Phoenix Burned, Dragon Born

Chapter 6: Extracurricular activities I – the Voice and the Twilight (Part IV)

Rated M for Malekith

Disclaimer: I own naught of these fictional characters

A stray wolf scurried away as the charred corpses of its pack littered the forest ground, the fiery visage of the Atronach giggled as it unhurriedly floated back to the snowy road, where Malekith continued his trek, despite the darkness that swiftly encroached. He knew that they were still at least a day's worth of travel from Ivarstead, as the ascending mountains enclosed the long and winding road. Though as exhaustion was not a thing that he was unfamiliar with, the elven sorcerer knew that to exert his endurance at the expense on losing the steel grip on his mental faculties was paramount to suicide in at this point of his journey as he had not forgotten that the Daedra were not to be trusted unless a pact had been sealed, even less with such a primal creature beside him, who while not outwardly malicious, still held the traits of their race, the core of their vestige.

Atronaches sought their element by any means and thus he could always rely on the fact that this flame wrought beings would enjoy being near or causing fire in their immediate vicinity. Only question, how long would it take for them to start chafing under his magical command.

As they walked deeper and further down the road to Ivarstead, the Witch King had to sardonically admit to himself that he had chosen the best possible beacon for his current location, except holding up a ball of magical Candlelight for all to see. Yet he wouldn't dispel the Daedra just yet, as it offered much needed warmth and light in this encroaching darkness. Even if their location and protection was compromised, the wards he had created should protect them enough to withstand an ambush that was not tailored with intimate knowledge of his powers. Though he had gotten clear enough description from interrogating the assassins, the green-eyed elf knew that to handle that particular problem, he would have to return to the College first, which was not quite what he intended right now- the Greybeards came first.

So, the pair slowly continued on, for hours left to end and Malekith was left to his own thoughts that refused to leave him alone, everything that he had already thought before, but it did not matter as it only reinforced his resolve to take from this world what he could and find a way back. Yet in the dark hours of the night, as they had scarcely exited the mountains, the terrain subtly changed into that a forest of birch trees with yellowed leaves as autumn would paint the world in no matter the realm, the sorcerer found himself in. There, further down the winding stone road, in the distance he spied torches and while his gut told him to release the Atronach back to its flame, there was no telling if he could summon a better ally or a worse one. He scoffed at the idea that a daedrat would answer his summons, but until he had reliable spells of summoning, something he had in his hurry or perhaps arrogance ignored. Now in light of this decision, he would have to play his part as travelling spellsword and hope that none would ask too many questions.

Upon coming closer, Malekith prepared a summoning spell in his hand, that of an arming sword, should the greeting be violence. Yet as he came closer, he saw that the lights came not from a mob of torches on the snowy road, but instead from a shack near the road. Coming closer to the shack, the Daedra seemed to become agitated, rolling around in the air and the wooden house was revealed to be only a dozen or so feet from the road, with trio of brown horses, while the light came from the shack and inside the fenced garden. In the middle of the night, this was decidedly more interesting, but now that was not his problem and passing this obstacle quietly would be his top priority and without even as much as a glance, the Daedra was dispelled and he brought his shield to bear, Destroyer in his right hand.

Thus, he quietly continued to walk along the stone road, his hood pulled over the ebony locks, two pricks of emerald light shining in the darkness of the night as ever quietly, he continued onward. Of course, he could have walked through the forest without a sound, but he was too old, too tired to be sneaking around, when charisma and might could do the rest. Passing the shack, he was implicitly aware that he had been caught, where he spied one of the torches coming around to see him and whoever these beings were, they would be extremely foolish not to try to flank him from the back, if they had any sense at all.

"Halt!" A rich and very elvish voice called and walking out of the gate beside the horses, torch raised stood a figure in black robes with golden trim. The light of the torches illuminating the horses enough to show black saddle with a golden eagle emblazoned on the sides. Golden skin and two yellow eyes peered from the hood, questioning. The outlandish elf was proven in his musings as light hit his back.

