Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak sat upon his throne that morning, and received word from one of his troops about the failure to advance past Whiterun. Its central location would prove vital to the capture of Skyrim; he knew this. Yet, he was more exhausted than angered about the happenings.

"Take word back to your general, Soldier; we are going to have to attack from the North." Ulfric stated. "Our next encampment will be in the Pale, where we still hold support, and we will strike at Whiterun from there. The higher mountains should provide us the advantage."

"Yes, my Jarl." the Soldier bowed and hurried out through the grand palace doors.

'Your general'. Ulftic had forgotten his name; forgotten the name of a man he'd sworn to represent, A name that he would desire to avenge should he fall. How could he do this?

He held his forehead in his hand. "Jorleif, bring me some mead."

"Yes, my Jarl." His steward nodded to him and hurried down to the kitchen.

Ulfric adjusted his sitting position in his chair and felt a brief wave of fatigue overcome him. He groaned and held his head in his hand.

No... he was the Jarl of Windhelm. He needed to act like it. He regained his composure in spite of the exhaustion. The war seemed to go on and on and on. He was no closer to victory now than he was before his capture at Helgen. As much as he hated it, the burdensome role as leader of the Rebellion was all he could focus on. The war was his Mammoth to tend; to nurture. He could not be rid of it, and it stood there in his throne room, taking up space constantly. But if not him, then who would do it? Were they fighting a losing battle?

Jorleif returned with a bottle of Honningbrew Mead. "Here you are, my Jarl."

Ulfric took a mighty swig of the bronze alcohol, and came back to his senses. He stood up from his seat and headed towards the western room. "Right. Let's return to the war table."


"Let's go. Alduin gets stronger as we dally." Cura ushered her friends up the mountain. She goaded Lucien in particular, who was wheezing.

"Says the queen of dallying!" Lucien exclaimed with a loud gasp for air. "Ugh... seven-thousand steps... I should never have requested we go in the right way..."

"I rather liked the hike. Although, I don't think there are exactly seven-thousand steps. It felt much shorter than that." Vilja expressed.

"748." Cura remembered fondly her first time with Lydia in tow. Her Housecarl counted each step as they ascended. She remembered how disappointed Lydia was when she came to the realization that the stories were incredibly exaggerated. "I know, it's not even one thousand, but it is what it is."

Lucien scoffed and crossed his arms. "What a letdown. All I know is I'm disappointed and my day is ruined."

Cura almost choked down a laugh. Déja-vu. "I think you would have gotten along well with Lydia, Lucien. It's a shame."

Lucien was a little confused. "Wait... really?"

In not too long, Cura and her friends stood before the entry door to High Hrothgar, and she spoke to the unfamiliar among them; "This is it, the home of the Greybeards."

Lucien immediately began to document what he was seeing. "Wow, Candle! It's everything I ever could have imagined!" he stood before the bisected staircases. "Look at this magnificent stonework! The masons really knew what they were doing - this monastery has stood the test of time!"

Vilja scratched her chin. "I expected it to be bigger, but it looks really cool!"

Inigo turned to Cura. "How do you feel being back, my friend?"

Cura pondered it herself; she wasn't entirely sure. It felt like the culmination of all she'd accomplished up to now. "I am a tad nervous, but we've got to push onward."

"I will be right behind you." Inigo reassured her.

"So this was where the Dragonborn was announced to the world..." Lucien marvelled. "I remember hearing a loud voice in the skies from down in the Imperial city like a massive crack of thunder. You should have seen peoples' reactions!"

"Wait... it was heard all the way down in Cyrodiil?" Cura was shocked.

"And on Solstheim." Vilja confirmed. "I wouldn't be surprised if they heard it in Morrowind, High Rock, Elsewyr, Black Marsh, Valenwood and the Summerset Isles too."

Now, that was interesting. So the other provinces know about the Dragonborn as well.

Cura opened the doors and her allies marvelled at the beautiful interior.

"Wow..." Lucien gawked at the statues around them and the carvings on the walls. "There's... too much to focus on. I'm not even sure where to begin detailing."

"Dragonborn, it has been quite some time since we last spoke." came a familiar voice from around the corner.

Arngeir heard her voice and emerged to greet the Dragonborn.

Cura bowed respectfully. "Hello, Arngeir. I... I need your help." She looked a tad desperate, and felt even moreso.

The elder looked at her, watching her eyes silently.

"I need to learn the Shout used to defeat Alduin."

He leaned back and folded his arms into his sleeves. "Where did you learn of that? Who have you been talking to?"

Cura had nothing to hide. It would be best to just tell them. "It was recorded on Alduin's Wall. The Blades helped me discover it."

The old man snorted with disgust. "The Blades! Of course. They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds.

They have always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom."

Arngeir came to that realization, and then turned to Cura angrily. "Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?"

Cura shook her head. "The Blades are helping me. I am not their puppet. I merely want to help Tamriel."

"No, no, of course not. Forgive me Dragonborn, I have been intemperate with you. But heed my warning - the Blades may say they serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have." Arngeir expressed his concerns. "If you believe them to be your friends, you have been deceived."

"They've been helping me come closer to defeating Alduin." Cura stated. "That is why the gods put me here, after all. You said it yourself; my existence at the turning of the age was no accident. I want to protect this land. I'll do whatever it takes. Even helping the Blades."

"You'll have to do it another way." Arngeir shrugged.

"So you won't help me?" Cura asked, discouraged.

"No. Not until you return to the path of wisdom." Arngeir turned around and walked past Lucien and Inigo.

Cura crossed her arms and looked to the floor. She would need to find the right words to convince him.

Thankfully, she didn't need to.

"Arngeir. Rek los Dovahkiin, Strundu'ul. Rek fen tinvaak Paarthurnax." Einarth whispered from some distance away.

"Dragonborn... Wait." Arngeir begin to walk back to her. He placed a hand on his forehead. "Forgive me. I was... intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgement. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make."

"So, can you teach me the Shout?" Cura asked again.

Arngeir shook his head. "No. I cannot teach it to you, because I do not know it. It is called "Dragonrend", but its Words of Power are unknown to us. We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice."

Cura understood. "Then it must be gruesome, I'm sure."

"It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin's Dragon Cult. Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout." Arngeir explained the context behind it's very conception, with a friendly reminder. "When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you become the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself."

The words were chilling to hear, but an undeniable truth. Cura would have to take in all of that hatred. The prospect was terrifying. She herself had an inherent link to the Dragons. Could it turn upon herself as well? Or against Durnehviir?

But if it truly were the only way, she would put her reservations aside for the greater good. "If the Shout is lost, how can I defeat Alduin?"

"Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question, if he so chooses."

Arngeir informed her, pointing up at the ceiling.

So he was above the monastery. She'd heard the name before, and it's essence carried familiarity.

