Chapter 15
The Throat of the World
For the next few days, Vahkiir and Ilga traveled apart from the rest of the Chimer. While Vahkiir understood the necessity of Nerevar and his band hiding their identities, he still could not help but distrust them, especially after Brevyn had made it clear that there were yet more secrets that they were keeping hidden from him and Ilga. Of course, they were entitled to their privacy, but Vahkiir felt that he was equally entitled to be suspicious of them.
Ilga, however, was outright hostile to the Chimer. While she would not part ways with them so long as Vahkiir wished to continue traveling with them – and he had no intention of doing otherwise, as he also distrusted the local Nords, and he had at least been traveling with the Chimer for several weeks now – it was clear that, given the option, she would have left at the first opportunity. After that first night, she had refused to let Vahkiir out of her sight, evidently out of fear that the Chimer might try to knife him in his sleep. For his part, while Vahkiir was also still irritated about their deception, he did not think the elves were likely to try and murder him now that they had revealed their identities to him – especially since they had done so willingly – and he began to find Ilga's overprotectiveness chafing. She was deaf to his protests, however. Once, after she had yanked him away from one of the Chimer when they drifted too close while walking, he had asked her to ease off. She had simply coldly reminded him that she had been assigned to guard him, and she intended to fulfill that duty – against his wishes, if need be.
As such, the next few days of travel proceeded in near-silence, since he and Ilga remained isolated at the back of the caravan. Worse, without the apparent need to keep the two humans in the know, the Chimer had reverted back to speaking their native tongue with one another. While Vahkiir had managed to learn a few words of Elven over the course of the journey, simply from hearing the elves speak it so often, he still was not nearly proficient enough to follow their conversations. From what he could gather, they were rarely talking about him and Ilga, as their eyes usually remained on the road or each other, but occasionally one of the elves would glance back towards them, and it was difficult to tell from their tone whether they were speaking ill of him and Ilga or not. Either way, it worried him, and made the journey seem even longer.
The caravan finished traversing the pass the day after the revelation of Nerevar's identity, and the Dwemer road wound beyond the pass for a few additional miles before tapering off, leaving only an unmarked plain of stone and ice for them to travel across. While the hard ground was welcome after days of walking across unstable glaciers, it was still a struggle to keep the wagons upright on the slick surface. Fortunately, while the guar were slow, they were also hardy and stable beasts, even on the uneven ground so their progress remained steady.
A couple of days after leaving the Wayward Pass, the caravan stopped atop a rocky outcropping overlooking a small fishing village in the distance, right where Nerevar's map had indicated. Though it was difficult to tell from where he was, Vahkiir guessed that there were only about ten houses located on the edge of the river, most of which were only slightly larger than his own home on Solstheim. A central longhouse dominated the small village, and even from where they were, he could make out figures milling about, tending to various chores, while a few longships bobbed in the water. Vahkiir felt his chest tighten as he was reminded of his home village, and he ruthlessly shook his head before those painful thoughts could creep back into his mind.
"Well then," Nerevar announced, turning back to face the rest of his caravan. "I believe that this is where we should part ways. Llervu, we shall meet again in Whiterun."
"As you say," Llervu nodded as he jumped down from his wagon and walked over to Nerevar. "We shall expect to see you in a few weeks. Though if you are late in arriving…."
"Then you shall have all the more time to sell as many wares as you can," Nerevar replied blithely. "Besides, I expect we shall finish our errand before you even arrive." He then peered past Llervu and added, "I will require two volunteers to accompany us."
There was a moment's pause, and then a few hands went up. Nerevar briefly surveyed the volunteers, then motioned to a pair of female Chimer armed with spears, who nodded and quickly walked over to join him. Nerevar grinned at the pair, then turned back to Llervu. "We shall meet again shortly. Azura watch over you."
"If she makes time to stop watching over you and bothers to turn her attention to the rest of us," the merchant grumbled. Despite his tart response, he held his hand out, and Nerevar immediately clasped his forearm. Llervu did the same and smiled briefly, then turned back to the rest of the caravan. "No point in lingering here any longer! Let's continue on our way!"
The rest of the caravan began making their way down the path, saying their farewells to Nerevar and the others. Vahkiir noticed that about half of them made a point of wishing him well, while the others either avoided his eyes or blatantly ignored him. Brevyn, who was standing a few feet away, watched them depart with a look of mild regret, while Ilga glared fiercely at them until they were out of sight.
When the last wagon had disappeared over a low hill, Vahkiir turned around and took a moment to see who had chosen to remain behind and accompany him. Aside from Ilga and Brevyn – whom Vahkiir suspected would not be willingly separated from him even if the gods themselves tried to intervene – he was joined by Nerevar, Vehk, and Voryn, as well as the two women. Nerevar noticed him appraising their group, and an amused smile spread across his face.
"Do you find this party satisfactory, Dragonborn?" he asked cheekily.
"Well… it's a touch late for objections either way," Vahkiir muttered as he looked over his shoulder, where the last of the wagons had been moments before. "Are you certain this will be enough, though?"
"I do. This party small enough that we will be able to move swiftly, but large enough that we will not invite attacks from bandits or beasts," Nerevar replied as he closed his hand over the reins of one of the three guar that had been left with them. "Especially since, without the wagons, it's clear that we're carrying little of value and are quite heavily armed. Most will not consider us worth the trouble."
"If you're certain," Vahkiir grunted, turning back to the village. "So, you mentioned wanting to secure us transport?"
