Career-deciding exam is done. Back to whatever the hell is going on here. Act 2 ends with the next chapter

Master Thyself

It was dark when they reached Raven Rock. The night sentries spotted them early on and when they were close enough, the gate began to open. Felwinter slid out of Arvak's saddle before crossing the threshold, allowing him to return to the Cairn. He walked the rest of the way through on aching legs, his housecarls seeing to their own mounts before following.

"Any trouble?" Felwinter asked the nearest guard. The town looked almost deserted. No one lingered in the streets by the time the sun went down, not like they did before.

"None, serah." The guard's armor rattled when he placed a fist to his chest. "Would you like me to fetch the Captain?"

"No." Felwinter pulled a piece of folded paper from a pouch at his waist. "Tell them I've returned to Skyrim. This letter should explain everything." Before the guard could speak again, he added, "I'll talk to the boat captain myself, early tomorrow." A flimsy cover but he was too tired to do better.

He accepted the paper. "Understood. I'll see that they receive it." He saluted again before breaking away.

Alone again, the three walked in tense and tired silence through Raven Rock until they reached Severin Manor. Felwinter didn't approach the door. Instead, he continued up the hill. "Head inside," he told the others, "I want to see something."

What he wanted to see was all but confirmed halfway but he continued walking until he was face to face with the Earth Stone. His new understanding of the Bend Will Shout came with new insight and with new insight came a grim realization. Miraak's power over the Stones had only been weakened, not dispelled. It lingered, waiting, trembling just beneath the cold hard surface as if in anticipation.

That was all Felwinter could glean. He could not tell if it was stable, if it could start expanding again or if it would just burst back to where it was before and take over all of Raven Rock and Skaal Village before he could figure out a way to stop it. Suddenly, all that celebration left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Felwinter huffed irritably, turned and left it behind. When he returned to Severin and pushed the door open, Argis was standing just past it, at the top of the stairs that would lead down. In his hand was a piece of paper. "Found it in the door," he said. He held it out.

Felwinter took and read the name written on the front. He scoffed. "'Glover M?'" He read, "Now he speaks to thieves?" He opened it. "And he wishes to do it whenever I'm able. Flattering."

Lydia, who was seated at a table near the fireplace with her eyes closed, spoke up, "You told me about him."

"Then you already know he can wait." Felwinter tossed the paper onto a barrel next to the door. "We're done with this place."

They followed him down the stairs and into the master bedroom, where Felwinter willed the portal to life. "Good work these last few days. You're both dismissed." He didn't need to tell them twice. He clapped his hand once on Argis' armored back in farewell before he split off to return to Markarth. Lydia went for the Whiterun portal, her hand raised and ready to push through. She stopped when she realized he hadn't followed. "You coming, Thane?"

"Not yet. Go on ahead." Felwinter didn't wait to see if she would do so. He crossed and stepped into a dark, wooden living room. Windhelm's frigid air could be felt through the walls, even with the runes set in place to keep the interior warm. He'd have to check them when he had a chance.

Until he could, he lit the fireplace, supplying as much dry firewood as he could find so that he would not need to sustain it himself. He located a sheet of plain paper, a quill and ink pot and by firelight, he began to pen a letter to the College of Winterhold about all he learned on Solstheim. Within, he includes copies of Storn's notes and details on his spells, requesting that they research and improve upon them before the next time he goes to the island. He writes about the Ash Spawn and the Heart Stones as well. A few broken shards were wrapped and sealed with the papers.

By the end of it, Felwinter's eyes burned and his head pounded behind them. It would still be some time before dawn but any attempt to rest resulted in him seeing things he did not wish to see; Ildari's ruined skull, the black stain coating the wall behind her, the drying tears from her last remaining eye.

When he woke again, it was to a parched throat and a worsened headache. He stood and peeked out the window, just in time to see the courier making his rounds. He picked up his letters, a pouch of septims and stuck his head out the door, waving the young man down.