"Why haven't I met Paarthurnax yet?" Cura wondered as she leaned her back against the wall. Being supposedly the Last Dragonborn, she figured that they would have prioritized her education above all else. Clearly Delphine may have been onto something about the Greybeards trying to hinder Dragonborns.

Though, perhaps they had their reasons.

"He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain. He speaks to us only rarely and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege." Arngeir emphasized as much.

Cura was ready. "How do I get to the top of the mountain to see him?"

"Only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax." Arngeir began to walk towards the courtyard doors, and the other three: Einarth, Borri and Wulfgar joined him.

Cura, Inigo, Lucien and Vilja followed them outside.

"This will be really cool, Vilja, Lucien." Inigo informed them. "Watch and see!"

"If I could peel out my eyes and have them see it from all angles I would." Lucien confessed excitement.

"So, we're about to see a Thu'um seminar? Sounds boring..." Vilja bemoaned. "I liked the tavern musical better."

Once in the courtyard, Arngeir walked up to the bonfire near the gate to the summit of Throat of the World. Once Cura joined him and the others, he proclaimed, "The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate. I will show you how to open the way."

"Lok..."

"Vah..."

"Koor..."

With each whispered word, the symbols etched themselves into the ground.

Cura studied the words, taking their meanings into her heart.

"Lok." "Sky." The skies watched all from their endless expanse above; the curtain dividing the gods from creation. Filled to the brim with its vacuous spaces and shining lights, day and night. The sky above was the herald of a good or bad day.

"Vah." "Spring." The Season of beginnings. Of renewal. The past forgotten, the future abundant. The end of a cold winter, and the Herald of light.

"Koor." "Summer." The Season of warmth and prosperity. Determined by the mighty Sun, it brings forth bounties of fresh fruit and grain and vegetables, feeding the inhabitants of the cold North. The Herald of prosperity, or of punishment with droughts.

The Sky, the Spring, and the Summer; each working in harmony, beginning with the skies, where the glorious sun resides.

After she learnt all the words, Arngeir placed a hand on her forehead, and Cura closed her eyes. He spoke clearly and firmly. "I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies. This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well."

He closed his eyes as well and an orange energy flowed from his hand into Cura's mind. There the images of a clearing storm took hold of her mind.

Lok Vah Koor.

Cura opened her eyes. "Thank you, Master Arngeir. I shall."

"Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time. The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit." Arngeir explained. "But your friends will have to remain here. The honour of meeting Paarthurnax is yours, and yours alone."

"Awww..." Lucien whined in disappointment. "That's a shame. I guess I'll have to forgo that detail in my report..." He began to scratch something out in his journal. Though, he couldn't be too upset; just being at High Hrothgar was an honour.

"I'm not complaining. It looks very cold up there. I wish I had fur like you, Inigo." Vilja turned to the Khajiit.

Inigo laughed. "I am sure, but I do not think my fur would be enough to withstand those winds!"

Cura walked up to the gate above the nearby steps, which was blocked by a violent storm unlike anything Cura had ever seen before. It was so cold that she could feel ice forming on her face even though she was a few feet away from the mighty merciless gales.

"Good luck, my friend!" Inigo wished her. "Have no doubt; you can do anything you set your mind to!"

Cura smiled back at him. "Thanks, Inigo."

She took a few steps forward.

"I can't look! She's going to get blown off the mountain!" Vilja covered her face in horror, but peeked through her fingers.

Cura inhaled, and dashed ahead. "LOK VAH KOOR!"

The winds screeched to a halt and Cura dashed over a rickety old bridge and curved up along the path while the winds remained calm.

Her friends shouted and clapped, cheering her on, giving her an extra boost of confidence.

An Ice Wraith flew around the corner at her and rammed into her shield, which she thrust forward, throwing it off-balance. Then a rush of Unbound Fire met the fiend in the face and melted it.

It was really that easy. She couldn't believe that one of these things once took the life of a Vigilant friend of hers. Or, perhaps she only wished she was this powerful back then. Perhaps Hilde would have lived.

The winds were beginning to pick up again and Cura shouted once more for Clear Skies.

It took half an hour of climbing the tallest peak in Skyrim, but she made it to the flat top of the mountain.

Immediately, she noticed a Word Wall. Could that have the Shout she needed on it?

But where is Paarthurnax?

Cura walked up to the wall and laid a hand upon it, when suddenly she heard the clamour of beating wings and a mighty roar.

"Dragon!" she exclaimed as she drew her mace and shield.

The beast landed on the ground before her, but seemed to be calm. He was an old and gray Dragon with a missing piece of his horn on his chin.

Cura nearly gasped at the sight of him. She recognized this Dragon; he'd appeared in a few of her dreams in the past.

Amd the little girl in Rorikstead - what was her name again - Sissel? She had also mentioned a dream of a nice, old gray Dragon. It was long ago, but Cura had never forgotten.

"H-hello." Cura waved in greeting, mace still in hand.

"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax. Who are you? What brings you to my strunmah…my mountain?" the Dragon asked cordially. Her presence was not baleful to him, but rather intriguing. Perhaps he too knew who she was.

Cura gathered herself and cleared her throat. "I am Vigilant Cura."

Paarthurnax grunted. "Vokras Strunkelm."

"I know it may sound silly, but I wasn't expecting you to be a Dragon." Cura chucked awkwardly as she sheathed her weapons. "I'm sorry."

"I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you… Dovahkiin." Paarthurnax addressed her title with a lilt in his voice. He was just as amused by her presence as she was baffled by his.

"You know who I am - you said my name in Dovahzul." Cura nodded and bowed her head respectfully. "You are ancient, and wise, no doubt. I would love to get to know you more."

Within she was filled with great excitement. This was the first time she could say she had a peaceful conversation with a Dragon. No fighting, no vanquishing, just talking. It felt incredible, to say the least.

"Yes. Vahzah. You speak true, Dovahkiin. Forgive me. It has been long since I held tinvaak with a stranger. I gave in to the temptation to prolong our speech." Paarthurnax admitted.

Cura had no qualms with it. But she did wonder something in light of it. "Why live alone on a mountain if you love conversation?"

"Evenaar Bahlok. There are many hungers it is better to deny than to feed. Dreh ni nahkip. Discipline against the lesser aids in qahnaar… denial of the greater." Paarthurnax explained esoterically.

"So, less interaction means less chances to be harmed?" Cura asked.

"Less chances to do harm." Paarthurnax corrected her.

Cura chuckled. It was true, people could be frustrating. If only he met Langley or Delphine.

"Tell me. Why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?" Paarthurnax asked.

"I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout. Can you teach me?" Cura asked with eagerness.

"Drem. Patience. There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the Dov." the elder Dragon said firmly.

Cura understood the value of tradition. "Certainly. What must we do?"

If her inner voice could make audible sound, it would be squealing right now.