"Is there a reason for stopping a traveller on his way?" The sorcerer asked, his green eyes looking at the Thalmor, for it was evident who they were and even the agent knew it and finally responded.

"That remains to be seen" the words were spoken with suspicion and a scream came from the shack, a human one. At this the Altmer looked at taller elf and sneered "I trust that you heard nothing?"

"Only the wind" Malekith smiled, revealing teeth and though he wanted to reach Ivarstead as soon as he could, there was his curiosity for the craft of these Mer supremacists and how they conducted their investigations. It was a matter of professional curiosity as he believed that these elves could have much more creative methods than his own kinsmen.

Yet seeing the Mer in front of him barely flinch, the Witch King thought to himself that after some time in this land, he would have to bid words with a member of a higher rank and perhaps even journey to Alinor itself, to speak with their leadership. As for now, he would simply leave the unfortunate soul to its fate.

"I would let you leave, but there is one other matter" the Altmer looked at his sword and shield "Those are some rather interesting artefacts you carry".

"These are my family heirlooms" he lied, unflinchingly, knowing that the two would die swiftly in a blink of an eye "The last thing that reminds me of home"

"I see" the agent nodded and, in his eyes, Malekith noted a rather familiar look, one shared by his subjects, victims and foes "While this is very interesting, I must have you relinquish these arms for inspection, after all its quite unlikely for a mage like you, wielding such items, possibly daedric, while wandering around enemy territory…"

"Enemy territory, you say?" the towering elf raised one immaculate eyebrow and the agent nodded almost too quickly as he spread his arms, dispelling the daedric sword, yet the Atronach remained, floating behind the Thalmor officer as it eyed the emerald eyed Elf.

"Indeed. This is a quite dangerous place for elves, with all the Stormcloaks crawling about and we just wish to make sure that you are safe…" his words were lies, but then again, the Destroyer had a mind of its own, while not sentient, it immediately understood who was and wasn't its wielder.

"While I am certain that your care is genuine, but sadly the sword and shield are very peculiar about, just who is their wielder." Malekith spoke, flicking the blade back and behind him, he heard a snarl of "No sudden moves" and the sorcerer rolled his eyes.

"If you perceive the value of antagonizing me to be higher than your bodily well-being and the success of your mission as make no mistake" the blade was pointed at the Thalmor who coveted his weapons, determination in the sorcerer's eyes blazing as he had the shout on his lips, the cold only focusing his mind on the unnatural power of ice.

"That's enough!" a voice came from the shack and a whimper that was ceased by a powerful slap and soon the third Thalmor agent, face hidden in the darkness, appeared from the shack, wiping her gloves with a bloody rag "What's this racket?"

"He's a suspicious mer that stumbled upon our interrogation" a finger was pointed in his direction and the Witch King scoffed, slightly lowering his blade "I suggest that we interrogate him as well!"

The newcomer sighed and muttered something in the Altmer tongue, that Malekith could not understand and eyed the elven warrior from his head to his toes, before shaking her head. The torchlight illuminated her features revealing a comely face and two golden brown eyes. Sparing a look at the two of her men, she shook her head and jabbed a thumb in the direction of the shack "The prisoner needs tending. I want him to be broken in, by the time we reach the Embassy"

"But Ma'am-"

"Will I have to inform the Third Emmisary of this?" she snarled and immediately the two shook their heads and vanished behind the structure, leaving the mer and elf alone.

"Now I don't care why they decided to stop you, but if you have nothing useful to say, be on your way as we can't waste any more time in Stormcloak territory" she spoke and that was a very reasonable sentiment, one that Malekith shared. While he saw that there was no interesting information that he could obtain from them that would be useful for him, it made sense to leave swiftly.

"A simple question, one of no importance" Malekith nudged his head at the shack, from whence the screams had resumed "Who do you have there?"

This inquiry made the woman pause, but she recovered rather quickly, shaking her head and scoffing "We are hunting our most elusive enemy and this thief can lead us to them, but he was a fool and refused to cooperate- leading to harsher methods."

