Dovahkiir

(Morning Star, 4E 221)

"I just don't get it!" Tavian growled, frustrated beyond belief. He threw the book he'd been studying down on the table and stomped over to the fireplace, flopping down on the chair next to the hearth.

"What don't you get?" his sister, Julia, asked, repressing the urge to roll her eyes. Her brother could be so dramatic sometimes.

"Everything!" Tavian shouted, and though his voice never made the shutters rattle as their father's did when he was angry, there was still a vibration in the air from the force of his words. "The hand gestures, the incantations, how to form it in your mind…everything!" He gave a snort of disgust. "I just wasn't meant to be a mage!"

"You're twelve," Julia said calmly. "You still have plenty of time to learn."

"You didn't have to study so hard," Tavian said resentfully. "Everything always comes so easy to you. It's not fair."

It was on the tip of Julia's tongue to point out that life wasn't fair, but she knew that wouldn't make her brother feel better. Inwardly, she sighed. With their parents away in Markarth for a few days, she and Octavian were alone at Heljarchen Hall in the Pale, with only the Housecarl, Gregor, and the Steward, Lydia, to watch over them. Their two children, Kirsten and Korst, were around somewhere, helping their parents with the daily running of the estate, and Lydia had promised their mother to make sure Julia and Tavian kept up with their studies while the Dragonborn and the Arch-Mage were gone.

That's not going to be easy, Julia thought to herself, if Tavian keeps making this harder than it has to be.

At sixteen, she was already a grown woman by Skyrim standards, and several young men had already tentatively approached her parents seeking permission to court her. But Julia wasn't interested in romance.

"I want to have a chance to see something of the world," she'd told her parents. "Lucia has such wonderful stories of all the places she's been, playing her music and singing her songs. I want something like that."

"You want to be a bard, too, honey?" her father had asked.

"No," Julia said. "I don't know what I want to be. But I want the chance to find out, and not get married off because it's expected of me."

"I think that's very wise of you," the Dragonborn smiled, surprising her. And there had been no further unwanted visits from hopeful suitors to bother her.

"I can help you with your studies, Tavian," she told her brother now. "What is it you're having trouble with?"

"It doesn't matter," Tavian scowled, getting up from the chair. "I can't get it. I don't understand it, and I don't even know why I'm bothering to learn it! It's not like I'm ever going to need to know this stuff!"

"You might—" Julia began, but Tavian cut her off.

"Just forget it, okay? I'm going outside for some fresh air." He stomped off to the front hall, slamming the door as he left the house. Julia sighed.

She wasn't really sure herself why understanding came more easily to her. She had been performing adept-level magic since she was four, and had already mastered the Schools of Alteration and Illusion. She had tried many times to teach her brother some of the novice levels spells, but he just couldn't seem to grasp it. She had even asked her mother about it on one occasion.

"Why, Mom? Why isn't Tavian as good as I am at magic? He's my brother, isn't he?"

Her mother had sighed. "Of course, he's your brother," she had replied. "But magic can be a very complicated thing to understand. Even your father came late to it. He didn't really begin to learn much until after you were born. And he still hasn't mastered any of the Schools."

"Mastering magic isn't the be-all, end-all of everything," her father had put in, earning a scowl from the Arch-Mage. "Tavian will find his path. It will just be different from yours."

She could hear her brother outside the window, now, shouting out words, seeking that inner well-spring that might give him the same ability as their father. So far, nothing had manifested. But that didn't mean he had given up.

I almost hope he does have the Voice, Julia thought. Then he wouldn't feel so bad about not knowing magic. She sighed again and sat down in front of the fireplace, staring into the flames and clearing her mind. In a few moments, she had slipped into a trance.

"I wondered if you would visit today," a voice chuckled inside her mind. "I can always tell when you're upset about something."