"By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu'um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin!" Paarthurnax flew up atop the Word Wall and arced his head up to the sky. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" A massive column of fire rocketed up from his throat, extending high into the sky.

Cura stared in amazement. So that was the full Shout! Could she do that?

"The Word calls you. Go to it." Paarthurnax tapped one of the words on the wall with the claw on the top of his wing.

Cura walked over to it and read it.

"HET MAH HERFODR

SHUL-KRIID SAHROT

KONahRIK DO LUMNAAR

DO KRENT HAHNU"

"Here fell Herfodr. Sun-Slayer, mighty warlord of the Valley of Broken Dreams." Cura translated the sentence inscribed upon the stone.

Shul.

Sun.

There it was; the word she'd been missing.

The sun; the illustrious golden orb that cast its burning warmth upon all of creation. The Herald of day, and the bringer of nourishment. The glorious sunshine that hung there in the sky and preserved all that there was.

Cura repeated the word to herself, "Shul."

Paarthurnax was growing impatient. "Why do you delay? Are you Dovahkiin or not? Come, Dovahkiin. Nin Yol. Strike me with the fire of your Thu'um."

Cura was hesitant. "Are... are you sure? I don't know how powerful it's going to be. I haven't used all three words before."

"Your fire cannot do to me what the fires of other Dovah could not." Paarthurnax reassured her. "Now, show me what you can do. Greet me not as mortal, but as Dovah!"

"Okay." Cura pulled back and then unleashed a massive storming blaze upon the old Dragon. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" The fire arced around his form and scorched the wall itself, leaving black spot on the burnt stone.

Cura gasped as the smoke began to clear, and she cupped her hands over her mouth.

The Dragon himself was burnt lightly, some of his scales charred with mild embers flaking off of him. "Aaah… yes! Sossedov los mul. The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It is long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind."

"I'm sorry - that... that wasn't too much, was it?" Cura shrunk. She feared that she may have gone a tad overboard and hoped that it didn't hurt him too much. The first kind Dragon she meets and she goes and burns him. It just doesn't seem fair.

Paarthurnax merely laughed in response. "No, it was sufficient. You learn quickly."

"So. You have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor… mortal. Even for one of Dovah Sos. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?" Paarthurnax inquired.

"Fire Breath is all well and good, but... can you teach me the Dragonrend Shout?" Cura asked.

She was uncertain to what response she was going to get; after all, she was essentially asking a Dragon to help her kill the strongest of their kind.

Though, if her dreams and what she saw before her was correct, he was on the side of men.

"Ah. I have expected you. Prodah. You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old Dovah. No. You seek your weapon against Alduin." Paarthurnax confirmed.

"I don't mind a little tinvaak, though." Cura admitted. "But how did you know I came for Dragonrend before I mentioned it?"

"Alduin komeyt tiid. What else would you seek? Alduin and Dovahkiin return together." Paarthurnax proclaimed. "But I do not know the Thu'um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me."

"I... suppose not. I hear it was borne of hatred for your kind... our kind." Cura hesitated. "Is there another way to learn it?"

"Drem. All in good time." Paarthurnax dismissed. "First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu'um?"

"If it's the only thing that can stop Alduin, then I must know it, sadly." Cura expressed her disdain for the concept, but highlighted its necessity. "The prophecy says that only the Dragonborn can stop him."

"True… But qostiid - prophecy - tells what may be, not what should be. Qostiid sahlo aak. Just because you can do a thing, does not always mean you should." Paarthurnax stated. "Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing more than a plaything of dez… of fate?"

"Are we having a debate right now?" Cura raised an eyebrow.

Paarthurnax' lizard lips curled up into an amused smile, and the Dragon could not contain his amusement. "Hahaha! You have much to learn of the Dov, then. There is nothing else but philosophy to a Dovah. It is no accident that we do battle with our Thu'um, our Voices. There is no distinction between debate and combat to a Dragon. Tinvaak los grah. For us it is one and the same."

Cura shrugged. It couldn't hurt to explain her motives. "I like this world. I don't want it to end."

"Pruzah. As good a reason as any. There are many who feel as you do, although not all. Some would say that all things must end, so that the next can come to pass." Paarthurnax crawled down from the Word Wall and stood before Cura on her level. "Perhaps this world is simply the Egg of the next kalpa? Lein vokiin? Would you stop the next world from being born?"

"And how can you be certain there will be a new 'kalpa'? If Alduin consumes all things, perhaps only oblivion awaits." Cura crossed her arms. She did not mean the realm of the Daedra, but she hoped Paarthurnax picked up on that. Still, she searched herself for the proper word in Dovahzul. "Er - or rather, to say we're heading to permanent Dinok."

Paarthurnax nodded. "Aalkos. I will not deny that possibility."

Cura decided to entertain the opposite, as well. "Although, if there is, I suppose they'll emerge on their own time. On my watch, however, they will have to wait."

"Paaz. A fair answer. Ro fus… maybe you only balance the forces that work to quicken the end of this world. Even we who ride the currents of Time cannot see past Time's end… Wuldsetiid los tahrodiis. Those who try to hasten the end, may delay it. Those who work to delay the end, may bring it closer." Paarthurnax mused.

"Then I guess I was right to delay Alduin's end - it can only be closer now, right?" Cura pondered in his line of questioning.

"Perhaps." Paarthurnax decided to close that discussion for the moment. "But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis. Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven – what you name Throat of the World?"

"No. Dragons like mountains, right?" Cura pointed out.

"True. But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad... perhaps none but me now remember how he was defeated." Paarthurnax expressed his disappointment at the loss of history.

"Wait... that battle happened here?" Cura pointed to the ground they stood on. "This very spot? And they used the Dragonrend Shout, right?"

"Yes and no. Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today, seeking to… defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to cripple Alduin. But this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel – the Elder Scroll. They used it to... cast him adrift on the currents of Time." Paarthurnax tried to explain the esoteric concept the best way he could. It was difficult to explain to one who wasn't there.

"But... I thought... well.." Cura pondered it for a moment. "That... actually makes a lot of sense. I'd just figured he was like a Deadra - slain, but would return once he regained his physical form. After all, I did see him call a few Dragons back from the grave. Are you saying the ancient Nords sent Alduin forward in time?"

"Not intentionally. Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amativ. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge but not when." Paarthurnax gazed over the land below from the mountain peak. The vast valleys below were a canvas in his sight; a tapestry woven of many colours, ever-changing.

Cura recounted Sahloknir, Voslaarum and Naaslaarum and how they all returned to life, and how she was there each time. Alduin was testing her. Or, perhaps even teaching her. "But... if he was sent to our time due to an Elder Scroll... then would that mean I was supposed to die at Helgen?"

The thought was horrifying, but... had she been beheaded, she would have most likely avoided a lot of pain and suffering afterwards. Perhaps it would have been preferrable in some way, she wondered. Then she shook the negativity off.