"Ah, good luck then" the elven king smiled, he could tell that the officer was not lying and even if she was, he had no interest in helping the poor soul there, solely for that most likely it would be a fruitless charity as small crooks were seldom helpful, when one could grasp the criminal leaders themselves "A word of advice, sever the tendons of his legs so that he cannot run away and break his thumbs that he cannot use his hands, making it harder to escape"

Eyes widened as the Altmer raised her eyebrows as she looked at the hooded mage and nodded appraisingly "I did know about severing tendons, but we lack a skilled enough healer to make the damage non-permanent, but breaking thumbs is something I had forgotten about, but still…You have my thanks, stranger."

"I find your cause admirable, it is simple as that" Malekith chuckled slightly and though he did wonder why they needed the wounds to be healable, but then again these Thalmor were far merciful than the Naggarothi interrogators, but he supposed that field agents would lack the skill of their counterparts stationed in the Embassy.

"That is a novel sentiment in Skyrim" the officer nodded "However, if you wish to assist the Thalmor in any capacity, we have our headquarters in Solitude, next to Castle Dour. Be safe in your travels and keep those weapons hidden- those will attract the worst kind of attention."

"Thank you, I will keep that in mind" the towering elf nodded and in the cover of night walked away from the heinous acts elves would perform on this poor soul, screaming did nothing to stir his consciousness as he had seen, done similar things in his life that it was as simple as walking. The Lord of Druchii reckoned that if he would push himself hard enough, he could make it to Ivarstead in a day, from what he recalled on the map Faralda had given him. Speaking of the Altmer instructor, the Witch King hoped that Nirya wasn't as handful as she had been before his departure. He had bidden both elves to cooperate in his absence, but he knew well enough how rivals acted. With Morathi and Hellebron, he had exhausted his patience for petty female feuds by millennia.

It was early morning, when emerald eyed sorcerer stood on the bridge to Ivarstead, slightly exhausted, but no less determined to keep to his schedule and walk the 7000 steps to High Hrothgar, yet such simple things as feeding himself and slight rest would delay his journey. The Nordic town was quaint, to say the least. Couple of small farms and other houses surrounded both sides of the road, while a timber mill slowly churned before a well-kept stone bridge, leading further to Windhelm or back to Whiterun. Of course, the elven wizard also saw the long and winding path to High Hrothgar and immediately in his eyes, the spark of adventure was lit. He hadn't spent much time in mountains, under them- well that was a far different matter. The thought of his formative years and memories that flashed before his eyes gave the sorcerer pause, but everyone in them had been dead and buried for thousands of years, even the locations had been sacked, razed- renamed. Only Malekith and few scant historical texts were keeping their memory alive. He wondered if everyone he met in this world would pass too in a blink of an eye? But this thought was a fairly innocuous one.

The rumbling of his stomach interrupted the encroaching brooding session, and he figured the Inn would be the best place for him to seek food for the trip to the mountain peak. He found the local inn, of course there had to be an inn in every town in Skyrim he came across, but the Son of Aenarion kept such thoughts to himself and walked to the door of the establishment and knocked on the door, waiting a few moments as a mousy looking nord woman with straw coloured hair opened the door, seeing him, she shut the door in his face and after a moment opened it again, mouthing apologies.

"Good morning, I suppose it is too early to inquire about food? You see I need supplies for my pilgrimage to High Hrothgar" He patiently explained this to the Nord, who nodded and relaxed, fear vanishing from her eyes. It was really ironic how these people treated him now, considering only thing changed about him was the change of his equipment. He imagined her screaming face, had he come in his Midnight Plate, the likeness of Khaine bearing down on her.

"No, No, we have some stew and broth remaining from yesterday and bottled mead enough to spare" she explained and Malekith nodded, resting against one of the support beams, long time had passed since had marched like this like a common soldier. It felt like distant past, foggy, just like the most of his memories of millennia that he had decided weren't important enough to remember.

