DRAGON CRISIS
Destiny Unraveled
III
31st of Evening Star, 4E 202
Time slowed down as Ziiah learned more about being the Dragonborn. Lessons had begun the moment they were done with the introductions; surprisingly, Ziiah had taken a liking to her courses. Arngeir was the one who oversaw her training but the other Greybeards aided in her education, albeit silently. As she came to learn, their refusal to speak had nothing to do with their desire to detach from the rest of the world but rather, their voices were so powerful that even a whisper could kill those untrained in the power of the Voice. The philosophy and essential pacifism that the Greybeards practiced were surreal in Ziiah's eyes as she was still under the significant influence of her life outside the monastery. She couldn't fathom the amount of knowledge and power they possessed, and yet - they claimed she had even more power than they did.
"Dragonborn has an inborn ability to Shout," Arngeir once said. "You needn't years to learn, like the rest of us."
Soon enough, his claims were proven right when he began to teach her the basics and the theory before moving on to the practical application. The first shocking discovery she made - if it could be called that - was that the Shouts had been in dovahzul or the dragon tongue.
"Primordial energies convert into magic which is then released as a powerful force," Arngeir explained. "For humans, the Voice requires extensive training but for the dragons and the Dragonborn, it is no different from breathing."
Words of Power, as she learned next, were the sort of foci; by uttering the words, one can focus more easily on the power they want to unleash. Fus, which was the first word she had learned, meant force. Together with another word, Ro, which meant balance, they made a more precise form of the Shout.
"Remember, you take in the very meaning of the word into yourself," Arngeir emphasized. "Understanding the word before releasing it gives you better control over your own power."
Ziiah didn't quite understand what he meant until she learned a completely new Shout. Wuld or whirlwind was a word that utilized the air around her and gave her incredible speed for a short distance. While Arngeir 'gave' her the first word, master Borri presented her with Wuld. The sensation she experienced was the same as the one she experienced in the Bleak Falls Barrow. However, the overall intensity was far lesser and she wasn't entirely sure as to why. Does it matter? she thought to herself. No, not really. Ziiah initially thought that the emptiness and chill that had permeated the walls of High Hrothgar would've caused her to flee within the first hour. She was tense all the time, half-expecting ghosts to emerge from the ground and wardrobes. The first hour extended into the second hour, then the third, then a day. Two days in, she was sleeping more easily. By the fifth day, she lost track of time. On the seventh day, she didn't wish to leave anymore. The emptiness and chill had been replaced with serenity and tranquility unlike any she had ever felt. Never in her life had she felt more at peace than when she meditated atop the highest tower of the monastery, listening to the wheezing of the wind as it grazed the edges of the mountain cliffs. Even the cold no longer bother her; she wanted to ditch her fur coat but Kaani was incessant about her keeping it.
"There's nothing here for me to use if you get a cold," was her reasoning.
And yet, Ziiah felt fine; better than fine. As she sat atop the tower, looking over the valley ahead, she found herself wondering if there was a point to returning down. Greybeards enjoyed a certain lifestyle that was growing on her. Not to mention, that kind of lifestyle would've appeased Brynjolf who was ever-worried about her poor health.
Brynjolf.
The mere thought of her father made her wish to return to Riften. She hadn't felt homesick entirely but part of her did miss the Guild. I hope they're okay, she thought somewhat sadly. Suddenly, her train of thought was interrupted by someone opening the door behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Arngeir join her atop the tower and she smiled at the old man.
"Dovahkiin," he said, offering a curt bow.
It was a custom to bow in the presence of the Dragonborn. Ziiah felt extremely uncomfortable with it, especially considering that she didn't feel special despite the evidence to the contrary. She enjoyed anonymity, the fact that she could go anywhere and not be noticed or recognized save for the select few whom she called friends. As such, she repeatedly reminded Arngeir to refer to her by her name and not her title.
"That is your name," he'd always reply. "Now and forever."
Ziiah sighed. "Can I change it back to 'Ziiah'?"
Arngeir chuckled. "I'll try to call you 'Ziiah' more often from now on."
Ziiah smiled in return.
"I have to admit, I was surprised by the speed with which you adapted to the situation," Arngeir suddenly said. "Most people would be shocked from such revelation."