"I did," Nerevar nodded as he tugged the guar behind him. "Let's go introduce ourselves, shall we?"
Nerevar boldly led the way towards the village, flanked by Voryn and Vehk, who were once again wearing their helmets. The two Chimer women trailed behind them, with Ilga, Vahkiir, and Brevyn bringing up the rear. Brevyn again tried to catch Vahkiir's eye, but Vahkiir avoided his gaze – though, admittedly, it was less about still being irritated with him, and more about the fact that he did not wish to hold a discussion with him until they had secured passage. Brevyn's concerns could wait until then.
As they approached the village, the Nords began pointing and shouting, obviously unnerved by the Chimer in the group, and a few raised their harpoons, fishing spears, and scaling knives threateningly. Nerevar, however, held up his hands while turning to Vahkiir and Ilga. "It… might be best if one of you negotiates on our behalf," he said slowly.
Vahkiir hesitated, but before he could formulate a response, Ilga, surprisingly, stepped in front of him.
"Lower your weapons!" she shouted, her voice echoing across the village. "We have no wish to fight! We are escorting the Dovahkiin to High Hrothgar, and we have need of a ship that can ferry us there."
Though a few of the villagers continued to brandish makeshift weapons at them, most hesitated and traded skeptical but curious looks. Then, one of the villagers called back, "Do you truly expect us to believe that you are actually travelling with the Dragonborn? Come now."
Ilga glanced pointedly at Vahkiir, who sighed and nodded. Inhaling sharply, he looked up at the sky, then Shouted, "FUS!" The air in front of his mouth exploded outward, and a thunderclap resounded through the village, startling most of the inhabitants. To his chagrin, he could even hear a child or two crying. Most of the villagers, however, simply stared at him in awe.
"W-well… he could simply be a Tongue," one of the women pointed out.
"Yes, but even so, we should not anger him… or dishonor him," another villager countered.
"Enough," an elderly Nord woman called out. She frowned as she approached Vahkiir and narrowed her eyes. "Dovahkiin or no, you have no right to come here demanding that we provide you with transport, boy."
"I am demanding nothing," Vahkiir replied, trying to keep his tone even despite her accusation. "I do not seek passage for free, either. We are willing to pay you for one of your boats."
"Indeed? And what are you willing to trade?" the woman replied suspiciously.
"This!" Nerevar shouted suddenly. Vahkiir and the woman both turned to see him approaching with a brown cloth bundle in his arms. As Vahkiir watched, he opened the wrappings to reveal a gold-plated mammoth tusk, carved with runes.
The woman's eyes widened briefly at the bauble, but then she frowned deeply. "Where did you steal this from?" she demanded with a snarl.
"Steal? No, my lady, we traded for this," Nerevar replied simply – and honestly, Vahkiir noted. "My companions and I are merchants, and we are more than happy to trade you this for one of your ships."
The woman stared at him, then narrowed her eyes at the tusk again. "Those ships are our livelihood, elf," she spat. "Do you believe this useless trinket is equal in value to a tool we use to feed ourselves?"
"I do. Because this mere trinket could earn you enough coin to buy at least three more boats, I am sure," Nerevar countered calmly. "And you cannot claim that you are not intrigued by the prospect of owning it for yourself."
"And what makes you believe that?" the old woman sneered.
"Because your eyes have not left it since I revealed it," Nerevar replied with a smug smile.
The woman grimaced, looking up from the tusk to scowl at Nerevar, and then she looked down again. Finally, she sighed and motioned for them to follow her.
As the small group trailed her through the village, Vahkiir could feel the hostile eyes of the villagers lingering on them. Most were directed at the elves, but he could tell that a few of the villagers were also watching him warily after his overt display of power. He suspected that while they respected the legends of the Dovahkiin, they were also cautious about anyone who wielded his power… and they likely also knew the tales of Dragonborn who had become consumed by their own wrath and lust for power. Fortunately, he would not have to endure their stares for long. Better to just put them out of his mind, he told himself.
The woman led them to the riverbank, where a dozen or so small ships sat on the shore. She turned to Ilga and said simply, "We will permit you to take just one of these ships, in exchange for the trinket that the elf is carrying. I recommend that one," she added, pointing to one of the smallest boats at the end.
Vahkiir stepped forward and carefully inspected the small boat. Like its siblings, it was a relatively long, thin boat, with low sides. The interior was lined with low benches, with oars hanging over the edge beside each bench. A single mast jutted out from the center of the boat, and a square, canvas sail was furled atop it. The sides of the ship were painted in simple colors of yellow and blue, while the interior was a deep, rich red, which may have also been painted, but may have just as easily been the natural color of the wood.
Nerevar stepped up beside Vahkiir to briefly inspect the boat, then turned to Ilga and nodded. The Nordic woman bristled as he gazed down at her, but she then turned to the village leader and nodded. "This trade is acceptable," she said in a low voice.
If the village leader noticed the silent exchange between her and Nerevar, she did not make mention of it. Instead, she heaved a heavy, almost wistful sigh. "Very well," she muttered. "This ship will easily navigate the river, and even with so few of you, you will have little difficulty piloting it." She then turned to Nerevar and frowned suspiciously at him. "Unless you intend to ask us to row for you as well," she growled.
"Not at all," Ilga interjected quickly, before Nerevar could respond. "These… elves know their place, and will be happy to row for the Dovahkiin." She smirked as she cast a cold glare at the Chimer, who stared at her stoically. "Additional help will be unnecessary, I assure you."
