Chapter 19

Reading

"This is almost certainly a trap," Nerevar commented blandly, his fingers resting on the hilt of his sword as he gazed at the scroll.

"Oh, without question," Tarius agreed as he stood up from the ground and dusted the snow off of his knees. "One does not simply forget an item as valuable as an Elder Scroll. Furthermore, he seemed quite… intrigued when he heard my name. Consider also that he asked me if my line did indeed have prophetic abilities. It does not take a sage to realize that he intended to leave this behind for us to find, in the hopes that I would read it."

"What… is that exactly?" Vahkiir asked, still shivering lightly from the after-effects of Vokrijun's Shout.

Tarius turned towards him with a faint smile. "This is an Elder Scroll, a divine item of prophecy. It is said that the Aedra – the gods, the Eight Divines – scattered them throughout the world to serve as beacons to guide us along the myriad paths of the world that they have laid before us. Elder Scrolls contain prophecies which, once read, become imprinted upon the fabric of Nirn. From that point on, any event that has been foretold by an Elder Scroll will come to pass, through one means or another."

"You know a great deal about them," Voryn commented.

Tarius chuckled. "My ancestor, Tari, was a seeress who possessed the ability to read the Elder Scrolls," he explained. "After Al-Esh's rebellion, she founded the Imperial Library and made it her life's work to gather, catalogue, and maintain the scrolls. She was… marginally successful, as the Scrolls seem to have a will of their own. It is as though they wish to be known at certain points, and lost in others. Even if one obtains an Elder Scroll, there is no guarantee that they will keep it."

"And Vokrijun simply left it for us? To what end?" Vahkiir asked. "Is it dangerous?"

Tarius looked down at the Scroll again. "It is not a weapon, if that is what you are asking. The only danger lies in the knowledge that it contains. He most likely wishes to share the information that is written within," he replied. "It is possible that he intends for us to reveal its contents to him, though I suspect he has already read the Scroll himself, or relied upon another to do so. I wonder if he believes that whatever is in the Scroll is so compelling that it will convince us to join his cause."

"Then do you know what it says?" Vahkiir asked.

Tarius glanced down at the Scroll in his hand, then shook his head. "Not without reading it," he admitted.

"And it takes a specialized seer to divine the Scrolls," Vehk added. "Telepe said as much in his writings."

"That he did," Tarius agreed with a faint smile.

"Fortunately," Vehk continued, staring directly at Tarius, "it is also said that the gift passes through bloodlines."

Tarius' smile faltered almost immediately. "Ah… well, yes, as I said, my grandmother did possess the ability to read the Scrolls," he stammered. "But… that does not necessarily mean that I share that ability."

"Did your grandmother not also pass on the technique to read the Scrolls, especially to her kin?" Vehk pressed. "If not, that seems rather irresponsible of her."

Tarius hesitated. "Well…." He sighed heavily and looked down. "I… must confess that, yes, I do know a method of discerning the Scrolls. However…."

"Something is troubling you," Nerevar concluded.

Tarius looked up again and nodded slowly. "Allow me to explain. Reading the Scrolls exacts a heavy toll on the reader. Without careful preparation, one can suffer debilitating effects… particularly instantaneous blindness. Novices who attempt to read a Scroll without proper instruction and careful preparation have been known to be struck blind as soon as they opened one."

"I see," Nerevar said softly, running his fingers along his chin. "And it would be most unfortunate for you to suffer without even learning what it contains."

"Well, they do obtain some information," Tarius corrected him. "Even though they lose their sight, the knowledge does come."

"Then it seems a worthy price to pay," Voryn remarked.

"To you perhaps," Tarius retorted coldly. He then sighed and held up his hand. "Though it is more than that. While the knowledge they obtain is accurate, it is also fragmentary. Incomplete. They do not grasp the full picture of what is to come, which can only be gleaned by multiple readings from the same Scroll. In essence, they trade their eyesight for a scrap of knowledge that is of limited use to them. It is not an even trade."

"I see. That is concerning," Nerevar admitted. "However… did your grandmother pass the knowledge of how to read them down to you?"

Tarius looked down again, heaving a heavy sigh. "Well… yes. She did," he confessed. "However, just because I know how to read an Elder Scroll does not mean that I have ever attempted to do so."

