21 Last Seed, 4E 201, Dragonsreach

Ivar found the court wizard of Whiterun difficult to read. He wore a hood and dark robes, concealing all but his hands and part of his face. When he spoke, he sounded much like the smith: a Nord who had spent many years in the urban southlands.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" he mused. "What do you know about dragons?"

"I survived one at Helgen," Ivar answered.

"Indeed? We've been hearing of dragon sightings for days now. Fascinating. The creatures were long thought to be extinct."

"The one I saw did its best to kill me. It did kill almost everyone at Helgen."

"No doubt." Farengar cleared his throat. "Well. The jarl has asked me to investigate. If dragons are returning to Tamriel, then that is a peril even more severe than this damnable civil war."

"I can tell you about the one I saw, but there's something else I need to learn about as well. It might be relevant."

The wizard cocked his head. "What is it?"

"Since Helgen I've been staying in Riverwood. Yesterday I made an expedition into the old ruin high on the mountain slopes just north of there. You know the place?"

Farengar's eyes gleamed deep within his hood. "Yes. Bleak Falls Barrow. I begin to think this is indeed relevant."

"Deep inside I found a chamber called the Hall of Stories. I fought a draugr-lord there. Fearsome creature. Then I found this."

He reached into his pack, producing the stone tablet.

The wizard went into transports of scholarly joy. "Yes! The Dragonstone!"

"What is it?"

"A very old map," said Farengar, bending to peer closely at the artifact. "It's mentioned in Egil's Könungsaga, with a few obscure references in the Tareliad of Titus Gallius the Elder. I . . . recently learned it might be hidden at Bleak Falls. It shows the location of dragon burial sites throughout Skyrim."

"Dragon burial sites?"

"Yes. In the times of legend, when our remote ancestors rebelled against the dragons, their priests buried the slain worms with elaborate funerary rites. The resulting burial mounds can still be seen here and there across Skyrim." The wizard peered at Ivar. "Bleak Falls Barrow has long been thought to be the final resting-place for some of the Dragon Priests and their followers."

"I found plenty of draugr there, that's for sure." Ivar pointed to the tablet. "There's an inscription on the back."

Farengar turned the tablet over. "I see."

"Can you read it?"

"I know the dragon-runes, yes. I studied under Hela Thrice-Versed when I was a young initiate. Hmm." The wizard's finger touched the stone, ever so lightly, tracing the lines of script. "Het nok un mahlaan drogge erei suleyk se alduin vokrii. Roughly translated, that might be: here lie our fallen lords, until the power of Alduin revives."

"Alduin?" Ivar frowned. "Isn't that the Nordic name for Akatosh?"

Farengar gave him a quick smile. "So pleasant to meet a warrior with some learning. The relationship between Akatosh and Alduin is . . . more complex than that. I suspect a process of syncretism occurred in ancient times, obscuring distinctions between the two. They are both represented as dragons, to be sure, but in Nordic myth Alduin serves as a god of destruction. He is known as the World-Eater."

Ivar stroked his beard in deep thought. "Well, I saw some more of this script deep in the barrow."

"Oh?"

"It stood behind the sarcophagus where I found the tablet. A stone wall with a lengthy inscription on it."

"Fascinating. I don't suppose you remember any of the inscription?"

Ivar shook his head. "The letters looked like what's on the tablet, sure enough, but I can't read them."

"Pity."

"A strange thing happened to me when I stepped up to look at the runes." The smith frowned, suddenly finding words difficult. "Like the worst headache I've ever had. I went blind and lost all my coordination. Thought I heard a voice, roaring a single word, but it wasn't a sound at all. Everything happened in complete silence. If that makes any sense."

Farengar frowned. "That doesn't sound like anything I've ever heard of before. What was the word?"

Ivar hesitated for a moment, then spoke, flinching slightly as if he feared something startling might happen. "Fus."

"That's the ancient word for force." The loremaster reached for a scrap of paper and a quill, rapidly sketching a few characters. "Here is how it would appear in the dragon-runes. Did you see this anywhere in the inscription?"

Ivar looked, then closed his eyes, struggling to remember. "Yes," he said at last. "I'm almost certain of it. The third line, about in the middle. It seemed to jump out at me."

"Hmm." Farengar stared at the smith. "Well, this exceeds my learning, and that's not something I say very often. I think if you want to learn more, you will need to visit the Greybeards."

"My father spoke of them. Who are they?"

"A very ancient order of scholars. They seclude themselves atop the Throat of the World, devoting their lives to the study of the dragon language. It's said they keep alive the ancient art of the thu'um, or Shout."

"Shout?" Ivar frowned. "Sounds like something out of my father's tales. Though I heard Ulfric Stormcloak used a Shout to kill High King Torygg."

"Jarl Ulfric studied under the Greybeards as a boy," said Farengar. "He must have learned something. Perhaps you would as well."

Ivar growled in frustration. "Dragons, dragon language, Shouts . . . I'm just a smith. What has any of this to do with me?"

"I think that's something you will have to discover."

Just then the two men heard rapid footsteps. They turned to the door of the wizard's chamber to see a page standing there, pale and panting.

"The jarl has sent for both of you," he said, once he had caught his breath. "A dragon is attacking the western watch-tower!"