"Hmph," the woman grunted as she held her hands out. Nerevar quickly approached her, surrendering the tusk with a bow of his head and a smile. As she took the tusk, she leaned in and motioned for Ilga and Vahkiir to come closer. "I do not know if those elves are your servants or not, but mark them… and never trust them. Their kind is duplicitous, and there are whispers that they are planning an uprising against us."
"You don't say," Vahkiir commented drily.
Ilga shot him a warning frown, then turned to the woman and nodded much more respectfully. "Rest assured, we have heard similar tales. We will guard ourselves."
"See that you do. I would hate to hear that our Nord brothers and sisters fell to treacherous elven blades," she murmured. Then she straightened up. "In any case, our business here is concluded. Kyne watch over you."
"You as well," Ilga bowed. The woman cast a final warning glance at them, then turned to return to the village, leaving them alone at the riverbank. Ilga sighed and turned back to Vahkiir. "Forgive me, Dovahkiin," she added, lowering her gaze. "I did not mean to push you aside…."
"You didn't," Vahkiir assured her with a chuckle as he reached out and laid a hand on her shoulder. "I would not have been able to convince them as easily as you did. You did quite well."
Ilga smiled faintly and lowered her head, then turned to Nerevar, her expression hardening instantly. "I presume this will suffice," she said frostily.
"It will make our journey much swifter, yes," Nerevar assured her with a warm smile. "Thank you. If you would like to rest-"
"My vigil will never end so long as the Dovahkiin travels with you," Ilga interrupted icily.
Nerevar blinked then smiled and nodded. "I would expect no less of such a faithful ally," he said gently. "Nevertheless, this will be a long voyage, and we would like to thank you. Please, rest while you can."
Ilga opened her mouth to retort sharply, but Vahkiir interrupted, "If it's all the same, I can help you row." Ilga fell silent instantly, and Nerevar regarded him with a look of surprise. "I used to pilot a ship not unlike this one in my homeland, albeit a fair bit smaller. It would be… satisfying to do so again."
Nerevar blinked in surprise, then grinned broadly. "Far be it from me to deny you, then," he said, motioning for Vahkiir to step into the ship. "So, let us be off, shall we?"
The next few days were surprisingly – and, in Vahkiir's opinion, thankfully – uneventful.
The narrow ship that they had bought had little difficulty traversing the cold, clear river, as it was perfectly designed to navigate the relatively shallow waters. Its long, thin design allowed it to remain buoyed even in areas where other ships might have beached themselves, and it proved surprisingly easy to maneuver. Though they did occasionally encounter rocks and ice floes in the river, the ship was able to either avoid them or glide past them with ease, and the small group made swift progress downriver.
Vahkiir soon found himself enjoying the voyage. Though the ship was of a different design than the small canoe he had once sailed down the narrow rivers of Solstheim the concept was more or less the same. What's more, while he was quite familiar with paddling a boat, the single sail provided them with additional propulsion, so he did not need to row the entire time to ensure that the ship remained moving. Furthermore, with the other Chimer taking turns at the oars, it allowed him chances to rest and enjoy the voyage from time to time, rather than focusing exclusively on sailing and navigating.
As such, Vahkiir was able to closely mark how the scenery changed. As they sailed further south, the uniformly icy terrain gave way to grassy tundra, with the occasional short tree growing out of the hard ground. Animal life also became more varied and numerous – while wolves continued to be a common sight, Vahkiir also spotted other unusual beasts as well, such as large cats with oversized teeth and wool-covered mammoths stomping along the grasslands. None ventured near enough to the shore to pose a threat, so Vahkiir simply gazed at them in awe. While he still sorely missed his home, he privately had to admit that he did not regret coming to Skyrim, as if he had not, he would have missed witnessing such extraordinary creatures.
The voyage down the river also allowed Vahkiir and the Chimer to keep themselves well-fed. The river was teeming with perch, trout, and salmon, and while some of the elves rowed, the others kept a close eye out for opportunities to fish. Vahkiir proved to be one of the most adept fishermen of the group, and whenever he was given a spear, he was often able to bring at least a half-dozen fish aboard. He was not the only successful fisherman, however, so they rarely had to delve into their supplies for dried meat, though they did have to supplement their diet with dried grains and vegetables, as such items could hardly be gathered while they were at sea. Even so, they never went to bed hungry the entire time that they were on the river, and Vahkiir noted with a mild sense of pride that the only fisher more adept than he was Ilga.
As they had quite a ways to travel, they could not spend the entire voyage on the river. Fortunately, it was little trouble for them to bring the boat ashore when they were ready to make camp for the night. This ensured that they soon settled into a routine. They would rise a few hours after dawn, once the sun had warmed the water enough to allow them to travel without forcing them to break the ice coating the river. From there, they would sail downstream for most of the day, with one person piloting the ship, most tending to the oars, and one or two acting as lookouts and fishermen. They sailed for as long as light allowed, until the sun began to approach the horizon, whereupon they would guide the boat to shore and anchor it again for the night. From there, they would make camp, eat, and settle in, with two people standing watch to ensure that the camp was not attacked and their boat was not stolen. Each member of the party stood watch for two hours, ensuring that everyone was able to enjoy at least six hours of rest.
