7 Heartfire 4E201, Throat of the World
Ivar applied the heavy bronze ring to the doors once more.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Silence.
"My thane, I don't think they are going to respond." Rayya's voice carried a certain concern.
Ivar looked around. From his vantage point by the cloister's entrance, he could see a very long way. The mountain's mass blocked half the horizon, but a vast abyss of sky arched overhead and off into infinite distance: gold and red where the sun approached the horizon, perfect blues shading to deepest violet overhead, wisps of pearl where a few clouds scudded past.
Some of the clouds flew below where he stood.
Off in the west, the mountain's shadow climbed into the sky. A few stars had already glimmered into life.
Ivar shook his head and turned back to the doors.
Boom. Boom. Boom.
Silence.
"By the Divines," he muttered at last. "They shake all of Skyrim to call me, but when I come at last they ignore me?"
"Did you not ignore them for a time?" Rayya ventured.
The smith nearly turned on her with a hot retort, but then he saw how she suffered, unaccustomed to the bitter cold and the thin air.
"I suppose I did," he said mildly. "That still leaves us at the top of the Throat of the World, with the wind up and a dark night coming on."
"Could we not turn back?"
The smith shook his head. "The path would grow treacherous in the dark, and we would have to get almost all the way back to Ivarstead before we could survive the night in the open. No, we must shelter here."
"Our tents will never stand up to this wind," said Rayya, uneasily.
"No." Ivar looked around the area, and down the slope where the path up from Ivarstead ran. He pointed. "There."
There turned out to be a pile of snow, a little taller than Ivar and perhaps three or four paces across, in the lee of a rock outcropping. Ivar paced over to it, lowering his pack to the ground and producing a pair of wooden shovels. He then drew Dawnbreaker and handed it to Rayya.
"I'm going to dig into this. I want you to hold the sword about an arm's length from the outer surface, and move slowly around the whole pile. We need to sinter the snow so it will hold its shape."
She glanced at him uncertainly, but then she held the sword out. The light – and heat – of the blade began to work on the pile's outer shell.
Ivar nodded in satisfaction, and immediately began to dig into the side of the mound.
It was full dark before he finished, the stars and moons clear in the sky, a bitter wind howling. Rayya's teeth chattered in her jaw, and she shivered uncontrollably.
The smith emerged from the snow-pile. "Good. Now come inside before you die of cold."
Rayya had to pause as she crawled into the snow-pile, her eyes wide with sudden wonder. Ivar had hollowed out a space large enough for both of them, even building two snow-ledges where their pads and bedrolls could spread out. Dawnbreaker stood upright in the center of the space, providing golden light, and heat enough for life.
"Now, you need to get out of those clothes."
Rayya gave her thane a very old-fashioned look.
He grimaced in mild exasperation. "Not that I would mind the sight of you in your skin, lass, but what's more important is that you get out of the clothes you've been sweating in for the past three hours. It won't be as cold in here as it is outside, but it will be chilly. You need to be in something dry if you're going to get through the night without catching an ague, or worse. I'll look away if I must."
She saw the good sense in this, turned her back and began to wrestle herself out of her armor.
Secure in her bedroll, finally safe from the cold and her thane's wandering gaze, Rayya enjoyed watered wine, bread, and a hunk of dry cheese. She felt surprisingly comfortable.
"I had no idea one could live under the snow," she observed at last.
"Trust a Nord to find a way to survive in the cold," said Ivar. He grinned at her around his own rough meal. "Better if we could have gotten into High Hrothgar, but perhaps the Greybeards will be more welcoming in the morning. If they think I've sufficiently atoned for not having come the moment they called."
"If I may ask, my thane . . . why did you choose to stay away after their summons?"
He took a deep breath, released it all at once. "I'm not sure that question has a simple answer."
"We appear to have time."
"True." He finished his bread and cheese, brushing the crumbs off his bedroll before settling down into it. "At first, I suppose I hoped it would all go away, if I ignored it."
Rayya snorted. "The gods never go away just because men and women wish they would."
"Very true. Then I spent a number of days trying to bargain. I accepted a role as Thane of Scarstone, and then as Thane of Morgate. I thought if fate wanted to put fame and fortune in my path, that might be enough."
"I have to wonder, my thane, whether being Dragonborn is truly about fame and fortune."
Ivar gave her a sharp glance. "All the Dragonborn I've ever heard of were great heroes. Some of them founded empires. That's not me. I'm just Ivar, a smith and a smith's son. What has such glory to do with me?"
"Yes, but is that why the gods bestow a dragon's soul on a mortal man or woman? Or is something else at stake?"
"I don't know, lass." Ivar rolled onto his back, staring up at the gold-lit ceiling of their shelter. "I hope the Greybeards will see fit to tell me."