Nerevar tilted his head back, his eyes widening with understanding. "And you are afraid that doing so now will cost you your sight," he concluded.

"It is more than that," Tarius replied, looking up again. "Even if the reading is successful, one still sacrifices part of themselves. Tari read a Scroll three times in her life, and managed to avoid total blindness. However, her vision was still heavily damaged afterwards. It was said that she had difficulty seeing more than a few feet before her, and she spent much of her time after the war in her library and her apothecary because she did not need to see very far to complete her work. What's more, her vision continued to dim throughout her life, even without reading another Scroll."

Nerevar nodded sympathetically. "And you do not want the same to happen to you?"

"Of course not!" Tarius snapped. "I cherish my sight! Furthermore, the blind Ancestor Moth Priests who have completed their final readings must retire to a remote location, to live out their days tending to the moths that are used to interact with the Scrolls! I have no desire to retire just yet, not when I can do so much more good as the Primate of Kynareth!"

Vahkiir frowned, folding his arms over his chest. "Then you would refuse to help us?" he asked bitterly.

"I… am sorry," Tarius said, glancing away, his face downcast with shame.

"Mm. And here I thought that you were the descendant of heroes," Vahkiir remarked coldly, his voice heavy with disappointment.

Tarius raised his head again, his face flushing with anger. "I am not my ancestors!" he snapped. "I know well that I am no hero! I may share their blood, but I am well aware that I cannot equal their deeds! To that end, I have no illusions about who I am and what my station in life is! I am a servant of the gods, but I also know well that I am no saint! I am nothing more than a simple man!"

"And were your ancestors not?" Vehk asked quietly.

Tarius turned towards him, narrowing his eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

"Tell me, were your ancestors born as demi-gods? Were they ada, kin to Pelinal and Morihaus?" Vehk asked, slowly pulling off his helmet so that he could gaze at Tarius directly. Though his words could have been construed as mocking, he was keeping his voice level, as though he was simply asking a pointed question. "Are you the child of gods?"

Tarius snarled. "Elf…." He growled warningly.

"Telepe, Tari, and all the other Nedes who took part in the rebellion were nothing more than men as well. They were not born saints," Vehk pressed. "It was their actions, their deeds, that led to them becoming heroes. It was because they had the courage to face difficult trials that their names have passed on into your legends, so that even we Chimer know of them."

"Yes, but I have no desire to become a legend myself!" Tarius protested.

"I doubt that they did either," Vehk retorted calmly, folding his hands serenely in front of himself. "When Telepe set out on his journey, I do not believe he sought fame and renown. When Tari was finally freed from her chains, her first thought was not imprinting her name into legend. They acted as they did because it was what Cyrod needed of them. They did not wish to become heroes, but they are regarded as such because of the actions that they took in spite of the danger that they faced." He nodded down at the Elder Scroll in Tarius' hand. "And that is what we are asking of you now. Whatever is contained on that Scroll may prevent the return of the dragons, and in turn, the destruction of our world. All that stands between us and that knowledge is a bit of courage on your part."

Tarius opened his mouth, then closed it as he glanced around furiously at the expectant faces surrounding him. He let out a low growl, before finally sighing heavily, his breath escaping his open mouth in a heavy stream of mist. "Very well," he snapped as he ran his hand down his ruddy face. "However, I will need time to prepare, and I will not do so out here in this blistering cold. Let us find shelter in one of the houses, and I would request that you guard me while I conduct the ritual. This will take some time, and I do not wish to be attacked before I can read the Scroll."

"Agreed," Nerevar said immediately. "It would also be wise of us to ensure that the house we select is clear before we enter it. It may indeed be that Vokrijun does not know what is written, and wishes for us to reveal it. I have no desire to grant that wish."

"Oh, I believe I can ensure that any building we enter is secure," Tarius said tartly. "Come."

The priest led the way across the snowy ground, muttering to himself as he inspected the ruined houses they passed by. The others followed silently in his wake, almost as though they were afraid to say anything else to him, for fear that he might change his mind. After wandering the city for a few minutes, Tarius finally stopped in front of a mostly-intact house. Its front door was missing, but the roof had not caved in like most of the other buildings.