Would Helgen have happened to begin with? The arrest leading to it?

No; it goes even further than that.

If the Tongues hadn't done what they did, perhaps none of anything would have occurred. Serena wouldn't have even been born. The Empires would never have come to be.

So much would not have happened.

It was all so much to wrap her head around. Cura sat down on one of the mountain rocks, and Paarthurnax turned to look her way.

"We owe our current existence to what they did..." she came to the shocking realization. "An Elder Scroll could do that?"

"Hmm. How to explain in your tongue? The Dov have words for such things that joorre do not." Paarthurnax lay down in the snow before her and looked up to the sky to find the wording. "It is… an artifact from outside time. It does not exist, but it has always existed. Rah wahlaan. They are… hmm… fragments of creation. The Kelle… Elder Scrolls, as you name them, they have often been used for prophecy. Yes, your prophecy comes from an Elder Scroll. But this is only a small part of their power. Zofaas suleyk."

"Incredible..." Cura had been exposed to Elder Scrolls already, when she worked with the Dawnguard. Looks like she may need to deal with one herself.

She remembered what happened to Dexion and Agmaer and she shuddered. The idea of going blind was a terrifying prospect.

But if it came to it, perhaps she could ask Agmaer and Carcette to join their 'pirate crew'.

"Tiid krent. Time was… shattered here because of what the ancient Nords did to Alduin. If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here… to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound… With the Elder Scroll that was used to break Time, you may be able to… cast yourself back. To the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it." Paarthurnax proposed.

"Do you know where I can find this Elder Scroll?" Cura asked.

"Krosis. No. I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I." the elder Dragon shook his head disappointedly.

Cura's mind went to Urag Gro-Shub. She hadn't left too long ago, but perhaps he had something at the Arcanaeum that could help her. "The Lorekeeper at the College of Winterhold might know."

"Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way." Paarthurnax encouraged her.

"All right, but what do I do with the Elder Scroll when I find it?" Cura hesitated to ask. She knew she would most likely need to read it.

"Return it here, to the Tiid-Ahraan. Then… Kelle vomindok. Nothing is certain with such things… But I believe the Scroll's bond with the Tiid-Ahraan will allow you a… a seeing, a vision of the moment of its creation. Then you will feel – know – Dragonrend, in the power of its first expression. You will see them… wuth fadonne… my friends – Hakon, Gormlaith, Felldir." Paarthurnax's expression turned to one of wistful nostalgia as he remembered his old allies in the Dragon War.

"Hakon, Gormlaith, Felldir? Who are they?" Cura asked. It wasn't Hakon One-Eye, was it?

"The first mortals that I taught the Thu'um – the first Tongues. The leaders of the rebellion against Alduin. They were mighty, in their day. Even to attempt to defeat Alduin… sahrot hunne." Paarthurnax boasted of their grit. "The Nords have had many heroes since, but none greater."

"How could an Elder Scroll cast Alduin through time?" Cura asked. "How does that work, exactly? Did it consume him? Open a rift? Drain his essence like a Soul Gem? Tear him asunder, or implode him?"

"Vomindok. I do not know. Perhaps in the very doing they erased the knowing of it from Time itself." Paarthurnax slowly lifted himself up. "The Dov are children of Akatosh. Thus we are specially… attuned to the flow of Time. Perhaps also uniquely vulnerable. I warned them against such a rash action. Even I could not foresee its consequences. Nust ni hon. They would not listen."

"You mean you were there?" Cura's interest grew exponentially.

"Yes. There were a few of us who rebelled against Alduin's thur… his tyranny. We aided the humans in his overthrow. But they did not trust us. Ni ov. Their inner councils were kept hidden from us. I was far from here on the day of Alduin's downfall. But all Dov felt the… sundering of Time itself." Paarthurnax explained.

Cura found it incredibly fascinating. If only more Dragons were this forthcoming; then she wouldn't have to slay them.

"What does the Dragonrend Shout actually do?" she asked. The Greybeards hadn't told her much, save for it's consequences onto the user and vague details of it affecting Dragons.

Paarthurnax shuddered when the mere thought of it was addressed. "I cannot tell you in detail. I never heard it used. Kogaan. It was the first Thu'um created solely by mortals. It was said to force a Dragon to experience the concept of Mortality. A truly vonmindoraan… incomprehensible idea to the immortal Dov."

"How could it be incomprehensible?" Cura asked. "Surely the Dov have seen the world around them change? The plants that die come the winter, the humans that perish... animals... trees."

Then the realization hit her.

He remained on this mountain for so long; this unchanging mountain. Maybe it wasn't a lack of understanding, but a fear of understanding mortality.

The Dragons knew mortality existed, and the idea frightened them.

"Dovahkiin, noooo!" Mirmulnir's final words at the Whiterun Watchtower resounded in her mind. The Dragon was terrified.

Naturally, any creature would be fearful of death in their last moments, but to an immortal Dragon, it must have been far more terrifying to come to terms with death. The thing they were not meant to be subject to, being the extra-temporal beings they were.

Cura gave them just that; death. To the Dragons, she was the embodiment of death itself.

She was the one they feared.

"Can Dragons absorb the souls of other Dragons?" she had to know.

"The Dovah do not normally kill other Dovah." Paarthurnax stated. "We debate one another. Tinvaak los grah. Our words are our weapons against one another naturally. Though... Krosis. There have been a few cases of such an atrocity."

"Did Alduin become so powerful by doing just that? Is that why he's the World-Eater?" Cura wondered.

"The Dovah are pieces of father Akatosh's power." Paarthurnax reminded her. "If a Dov absorbs the spirit of another Dov, they take in that power to themselves."

Cura understood this fact all too well. Her power has grown exponentially since the start of her journey. No human could withstand her, and many Dragons fell before her.

She was no mere mortal any longer.

She was a Dragon, in all but body. Though, perhaps even that could change sooner or later, she was unsure.

Her soul, at the very least, was Dovah.

"Paarthurnax, I really must know; am I... like Alduin?" Cura shuddered. "I too consume the souls of the living - Dragons, not men - but very much the living just the same. Am I a harbinger of doom as well?"

"Do you will it?" Paarthurnax inquired.

Cura shook her head. "I'd rather it not have to be this way. I do what I must. I wish more Dragons were as reasonable as you."

"Dremsilaar. You have a kinder nature, Dovahkiin. You are not like Alduin." Paarthurnax comforted her with that knowledge. "Irkbaan rahgot suleyk. Alduin cares little for anything not of hatred, anger, and power."

Cura searched her own heart. Those concepts have applied to her, as well. As much as she's tried to fight it, she has succumbed quite a number of times; the most damning point being in Markarth. "I... I'm not perfect either, Paarthurnax. I have felt the call of hate, of vengeance and fury, of power."