"Excellent, give me then three servings of stew, two loaves of bread and five bottles of mead" he ordered, taking off his weapons to remove his backpack at which the woman nodded and rushed inside seeing the weapons resting against the wall of the inn. It was fine for the ancient elf to take his time and just enjoy the process, but the feeling of tiredness would impede in that, he had known a spell for that, but since his arrival on Nirn, this spell had become unavailable as it required too precise control of magicka, something, which, Malekith didn't have just yet. So, currently he would just have to make do with old methods and it seemed that the woman had returned, basket in hand, where rested his requested items.

"It will be 2 septims" she meekly held out her hand and Malekith saw no issue and placed two golden coins in her palm, before he picked up her wares and placed them inside the backpack, leaving only a single bottle of mead outside, as if it was calling his name.

"Thank you" he bid the woman, who hurried back into the inn and as the green-eyed elf left, the doors were again locked. He supposed that it was only natural as he had come so early in the morning, past the break of dawn. However, he had much more that needed to be done, mundane sensibilities being inconsequential to him at this moment.

Thus, with heavy steps and an open bottle of mead, did Malekith began his first steps to High Hrothgar, immediately finding that the mead was borderline undrinkable, but still he had never been particularly picky during his campaigns so this insult would have to go unpunished, for now, but looking at the label that said "Black-Briar Mead" he at least had a target of his ire, until he would forget this slight against him.

On his way to the monastery, the elven lord was glad for the magic at his disposal for it was gods awful to wander around in mere academy robes, even with a thick wolf-pelt cloak to weather the cold. Due to his own injuries and armor, Malekith had never had this problem, but the further he walked, the less well kept and welcoming the pathway became. He had counted over 500 steps from his ascent, when he first encountered a small stone shrine, where surrounded by magical candlelight, was a plate of how this venerable monastic order came to be and to read the script slightly clearer, the elven king brushed aside the snow that covered the plate

"Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus

Their word was the Voice and they spoke for True Needs

For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land"

What he read was primitive poetry, but it corroborated the contents of the books in Winterhold and at the very least it did give Malekith something to do on his trek upwards other than to eat to regain his strength and stave off boredom that came with this pilgrimage. Ultimately what kept him going was the promise of further study in the ever-elusive Thu'um and its practical applications against Tamriel and its peoples, but that was best kept to himself. During the arduous climb, his cloak fluttered and at one point, the Witch King had started to use his spellshield as a deterrent from the winds that howled in his ears and demanded that he cease his ascent and return when his strength would be enough to reach the secluded location, but this thought did nothing, if not infuriate the elven lord, who grit his teeth and march on, deciding not to waste his power on making nature submit, not enough well versed he was in the magic of Tamriel to attempt such a feat. Naturally there were wild bears and a troll that he faced on the way to his destination, but the animals fled him rather easily, while the Troll was cut to pieces for daring to put its mangy arms on his kingly personage. It was strangely calming as when the winds ceased for the moment, when the sun slowly descending revealed the whole province for him to see and it was breathtaking, he could see thick forests and mountains that covered the land like Naulgir's teeth. It was harsh, but still it was beautiful, much more the Naggaroth's barren wastes, bleak forests and naked mountains stretching into the sky, certainly higher than this one and much less hospitable that only the profoundly insane would choose to dwell there. However, he hoped that this would not be a malady across all dimensions and these Greybeards would be most sound and reasonable Nords that he would encounter in a long while.

When he resumed his trek and finally came upon what he could only assume was High Hrothgar, the Witch King was impressed. Built from robust stone, the monastery's structure exhibited the design of Ancient Nords, its sharp angles and sturdy construction mirroring the surrounding peaks. Against the pure white of the mountains and the setting sun, it almost looked foreboding.

Though perhaps impressed was too strong of a word, no what Malekith felt was approval as the temple was sufficiently dark and in utilitarian form that he would wish to incorporate in any fortifications or bases he would build on Tamriel. Now all that remained was to climb up the steps to the ornate wooden door and be granted entry inside the monastery and the green-eyed sorcerer did just that. With heavy steps and hunger for knowledge the Witch King of Naggaroth was ready to plunge in a completely new field of study, one foreign to him as sky to a fish.