"Now then," he said softly to himself as he held up his hand. "Molag." A stream of fire erupted from his hand, washing through the cramped single room of the house. The flames coated the stone floor, burning away the stray snowflakes that had covered the interior over the years, but not rising any higher than a few feet above the ground. After holding the spell for several seconds, Tarius exhaled and finally lowered his hand.

"I did not see the outline of Vokrijun's form in the flames… nor did he run screaming out of the building," Tarius noted drily. "I believe it is safe to assume this house is unoccupied. If he is inside, he is quite unhappy." He turned back to the others, then added, "As I've said, this will take some time. If you could gather some wood to put in the firepit while I am readying myself, this will make the process much more pleasant for all of us."

Vahkiir moved to carry out his command, but when he turned towards the door he saw that four of the Nordic guards had already left to begin searching the other houses for spare wood. The rest of the guards encircled the house, forming a protective ring around it with their spears at the ready and their eyes carefully scanning the surrounding area for any sign of Vokrijun approaching. Vahkiir, Ilga, and the elves were thus left to enter the building with Tarius, with the former drawing their own weapons and watching the door and the interior carefully for indications that Vokrijun might have managed to sneak inside the house after all.

With little else to do, Vahkiir turned his attention back to Tarius, who slowly knelt down on the bare stone floor. He took a deep breath, then lowered his head and closed his eyes, holding his interlaced hands out before him as he did. He then began chanting to himself in a foreign tongue. It seemed to be a blend of Nordic and Elvish, from what he could tell – some words he recognized, others he thought sounded like Nordic but were pronounced slightly differently, and still others were completely foreign to him.

"What language is that?" Vahkiir asked, leaning over to whisper to Vehk, who seemed to know the most about the priest.

Vehk was watching Tarius curiously as well, his slender arms folded over his chest. "Cyrodic," he replied quietly. "It is the native tongue of the heartland Empire, a blend of Nordic, Nedic tribal tongues, and the Ayleid language – which, in itself, is derived from Altmer. While I am not fluent in the tongue, I know enough Nordic and Ayleid to get the gist of what he is saying. He is offering a prayer to Kynareth, the goddess of the air, to guide him through this trial and to grant him the sight that his ancestor once possessed."

Vahkiir nodded and fell silent as Tarius raised his voice. He almost seemed to be singing as he reached into the satchel around his shoulder and withdrew a thin, gossamer sheet of white fabric. He began waving the fabric around his head as he continued to chant to himself, and his head slowly tilted back even as his eyes remained closed.

"He is now calling upon Kynareth to bless his veil, spun from the silks of the Ancestor Moths," Vehk whispered before Vahkiir could ask. When he noticed Vahkiir's blank look, he explained, "The Ancestor Moths are creatures that have an intrinsic connection to the Elder Scrolls. I heard that the Cyrods devised a way to use their silks to allow them to divine the Scrolls, though I must confess that I do not know how exactly, as I have never seen this ritual performed before."

Vahkiir nodded and turned back around, watching as Tarius's large form swayed back and forth as he continued to flutter the cloth in a circle above his head. His chanting became faster, more frantic, and as Vahkiir watched, the veil began to glow with an ethereal golden light. As the priest's chanting became even louder, the cloth's light became more intense, both seemingly building to a crescendo. Then, at last, Tarius took a deep, steadying breath, fastened the veil around his eyes, lifted the scroll, and opened it in front of his face.

Vahkiir felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end as Tarius gasped, a shudder running through his body. For several seconds, he was silent, his breath coming in short, almost feverish pants. However, just when Vahkiir was about to ask him if he was unwell, he began speaking in a breathless voice.

"I see… a mountain, covered in snow," he murmured, his head turning back and forth as though he was gazing at a scene that no one else could see. "There are three figures, standing before a great, grey dragon. Above them is a black dragon, as dark as night and as malevolent as the cruelest Daedra in Oblivion. They are shouting at it… banishing him, sending him away…."

"Those might be the ancient heroes who first defeated Alduin," Ilga intuited in a low voice. Vahkiir glanced over at her and held a finger to his lips – he didn't want anyone interrupting Tarius, who seemed to be almost in a trance.

"However, the black dragon has not been fully cast away," Tarius continued, lowering his gaze towards something seemingly on the floor. "He is adrift in a rainbow-colored river, yet he appears… tethered. Anchored, somehow. As though a rope, made of golden light, has wrapped itself around his tail, ensuring that he cannot be fully lost in the stream that he now finds himself adrift in."