"You are joor - mortal. It is within your nature as much as it is of the Dovah." Paarthurnax slowly leaned forward, facing her with gentle eyes. "What is most important is to maintain peace within your hil - your heart."

Cura exhaled as she touched her chest. "I've been trying. I've been meditating on the Way of the Voice. Not perfectly, but I'm grasping it, i think. I've been reflecting on my own interpretations of things."

"This is good." Paarthurnax stated.

"Do others train with you besides the Greybeards?" Cura asked. She knew Ulfric studied at High Hrothgar, and wondered if he ever met Paarthurnax.

"I have taught the Way of the Voice for centuries and the Thu'um since long before that. But no, Dovahkiin. Others do not come here to train anymore. Saraan. You are the first in over a hundred years." Paarthurnax explained. "I meditate on the Rotmulaag - the Words of Power. I counsel in their use. It is enough for me."

"You meditate on the Words? How?" Cura asked. She'd been questioning the words beyond their usage, and had felt the world turn around her, but this was a new concept.

"Knowing a Word of Power is to take its meaning into yourself. Contemplate the meaning of a Rotmulaag. You will become closer to that Word, as it fills your inner self." Paarthurnax moved forward and sat upright before her, looming over the Dragonborn. "Will I teach you, Dovahkiin? What Word calls you to deeper understanding? There are three to master: Fus, Feim, and Yol."

A tempting offer. Since she used it so often, and has come to rely on its might, Cura knew which one she would choose. "Fus."

Paarthurnax relaxed where he sat and opened his wings slowly. "It is called 'Force' in your tongue. But as you push the world, so does the world push back. Think of the way force may be applied effortlessly. Imagine but a whisper pushing aside all in its path. That is 'Fus.' Let its meaning fill you. Su'um ahrk morah. You will push the world harder than it pushes back."

Cura bowed her head and focused upon the word. She felt it cushion itself firmly between her lungs. Fus was now part of her. Force without effort. No matter how harshly the world would push her, she would push back twice as hard.

"Thank you, Paarthurnax."

The old Dragon seemed content. "Hi los valokein, Dovahkiin. I will see you again when needed."

Cura bowed to her teacher. "Take care, Paarthurnax. Kuz ulaak"

Even as she walked away, she was surprised at how naturally the Dragon language came to her. She would continue to try and keep in touch with it.

As Cura returned through the mountain side, she reflected on the experience. She wanted to get that Elder Scroll, but even more still, she wanted to see Paarthurnax again.

As soon as she passed the storm gate, she saw her friends standing around the bonfire and chatting.

"I am still trying to digest everything Langley told me. There is a lot to sort through." Inigo said to Vilja and Lucien.

"That's intense. But how can you be sure that he wasn't just seeing Alduin?" Lucien asked. "I'd say he more than qualifies as a "Doom Strider"."

Inigo shrugged. "Because I am not the Dragonborn. Our friend is."

"But weren't you two together in his vision?" Vilja asked.

"I believe so, but I do not think it is Alduin." Inigo stated.

"Maybe Langley is just insane. I wouldn't put it past that bloke. Living secluded in the mountains for gods-know-how-long is sure to drive a man mad." Lucien reasoned.

"Here she is!" Vilja pointed to Cura as she rejoined them. "How did it go up there? Was Paarthurnax there?"

"What was he like?" Lucien asked as his eyes sparkled in awe. "If I can't see him, maybe I can still get an idea...? Was his beard the greyest of all the Greybeards?"

"Not exactly." Cura stated. "Let's go to the College of Winterhold - I'll explain everything on the way."

The group Fast Travelled to the city of Winterhold, which was beginning its reconstruction. As they walked through the busy streets, Cura explained what her meeting with the gray Dragon yielded, and the importance of her new mission.

"Long story short, maybe Urag-Gro-Shub may have a book on the Elder Scroll that I can use to see what the Ancient Tongues did to defeat Alduin." Cura explained.

"It is not mentioned in a song or anything?" Inigo asked. "What kind of a Shout could defeat Alduin and send him into the future?"

"I don't know, Inigo. Time manipulation by the Scroll was somehow involved, which is why Alduin was thrown into the time stream. We are getting into some esoteric mumbo-jumbo here, and I don't know much beyond the surface of it." Cura stated. "I need the Elder Scroll to see what happened back in the past, so I can learn the Shout to defeat Alduin."

Lucien furrowed his brows. "It does sound very esoteric. I think we've come to the right place, even though we recently left here."

"I've never been here before." Vilja stated. "Is it a nice college, in spite of its looks?" She pointed towards the large building ahead, which still bore the scars of battle, with pieces of missing wall and destroyed structure. "It certainly fits the rest of the city, at least."

Cura shook her head. "It's a beautiful building within. What you see now is the aftermath of a crisis we lived through."

As they ascended the bridge, Faralda was standing guard with a couple of Storm Atronachs at the entrance door and looked surprised to see them coming. "Oh - Cura! Did you forget something? What are you doing back so soon?"

Cura laughed awkwardly. "Well, you see, I need the Arcanaeum for something. It's rather important to my quest."

Faralda nodded in understanding. "I see. Well, it's good to see you again. Go right in." She clapped her hands and the Storm Atronachs shuffled over to the sides and allowed them entry.

Cura and her allies headed inside and Vilja immediately marveled at the Hall of Elements. "Wow, it looks so nice in here! Even with the rubble." She looked at the ceiling architecture, which had been restored, and the statues lined up against the walls. "I think I'll sit down in here for a while, if that's okay with you."

Cura dismissed her. "Certainly. I won't be long. You can all rest for a while."

Inigo and Lucien mutually agreed.

"I'd like to sit down for a while, as well." Lucien expressed. "After the seven-hundred steps, my feet are aching." He followed Vilja into the Hall of Elements.

"I miss this space." Inigo stated. "I think I'll practice my Bound Bow a bit in here. It will not take long."

Cura shook her head. "Won't take long at all, I hope." She ascended the stairs.

This space had a different meaning for her now. As much as she loved her many months of study within its walls, she could not deny the great tragedy that occurred. She vowed that, if it is within her power, she would never allow such a thing to occur again.

As she entered the Arcanaeum, she was immediately greeted by Serana. "Wow, look at who's back! You must have missed me a lot."

Cura chuckled. "I certainly have, but I have other business here."

Serana adjusted the collar of her apprentice robes. "Of course; well, I won't keep you. I have a lot on my plate, as well. But still, it's great to see you."

Cura smiled back at her as she walked around her. "You as well, Serana."

She continued onwards through the center of the room and met with Urag at the end. The Orc was busy sorting out some of the books at his desk.

Urag smiled when he saw Cura approach. "All this knowledge might have been lost, were it not for you."

"I'm glad it wasn't." Cura stated as she leaned against his desk. "Especially now. I'm looking for an Elder Scroll."

