Chapter Ten:

Reaching the Monastery

We'd only traveled up a few steps before Hiemdall stopped us, so he could examine an etched tablet. Apparently, it was part of his Pilgrimage.

"Before the birth of men," Hiemdall read, "the Dragons ruled all of 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."

"So no pressure then?" I grumbled, mostly to myself.

We continued on a few minutes later, after Hiemdall was done praying to the Nine—or the Eight, as I wasn't sure what his views were—and climbed higher. The Throat of the World reminded me of when I'd scaled the Jerall Mountains to evade the Thalmor, perhaps around a week before.

Could it have really been a week? It felt longer. It had to be longer! A week to find Milos, recruit a Companion and assassin, fight a Dragon, learn I could be a Dragonborn, and become a Thane to a city I'd only ever passed through? It felt surreal, as if I was detached and watching myself from afar.

Again, we stopped at an etched tablet. We'd climbed higher, and now I could look down at the village of Ivarstead without anyone noticing I was peering at their lives.

Hiemdall read the tablet again. "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."

"And men complain that women talk too much..." I said aloud. "Well, at least we know that men were silent at some point. That's a relief."

Milos smiled while Aldren grumbled something unintelligible. Hiemdall politely ignored us while he prayed again

"Taryn, who's Arnand Bienne?" Milos asked suddenly.

Gods, how I hated that name. And having just realized that Milos wouldn't recognize it made me groan a bit inside.

"A bastard," I growled. "Nothing more, but probably even less."

Milos' eyes narrowed. "And why would he send a Dark Brotherhood assassin after you?" I didn't answer immediately, so Milos decided to prompt me. "Does it have to do with why you're in Skyrim?"

I was silent, unwilling to talk to my best friend about it. Not because I was ashamed, but because I was angry—pissed, even furious. I wouldn't be able to get the words out fast enough.

Instead, I just started up the steps again, promptly ignoring Milos' reptilian eyes. I hoped that he wouldn't try to get me to talk about it again. Not while the wounds were still fresh.

We reached another tablet, so Hiemdall read again. "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."

Aldren was sharpening his twin daggers this time. He'd grabbed them before we'd gotten on the wagon. Their blades were green while the hilts were gold. I'd seen such a thing only once before, back in Anvil; they were glass weapons. Strong weapons, but I didn't trust them. I was always petrified that they'd break and glass would get stuck in my eye. Thanks to the guard captain back in Anvil, who instilled those fears into me.

We all decided to rest after the next two tablets, as hours had already passed. Most of it in a resounding silence. I couldn't see Ivarstead any longer, and the snow we were slogging through was freezing me. I guessed that Milos didn't like the snow, either, since he was watching his feet and treading carefully on as many rocks he could find.

"Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon war raged, Dragon against Tongue."

I wondered who Paarthurnax was. A man who knew the Voice? But it had said that no men knew it, and it was extremely unlikely that a Dragon would turn against its own kind. But if it was a Dragon, what would have caused it to join men? But we left the tablet quickly, because there was a woman already there, praying, and we didn't want to disturb her.

We were all tired, cold, and ready to rest, but we were close to the fifth emblem. Milos was crossing under an overhanging rock to avoid some of the snowflakes when we heard a guttural growl.

We stopped, listening to its echo. "What was that?" I wondered aloud for all of us.

I grabbed my bow while everyone else got their respective weapons out. There was another growl, but it felt like it was coming from—.

"Look out!" Milos tackled me to the ground as a white mass leapt from the overhanging rock. Where I had been standing, its massive hands slammed.

It had three eyes and was covered from head-to-toe in white fur. It nostrils were only a few inches from its mouth on its flat face, and its massive, fanged teeth jutted violently from its mouth, so it couldn't even close its maw properly. Not that it seemed to matter to the creature.

"Frost troll!" Aldren yelled.

Hiemdall brought his greatsword around to cut its head off, but the troll stopped his blade with its unnaturally large hands. Aldren jumped onto Hiemdall's shoulder and leaped overtop of the troll. He buried his twin daggers in its back as he fell back to the ground. The troll roared and swiped thick, trunk-like arms around, launching Hiemdall away and forcing Aldren to leap backwards.

Milos got off of me, jumping onto a rock and off of it. He buried the tip of his greatsword into the frost troll's shoulder and through to its side, through its ribs and many of its organs. It gurgled blood and attempted to grab Milos with its good arm, but Hiemdall, now recovered, brought his greatsword down in a chopping motion into the beast's face.

Aldren grabbed his daggers from the frost troll's back before it fell in a heap on its back in the now crimson snow. We stared at its corpse for a while before the three men cleaned their weapons of troll blood and sheathed them.

"Well, I feel particularly useless," I said, getting to my feet and wiping cold masses of frost from my back.

"Not really," Milos replied. "I mean, it liked you a lot."

"I'm flattered." I sighed. "Let's get moving. I'm freezing my ass off up here."