"Hello, Grandpa," she thought. In her mind's eye, she could see him clearly: an older man with a short gray beard, wearing Arch-Mage's robes. She knew this was merely an image he projected for her benefit, to help her make sense of his personage. She knew he was the God of Knowledge and Wisdom, Julianos himself. "Mother isn't home, and I needed to talk to someone."

"Is this about your brother?" Julianos asked kindly.

"Yes," she admitted unhappily. "He's so angry all the time. He doesn't want to study magic. He says he's never going to need it."

"Well, he may change his mind about that someday," her grandfather said, understanding. "But I wouldn't put any pressure on him. He needs to take his own time, and find his own way."

"I don't understand why he doesn't learn it as quickly as I do," Julia frowned. "I mean, we have the same parents. You're his grandpa, too, even if you don't visit him." Julia looked up at Julianos. "Why don't you visit him, Grandpa? It might make him feel better."

The God of Knowledge and Wisdom hesitated. This was a conversation Tamsyn should have had with her daughter, and it was clear she hadn't yet done so.

"I think you need to talk to your mother about that," he hedged.

"I did ask her," Julia scowled, "but she wouldn't give me a straight answer."

Julianos sighed and shifted uncomfortably. He knew he'd have to have a few words with Tamsyn at the next opportunity. Looking down into the deep green eyes of his beloved granddaughter, he relented.

"Alright," he capitulated. "I'll tell you. Your mother won't be happy about it, but it's her fault she didn't tell you before now."

"Tell me what?" Julia asked, her heart skipping.

"The reason magic comes so easily to you and not to your brother," Julianos began, "is because you are part Aedra, and he is not."

"I don't understand—"

"FUS!"

The sudden sound tore through her consciousness, and the rapport she had with her grandfather was torn in a heartbeat. Wanting to scream with frustration, she scrambled to her feet and headed for the front door, with Lydia and Kirsten close on her heels. Lydia already had her sword drawn.

"Kirsten, stay inside," she ordered. "Julia—"

"That was Tavian," Julia said. "You're not keeping me inside!" She brought Destruction magic into her hands as the Steward opened the door and they rushed outside.

In the yard beyond the door, Tavian had his own sword out, and was using it against a pack of wolves that had come down from the hills to the west, most likely looking for easy pickings in the barnyard. From behind the house, they heard Gregor's battle cry of warning as he and Korst rushed around the corner.

The leader of the wolf pack was a large, greyish-white ice wolf, and Julia knew they were stronger than the normal ones she was used to seeing in the distance. Game in the area must be scarce, she thought, for them to have come down this far. She launched a firebolt at the leader, just as he was about to leap on her brother, and from behind her, an arrow whizzed past her ear. Kirsten. The Nord girl was an accomplished archer.

Two of the lesser wolves had veered off from Tavian to head for Gregor and Korst, assuming them to be easier targets. The burly, bald-headed Nord laughed as he swung his greataxe and cleaved one of the wolves in two. "Ha-ha! I love a challenge!" he bellowed. Korst didn't say anything – he seldom did – but he grinned as his warhammer crushed the skull of the other wolf.

Lydia closed with the ice wolf leader, putting herself between it and Tavian, who gave her a quickly-mouthed "thanks!" before turning to defend himself against the remaining two lesser wolves. His red hair blew around his head, threatening to get into his eyes, but he managed to kill one of the wolves as the other dashed away a short distance to reconsider the risks. It didn't get far, as Julia's next firebolt hit it at the same time as Kirsten's arrow.

A final shield bash from Lydia, followed with a thrust down the slavering gullet of the ice wolf, and the yard was quiet once more, except for the panicked whinnies of the horses in the corral.

"I'll go calm them down, Pa," Korst offered, and Gregor patted his son's shoulder.

"Good fight, lad," he praised. "I'll take care of these carcasses."

"Are you alright, Master Tavian?" Lydia asked. She tsked over the blood on his arm where one of the wolves had bitten him.

"I'm fine," he grumbled, pulling his arm away. "It doesn't hurt that much."

