A/N: And here it is, at last – chapter seventeen of A Warrior Rises. I know it was a long time coming. I just want to take a second to say thank you, to all of the lovely people who have left me messages and reviews since I last updated. You are so, so appreciated. This pandemic has been so hard, and when I opened my email and read someone telling me that MY story was helping them get through it, I cried. It doesn't get more rewarding than that, as an artist of any kind. Thank you again, to all of you. I hope we all keep getting through, together.
Another low moan of wind snagged at Merrin's attention, and she groaned right along with it – two restless and frustrated sounds, bouncing off the walls around her.
She was sitting in one of the simple rooms made for pupils, unused for many years now – and she was all alone.
The space was monastic, through and through – tiny and spartan, it boasted nothing but a bed, a desk, a prayer-mat, and a chair. The desk was chiselled stone, and so was the bed she sat on, dressed with nothing but a single sturdy fur, and a thin, rolled out mattress to rest weary bones on. A tiny hearth in the far wall held a fire, crackling merrily to keep cold at bay, and in a high corner above a wood pile, an even tinier window would let someone know when the sun finally rose outside. The glass was thick, but did little to muffle the sound of fickle wind raking the mountain.
The room was also spotlessly clean, and obviously cared for, despite the fact that no pupil had claimed it in decades. She supposed that was monastic through and through, too.
Staring up for the umpteenth time at the tiny square of velvet darkness outside, Merrin resisted the urge to jump up and pace. She had nothing to do, and no one to talk to; when she'd finally come to the student dorms and checked on Ria across the hall, she'd found her fast asleep, and hadn't had the heart to wake her.
All she did have was restless energy, and a long new list of questions.
After she'd Shouted, a tangible caution had drained from the air, and Master Arngeir, the first of the Greybeards they'd met, had asked to speak with her.
Ria had wanted to sit in with her, but the monk had requested privacy. That went over poorly; still, after some insistence that she'd be fine on her own and a long, stern look, Ria had reluctantly caved. She'd watched her friend be led away by two more silent, stoic monks, presumably to food and rest.
As for herself and Arngeir, they'd stayed up into the small hours of morning.
It was during their long conversation that Merrin learned Arngeir was the Greybeard's mouthpiece – the one with whom she'd be having all discussions. She'd wondered at the other men's muteness – and then found herself disturbed, when Arngeir explained to her why they kept silent. Voices with the power to shake down walls? To tear people apart, without effort? It was no wonder they wrote notes to communicate. The fact that Arngeir could speak for them because he was the least powerful of their order was hard to believe, or swallow.
What made it hardest was the knowledge that it could be her one day. The Thu'um in all its potential lay coiled inside her, waiting, because she was –
The Dragonborn. No longer a question, no longer an 'if' – she was. When Arngeir had declared her as much, it was official. But she had known since that moment of ringing silence, after her second Shout.
Curling her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around her legs, Merrin watched the fire pop and crackle, and thought about what he'd told her.
A human, with the soul of a dragon. Just like the stories da used to tell her. She'd argued with Arngeir when he said it – something she felt embarrassed by, now. How could she have a dragon soul? She'd been a normal child, a normal woman her whole life, until a week ago. Wouldn't she have known?
Apparently not. According to Arngeir, the dragonblood could lay dormant for any length of time, until something roused it. She may have seemed like a normal person, but she'd been Dragonborn all along.
Fighting with him had been pointless, and so she hadn't kept it up for long before yielding to the truth, and all its messy implications.
He'd had questions, and so had she – piles of them, that they'd seemed to bandy back and forth for ages, while they sat beside his fire.
He'd wanted to know some things about her, and she'd indulged him – her name and age, her profession, where she'd been when she was summoned. He'd given her his name; she could only guess at his years. When she'd told him she came from the plains of Whiterun, he'd murmured that he'd left that same city behind, called to Kynareth's service, before its current Jarl had even been born.
So...old.
The mention of the summons had spurred her next question: Why did you call me here?
Arngeir had gestured widely to the chamber around them, eyes catching off the shifting light.
'We heard your Voice, and recognized its strength – felt when you absorbed the power of your foe. We summon all Dragonborn to our counsel.'
Words spoken so simply. And yet they'd lit a spark in her, stoking insatiable curiosity.
'Is that so? And how long has it been, since the last?'
He'd loosed a thoughtful, rumbling sound. 'A very long time – not in my lifetime, nor my predecessor's. The last was Uriel Septim VII, in the Third Era. Blood of Tiber Septim.'
A very long time. She'd shuddered at his words, and then frozen as another thought occurred to her.
'What – what about now? Could there be others coming, besides me?'
The monk had tilted his head, made a non-committal noise.
'It is customary that only one Dragonborn walk Mundus at a time...but not absolute. You are the only one to reveal yourself, thus far. That is all I can own.'
She had stared at him, long and hard. 'We are not in customary times.'
He'd just shrugged. 'We can only wait and see.' Then those bright eyes had flicked over, latched onto hers.
'Why? Do you relish the thought of another? Or dread it?'
Despite herself, she'd grimaced. 'Neither.' It was the truth – she didn't know how she felt, what she thought. Not yet.
He'd given a tiny nod of his silvered head, and his eyes were tinged with sorrow as they'd held hers.
'Either way, I would not begrudge you. The Dragonborn's path through history has often been a hard and lonely one.'
She'd shoved aside the emotions that conjured. Plunged ahead, instead.
'So what does it mean, then? To be Dragonborn?'
'You are a dragon, made mortal flesh. The Dragonborn retain their gift of the Thu'um, inherent to all dragons. They are also able to absorb the power of their fallen kin. All while walking Nirn as if a common Man. Whether this is a gift or a curse has been the topic of debate for centuries. Regardless...'
He'd tilted his head, crossed his arms. 'What you have already learned here took even the most gifted of us years to achieve. Some believe that Dragonborn are fated. Sent into the world by the gods, during times of great need – '
She'd opened her mouth at that, words ready to come tumbling out. But he'd silenced her with a halting sound, and a finger raised in the air.
' – But we will speak of that more when you are ready.'