Vahkiir shot a curious look at Brevyn, who caught his gaze and shook his head. Tarius exhaled slowly as he looked down again, falling forward only to catch himself on one hand, while the other continued to grip the Elder Scroll.

"Now… now I see a figure, climbing to the top of a mountain… he is wearing a crown, and clutching something, but I cannot say what. A stone, perhaps? It is difficult to tell." He shook his head again. "He – or she, I do not know – is calling out words, but I cannot hear them. Below them, scores of twin brothers fight, their blades driving into their bodies, though none fall dead. And… above them, the sky darkens, and a pair of black wings appear from a crack in the sky, heralding the return of the black dragon that was cast adrift."

"So, the prophecy that told of Alduin's return," Vahkiir concluded. "But does it say how that prophecy will come to pass?"

"I… I cannot say for certain," Tarius admitted, leaning forward as though he was trying to see something. "However, while the vision fades, I can see another before me. I am falling down, down, through the ice and deep into the earth. I am walking through a crevice as deep as a mountain is tall, amidst a forest of mushrooms that glow as brightly as the stars. There, in the midst of the forest, glows a star brighter than all others. It is calling to me, singing with the music that I first heard when I opened this Scroll. It…!"

Tarius suddenly let out a gasp, then seized up and fell forward completely onto his hands. The Elder Scroll fell from his fingers and rolled across the floor, coming to a stop at Nerevar's feet. The elf gingerly picked it up as Vahkiir and Brevyn hurried forward, pulling Tarius gently back into a sitting position as he shivered. His face had turned red, and a fine sheen of sweat was glistening on his forehead as he gasped for breath.

"Peace now, peace," Brevyn said soothingly. "Do you need water?"

"N-no," Tarius stammered, gazing around warily. "I… I cannot see. All is dark! This… I feared this would happen!"

Bile rose in Vahkiir's throat as guilt welled up inside of him. "I am sorry," he murmured. "But there was no other way. If this cost you your sight-"

"No… no, it may not have. At least not yet," Tarius muttered as his plump body slowly stopped shaking. "The tales claim that my grandmother also lost her sight for a time before she recovered from reading the Elder Scrolls, so I should not fear that the loss is permanent just yet. Only… only time will tell. I suppose I must have courage until then." He sighed as he reached up to pull the veil off his eyes. To Vahkiir's shock and horror, his irises had turned completely almost white, and his pupils were dilated to the point that they nearly covered half his eyes.

"Allow him to rest," Nerevar said, as he approached Tarius and put a hand on his shoulder. The thick man flinched at the elf's touch, but did not pull away, partially because he was left glancing around for the source of the contact. "He has more than proven his courage, and he deserves a respite."

"Quite… and he has also proven himself worthy of his name," Vehk added in a low voice. Tarius' blank eyes turned towards him, widening slightly with surprise. Vehk met his unseeing gaze and smiled faintly. "Your ancestors are certainly smiling upon you now, Primate."

"Yes, well… I can only pray that I have proven to be of some help to you," Tarius muttered, his cheeks flaring bashfully. "In truth, the prophecies laid forth by the Elder Scrolls are often difficult to interpret at best. I cannot say for certain if what I saw was mere allegory, or an actual event that may yet come to pass."

"Well, let us begin with the figure upon the mountain, then," Voryn suggested. "I presume that was Vokrijun standing upon the Throat of the World?"

"I cannot say," Tarius admitted. "His face was obscured – and not by a mask, I mean that the face itself was hidden in shadow – and his voice unfamiliar to me. Perhaps that is by design. It may have been Vokrijun, or it may have been another. Perhaps it was simply an indication that anyone could perform the actions that the Elder Scroll showed, and that the figure itself was irrelevant. The Scrolls would not reveal their identity to me."

"I see," Nerevar said slowly.

"Well… the twins fighting is obvious, at least. It falls in line with the prophecy of Alduin's return," Ilga remarked. "'Black wings in the cold, that when brother's wage war come unfurled.' The ongoing civil war is the most obvious candidate for that portion of the prophecy."

"That is a reasonable deduction," Tarius agreed, crossing his legs as he set his hands in his lap. "As you no doubt concluded, I suspect that this Scroll was the origin of the prophecy about Alduin's return, which is undoubtedly why Vokrijun himself took such an interest in it. However, as I have said, the vision is as yet incomplete."