"It could get infected though," Julia said, coming up to him. She gave Lydia a reassuring nod that she would take care of it, and the Steward rejoined her daughter and went back inside.

Healing energy flared in Julia's hands as she passed them over her brother's arm. Concern for him had completely wiped out her earlier irritation at having her commune with her grandfather cut short, but now she remembered what had caused the interruption.

"You want to talk about what just happened, before we came outside?" she asked her brother quietly.

"Not much to tell," he mumbled, still surly. "I was going through my martial arts moves, like Dad wanted me to, and these wolves showed up and attacked."

Blowing out a breath of frustration, Julia moved over to a log bench nearby and sat down, patting the space next to her. After a moment, her brother reluctantly complied and joined her.

"I'm not talking about the wolves," Julia said. "I heard you, all the way inside. You used the Voice, like Dad does. How long have you been able to do that?"

Tavian shrugged. "Not long. I've been practicing forever, it seems. I mean, I know what fus means, and I've seen Dad use it before. But I've never been able to make anything happen when I say it."

"Until today?"

Tavian nodded. "Until today. It was like, suddenly, it all became clear, and I knew how to make it work."

A distant rumble from the south rippled like thunder across the tundra, and in the middle of that quiet roar, they both heard the Voice of the Greybeards, calling down from High Hrothgar.

"DOVAHKIIR!"

Stunned, brother and sister stared at each other.

"'Dovahkiir'?" Tavian echoed. "I know what Dovahkiin means, but what's Dovahkiir?"

A grin split his sister's face. "It means 'child of the dragon'," she told him. "Paarthurnax called me that, years ago, when you were still a baby, and Mom and Dad took us up to High Hrothgar to meet him."

"I don't remember that," Tavian murmured, shaking his head.

"Of course not, silly," she scolded him good-naturedly. "I said you were just a baby then. I think you were about three at the time."

"But what does it mean?" Tavian asked. "Why did they shout that all the way from High Hrothgar?"

Julia gave him a hug. "They're calling you, you silly salamander, you! They know there's something in you that needs guidance, like they taught Dad all those years ago, when he first went there. This is your path, Tavian. It's your destiny!"

"But—" He turned worried eyes to her. "Will Mom and Dad let me go? High Hrothgar is a long way from Heljarchen. And I'm not full-grown yet."

"They'll let you go," she said with more confidence than she felt. "They'll have to. You can't ignore a summons from the Greybeards. We'll talk to them when they get back."

Together they rose and went inside.

"Miss Julia," Lydia greeted them as they entered. "Master Tavian, did you hear-?"

Tavian looked embarrassed, but Julia gave him a one-armed hug. "We heard," she told the Steward. "I think half of Skyrim heard. Could you let Mom and Dad know?" She tapped her earlobe, and the Nord woman nodded in understanding. Julia didn't have an ear bud yet; it was a magical device her mother had invented to facilitate communication over long distances, yet looked like an unassuming silver ear stud.

"Don't worry, Tavian," she assured her brother as Lydia left to make the call. "Everything is going to be alright." I hope, she thought.

"But High Hrothgar is so far away," Tamsyn protested, "and he's still just a boy—"

"Sweetheart," Marcus intoned. "There's no arguing about this. Tavian has the gift. He needs to learn how to control it. The Greybeards can help him with that. And you don't need to worry. Borri and Miraak will be there to keep an eye on him. The worst that will happen is that he'll expire from boredom." A twinkle in his eye belied his words. His heart swelled with pride that his son, his Tavian, had managed on his own to plumb the depths of one rotmulag. Who could say where the boy would go from here? But he needed guidance, and it would be better to receive it from someone who was not his father.

"I suppose you're right," the Arch-Mage sighed sadly. She pressed herself into his arms. "But I'm going to miss my baby boy."

"We'll visit him," Marcus assured her.

A soft tapping on their door interrupted their conversation.

"Who is it?" Tamsyn called.

