Chapter 14 - Learning

Hunfen slowly emerged from the darkness, still numb from sleep. His eyes opened with difficulty, and it took him a few moments to adjust to the dim light of the room. Suddenly, he sat up, panicked. Where was he? What had happened? He recalled with anxiety the recent events: the ascent to High Hrothgar, the confrontation with the frost troll, his frantic run, the massive door... Lydia! Lydia lying on the ground, injured, practically at the entrance!

Gripped by urgency, he stood up abruptly. His bare feet met the austere coldness of the stone, and his head protested vigorously, pain pulsing from the front of his skull. His vision blurred, forcing him to sit back down on the rustic bed. He touched his forehead and felt the unusual shape of a bump from which the waves of pain seemed to emanate. Shivering, he realized his leather armor was missing: he was only wearing the thin linen shirt he usually wore underneath. Where were the rest of his clothes? His boots? His dagger?

He glanced around, looking for clues about where he was. The room was sparse, devoid of any superfluous items, containing only the bed, a rough wooden table, and a bench. The ceiling, walls, and floor were made of the same gray stone. Two tiny light wells let in the dawn light, supplemented by a few candles and a small fire in a hearth that emitted faint warmth. Next to the bed lay his belongings, neatly arranged.

Hunfen jumped when he noticed a presence in the room: a man was sitting cross-legged on the floor, not far from him, eyes closed, perfectly still. He wore a sort of anthracite monk's robe with a hood that concealed his face. The long gray beard protruding from the hood and the man's wrinkled hands betrayed his advanced age. He must have heard that the child was awake, for he opened his eyes and lifted his hood, revealing a face marked by years but filled with great wisdom. His penetrating blue eyes seemed to scrutinize Hunfen's very soul.

"It is rare for the walls of High Hrothgar to resonate with such energy," he declared in a calm and measured voice. "You have a most unique way of announcing yourself, young man."

Hunfen stared at him, surprised and wary.

"Who are you? Where am I? And Lydia, is she alright?" he asked hastily, his worry taking over.

"I am Master Arngeir, and you are at High Hrothgar, the monastery where we Greybeards live and meditate. As for the young warrior, do not worry, she is in good hands. Her injuries are not fatal, but she needs rest."

Hunfen sighed in relief at these words. He felt strangely reassured by the old man's presence, but he had so many burning questions that he didn't know where to start.

"Lydia... she brought me here... The call, the great shout 'Dovahkiin' that all of Skyrim heard... She thinks it was for me because of... at the orphanage! I... I shouted 'Fus' and... and something terrible happened. And then, against the troll, coming up here, I shouted the same thing. Am I really a Dragonborn then?"

The Greybeard raised a hand in a calming gesture. There was something in this movement, an almost imperceptible gentleness, that seemed to calm Hunfen instantly. The boy wondered for a moment if it could be magic, or if it was simply due to Arngeir's reassuring presence. The latter seemed to laugh imperceptibly and spoke again:

"The mastery of a single Word of Power requires understanding its deep meaning. For the few who follow our teachings, it takes months, even years of meditation and regular practice to be able to project it into a Thu'um, a shout. According to ancient texts, only Dragonborn possess this unique ability to instinctively assimilate Words of Power. They absorb knowledge directly from the souls of vanquished dragons."

The old man paused. A hint of enthusiasm shone in his wise gaze as he continued: "If you have been able to shout without prior training, this corresponds perfectly to the accounts concerning the Dovahkiin, the Dragonborn. This is indeed interesting."

Arngeir stood up with a grace that surprised Hunfen. Despite the undeniable marks of time on his face and hands, he moved with remarkable ease, a sign of maintained vigor. Every movement was fluid, devoid of any haste or clumsiness. Age and vitality coexisted perfectly in this man.

"Well, it is time to examine this. Get dressed and come with me."