'What made the gods choose me?' She'd demanded.
'We cannot know that. The Nine have always guarded their machinations closely – what they choose to share is up to them. But I can tell you that it speaks to your destiny.'
'Destiny? What is my destiny?!'
She'd come closer to interrogating than questioning, by then, but hadn't been able to suppress herself. His answer hadn't helped, anyway.
'That is for you to learn, Dragonborn. We can show you the Way, but not your destination.'
Suddenly, the logs shifted in the hearth, and a loud popping hiss brought her back to the present with a gasp. She stopped seeing a room and face down the hall, snapping back to the walls around her, and Merrin groaned as she let herself flop down onto the mattress. The ceiling flickered with the light of the fire, and she reached up to rub the heels of her hands into her tired eyes.
It didn't surprise her, that she'd fallen so deep into recollection; there was something about her time with Arngeir that pulled at her, like eyes to light. He had a quality to him – a certain stillness, a purpose to every movement, and a way of looking at you when he talked as if he could see beneath your skin. His voice, so full of gravitas, made you hang on every word. And his demeanor seemed unflappable.
At the very least, he'd taken her pointed questions in stride, and seemed none the worse for wear. She'd nearly bitten her tongue when he had no useful answer about her destiny; so fierce was her urge to argue. But she'd reined herself in with a growl and a deep breath, and moved along.
She'd asked him to tell her about the Greybeards, about their lives. He'd stared at her in that seeking way, and asked her what she wanted to know.
There are only four of you? Even now, she couldn't imagine it – a life of such solitude, with so few to talk to. Since she'd left home, there had been long stretches where she'd been alone on the road. But this monastery was different. Another blast of keening wind hit the window while she thought about it, and she couldn't help but shiver; it was such a lonely sound.
His answer hadn't been very comforting – Five, actually. Apparently they had a leader named Paarthurnax, who lived in seclusion at the mountain's very peak. The closest a person could get, to the sky. The idea of it thrilled her, even as it made her ache.
'But of course he speaks to you, and the others?'
'Occasionally.' Arngeir had shrugged. 'When there is a need.'
The mere idea had baffled Merrin. She'd wondered if she'd ever meet Paarthurnax, and as if he could read her mind, Arngeir had nodded.
'When your Voice can open the path to him, you will know you're ready to speak with him. I imagine he'll be pleased to meet you.' His eyes had twinkled at that, and Merrin had only been able to stare back – she figured you'd be glad to meet anyone, if you spent every day all alone!
From there, they'd spoken in more depth of life in the order. Even growing up in Ivarstead, the monks had still been an esoteric bunch to the regular people down below; when he asked her what she knew of their ways, she'd shrugged.
'More than some, I suppose. You honor Kynareth with your devotion to the Voice. You Shout in prayer. You're not often seen, but sometimes you take on new students – you must do, to keep on making more of you.'
He'd chuckled, at that. 'More or less.' He'd reached down past the low table between them, procuring a carafe and two goblets, and when he'd offered with a lift of bushy brows, she'd accepted. The full-bodied wine had taken the edge off her nerves, and they'd reclined simultaneously in their hard-backed chairs, both sighing. This had caused them both to laugh, the sound echoing off the stone; momentarily, the mood had lifted.
'The Way of the Voice honors Kynareth, yes. But it also honors all the other Divines. We who follow the Way believe that the only true use of the Thu'um is in worship – anything else is a distraction that throws us out of balance. True mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outer actions.' His silvery green eyes had roved over her face, then.
'Even moreso, when a Voice is as powerful as a Dragonborn's.'
'So you're pacifists?' That certainly fit the narrative that she'd grown up with, living in peace at the mountain's foot. But Arngeir had squinted, tilting his head to the side.
'Yes...and no. More accurately, we believe that violence is the least of the Voice's ability, and that one should commit it only for balance. Only in True Need.'
True Need...the same words that were etched into the last wayshrine, standing before the monastery.
The Voice is Worship. Follow the Inner path. Speak only in True Need.
Something had troubled her in remembering, and she'd put down her cup.
Who could say what she would need to do, now the gods had this plan for her? A plan she wasn't allowed to know? A new thought occurred to her then, definitely troubling, and as if he could sense the change in the air, Arngeir had spoken.
'What is it?'
'I don't follow your philosophy. I don't know what I'll have to do...the path to my destiny may lead me astray. Why help me master my Voice?'
She'd thought it a fair question – still did. But Arngeir had chuckled as if she'd made a joke, crow's feet crinkling as he smiled.
'The Dragonborn is an exception to all the rules – because the dragon blood itself is a gift from the gods. If we accept one gift, how can we deny the other? As Dragonborn, you have received your Thu'um directly from Akatosh. And so we seek to guide you in the proper use of your gift, whatever that may be.' He'd paused, taken in her expression.
'Why the consternation?'
'A week ago, I didn't even think the Dragonborn were real. It's a lot to take in.'
His smile had widened. 'This must be quite the bracing introduction, then.'
She'd resisted sarcasm out of respect, and crossed her arms instead.
'So you're going to help me – regardless of what exactly I use my Thu'um for...because I'm the Dragonborn.'
The air around them had sobered a bit, then – the smile on Arngeir's face faded into something thoughtful instead, and he'd eyed her over the rim of the goblet he'd lifted.
'It would be our privilege to teach and guide you, Dragonborn. The heavens have spelled great things, for your kind. But do you have the discipline and courage, to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen.'
For long moments, his words had left her speechless, as doubt warred with resolve. But then she'd straightened her back and held her head high, as her eyes locked with his.
'I'm ready to try.'
And so, here she was – trying. Stuck in a tiny stone room on the side of a mountain, in the dead of night, going crazy over things she couldn't know or change – and with nobody to talk to. Arngeir had ended their discourse not long after her declaration; bidding her a good night, telling her they'd be taking the 'first steps' of her training in the morning. She'd tiptoed down the drafty, shadowy hallway, found Ria fast asleep, and resigned herself to stewing alone. That was a couple of hours ago.