"It's me, Mom," came Julia's voice. "May I come in?"

"Of course, dear," she invited, crossing the room to open the door. "We haven't retired for the night just yet. What is it?"

Julia swallowed hard. "I need to ask you something," she began. "But you aren't going to like it."

Tamsyn and Marcus exchanged glances. "Is this about your brother?" Marcus asked.

"No," Julia said. "Well, not exactly…" She flailed her hands helplessly. Marcus waved his daughter over to a seat by the fireplace in their private quarters.

"Just take a deep breath and say what you have to say," he smiled. "We'll try to keep an open mind."

Julia nodded and took that deep breath before plunging ahead.

"Is it true that Tavian isn't part Aedra like me?" she asked.

Stunned silence met her inquiry. Marcus and Tamsyn exchanged stricken looks, and both seemed to slump a little. Tamsyn lowered herself slowly onto the settee next to Julia.

"Who told you this?" she asked. "No, wait…it was your grandfather, wasn't it?"

Julia nodded. "Don't be angry with him, Mom. He told me you should have told me before now."

Tears were welling in Tamsyn's eyes. She merely nodded without saying anything.

"How is that possible?" Julia asked. "Tavian's my brother. You're our mother. Julianos is our grandfather. Why can't Tavian do the things and learn the things I can?"

"Let me answer this one, dearest," Marcus murmured, taking a seat opposite them. He could see how upset Tamsyn was, and that a lengthy explanation might be difficult for her. "Julia, sweetheart," he began, "what do you remember of the Last Great War?"

Julia thought hard. "Not much," she admitted, shaking her head slowly. "Most of what I know came from a book."

"Do you remember coming to Whiterun with Lydia?" he asked. "With all the fire and fighting and destruction going on?"

"Vaguely," his daughter nodded. "I mean, I was really young then, so I don't remember a whole lot."

"And do you remember helping to heal your mother when she got hurt?" Marcus pressed gently.

Julia screwed up her face, trying to remember details. "I do remember a little bit about that," she replied. "But it seems like a dream. Like it happened to someone else."

Marcus nodded. "Or perhaps someone else was working through you," he mused. "Honestly, I wouldn't put it past your grandfather to have done that. In any case, your mother was injured badly at that time. In fact—" Here he took a steadying breath. "In fact, she nearly died. And your brother would have died with her."

A cold chill ran down Julia's spine. Tavian? Her mother? Gone? "It was that serious?" she whispered, horrified.

Marcus nodded. "But you saved them, sweetheart," he smiled briefly. "But because she was that close to death, she needed to make a choice: to go on to Aetherius, and leave you and me behind, or to stay with us and give up her divinity."

Julia turned to her mother. "And you chose to stay," she breathed, awed at the sacrifice her mother had made.

"I had to," Tamsyn whispered, openly weeping now. "How could I leave you?"

Impulsively, Julia threw her arms around her mother, and silent tears slid down her own cheeks. Marcus gave them both a moment to absorb the magnitude of Tamsyn's choice.

"I think," he continued softly, "that when she gave up her divinity, it meant that your brother never got it, either. He still has the dragon blood that he gets from me, as you do, but nothing more."

"I think I understand now," Julia sniffled, pulling a lace-edged cloth from her pocket and wiping her eyes. "But it's made Tavian very upset, because he sees me doing things so easily, and he can't do them himself. Maybe I should tell him—"

"There's no need for that," Marcus insisted. "Tavian's path has already been decided for him. He will go to High Hrothgar, and he'll learn what he can from the Greybeards. After that, if he still wants to learn magic, he'll have the rest of his life to study. But I think the fewer people who know about what your mother went through, the better."

"I understand, Dad," Julia smiled. "Thank you for explaining it to me. Thank you both!" She hugged her mother again before rising to give her dad a squeeze as well.

"Welcome to High Hrothgar, Dragonborn," Master Arngeir smiled warmly. "It has been some time since we saw you last."