"Luckily, the next emblem is just there," Aldren observed, pointing to the side of the overhanging rock.

I could've hugged the assassin.

"Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold."

"I just thought I'd say that this tale is slightly depressing," I told Hiemdall.

"How?" he asked.

"Man gets their asses kicked and then they kick ass in return. Why can't we all just hold hands and get along?"

"I think that frost troll wanted to hold hands with you," Milos pointed-out.

I groaned and sat down in the snow. "Well, we're here, so let's just take some time to eat and... do something."

"Other than listen to tablets that talk about Shouting and the Voice to remind you why we're here."

"Thanks."

"Anytime."

Aldren sat down across from me. "I, for one, must admit that I am very interested in this business of yours. Why are you here, Greystone?"

"It's Taryn," I corrected, "and we're here on the off-chance that I actually might be Dragonborn."

"So you're not sure?" the assassin prodded.

I shrugged. "That's what the guards called me."

"Haven't you tried Shouting before?"

"No!" I snapped. "If I did, we would know if I was a Dragonborn, now wouldn't we? I don't want to look like a fool and shout something, only to have only my own voice come out!"

"There have been people more foolish than an Imperial traveling with a lizard."

Milos sat beside me, growling deep in his throat in distaste. "Watch your tongue, Elf!"

Aldren shrugged, undaunted by Milos. If I were in his position and had never met Milos, I probably would have listened to Milos for fear of my arms leaving their sockets. I could almost swear that Milos was supposed to be born an Orc.

I searched through my pack and grabbed a loaf of bread, then cut it into pieces with a dagger and handed it out. We mostly ate in silence, until I found some Honningbrew Mead in my bag.

"Seriously?" I asked, glaring at Milos.

"Oh, great! Pass that over here—." Milos caught my glare. "What's with that look?"

I took in a breath. "Why only one bottle?"

I guess that Milos thought it was something considerably more serious. He revealed a toothy grin and grabbed the bottle, popping the cork and taking a swig of the liquid.

"I have a few more in my pack," he admitted, passing the mead to Hiemdall, who drank just as merrily as Milos. "You seem to like it a lot more than you thought, Taryn."

"I can't help it. Maybe its because I'm an adult now."

"Or because you're part Nord," Aldren quipped before downing the mead.

I snorted and drank when Aldren passed the bottle to me. "Not like I'd know, anyway."

"You're such a downer!" Milos exclaimed. "C'mon! Be happy with life!"

I rolled my eyes, guessing that it was the mead talking. Once we'd rested and ate (and drank) we continued up the mountain, intent on reaching the monastery before sundown. I was sure it was nearly noon, as it was.

"With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this world."

At least I was getting a history lesson along with it. The Madame at the orphanage was a complete moron who refused to teach us anything, for fear we would actually turn out smarter than she. Hag.

Hiemdall knelt at the next tablet. "The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail."

Jurgen's name was new to me, but I was sure that the Greybeards would know of him. I looked up on the mountainside while Hiemdall was praying and saw several claw marks on the side of the mountain, definitely not recent. Perhaps a Dragon had found its way to the Throat of the World? Surely the Greybeards could handle it. They'd called me from up in the mountain, for heaven's sake!

We continued on to the eighth of the etched tablets. Hiemdall had to take in a few breaths before he spoke it. "Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The seventeen disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World."

"Well, that'd explain it then," I commented. "I guess he was a Greybeard. I wonder if these guys really do have grey beards...?"

We found the ninth not much farther away, but we still had to climb the blasted steps. I had already lost count as to how many had already suffered through.

"For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin."

"Dovahkiin...?" Milos tapped his snout. "Must mean Dragonborn, or I would think so, at least."

"Only one last tablet!" Hiemdall exclaimed. "I'm looking forward to the end of this Pilgrimage!"

"Well, lucky you. You don't have to talk with the Greybeards," I huffed.

"Oh, I plan on entering with you," Hiemdall explained with a grin. "They don't much like visitors and don't talk, but I'm sure that, since I've traveled with the potential Dragonborn, they'll let me in."

I rolled my eyes, and we proceeded. We went a long time without finding the other tablet, mostly finding only stairs (that I glared at). And then we turned a corner, and found the monastery of High Hrothgar. The double spiraling staircases looked welcoming, despite the looming presence of the monastery, and from where I was standing, I could see the summit of the Throat of the World.

Hiemdall read the last tablet, and the relief was evident in his voice. "The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner path; Speak only in True Need."

"So the moral of the story is not to use the Voice unless you get pissed," Milos said, a smile tugging at his reptilian lips.

"Brilliant. I get pissed all the time," I replied, rubbing my hands on my arms. "Let's just get inside. I'm freezing."

I didn't hear any arguments. We climbed the last of the stairs and pushed open the door on the right of the staircases, finally entering High Hrothgar, the lair of the Greybeards.