Now, purely for something to do, she rolled off the bed and crossed the tiny room to feed another log into the fire, pulling her hand back to avoid a spray of embers. She stretched, and then there was nothing to do again, so she went back to the bed to keep herself from pacing. The entire time she moved, she was plagued with thoughts and worries that had no solid answers.
Things like, what was she supposed to do now? and what if she couldn't do it?
Does this have anything to do with the dragons? What was she supposed to do about them, if it did?
She realized with a start that she'd forgotten to ask Arngeir when she had the chance, and cursed aloud, raking both hands through her hair.
All this uncertainty, like a cloud of wasps in her head, about her future, her purpose, her duty and freedom – and all while feeling so gods-damned alone. She wished she had someone, anyone to talk to, and faces came flitting to the forefront, out of memory.
Her father. Wilhelm. Fastred, Klimmek. Niisha. Ria. Farkas.
Like it had started doing, Merrin's heart skipped a beat when Farkas' face flashed into her mind, and she growled at herself as she pushed back on the image. Not now!
But that just made the picture more insistent, and Merrin was forced to admit it – even if just to herself, in this tiny room. She wished above anyone else that he was here.
It's because you were already waiting to talk to him. And because he's a good friend. That's all. She said it firmly to herself, and meant it – so what was this lingering, creeping feeling?
It was all too much at once – too much uncertainty, too many questions. Feeling like an animal in a cage, Merrin scrabbled at the fur blanket until she'd crawled beneath it. Then she rolled over on her stomach, pulled the fur up over her head, and burrowed her face into the mattress, snarling as she went with eyes screwed tightly shut. With all her strength, she willed her head to empty, already, empty, empty.
She had no idea how long she laid like that, but eventually there was change. The moaning wind seemed to lessen. The fire wasn't quite so loud, in its hearth. Her heartbeat lulled in her chest, and her questions started to fall away, as she felt the first welcome brushes of sleep.
But try as she might, one person kept her company still, as she fell off that quiet edge.
She was startled awake by the sound of three smart staccato raps, on the door of the room. Still buried beneath the fur blanket, Merrin emerged with a groan into the chill.
This time, when she looked to the tiny window, velvet darkness had given way to a hard, bright sort of gray. Daylight. Morning.
Realizing what had woken her, she croaked out a raspy 'coming!' and threw the blanket off to one side. Nobody answered her; after thinking a moment, she supposed that made sense.
The fire had died sometime in the night, and as soon as her bare feet touched the flagstone, she hissed; it was downright frigid. She hopped from foot to foot as she dressed in a hurry, and threw her cloak on for good measure. When the room was just the way she'd found it, she threw the latch on the door, emerged into the hallway, and followed the smell of food.
As she went, she marvelled at how different the monastery looked during the day. Far from the foreboding, shadowy monolith they'd entered, now the building was full of light; long, tapered windows let it come spilling in, from floor to soaring ceiling. On a cloudy day like this, it bounced off the walls, filtering through frosted glass, and lent the entire space the feeling of a glowing gray pearl. The silence struck her next, and Merrin noticed with a start that the loudest sound around was her boots as she walked. It was...peaceful, she realized, and sighed. Balgruuf had been right.
The sound of a spoon clanging caught her ear then, and she followed it into what was clearly the dining space – giving another sheepish start when she saw she was last to arrive.
Three old, gray men in long gray robes were sitting around a stone dinner table, while a fourth stirred a pot over a recessed cookpit. Everyone looked over when they heard her enter, and that was when she noticed Ria, fully dressed and beaming at her, holding a kettle.
'Oh, there you are, Merrin! Good morning! How did you sleep?'
She managed to stammer out a 'fine, thanks' and keep her mouth from falling open, when she realized what her friend was doing; the chipper Imperial was rounding the table, filling the monks' mugs with boiled water for their tea and telling them she hoped they'd had a good night! This earned her a range of reactions – from an eye-creasing grin, to a look of polite confusion. Merrin couldn't help but smile when Ria went to take a seat, and the nearest monk pulled her chair out for her. She shouldn't be surprised – this woman made friends the way other people blinked.
Arngeir was the one stirring, and he smiled when he turned to look at her, those grey-green eyes lively in the light of day.
'Ah, Merrin. We hoped you'd join us soon. Have a seat. We've a busy morning.'
Breakfast was simple, but also hot and filling, and Merrin ate gratefully as Ria and Arngeir amiably chatted and the rest listened on.
As soon as the meal finished, they'd gotten down to business. As a group, they'd followed Arngeir to the monastery's courtyard – spacious and open, uncovered to the sky, and swept with a dusting of snow. Merrin had noticed a set of carven stairs winding up and away into the last of the mountain, and assumed it was the path to Paarthurnax's house, but hadn't asked. There was enough to contend with already.
Arngeir had motioned for the rest to stand aside, and now he stood about five paces away, staring intently at her. He spread his hands in front of him, and spoke.
'And so, we begin. The other masters and I conferred while you slept, and we are in agreement. Our present aim is to build your comprehension of a Thu'um – a Shout – their form and function. Since you've already managed to harness a Shout, it would behoove you to understand how.' Clasping his hands back together, the monk looked at one of his counterparts and nodded; gracefully, the second man came striding over to join him. Then both of them looked at her.
'When you use the Voice, you are speaking in the Dragon tongue – Dovahzul, they call it. Shouts are comprised of what we call Words of Power – naturally coupled in threes. Each word can be spoken alone, but with each successive combination, a stronger Shout is produced. As you master each Word you learn, your Shout will get progressively stronger. Understand?'
Merrin nodded, already focused.
'Good. Now, we've already heard you demonstrate the Word 'Fus'. Master Borri will now teach you the second word of Unrelenting Force – 'Ro.'
Master Borri looked as though he could be Arngeir's brother, or cousin – similar cheekbones, with a similar brow. Similar down-turned eyes of a pale color, that shimmered brightly with spirit. He graced her with a small smile from behind a similar beard, before crouching down and scratching out a jagged rune in the snow. He'd done it upside down, to face her, and when he'd finished, both men nodded.