"Who says I'm not?!" Ziiah retorted. "I don't understand half of what's going on!"
"And yet," Arngeir said, "here you are."
Ziiah sighed. "Here I am…"
Arngeir was silent for a brief moment. "...You've spent a week here, training, and never once did you ask about your purpose as Dragonborn."
Ziiah didn't speak.
"Why did you truly come here, Ziiah?" Arngeir asked.
Ziiah fumbled with her fingers. "...I was pressured into answering your summons so the people could be at ease."
Arngeir nodded. "Oftentimes, we look to our heroes to make things better."
"I'm a thief, not a hero," Ziiah said.
"Be it as it may, it makes you seem even more wondrous," Arngeir reasoned. "A criminal gets handpicked by gods to protect the world."
"Protect the world from what precisely?" Ziiah whined.
Arngeir looked her dead in the eye. "Dragons."
Ziiah went numb. "Did you just say…dragons?"
Arngeir sighed. "The return of the Dragonborn always indicates a great change in the world and the return of dragons is connected to you without a doubt."
"I'm supposed to fight those things?" Ziiah asked breathlessly. "Do you know how much of a struggle that is? Ten of us could barely take one of them down?"
"You underestimate yourself," Arngeir said. "You are the Dragonborn, the true dragon-slayer."
Ziiah was silent for a while. "...You're joking, right?"
Arngeir shook his head. "No. In the old times, the Dragonborn would kill and then steal a dragon's soul similar to how we transferred our knowledge to you."
Ziiah frowned. "So, a fallen dragon's soul becomes mine?"
"Essentially, yes," Arngeir nodded. "Their memories, their thoughts, and convictions; everything that defined them becomes yours to bear."
Ziiah then recalled the Watchtower and how she slew the dragon. Though she still couldn't remember everything that transpired, she did remember a strange, guttural voice ringing in her ear before she Shouted for the first time. She didn't understand it as it spoke in a strange, alien language. Ziiah wondered if the dragon's consciousness was reaching out to her and if so, how did it do it? A question for some other time, she thought.
"You know, I came here to appease the masses," Ziiah said somewhat cynically, "and now, I learn that I'm supposed to go dragon hunting. Wonderful."
Arngeir gave her a sympathetic look that Ziiah despised to receive. Don't look at me like that, she thought.
"You have been tasked with a great purpose, Ziiah," Arngeir said softly, "yet your decisions are your own still. What you do from now on is entirely up to you and if you wish to refrain from killing dragons, so be it but be aware that all actions come with consequences."
"Such as?" Ziiah asked.
Arngeir suddenly went silent, as if he changed his mind about something. "All in good time. For now, focus on your training. You are doing well."
He then rose to his feet and offered a curt nod before leaving Ziiah alone. She didn't bother asking for explanations; she wouldn't get one anyway. She just hoped that when the time did come, Arngeir would tell her what she needs to know.
Tarhrin was surprised to get an invite from Jarl Balgruuf. In truth, he thought very little of the man who was as dual-faced as one could be. To a large number of people, he was a fair ruler, however, Tarhrin knew that behind that perfect mask was a man who could be bought, threatened into submission, and manipulated to no end. Deep down, he wasn't a traitor but a coward; he'd rather turn to the victor's side than stand up for his ideals. How did Tarhrin know this, you ask? Simple - his spies told him so. Also, he happened to know Jarl's Steward, Proventus Avenicci, very well. It's amazing what a few glasses of wine could bring out from a man. In any case, Tarhrin showed up at the Dragonsreach though he was uncertain as to why the man would suddenly call for him. Does he remember that I intercepted his letter to Jarl Siddgeir and replaced it with a rather unsavory message? Tarhrin wondered before shaking his. No, that issue had been resolved years ago… He made his way up the long angled staircase that lead to the keep. Answering politely to the guardsmen, they let him inside the Dragonsreach and instructed him to wait until he was approached by the Housecarl, Irileth.