The journey itself had only a few events of note, otherwise. Vahkiir did notice when they sailed near a large city, which Nerevar identified as Windhelm. Vahkiir was once again irritated about the fact that it would have saved them so much time if they had simply set out from the capital of Skyrim for the Throat of the Mountain, had he not insisted upon meeting his relatives in Winterhold. While he did not wholly regret the decision, and though he was grateful that certain questions had been answered, he was irritated that little had been gained by meeting his kinsmen. If anything, he had been left disappointed by the fact that his father's family had seemed more concerned with their own interests than in meeting one of their distant cousins. The encounter still left a faintly sour taste in his mouth whenever he recalled it.
As they passed by the city, Vahkiir watched Ilga intently for her reaction, and out of the corner of his eye, he noticed the elves doing the same. If she was aware of her companions staring, however, she did not react to them. Instead, she kept her intense gaze on her home city almost the entire time that it was in sight. Her expression was a combination of wistfulness, determination, and longing. Vahkiir felt a pang of guilt as he watched her, until they rounded a bend and the city drifted out of sight. When Ilga turned back around, she noticed Vahkiir watching her curiously, whereupon she quietly shook her head before turning her attention back to the river, acting as though nothing had happened.
They continued sailing for several days after leaving Windhelm behind, and the landscape continued to shift as they traveled. The air gradually grew warmer as they traveled south, and plants became even more numerous – grasses grew greener, and trees grew taller and became more common. They passed by small houses built along the edge of the river, where fishermen eyed them curiously and peasants tending to their crops watched them suspiciously, as though expecting the elves to leave their boat and raid them like pirates. They also sailed past mines dug into low mountains near the edge of the river, and wooden shacks inhabited by woodsmen who were hard at work felling and carving trees to turn into lumber. Vahkiir noted that even though they had not encountered another city, so many people made their homes by the edge of the river. He could not help but wonder why they had congregated at Windhelm, yet other cities had not been founded along the same waterway.
Finally, after over a week of traveling, they at last sailed beneath the shadow of the largest mountain that Vahkiir had ever seen. The massive landmark had been drawing closer and closer for the past several days, and as it dominated that part of the horizon, it was impossible to ignore, but now that they were this close, Vahkiir was left awestruck by its sheer size. Even craning his neck, he could hardly see the snow-covered top of the jagged peak, and he could only guess its true height from the wispy white clouds that drifted past it halfway up its slope. He knew without anyone telling him that this was the Throat of the World… and the mountain where whomever had summoned him was waiting to meet him.
That afternoon, Nerevar directed the boat towards the first settlement that they had seen for several days. It was a small village located on the edge of the river, near a bend where it ran from north to south. Nerevar ordered Vahkiir to pilot the ship towards a small dock, where three other ships lay bobbing in the water beside a crude wooden pier.
As they approached the dock, some of the villagers watched them curiously, though Vahkiir noted that their gazes were far less hostile than the other Nords they had passed by on their voyage. When they pulled into the dock, a Nord male and female helped anchor the boat to the dock with a rope, while a balding, white-haired Nord man with a thinning beard approached them, leaning heavily on an ornately carved wooden cane.
"Greetings. Do you have business here?" he asked politely but firmly, his watery blue eyes darting from one elf to another before resting on Vahkiir.
"Greetings. My name is Vahkiir," he announced, stepping out in front of the elves before they could reply. "I… was summoned here by whomever resides atop that mountain."
The old man's eyes widened with surprise as the two Nords nearby began whispering to one another. "I see," he said slowly as he clenched both of his hands over his cane. "So, you are the Dovahkiin, then?"
"Supposedly," Vahkiir replied evasively. When the man frowned at him, he sighed and relented, "Yes. And I presume that you know of the one who summoned me?"
"I do, though it is not for me to say who they are," the man replied simply. He turned and motioned towards the mountain. "If you have indeed been called to climb the Throat of the World, we will not impede you. After all, it is only a fool who willingly scales those treacherous heights without being summoned, no matter their intentions." He then leaned forward on his cane more heavily. "However, I will offer you a warning – you should take care to ensure that you have all you require before you climb. If you are not adequately prepared, the mountain will take your life."
"How much food do you believe I will require?" Vahkiir asked as he eyed the mountain warily.
"It may take you a few days to scale it," the man said, turning to stare at the mountain as well. "Of course, if you are Dovahkiin, you may find it easier than most… though that is not to say that the climb will not be perilous, if not outright deadly."
Vahkiir nodded slowly and turned to the other elves. "Then I suppose we will need to-"
"'We?'" the old man echoed, raising an eyebrow. Vahkiir stopped and turned towards him. "You were summoned, Dovahkiin. Not they. If they have not received an invitation, the master of the mountain will not suffer their presence."
Vahkiir frowned deeply. "If this is about the fact that they are elves-"
"It is not," the man stated flatly. "She cannot join you either." He nodded to Ilga, then turned back to Vahkiir. "If you wish to undertake this journey, you must do so alone."
Vahkiir's scowl deepened, but before he could reply, he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Nerevar smiling warmly. "That's no trouble," he said, looking past Vahkiir at the old man. "Though until our companion returns, we would like to ask to rest here a few days."
"We will permit you to camp near our village," the old man agreed. "And if you were to aid in tasks around the village, your presence would be most welcome. We would be happy to repay you for your services with additional food."
"Indeed? Then we are pleased to accept your offer," Nerevar replied, before casting a glance around at the rest of the group to see if they agreed. Vehk and Voryn did not seem to mind, and the two Chimer women nodded as well. Ilga and Brevyn, however, both wore sour expressions.