'Yes. 'Ro' – in translation to Common, the word means 'Balance',' Arngeir explained. 'Combine the words 'Force Balance Push', and you have the Shout called Unrelenting Force, at it's full power. Study it, Dragonborn.'
Merrin stared closely at the rune scratched from the snow – and then felt a pinch of worry, when she felt no tug of understanding. It wasn't like the one she'd found in Bleak Falls – she knew what it meant because Arngeir told her, but that was it. Seeing the look on her face, Arngeir chuckled.
'It's not enough to simply learn a Word in its written form. Don't fret. To use a Word in a Shout, you must gain true understanding, first – the same way you did for 'Fus'. As part of your initiation, Master Borri has volunteered to let you tap into his understanding of 'Ro.'
'That's possible?' Merrin asked, cautiously.
'More than possible – as a gift to one with the dragon blood.' Arngeir gestured toward Borri, and nodded.
'Listen, and observe. Then you will understand.'
Borri came then to stand directly in front of her, peering down to meet her gaze, and Merrin tried not to let her nerves show. He reached out and grabbed both her hands in his own, and she dragged in a startled breath. And then he whispered – only whispered – the word.
'Ro.'
And she understood.
The air around them rippled at the force of his Voice; the ground trembled beneath their feet, and dimly, she heard Ria exclaim. Through their joined hands, Merrin felt a current of power unlike anything she'd ever felt, except for when Mirmulnir had died. Singing through her blood, ringing through her soul, the knowledge of this knew Word pulsed between them like a living thing, and settled into her – never to leave. Her heart was thundering; her fingers dug into the older man's, and for one endless moment, there was only harmony.
Then the feeling started to recede; everything cleared, and calmed. Merrin came shuddering back to herself – realized her mouth had opened, and snapped it shut. Borri pulled his hands out from hers, and took a single step back.
'Th-thank you.' She stammered it, and was rewarded with a nod, and another small smile.
'So you see.' Arngeir took a step toward her, and inclined his head.
'It's incredible,' she breathed.
'Those with the blood are blessed with quick understanding. Now that you have heard the Word inside yourself, you may harness it into a Shout. Come, Dragonborn – show me what you have learned. With this, your testing truly begins.'
'Testing' turned out to mean a volley of physical demands – Arngeir saying 'jump', and her asking 'how high?' He wanted to see what she could do with the Words she'd learned, how responsive she could be. First, she was told to be on her defensive, as if she were being attacked. The courtyard was dotted with weathered stone pillars, and from behind these would come spectral enemies for her to Shout down. Arngeir or Borri would shout 'Fiik Lo Sah' – Mirror Deceive Phantom! – and a ghostly, hooded reflection would come lunging out towards her, ready to fight.
Merrin herself was stunned at the force she could conjure, with her Voice. Over and over she called on that well of power, and on demand the Shouts of 'Fus Ro!' would come blasting out, tearing like an invisible maelstrom through the courtyard and blasting through her foes before ringing off into the echoing mountains. She was panting slightly, in a light sweat – but not near as badly as the first time. It was getting easier to focus, to rein the power just when she wanted it; after several rounds of them making the ground shake by calling two phantoms at once, Arngeir held up a hand.
'Well done.' His eyes were bright with approval, and he nodded.
'Your Thu'um is precise, Dragonborn. Very promising. Tell me, how do you feel?'
'I feel good – energized. I could keep going.' It was the truth, and seeing it, he smiled.
'I am sure of it. But we have more to teach you. Your next trial will be something new – we are curious to see how you'll learn a Word that is alien to you. Einarth.'
A third Greybeard came to stand beside him, where he and Borri had conjured their phantoms – shorter than the rest, and with a dour face that reminded Merrin strongly of a grumpy old dog. Crouching in the snow as Borri had done, he slashed out a new rune into the snow. Again, the jagged shapes meant nothing to her, and she stared for one long moment before looking to the trio of men. Arngeir tilted his head towards the shorter man.
'Like Borri before him, Master Einarth has offered to share with you his understanding. This is 'Wuld' – 'Whirlwind', of the Shout 'Whirlwind Sprint'. Learn of it. Know it.'
She was slightly more braced for it, this time, when Einarth took her by the hands. But it was still a shock, when the old monk whispered 'wuld', and made the ground quake beneath their feet. And the surge of light and knowledge and power that came sweeping through her still took her breath away. That same thrumming beat inside of her head, and when Einarth finally pulled away, she had to shake her head to clear it. The sensation pulsing through her made her feel...limitless. She turned back to Arngeir beside the others, and saw him watching her.
'So?'
'I understand,' she breathed.
'We will see.'
The monks led her and Ria to a large iron gate, jutting toward the sky near the back of the courtyard. Ria caught her hand as they walked through the snow, and Merrin couldn't help but smile, when she felt an excited squeeze. They broke apart as Arngeir turned back to face them, and in this wintry setting, wind ruffling his hood, he looked both regal and severe.
'We will demonstrate 'Whirlwind Sprint', and then it will be your turn. Watch closely.' He lifted a hand, and the last of the four monks came to stand beside a stone pillar directly in front of the wrought iron gate, about thirty paces ahead.
'Whenever you're ready, Borri.'
To the side, Borri nodded. And then he looked at the gate, and calmly spoke a Word.
'Bex.'
The doors to the gate came swinging open. In the same second, the man beside them took a deep breath.
'Wuld Nah!'
It was over almost as soon as it began. As Ria shouted in surprise beside her, Merrin sucked in a breath. No wonder Arngeir had said to watch closely – if you blinked, you would miss it!
As soon as the Words had left his mouth, the monk had gone flying with inhuman speed toward the gates. He crossed the distance impossibly fast, nearly quicker than an eye could follow, and in his wake kicked up a cloud of powdered snow, whipped off the ground to pelt their faces. Before they could even exclaim at the sting, he had passed through the iron gates; in another beat, they came clanging shut.
Merrin's mouth opened – probably to swear – but before she could make a sound, Ria squealed with excitement, and shook her by the shoulder.
