Dovahkiir

Chapter 2

(Morning Star, 4E 221)

Heljarchen Hall seemed empty after Tavian left for High Hrothgar. For several days, Julia rattled around the place, lonely and bored. She missed her brother, and though she was considered an adult by Skyrim standards, she had yet to find something with which to occupy her time.

Watching her daughter, Tamsyn sympathized. Except for the first four years of her life, Julia had never been without her brother by her side, and the two were very close. She attempted to get her daughter involved in any kind of project to take her mind off her loneliness, but though Julia obliged by helping her mother quilt, or prepare meals, or catalog findings from some of the more adventurous members of the College at Winterhold, she was distracted, and her heart clearly wasn't in it.

"For divine's sake, Julia!" Tamsyn exclaimed. "It's not like you're never going to see Tavian again! Why don't you go visit Sofie? She and Erik are living in Whiterun for the time being; at least until the baby comes. She might enjoy having an extra pair of hands to help out around Breezehome."

Julia sighed. She knew when she was starting to get on her mother's last nerve. "Alright, Mom," she agreed. At least, it put her a little bit closer to Tavian, though it wasn't as though she'd be able to sneak off to visit him. Daughter of the Dragonborn she might be, but the Greybeards still never opened their doors to just anyone, unless they were expecting company.

She threw some things into a carpetbag and asked Gregor to accompany her into town. The genial Nord cheerfully obliged, and by nightfall she was walking through the familiar gates of the capital of Whiterun Hold. Breezehome stood just past the smithy, and her mother must have alerted her sister, because Sofie stood in the doorway, six months pregnant, but with open arms and a beaming smile.

"I'm so happy to see you here, little sister," Sofie gushed. "It's been – what? – a year?"

"Not quite that long, Sofie," Julia smiled. "But it is good to get away from home for a bit."

"Well, this won't be a holiday," Sofie warned her. "I'm getting to the stage in my…condition…where some things aren't as easy to do as they once were."

"Where's Erik?" Julia asked as she followed her sister upstairs to the room that would be hers.

"He's out with Alesan and the Companions," Sofie replied, a frown marring her brow. "Something about a giant that needed putting down. I'm not happy about it. I worry about him, you know. He wants to make a name for himself, to prove he's a great warrior and all that, but I just want him to be safe."

"I'm sure he'll be fine," Julia commiserated. "He's with the Companions. They'll watch his back. And Alesan is there, too." She didn't mention that Alesan was also a werewolf. Sofie knew, of course. All of the immediate family – except her brother-in-law – knew. But few of them approved. Only Blaise didn't seem to mind as much as the rest of them.

"It's his choice," he had shrugged. "And there's nothing we can do about it. Just accept him for the brother we love."

"I hope he won't 'go wolf' while they're fighting," Sofie worried. "I never told Erik. I didn't think he'd understand."

"Tell me again how you two met," Julia invited, to get her sister's mind off her concern. "I was just a child at the time, and I don't think I ever heard the full story."

Sofie settled herself on a nearby chair while her younger sister unpacked her belongings and put them away. She gave a small chuckle.

"Well, to be honest, it was right after the Last Great War finally concluded, and Mama and Papa had gone down to Cyrodiil for the wedding and coronation of the Emperor. There were a lot of wounded, coming back, and I was helping the Restoration mages from the College, as well as any Temple priests in the area. Erik was one of the wounded. He was unconscious when he was brought in, and I was the only healer available to work on him." She gave a sad smile. "We were all being worked very hard during that time. Anyway, when he finally regained consciousness, he looked up into my face and murmured, 'Are you a goddess?' before lapsing back into sleep." She squirmed a bit in embarrassment. "The other healers laughed at me, and started calling me 'Goddess' as a nickname. I hated it. I never did like being made fun of. So, when Erik was finally well enough that we knew he would recover completely, I asked to be reassigned someplace else, and they sent me to Falkreath."

"But he followed you," Julia remarked, remembering this part of the story.