"Ah… but it provided a clue as to where we might find the rest of the prophecy, did it not?" Voryn pointed out.

"Quite," Tarius agreed. "Based upon the singing of the moths and the light, it is likely contained in another Elder Scroll, buried deep beneath the earth…."

"In the realm of the Dwemer," Nerevar concluded. A grin began to spread across his lips as he turned towards Vahkiir. "So, our paths once again seem to follow the same course."

"Indeed," Vahkiir agreed, a reluctant smile tugging at his own lips. "Though I certainly will not complain."

"Quite," Tarius nodded. He slowly looked down towards his hands, a more distraught expression settling over his face. "If… in the event that my sight does return, and you manage to retrieve the other Scroll, I… I will offer to read it for you as well."

Vahkiir grimaced slightly to himself. "That is… kind of you," he murmured. "However, you have already done more than enough, and I do not wish to tax you further. I apologize for pressuring you into reading this scroll. Perhaps there is another-"

"Undoubtedly," Tarius interrupted drily. "The ability to read the Scrolls is hardly unique to my family. Anyone who has a connection with prophecy can do so, and there is an entire order dedicated to scrying the Scrolls in my homeland. However, since we are not in Cyrod, and since we know that I can discern the Scrolls, the simplest solution is for you to simply bring the Scroll to me once you have finished retrieving it."

"Then you are not afraid?" Nerevar asked.

"Of course I am!" Tarius snapped. "Even if my sight does return, it is entirely possible that the next reading will rob me of it! Nor is there any guarantee that my sight will return, so this may simply be a meaningless offer!" He then sighed. "However, assuming that my eyes do recover, then that is a clear indication that I did in fact perform the ritual correctly, so as long as I do so again, there is little risk that I will lose my sight conducting a second reading. According to my grandmother and the other Ancestor Moth Priests, if one does not hastily read them as a novice might, the Scrolls will supposedly warn the reader when their eyes will fail upon their final reading, and I can simply stop reading before then. So! Find another Scroll, return to me with it, and assuming I have not already been struck blind, I will scry it for you once more."

Vahkiir's eyes widened, and then a grateful smile spread across his lips. "You have my gratitude," he said softly.

"You can repay me, then, by ensuring that this madman does not effect Alduin's return, if such a thing is indeed possible," Tarius replied curtly.

"Well said," Nerevar agreed. "So then… would you like to be escorted back to Whiterun?"

"I feel that would be best, yes," Tarius agreed as he unsteadily pushed himself to his feet. Nerevar immediately hurried forward to offer him his arm, which Tarius clutched tightly with one hand, while the other pawed in front of himself as he staggered forward unsteadily, trying to maintain his balance without his sight to guide him. "I will await your return in the city, and hopefully my eyes will be healed by the time that you return."

"Then it would be our honor to see you safely back to the city, Primate," the guard captain announced, stepping forward to take Tarius' other arm. Together, she and Nerevar began leading him slowly out of the house.

"Wait!" Tarius cried, his head turning back and forth. "Vahkiir! A word with you, first, if you would."

Vahkiir's eyes widened, and he stepped forward as Tarius released Nerevar and the guard's arms to reach out for him. Vahkiir caught his shoulders to keep him steady, and he asked in a low voice, "What is it?"

"I have a confession," Tarius whispered, trying to keep his voice as low as possible so that no one else could hear. "I did hear what the figure on the mountain said, quite clearly. He spoke two words, and though their meaning is unknown to me, I suspect that they were in the Dragon Language."

"A Shout?" Vahkiir asked, his eyes widening.

"Perhaps," Tarius murmured back. "My knowledge of the thu'um is limited, so I cannot say for certain. However, if you would like, I can share the words with you."

Vahkiir hesitated. He was uncertain what good the words would do him, since he had no desire to learn the Shout that might free Alduin. However, if he did, perhaps he could at least inform Paarthurnax, who might then be able to devise a way to counter them. "Please," he replied finally, leaning in closer so that no one could hear.

Tarius nodded and leaned in a bit more. "The words that I heard were Tiid and Gron. I do not know what they mean, but Shouts typically contain three words, yes?"