'Oh, wow! Merrin, can you believe it?! This is amazing! I can't believe my friend is gonna be able to do that!' The brunette did a little hop, once, twice, and laughed giddily as she grinned at Merrin. Merrin nudged her and smiled back – and then Ria seemed to realize her outburst. Her tan cheeks colored quickly, and she ducked her chin as she stared at the monks, all staring at her.
'Oop – sorry, sorry! I'll be quiet now.'
Several of them smiled, behind their beards; Arngeir shook his head, chuckling.
'No harm done.' He turned to look at the man by the gates, and called above the wind.
'Thank you, Wulfgar!' The other man nodded back, and then Arngeir turned to face Merrin.
'Now you try, Dragonborn.'
A part of her was nervous, as she stepped up to the pillar. But the rest of her was excited. She could feel the new Word rising to meet her in her mind, bent on her intentions. She thought fleetingly to herself as Arngeir raised his hand how amazing it was, that this power was something she could control.
And then Borri Shouted – 'Bex!' – she answered with a ringing Shout of her own – and she thought of nothing at all.
It was like falling sideways. For the briefest of moments, she flew across the ground, a whirl of snow and blur of speed. And then she was standing across the court, hearing the gates clang shut behind her, feeling the sting of cold air and triumph as she turned to face the others. Ria was cheering over the wind, and Merrin broke into a grin. Wulfgar nodded when she looked his way, and then gestured for her to return with him. She couldn't deny the sense of elation, as she followed behind.
Arngeir took a few steps when they drew near, and met them by the pillar. His hands were clasped and hidden in his robes; his back was straight, and his eyes nearly glowed as they locked with hers. For a long beat, he was silent. And then –
'...Astonishing,' he murmured.
'I'd heard the stories of a Dragonborn's ability. But to see it now for myself is astonishing. You learn a new Word as if you've always known it.'
He looked thoughtful, but not unhappy. Still, she couldn't tell if he was pleased or not. Clasping her hands behind her back, Merrin lifted one shoulder in a shrug.
'I don't really know how I do it...it just sort of happens.'
'It is your blood. Your nature.' Those bright eyes flashed, as he looked her over.
'Language is intrinsic to all the Dov – the dragons. It comes to you naturally. Such an important part of you – I would not be at all surprised to hear that language was important to you long before your blood awakened.'
The words triggered thoughts, and memories; the other languages she'd striven to learn, the countless books read over the years, listening to da recite his poetry...she nodded, stricken.
'You're...you're right.' Language was a core part of her. Knowingly, Arngeir nodded.
'This has been a privilege to witness.'
'What would you have me do next – Master?' The word felt strange on her tongue – uncertain, but she used it anyway. In front of her, Arngeir smiled.
'I would have you do it again.'
Morning drew on and the sun rose properly above the dome of cloud, as the Greybeards trained her. Several more times she went flying through the gates on the power of her Whirlwind Sprint – kicking up snow that glittered like diamonds in the cold air. At some point, Arngeir gifted her with his knowledge of the second Word, 'Nah', and for the third time that day she felt the electric circuit of soul magic, stirring through her being. 'Wuld Nah' took her even farther, faster, and she spent a heady, elated time just flashing from one place in the yard to another, while Ria cheered her on. Nerves had disappeared long ago, on the wind.
When Arngeir eventually called for her to stop, he was looking unmistakeably pleased. Merrin felt exerted, but in a good way – as if she'd been practising a while with her sword – and she breathed deeply as he stared.
'I think we've seen enough for one day, Dragonborn. Very well done, indeed.'
'So then, what next? Do I spend another night here, with you?'
Arngeir shook his head, and despite the elation of training, a part of her was relieved – the part of her that wanted to be somewhere else, specifically.
'I think not. We have seen how you learn, and we think you are ready. Ready for our final trial.'
Merrin couldn't help but frown, just a bit. Her brows furrowed.
'I don't understand. What else am I meant to prove to you?'
'That your grasp of the Thu'um is great enough to serve you in all of your aims.'
Fair enough. If her destiny lay in being Dragonborn, being good at it was probably important. After a beat, she nodded.
'What do you want me to do?'
He made a thoughtful sound.
'The same task we've set for every Dragonborn who sought us, since the stones of High Hrothgar were laid.'
The words were said simply, but that only served to deepen the impact. She blinked, taken aback, and he continued.
'Your trial is to 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. Do this, and you prove yourself.'
That was it? Merrin's nose wrinkled in confusion, and then a thought occurred to her.
'I'll do as you ask...but...if every Dragonborn you teach retrieves this horn...who puts it back, for the next one?'
He laughed at that – a rich, rolling laugh that she didn't expect, with his head tipped back to the sky. When he finally looked back at her, his eyes were sparkling.
'Even we hermit Greybeards leave the mountain, every once in a very great while.'
And so, it was settled; Merrin accepted her task, and with no further fuss, the arrangements were made. Ria packed her things and donned her heavy cloak for the cold trip down, humming as she worked. Of course Merrin didn't know where Ustengrav was, and she had no map – so a rudimentary one with the tomb already marked was given to her. The monks were kind enough to fill their waterskins with hot herbal tea, and they felt wonderful pressed against their sides.
While they made ready, Arngeir spoke with her.
'Do not think you must move with all speed, and come tearing back at once. This is not a timed trial.'
He'd hummed to himself, then.
'Certainly, don't tarry unduly, either – we will wonder at your success, if you are slow to return. But I digress. I suppose an old saying would best convey my meaning. 'There is surety in the sure-footed.' Take the time to do what you need in the world below, and you will meet with us successfully. I have faith in your return.'
The last thing he gave her was a book. As she and Ria were heading for the front doors of the monastery with the monks watching on, Arngeir stopped her and handed it over.
It was well-worn, with a soft hide cover, and obviously old, if the yellowed pages told the tale. Curious, she cracked it open at random - and her eyes widened at what they fell on. Neat columns of Dovahzul scratchings, next to Common words. She looked quickly back up at Arngeir, and he nodded at her expression.
'This volume will give you what you need, to start learning the language comprehensively. Translation, conjugation, pronunciation...' He raised his eyebrows while he stared at her, and cleared his throat.