Urag's smile disappeared, and was quickly replaced by a stern gaze. "And what do you plan to do with it? Do you even know what you're asking about, or are you just someone's errand girl?"

Cura rolled her eyes. "Of course I do. Do you have one here?"

"You think that even if I did have one here, I would let you see it? It would be kept under the highest security. The greatest thief in the world wouldn't be able to lay a finger on it." Urag condemned the question itself.

"Even if the world is at stake?" Cura slid in.

"Yes. Especially if the world is at stake. We couldn't risk something like that falling into the wrong hands; especially during a time like that." Urag expressed his hypothetical concerns. "An Elder Scroll is an instrument of immense knowledge and power. To read an Elder Scroll, a person most have the most rigorously trained mind, or else risk madness. Even so, the Divines usually take the reader's sight as a price."

Cura more than understood this. She's seen it firsthand twice.

"Who wrote the Elder Scrolls?" Cura wondered. "I know they exist, but someone surely must be responsible for them."

"It would take a month to explain to you how that very question doesn't even make sense. The Scrolls exist here, with us, but also beyond and beneath. Before and after. They are bits of Divine made substance so we could know them. Sorry. Talking about the scrolls, you usually end up in irritating and vague metaphors like that. Some people who study them devoutly go mad." Urag shuddered at the thought.

"I suppose they are too much for our five senses." Cura shrugged. "But I must read one regardless. I need it to stop Alduin."

"Right; you're the Dragonborn. Did the Greybeards..." Urag lowered his voice. "Did the Greybeards ask you to do this?"

"Their leader suggested it." Cura informed him.

Urag's whole disposition changed. He appeared more agreeable after hearing this. "I'll do what I can to help you. What we do have here are plenty of books. Hold on a second. I'll bring you everything we have on them, but it's not much. So don't get your hopes up. It's mostly lies, leavened with rumor and conjecture." He walked over to the locked book cases on the wall behind him and unlocked the first one. After some searching on the shelves, he unearthed a few books.

He laid two books before Cura, titled Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls and Effects of the Elder Scrolls. "Here you go."

Cura cracked open 'Effects of the Elder Scrolls' and began to read:

"Effects of the Elder Scrolls

by Justinius Poluhnius

A thesis on the four different types of readers of the Elder Scrolls

It is widely known among scholars that the Elder Scrolls entail a certain hazard in their very reading. The mechanism of the effects has, at present, been largely unknown - theories of hidden knowledge and divine retribution were the subject of idle speculation with little investigation.

I, Justinius Poluhnius, have undertaken to thoroughly document the ailments afflicted by the Elder Scrolls on their readers, though a unified theory of how they manifest continues to elude me and remains a subject for future study.

I have grouped the effects into four, finding that the avenue of experience depends largely upon the mind of the reader. If this is unclear, I hope that a proper dichotomy will lay it plain.

Group the First: The Naifs

For one who has received no training in the history or nature of the Elder Scrolls, the scroll itself is, effectively, inert. No prophecy can be scried nor knowledge obtained. While the scroll will not impart learning to the uninformed, nor will it afflict them in any adverse fashion. Visually, the scroll will appear to be awash in odd lettering and symbols. Those who know their astronomy often claim to recognize constellations in the patterns and connections, but such conjecture is impossible to further investigate since the very nature of this study necessitates unlearned subjects.

Group the Second: The Unguarded Intellects

It is this second group that realizes the greatest danger from attempting to read the scrolls. These are subjects who have an understanding of the nature of the Elder Scrolls and possess sufficient knowledge to actually read what is inscribed there. They have not, however, developed adequate discipline to stave off the mind-shattering effect of having a glimpse of infinity. These unfortunate souls are struck immediately, irrevocably, and completely blind. Such is the price for overreaching one's faculties. It bears mentioning, though, that with the blindness also comes a fragment of that hidden knowledge - whether the future, the past, or the deep natures of being is dependent on the individual and their place in the greater spheres. But the knowledge does come.

Group the Third: Mediated Understanding

Alone in Tamriel, it would appear that only the Cult of the Ancestor Moth has discovered the discipline to properly guard one's mind when reading the scrolls. Their novitiates must undergo the most rigorous mental cultivation, and they often spend a decade or more at the monastery before being allowed to read their first Elder Scroll. The monks say this is for the initiates' own protection, as they must have witnessed many Unguarded Intellects among their more eager ranks. With appropriate fortitude, these readers also receive blindness, though at a far lesser magnitude than the Unguarded. Their vision fogs slightly, but they retain shape, color, and enough acuity to continue to read mundane texts. The knowledge they gain from the scroll is also tempered somewhat - it requires stages of meditation and reflection to fully appreciate and express what one saw.

Group the Fourth: Illuminated Understanding

Between the previous group and this one exists a continuum that has, at present, only been traversed by the monks of the Ancestor Moth. With continued readings the monks become gradually more and more blind, but receive greater and more detailed knowledge. As they spend their waking hours pondering the revelations, they also receive a further degree of mental fortitude. There is, for every monk, a day of Penultimate Reading, when the only knowledge the Elder Scroll imparts is that the monk's next reading shall be his last.

For each monk the Penultimate Reading comes at a different and unknowable time - preliminary work has been done to predict the occurrence by charting the severity of an individual monk's blindness, but all who reach these later stages report that the increasing blindness seems to taper with increased readings. Some pose the notion that some other, unseen, sense is, in fact, continuing to diminish at this upper range, but I shall leave such postulations to philosophers.

To prepare for his Ultimate Reading, a monk typically withdraws to seclusion in order to reflect upon a lifetime of revelations and appoint his mind for reception of his last. Upon this final reading, he is forever blinded as sure as those Unguarded ones who raced to knowledge. The Illuminated one, though, has retained his understanding over a lifetime and typically possesses a more integral notion of what has been revealed to him.

It is hoped that this catalog will prove useful to those who wish to further our mortal understanding of the Elder Scrolls. The Moth priests remain aloof about these matters, taking the gradual debilitation that comes with reading as a point of pride. May this serve as a useful starting point for those hoping to take up such study.

Dictated to Anstius Metchim, 4th of Last Seed in the 126th year of the Second Era"

Cura wondered if she would be classified as one of the "Unguarded Intellects" classified in the scribings. "You know, I do know a Moth Priest, but he's... gone blind, unfortunately."

"You know a Moth Priest?" Urag was shocked to hear that. "How? When did you ever meet one of those?"

"Last year, when I joined the Dawnguard. It's a long story." Cura stated.

"Well, I'd like to hear it sometime." Urag confessed his interest as Cura opened ' Ruminations on the Elder Scrolls'

"RUMINATIONS ON THE ELDER SCROLLS

by Septimus Signus

A philosophical view on the role of the Elder Scrolls

Imagine living beneath the waves with a strong-sighted blessing of most excellent fabric. Holding the fabric over your gills, you would begin to breathe-drink its warp and weft. Though the plantmatter fibers imbue your soul, the wretched plankton would pollute the cloth until it stank to heavens of prophecy. This is one manner in which the Scrolls first came to pass, but are we the sea, or the breather, or the fabric? Or are we the breath itself?