"They do, according to Paarthurnax," Vahkiir confirmed.

"Hm," Tarius murmured. "Then the final word might be in the other Scroll. If so, be very cautious. It is possible that Vokrijun might already know of this, and could be using you to obtain he final word that he needs."

Vahkiir scowled deeply. "Then perhaps we should avoid seeking the Scroll out altogether," he said.

Tarius, however, shook his head. "Unfortunately, we do not know how much he knows. It may also be that he is aware of where the Scroll is, and has already left to retrieve it for himself. Admittedly, that does not explain why he allowed us to view the prophecy, but it is still a possibility that should not be discounted. Either way, the safest course of action is for us to retrieve the Scroll first, to ensure that he cannot take it for himself."

"I concur," Nerevar said, having been listening in from the entrance to the house. "To that end, our next consideration should be how we are going to find our way underground." A slight smile spread across his face. "However, that is not what we should be doing next."

"Then what should we do?" Vahkiir asked.

Nerevar's grin. "For now, let us see Tarius safely back to Whiterun. As I said, he has done more than enough for us, and I daresay has earned a rest."

"I should hope so," Tarius muttered as he leaned a bit more heavily on Vahkiir's shoulder. "I was merely sent here as an envoy and advisor, not to sacrifice my vision. Worthy cause or not, if I remain blind, this will be quite difficult to explain to my wife." He then let out a dry chuckle. "Though given how she speaks of me sometimes, I imagine that she would prefer it was her who was struck blind, so she need not endure my ghastly appearance any longer."

Despite himself, Vahkiir let out an amused snort of laughter as he helped the corpulent priest out of the house.

As with the journey to Bromjunaar, the return to Whiterun was, thankfully, rather uneventful. The guards remained on high alert for any sign of Vokrijun, but if he was stalking the caravan, he did nothing to make himself known. No dragons flew overhead, and no one they passed on the road dared draw near the caravan. The skies likewise remained clear, and the weather was even somewhat warm for that time of year, almost resembling early spring rather than winter, so the journey was actually quite pleasant.

Tarius rode in the supply wagon they had brought with them, much to his chagrin. Despite his soft, portly appearance, he had walked alongside the wagon throughout the journey to Bromjunaar, and he seemed rather annoyed that he had been rendered invalid by his blindness. When Vahkiir asked him why he would have preferred to walk, he explained that pilgrimages were a part of a priest's life, and that those who followed Kynareth especially were expected to walk whenever they could, to better develop their connection to the open air and the wilds that she so cherished. Furthermore, his ancestors were famous for trekking all throughout Cyrod, and he sought to emulate them as much as he could. To that end, he was quite irritated about the fact that he could not perform what he considered a sacred duty. He understood the necessity of riding in the wagon, so that he did not slow down the others, but that did not make him any less unhappy about it.

After spending the night in the roadside longhouse once again, they set out early the next morning, and by mid-afternoon, Whiterun was once again in sight. As they approached, however, Vahkiir was surprised to note that there were several warriors carrying shields emblazoned with Whitrun's stallion emblem marching back and forth outside the walls. As they approached, the captain in charge of one of the formations noticed them and stopped them well outside of the gates.

"State your… ah," she said, noting the priests that were accompanying the caravan. "Jarl Olaf was expecting you. I presume that your errand was completed without incident?"

"Not wholly without incident, but our task was completed successfully," the lead priestess replied with a slight smile. "The wards protecting the outside world from Morokei's evil have been replenished, and Kyne has been properly worshipped and appeased."

"Why are there so many warriors out here, if I might ask?" Vahkiir asked, eyeing the men behind her warily.

"These are new recruits who have just joined our army in anticipation of our march on the Chimer in the east," the captain replied. She cast a glance at the elves behind them, then shrugged indifferently, apparently deciding that she did not care if they heard her or not. "As the campaign is expected to begin shortly, many young warriors have asked to join, seeing it as an opportunity to gain riches and glory for themselves and for their families."

"And I imagine they will relish the chance to turn their blades on us, rather than each other, for once," Brevyn muttered darkly in Vahkiir's ear. Ilga, who had been standing on the other side, punched him in the shoulder, but while she glared at him angrily, she did not outright refute his comment.

"I see," Vahkiir said softly, ignoring the pair behind him. "You said that Jarl Olaf has been awaiting our return?"