Her sister made a wry face. "He did. And he kept following me, no matter where I went. From Falkreath, to Riften, to Markarth, from Ivarstead to Rorikstead, his home town, he kept following me. He followed me for three whole years! And I told him to go away so many times I lost count. But he kept saying he owed me his life. 'You don't owe me anything except to leave me alone,' I kept saying. I didn't want anyone following me out of any sense of gratitude; and it wasn't as though I didn't know how to look after myself."

"What happened after that?" Julia asked, her unpacking finished. She sat on the edge of the bed, caught up in the story.

"That foolish, silly, wonderful man saved me from a bunch of cultists," she replied softly. "I was coming back to Windhelm from the Hlaalu Farm – one of the workers had been injured – and we were attacked by some followers of Boethiah. They hit me with a shock spell, and it stunned me. Erik went after them, enraged, and roared out his battle cry, scaring off two of them. They threw a frost spell at him, but he shrugged it off and kept going, forcing them to fight him hand-to-hand. I recognized some of the moves as ones Papa had used, and found out later that he had indeed learned them from our father. Anyway, his efforts bought me enough time to recover and lend a hand in the fight, and together we vanquished them." She paused and smiled fondly. "I told him then that he was free to go, that he'd paid any blood-debt of honor he felt he owed to me."

"What did he say?" Julia waited, knowing the answer, but loving to hear it.

"He said, 'My obligation to honor may be free, but my heart will never be.' Then he pulled out an Amulet of Mara and asked me to share my life with him. Right there on the bloody battlefield!" She laughed. "How could I say 'no' after that?"

"How, indeed!" Julia giggled.

"But I told him, 'I won't be married to a common mercenary and adventurer. I want a real home, with a husband who comes home to me each night.' I made him wait another four years before we built up a nest egg to start our life together."

"I imagine that disappointed him," Julia nodded.

"At first," Sofie agreed, "but I think even then, Erik was getting tired of the adventurer's life. Oh, he still likes to get out there every now and then, like now with the Companions. But with this little one on the way, he sees the value of having a comfortable home and a steady job."

"What's his 'steady job' right now?" her sister inquired.

Sofie shrugged. "He's between jobs at the moment," she admitted, "which is why Papa and Mama offered us the chance to move into Breezehome. Alesan is hardly ever here. He spends most of his time up at Jorrvaskr when he's not out and about in Skyrim somewhere. But Erik has been inquiring with the East Empire Company. We heard they may be looking for more security guards, and the pay is good."

"I hope it works out for you," Julia smiled.

Sofie put a hand on her swollen belly and smiled. "I hope so, too," she sighed.

Living at Breezehome was, for Julia, a much more scaled-down version of living at Heljarchen Hall. The tiny house didn't need nearly the amount of cleaning the large estate needed on a daily basis, and the garden behind the house was really only large enough to grow enough produce for the kitchen. It was mostly dormant, now, due to the cold weather of the winter months, but in the spring, it would be planted with potatoes, carrots, cabbages and other hardy vegetables that their mother, Tamsyn, had brought back with her from Cyrodiil.

Erik and Alesan had returned from their giant-killing expedition the day after Julia had arrived, and they had a small reunion of sorts as they caught up with all the family news. Julia learned that Erik had been helping Adrienne Avenicci, the blacksmith next door, in his spare time. Mauled by death hounds during a vampire attack several years ago, before Julia had been born, she had recovered most of the mobility in her hands, but she still walked stiffly, with a cane, as the damage to her legs had been too severe even for the Arch-Mage's considerable talents in healing to repair. Every now and then, she became back-logged with her work, so Erik's offer of assistance was a welcome respite for her, and she was a generous employer.

Alesan hadn't changed much. Most of his stories concerned the jobs he'd done with the Companions. After Erik and Sofie had gone to bed, Alesan stayed up late with Julia and spoke further of some of the adventures he'd had that had required him to 'go wolf.' He kept his voice low as he spoke.