The child put on his boots and covered himself with his leather armor, appreciating the return of the familiar sensation on his shoulders. The fresh air of the place was also much more bearable this way. Once dressed, he followed Arngeir through a silent and austere corridor. The sound of their steps echoed on the cold stone, breaking the monastic silence of the place. They finally arrived in a large room, lit by tall, narrow windows. Three other hooded figures, similar to the old man, had gathered there.

"Here are Masters Einarth, Borri, and Wulfgar," said Arngeir, pointing to each of his peers in turn. "We are here at the heart of High Hrothgar, where we Greybeards meditate on the Voice. We would like you to demonstrate your Thu'um. Greet us with your shout."

Stunned, Hunfen froze, his eyes wide open at the four men, terrified. He took a step back and stammered, searching for his words: "You... you want me to shout at you? But... I can't! Last time, at the orphanage, I... it killed someone. I don't want to... I don't want to hurt you!"

Arngeir gently nodded, an almost imperceptible sigh escaping his lips. He stepped forward slightly, lowering his stance to be at eye level with the young boy. "I see," he said sadly, "you shouted instinctively, out of reflex, didn't you? The Thu'um is powerful, it's true, and like all forms of power, it can be dangerous if not controlled."

Hunfen nodded silently, the painful experience returning to haunt him.

"When we speak without thinking," continued the old man, "a word can escape our thoughts, and we can hurt someone unintentionally. This is even more true with the Thu'um, where words take on a physical form. We Greybeards can help you master this power, to weigh your words. We will teach you to use your Voice with intention, not by accident."

The young Nord nodded again, absorbing every word. Arngeir, seeing the serious expression on the boy's face, gave a benevolent smile to reassure him.

"In any case, do not fear for us," he resumed in a more jovial tone. "We have devoted our lives to the Voice and are very well capable of withstanding some harsh words."

To illustrate his point, he straightened up, took a few steps toward his peers, and nodded in a silent request. Master Borri stood up and took a breath. Suddenly, a powerful "FUS!" resonated, echoing for several seconds between the walls of the ancient building.

Hunfen, astonished, looked between the two men. Borri's shout had seemed almost tangible in the cool air of the hall; Arngeir remained almost immobile, only a slight step back betraying the impact of the shout. The calm composure he displayed never left his face, an impressive self-control that left the young boy in awe. Inspired, he suddenly wanted to try as well. Could he shout with such control? He completely forgot his fears. If these men could wield such formidable power with ease, then he could too! Inspired, he filled his lungs with air and, meeting Arngeir's kind gaze, shouted:

"FUS!"

The shout echoed in the hall, and it seemed to Hunfen that its effect was less chaotic. Arngeir received it, again barely stepping back, seeming to appreciate it like one savors a fine wine.

"Remarkable," the old man finally murmured. "For many, mastering a shout takes months, even years. But you, Hunfen, show exceptional aptitude. This is undoubtedly the mark of a Dragonborn."

"Really? When the dragon fell on me in Whiterun, I had a strange dream, as if something bright was showing me many things. That's where I saw Fus! Is it because I'm a Dragonborn that I saw that?"

Arngeir nodded slowly, his eyes scrutinizing Hunfen's with thoughtful intensity. "That aligns with what we know of the Dragonborn. When the dragon died, it seems you absorbed its soul, and with it, fragments of its knowledge and experiences."

He paused, seeming to ponder the situation. "I wonder if we could recreate such an exchange. Master Einarth will pronounce 'Ro,' which means 'balance.' Focus on the word and try to grasp its deep meaning."

Master Einarth stood up and, with a look, got the boy's attention before bowing his head, directing his Voice toward the ground. "Ro," he murmured, emitting a vibration that made the entire hall shiver. Hunfen closed his eyes and felt the Thu'um envelop him.

At that moment, the world around him seemed to dissolve, giving way to an indefinite space, a sort of dark void that felt strangely familiar. It was the same sensation as when he had acquired "Fus." Suddenly, he heard a voice exclaim, "Well I never!"