'I know I likely speak without need, but this is a precious tome, Dragonborn. Long hours by many hands have gone into its construction. Study it as you will, but please keep it safe.'
'I promise.' She felt a flare of excitement as she looked back at the book in her hand. What prospect! Ever since she had first heard it spoken, this strange new language had pulled at her. This language of the dragons...
Her language, if Arngeir was to be believed. That thought sobered her.
A part of her still felt like it was impossible...but then, so did dragons returning at all. And yet, here they both were. Excitement faded as she stared at the page, replaced instead with one of the nagging worries from the night before.
'Master.' She closed the book with a 'thunk', and looked up at Arngeir instead, pulse quickening.
'I have a question for you. I should have asked sooner.'
Those bright eyes glinted in the light of the braziers; he nodded, looking unsurprised.
'So then ask.'
She swallowed once, hard, and then forced herself to say it.
'The dragons – why are they returning? Does it have something to do with me?'
'Ah.' The monk ducked his head gently, thoughtfully. And then nodded.
'An astute question. And my answer is: doubtless, it does. The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is no accident. Your destiny is surely bound up with the dragons.'
Not what she'd wanted to hear.
'So...what do I do?' Her heart had started to race as he'd spoken; there was an audible tremor in the words. 'What is my role?'
'Mm. For now, you should focus on honing your Voice. Soon enough, your path will be made clear.'
She'd been expecting clear direction – so what she got instead gave her a stab of annoyance. What kind of vague...? Her brows furrowed, and she frowned.
'Surely, there's more you can tell me than that.'
Arngeir looked at her with a regretful expression, and sighed.
'I will not conceal the truth. There is indeed much we know, that you do not. But that does not mean that you are ready to understand it.' His bright eyes entreated her to listen, and she faltered with words on her tongue.
'Please, Dragonborn. Do not let your easy mastery of the Voice tempt you into an arrogance of power. Such has been the downfall of many before you.'
She wanted to argue.
It wasn't fair. It wasn't – but that wasn't the point. For long moments, Merrin stewed in thought, amber eyes locked with the Greybeard's. There was a warning in those words...and a sort of kindness.
It burned to be denied real answers, sure. But she didn't have the insight the monks had. She didn't know everything. Whatever the gods had planned for her, she couldn't do it all alone. That was the point.
Slowly, she nodded.
'I...will trust your judgment, Master. For now.'
Again, Arngeir sighed. 'That is all I can ask.'
Sliding the new book into her pack, she shouldered it and straightened. Tried to look briskly resolved.
'I need a bit of time...to prepare for the road. Then I will go to Ustengrav, and bring you back this horn.' Maybe then, there will be answers.
Again, she had the uncanny feeling as if he'd heard her thought; the look on his face was sombre as he took a step toward them.
'Then we will speak again when you return, Dragonborn. May you and your company go now in peace, and purpose.'
He slid his hands smoothly back out of his sleeves, holding both palms up to her in offering, and around him the other monks did the same. They bowed their hooded heads, and then as one, they all raised their hands.
'Safe travels. And Wind guide you.'
'I'm not saying you can't like complicated, though. Lots of great things are complicated!'
'I know.'
'Like art. And music. And yuletide mince pies.'
A sigh. 'I know.'
'All I'm saying is that you can do better! You could have your pick of anyone – OW!'
Ria had given her a sharp pinch to the shoulder – Merrin gasped in protest.
'Ria! What was that for?!'
'I know,' Ria answered tartly. 'You've already said. So quit fidgeting, and stay still at least, if you're gonna keep whining.'
Merrin grumbled, and sank another inch into the spring.
'Yes, boss.'
'That's better.'
After they'd said goodbye to the Greybeards, Merrin and Ria had hiked their way back down the mountain – all through the day and into night, making it back to the village so late that it was actually early. She'd had to let them into the inn with the spare key hidden in the lintel. And they'd been as quiet as they could, but that hadn't stopped Wilhelm from hearing them.
He'd emerged on the stairs to his basement quarters wearing a night dress and holding a candle, and his eyes had pierced Merrin's in the shadows.
Narfi? She'd whispered in question. Sound asleep, had been the reply. And so they'd sat with the candle at the kitchen table, and spoken in low, fervent murmurs.
Wilhelm hadn't been happy, with the answers to his questions. And neither had Fastred and Klimmek, come morning. Back to back, she'd confirmed the unsettling allegations of 'Dragonborn'; had done her best to reassure, while showing as little of her own doubt as possible. And then far too soon she'd torn herself away, leaving all parties dissatisfied, and made her start back to Whiterun.
To salt the wound, Klimmek's warning had proven true on the road through the Firecrown. They'd walked for maybe an hour before meeting a huge and pissy bear, that Ria ended up taking down. She'd needed healing after for a nasty gash, and after that fond farewell from the Rift, they'd scrambled for the mountains. The pair had slept rough that night in Jsashe's Scorn, nearly free after pushing non-stop, and came shooting out into the plains not long after dawn. Whiterun had been in their sights by early afternoon.
Now she was sitting in the springs of Jorrvaskr, in hot water up to her collar bones, with her bare back resting on Ria's knees while long, slender fingers expertly wove her freshly washed hair into a fishtail.
And out of all the things they could be talking about, she'd gone and opened her big stupid mouth, and picked Vilkas. Chagrined, and with her shoulder stinging, Merrin sighed and tried again.
'Ria, look. I'm sorry – I don't mean to whine. I just want better for you.'
Behind her, where the Nord couldn't see, Ria pursed her lips.
'I know you do. You're a good friend. But I told you already – this isn't a choice I made.'
'I know, I know,' Merrin groaned; nearly let her head fall back in frustration, then remembered she had to sit still.
'But that doesn't mean I have to like it. He doesn't deserve you.'
The Imperial made a humming sound. 'Not like we much need to worry about that part.'
'See?' She scowled. 'That's another thing – an asshole, and an idiot. He doesn't deserve you, but damn him anyway, for not taking notice.'
A scoff, that might've been covering a snicker.
'Maybe he'll hit his head someday, and see the light,' Ria shot back sarcastically.