"All of these to Winterhold's College, as soon as you're able," his rough voice said, holding out the sealed papers. Once the young man took it and accepted the coin, brows rising slightly at the heft, Felwinter retreated into the house, put out the fireplace and began to return to Whiterun.

He could hear footsteps coming down the stairs as soon as the portal closed behind him. No words to be said, Moth simply pulled him into an embrace.

It took great effort to break away. "Did you speak with Lydia?" Felwinter asked.

"Said you had business in Windhelm," Moth answered, "Went straight there."

"She asleep?"

"She is. As you should be."

"Can't." Felwinter stepped past him, found a barrel of water in the corner and drank deeply, his headache relieved little by little. "Need to get to High Hrothgar. It can't wait," he continued before Moth could say anything else. This wasn't a point to be argued.

Silence and then a grunt, disagreeing but assenting. "See the little ones before you go, then."

Felwinter looked behind him at the closed wooden door. No whispers, no creaking wood. They must have truly been asleep. He put his palm to the door and slowly pushed it open.

—

He wanted to speak to Vilkas and the others, take note of who they approved to take on the Beast blood for the coming war and that wish took him to Dragonsreach, despite the early hour.

Guards at the door bowed slightly as he passed. As he strode in, servants were lighting the braziers around the castle as well as the great bonfire at the center. Felwinter walked straight to the back of the castle and started up the stairs, taking two at a time and ignoring the lingering aches in his tired muscles, as he would have to do for a longer while yet.

Aela's eyes were already on the stairs by the time Felwinter made it up. As soon as he appeared, they began to take in him and all his new wounds.

The eyes of the others followed her, Balgruuf's widening and Farkas appearing as if he was still fighting off sleep. Whatever they were discussing, the Jarl considered it less important than whatever he needed Felwinter for. "Felwinter, welcome back," he said with practiced politeness. "I'd let you rest but there is something we must discuss."

He stepped forward to take the Companions' place as they began to take their leave. "We'll speak later," he said to Aela who only nodded and passed him by. Vilkas nodded in greeting as well and Farkas tapped his shoulder with his fist. "Follow me." Balgruuf turned and began walking without waiting for his response. Felwinter obeyed and let himself be led through the large double doors on the opposite side of the Jarl's meeting place. Guardsmen bowed and opened the doors to the private quarters of the keep. He stopped at the first door and held the door open, allowing Felwinter to enter.

Felwinter realized it to be the Jarl's private office with a large ornate wooden desk occupying most of its space. A tall shelf filled with books lay against one wall and against the other stood a cabinet, filled with every kind of liquor one could think of.

As soon as the door was closed, Jarl Balgruuf made directly for the cabinet. "You've just returned?" He took up two glasses and a bottle at random.

"Just for a resupply," he answered, sitting at the desk, the chairs cold and wooden but oddly comfortable. "I'll be out again in a few hours."

A cup was placed down before him, hard enough to send a few drops into the air. It was still early morning but Felwinter did not care either. "I've been thinking about what you told us." Balgruuf had rounded the desk but had not settled into the seat at its head. Instead, he stood, leaning against the window and staring out into the grassy western hills. "And I need you to tell me plain, Felwinter. What do you need for this coming war?"

"I'll need what one would expect," Felwinter said, "Soldiers, supplies, knowledge."

"And for a force that large, you'll need Elisif's help. When do you intend to speak to her?"

"When the crown is safely on her head."

"You won't be the only voice competing for her attention."

How many times was he going to have the same conversation? "I'm aware." Felwinter leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and stared at the back of the Jarl's head. "What's this about, Balgruuf?"

Balgruuf's head turned slightly but he didn't meet Felwinter's eyes. He didn't answer for a short while, his eyes just facing the ground. Then, he mumbled, "Curiosity." His gaze quickly returned to the horizon.

A lie. Not a good one but Felwinter could not guess at anything further. He watched him, waited for him to provide more and when he didn't, Felwinter got to his feet. "I'll be at the Moot, as I've been saying and once we're there, I'll convince the others of the threat. I may not know how yet but I'll figure it out and when the time comes, all I need from you is to have my back."