"He is," the captain nodded. "The guards outside of Dragonsreach have orders to allow you and two companions in once you arrive. I would recommend that you make haste, as he seems eager to hear about what happened."

"I shall hurry to meet him, then," Vahkiir replied with a slight bow of his head. "Thank you for informing us."

The captain nodded cheerfully, then turned back to her men and began barking orders. Vahkiir watched as the formation marched away, though a few of the new warriors were craning their necks, trying to catch a glimpse of him and his entourage. He did not meet their eyes, however, and instead turned to Nerevar.

"What of the rest of you?" he asked in a low voice. "We will need to travel in a different direction yet again, and Llervu…."

"Allow me to speak with him," Nerevar assured him with a warm smile. "His reaction is my concern, not yours. You should not keep Jarl Olaf waiting. Take Tarius with you as well. Once you are done speaking with him, you can find us in the longhouse we stayed in last time. There, we shall discuss where we should travel next."

Vahkiir closed his mouth and nodded stoically. "I shall leave you to it, then," he said. Nerevar responded with a smile, and then without another word, the pair set off in opposite directions – Voryn and Vehk following Nerevar, while Ilga and Brevyn trailed behind Vahkiir as Tarius leaned on his shoulder for support.

After climbing the hill to Dragonsreach, they were greeted at the front gates by two guards. One of them recognized Vahkiir immediately, and stepped aside to allow him in, while his companion stared at them curiously, but said nothing as Vahkiir and his companions walked into the grand hall of the palace.

Unfortunately, at that moment, they were not the only ones in the grand hall. Jarl Olaf was leaning forward on his throne with his fingers laced, facing down a pair of commoners, who were shouting at each other furiously while his gaze drifted from one man to the other. Vahkiir was uncertain what the argument was about, though it seemed to be about a pig working its way into one of their pastures. Olaf glanced up slightly as Vahkiir and the others walked in, and though he didn't make any overt motion, he subtly nodded to one of the long tables on either side of his throne, where dozens of others were already seated. Vahkiir nodded in return and led Tarius, Ilga, and Brevyn to the end of one of the benches, where there was still some space. They then settled in as Olaf returned his attention to the pair shouting before him.

The court continued for the next hour, with various petitioners approaching the throne and announcing their troubles to the jarl, who listened patiently to each of them. Vahkiir, however, soon lost interest, and after about ten minutes, he was tapping his fingers impatiently on the table, waiting for the others to clear out.

"Court politics not to your liking, Dragonborn?" Tarius asked quietly. Vahkiir jumped slightly, startled by Tarius' sudden question, and he wondered how the man had noticed his irritation when he was supposedly totally blind. "I could hear you tapping and feel you fidgeting on the bench," Tarius explained, almost as though reading Vahkiir's mind, which only served to unnerve him even more. "Such is the duty of a nobleman, to listen to the complaints of his people and to render judgement."

"Yes, I know," Vahkiir replied in a low growl. "I was once almost named chieftain of my own village, and I was informed that much the same would have been asked of me."

"Indeed?" Tarius asked conversationally, still facing away from Vahkiir, his unseeing eyes turned slightly upwards from behind his veil. "Then it sounds as though you avoided a fate you would not have enjoyed, doesn't it?"

Vahkiir blinked, his gaze slowly returning to where Olaf was listening carefully to a woman pleading for him to lower the tax on her husband's grain. For years, he had been bitter about the fact that he had not been named chieftain of his village. Yet, listening to these dull proceedings, he had to concede that Tarius had a point. Why did he want to be named chieftain? Was it simply for the title? The prestige? If these were the duties that accompanied the position, would he not have been miserable? He would have been unable to wander as he pleased, to hunt when the mood struck him, to roam the island for days when his restlessness got the better of him. He would have been confined to the chieftain's longhouse, forced to listen to the myriad problems of his fellow villagers, no matter how great or small, and then he would have been expected to pass judgement on matters he cared very little about. Why, then, had he ever been envious of Muldok? Why had any Dragonborn sought to rule, if they were all supposedly restless as he by nature? If this was what awaited him as a ruler, then he would be wise to refuse any crown that was ever offered to him.