'Maybe I should hit it for him.'
'Merrin,' Ria sighed. She tugged on the end of the half-finished braid and Merrin winced, throwing her hands up with a splash.
'Alright, alright. I digress. I guess we'll never know what the almighty Master-at-Arms would look like prone, with a hilt-shaped dent in his forehead.'
That earned her a laugh, and the sound of Ria's sudden amusement bounced off the walls of the cavern.
'You're – ridiculous,' the Imperial giggled, and Merrin's face split into a smile.
'Ridiculous times, ridiculous measures.'
For a minute, they just chuckled together. And then Ria spoke up again, sounding overly prim-and-proper.
'I'll tell you something I do know.'
'Oh?' Merrin indulged her. 'What's that?'
'If Vilkas Jergenson knew that two naked women were talking about him in the bath, his head would swell so bad, it would get stuck in a doorway.'
It was Merrin's turn to bust out laughing, at that – the mental image was too much. Twisting around, she splashed at Ria, who giggled and squealed, and for a few seconds there was all-out war. Eventually it died back down, and Merrin collapsed back against those pointy knees, freshly drenched and shaking.
'You're right,' she gasped, trying to sound serious and failing miserably.
'We wouldn't want that head – any bigger than it already is! Less talking – more braiding!'
Not long after they'd finally calmed down and emerged from the baths, Tilma had come to the newblood's room to tell Ria there'd been a letter from Cyrodiil while she was away. 'From my sister, Valena!' she'd exclaimed upon seeing it – 'Oh, this will have all the news – ' And the pink-faced brunette had gone trotting away to read her letter in the sunshine.
Merrin was sitting alone on her bed and oiling her boots, when there was a sudden soft knock on the frame of the open door. She looked up to see the Harbinger, standing there and smiling.
'It's good to see you returned, Merrin.'
'Kodlak.' Her face split into an easy smile – and then faltered, when she remembered their last conversation. '...It's good to be back.'
His grey eyes swept around the room, before landing back on her.
'I was hoping I could interest you in some talk, if you're not busy.'
Her smile widened again, and she put the boots down with a thud.
'Never too busy, for you. Your study?'
'If it's all the same to you,' he replied, looking pleased.
They passed the short walk down the hall in silence, and when they entered his study, he bent and pulled out her usual chair. In another few moments he'd sat across from her, and was handing her what was quickly becoming the customary glass of red wine. The little gestures touched her – and then pricked her with guilt, over how she'd treated him before she left for Ivarstead. Smiling weakly, she lifted the glass.
'You don't have to fuss over me, Kodlak.'
'Please.' He chuckled. 'Allow an old man his indulgences.'
Hesitantly, Merrin nodded, and then took a long swallow of crisp, dry wine to buy herself a moment. When she surfaced from the cup, he was staring at her intently. She asked the nearest question to hand.
'How were you, while I was away?'
Kodlak hummed, and tilted his head. 'Well enough. These bones are tired, but I manage.' He took a sip from his own glass, savored it. Then looked closely over the rim at her.
'Why don't you do me a kindness, Merrin, and tell me what has you so morose?'
Damn. Was she transparent? For a second she just looked at the Harbinger, startled and dismayed. Then she mentally shook herself. There was no point in hiding it – it needed to be said. Her shoulders stiffened, and she gusted out a sigh.
'Kodlak, I owe you an apology. For how I spoke to you, before I left. I feel terrible.' She plunked her glass down onto the table, and clasped her hands together.
'You were nothing but supportive – you vouched for me, when Vilkas wanted me thrown out. And I shouted at you, like a child.' She grimaced. 'I'm sorry.'
He had listened to her with a mild expression on his face, nodding gently. Now he made a thoughtful humming noise.
'You were more than overwhelmed, that day. I don't hold it against you.'
'I hold it against myself,' she said flatly. 'My behavior was unworthy. You deserved better.'
'And you will be better, my girl. I'm sure of it.' Smoothly he slid one large, weathered hand across the table top to cover her own, where they sat clasped. Their eyes met, and he smiled reassuringly.
'I accept your apology, and all is forgiven. Please, think no more of it.'
Again, he reminded her of her father – kind eyes and kind words – and Merrin shot him a small smile as a weight lifted from her shoulders.
'You're too good to us, Kodlak.'
He huffed a laugh. 'I've just lived long enough to know what's important. And on that note...'
Those grey eyes shot her a meaningful look, and his expression grew expectant.
'I suspect we have more important things to discuss, than water under bridges.'
The trip and all its world-rocking news came nosing back to the forefront of her mind, quick as ever, and she sighed.
'I suppose you're right.'
'What did you learn from the Greybeards? Was the trip fruitful?'
She decided it would be best to just say it.
'Too fruitful. It's official, now – I'm the Dragonborn.'
He took it well, compared to others; a glimmer of shock in stormy eyes, and then resolve. A serious look, coming over his face. He nodded, and the hand covering hers gave her a squeeze.
'You are unhappy.'
'Not entirely,' she murmured. Then nodded.
'But partially, yes. It was a terrible shock...and I don't know what's expected of me. I don't know what lies ahead, and that's hard.' She swallowed. 'My family worries.'
'Both families do,' he sighed. That warmed her, and she flipped a hand upside down to squeeze him back.
'The Divines have given you a powerful blessing,' he said softly. 'But with power comes responsibility.'
'I just wish if I must be blessed, that they'd also deem me worthy of some information.'
The Harbinger's brows furrowed. 'What counsel did the Greybeards give you?'
'To hone my Voice and wait,' she quipped. Then muttered. 'They're a...mysterious bunch. And apparently, they don't have all the answers.'
To her surprise, Kodlak seemed to brighten; he smiled, and then chuckled, crow's feet crinkling, and gave her hand a pat.
'None of us ever do. But it will be alright, in time. You'll be alright. I have every confidence in you.'
His expression gentled.
'Even now, you look calmer than when you left. More collected.'
'I...feel calmer,' she admitted, touched by his faith in her. 'It's good to know the truth, even though it's complicated. And it was good to see my family again. I'd been away too long.'