"I swore an oath to protect the Dovahkiin," Brevyn said stubbornly to the old man, folding his arms over his chest. "Surely whoever resides atop the mountain will understand loyalty…."
The old man chortled as he leaned forward on his cane. "Do you truly believe you can protect one who wields the might of a dragon?" he asked. "If so, you are either remarkably arrogant, foolish, or both." When Brevyn bristled, the old man held up a hand to placate him. "I am certain that your aid has not been unnecessary, and that your friend appreciates all you have done for him. However, this is a trial where you would be of no help even if you were to accompany him. If you were to attempt to ascend the mountain with him, you would simply be placing yourself in danger. As I said, the master of the mountain will not suffer your presence."
Ilga scoffed. "Would scaling the mountain not be proof enough that we deserve to accompany Vahkiir?" she asked. "Surely such a feat should impress him enough to convince him to ignore precedent."
The old man shook his head. "Quite the opposite. If you were to aid the Dovahkiin on this trial, it would prove that he is unworthy of speaking with the master. It would show how weak he is, that he must rely upon the aid of others, even when he is already blessed with the soul of a dragon." He glanced at Vahkiir. "It is clear that you seek answers, else you would not have come this far. If you refuse this test, you will receive none." He then turned to Brevyn and Ilga. "And you two… have you so little faith in your companion that you do not trust him to complete a simple task?"
Brevyn and Ilga both flinched, as though they had been struck, while Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. While he did appreciate his companions' loyalty, he found that he was surprisingly eager to answer the challenge that had been set before him, and if he must complete it alone, so much the better.
"Brevyn, Ilga," he said softly, and the pair turned towards him. "Thank you, but I will climb the mountain alone."
Brevyn and Ilga traded wary glances, and then Brevyn sighed. "You Nords and your love of pointless shows of bravado. Very well. It is clear that I cannot dissuade you, so I will not waste my breath. Just… remain cautious, will you?"
Ilga scowled as well as she peered up at the mountain. "I dislike it… but you are the Dovahkiin, and I am sworn to obey your commands," she muttered. "Do as you will."
Vahkiir walked over and rested a hand on each of their shoulders. "Thank you. I will try to make this quick," he assured them. They both grunted in reply, but it was also clear that they were deeply unhappy with his decision. Nevertheless, Vahkiir released them a moment later and turned to the old man. "Now that that's settled, what must I do to prepare?"
"Simply ensure that you have all you require – food, weapons, any shelter you feel you might need," the old man replied. "As I've said, the climb is treacherous, and will become increasingly so the higher you ascend."
"Are there any specific dangers I should know about?" Vahkiir asked.
"None beyond what I have already told you about," the old man replied with a shrug.
Vahkiir scowled. He suspected that the old man was being intentionally evasive, as though attempting to avoid divulging too much information. "And is there any aid that you might lend me?" he growled.
The man tilted his head for a moment, then nodded and leaned over to whisper in the ear of his male attendant. The young man nodded and hurried off into one of the houses. When he reemerged, he was carrying a small bronze axe with a broad head on one end and a sharp, tapered point on the other. He also carried a pair of small, thin sheets of bronze, with spikes extending from the bottoms, and leather straps fastened to the top.
"This axe is specifically designed to aid with scaling mountains," the old man explained as the young Nord offered them to Vahkiir. "It can pierce ice and stone with relative ease. Furthermore, if you fasten these spikes to your boots, you will be able to more easily grip the mountain's icy slopes."
Vahkiir nodded gratefully as he reached out and took the gifts. "I see," he said as he slid the axe into his belt. "Thank you."
"And something from us as well," a voice said behind him. Vahkiir looked over his shoulder to see Voryn approaching him with a length of rope coiled over his shoulder. "If you're climbing, you will want this."
"That… will indeed be invaluable, yes," Vahkiir agreed, prompting Voryn to chuckle deeply as he took the rope from him. "Thank you as well."
"Not at all," Voryn replied airily. "After all, we also wish to see you to succeed. After traveling with you for so long, we consider you a treasured companion, and your triumphs are our triumphs."
Vahkiir felt an unexpected wave of warmth rush through his chest. "You humble me," he said softly.
"Excellent! Nothing good comes from excessive pride, after all," Voryn laughed as he clapped Vahkiir heartily on the back. Vahkiir was uncertain how to respond to that, so he simply chuckled in agreement as he slung the rope over his shoulder.
"Now then," the old man prompted, and Vahkiir turned back to him. "Are you ready to begin? A word of caution – do not underprepare, but do not overburden yourself either. Take what you need, but only what you need."
Vahkiir held up a hand and knelt down, opening his pack to take stock of his inventory. If he was traveling alone, he had enough food for about four days. He also had his blanket, bedroll, and tent, so making camp would not be difficult, though he might have to make do without a campfire while on the mountain, as he saw few trees. He kept his tinderbox just in case, though. Other than that, he felt it wise to also take his knife and his bow, but anything else he could leave behind.
Once he had shed some of his unnecessary weight and handed it to Brevyn – to Ilga's annoyance, he noticed – he wandered back over to the old man and nodded. "I am as prepared as I believe I can be," he announced.
The old man nodded and stepped aside, extending an arm towards a stone bridge spanning the length of the narrow river that formed a natural barrier between the small village and the mountain. "Then you may begin whenever you are ready, Dovahkiin. Kyne guard you."
"I don't know about Kyne… but I certainly hope the All-Father is listening," Vahkiir murmured to himself as he began hiking towards the towering mountain.