Balgruuf met his eyes this time. Felwinter had never seen the man look so unsure. He nodded anyway. "I can do that. You have my word."

In the end, Aela had decided on only two candidates among their number to take on the Beast Blood. Felwinter trusted her judgement well enough to know that she would be the most discerning judge of who would take well to this kind of strength but with so few, it was disheartening. Their proposed solution was even more so. In selecting the two Companions who would join their inner circle, Vilkas and Farkas had volunteered to assume the power once again; the power and the mark upon their souls that would bind them to Oblivion.

It was a sacrifice. It may not have been much to them but Felwinter could only feel guilt stacking upon guilt. They were taking on this burden once again for his sake and the sake of this war. And if they were to die…

The thought stopped him in his tracks, guilt compounding even further and mixing with stomach-turning anxiety. He wanted to Shout, expel all these feelings through his mouth with a stream of flames. But he couldn't. Not even here, alone, near the top of the Seven Thousand Steps. All he could do was take those emotions, those feelings of anger and terror and premature grief, wrap them up and shove them where he could not think of them any further.

He hadn't said anything to Farkas and Vilkas before leaving.

Felwinter pressed his free hand to the cold stone door and pushed. A wave of warmth washed over him, chasing the chill from his head down the length of his body. He quickly stepped through and pulled the door close behind him, sealing out the rest of the rushing mountain winds. In his other hand and slung over his shoulder were Klimmek's supplies, donated by the people of Ivarstead. Instead of leaving it in the chest as requested, he brought them inside.

A few steps in and something out of the corner of his eye moved. He had been so lost in his own head. The Greybeard, Borri, slowly rose to his feet from his position kneeling. He paused a few seconds after standing before slowly turning his head. He didn't seem surprised to see Felwinter here. It wouldn't be surprising if he somehow knew why.

Silent, as they always were, Borri bowed in greeting. Felwinter hastily returned it before Borri, with a slight gesture of his weathered hand, bid him to follow. Felwinter did so, letting Borri lead him deeper into the monastery, bowing slightly to two other Greybeards passing them by.

It seemed Borri had been leading him exactly where he needed to go. The small dining hall where they kept their food and took their meals was empty, noon meals long past now. Felwinter walked over to the long table and let the sack down, opening it and starting to pull out all that had been given. Root vegetables, salted meats, things that would remain edible after a long time in cold isolation. He heard shuffling as he began to put things away. Borri hadn't left but instead, followed him inside. He was at the pot, a bowl in one hand and a ladle in the other. By the time he had emptied the sack, Borri was beside him. Set down on the table was a bowl of something steaming, along with a spoon and a clean cloth.

Traveling from Whitetun to Ivarstead was a day's journey and Felwinter had made it in half that time, stopping at their inn for a small meal and a few hours rest. Exhaustion he could weather but hunger was a different beast. With the look in Borri's eyes that said he would brook no argument, Felwinter took the seat with a sigh. The steam rising from the bowl of thick brown stew sent warmth from his nose to the rest of his body. He let his armor disappear from his body, replaced with warm clothes.

"The Moot's coming up," he said after swallowing. Borri had taken his place with the supplies, putting them where they were meant to be while he ate. The only noises he made were the sound of his shuffling across the rough floor but Felwinter knew he was listening. "They want me there. My reward for ending the war, I suppose. Never meant to get involved. I only wanted to protect Whiterun." Another spoonful. "I only wanted to protect Whiterun. Now the Thalmor's stranglehold on Skyrim is even tighter than it was before. And they're not even the biggest problem."

He could feel his appetite slipping away again. Here he was, eating and basking in warmth as if he did not have the rest of the mountain to ascend and a desperate conversation with an old dragon to have.

"We're in danger again, Borri." His voice barely rose above a whisper. "Something worse than Alduin. Much worse and I don't-" He stopped again. He couldn't say that because it wouldn't be true. He knew how to beat Miraak. It was Miraak who told him; gather his forces, grow stronger and then face him at the very end. So he said what he meant.