Coming up to the door, he was greeted with intricate wood door with iron fittings, lovingly made by master craftsmen, almost telling their purpose in Dovahzul, Dragon Tongue, for that's what the scratchings were. Two large iron rings waited to be pulled, but instead Malekith decided to knock first. His large fist crashed against the wood with his full might and with a surprise and relief, the wood was unharmed.

Yet behind the door, the ancient being heard no answer. He knocked again, but still having received on answer, scoffed and pulled the heavy door ajar, entering the darkened temple. Upon crossing the threshold, the sorcerer was reminded of many mortal temples he had razed and sacked in his long life, the aura of quiet tranquillity permeated his surroundings and only light came from the candles and braziers that were strewn about in the spacious main hall of High Hrothgar, where he could spy four wizened figures, cloaked in dark grey robes, that were frayed at the hems, standing before the stairs that would lead to the upper platforms and deeper into the temple. Behind them were stone plaques of ancient script and the Lord of Druchii half suspected that his was by intentional design, giving them a wise and worldly look, in comparison to the priests of man and elves in his home.

Fearlessly he strode towards them and stopped three sword lengths before them, able to see their old eyes behind the hoods. In acknowledgement, one of their number stepped forward, the oldest looking man, with light gray brows and beard, that was curiously tied in a knot, the Nord took a look at Malekith from top to bottom and spoke.

"So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of an age." He believed that this old man spoke more for the sake of his fellows than himself, for they themselves had summoned him here, for who could ignore the sky thundering out the name "Dovahkiin"

"So, he has, Greybeards." The Witch King nodded "I have come to answer your summons."

"We will see if you truly have the gift." The Greybeard seemed to be unconvinced "Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."

"Very well," Malekith a quiesced and in his head, he remembered the freezing cold of Naggaroth and Chaos wastes even further, the tomb of Iron Circlet and the feeling of chill running down his spine and thus did the Lord of Naggarond speak:

"IIZ"

The Icy breath spewed forth from his mouth only to be met with the Greybeards own shout of

"YOL"

Fire and ice met in steam and once it cleared, the old man gave Malekith an appraising glance and nodded.

"Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar" the old priest said bowing, as did his fellows, though this was a polite greeting and, he took no offense to this as he had come to learn "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards."

Facing the Witch King with a fearless gaze, Arngeir asked "Why have you come here?"

"To learn" the elven warrior answered quickly "Thu'um is foreign to me as sky is to sea and I am honoured to be welcomed here- to learn the Voice and speak of True Needs"

For a moment, Arngeir studied him and nodded "We are honoured to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfilment of your destiny."

"A Dragonborn? Am I not the only one?" Malekith's eyebrows rose at the revelation, he had expected himself to be the sole Dragonborn, likely the result of his rejuvenation, but if there were others, he would have to make sure that he would reign supreme over these natives. Though he awaited Arngeir's next words as the monk was from finished.

"There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortalkind." Immediately his thoughts rushed to Talos Stormcrown, Tiber Septim, the man who had conquered Tamriel in ages passed "Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age... that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say."

"I see" the elven king nodded and quickly noted to himself that he might not be the sole dragonborn on Nirn and silently resolved himself to improve his Thu'um so that he could have another useful skill as the books he had perused offered that Thu'um could be as versatile if not more so than the magic of Tamriel, yet he had to admit that it was more primal than manipulating magicka.

"You arrived late today, thus your first lesson shall take place at the break of dawn tomorrow" Arngeir spoke and while a Malekith nodded, he couldn't help, but ask about the other three Greybeards, who silently looked on as they conversed.

"I am curious, can your fellows speak?"

"Indeed" Arngeir nodded, before chuckling gently at some jape only he knew "They have not attained full mastery of their Voice, thus should they speak, the consequences would be dire"

"Ah, I see" the elven sorcerer nodded "What about my studies? Will I be able to start learning the Thu'um today? I still have the strength to spare and my mind is far from weary…"

"No, It is too late already, and the journey must have exhausted you to have you come from Winterhold itself." The monk shook his head and the rest of the Greybeards fanned out, leaving to their quarters, while Arngeir beckoned the sorcerer "I will lead you to your room for your stay and once you have recovered your strength, you will learn to shout as a dragon does."