"Aela found some information about some totems to Hircine," he told her. "They're not much to look at, but Aela seems to think they're pretty powerful."

"Have you used them?" Julia asked, fascinated.

"No, not me," her brother replied. "I leave that sort of thing for Aela. We found the first piece, a staff with a wolf's skull on it, in a cave under a tiny island in the middle of Mara's Eye Lake."

"Where's that?" Julia asked, never having heard of it before.

"Oh, it's somewhere up in Eastmarch, near Windhelm, I think," Alesan replied dismissively. "I wasn't really paying attention. I just followed Aela. The second piece was a thigh bone we found in Crystaldrift Cave. It didn't look like much to me, just some big, animal thigh bone. But Aela assured me it was what we were looking for."

"Was that it?"

"No, the last piece was a hide-bound drum," said Alesan. "We had to go all the way to Solstheim for that one. It was in a chest on some island that had the hugest horker I've ever seen! The locals called him 'Lord Tusk'. We had to go wolf to kill him."

"Have you had any trouble concerning that?" Julia worried.

"Not really," Alesan replied, brushing it off. "Oh, we've had the occasional remnant of the Silver Hand turn up from time to time, but they're not organized. Not like they were when Pa and Vilkas took them out."

"You need to be careful, big brother," Julia frowned. "Not everyone is comfortable knowing there are werewolves up at Jorrvaskr."

"You worry too much, little sister," Alesan smirked. "I know how to take care of myself."

Julia didn't reply, but a wave of foreboding overcame her. A brief flash of the body of a werewolf that morphed to the form of her brother, cold and dead, passed before her eyes, and she blinked, suddenly terrified.

"Hey, you okay?" Alesan murmured softly, reaching out to take her hand in his. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"I'm okay," Julia said, shaking her head to clear it. "I think I'll head to bed."

Impulsively she stood and put her arms around her older brother.

"Please be careful, Als," she muttered, her voice muffled against his chest. "I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you!"

"Hey now…" Disconcerted, Alesan put his arms around his sister and gave her a squeeze. "Nothing's going to happen to me," he promised. "I've got Aela and all the Companions watching my back!"

He left to return to the Companions meadhall for the night, but Julia couldn't shake the sense of dread that followed her, and threaded itself through her restless dreams.

On days when Sofie didn't need her assistance, Julia wandered around Whiterun, taking in the sights and sounds she knew so well. The Khajiit traders came almost every three or four days, on their long circuitous route to Markarth and back, and Julia loved to head down to the stable area where they pitched their tents to pore over their wares. On this visit, however, she noticed something she had not seen in the past; two Khajiit children were among their number – a boy and a girl.

"I haven't seen you with the caravans before," she ventured to the little female, who introduced herself as Kiarra. Her fur was an even-toned brown all over, with darker ticking at the tips of her tail and ears. She wore a scaled-down version of standard iron armor, with gloves and boots made of elk hide. Around her head was a silver and turquoise circlet.

"Ri'saad took us in," she chirped, "J'Zahn and me, that is. Our parents are dead."

"I'm so sorry," Julia said sincerely. "Are you two brother and sister?"

"No," Kiarra replied, shaking her head, making her earrings tinkle. "We came from a group of Khajiit traveling the roads. Our caravan was attacked, and we kittens fled. It's the first thing we're taught to do. We didn't know what to do afterwards, so we stayed near the wagon and lived off the scraps the bandits left behind. But Ri'saad found us two days later. He brought us back to Skyrim with him, and assigned us to each of the caravan routes under his supervision. There are six of us, altogether. If you travel to the other cities, you might meet the others. Would you like to buy anything?" she concluded.

"Do you sell things, too?" Julia asked, amused. The kit couldn't be much older than Tavian.

"Of course," Kiarra replied. "We're taught from a young age to sell what we can find or make."

"Oh? Where do you find the things you sell?" Julia asked, grateful to have kept the suspicion from her voice.

"Oh," Kiarra demurred, not looking directly at her, "sometimes we find things that must have fallen off a wagon somewhere."