"I don't know if I can stop it." He was speaking mostly to himself now. At least, he believed so until a weathered but strong hand came down gently on his shoulder.

Felwinter let it sit there for a little while before he placed his hand over the other. Then, he stood, his bowl only half-finished. "Thank you for the food but I need to talk to Arngeir. And Paarthurnax."

Borri nodded and when he was ready, led him to the courtyard behind High Hrothgar, where shearing winds ran over the mountain and whipped up snow to eye level. He pointed to one of the tallest towers. Arngeir would be there. Felwinter thanked him again and started towards it, his boots barely sinking in hard-packed snow. He heard Borri return inside and was halfway across the field when he stopped. He remembered the first time he was brought out here. How much colder it was then, how blinding the snow was, how little of the world he knew and of his place in it. So much had changed since then and at the same time, so little. This place, not at all.

He made it to the tower and pushed on the wooden door, its creaking probably alerting the old man to his presence. These stairs, he took one at a time; lessons learned from cracking his head against the stone steps more than once. Arngeir was there at the top, just as Borri said without saying. He faced the opening that pointed north, on his knees, hands clasped together and his eyes closed as the frigid, howling wind blew him by. He did not react to Felwinter's arrival nor when Felwinter closed the door and took a seat on the mat behind him. He could take a bit of time for this.

He ended up waiting for some time. Enough time that he began to focus on the sounds around him, trying to put his attention anywhere but on his thoughts. The sound of the wind, the dimmed light of the sun, the tension in his neck and jaw. Slowly and with a deep inhale, he had them relax.

"It's nice to slow down now and then, isn't it? Take in the world as it is?" Without raising his voice, Arngeir could be heard over the wind easily.

Felwinter opened his eyes; he couldn't tell how long they had been closed. "Not much else to do around here, is there?" He muttered, "Probably why you prefer it." He started to stand. "I need to have a word with Paarthurnax," he told him, "I only meant to give a quick greeting."

Arngier exhaled, white frost billowing from his mouth. "You would've shouted a 'quick greeting' from the bottom of the stairs."

"I have some sense of decorum." Felwinter offered a hand to him. "I just often choose not to use it."

The old man let out the rarest of laughs. He accepted the hand and Felwinter pulled him to his feet. "Your business with the master. Is it cause for concern?"

The small smile Felwinter had managed withered. "It does. It will. But I know too little about it, despite my efforts."

Arngier's expression exuded understanding. "I'm surprised you did not come earlier then."

Felwinter's lip curled. "Politics," he spat, "And other such nonsense."

Arngier stepped past and started down the staircase, hand against the wall for balance. "Your Queen is yet to be crowned?"

"The Moot is in a few days. I'm for Solitude once I'm done here."

"And Ulfric's city. Who rules there?"

"Surprised you care."

"Ulfric was my student, as are you. Do I not show concern for your affairs?"

"Brunwulf Free-Winter," he answered after a moment. "A veteran of the Great War, well-liked by the people and a good man. He's helping me secure amnesty for the families of the rebels that the Thalmor seek to prosecute. Windhelm is in good hands."

Arngeir only hummed. When they reached the bottom, he spoke again, "This is where we part." Felwinter looked at him for a moment before nodding. But before he could turn, a hand stopped him. "Whatever this ordeal, Felwinter, I pray you end it quickly. And I pray you come through it intact."

Felwinter blinked, kept his face as even as possible before simply nodding without saying a word.

A windstorm roiled over the peak of the mountain. Ice and snow brushed over Felwinter's exposed face, sanding him down like a plank of wood. Even over the howl, Felwinter could hear the beating of wings and a dragon's roar. He was here.

As if to solidify that, a sound boomed out, thundering across the sky and causing Felwinter to stumble and his ears to ring. It was a Word; a command to the winds for them to cease. So benign and yet it did not take long for the world to change, conform itself to the whims of the speaker. The winds began to slow and soon, the Throat of the World was quiet again, snow falling gently to gather at Felwinter's feet.

