Middas 23rd of Frostfall 4E201 Morning

Arngeir

TIID

Time

Inexorable and ever-flowing, time marches on, pausing for no mortal. Some cherish every moment, while others seek to prolong their time through unnatural means. Only Akatosh and his children, the dov, are free from the ravages of time, but eventually even time itself must end, and the cycle begin anew. SU'UM AHRK MORAH. Nothing lasts forever, but it still existed, and by time's passage holds meaning.

"BEX MIIR AAD!"

Time marches on.

A month seems minuscule by standards of the Greybeards. Years upon years do we remain in meditation in adherence to our oaths and in pursuit of knowledge just within mortal ken. Yet a month was more time by far than we had dared hope to spend with our new ephemeral pupil, time enough to grant him all we four Greybeards knew and more.

"KOM ZU'U BO ZEIM!"

To Talao, of course, this natural progression clearly meant he was ready to brave the final trial of the Snow-Throat and speak to our Elder atop the mountain. My doubt proved appropriate as he has spent the last three days attempting to clear the path to the peak. But the Snow-Throat is a towering behemoth, and does not yield but to those who have mastered their Voice. Something that clearly frustrates our new Dovahkiin; for all his gifts, I think, he still lacks the experience and understanding to overcome its will.

"Clear, damn you!"

I gently place my hand upon his trembling shoulder, his eyes wide open, and his lungs gasping for air. "Enough, Dragonborn. DREM."

"Just a bit more-"

"No." My grip is iron upon him, for worry he will leap into the omnipresent blizzard that encircles the highest reaches of the mountain, barring his path. "You cannot. You must calm yourself, and abandon this folly before you do yourself harm. Remember that you are Dragonborn; but you are not a slave to your blood. You are Talao, and first and foremost, you are a person." Slowly, the trembling abates. "Breathe. Allow Kyne's breath to flow through you, here in the seat of her power. LOK BO, THU'UM TUUM." And as he breathes in and out, the tension leaves his body under my grip; once I am sure he is at no risk of jumping forward, I release him. "Good. Welcome back, Dovahkiin."

"...Y'ffre, I feel like I've just run the Seven Thousands Steps twice over. Apologies for-"

"Do not apologize." My voice is no less iron than my grip a moment before. "Amend your mistake, and then move past it."

"How?" he asks, sitting heavily upon the steps. "The Way of the Voice? I am neither Nord nor Greybeard."

"While that is true, there is yet truth and importance in its teachings." I take a seat next to Talao, legs crossed. "There are also many layers to the concept, which you are unaware of, being - as you say - not of our culture. We Greybeards follow the specific philosophy as set forth originally by Jurgen Windcaller, when he contemplated the defeat of Nordic war chiefs during the conquests of the 1st Era. He was seized with the revelation that the Nords had abused the power granted by Kynareth, and were punished by the gods for misusing the Thu'um that they relied on so heavily to conquer other regions, rather than in their own defense. The only true use of the Voice, he decided, was meant for the worship and glory of the gods, not mortal dominance, and so chose Silence."

"So how does someone like Ulfric justify his own actions." Almost immediately, Talao winces. "I mean… sorry, I imagine that is perhaps a touchy subject. Perhaps I should also choose silence when my mouth is moving faster than my mind."

"Hm. You have asked, and it is my duty to answer you, Dovahkiin. Jurgen believed that the only strong voice is one which is used judiciously and with the goal of preserving the natural order, not for martial conquest, which with his triumph over the Tongues of his time became a cornerstone of Nord culture. To 'Speak Only In True Need.' For those not trained in the use of the Thu'um, this principle became practiced in regards to other aspects of society, though of course what constitutes 'True Need' tends to be rather subjective. While I will not pass judgment on the righteousness of our former pupil's cause, his usage of the Voice in battle is anathema to our own values, ones that he agreed to follow when he joined us in High Hrothgar."

He nods. "I do in some ways admire your dedication to pacifism; Y'ffre knows the world would be a better place if more followed such values. But how then do you justify training one such as myself, or Tiber Septim for that matter? While I would certainly like to avoid needless bloodshed…" His hands clench, as if in remembrance of some deed, "I doubt the path ahead of me will allow such mercy."