Tarhrin and Irileth had a complicated relationship. They first met during one of Thalmor's parties that Ambassador Elenwen had hosted. Tarhrin had accompanied Jarl Siddgeir while Irileth had accompanied Jarl as his wife had died around that time and he wasn't comfortable being in the presence of the Thalmor alone. Then, a brief but passionate affair happened between Thane and Housecarl. It was short and sweet in Tarhrin's opinion but Irileth had remembered the whole ordeal a bit differently; so much so that she had sent thugs after him to beat him up when she couldn't track him down personally. Taking it as a sign that she was deeply offended by his sudden disappearance, Tarhrin made sure to express his resourcefulness before asking for forgiveness. The matter was put to rest eventually but their relationship had remained every bit as tense. It was one of the reasons why he was slightly timid about seeing her again. Not that he'd even openly admit it.
As he waited in the entryway, Tarhrin noticed a strange sight; an Orsimer dressed in heavy armor with a wolf motif. Isn't that the Companion's armor? he thought. Quirking a brow, Tarhrin took one more look at the beast before turning his head to the side, not wanting to be perceived as rude for staring. He tried to recall if he had heard of an Orsimer warrior residing in Whiterun at all, much less in the Dragonsreach. The Orcs were solitary folk, preferring their strongholds to the civilized society. It wasn't unheard of for Orsimer to reside in the cities but Tarhrin was fairly certain no Orsimer was in Whiterun. Unless…
"The Jarl is expecting you."
Tarhrin looked up and saw Irileth's frowning face staring at him straight. He also heard the Orc's armor clink as he stood up from the bench and approached them both. After a long staring competition, Irileth finally looked at the Orsimer, her gaze softening.
"Thank you for coming," she said.
The Orc nodded.
They were invited to the courtroom where Jarl and his closest advisors were waiting for them. Leading them was Irileth who kept a hand on the hilt of her sword, ready to cut down anyone who might threaten the Jarl - or annoy her for any reason. Tarhrin was confident one of the reasons was him, but he didn't voice his thoughts, knowing they'd be proven correct instantly. Shortly after, the three reached the Jarl who seemed to be upset or at least intensely worried. He was sitting uncomfortably on his throne, leaning onto his right arm while covering his mouth with his right hand. His frown was deep, forming numerous creases on his brow and forehead.
"My Jarl," Irileth said politely, bowing to the man.
Balgruuf nodded in acknowledgment and Irileth walked up to his side, standing vigil against any possible danger. Tarhrin and the Orc exchanged looks before looking back at the Jarl.
"Do you know why I asked you to come?" he asked and the two shook their heads. "I presume you know that the Emperor arrived in Solitude a couple of weeks ago."
The Orc lifted a brow and after a moment of silence asked, "Forgive me, my Jarl, but what's the Emperor's business got to do with us being here?"
"You are forgiven, Loro," Balgruuf said matter-of-factly, "and it has everything to do with you, considering the said Emperor now lies dead."
A long silence ensued with neither Loro nor Tarhrin daring to speak up. Titus Mede is dead? Loro thought in disbelief. News spread fast it seems, Tarhrin thought bitterly.
"The gravity of the matter is quite big, as you can expect," Balgruuf said. "The Empire is crumbling and with the throne empty, the situation in Skyrim might get even more complicated."
You can say that again, both Loro and Tarhrin thought.
"I asked you two to come so that you may help me with something," Balgruuf said, "but before I do that, I must ask you to keep this strictly confidential for the time being."
Loro frowned. "If it is something confidential, why are we meeting here in the throne room?"
Balgruuf sighed. "Because the matter at hand involves the Dragonborn."
Tarhrin looked around the court, realizing that all the staff was missing from the hall. Only six people were present: the Jarl, his immediate advisors, and the odd pair of Orsimer and Bosmer. Not many people know her identity, it seems, he concluded.
"What's she got to do with this?" Loro almost seethed.
"You know as well as I do that the current Dragonborn has no desire to involve herself in anything political or otherwise," Balgruuf explained. "However, we need her more than ever."
"What do you want us to do, then?" Tarhrin asked though he already knew the answer as he recalled his last conversation with Mad God. This is what he meant by making sure she doesn't lose her way.
"I've already had her…persuaded to meet the Greybeards," Balgruuf said. "Others may say pressured but desperate times call for desperate measures. While at the High Hrothgar, she will most certainly return at some point - your job is to make sure she deals with the civil war once she's back."