"Whoever summoned me had best have something exceedingly important to speak with me about!" Vahkiir growled angrily to himself as he once again nearly slipped on a loose patch of snow, despite the spikes he had fastened to his boots.
It was the third day since Vahkiir had begun his ascent up the Throat of the World, and while he was clearly making progress, he was also utterly exhausted. Nearly the entire surface of the mountain was coated in ice and snow, which constantly threatened to give way under him, and what little stability was offered by the stone of the mountain was often rendered useless by the fact that it was almost universally covered in a thin layer of ice. Each step was harrowing, as Vahkiir not only had to endure the fatigue of traversing the difficult terrain, but he had also begun to fear that the ground might give way under him and send him plummeting into an unseen crevice… or worse, careening over the edge of the mountain.
What's more, the weather itself seemed determined to hinder him. Vahkiir was constantly buffeted by wind, ranging from a whistling breeze to deadly gusts that buffeted him every which way and seared his skin with razor-sharp flecks of snow. He found that he could mitigate this somewhat by hugging the wall of the mountain as he climbed – which also kept him away from the edge – but when the wind blew straight at him from ahead or behind, he could only lower his head and endure the flaying wind with gritted teeth until it passed and he could continue to climb.
Worst of all, the higher he ascended, the thinner the air became. He had begun to notice it on the second day, when he found himself starting to strain for each breath. At first he had passed it off as fatigue, but as the day wore on, he realized that he was struggling to inhale even when he was at rest. By the morning of the third day, after a cold, fitful night of sleep, he awoke light-headed and unrested, and throughout the day he had been gasping for lungfuls of air. Spots occasionally flashed before his eyes, and he twice noticed the edges of his vision darkening before he managed to pull himself back into consciousness.
The only saving grace about the hike was the path itself. Vahkiir was evidently far from the first person who had scaled the mountain, as a wide road had been carved into it, allowing him to walk up the mountain rather than truly climbing it – though, given how poorly maintained it seemed to be based on all the ice and snow impeding his progress, it was a limited blessing at best. He did, however, have to admit that the countless stairs that had been laid before him did help him tremendously whenever he encountered a rise or dip in the road. Despite his internal complaints about the climb, he begrudgingly had to admit that it could have been far more difficult if the pilgrims that preceded him had not carved a path for him to follow, and for that he was grateful.
Vahkiir was startled out of his thoughts when his foot slipped on one of the smooth black stairs, and he narrowly caught himself by throwing a mittened hand out to brace it on the side of the mountain. He let out a disgusted hiss as he straightened up and resumed trudging up the path, leaning heavily on a thick branch that he had found along the way, which he was now using as a walking staff.
Ahead of him, the road curved to the right, and beyond it he was afforded a stunning view of Skyrim. As he reached the bend in the road, he paused for a moment, both to catch his breath and to reluctantly admire the scenery. Though he still had no love for the land, Vahkiir had to admit to himself that there was a powerful beauty about Skyrim. The land had a raw strength, from its vast tundra-covered plains to its deep forests, and the hardy settlements in between. From where he was standing, he could just make out a city in the distance, situated atop a hill and crowned by what seemed to be some sort of palace with a high, heavily-sloped wooden roof. He couldn't help but wonder which city he was gazing at, and whether Nerevar and his caravan had already visited it… or intended to do so in the future.
A faint growl behind him caused the hairs on the back of Vahkiir's neck to stand up, and he quickly spun around to find himself staring down a snarling, savage beast that was watching him from about ten feet away. It stood about a head taller than him, and its grey, muscular body was largely covered in a thick coat of shaggy white fur. Three malice-filled black eyes were fixed on him, and its mouth opened in a feral roar, revealing dagger-sized fangs.
Vahkiir felt liquid heat run through his body as he pulled his bow from his back and quickly notched an arrow, but before he could pull it back, the creature charged towards him on all fours, lumbering forward on its knuckles with surprising speed. Vahkiir hissed and rolled to the side as it drew a trunk-sized arm back and swung at him, which thankfully missed him completely. When he tried to pull the arrow back, however, he was horrified to find that he lacked the strength to do so. The sparse air had sapped his energy to the point that he was simply unable to properly defend himself against the beast.
As the troll turned towards him again, Vahkiir lowered his bow and instead inhaled as much of the thin mountain air as he could. When it began charging at him, he narrowed his eyes, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "FUS RO!" The air in front of his mouth erupted forward and slammed into the beast's chest, sending it sliding backwards for a few feet. As it stumbled towards the edge of the cliff, Vahkiir felt hope spring alive in his chest. To his dismay, however, the troll managed to catch itself and regain its balance with mere inches to spare, whereupon it shook its head and let out another savage roar.
Vahkiir panted as he desperately tried to suck more air into his lungs. His vision swam as the beast lumbered towards him again, roaring with unbridled fury. However, he simply could not draw enough breath to shout again, and his arms trembled as he tried to raise his bow. Grimacing, he squinted as the troll raised its arms and let out a savage shriek of sadistic glee.
"IIZ SLEN NUS!" an unfamiliar voice shouted. Vahkiir gasped as a rush of cold air washed over him. Gritting his teeth, he momentarily looked down to blink the snow out of his eyes, and when he looked up again, he was shocked to find that the troll was frozen solid in front of him, its arms suspended in midair and its mouth open in a soundless snarl. His heart hammered as he edged out from under the beast and looked around, until his eyes fell on a figure standing only a few feet from him.