The sight of Paarthurnax was the first thing to catch his attention. It was the only thing to see across the isolated expanse. The old dragon had noticed him long before, his massive green eye boring into him as he approached. He was covered in a thin layer of snow and when he hummed, the force rattled it off his scales. "Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin."

The climb hadn't done him any favors, both in terms of time and energy. Felwinter knew he should return the greeting and get straight to the point but another question demanded attention first.

"Don't you ever get bored up here?"

Paarthurnax's face did not show emotion like a human's would but something about the shift in his gaze told Felwinter the question had taken him aback. The old dragon hummed again. "It does not look like it but I can see much of the land from here. I have watched battles fought and villages founded, abandoned and then founded again. It is often entertaining to see how easily you mortals change and how much you never do. Unslaad Ahrk Zah," He intoned.

He always translated his speech to Common for Felwinter but Felwinter beat him to it this time. "Unending and Finite."

A twinkle of humor appeared in his eye. "You always change and yet, you are always the same. Though I may miss interacting with the world, I must remain separate. For the good of all."

"Not even a bit of flying?"

Paarthurnax chuckled. It was a rough, reverberating sound. "My wall is quite comfortable." He rose on his hind legs and stretched his massive, weathered wings. "You are here to talk, I can see that much. You should bring Durnehviir from Oblivion. Let him fly while we speak."

It wasn't a bad idea. Taking a few steps back, once Felwinter deemed the space enough, he Shouted Durnehviir's name. Between him and Paarthurnax, violet waves of light began to circle in the snow. In a crack of energy and rattling of bones, the form of a grey dragon took shape.

Durnehviir's head rose into the air. His eyes closed and Felwinter heard him take a deep inhale of the wind. "Ahh, I have missed these skies."

Felwinter stepped closer. "I never thanked you properly for your help back in Solstheim."

Durnehviir's milky eyes opened. His neck craned to turn towards Felwinter. "Those creatures. They were undead, were they not?"

"They were."

"Well, I'm here to talk about them." Felwinter put his hands to his mouth and Shouted, "ODAHVIING."

The call flew through the air like thunder. The response was almost immediate and just as loud. To their left, the blood-red dragon lands with a hard crash, sending a spray of snow at Felwinter, who only sighed in response.

The dragon leered at him. "You do not need to summon me. I am right here."

Felwinter patted his clothes clean. "You probably wouldn't have come if I didn't."

Then, he turned back to Paarthurnax and said directly, "Met a man who goes by the name Miraak. Name sound familiar to any of you?"

None of the dragons spoke up in response. Even the wind seemed to go quiet. Then, to his surprise, Paarthurnax brought one great foot from the Word Wall onto the snow, followed by the other. He slowly stalked towards Felwinter until he stood before the man, looming so high that his head blotted out the sun. His eyes bored into Felwinter's own. "Where did you hear that name, Dovahkiin?"

"From one of his followers before they attacked me. I tracked them to the island of Solstheim and a town called Raven Rock, which had already felt the effects of his influence. The creatures Durnehviir helped us with, they're called Ash Spawn and we believe they're his creation."

"Miraak was always different. Special," Paarthurnax said, "Even Alduin bothered to learn his name before he turned against the Dovah lingrah vod, long ago."

"Whatever else he was, he was still just a mortal. How is he still alive?" Odahviing asked, "What foul magics sustain him?"

"Hermaeus Mora sustains him. He's spent the last several thousand years in Apocrypha, learning, growing stronger. Now he wants to come back to Mundus and he is bringing an army with him. That's why I came here. Whatever you know about him, I need to know as well."

"I will answer," Paarthurnax said after a moment, "But I need an answer first. Is it true that he can bend others to his will? The land, mortals, Dov?"

Felwinter exhaled slowly. "He can," he answered directly, "And so can I. I've already learned two of the three words."

A growl erupted within Odahviing's throat, so deep and guttural and unlike anything Felwinter had ever heard from him. As if he was shelving his consciousness away, giving himself into the anger and violence that lurked at his center. His pupils had shrunk to the size of dots no bigger than the pad of Felwinter's largest finger. Those eyes were trained on him. Felwinter had never seen him this angry.