Julia merely nodded and went to see what the young Khajiit had for sale.

"There's a lot of poisons here," she said slowly, after combing through the merchandise.

Kiarra shrugged. "Lots of people use poisons in combat to give them an edge. I just happen to be good at alchemy."

"What about J'Zahn?" Julia couldn't help asking, glancing toward the boy with the dark grey and brown striped fur. He wore a blue merchant's tunic and a small fur hat with holes cut into it to allow his ears to poke through. His feet also sported elk hide boots. "What is he good at?"

"J'Zahn likes to tinker with things," Kiarra said proudly. "Look over there; see that Dwemer spider? J'Zahn got it working again, and now it follows him around like a puppy."

Julia looked over to where the boy was sitting on a stack of hay. Indeed, the mechanical spider sat and hummed to itself until he got up to go over to the archery target. The Dwemer spider clattered after him obediently.

"I'll buy your gleamblossom," Julia said, turning back to Kiarra. "I've only ever found it in one place in Skyrim, and it's too far away for a quick trip. And I'll take the moon sugar, too."

"Sure," Kiarra smiled, showing her teeth. She quickly wrapped them up in a leather goatskin and handed the parcel over, taking Julia's septims in return. "Come back again!" she invited.

"I'll do that," Julia smiled. Heading back into the city, she couldn't help but be amused at what her mother might think. Tamsyn had always been fond of the Khajiit, but had never seen any of their children.

"Where I used to live, before I came to Skyrim, we had domestic cats," she had once admitted to Julia, "but they were not Khajiit, and they only had basic animal intelligence. They were like the Alfiq – quadrupedal, and very small. But I believe even the Alfiq are highly intelligent. We had several cats as pets, where I lived before," she continued, "which is something I would never admit to my Khajiit friends here; they would never understand. But I loved them dearly, and their kittens were mind-numbingly cute! If I saw a baby Khajiit now, I'd probably become a blithering idiot, cooing and oohing over it!"

No, Julia thought with a private smile, I'd better not tell her. She'll end up trying to track them down, and Dad will have to explain to Ri'saad and the others why the Arch-Mage is obsessed with their children!

Tavian was very familiar with how meditation worked. From an early age, his mother had insisted on him spending a portion of his day in quiet contemplation, seeking to find a balance between his emotions and his actions.

"Spending time alone," she told him, "and learning to silence the thoughts that drift in and out of your mind, will help you clarify what troubles you, and help you understand yourself better. You will come to learn how to control your emotions better, and not let them overcome you."

Yes, he understood how it all worked. He was just very bad at it.

"Focus, Octavian," Master Miraak said now. "You are allowing external stimuli to distract you."

Of course, they're distracting me! Tavian thought rebelliously. It's freaking cold here!

'Freaking' was a word he'd picked up from his father, and he liked the way it sounded, especially as a modifier.

"Focus," Master Miraak intoned, and Tavian frowned as he tried to do just that. But no matter how he tried, he couldn't clear his mind of all the errant thoughts that flitted through his brain. It was the same as it had always been at home, and eventually, even his mother's patience wore out, and she gave up trying to teach him.

A sigh told him that Master Miraak was nearly at that point, as well.

"We will not progress any further today," he finally said. "We will try again tomorrow."

"I still don't understand why I have to do this, Master," Tavian muttered, proud of himself for keeping his tone respectful. He'd only been at High Hrothgar for three weeks, and he had already offended Master Wulfgar by questioning the need for book learning. That stoic Greybeard had merely pierced him with a glare before leaving the room. It didn't help that the ancient Nord didn't speak aloud, and Tavian could not grasp the meaning of the gestures the old man waved about. Master Arngeir had taken him to task over it.