Loro growled. "This is absurd! With all due respect, sir, I see no need to help a common thief! She's a double-crossing, deceptive, manipulative scoundrel and we're better off without her!"
"I understand your anger, Harbinger," Balgruuf said softly, "and that's the reason why I'm ignoring this outburst of yours in the center of my home. However, I must remind you that this isn't about us individually - this is about Skyrim."
Not just Skyrim, Tarhrin thought. It's about the world… Loro heaved like a raging beast but his temper subdued as he realized that the Jarl was reasonable. After all, as a Companion, he was first and foremost a warrior; when others couldn't defend themselves, it was his job to do it for them.
"Even still," Loro said, "helping that… woman is no simple matter. I've crossed paths with her before and she doesn't see a friend in me."
"Luckily," Balgruuf said before turning to Tarhrin, "you will have help."
Loro then looked at Tarhrin. "Who are you?"
Tarhrin offered his most charming smile. "Thane Tarhrin of Falkreath."
Loro nodded as Balgruuf continued, "Also a spymaster and one of the most influential people in Skyrim's underworld."
Tarhrin frowned. "Now where did you hear such a thing, my Jarl?"
Balgruuf nodded his head toward Irileth. "She told me."
Of course, she did, Tarhrin thought before saying, "I don't remember you spreading gossip this much, Housecarl."
"It is no gossip, my Thane," Irileth said coldly. "I will bet my sword arm that you already knew that the Emperor was dead. Your little rats are everywhere these days. They could prove useful in dealing with the Dragonborn."
Tarhrin stood straight as he looked her dead in the eye, "Why should I bother helping you? After all, I answer to Jarl Siddgeir and he has an exclusive right to utilize my rats as he sees fit."
"No law forbids a Jarl to employ the services of another Jarl's courtier," Balgruuf said, adding, "but you know that already."
Touche, Tarhrin thought. "Let's say I do help you, what's in it for me?"
"You will live," Irileth dead-panned.
Balgruuf shook his head. "She didn't mean that."
"Yes, she/I did," they said in unison.
Balgruuf resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Must I remind you that you're my subject so if I say something, it goes?"
Irileth rolled her eyes. "Yes, my Jarl."
Balgruuf gave her a mean eye before looking back at Tarhrin, "Help me and I will give you anything you want."
Tarhrin lifted a brow. "Anything?"
"That's within my power to give," Balgruuf answered. "What do you say?"
What else can I say? Tarhrin thought while smirking, "I live to serve."
Balgruuf nodded before turning to Loro, "Harbinger? Can I count on you?"
Reluctant at first, Loro nodded in agreement though he already regretted it.
"Then it's decided," Balgruuf said. "Report back once you've gotten to her."
The two bowed and by Jarl's leave, they turned on their heels and headed toward the front door of the keep. Loro kept sneaking glances at Tarhrin, impatient to learn more about his 'comrade'. However, Tarhrin didn't indulge him until they were outside the Dragonsreach, away from the Jarl's sensitive earshot.
"Do you trust him?" the Elf suddenly asked. "The Jarl, I mean."
Loro was silent for a moment. "No, not really."
"Smart," Tarhrin nodded. "What do you think his true intentions are?"
Loro frowned. "Companions don't care about politics. His interests don't matter to me."
"But they should," Tarhrin said, glancing at the Harbinger over his shoulder. "Want to know what I think about his intentions?"
Loro was silent.
Tarhrin took it as a sign to answer, "He's trying to save face. He wants to delegate the decision of choosing sides in the civil war to the Dragonborn."
"What makes you think that?" Loro asked.
"Simple," Tarhrin said. "You remember what he said about our assignment?"
"Have her deal with the civil war," Loro answered.
"Exactly," Tarhrin said. "He didn't say to deal with either side of the war, just to deal with the conflict itself."
Loro scoffed. "He's still indecisive. After so long, he still can't make up his mind."
Tarhrin nodded. "Which means, all of Whiterun is in danger because of his indecisiveness. Luckily, I might have a plan."
"You do?" Loro asked, surprised.
"Well," Tarhrin said, adding, "I'm a spymaster, after all."
Loro glared at him distrustfully. "What kind of plan?"
Tarhrin smirked as he began to explain his idea.