Can we flow through the Scrolls as knowledge flows through, being the water, or are we the stuck morass of sea-filth that gathers on the edge?

Imagine, again, this time but different. A bird cresting the wind is lifted by a gust and downed by a stone. But the stone can come from above, if the bird is upside down. Where, then, did the gust come from? And which direction? Did the gods send either, or has the bird decreed their presence by her own mindmaking?

The all-sight of the Scrolls makes a turning of the mind such that relative positions are absolute in their primacy.

I ask you again to imagine for me. This time you are beneath the ground, a tiny acorn planted by some well-meaning elf-maiden of the woodlands for her pleasure. You wish to grow but fear what you may become, so you push off the water, the dirt, the sun, to stay in your hole. But it is in the very pushing that you become a tree, in spite of yourself. How did that happen?

The acorn is a kind of tree-egg in this instance, and the knowledge is water and sun. We are the chicken inside the egg, but also the dirt. The knowledge from the Scrolls is what we push against to become full-sighted ourselves.

One final imagining before your mind closes from the shock of ever-knowing. You are now a flame burning bright blue within a vast emptiness. In time you see your brothers and sisters, burnings of their own in the distance and along your side. A sea of pinpoints, a constellation of memories. Each burns bright, then flickers. Then two more take its place but not forever lest the void fills with rancid light that sucks the thought.

Each of our minds is actually the emptiness, and the learnings of the Scrolls are the pinpoints. Without their stabbing light, my consciousness would be as a vast nothingness, unknowing its emptiness as a void is unknowing of itself. But the burnings are dangerous, and must be carefully tended and minded and brought to themselves and spread to their siblings."

Urag was amused by the puzzled look on Cura's face as she tried to understand what she was looking at. She abruptly closed it and massaged her forehead."The "Ruminations" book is incomprehensible."

"Aye, that's the work of Septimus Signus. He's the world's master of the nature of Elder Scrolls, but... well. He's been gone for a long while. Too long." Urag stated,

"Where did he go?" Cura had to ask/

"Somewhere up north, in the ice fields. Said he found some old Dwemer artifact, but... well, that was years ago. Haven't heard from him since." the Orc gently slid the books under his desk in a small nook.

"He's dead?" Cura grew concerned.

"Oh no. I hope not. But even I haven't seen him in years, and we were close. Became obsessed with the Dwemer. Took off north saying he had found some old artifact. Haven't seen him since. Somewhere in the ice fields, if you want to try and find him." Urag informed her.

"I'll... see." Cura sighed and turned to head out. "Though, I don't think I have much of a choice in the matter. I'll rest for a while and then I'll head on up there."

Urag nodded to her. "Of course; take all the time you need. It's nice to see you again, by the way."

Cura smiled over her shoulder. "You too, Urag."

As Cura descended the stairs, she was overcome with a sudden sadness. She was really just walking on the whims of fate, wasn't she? Perhaps she should be happy; the Divines were guiding her steps. She was the Aedric Champion!

And yet, like Paarthurnax had asked her, she felt; she was a puppet of fate. There were days where she'd yearned to return to her previous life; especially knowing that the hour of her battle with Alduin was drawing ever closer.

What was to become of her? What was to become of the world?

Her confidence was shaken the more she envisioned those large, black jaws. Those long swords called teeth. That burning tongue. Those dark, red eyes. The image of Helgen still haunted her; blackened thorns constricted her heart and cold sweat beaded from her face.

Alduin's wings spread out before her and he closed his jaws around her soul.

Cura gripped her chest and leaned against the wall for support. She was a scared child again. She wanted to hide underneath the Shrine of Stendarr again. Had she been trying to grow in strength all this time, or had she been dodging her destiny?

Why me? was a question that constantly wormed its way into her mind. Self-pitying tripe.

Cura saw her friends in the Hall of Elements, now engaged in conversation with Brelyna, Onmund, and J'zargo, who all seemed happy to see them, and to meet Vilja, as well. She headed to her room at the Hall of Attainment to rest for a while as tiredness pulled her down.


Cura gently fell asleep in her bed, and dreamt of herself walking through the fields of Eastmarch. A gentle breeze loosened tired, dried up old leaves, and she witnessed carriages moving along the road nearby. It was all too familiar of a sight - there she saw Ulfric, Ralof, the thief, and herself being carried off, after she'd been stripped of her belongings.

Cura hurried to catch the carriage and jumped onto a horse that waited for her nearby.

Her younger self looked terrified, and stared down at her feet. A twist of fate that she'd been sitting beside her father on the carriage the entire time.

As Cura came closer on the horse, she began to see the gates of Helgen approaching, drawing nearer and nearer. Behind them, she saw General Tullius and Elenwen arguing concerning the fate of the prisoners.

Cura wanted to hear what they were saying, and hurried over to them. Even though she stood mere feet away, they did not see her presence.

Elenwen was near to panic. "General Tullius, stop! By the authority of the Thalmor, I'm taking custody of these prisoners."

"Ambassador Elenwen. I guessed that you wouldn't want to miss an execution." Tullius nearly laughed as he noted her vicious nature. "Do you know my guest, Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, once a candidate to Skyrim's throne, traitor of the Empire? If you want Ulfric alive, you'll have to take him by force!"

The younger Cura who sat on the prison cart rode by without so much as a passing glance, and had missed so much back then.

Elenwen gripped tight the reins of the horse she rode. She failed to hide her distress. "You're making a terrible mistake..."

General Tullius waved her ominous statement off. "I will put an end to this rebellion here and now, rightfully in my position as Legion General."

"Your Emperor will hear of this. By the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, I operate with full Imperial authority!" Elenwen proclaimed with a shaking fist held to her chest.

As the cart approached, the General turned around to join it. "All right, let's go."

As the prison cart passed, Cura could see Ulfric look to Elenwen with pleading eyes. The Thalmor turned her horse around and headed into the alleyways for a further view with her underlings.

Cura followed them through the tight walls of the city and came upon an overpass. From there, they could see the back of the carriage, and Cura tracked Ulfric and her younger self.

"How is this happening?" Cura asked as she looked down at her hands. She could feel her arms and herself as if she were awake. The Priestess of Arkay came walking by, heading towards the site of the execution.

She could barely make out Tullius' voice, but she heard part of what he was saying. " -a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne."

"You're at the crossroads" came a voice from behind her. Cura spun around to see a white dog sitting up behind herself and Elenwen.

"A dog?" Cura raised her eyebrows. "How are you talk-" then she had a sinking feeling in her heart. The only instance she'd ever heard of a talking dog was of Barbas, the hound of Clavicus Vile.