"ENOUGH." The force of Paarthurnax's voice had Felwinter bringing up his arms to shield himself from the sudden gale. Odahviing ceased growling but he never blinked and he never took his eyes off Felwinter.

Whatever effect Felwinter's answer had on Paarthurnax, he hid it quickly. Even Durnehviir seemed more willing to listen than to challenge the Old Dovah. "I assume, Dovahkiin, you have a plan to face him."

"He dragged me into Apocrypha while on Solstheim and he outright told me what he wants me to do. Grow in power, build an army, meet him so he can take my soul at my strongest and use it to break free of Hermaeus Mora's chains. What one has to do with the other, I don't-"

"The more you come into your own, Dovahkiin, the stronger your soul becomes. Your very nature is contradictory; a Dov's soul in a mortal's body. A human's mind tempering a Dovah's savagery."

"I don't…" Instinctively, Felwinter looked down at his right hand. Not armored, not coated in blood but gloved, wrapped in furs and leather. "There's another Shout. It's called Dragon Aspect. I don't understand it entirely but it seems to make me stronger. Just at the cost of my control."

Paarthurnax hummed so lowly tha it could almost be mistaken for a growl. But then the ground would be shaking. "Another rumored ability of the First. Another unique to your kind. Your mind tempers your desires and this Shout forces that mind to retreat. Your body acts of its own accord to fulfill those desires."

"Like killing my enemies." Felwinter looked down at his hand again. "This means I don't have to worry about this power turning against my allies, right?"

"Not unless you desire it."

Felwinter let himself feel a modicum of relief. "I've learned two words. Hermaeus Mora's been leading me to them. Would more words give me more control?"

"No. Just more access to the Word's power. You gain control when your mind becomes strong enough to assert control over your desires."

"Why is Miraak's captor helping you?" Odahviing interjected.

Felwinter hadn't forgotten his reaction to his answer and regarded him with a wary eye. "He wants me to beat Miraak. And replace him."

"And you accepted?!"

"A deal with the creatures of Oblivion will always go in their favor, Dovahkiin." Durnehviir's voice was as soft as a dragon's could be.

"I didn't have a choice!" Felwinter forced himself to relax to little avail. "In a few days, Skyrim will crown a new queen. When that happens, I'll talk her into giving me control of Imperial forces."

"You assume," Odahviing spat.

"I'll get them one way or another."

"Will you make her?"

"I…" Felwinter hesitated and immediately berated himself for it. "I don't do that."

"Yet."

"Enough." Paarthurnax did not Shout this time. He sounded weary to Felwinter, almost tired. As if in confirmation, he turned away from Felwinter, taking slow, heavy steps back to the Word Wall.

At the same time, Odahviing spread his wings with enough force to send a wave of snow out in all directions around him. With a great leap, the dragon took off into the air, clouds eventually obscuring him from sight.

"Is that it?" Felwinter took a step forward. He took another when Durnehviir took to the sky as well. "Is that really all you're going to give me?"

"It is all I have to give," the old dragon replied, not unkindly, "There are no easy answers to be gained in this. What you must do is simple and yet, not. And you have so little time to do it. I do not envy you, Dovahkiin."

Felwinter opened his mouth but then closed it with a sigh. "Fine," he finally said, "Then…I'll see you when I see you." He wanted to say so much more, convey the disappointment he felt but he would be wasting his own time. Time he did not have to spare. Without any further words, Felwinter turned back the way he had come.

"Lok, Thu'um, Dovahkiin."

Felwinter pushed the door closed behind him. As he crossed the threshold, he could hear Arngeir and the others gathered on the far side of the monastery. For what reasons, he did not know. He did not care to find out. He pushed on through the next door, out of High Hrothgar and back into the ice and snow.

Felwinter took one step, then another and then another until he reached the bottom of the stairs. Then, he sat down, slouched over, resting his head in his hand. That hand covered his mouth as he stared off into the eastern horizon.

Then, the hand fell away. Felwinter stood again and started the trek back to Ivarstead.