The stranger was about the same height at Vahkiir, though their build was markedly slighter, to the point that Vahkiir could not tell for certain if they were male or female. Their body was hidden beneath thick, billowing robes of brown wool, a hood covered their head, and their feet were covered by heavy fur boots. On their face they wore a strange mask, seemingly made of copper, which was carved with eyes that seemed half-closed, a strange rune on the forehead, and a triangular hollow in the center that replaced both the nose and the mouth, giving the mask a strangely stern yet subservient expression. The stranger gripped a golden staff in their gloved hand, the head of which was carved to resemble a stylized dragon head. Vahkiir stared at them silently for a few moments, and the stranger did the same, before finally motioning at the troll.
"You may wish to move," they said blandly, their baritone voice suggesting that they were male. "My Shout will not persist for much longer."
Vahkiir looked up to see that the ice covering the troll was starting to crack, and its jaws abruptly crunched close to break through the shell encasing it. It let out a roar as it tried to swing its arms free of its icy prison.
"Move!" the stranger ordered Vahkiir curtly. Vahkiir quickly backed away, and the stranger lowered his staff. As the troll turned towards him, a fireball erupted from the mouth of the stylized dragon. It struck the beast directly in its chest, sending it stumbling backwards with a pained yell. The stranger kept his staff lowered and unleashed another blast of fire, which again connected with the frightened monster. This time, the impact send it staggering backwards towards the edge of the cliff, and in its panicked state, it did not realize that it had lost its footing until it was already careening over the edge. The troll let out a terrified roar as it fell out of view. Vahkiir shuddered, not daring to peer over the side to confirm that it had indeed fallen to its death.
The stranger let out a weary sigh as he lowered his staff. "Apologies for the interruption," he said calmly.
"No… not at all. I must thank you for your intervention," Vahkiir replied, inclining his head gratefully. "Were it not for you, I would already be dead."
"Think nothing of it, Dovahkiin," the stranger replied easily. Vahkiir stared at him in surprise, eliciting a chuckle from him. "Did you think I would not know who you are? Who else would be climbing this mountain, armed with the thu'um? All of Skyrim and beyond heard your summons… and I have been waiting to meet you for quite some time."
Vahkiir felt an uncomfortable prickle on the back of his neck. "Then you have me at a disadvantage," he replied slowly, gripping his bow a bit more tightly. "You know who I am, yet I cannot say the same about you."
"Of course. Allow me to introduce myself," the stranger replied, placing a hand on his chest and bowing his head. "I am Vokrijun."
Vahkiir frowned faintly. "That… sounds familiar," he said slowly, trying to recall where he had heard the name before. After a few moments, his eyes then widened with recognition. "You… would not be the one who commands dragons, would you?" he asked breathlessly.
"Is that what they say?" Vokrijun asked, seeming amused. "Well… I suppose there is some truth to that." He then lowered his head slightly. "And you are a dragon-slayer. Tell me… was it you, perhaps, who slew Iizlaarnah?"
Vahkiir felt his heart starting to pound again as he raised his bow, though he didn't nock an arrow. "It was," he confirmed slowly. "And a dragon guarding a pass in Veloth."
"Is that so? I see," Vokrijun said thoughtfully.
"Is that why you were waiting for me here?" Vahkiir asked suspiciously, his grip tightening on his bow. "Do you seek vengeance for killing your dragons?"
Vokrijun tilted his head slightly. "Do you believe I am angry about that?" he asked airily. "If so, let me assure you, I am not. It is the nature of dragons to challenge one another, and it is inevitable that one must triumph. In your case, your triumph results in the death of the dragon that was fool enough to fight you. But why should I be angry with you, when such is your nature? I may as well seek vengeance upon the wind for felling a tree."
Vahkiir frowned and lowered his bow slightly. "Then… what do you want with me?" he asked bluntly.
"Your aid," Vokrijun replied simply. "And for you to continue following your nature." He motioned above him, towards the peak of the Throat of the World. "Do you know what awaits you at the summit of this mountain?"
"I… do not," Vahkiir admitted slowly, his frown deepening.
Vokrijun nodded. "The Throat of the World is dominated by a dragon – one who is very ancient, and very powerful," he explained. "It is he who summoned you here… most likely to kill you."
Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. "To kill me?" he repeated.
"You are Dovahkiin, and therefore a threat to him," Vokrijun explained, leaning on his staff. "The only beings on Nirn who can permanently kill a dragon are Dovahkiin. Thus, it stands to reason that he summoned you here so that he could end your life before you could end his. In truth, it is rather clever of him. After all, you shall only grow stronger as you slay more dragons. Better for him to call you now, when you are weak and inexperienced – freshly hatched from the egg, as it were – than to face you after you have slain many of his kin and made their power your own."
Vahkiir stared at Vokrijun for a long moment, then growled in a low voice, "You still have not answered my question. What do you want with me?"
"I want nothing of you. I will, however, advise you that it is in your best interest to follow your nature… and to slay the dragon that waits above before he slays you," Vokrijun said pointedly.
Vahkiir lowered his bow and let out a scoff. "You just said that the dragon who waits above seeks to challenge me now, when I am still weak. Yet you claim that I should rush to face him?"
"I did not say that you could not best him," Vokrijun replied calmly. "Only that he would prefer to face you before you grow even stronger. But you are a dragon's natural hunter. Even now, he fears you. After all, you have already proven that you are skilled enough to slay dragons. You bested Iizlaarnah, did you not?"