The Dragonborn's face grew fierce. "What do you want, Daedra?"

The dog looked over to his left, and a figure materialized beside him through a blood-red mist. He was a youthful-looking man with long, flowing hair, serpentine eyes, and a horned, mustachioed masque in his left hand. The master of insidious wishes himself dared to face Cura directly.

"Your destiny begins here." the Daedric Prince gestured towards the execution. "You wish that you could have avoided such a fate. Deep down, you hold regrets. Many regrets. Too many to count. They weigh you down like a millstone hung around your ankle."

Cura did not even have to guess how he knew. "And let me guess, Clavicus - you've come to try and talk me out of it?"

"A Daedra has to try once, right?" Clavicus asked her with a lighthearted chuckle. He gently placed his arm around Cura's back and walked with her, guiding her towards the site of the execution. "Your heart is heavy, and the crux of all your pain begins here. In this very city. The city that's haunted you for years."

Cura could not deny it. "You're right."

"I could undo it all." Clavicus Vile offered, releasing Cura from his arm and walking up to her younger self. He placed a hand on the prisoner's shoulder. "This event? Poof. Gone. I could make it that Sinding never crossed into Darkwater Crossing. You never would have come. You never would have been taken captive. I could change your destiny - offer you another chance at a normal life. The life you miss so dearly."

"And what would it cost me?" Cura asked rhetorically before immediately stating the downsides, numbering them on her fingers. "I would never have met Inigo, Serana, Mjoll, Lydia, or Lucien. I would never have sopped Harkon. I would never have improved my magical talents. I never would have become a Thane. I never would have learned of my true parentage. I never would have met the Greybeards or Paarthurnax."

Clavicus Vile seemed to be waiting for her to finish. "Are you done? All that you've listed has not made you any happier, and you know it. Every day you live in fear of losing your friends. Every day you stress, not knowing whether or not you're good enough to defeat Alduin. Every day you worry about your mentor. Every day, you sleep and awaken with a heart tight with burden. I can take all of that away for you."

Cura shook her head. "I don't need your pity. All you want is my soul."

"Next, the Breton!" Cura heard the Imperial Captain's voice calling to her younger self, who was prompted towards the chopping block.

"And now the Wyrm comes." Clavicus sighed. "It is always the same, every time. It always begins at Helgen. This is your last chance, Cura. Your last chance to return to Keeper Carcette, Vigilant Tolan, and Brother Adalvald at the Hall." He opened up a portal that showed a vision of the Hall of the Vigilant's interior with all of them within it, and stood next to her younger self. "All I must do is push her through. If you pledge your soul to me, you can return home and live the rest of your days as a Vigilant of Stendarr."

"If my soul is beholden to a Daedra, then what would be the point?" Cura shook her head sadly.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" Hadvar asked as he looked up to the skies.

"I said, next prisoner!" the Imperial Captain demanded.

"If you refuse my offer, your fate is sealed." Clavicus Vile stated firmly.

Cura was unconvinced. She shook her head. "Why do you want my soul, anyways?" As if she didn't already know.

"The soul of the Last Dragonborn is exquisite. I will be the envy of all the Daedra Lords if I possess it." the Daedra admitted.

Cura slowly shook her head. "My soul is my own, and I plan to keep it that way."

Clavicus Vile clapped his hands together and the environment around them collapsed like mirror glass, leaving them inside of the Hall of the Vigilant. "A taste, then." He directed Cura to the familiar, warm environment of her childhood that she relished so much.

Cura saw herself there, as a Vigilant, praying before the Shrine, as she'd always done. She showed the Keeper a Daedra Heart that she'd managed to take, but she had many injuries on herself, as well. Keeper Carcette too was normal again; still a mortal, with both eyes intact. She congratulated Cura for a good hunt and dismissed her for the day.

The Cura in the vision headed down the stairs to rest in her room in the cellar.

"This will be your mortal life - the life you want." Clavicus said dryly. "Why you would want to give up the Dragonblood is beyond me, but I just got my power back when this stupid mutt returned to me."

So that was why it took him so long to try and tempt her.

"My master and I had a bit of a falling out. We got into an argument and it got rather... heated." Barbas explained to Cura. "A nice traveler helped settle the dispute between us."

Cura chuckled and slowly began to string giggles together, to the Daedra's confusion. "I wondered what took you so long! I don't need this life anymore. Hahaha. It's long gone."

"Nothing is long gone for a Daedric Prince." Clavicus implored her. "I can really give this to you. I can give you your normal life back! All you have to say is 'I do' and I will ensure that the Dragonblood goes to somebody else."

"No." Cura shook her head again."It would be incredibly selfish for me to back out now. After all I've done and lived through, and all the lives I've touched... and people I've helped... I don't want it to be undone. I don't want Inigo to spend the rest of his days rotting in a cell, depressed. I don't want Vilja to be hurt asking the wrong person to help her find the Eldergleam Sanctuary. I don't want Serana to be unearthed and used by the Volkihar Clan. I don't want Lucien to be hurt wandering aimlessly through the province. I don't want everyone I love, and myself, to be killed in the Hall during the Vampire attack."

Clavicus fell silent. It was as though Cura had deduced his intentions. Still, persistence was in his nature. "You don't know that for sure. Perhaps some things would have changed leading up to that moment."

"I don't think so." Cura stated. "It was Brother Adalvald's excavation that turned their attention to us." though, she did find herself mustering up some gratitude for what she'd realized during this charade. "But, I do have to thank you for helping me come to my senses."

"So, you're certain that your answer is 'no'?" Clavicus asked again.

Cura nodded. "My answer is no. And it will always, and forever, be no."

"Not forever." Clavicus said ominously as he slowly began to fade into mist. "Forever is a very long time. A lot can happen within it. Farewell, Dragonborn."

Barbas exited into the fog alongside him with a friendly bark and exited, leaving Cura standing in the sky. She mused at what a jerk he was and then began to plummet to the earth below.

With a loud gasp, Cura rolled off her bed and hit the floor. She sat up in shock, but very much awake. The trickster god really tried to use her weakness against her. She was more amused than anything.

The Daedra had much power, but they could be refused.

Cura knew that her Dragonblood would make her a very intriguing figure to them, and they've been trying to impede her since she began her journey; manipulating and tormenting her in body, mind, and soul.

She would not back down from her journey, and she would not give her soul away.

Cura left the Hall of Attainment and entered the Hall of Countenance, and paid her respects to Savos Aren and Mirabelle Ervine. She gently touched their plaques and bowed her head.

She needed to be strong; not just for herself, but for her loved ones and for Skyrim.

"I have much to do; please, Savos, Mirabelle... pray for me." Cura requested before slowly removing her hands from their graves.

She dusted off her robes, and elected to rejoin her friends and prepare for their trek northward into the Sea of Ghosts.