Hunfen turned his attention in the direction of the new arrival and saw a luminous human-shaped silhouette. No features were discernible, yet the boy recognized it without knowing how.

"Master Einarth? Is that you?"

"Yes, it's me," replied the silhouette with palpable joy. "It's very surprising; here we can converse without speaking!"

"Without... speaking?" repeated Hunfen.

"We are not really saying words," Einarth explained. "In the physical world, my voice has become too powerful, too imbued with Thu'um, and I've lost the use of speech. But here, in this space, we can communicate directly through the mind."

Hunfen, fascinated, listened intently, his eyes wide open in the semi-darkness of the void.

"You see, Hunfen, the word 'Ro' holds more than the simple notion of balance. It also contains the harmony between extremes, perfectly channeled energy," Einarth explained joyfully. "It is also connected to life, to the order of things. It is a part of existence itself. See by yourself!"

The luminous silhouette of Einarth raised his arms, and with a fluid, graceful movement, a torrent of light burst from his hands, hitting Hunfen full force. The young boy felt a wave of knowledge overwhelm him, his thoughts intertwining with luminous fragments that seemed to contain all the wisdom and depth of the word 'Ro.' The information flowed, less scattered than during his dream with the dragon, but just as intense. Awed, the boy felt his mind expand, embracing the complexity and simplicity of the word. Then, the luminous flow faded, and the main hall of High Hrothgar reformed around him. Hunfen saw Einarth reopen his eyes and give him a knowing smile.

"Master!" exclaimed the boy anxiously. "Did I absorb your knowledge of 'Ro'? Can you still pronounce it?"

Einarth shrugged, and it seemed to Hunfen that he heard him chuckle. The old man stood up and addressed the ground with another "Ro!" as powerful as the first. Relieved, the boy smiled, appreciating the Master's Voice in light of his new understanding.

oOo

Seated by the fire in High Hrothgar's great hall, Hunfen watched the flames dance while he gently massaged his sore throat. Practicing the Thu'um was no easy task, and the day's efforts had left him exhausted. This deep fatigue, however, was pleasant, akin to that felt after a long day of walking through Skyrim to reach a distant village, a familiar routine he had often shared with his father, Olfand. These memories made him smile but also sigh with nostalgia. Where could his father be right now? What was he doing? Hunfen was eager to find him and show him what he had learned, hoping his father would be proud of his mastery of the Thu'um.

Someone entered the hall, moving slowly, their footsteps clearly audible on the stone tiles. Hunfen immediately knew it wasn't a Greybeard: the masters of High Hrothgar moved with an almost feline discretion, their presence barely perceptible even in complete silence. It was Lydia. Her still pale face betrayed the weakness left by her convalescence. The boy, forgetting all fatigue, rushed toward her.

"Lydia! You're up! How are you feeling?"

"Still a bit weak, but better, much better," replied Lydia with a smile. She sat down next to him by the fire. "And you, how did your training go? I understand you made great progress today."

Hunfen took a deep breath, his eyes shining with excitement. "It was amazing, Lydia! They made specters appear with their Thu'um, and I had to hit them with a shout!" His enthusiasm grew as he continued: "I can combine Fus and Ro into a single shout! The balance of Ro allows me to channel Fus, and all its force hits the target! And sometimes, the Greybeards would stand as targets themselves, and then I had to not shout. It was hard because my whole body just wanted to shout as soon as I saw a target!"

Lydia listened attentively, her smile widening at Hunfen's childlike energy. "So, did you manage to control yourself?"

Hunfen made a face, recalling the events. "Well... it's better now, but at first, I hit Master Borri by mistake, two or three times. But he didn't move, not even a little! Master Arngeir said it was important to learn not to use my shout reflexively."

The imposing and silent figure of Master Arngeir came to sit next to Lydia. Hunfen, still vibrating with energy from his stories, jumped slightly upon seeing him. The old man sat slowly on the stone bench, his wrinkled face expressing a stern kindness.