'I'm glad to hear it. Family is important – especially in troubled times. They'll be a crucial support, when your path gets hard to travel.'
A faraway look had come into Kodlak's eyes, tinged with sorrow. She didn't know why, but it unsettled her, and Merrin decided abruptly that it was time to move along. Shaking her head at him, she smiled.
'I'm sure you're right, Kodlak. But enough about my destiny. I want the news of this place! Did anything interesting happen, while I was gone?'
The sudden look vanished as abruptly as it came, and Kodlak hummed as he pulled his hand back from hers to grab his wine, reclining in his chair.
'I suppose 'interesting' could be the word for it,' he mused, and took a sip from his glass, looking thoughtful.
'But I'm more inclined to say 'bracing'.'
'Oh?' That didn't sound good. Merrin's brow furrowed, and she gripped the stem of her own glass, just for something to hold.
'Tell me.'
'Our city had a visit, three days after you'd gone. Or more accurately, the Jarl and the Gray-Manes did. The Thalmor paid them a call.'
The Thalmor.
Some of the color fled her face, as shock sank in. Quickly she let go of the glass, so she wouldn't break it.
'No.' Her voice came out strangled and alarmed. They'd feared this would happen. She and Avulstein. They'd feared -
Reflexively he raised a hand, motioning her to wait. 'Steady on, Merrin,' he soothed. 'Please, relax. Nothing happened.'
What did he mean, nothing? It was never nothing, with the Thalmor.
'Please explain,' she hitched.
'I will. But please, do calm down.' He sighed, and crossed his legs, steepling his hands over the bottom of his chestplate. Merrin gusted out a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding, and he nodded.
'I'm sorry for alarming you. The Thalmor came this past Sundas. Three high-ranking agents, riding in on horseback. They went to Dragonsreach, and then to the Gray-Mane's home.' He frowned, looking thoughtful and serious. But the eyes that held fast to hers were calm.
'I won't sugar-coat it – they were looking for Thorald.'
It chilled her to the bone; the knowledge that the few who'd missed their attack had come back to Northwatch. Sifted through the wreckage they found, carefully taking stock of what went missing...and then gone hunting after it. She shivered.
'Are the Gray-Manes alright?'
'Of course they are,' he said gently.
'They weren't alone. Three Thalmor in Whiterun on a quiet Sundas begs attention. We in Jorrvaskr know the score, and by the time the agents knocked on Eorlund's door, Skjor and Aela had already gone to back them.'
That surprised her, and Merrin wrinkled her nose in confusion.
'Skjor and Aela? Why?'
'Because it was the right thing to do,' he said simply.
'They sat with the Gray-Manes during the questioning, so we could be sure nothing untoward happened.'
It made good sense. Somewhat reassured, Merrin nodded.
'I imagine that went over well, with the Thalmor.'
The Harbinger smiled.
'Oh, naturally. The first thing they did when pulling rank didn't work was march straight back up to Dragonsreach, and demand that the Jarl remove them. But Balgruuf is a smart man. He overruled them, and Skjor and Aela sat in with his blessing. Aela tells me it was a much more...tepid investigation, after that.'
She sighed, a long sound of relief. 'It was good of you to send them.'
Across from her, the older man shook his shaggy head.
'Oh, you misunderstand. I had no part in their actions.'
Again, she was confused.
'What? What do you mean?'
'Skjor and Aela volunteered. It was their idea.'
Now she was totally lost. Squinting at the Harbinger, she sat back in her chair.
'But...Skjor and Aela aren't political. Especially Skjor. He usually wants nothing to do with that sort of thing.'
'I know,' Kodlak smiled.
'Then why...?'
His stormy grey eyes twinkled, as they took in her expression.
'I've known Skjor for many years, now. I know how he thinks. He may not have said as much, but I know you impressed him, with your rescue of Thorald. There was true honor in it, and Skjor recognized that. I would wager that you inspired him, to take action of his own.'
Merrin didn't know what to say to that, and sat there silent and surprised. Kodlak's smile widened, and the next words he said stunned her even more.
'And you've inspired me, too.' The Harbinger sighed, a rumbling sound deep in the chest.
'It isn't always easy to walk the line between honor and bureaucracy, and sometimes I get it wrong. This was one of those times. But you saw clearly what needed to be done, and did it with compassion and skill. What you did for Eorlund's family won't be forgotten, and I'm proud of you, Merrin.'
Warmth bloomed in her chest at his earnest praise, and Merrin found herself torn between pride and confusion. Blinking once, twice, she stammered a hedging question as the Harbinger smiled on.
'So, then, you're – happy that I broke the rules?'
Kodlak chuckled. 'Where would we be, if rules didn't get bent or broken every once in a while?'
'I...don't know what to say,' she admitted.
'You needn't say anything more. Just know that the matter is dealt with, and the Circle is impressed with you.'
Not all of the Circle. The intrusive memory of Vilkas disturbed her, and suddenly she frowned. Those furious words were echoing back to her, and her fresh set of worries were all too quick to rise and meet them. Kodlak noticed the cloud cross her features, and tilted his head.
'What is the matter?'
'It's just...' She gave in with a sigh, and shook her head.
'I just hope that I don't end up disappointing you. Everything is so uncertain right now, I just can't help but wonder. What if Vilkas was right?' The words tasted bitter in her mouth, and Merrin scowled.
'What if being Dragonborn keeps me too busy? Will I not be a true Companion?'
'Mmmm.' Her gaze had slid down to the tabletop; when she looked back up at Kodlak, his expression was shrewd.
'Listen to me now, girl, and listen well. Vilkas has always been quick to judge – a strength and a weakness, in one. He cares deeply for Jorrvaskr, but he's troubled, and being short-sighted.'
He closed the distance between them with a hand, and grabbed hers again to give it a reassuring squeeze.
'And he's wrong in this. I know it, and I believe in time he'll come to know it too. I know you're going to give your best, in both your role of Companion, and Dragonborn.' He smiled, and something in her lifted when she saw it.
'You will be true in all of your endeavors – I believe that. You have proven yourself to be true of heart. It doesn't get any truer than that.'
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