"The fact that the question occurs to you at all is worthy," I say with a soft voice. "The Dragonborn is an exception to all the rules - the Dragon Blood itself is a gift of Akatosh, just as the Thu'um itself was a gift of Kyne. If we accept one gift, how can we deny the other? We therefore seek to guide you on the proper use of your gift, which transcends the restrictions which bind other mortals. While I do believe that the Way of the Voice shall help you falling victim from the influence of your blood, true mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. And that is something that cannot be taught in a month."

"So you're kicking me out of the nest, as it were," he jokes, a grin gracing his features for the first time this day.

"I should never admit to such a thing. We both know, however, that your time here has come to an end… for now, at least. Fortunate timing for this to arrive, then." I hand to him the parchment I had hidden within my robes.

He takes it gingerly. "When…?"

"Naught but a few moments ago. Delivered by a very harried and tired courier who vowed never to run the Seven Thousand steps again, no matter how much he was paid. I had intended to deliver it directly, but needs demanded I prevent the message's recipient from becoming an ice statue."

"Would you like a glass of water for your dry humour, Master Arngeir?" Despite his grumbling, he opens the missive; unadorned, with no name, no sender, no seal. Just the words, IT'S TIME, written upon it. "I suppose it is time, then."

"Come, then. I have taken the liberty of having Master Borri collect your belonging for you."

"...You're sure you aren't just looking for an excuse to kick me out?"

In short order, we five are gathered in the annex of High Hrothgar, Talao's pack upon his shoulders, and the Greybeards arrayed to see him off. Talao thanks each of us profusely, whispered words and signs exchanged, bonds forged through our time spent together.

"Dovahkiin," I say, with the slightest hint of power coursing through the word. He stands, in the same spot as he did when accepting our greeting a month past. "You have learned all that we Greybeards could teach, save that which our Elder keeps atop the peak of the Snow-Throat. I know that the next time you stand before us, you shall succeed in clearing the path. Your training ends here, giving you the tools you need to confront the many challenges ahead of you, and the foundation to grow fully into your self and your destiny, whatsoever they may be. They shall reveal themselves to you in time, if you but remain true to yourself."

As one, the four of us bow deeply to the Dragonborn, a gesture he returns in kind. "Masters. Words cannot express the thanks I would give you, so I shall strive to show it through deeds. Wherever the path I walk leads, whatever trail I blaze, I shall make my own, and endeavour to leave the world a better place in my wake. Plus," he adds in a stage whisper, "I left one last plate of sweetrolls for you all in the pantry. Hopefully that makes up for all the trouble I've caused."

"Ah, Talao… many things of you I shall miss. But your wit shall not be one."

"Master Borri does not seem to agree with you," he says, with our sign for 'you're welcome' in response to Borri's 'thanks', "nor does the grin on your face."

A shake of my head is my only response, as the traitorous grin on my face refuses to subside. "Go, Dovahkiin. The world is in need of you."

And he does, leaving us once again in silence. It is not until halfway up the ascent to the peak of the mountain that it even occurs to me that the silence I found so comforting for the past decades could be anything other than such. But for the first time, it unsettles me, as I notice it has deepened in the past month. The winds howl less fiercely down the furrows of the mountain. Hardy plants, that once thrived in the snowbanks, fall to dust in my hands. And a dark film seems to settle over all of Skyrim spread out before me atop the mountain, as I stand before the Elder. "Has Akatosh set an impossible goal before him? His destiny may not be certain, but it is certain to involve him."

Only Time will tell.

BEX MIIR AAD: Open the path (lit. Open door trail) [MIIRAAD - meaning path or opportunity - is one of those compound words that doesn't have an official translation for its individual parts, but MIIRAAK is another word that means "portal", which has the separate word AAK - meaning guide. MIIR being the common word must make the similarity in the concept of "something to go through," and we can extrapolate that AAD must mean something about the concept of proceeding along a path.]

KOM ZU'U BO ZEIM: Let me go through (lit. Allow I (formal) fly through) [KOM is drawn from KOMEYT - to issue, or let loose - from which I derive the separate concepts KOM - to allow - and EYT - to loose from bonds - though this is different in concept from STIN - to free, freedom. ZU'U has the honor of having a glottal stop, which I theorize is used as a possessive concept; a glottal stop indicates something that is an inherent trait to the individual, rather than a description. ZU'U is a dragon referring to itself. THU'UM is the defining characteristic of dragons, their Voice. STRUNDU'UL is the Stormcrown, the title given to the Dragonborn that denotes their significance as the chosen of Akatosh.]