In the middle of the night, inside the room that had been given to Malekith as his own for the duration of his stay in the monastery, upon the wooden bed covered in thick wool blanket, the Elfin Lord tossed in his sleep. Nightmares were not strangers to the son of Aenarion and had accompanied him for the most of his life, for sins earned and tragedies survived. This had been the price of his arrogance and now that he had been restored, he might have thought himself above this judgement, but in his arrogance, he had misjudged the pettiness of Daedra and weakness of mortals.

When he awoke, instead of High Hrothgar, the Witch King was suspended in air by his hands, bloody bones, with chunks of meat dripping rancid blood held him in place as below from the ground a sea of corpses rose, clawing at the sorcerer, as a mockery of his actual sins.

Terror began when he found that his voice had been stolen as had any magicka that he could summon and as soon as the terror had begun, it had subsided. If Malyn Varen could have brought him into the star when he had first faced him, he surely would have.

"You are nothing, but a puppet on a string" a raspy voice cried out to the elven lord, who was grasped by myriad hands of bone, choking, tearing at his hair and ears, yet the green eyes remained defiant. All he could do is to remain defiant as in this nightmarish realm he was stripped of all else as a robed figure stood before him.

"My research you may have ruined, accursed N'wah, whore of the Daedra!" the Dunmer cursed "Yet do not think me impotent as anima is much sturdier than the weak flesh we are bound to. A sacrifice of my pride and more to the Weaver of Panoply and a prayer was answered!"

As his every muscle was pierced, and slowly ripped apart, such agony was incomparable to the one inflicted by the Flames of Asuryan and a malevolent gaze was all that he could offer Malyn Varen, who darkly chuckled and unleashed a shower of thunderbolts upon the captive elf, the smell of cooked meat hitting Malekith's nostrils. Due the sheer power of will and righteous indignation would the Lord of Druchii persevere, enduring these benign torments until a lapse in his captor's judgement appeared. The lapse came when all his hair had been burned away and he had no more voice to scream, had it not been robbed, when the mad mage realized this fact.

"Ah, it's no fun when you can't hear the screams" he cackled and Malekith felt his entire body regenerate inside this demented scape "Now are you ready for another round? I think this time I will start to flay you alive, slowly."

Yet now the Witch King had had enough, and a shout gave the wizard his answer

"IIZ"

The shout encased the arrogant wizard in ice and the elven lord spared no time in freezing the hands that held his own

"IIZ"

With a sickening crack, one of his limbs was freed, then another. Now all that remained was to tear his legs free and feed the mad wizard his own genitalia, then sodomize him with his own foot and only then Malekith would begin the flaying. The ice cracked and the Dunmeri wizard's hand broke free, but it was not meant to be as the Witch King maliciously shouted again.

"IIZ"

The layer of ice encasing the wizard became thicker and-

Malekith was shaken awake, by a concerned Greybeard, who looked at him with confusion, the room of High Hrothgar replacing the nightmarish place he had found himself in before. The elven lord loudly exhaled through his nose and surveyed his surroundings, the headboard of the bed was almost completely covered in ice as was the footboard. Questioningly, the monk looked at Malekith, who immediately broke the ice binding his hands and feet and emptied his backpack on the floor until he had the blackened Azura's Star in his grasp. With venom he beheld the object and inside he could feel the essence of the Dunmeri mage, seething and waiting as its attempt to claim his soul had failed. Malekith knew that he bastard would try again as long as the ancient sorcerer would attempt to rest, looking at the Greybeard, who he knew couldn't speak, the sorcerer growled,

"Do you have a spare chest that I could borrow?"

In the morning as he broke fast and finished the last of his beef stew, the green-eyed elf nodded to Arngeir, who had come to see him for the lessons. There was a weariness in his eyes, which was understandable after what had transpired yesterday.

"I trust that you know with what foul beings you have intertwined with your destiny, Dragonborn" the old man asked and after swallowing a bite,the otherworldly elf nodded, dipping the bread into the stew.

"My involvement with them is of mercenary transactions" he spoke a half-truth for Daedra were a rather touchy subject on Tamriel "What happened yesterday will not repeat itself. I have taken steps to rectify this mistake."

"Very well" with a sigh, the old man sat down on the free chair next to Malekith's table "Today we shall teach you two completely new shouts and start on the history of Thu'um and its influence on Tamriel and its peoples. When you are finished, please join us in the courtyard."

"I am ready, there is no need to wait." the elven monarch stood from the table, wiping his mouth with a napkin and grabbing his cloak from the back of the chair, slung the warm fabric over his shoulders as he and Arngeir departed to the monastery courtyard.

"How many of you are here?" the elf asked his companion as they walked through the monastery's hallway to the where the lesson would take place, looking to him the old man simply smiled.

"There are five of us in total" he admitted, stroking his knotted beard "four of us and our leader Paarthurnax, he dwells on the top of the mountain in seclusion".

"That is not a name of men or mer, I believe…" the name had been the one he read on the plaque, decidedly in the tongue of dragons as it was written on that wall in Saarthal, words that only thanks to his dragonblood he could recall with such clarity. Yet this seemed to concern the Voice, if the term was still applicable, somewhat as he denied any knowledge of this and the elven warrior possessed enough tact not to ask.

"Ancient peoples had ancient names, but you'll have a chance to speak with him in time" Arngeir spoke brusquely and Malekith patiently nodded as they came upon the door, he pulled them aside and together with the monk, the two of them walked into the courtyard, where three other monks were practicing their meditation in the cool light of the sun, or rather the hole Magnus left in the Aubris when he fled the creation of the world, it was rather hard to remind it to himself of the fact as they had felt just like at home.

With the cold wind biting at his face, the sorcerer faced his teachers who had lined up as they had when they had first greeted him and again it was Arngeir alone who spoke for them:

"You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you?" Arngeir both praised and chastised the being before him, unknowing that Malekith could've very well lived in the Merethic Era by their calendars, yet it was a strange feeling to be reminded of his tutelage by his mother all those millennia ago "That remains to be seen."

The Greybeards then slowly stood in a circle, surrounding the elven warrior. He was slightly alert at this change but did not show it. If they had decided to attack him, then there would be little what he could do, but such a thought was an unlikely one as all had spoken of them with respect and such reputation had remained unchanged for the duration of their existence.

"Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn." Arngeir explained to him as if he was a mewling child, maybe from his point of view it seemed that way and in the ways of Thu'um he truly knew nothing, just the cold "When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power."

Taking a small breath, the master of the Thu'um continued "All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger."

Having finished his longed explanation, he motioned to the man on his left, the very same one who had woken Malekith from his nightmare "As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to attempt to learn the word of Force- Fus"

A wisp of ethereal blue wave crashed into the snow, chasing it away, leaving the dark stone of the courtyard marked by the scratches and punctuations that the elf understood as signs of the Dragon Tongue.

"Attempt to grasp the essence of force" Arngeir coached "remember what you express when you shout for ice from your soul and apply it to the word you're attempting to learn!"

Malekith knew force, he knew it as his authority as a king, to make unyielding, treacherous nobles to do his bidding, he knew his own body that with a single hand could force a grown man to imbibe poison, he knew of the sword and spear, the force that they could exert on someone. Thus he thought of force and drew breath deep in his lungs and shouted

"FUS!"

Yet only sound struck the stone, and it was unbelievable, he had thought of force and with eyes wide, disbelievingly the elven sorcerer looked to the pavement and Arngeir looked to him with an understanding look

"Worry not, even a dragonborn cannot master a word so swiftly. Try again and perhaps this time focus on what is force rather what you can do with force".

And so, the elven lord attempted again, thinking of all ways in which he could force others to do his bidding how the weapons and armies he wielded could enforce his will and in doing so, he attempted to shout again.

Albeit with the same result.

It was laughable and in frustration, Malekith's entrancing elven features turned in a frown as he attempted to figure what he was missing in this attempt. He turned to the Greybeards, who were speaking without words, looking at one another as their leader coughed, offering the Dragonborn a look of that was not quite pity.

"I am sure that this will not be the first or the last attempts, but we can let you ruminate on the word as we continue to learn- this time about the Way of the Voice and its history" Arngeir offered and Malekith nodded, still stinging from the failure on his part.

Thus an hour or so passed as the Witch King learned of Atmorans, Dragons and their conflict when the tyranny of Dov eclipsed the reason and the men rebelled. They spoke of prodigious Voice, that was much more commonly known before and used often in warfare, of how wars were won and lost because of it. Then came the battle with Dunmer and Indoril Nerevar, a forebearer of championing Azura, where the Nords were defeated and how Jurgen Windcaller founded the way of the Voice. During the lecture, the elven warrior couldn't help, but notice that after Jurgen Windcaller founded the Greybeards and the Way of the Voice, the use of Thu'um declined, made available to those select few, who would make the pilgrimage and possessed both the patience and way of peace that the Greybeards envisioned. That was something that Malekith could not and would not accept, power was to be used or else it was wasted.

During the explanation on Talos Stormcrown and his own mastery of Thu'um and warning of Ulfric Stormcloak's current path, the Witch King had a realization. Fus or rather Force meant "to order", not merely the usage of it, but the command. Force was something that moved or impacted, thus Thu'um had come from the depths of his heart, the command for the very universe to listen to. Slowly Malekith rose from his feet, accompanied by the gaze of Greybeards as he walked towards a snowy heap. There he took a deep breath and thought of every order he had ever given, every action he had taken to force someone to do his bidding. A thought of a dwarven hammer bashing an Orc flashed in his mind and thus the Son of Aenarion spoke. No, he commanded, no, demanded in his voice his words changing from its elven baritone to a roar

"FUS"

The entire heap and surrounding snow in a thirty feet cone was blown clean off the mountain, revealing the stone that had been dormant for centuries. Seeing his handiwork, the black haired elf started to laugh, no cackle with delight at the learned shout and tried it again. He demanded and the bluish ethereal cloud of magic blasted into the stone, cracking it, but not doing much more. It had its purpose, but if he could achieve such a result with only a single word, then what could he do if he shouted from the heart, empowered by the full shout.

Behind him, Malekith heard clapping and turning he saw the Greybeards clapping as they surveyed his handiwork, a smile on Arngeir's face with robes gently fluttering in the breeze in the mountains to congratulate their newest pupil "You certainly have the aptitude and power, but do not think that your training is over, in fact it has only begun!"

"And I am eager to learn." Smirking, the ancient elf then asked " I do have a question, however. I have spoken with dragons before and how come they do not shout always when speaking in their tongue?"

"Ah, it's something that is difficult for me to explain being only a Nord, but we have long suspected that use of Thu'um strongly requires intent and more complex shouts require extraordinary amounts that is why..." Arngeir scratched his knotted beard and started to explain the intricacies to the one, whose cruelty would have put Dragons to shame.

Despite his disdain for humans and the fact that he would never consider them equal to elves, it was with true enthusiasm with which Malekith listened to the Greybeards, soaking up their wisdom. For the thousands of years that he had spent among the living, the black hearted Witch King's most treasured companion had been a Dwarf.

A.N: I think this will be the optimal length of a chapter as not to stretch it out too much and allow me some leeway with other projects. Next chapter is either Interlude where we get to see our favourite naughty College Altmers or diving into Azura's Moonshadow, I haven't decided just yet…

I hope you enjoyed this chapter as I did writing it, it's 3 am from where I'm posting. Please call me out on things I did wrong and could do better with examples and when I finish it/rewrite it will take them into consideration. The worst thing about this is that I can't just play Skyrim to its end with my modded Malekith playthrough as I would get bored with the game, so I am forced to play it quite slowly. This week alone I haven't walked out of High Hrothgar since climbing it, ha!

I made an AI image of Malekith at this point of story, sorry I paid money for Azura lewds instead.

Be merry!

-Spook