"I know, Master," Marcus replied solemnly as he bowed. Glancing to the side, he made a quick movement with his head to his son, indicating he should also show deference. Belatedly, Tavian gulped and bowed.

"I'm sorry I haven't been here before now," Marcus continued, "but I've brought my son, Octavian, with me. He is the one you summoned."

"Indeed?" Master Arngeir raised one bushy eyebrow in skepticism. "Let us see if he is indeed heir to the Dragonborn. Show us, young Octavian," he said to the younger Imperial. "Let us taste of your Voice."

Uncertain, Tavian looked back at his father, who gave him an encouraging nod. Shrugging, Tavian turned back to the Greybeards and closed his eyes, drawing on that inner wellspring of vital essences within him.

"FUS!"

It wasn't nearly as strong as his father's had been, twenty years previous, but the four old men staggered in its wake, nonetheless.

"Dovahkiir," Master Arngeir greeted him. "It is you! Welcome to High Hrothgar. Let me introduce you to the other Masters here. Only Master Miraak, besides myself, use our normal voices. Masters Borri and Wulfgar have voices too strong for most to bear, but you will soon learn to communicate with them in…other ways." Over Tavian's head, Master Arngeir gave Marcus a sly wink.

As Tavian settled into the room that would be his for the foreseeable future, he felt more than a bit lost. This was all so strange and sudden.

All I did was Shout, he thought. Just one little word. And now I'm here.

"Here is a good place to be," said a voice in his mind.

Tavian looked around. "Who said that?" he called out. Crossing the room to the door, he opened it and peeked out. There was no one in the hall, and from the murmurs he heard in the distance, his father was still speaking with two of the Masters in the great hall. Closing the door again, he tapped the side of his head with the heel of his hand.

"I must be hearing things," he muttered.

"You wouldn't be the first," the voice chuckled. "You won't be the last."

Swinging wildly around the room, Tavian yelled, "WHO SAID THAT? Who's talking to me?"

"Calm down," the voice said sternly. "There's nothing to be afraid of."

"I'm not afraid,"Tavian insisted, though his heart pounded in his chest, and he couldn't keep the panic from his voice. He paced the room restlessly.

"Yes, you are," contradicted the voice. "And it's perfectly understandable. This is all new to you. If it's any consolation to you, your father didn't believe it either."

"My Dad?" Tavian stopped in his tracks. "My Dad hears voices, too?"

"Just one," the voice smirked. "Mine. But I don't think we need to get into that right now. All you need to know right now is that you aren't alone here. The Greybeards are good men, and they will teach you how to control the thu'um. Listen to them; learn from them. You are the son of the Dragonborn, and because of this you have the dragon blood in you. You will be able to learn to Shout as he does. But it will not be easy; it will be hard. You will want to give up. I would urge you not to do that. The world will need you, when you are grown."

There was an absence in his mind, as if something had gone and left a hole behind. There was a soft tapping on the door, and his father poked his head in.

"I just came in to say goodbye—"

Tavian threw himself at his father and hugged him tight. Startled at first, as Tavian hadn't been this demonstrative about his emotions since he was nine, Marcus put his arms around his boy and held onto him.

"Everything okay?" he asked softly.

"No," came the muffled response. "It's cold here, and there's nothing but old men, and voices in my head—" Tavian stopped, embarrassed. He hadn't meant to blurt that last bit out.

Marcus was momentarily stunned. Drawing his son down on the nearby bunk, he put his hand under Tavian's chin and tipped the boy's head up to look at him.

"Did you just say you heard voices?" he asked, tapping his temple. "Up here?"

Tavian nodded miserably. "I'm already going crazy, aren't I?"

But Marcus laughed and hugged his son closer. "No, you're not," he replied. "Well, not any crazier than your old man, here." He laughed again. "I'm going to let you in on a little secret, son, just between you and me. Don't let anyone else know." And he whispered into Tavian's ear.