"You are still very young, Dovahkiir," the ersatz leader of the Greybeards proclaimed. "The youngest, in fact, whom we have ever sought to guide. But you have discovered the meaning of at least one rotmulag, and because of this, you must receive training in its proper usage, lest you harm yourself or others through its misuse. But while you are here, it is our duty to educate your mind, as well as train your abilities. Bear this in mind, and make your apologies to Master Wulfgar. He has informed me he will not attempt to teach you further unless you have shown that you regret your words and actions."

Tavian unwillingly made the apology, as sincerely as he could make it sound, turning on the charm he had picked up from seeing his father get his way with people. The lessons had resumed, but Tavian wasn't happy about it.

Now, Master Miraak sighed and ran a hand through his dark hair, in a gesture so like Tavian's father that a lump of homesickness rose in his throat. The older man moved to a bench at the side of the room and sat down, inviting Tavian to join him.

"I will explain to you the why," Master Miraak said, with more patience than the other Greybeards had yet displayed. "But you must also embrace it and make it your own. The reason why meditation is so important to the use of the thu'um, is that you cannot tap into that inner source of your vital essences without it."

"But my dad never meditates," Tavian pointed out. "He just roars it out."

"Your father has an edge which you do not have, young Octavian," Miraak said mildly. "Your father has the dovah sos, the dragon blood, which he has passed on to you. All the Dragonborn, down through the ages, have had this. I have it, naturally, as I was the First Dragonborn. But your father and I also have something you do not. It is something the other Masters here lack, for all that they have been able to use the thu'um: they – and you – lack the dovah sul, the soul of a dragon. This is the blessing that Akatosh gave to the Dragonborn. Without it, you will be able to learn to Shout, but it will be much harder for you to accomplish the few words you do learn. Not as hard, perhaps, as it has been for the other Masters here, because you do have the dragon blood which they do not. But meditation will help you in discovering the deepest meaning behind each word, like yol, or feim, or wuld."

Tavian thought about this. "Then how was I able to learn fus?" he asked. "Mom always tried to get me to meditate, but I didn't understand it then, either."

Miraak smiled and cocked his head at the boy. "How did you practice?" he asked. "Did you just walk around your home shouting the word, day in and day out?"

Tavian shook his head. "No," he answered, thinking back. "I made sure I was outside, most of the time, because I didn't want them to hear me trying. And I kept thinking really hard about making it happen. I really wanted it to happen, because Juls is so good at magic, and I wanted to be good at something, too."

"Then I think you have your answer, young Octavian," Miraak drawled. "You have to want it, badly enough to make it happen. And you can achieve that by calming your mind, getting rid of all the distracting thoughts that keep you from thinking about the Word you want to Shout. Do you understand, now?"

Tavian nodded. "I think I do, Master Miraak. Thanks!"

"You can thank me by practicing your meditation," the ancient Dragonborn replied with a lofty tone and a frown that was belied by the twinkle in his eyes. "Go on, now. We're done for now. I think Master Borri is waiting out in the courtyard for your martial training."

His training went a bit smoother after that, though it was by no means easy. Unlike the training his father had received, the Greybeards did not gift him with their knowledge of any particular thu'um. They would tell or show him the rotmulag, spelled out in both the common language and in Dovahzul, which he already knew how to read, but if he wished to understand the deepest meanings of the words, he needed to discover them on his own. And that meant concentrating on mastering meditation.

As time passed, Tavian found himself becoming stronger, under the training from both Master Borri and Master Miraak, who took time each day to spar with him in the courtyard. He ruefully reflected that he had spent most of the first year at High Hrothgar covered in bruises. But it wasn't just his body that received an education: the Greybeards were insistent that he keep up with his studies. Under Master Wulfgar's tutelage – relations having eased between them the more time he spent in the old Nord's company – Tavian found he actually liked reading about histories and great battles of the past.

It was towards the end of his first year that he caught on to the fact that the hand gestures used by Masters Wulfgar and Borri were a sham. They spoke to him directly in his mind, as that quiet, secret voice did on occasion, to remind him to work hard, be respectful, yet enjoy his time at the monastery. He was greatly in awe of the fact that Akatosh himself would sometimes speak with him, advise him on a dilemma, or counsel him on how he should proceed against a problem. It didn't happen often, of course, but the fact that it did at all amazed and humbled him.