Vahkiir shook his head slowly. "And what do you gain from the dragon's death?" he retorted coldly.
Vokrijun raised his head and again stared up at the peak of the Throat of the World. "That dragon is largely to blame for the chaotic state Skyrim is in now, Dovahkiin. It was he who set into motion the events that have caused this era of endless warfare. The blood of thousands, if not millions is on his talons." He looked down again, fixing Vahkiir with his stare. "I have no quarrel with you, Dragonborn, but he-"
Before Vokrijun could complete his thought, a shadow suddenly fell over them, and a rush of cold wind blew across Vahkiir's back. He turned around in time to see a massive form land heavily on the path, kicking up a shower of snow and ice crystals that slowly fluttered back down to the ground. An enormous grey dragon turned its bright eyes on Vokrijun, and before either man could speak, it opened its massive maw and unleashed a roar of unbridled rage at the masked figure.
"Volaan!" the dragon bellowed, its deep voice echoing off the stone walls of the mountain and making Vahkiir's teeth vibrate. "I commanded you once before to govey yourself from my junaar! I shall not ask again!"
Vokrijun stoically stared up at the furious dragon, defiantly holding his ground. "We need not be enemies," he replied simply. "All I ask is that you allow me to complete my task-"
"I know your purpose, joor," the dragon snarled. "I granted you an audience once. My answer remains unchanged. Zu'u dein daar strunmah! This is my domain, and I shall not yield it, nor what I dein, to you!"
Vokrijun lowered his head slightly, leaning a bit more heavily on his staff. "It is unwise to war with us," he warned in a much colder tone than Vahkiir had yet heard from him.
The dragon raised his head and hissed dangerously. "Pah meyz grah zu'u. Only one dov ever forced me to qiilaan, and they are long gone. As for the rest, if they seek to seize my territory… drun lahvu. You will need every dov you can muster if you would gahrot my domain by force." His upper lip curled in a snarl. "Until then, I shall not ask again. You are unwelcome here. Remove yourself… or I shall, naal fus."
Vokrijun held the dragon's gaze for several long, tense seconds, while Vahkiir apprehensively glanced back and forth from the dragon to the man. Finally, Vokrijun relented, turning away slowly and facing the edge of the mountain. "Lotkrahkest!" he shouted, and the air around him vibrated with the telltale shivers of the thu'um. There was a long pause, and then Vahkiir noticed a faint flapping sound that quickly became louder. A pale blue dragon rose from below the mountain, beating its wings furiously as it struggled to hover near the edge of the cliff. Its eyes lingered on the grey dragon, but when the latter growled at it, it immediately turned to Vokrijun and lowered its massive head to rest it on the edge of the snow.
Vokrijun reluctantly climbed over its head and onto its back, before turning back around. "Dovahkiin!" he shouted, turning to Vahkiir. "It was a pleasure to meet you, and it was pity that we could not speak longer. If you would, seek me out at the ruins of Bromjunaar. There is much that I still wish to discuss with you."
Vahkiir did not reply as Vokrijun settled at the base of the dragon's neck while it continued to flap in place while staring at the grey dragon. When said dragon let out another threatening growl, however, the blue dragon turned and flew away, with Vokrijun staring over his shoulder at Vahkiir and the grey dragon until they were out of sight.
The grey dragon then abruptly swung towards Vahkiir, fixing him with its piercing gaze. Its eyes burned with barely-restrained fury, and Vahkiir's body tensed. He felt a burning in his chest, as though some hidden part of him was struggling to assert dominance, to answer the tacit challenge of the dragon before him. They glared at one another silently for a few long moments, before the grey dragon finally spoke.
"Dovahkiin," it said in a softer, more controlled tone than it had used with Vokrijun, though there was still an undercurrent of barely-restrained violence. "You have answered my summons. Pruzah."
Vahkiir's hand shook as his half-numb fingers gripped his bow, watching the dragon warily. While he did not implicitly trust Vokrijun's words, he nevertheless remained cautious in case what he said did ring true and this dragon chose to attack. "You were the one who called for me?" Vahkiir asked.
"Indeed. I am the in, the master of this strunmah," the dragon replied, its tail swishing slowly behind it. "My name is Paarthurnax."
"Well, I am here. So, why did you summon me?" Vahkiir demanded coldly. "Do you seek to kill me?"
Paarthurnax tilted his head, suddenly seeming amused by the question. "I had not planned to," he replied with a deep chuckle that made the snow under his stomach shake. He then narrowed his eyes at the bow in Vahkiir's hand. "Not unless you give me cause to do so," he added in a much more dire tone.
Vahkiir felt another surge of anger race through his chest, but he forced himself to remain calm. There was no need to rise to this dragon's challenge… at least not yet. "Then what do you want with me?" he asked again.
Paarthurnax let out a low hum, then opened his wings and leapt from the ground, beating his powerful wings to keep himself aloft. "We have much to discuss," he answered simply. "I will await you at the koor. Miir bex. There are no dangers in the road before you. Climb swiftly, and once you arrive, I will answer your questions."
Vahkiir watched as the dragon rose through the air until it reached the peak of the mountain, which it circled twice before settling atop it. He narrowed his eyes irritably before sucking in a deep breath of air to let it out in an irritated sigh.
"You could have simply flown me the rest of the way," he muttered irritably as he resumed his miserable trudge up the side of the mountain, shivering as another gust of cold wind washed over his battered form.