Morndas 28th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening
Arngeir
LOK
Sky
It is the endless expanse of air above Nirn. It is home to all the mysteries of our world, but it is also an insurmountable barrier, or so it sees. It protects us from the horrors of the planes of the daedra, and keeps us from the knowledge of Aetherius. The sky is the realm of infinite possibilities and dreams. Who has not wanted to soar through it as those with wings do? SU'UM AHRK MORAH. We ever desire that which we cannot have, for better or worse.
BOOM!
Ah, the door. Perhaps our wayward Dovahkiin has answered our call at last.. I whisper a shout through the monastery, het rok los, he is here, to alert the other Tongues before I stand. The alcove that I meditate in is not far from the main hall, and I can already hear a voice calling out, yelling.
"Hello? Anyone here? Please, help! Greybeards?"
There is desperation and urgency in his voice, but no hint of injury personal. Such things are simple to tell to an accomplished ear. The torchlight in the main hall burns brightly, staving off the encroaching darkness of night. And there stands a man, whirling about, eyes full of mania. Is this our Dragonborn? I cannot tell.
"Greetings, stran-"
"Yes. Thank the gods." His voice is raw with pain, such that I've heard more times than I can count. "Please, my friend. She is injured, troll attack. You must go to her, please. I could not carry her."
I hesitate, but for a moment. We Greybeards do not interfere in the affairs of the world below. It took me far too long to realize that it was for the good of all involved, else all would look to High Hrothgar to solve problems unsolvable, or problems best left for those who would grow by solving themselves. But should this be the Dragonborn in truth, it our duty under the gaze of Kyne and Akatosh to guide and support him as best we can.
To me, I see Master Einarth sign 'test,' and my resolve is struck. "I understand. May I ask your name, stranger to our halls?"
"It's... I'm Talao, you summoned me here. Now please-"
"Just one moment, Talao. You must needs prove your claim as Dragonborn first."
"What?!"
I do not wince from his harsh tone. Compared to the past admonitions of my masters, it brushes by as if the lightest touch of a butterfly's wings. "We Greybeards have taken oath not to interfere with the-"
"Did you not hear me?" Fury overwhelms all other emotion in his voice. "My friend lays bleeding, dying on the mountaintop. How can you stand there, unfeeling?! BO AAK EK! DREH OL LAAN ZU'U!"
The shout washes over us, though the dominance does not take hold. His Voice, raw, unbridled, and divine, is nonetheless weak. I fear he may attack us, though, caught up in his Blood as he is; he takes two steps toward us, breathing heavily.
And then faints on the spot.
Well, I suppose that does prove his heritage. I sign to Master Borri, who actually seems somewhat moved and surprised, to go retrieve other, and to Master Wulfarth to help Dovahkiin to bed. They bow silently, and leave.
And then I meditate once again.
"Before the ancient flame, we grieve"
The body of the woman - Uthgerd, I learned - sits atop the pyre; it has been some time since I have had to help construct one such, or to hold vigil. We Greybeards are so few, and so removed from the world, that the passing of one is a monumental occasion; thus are our rituals much more significant than those of the more fleeting Companions. I do not mean this as a criticism, but for the simple fact that the lives of those who live for glory of combat are much shorter than those who live for exultation of the gods.
"At this loss, we weep"
The Dragonborn slept for only an hour before waking with a start. We worried that he might still have been in shock, but he only demanded to see Uthgerd. When we led him to her body, resting on a mat where Master Borri had left her, he fell silent. He did not wail or try to shake her awake. Merely placed his hand upon her head, and whispered a few words, before asking if we had wood for a pyre.
"For the fallen, we shout"
I admit, I had feared the most fantastical things of the Dragonborn when his existence was made known to us. Fear that he might be a warmonger; not unlikely given the conflict of current times. A Daedra fanatic or a political extremist. To find him a soft-spoken but eloquent man who cares so deeply for his friends is utter relief.
"And for ourselves, we take our leave"
And so we do, as Uthgerd's soul makes its way to Aetherius on the smoke of the pyre. We retreat to the yard, as the Dragonborn stands in vigil for a moment more. Then he turns, face illuminated by the torchlight - serious but serene - and joins us.
"So... A Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age." I briefly feel a bit embarrassed for my treatment of him earlier, but it passes. "I have already tasted of your Voice, but I and my fellow Greybeards should like to hear you Shout again."
The Dragonborn, for his part, also seems abashed. "I do apologize for my reaction. I was... not of my right mind."
Humble as well? "Quite understandable. In more ways than you know, you are vulnerable to the passions of emotion. And it was a test as well in a way. Now come, your Voice. Any Word that you wish."
He closes his eyes, in contemplation. "ZUL!"
