we're all wary because of the Silver Hand, or perhaps our new whelps are just too well behaved.
Do your best. I expect nothing less of you. Do not come back until you've done all you could do. Send your Master my regards and pity."
Vilkas ."
-xxx-
With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer
Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice
Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World
The sky was raging above them. Snow flurried all around the courtyard in whirlwinds, wisping off the ledges and into the air as if it were alive.
"Dragonborn, our teachings have reached their middle point. You have meditated on the many words you know, and improved the shouts that came forth from your intuition before you came here. As many and as plentiful as they were, you still have much to learn. This is your final test before the quest that will deem you worthy of further teachings. If you show the ability to learn a new shout without prior understanding of the words within it, then this part of our training is done, and we may proceed to the next."
He then stepped to the side. Arngeir's lips tipped into a smile, and said: "Brother Borri, if you would."
Borri rolled his eyes at his pun, and shouted. "Wuld Nah Kest!", and carved in the snow the dragon words, the essence of their meaning snaking around and melting the snow little by little until Amina could see the pebbles at the carved stone of the courtyard's floor.
"Meditate, Dragonborn, and hear the Word within yourself. Allow Brother Borri to share his knowledge with you, and project your learnings into your thu'um."
The sensation of Borri sharing her knowledge with her was akin and unlike absorbing dragon souls at the same time. It was more precise, more contained, limiting itself to that one word, with a few tendrils of Borri's emotions wisping though by accident, but it had no memories, no rambling of voices nor the fire within that always followed a dragon soul. It was like bathing in a waterfall, forceful yet pleasant and calming.
She demonstrated her thu'um, loud and clear, and she found that she quite liked the aftertaste of this one. Very clear, sort of lemony, very unlike the ashy taste leftover from Yol Tor Shul, or the scratchy ache from Fus Ro Dah, which were, as far as shouts go, her favorites so far from the couple dozen she learned.
"Well done, Dragonborn, well done! You are truly on your way towards mastering your thu'um."
"Thank you, Master. You said you had a quest for me before we go further?" She was itching to get outside again. She'd been coped up there for the past three months, and despite frequent letters with Vilkas, Farkas, Erik and Aela, she was feeling copped up and trapped more and more with each passing day. She felt as if she was going insane with the isolation.
"You are now ready for your last trial. Retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav."
"Very well, Master. I will do my best and return with the horn. Any advice before I go."
Arngeir's gaze softened while looking at her, and in that moment, he looked more like a kind grandfather than her Master.
"Remain true to The Voice, and you will return."
"I will, Master. I promise."
She made to leave the courtyard to get ready, but once more Arngeir's voice stopped her.
"Keep that promise, Dragonborn. For both of our sakes. I don't think my heart could take another pupil stealing away with our teachings and never returning, using the voice for their selfish desires."
"Who are you talking about, Master? Who else did you teach?"
His gaze moved towards the rolling planes the mountain overlooked, and then up north, farther than the eye could see. "You may know him under the name of Ulfric Stormclok, the man who now wages war against his own. His Thu'um is strong, but he has strayed from The Way of The Voice. I'm afraid it's a path he'll never walk again. So please, Dragonborn, return. Do not disappoint an old man like my further pupil did."
Amina turned around in two quick steps, and hugged Arngeir fiercely.
"I'll never disappoint you, as much cheek as I give you. You are my true teacher, and I will heed your word. Your Way is my Way as long as my duty as Dragonborn does not call."
She then hugged the other three brothers, who, like their Master, startled at the close contact.
Amina smiled once more at them, and went to her rooms to prepare.
It was time to retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller.