Cura and Lydia had been on horseback for a few hours, taking in the beautiful scenery of the Pale, and the chilling squalls of Eastmarch. A gentle snowfall encouraged them on their way forward. Joile kept a steady pace along the mountainside, and the small group were cautious in avoiding potential threats on the path.
While Cura was ready to begin her training as Dragonborn at last, a part of her was reserved for her past life. Deep down, she wished she was back at the Hall with the others again, but she knew it was the sudden change of lifestyle that was causing this.
She had felt homesick when she first went on the trail to Darkwater Crossing, before the Helgen debacle, as well. A life of solitude in a snow-filled mountainside would do that to a person, she supposed.
She then noticed a small pile of rocks in the snow by the mountainside, and gently pulled back the reins to inform Joile to stop. The horse slowed to a walk, and then stopped.
"Why are we stopping, my Thane?" Lydia asked, raising an eyebrow as Cura disembarked from her Horse and walked over to the pile of stones.
"Vigilant Hilda..." Cura reminisced on an old friend who had died but a few months ago at this very mountain pass. She touched the stones and found the Amulet of Stendarr that once belonged to the poor girl, who lost her life quickly and tragically there; the first time Cura had ever seen a life of another human taken without mercy before her very eyes. A sorrow enveloped the Breton as she sat there on her knees in the snow. She felt helpless all over again, even knowing how far she'd come since then. "I'm Dragonborn now, Hilda... you would have surely gotten a laugh out of it were you here..."
"Was she... a friend of yours, my Thane?" Lydia asked Cura as she slowly approached.
Cura began to tear up. "...Yes. She was my first friend. We would eat together, and sometimes train together, for the last few years when they first joined the Vigil." Cura continued to ogle the stones. "She died right here... Hilda... and Vigilant Bruna and I buried her. We were out to hunt a Werewolf in Darkwater Crossing, and on the way there an ice Wraith tore through her stomach with a snapping bite... so much blood..."
Cura shivered as the memories came flooding back, though she did not want to recount them.
"...and then Bruna was killed during the attack by the Imperials against the Stormcloaks... we were caught in the crossfire." Cura choked down a sob. She was finally internalizing it all. The event that started her new life, took the life of her ally. On the way, she lost her first. It was just so unfair. Cura hated herself for blocking it all out for such a long time. Those Vigilants deserved better.
Cura turned back to the grave. "Rest in peace, Hilda. If you're in Sovngarde, I hope you're having the best of the feast." She slowly lifted herself out of the snow and wiped her eyes. She turned back to Lydia and chuckled nervously. "Heh... I probably look pathetic, don't I? Crying at every step."
"Yes." Lydia scoffed. "Cut it out."
Cura nodded and shook it off accordingly. Though admittedly, it was difficult.
"But this time, it's warranted." Lydia added. "I mean, your friend died."
Cura decided to brush Lydia off and returned to Joile. She jumped back on the Horse, and Lydia quickly returned as well.
With a final glance, Cura bid farewell to her old friend properly this time, and continued along the mountainside. She wondered, as well, to whatever happened to Vigilant Bruna's body after the Darkwater massacre. She hoped the Field Watch would have given her a proper burial. Life as a Vigilant of Stendarr was harsh and difficult, and many have died out in the field from the monstrosities they've hunted, and various other horrors.
But Cura's mind wandered back about a year ago, when she and Hilda were training together under the cold blue skies.
A younger Cura swung her mace down and missed entirely when Hilda stepped out of the way.
"You've got to be less predictable, Cura!" Vigilant Hilda exclaimed. "I could see that coming from a mile away!"
Cura pouted. "I know, everyone keeps telling me that!"
"Try something like this." Hilda turned around to face the sparring dummy next to the Hall and quickly turned her body with a spin, and bashed it in the head horizontally. "GYAH!"
Cura scratched her chin. "Minus the spin, of course. Anybody could see that coming."
"Really?" Vigilant Hilda crossed her arms. "At that speed? Pssh-aw! Yeah, right."
"Try it on me!" Cura gestured towards herself, inviting her to prove her point.
"You'll obviously see it coming." Hilda crossed her arms. "You're asking me to. It's not the same."
"Well, I can still-" before Cura could get lost in her train of thought and speech, Hilda spun around and brought her mace towards her the moment the young Breton lowered her guard. The mace connected, knocking Cura down into the snow.
Her ears were ringing, and she could swear she tasted iron in her mouth.
"See? I told you." Hilda gloated, her voice coming off as distorted and muffled.
Even though her back was to the snow, and her head was covered in it, the world seemed to spin around Cura. She clasped onto the blades of grass beneath the snow in attempt to hold herself steady. Cura closed her eyes, and Hilda began to worry that she may have done a little too much to her sparring partner.
"Oh... oh, no... Keeper Carcette!" Hilda shouted as she ran off to get help. "Vigilant Cura's out of it!"
The young Vigilant pulled herself up slowly, still in a daze when Vigilant Hilda returned with the Keeper.
"The two of you are like a natural disaster." Keeper Carcette expressed sardonically as she approached Cura, who was bleeding from her mouth. "You bit down on your tongue, Cura..." She seethed lightly, and then held up her hand with two fingers up. "How many fingers am I holding up?"
Vigilant Hilda stood behind the Keeper, and bit down on her index finger nervously. She hoped she hadn't done too much damage.
"Er..." Cura could see the Keeper, but she seemed to be fading in and out with a copy of herself. "Two...?" Cura was unsure.
That uncertainty was enough for the Keeper to cast a Healing spell on the young Breton. "Be more careful, will you? And always keep your focus in battle."
"Yes, Keeper." Cura promised as the Keeper moussed her hair and then reentered the Hall.
Vigilant Hilda watched the Keeper leave, and then approached Cura again. "Are you okay?"
"I guess." Cura was unsure, herself.
"Do we call it a day?" Vigilant Hilda asked in regards to the training.
"But there are so many more things I can teach you!" Cura exclaimed, trying to keep the session alive.
"That you can teach me?" Hilda was just shy of laughing. "Like what else? To keep my feet firmly on the ground when I get hit?"
"I've been a Vigilant for much longer than you!" Cura stated the fact.
"Time and skill aren't mutually exclusive, you know." Hilda japed.
"The day we go on our first real mission together you'll see my true skills!" Cura assured her.
"The day we go on our first real mission together you'll get us all killed if you're leading." Vigilant Hilda scoffed.
"Not true!" Cura protested. "When we go on our first mission you'll see just how capable I really am. This practice session here today is one of my off days."
"If you say so." Hilda chuckled, not believing in Cura's skill.
...And it would seem she was right not to, as she did end up getting killed on their first mission together. Though, she was wrong in believing it would be Cura's fault, as it was her own negligence that allowed the Ice Wraith to bite her.
Life, after all, seemed to simply be a slow race to the grave. It was true that from the moment one was born, they were already beginning to die. It was just so that some would meet their ends earlier than others.
While most Altmer could live for Hundreds of years, some could die in their first year from complications.
Vigilant Hilda deserved a longer life. Vigilant Bruna, as well.
Cura resolved to herself that she had to continue her journey; not just for herself, but for them, as well.
The cold sting of wind arrived as an early onset Blizzard began to kick up.
Cura and Lydia resolved that it would be better to get to a lower topography in order to avoid the storm, if possible.
After some time, the pair found themselves fleeing from a couple of large bears, and Lydia spiked them with arrows as they followed them with an attempt to jump over a large rock.
Joile stuck the landing and rushed ahead through the fields, which were more in their Autumnal stage, with the trees surrounding them bearing their orange, red, and yellow leaves.
They followed the nearby river, which glistened in the beautiful sunlight. Stray dragonflies buzzed through the air, as well as the odd butterfly here and there.
To their right, Cura and Lydia could not miss the great mountain that they had to circumvent. High Hrothgar.
They had to ascend the 7000 steps to the top, as pilgrims had.
"The steps begin in Ivarstead." Lydia explained to Cura. "Just keep following the river and we'll get to the small farming village."
Cura nodded. "You know... I never would have imagined that someday I'd be going on a Pilgrimage here. I always thought that if I were to go on a Pilgrimage, it would be to Stendarr's Chapel in Chorrol, or maybe one of his Temples in Bhoriane."
"Ironic, then, that you'll already have gone to Meridia's Shrine and the Greybeards' sanctum before then."
Cura thought about it. It was indeed strange, with her being a Vigilant of Stendarr. She could slowly see a town off in the distance, surrounded by water with a bridge that connected it to the large mountain.
That was Ivarstead.
"Oh, Cura, I forgot to mention..." Lydia began. "Nobody has ever actually counted the steps. They're just kind of assuming the number."
"So, are you going to count them on the way up?" Cura asked with a playful chuckle.
"Do you want me to?" Lydia asked.
"Sure, why not? We're going up there regardless." Cura shrugged.
Lydia was excited. "Yessss!" She clenched her fist. "Time to put that myth to rest once and for all."
Ivarstead was a small milling town surrounded with lovely water and lush greenery at the base of the mountain.
According to Cura's map, the town is located on the shores of Lake Geir, with one of the forks of the Darkwater River powering the sawmill on its way to join the White River. Following the river could bring one to Dark water Crossing, which Cura would rather not think about, or to Whiterun, which Cura was missing.
The town consisted of five buildings made of wood, clay, and straw and had the accursed Shroud Hearth Barrow just to the east on the bluff, overshadowing the town.
Where Cura and Lydia arrived from, they could see a couple of men standing by the stone bridge; an older bald man with a knot-tied beard, and a slightly younger man with brown hair. As the pair approached on Joile, they could hear the conversation.
"On your way up the 7,000 Steps again, Klimmek?" The brown-haired man turned out to be a Wood Elf.
Klimmek, the older man shook his head. "Not today, Gwilin. I'm just not ready to make the climb to High Hrothgar. The path isn't safe."
Gwilin scratched his chin. "Aren't the Greybeards expecting some supplies?"
Klimmek shrugged. "Honestly, I'm not certain. I've yet to be allowed into the monastery. Perhaps one day."
"Er, excuse me." Cura flagged him. "I could deliver it for you, if you'd like. I'm climbing the Steps."
"A Vigilant of Stendarr? Going up High Hrothgar?" Klimmek questioned dryly. "Now I've seen everything."
Lydia stepped forward. "What she does is her business. She volunteered to help you along the way. Most people would just be grateful."
"I'm not complaining." Klimmek justified himself. "It's nice of you to offer. That would be kind of you. Here, take this bag of supplies. At the top of the steps you'll see the offering chest. Just leave the bag inside and you're done."
Cura stepped forward to receive the alms. "All right." She agreed. "So, what can I expect on the steps? Are there monsters that lurk about? Maybe some Sabercats?"
"Well, there's the occasional wolf pack or stray, but that's all I've ever had to deal with. Shouldn't be a problem for the likes of you. Other than that, watch your footing. In these wintry conditions, the stairs can be treacherous." Klimmek explained.
Cura nodded. "Thank you. Rest easy." Before she continued onwards, she had to pose one last question. "Er... is there someplace where I can board my Horse for the meantime? I don't want to bring him up such treacherous slopes."
Lydia noticed the Inn, where there was a small boarding wharf with bales of hay next to it. "My Thane, I'm sure the Inn could care for him for the meantime."
Cura pet Joile's snout gently. "All right." She took out a coin purse and filled it with 200 gold. "I think this should do it." She handed the purse to Lydia, who headed inside.
Soon enough the Barkeep came outside with the Housecarl. "So, this is your horse? A nice one, indeed. You must take a lot of care of him."
Indeed, Keeper Carcette loved her horse. Certainly giving him up to Cura could not have been easy. Maybe this was the first step towards repairing their relationship, after all.
When her quest is said and done, Cura will absolutely tell her all is forgiven.
Cura smiled graciously. "I hope you will, too."
"I would have for 75 coins." The Barkeep raised an eyebrow. "For 200 coins I'll even add a coat shining and some horseshoes. Your horse is going to receive better treatment than some of my customers."
Cura began to pity the clientele, but it became obvious that there weren't many to begin with. "Thank you." She turned to Joile, who shook his head around and whinnied into the air.
"Don't worry, Joile, I'll be back in a while." She gave the horse a gentle pat on the side of his burly neck as the Barkeep led him to the side of the Inn.
Cura turned to Lydia, and walked past her and over the bridge towards the mountain. Immediately, the first thing Cura noticed was a Hunter reading a stone that was placed for Pilgrims, it would seem.
Since Cura was effectively making a pilgrimage herself, she thought perhaps to read it, herself. When the Hunter moved she stepped up closer and began to read.
"Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all
Mundus.
Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs.
For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."
Cura looked at Lydia, who seemed fascinated by it. "What do you think?" She asked her Housecarl.
"It reminds me of stories I'd heard as a child." Lydia stated. "And we're on the fifteenth step, if you're wondering."
"All right. Approximately 6985 to go." Cura calculated as she headed up the path to her left excitedly.
Lydia trailed behind, continuing to count the steps she ascended.
Another monument stood atop the path, adjacent to the mountain wall on the edge of a precipice. Cura leaned forward cautiously.
"Men were born and spread over the face of
Mundus
The Dragons presided over the crawling masses
Men were weak then, and had no Voice''
"So... the Dragons have ruled over Humanity..." Cura noted. It was one of the tales Brother Adalvald taught her, straight from Skyrim. "I guess the Dragon Cult in those times turned against their own in the hopes of living."
"They lived under tooth and claw." Lydia stated. "And there were no Dragonborns yet to face the terrible lizards."
The pair continued walking along.
As Klimmek warned, a couple of wolves ran along the trail, set in ambush.
"Remember that wolves hunt in packs!" Lydia exclaimed as she dodged a lunge from the wrathful white canine.
Cura sunk her mace into the mouth of the next wolf as it attempted to bite her, and snapped its jaw, causing it to fall to the ground.
A few more wolves rounded the corner and tried to maneuver around Cura to bite her side as she hrld up her shield. She turned her head to the side.
"FUS!" she shouted two of the three over the cliffside, and they plummeted below.
Lydia shoved her sword into the chest of the last wolf and tossed it off the blade.
The pair ensured their mutual wellbeing before heading onwards.
Stone number 3. Cura began to read.
"The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times
Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices
But the Dragons only shouted them down and
broke their hearts"
They moved along the stairs, which seemed to go deeper into the inclines than they initially thought.
Cura looked at the fourth monument, though what was inscribed upon it intrigued her.
"Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man
Together they taught Men to use the Voice
Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue"
Paarthurnax. That was a name she was unfamiliar with. Kyne, she identified most likely as Kynareth. After all, the Nords had different names for the Divines, and a slightly different pantheon, to boot.
The next stone monument elaborated.
"Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world
Proving for all that their Voice too was strong
Although their sacrifices were many-fold"
"I wonder how that big, black dragon came back, if he was shouted out of the world?" Cura wondered.
"I agree." Lydia stated. "It doesn't make any sense. What's next, will we start seeing the Dwemer again?"
"We'll continue the walk and find out, I suppose." Cura shrugged.
They turned around and followed the stairs eastward, where it began to incline upwards.
Suddenly, with the sound of furious beating wings, Cura leapt over to the side.
"YOL TOOR SHUL!" A blast of fire consumed the path where once she stood, alarming Lydia.
The Nord's armour did little to protect her, as the fur on her waist began to catch fire. Quickly, Lydia dropped and began to roll around in a snowbank to douse the fires.
"He said there were Wolves! Wolves!" Lydia shouted in irritated disbelief towards Klimmek. back in the town.
The assailant, a brown Dragon, perched on a bluff above the pair, and took in a breath. "YOL-"
Cura retaliated quickly. "FUS!" Her Shout connected with the wyrm's face, stunning it mid-shout.
Lydia plunged an arrow directly into its eye, causing the beast to fumble and slide off the bluff.
When it hit the ground, Cura made her move. She pulled the arrow out of the Dragon's eye, and placed her hand on the bleeding hole.
Then she cast a Flame spell, effectively burning the Dragon's brain within its skull. The wailing monster attempted to throttle her off, but eventually lost its balance and went crashing down the mountain.
Cura quickly leapt off of it and onto the cliff, where Lydia pulled her back up.
The pair gazed over the cliff, where they saw the Dragon's body begin to disintegrate.
Cura leaned on another monument to support herself as she felt the rush of power force its way into her.
"With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer
Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice
Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World"
Lydia cautiously approached Cura. "That was hairy. Remind me to punch that bald bastard in the face when we return to Ivarstead." She cracked her knuckles with Nordic fury.
"I don't think he would have expected a Dragon, Lydia." Cura stated as she continued to move forward, up the icy slope.
The next monument wedged between two snow-covered stones read:
"The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled
Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation
To understand how Strong Voices could fail"
"How strong voices could fail? What happened at Red Mountain?" Lydia wondered, becoming fascinated by the small epistle.
"Maybe the next one will elaborate." Cura pointed to another stone, further off in the distance, past a large curved cliff with a Frost Troll jumping up and down upon it.
"Oh, great." Lydia sneered. "Another thing our friend 'probably didn't expect.'"
"Ready your bow!" Cura said as she charged forward courageously. Lydia was fast to the draw, and immediately shot an arrow at the Troll as it jumped from the cliff to face Cura. By some random chance, the arrow actually met its mark; hitting the Frost Troll in the heart. The creature staggered backwards as it quickly began to hemorrhage.
Before it could remove the arrow and heal its wounds, Cura blasted it with flame, which engulfed it and, from safe distance, lulled the beast into eternal slumber.
"Not too bad." Cura remarked. Indeed, she was expecting it to put up more difficult of a fight.
"Our Synergy is one to be feared, perhaps!" Lydia chuckled. "A benefit to having a travelling companion, my Thane."
"Do you think I should consider finding others, too?" Cura wondered as she walked onwards through the blowing snow.
"It couldn't hurt, my Thane." Lydia expressed her feelings. "And the city of Riften isn't too far from here. Maybe we could find recruitment there. It would make our lives that much easier."
"First things first. I need to see the Greybeards." Cura stated as her eyes were drawn to the next monument.
"Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned
The 17 disputants could not shout Him down
Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World"
Cura was unsure if she had skipped one. There was no mention of the Red Mountain.
"Jurgen the Calm." Cura stated the name and pondered on it.
"Have you heard of him before?" Lydia asked.
Cura shrugged. "No, but his name is fun to say."
Lydia was dumbstruck.
Is she serious?
Cura went ahead again, prompting Lydia to pick up her pace.
They were nearing one more slope, which sunk lower than expected, and at the end of it, next to the stairs was the ninth monumental stone.
"For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name
Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar
They blessed and named him Dohvakiin"
Cura's jaw dropped. So it was true! Tiber Septim went to the Greybeards!
She was walking the same path that the mighty Talos himself walked, all those centuries ago.
But... these Greybeards couldn't possibly be the same ones he met, unless perhaps they were Elves.
A large stone castle monastery came into view, with the large chest for offerings between two swerving staircases that led to two separate entrances.
To Cura's left was the final stone.
"The Voice is worship
Follow the Inner path
Speak only in True Need"
She nodded. Perhaps focusing on what was most important would be the secret to unlocking her power after all. Though, it would be a waste to have such power and do nothing with it.
Or perhaps restraint held its own reward. After all, restraint had ties in mercy.
"There are only 748 steps..." Lydia droned, disappointed. "Not even 1000! Where on Nirn did they get 7000?!"
"No offense, Lydia, but I guess this is why intellect isn't what people usually associate with the Nords." Cura said with a shrug.
"Yes. Perhaps one was drunk when he climbed to the top and made that claim. Who knows?" Lydia shrugged in kind. "All I know is I'm incredibly disappointed and my day is ruined."
"I hope we can un-ruin it before we meet the Greybeards." Cura implored her as she placed Klimmek's supplies offering into the chest. "You're certain that you counted the steps correctly, right? There were quite a few distractions."
"Even if I missed a few, it would still be unser 1000." Lydia spat. "It was nowhere close!"
"Maybe it's called the 7000 steps because the voyage feels so long, with the chill, the assailants, and the monument stones?" Cura pondered.
"Let's go inside and get this over with." Lydia sneered.
Cura nodded and ascended the staircase on tge left, and pushed open the large Ancient metal doors that were reminiscent of the one in Bleak Falls Barrow, but slightly smaller.
When they entered they found a grand hall that was styled very much like the Ancient Nordic Ruins, but far more bright and well- prserved.
Immediately, an old man with a grey beard tied in a ponytail wearing a large indigo hood and robes decorated with intricate, dragonlike designs descended the stairs on the other side of the hall to meet them.
A few others entered from the other corridors to the sides.
"So... a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of an age." The descending monk softly spoke.
"Sorry I'm a little late... I was caught up with many errands." Cura excused herself with a light bow. "I know i should have come sooner, but now I'm answering your summons."
The Monks looked her up and down, scanning the being presented before them. Clearly this young Breton woman was not what they were anticipating. "We will see if you truly have the gift. Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your Voice."
the leader declared.
"Wait..." Cura questioned, raising concern. "Right here in this Echo Chamber? Right now?"
"Yes." the elder spoke. "Do not worry yourself; I am very much attuned with tge Way of the Voice. I can suffer your Shout."
Cura grit her teeth. "Are you certain? It's... powerful. I don't want to hurt you."
"Do not be afraid. Your Shout will not harm us." The leader reassured the gentle heart before him.
Cura nodded. "Very well, then." She gestured for Lydia to move aside, leaving the line of fire between herself and the Greybeard.
The Breton drew breath, inhaling briefly, and channeling her force. After all, she had to prove she was Dragonborn here. Best not to disappoint.
"FUS!" Cura shouted. A mighty gale blasted the old man, who held his own against it rather well, only staggering backwards.
"Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar." the Monk placed his hands inside his sleeves and bowed forward with reverence.
"Thank you." Cura smiled. "It's a... quaint little monastery you have here. I promise that I will maintain respect."
"You're the Greybeards..." Lydia mused, struck with awe. "You really do exist! This is so surreal..."
"We are the Greybeards, followers of the Way of the Voice." the leader confirmed. "You stand in High Hrothgar, on the slopes of Kynareth's sacred mountain. Here we commune with the voice of the sky, and strive to achieve balance between our inner and outer selves."
The old man spoke again, quenching the silence. "I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"
"I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn, Master." Cura bowed forward in respect.
"We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you." Arngeir walked a few steps closer to Cura. Her humility impressed the old man. "We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."
"You mean I'm not the only Dragonborn?" Cura was beginning to wonder if perhaps another could be out there somewhere; perhaps one before her, the Last. It would make sense tgat the Divines would keep a contingency plan in effect should she fall.
"You are not the first. There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed that gift upon mortalkind. 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." The old monk confirmed.
Cura nodded, and Lydia walked over toqards the stairs to sit and watch with intrigue what would come next.
"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? That remains to be seen." Arngeir paced the floor, challenging Cura's mentality.
True, she was a very enotional person, who got high-strung quite easily and was quick to anger. But she was also merciful and caring of others, and capable of rationality. Surely it had to count for something.
Arngeir continued to pace the floor.
"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. When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger."The Greybeards settled into position, all forming a circle around Cura's pisition on the emblem on the floor tiles.
Cura was fascinated. It explained why she could read the Word wall in Bleak Falls Barrow and the Dragonstone. It was as natural to her as walking.
After hus small lecture concluded, Arngeir gestured towards another Greybeard who stepped forward. "Master Einarth will now teach you "Ro," the second word in Unrelenting Force. Ro means "Balance" in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus - "Force" - to focus your Thu'um more sharply."
Einarth proceeded to project this Word of Power on the floor; the word 'Ro' emblazoned itself onto the stone, wrotten in Draconic scratchmarks.
Lydia stared on in admiration. She felt as though she was witnessing history unfold before her eyes.
Cura tilted her head to try and ration the direction of the letters, when it suddenly began to speak to her. "Ro...".she whispered as she read it, pronunciation perfect.
"You learn a new word like a master... you truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step... you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly." Arngeir walked around to Cura as he gestured towards the writing on the floor.
"So... Fus Ro... 'Force Balance'." Cura pondered. "Is that all there is to it?"
"As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of "Ro."" Arngeir informed her as Einarth approached Cura and laid two fingers on her forehead.
Einarth whispered the word, and a glow of orange emitted from his hand and illuminated Cura.
Suddenly, it was as if a new world opened to her.
Force Balance.
Force.
Balance.
The balance of energy.
Harmony and light.
Power and controlled might.
It was all these things, and more, contained in only two words.
"Is the Thu'um a philosophical study of language and the world?" Cura asked inquisitively.
"In essence." Arngeir held his arms behind his back. "Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um."
He gestured towards the others, and they all stepped forward. "Use your Unrelenting Force shout to strike the targets as they appear." Arngeir instructed Cura. "Use both Fus and Ro. Together, they will make the Shout more powerful."
"All right." Cura nodded with eagerness. "I'm ready."
"Bex!" Einarth shouted lightly. Suddenly a spectral version of himself materialized.
"FUS RO!" Cura struck it immediately, causing the specter to vanish.
Arngeir was impressed by her speed and precision. "Well done. Again."
The next couple of Greybeards did the same, and Cura was consistent with tearing their specters down. Lydia was intrigued. It truly was an honour to be able to witness the Greybeards training the Dragonborn. It was something out of legend.
She even felt a strange kind of pride towards Cura as well. She's come a long way from when they first met in Dragonsreach.
When the session ended, Arngeir applauded his new student. "Impressive. Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn."
"Thank you, Master Arngeir." Cura said with a lighthearted smile.
Arngeir ushered Cura towards the stairs, where another Greybeard was leading.
"We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri."
Cura did as she was told, and Lydia followed as well, from behind. She felt at ease in High Hrothgar, as the Greybeards were men of peace. The Housecarl could hang up her sword and shield for a while.
They walked out into the snowy courtyard, where there was a set of stairs leading to a windstorm to the right next to a stone tower, and a closed black gate on the left beyond a couple of tall stones.
"We will now see how you learn a completely new Shout. Master Borri will teach you "Wuld," which means "Whirlwind.""
Arngeir walked into position as Borri whispered the word onto the ground in flaming Dragonscript, as Einarth did before.
Cura looked at the word and soaked it in. "Wuld."
Borri placed his fingers on her forehead and transferred many years of study to her in an instant.
As a gale moves in one direction, so too does the force of Wuld. A whirlwind that ignores obstacle; and barrages any in its wake. This is the nature of the Whirlwind Sprint.
Cura's eyes stopped glowing, indeed, but her knowledge of the Shout expanded itself; perhaps a result of consuming the Dragons.
"Wuld Na Kest..." Cura muttured under her breath. "Whirlwind... Fury... Tempest..."
"Now we will see how quickly you can master a new shout." Arngeir gestured for the others to take their positions, and one immediately stood parallel to the gate.
"Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn."
As Borri commanded the gate to open with his Voice, Wulfgar took in a breath, and then shouted the first word of Whirlwind Sprint and bursted through the opening with inhuman speed, snow flying and getting trapped in his wind tunnel begore dissipating into the air..
Arngeir then turned to Cura, who walked to Wulfgar's previous position. "Now it is your turn. Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes."
Cura nodded excitedly, if a bit nervous. She had to impress them!
Lydia watched on, intrigued to see where this would go.
Borri opened the gate, and a twinkle sparked in Cura's eye.
"WULD NA KEST!" She overshot the gate and tumbled down the cliff in effort to show off.
Lydia cringed upon hearing the crash and thud below in the distance.
After a bit of time passed, Cura painfully pulled herself back up the cliff.
"Ambition is good, if tempered properly." Arngeir stated. "Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is... astonishing. I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself..."
"I don't know how I do it. It just happens." Cura truly did not know how she picked up the other two words so quickly, but they came naturally to her.
"You were given this gift by the gods for a reason. It is up to you to figure out how best to use it." Arngeir stated, with a small word of caution. "But beware that your skill does not outstrip your wisdom."
Cura's face flushed with red when she recounted her foolish blunder minutes ago. She was only fortunate that she hadn't gone over the Mountain itself. "Yes, I..I'll keep that in mind. Thank you." She rubbed the back of her sore neck.
"You are now ready for your last trial. Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return." Arngeir explained.
"Jurgen Windcaller..." Cura recalled the name. "He's also called 'Jurgen the Calm' right? Who was he, exactly?"
Ever tbe student of History, Cura's thirst for knowledge needed to be satiated.
Arngeir was more than happy to be of help.
"He was a great war leader of the ancient Nords, a master of the Voice, or Tongue. After the disaster at Red Mountain, where the Nord army was annihilated, he spent many years pondering the meaning of that terrible defeat. He finally came to realize that the gods had punished the Nords for their arrogant and blasphemous misuse of the Voice. He was the first to understand that the Voice should be used solely for the glory and worship of the gods, not the glory of men. Jurgen Windcaller's mastery of the Voice eventually overcame all opposition, and the Way of the Voice was born."
"Fascinating!" Cura stated. "And the Greybeards follow in his example? Why are there only four of you?"
"Five." Arngeir held up five fingers. "Our leader, Paarthurnax, lives alone on the peak of the Throat of the World. When your Voice can open the path, you will know you are ready to speak to him." He pointed to the storm-shrouded pathway ahead of them. "Very few are permitted to study with us here at High Hrothgar. But in your case, Dragonborn, it is a privilege to guide you towards mastery of your Voice."
"It's a privilege to be able to learn from you." Cura extended the courtesy. "But I have a question of curiosity concerning the Thu'um. Why are Shouts in the dragon language? Would the common tongue not suffice?"
"Dragons have always been able to Shout. Language is intrinsic to their very being. There is no difference in the dragon tongue between debating and fighting. Shouting comes as naturally to a dragon as breathing, or speaking." Arngeir began. "In mythic times, when mortalkind was in great need, the goddess Kynareth granted us the ability to speak as dragons do. For most people, long years of training are required to learn even the simplest Shout. But for you, the dragon speech is in your blood, and you learn it almost without effort."
"There's so much I want to learn!" Cura beamed. "This is incredible!"
"In due time." Arngeir smiled at the youth. "You must be patient."
"Why don't the others talk?" Lydia chimed in, pointing to the other monks.
"Their Voices are too powerful for anyone not trained in the Way to withstand. Even a whisper could kill you." Arngeir warned her, sending a chill down her spine.
"What is the Way of the Voice?" Cura asked. "The philosophy behind it, entirely."
Arngeir then explained. "The Voice was a gift of the goddess Kynareth, at the dawn of time. She gave mortals the ability to speak as dragons do. Although this gift has often been misused, the only true use of the Voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth's domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance."
"I will try to follow the Way of the Voice." Cura nodded. It was different than what she knew, but Kynareth was in the same pantheon as Stendarr, so he shouldn't mind, ideally.
"That is commendable. But remember, the Dragon Blood is itself a gift of Akatosh. Do not try to deny that gift. Your destiny requires you to use your Voice - why else would Akatosh have bestowed this power upon you? If you remember to use your Voice in service to the purpose of Akatosh, you will remain true to the Way." Arngeir reminded her.
Cura was uncertain about how to respond. She was to divide herself among Stendarr, Meridia, Kynareth, and Akatosh? Such a tall order.
"Okay... and why are the dragons returning? Does it have something to do with Cura?" Lydia pressed, wanting answers of her own, as well.
"No doubt. The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident." Arngeir's statement made Cura feel a bit uneasy. If she had it her way, the Dragons wouldn't be here, at all. Arngeir turned back to her. "Your destiny is surely bound up with the return of the dragons. You should focus on honing your Voice, and soon your path will be made clear."
She was supposed to end the Dragon menace. So Akatosh was on their side, after all.
But how did Stendarr factor into this?
Mercy.
Of course.
"I will." Cura promised, snapping back to. "I've been using a few Shouts, but not to their fullest capacity. I've had varying results. The severity of my Unrelenting Force, I've noticed, has often depended on how I felt in the moment. Is that normal?"
"Absolutely. The emotion behind a word changes its context entirely; from a push to move an ally from harm's way to decimation of a hostile enemy; a Shout can have many an impact. Just as a harsh word can provoke anger, when in another context the same word could offer comfort. This is no different."
It made a lot of sense. "Thank you, Master. I will continue my training." Cura assured.
"Good. Then you will be ready for whatever lies ahead." Arngeir responded. "Sky above, voice within." He turned around to head back inside.
Cura knelt down in the snow and held her arms up to the sky. Within herself, she began to pray to Stendarr, then to Kynareth, then to Akatosh. She would need as much help as she could get for the journey set before her.