His Voice resounds, much louder than earlier, though not much stronger. But, as Wulfarth signs to me, it is strong for his experience. What it lacks in strength, it is filled with understanding. "Zul. Voice. An interesting choice. Apt indeed."
"It did seem appropriate. That was another test?"
"Most things in life are, Dragonborn, though the answers are not always clear to the tester and the testee both. And few answers are right or wrong. But forgive me, I have neglected common courtesies. My name is Master Arngeir. I Speak for the Greybeards. These are Masters Einarth, Wulfarth, and Borri." They incline their heads, ever silent in the presence of the untrained.
"A pleasure, masters."
"Now, why have you come to High Hrothgar, Dragonborn?"
"I want to learn more about what it means to be Dragonborn," he says. "I have heard stories, of course, but you understand they speak mostly of the deeds of those heroes, less the esoterics and knowledge of how they harnessed their power." He clenches his fist and, with steel in his voice, says, "If I have power, I must know how to harness it, and for what reason it was given me."
Good, good. "We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood before you. You are not the first of this title to walk amidst these halls. But whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age... that is not yet known to us."
"Is it likely that there are more Dragonborn in this day and age?"
"It is possible, as the Dragon Blood ran through the Septim line, but whether it is probable... You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say." It was supposedly a point of contention and debate amongst the Greybeards during the time of the Septim dynasty, so my old masters said, as their masters told them. Whether the children of Tiber Septim himself possessed the Dragon Blood as did he, or whether the bloodline forged with the pact of Akatosh was devoid of his true gift. Irrelevant in the end, as none after Talos sought out the Greybeards, nor were there any dragons to slay in those days.
Talao - curious similarity, in truth - nodded. "Then please, teach me all that you know and can give me."
"We shall indeed, Dragonborn. Come, let us away from this dark night and cold weather. The halls of High Hrothgar are wide, but they are not so bitter cold as you may fear." He shivers, and nods, as we walk inside. I take him aside as the other Masters head off. "You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift. There are other tests you must undertake, before we may begin your training in earnest. Foremost among these, you must retrieve the horn of Jurgen Windcaller."
"The founder of the Greybeards?"
"Even so, Dragonborn. It lies in the ruins of Ustengrav, far in the Pale, beyond the city of Morthal. Retrieve it and return here, and you will have proven your ability. But these trials may wait for the new dawn, as it is late, and I know that you have had a difficult journey. Through these doors," I gesture, "lies the sanctum of the Dragonborn, where all of the Dragon Blood have resided while under our tutelage, crafted by Jurgen Windcaller himself. Inside you will find amenities; a bed, food, and robes of our own style, should you desire. There is also a shrine to Kyne, where you may meditate upon your training when the time comes, for it is she who blessed the mortal races with the gift of the Voice in ages past. We shall not wake you, but I pray you, do not sleep overlong. The return of dragons to Tamriel is a portent to deeds far more sinister, and there is much to do."
"Thank you, Master Arngeir." He turns, pauses before he opens the door. "If I may ask a question before I retire?"
"If it is within my power to answer you, Dragonborn, I shall."
"The Dragon Blood. It is a gift bestowed upon me by Akatosh himself, yes?"
"That is correct.
"So then the Gods - or at least one of them - are directly affecting the course of events of our world."
"I cannot assay to claim knowledge of the will of Akatosh. But yes. Though your choices and deeds are your own, Akatosh has given you power beyond your ken."
He remains still and silent. "I know better than most, that those gifts and those who wield them are hardly the harbingers of peaceful times."
I find myself struggling to find the words to speak to him. "...The times ahead may be dark, it is possible. But, like any such gift, the Voice can be turn to creation as much as destruction, as I can see you fear, Dragonborn." I again wonder at the man that Akatosh has marked, with understanding and gravitas as one would not expect from such youth.
He smiles, the first time I have seen him do so, though it seems bittersweet. "Thank you, Arngeir. That is indeed a relief to hear someone else speak it beyond my own thoughts."
That night, I dream. Dreams both great and terrible. I see people, towns, entire countries razed to the ground. Armies of all races clashing against each other, oblivious to the world dying around them all. And above all the destruction, a dragon of immense size, screaming in triumph as Nirn falls to darkness, even as he reaches up to swallow the sun, dark as ebony and glowing with fire hotter than the deepest pits of Oblivion.
Alduin
Su'um arkh morah: Breath and focus
Bo aak ek! Dreh ol laan zu'u!: Fly to her! Do as I command (Literally: Fly guide her! Do as request I!)
The sanctum of the Dragonborn is loosely based on modded player housing available in the Thunderchild mod; I always thought it odd that the Greybeards would have no quarters for the Dragonborn, regardless of how seldom it would be used.