At the end of his first year, the Greybeards decided – at Miraak's insistence – that Tavian should go home for a short time. The oldest of the four – who ironically looked younger than any of them – summoned Kruzikrel into the courtyard where he invited Tavian to mount before climbing up behind him. The journey to Heljarchen Hall was completed in a matter of minutes, rather than days, and Tavian was grateful he didn't have to climb up and down the Seven Thousand Steps on this trip.

His mother and father were waiting in the front yard as Kruzikrel landed, and Tamsyn ran forward as soon as her son had dismounted, laughing and crying at the same time, greeting her youngest child.

After giving both parents a hug, Tavian looked around. "Where's Julie?" he asked, faintly disappointed she wasn't there to welcome him home.

"In Whiterun," his father informed him. "Sofie needed some help with the baby. While you're home, we'll take a trip down so you can meet your new nephew. You're an uncle now!"

"Miraak, will you stay to supper?" Tamsyn invited.

"I would be a fool to turn down your culinary efforts, Lady Tamsyn," Miraak bowed. "And the thought of dried fish again turns my stomach!"

Tavian laughed. "We eat a lot of dried fish," he told his mother in a low voice.

"I'll pack you some treats to take back with you," she promised in a whisper.

The next few days passed in a whirl for Tavian. He felt oddly out of place in his own home, and the mementos left behind in his room seemed now childish and banal. He didn't feel any different, but he didn't feel as though he completely belonged here, either.

His nephew was nearly nine months old, now, and had a shock of blonde hair above pale blue eyes. Erik and Sofie were the doting parents, of course, and with little prompting would regale anyone who cared to listen all of the accomplishment little Rikard had achieved in his short lifetime. Tavian listened patiently, but it all went in one ear and out the other, and he oddly found himself wishing he was back at High Hrothgar.

He sparred with Korst during his time at home, and managed to knock the older, stronger boy off his feet during one session. Helping him up, Tavian apologized.

"No, don't," Korst grinned. "I like a man who can best me!"

"I'm not really a man yet," Tavian pointed out.

"You will be," Korst assured him. "Give yourself time. I'd better get back to work, though. Wood don't chop itself."

In a very short time, his holiday was over, and Miraak returned to bring him back to High Hrothgar.

"Thank you for this, Master," Tavian said, remembering his manners. "And thank you, Kruzikrel. You didn't have to do this."

"You are the next generation, Dovahkiir," Miraak shrugged. "I owe it to your father and mother to see you safely back to the monastery."

Julia had returned to Heljarchen when they returned from the visit with Sofie and Erik, and she hugged her brother tight.

"Study hard, Tavian," she encouraged him. "I can see it's done you some good so far. I haven't seen Dad that excited discussing history in a long time!"

Tavian grinned. "That was fun! I never really appreciated how much he knows about the subject before!" He sobered. "What will you be doing while I'm gone?"

Julia's face fell. "I…I haven't made up my mind," she admitted. "I just don't know what I want to do with my life. I don't know where I belong." She gave herself a mental shake and smiled for his sake. "You should think about what you want to do," she continued, "when you're done studying at High Hrothgar."

Master Miraak cleared his throat and Tavian gave her another quick hug before mounting the dragon in front of the Atmoran Greybeard. "I'll think about that!" he promised. "I'd ask you to write, but the couriers don't like making the climb!"

"You silly goose!" she scolded. "Walk yourself down the Seven Thousand Steps and leave it with Wilhelm in Ivarstead! He'll make sure it gets to me!"

Kruzikrel gathered himself and leaped into the air, wings pumping hard to gain altitude. Craning his neck, Tavian looked down to see his mother, father and sister waving from the front yard, before turning to go back inside. Part of him felt as though one door had closed, and had been locked behind him. The greater part of him was excited about this new phase of his life, and he wondered where it would take him.