"Lydia, how are you feeling? Have you regained your strength?" he asked in a calm and deep voice, leaning slightly towards the young woman to observe her condition.

Lydia nodded, her smile tired but sincere. "Yes, Master Arngeir, I feel much better. Thank you for your care."

Arngeir nodded and then turned to Hunfen, his piercing blue eyes scrutinizing the boy. "And you, Hunfen, you've made notable progress today. Your application and willingness to learn are commendable."

The boy blushed, lowering his eyes before quickly raising them again, animated by newfound pride. "Thank you, Master Arngeir. I'm doing my best!"

"Your natural instinct for the Thu'um makes things unique," continued Arngeir as he sat next to them by the fire. "For other students we've taught, and even for us, self-control always preceded the mastery of the first Word of Power. But you, you had already shouted before even knowing what it was."

Hunfen listened intently. "Is that a problem?" he asked, his voice a mixture of curiosity and worry.

"No," Arngeir replied gently. "We simply adapted your exercises. But you must have perfect self-control before learning other Words of Power. The Thu'um is a prodigious force, and without complete mastery of your emotions and instincts, you risk causing unintended harm, like what happened at the orphanage."

Hunfen shivered, recalling the incident. He nodded, determined. "Yes, Master Arngeir. I'll be careful."

"We will continue to train you, and when we deem you ready, we will teach you an additional word."

Hunfen straightened up, his gaze sparkling with determination. "I'll train hard, I promise!"

"I have no doubt," Arngeir responded with a smile. "Now, rest; the training will be just as intense tomorrow."

Lydia stood up, stretching her tired limbs. "I think I'll follow that advice as well," she said in a more professional tone. She turned to the boy and, after a slight hesitation, awkwardly patted his shoulder. "Goodnight, Hunfen."

Hunfen watched her leave, noting the difference in her attitude. She seemed less distant that evening, and it comforted him in a strange way. He turned back to the fire, appreciating once again the gentle warmth radiating on his face, and got up to return to the bed assigned to him. The road was long and full of challenges, but he was ready to face each one.

oOo

More than a week had passed since Hunfen and Lydia arrived at High Hrothgar. The days had been exhausting but fruitful for the young boy. The previous day, the Greybeards had, to Hunfen's great pride, decided to teach him the word 'Wuld,' deeming him competent enough to use it safely. This new Word of Power, whose meaning could only be approached in the common tongue by the term "whirlwind," allowed him to move almost instantly over a short distance. During the first attempts, a few encounters as unexpected as painful with the walls of High Hrothgar had taught Hunfen the wisdom of the Greybeards' teachings: pronounced too hastily, the word could hurl him mercilessly against an obstacle, or worse, over a precipice.

That evening, as the sun began to disappear behind the thick clouds surrounding the Throat of the World, Hunfen stood before Arngeir in High Hrothgar's courtyard. Lydia, arms crossed and eyes vigilant, observed the scene from a slight distance, with a mix of pride and apprehension. The old man, hands joined in front of him, his impassive face betraying only a hint of satisfaction, observed Hunfen with benevolent intensity.

"You have made great progress, Hunfen," he said in a deep but gentle voice. "Your Thu'um is now very precise and always measured."

Hunfen beamed with pride. Lydia herself couldn't hide a smile of satisfaction.

"But," Arngeir continued, "before you can be considered a true Tongue, you must show that you can do as well in real conditions. The Horn of Jurgen Windcaller rests in Ustengrav. The day you can retrieve it and bring it back to me, you will have proven your worth."

Lydia frowned, her protective instinct awakening. "Master Arngeir, this is a dangerous quest," she said, her voice firm but respectful. "Hunfen is still a child!"

"I understand your concerns, Lydia," Arngeir replied, nodding slightly. "But he does not have to leave immediately. The choice of the moment is his; he can undertake this quest when he feels ready to accomplish it."

"I want to go as soon as possible!" Hunfen interjected, his voice betraying both his enthusiasm and youthful impatience. "I can do it! I want to prove that I am worthy!"

Lydia sighed in defeat, and Arngeir couldn't help but chuckle. "It's a noble intention, young Dragonborn, but remember your first failures with 'Wuld': too much haste, and you'll get hurt. When you're ready, you will know."

A look of frustration passed briefly over the young Nord's face, but he didn't argue, simply nodding silently.

"Can you tell me about that Jurgen Windcaller?" he asked. "I saw his name on the etched tablets on the way here, but... it was a bit complicated."

Arngeir gestured for him to sit on one of the stone benches in the courtyard, a sign that the explanation would be lengthy, and took a breath.

"Jurgen Windcaller is the founder of our order. He was a great war leader of the ancient Nords, a master of the Voice, who lived during the time of the first empire of men. In those days, a great war took place between the Nords and the ancient alliance of the Chimer and the Dwemer. Aided by their mastery of the Voice, Jurgen and his companions led the Nordic army into elven territory, on Red Mountain in Morrowind."

Hunfen listened intently, absorbing every word. "Red Mountain," he interrupted, "the tablets talked about it! What happened then?"

"Despite their power, despite the Voice, the Nords were defeated by the elven alliance. The Nordic army was annihilated on the slopes of Red Mountain. Jurgen survived, but after this crushing defeat, he retreated and meditated for seven years. He concluded that the outcome of this battle was a punishment from the Divines against the Nords for their arrogant and blasphemous use of the Thu'um. He realized that the Voice should be used to venerate and glorify the divines, not serve the interests of men. He then chose silence and returned to his people, preaching the peaceful path we follow and call the Way of the Voice. Thus, when seventeen of his former companions, still belligerent, came to confront him, he knew how to defeat them by simply, for three days, containing their incessant shouts until they were defeated by their own exhaustion. He built High Hrothgar as a place of peace and meditation. His seventeen companions became his disciples, the first Greybeards."

Hunfen listened, captivated by the story. The tale of Jurgen Windcaller fascinated him, and he felt a deep admiration for this master of the Voice. "I want to follow his teachings," he declared with conviction. "I want to use my Voice to help others and honor the Divines!"

Arngeir smiled softly. "That is commendable, Hunfen. But remember: the dragon's blood that flows in your veins is a gift from Akatosh. You must not deny it. Your destiny demands that you use your Voice. Why else would Akatosh have granted you this power? But, if you remember each day to use your Thu'um in the service of Akatosh's will, you will remain true to the Way of the Voice."

Night had fallen on High Hrothgar as Lydia and Hunfen returned to their quarters. Lydia was pensive, her thoughts focused on the next stage of their journey.

"We will leave early tomorrow morning, Hunfen," she finally announced. "It's important that we descend the Seven Thousand Steps before the pilgrims begin their ascent. The fewer people we encounter, the better."

Hunfen nodded. He hadn't forgotten the secrecy surrounding their arrival at this place. "Can we still say goodbye to Narfi on the way back? He was so kind to us."

Lydia smiled. "Of course, we will visit him. But we must be discreet and quick."

The rest of the evening was spent preparing. Lydia packed provisions, ensuring they had enough supplies for the journey back. "We will also have to decide our destination after Ivarstead," she said as she continued her tasks. "We can go straight back to Whiterun. After everything that has happened, Jarl Balgruuf would surely prefer to have you within his walls. However, we are closer to Riften. We can go there and return to Whiterun by carriage."

Hunfen sat and looked at his shoes, his heart suddenly heavy. Riften. That city only reminded him of bad memories. His forced departure from Whiterun, that accursed Grelod, the incident... Despite everything, he wanted to see the friends he had made there. But he had failed to bring Aventus back. Moreover, he felt ashamed of his flight. What would he say to Constance Michel? No matter. He had to give news, and a visit in person would be a thousand times better than the most beautiful message.

Raising his head painfully towards Lydia, he voiced his conclusion.

"Riften. We must return to Riften."