At last, the crowd of petitioners began to thin as Olaf worked his way through their problems. When only a dozen remained, he turned to a woman to his right. She nodded and held up a scroll. "Jarl Olaf wishes to announce that court has ended for today!" There was a chorus of groans, but she immediately raised her voice and added, "Those of you who were unable to speak with him this afternoon, return first thing in the morning and you will be heard! For now, Jarl Olaf bids you a good evening!"

The remaining members of the crowd let out audible groans of disappointment, but when the courtier narrowed her eyes at them, they reluctantly began making their way towards the heavy double doors. Vahkiir began to rise as well, but Olaf caught his eye and shook his head. Vahkiir slowly sank back into his seat, waiting until the Great Hall was empty. Once it was, Olaf sighed and slumped back into his chair as a servant approached him with a silver goblet. Olaf accepted it with a nod and took a long swig before lowering it and motioning at Vahkiir to come forward.

"So," he said wearily as he swirled his goblet around. "I see that you've brought Tarius with you… and he appears injured," he remarked, motioning to the veil covering his eyes. "I imagine that there is a tale behind that, but first, Tarius, let's see you to a healer, shall we?"

"I assure you, my Jarl, there is no healer that can repair the damage to my eyes," Tarius replied, turning his head in the general direction of Olaf's voice. "Not unless you know one who can dispel the magic of an Elder Scroll."

Olaf stared at him blankly, then turned back to Vahkiir with a suspicious frown. "It seems that your adventure was even more interesting than I had expected. Explain," he commanded, leaning forward on his throne.

Vahkiir immediately began retelling of their encounter with Vokrijun – of how he had claimed to have been taught by Morokei, of his purported goal of uniting Skyrim under the rule of the dragons, and of how he had left the Elder Scroll for them to find. He also briefly described the prophecy that Tarius had witnessed, though he left out the words that the figure on the mountain had spoken. Olaf listened closely, idly turning his goblet in his hand, until Vahkiir finished, "…and thus we arrived here."

Olaf frowned as he looked down at his goblet again, then took another slow drink of whatever was within his glass. "Then Vokrijun is indeed an enemy of all of Skyrim," he sighed. "However, while I believe you, I doubt that many of my compatriots will… or, even if they do, I suspect that they will not care."

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes in anger. "He has outright said that he wishes to summon a dragon that once subjugated the world! That he seeks to bring all of Skyrim to heel under Alduin's talons! And yet your peers would not move against that?!"

Olaf chuckled grimly. "If we lived in a time of wise, rational men, yes, they would immediately band together to stop him. But men in this era are not rational," he sighed. "A few of my peers have already declared their intentions to try to ally with him, and though they may not know his goals, I suspect that even if they did, they would dismiss them as fantasy, or else they would claim he does not truly mean what he says. They care nothing for his motives, only that he possesses the power to command dragons, and they feel that they can use it for their own ends. They believe that they can control him." He looked down at his cup again, his expression darkening. "Worse, I suspect that a few might even agree with him. He is not the only man in Skyrim who seeks an end to this war, no matter the means or the cost. Some would happily present their wrists to be chained if it meant that they could at least live in peace. In their minds, it is better to be a slave than a free man who is trapped in an endless cycle of war and death."

Vahkiir's stomach turned, and he nearly retched in utter disgust. "They would help him?!" he demanded.

"A few would, yes. When the world around you seems mad, what can you trust? Perhaps another mad scheme will put an end to the insanity that surrounds you," Olaf suggested bleakly.

Vahkiir scowled, folding his arms over his chest. "Yet you said that you believe me," he pointed out.

"I do," Olaf confirmed with a nod as he lowered his glass.

"Then… will you help me stop him?" Vahkiir asked.

Olaf sighed heavily again. "Alas… I cannot." Vahkiir's eyes widened with fury as Olaf grimaced sympathetically. "I am as bound to this war as any of my fellow jarls, I am afraid. I must tend to Whiterun's interests first. To that end, I must continue to fight this war, and if I were to invest my men in fighting Vokrijun, I would be weakening myself and leaving my city open for a counterattack from one of my rivals. Worse, there is little chance that my warriors would prove successful in defeating Vokrijun's dragons. None of them are Dovahkiin, after all."

Vahkiir continued to glare up at Olaf, unmoved by his reasoning. "You seem to have plenty of men to spare if your army outside your gates is any indication of your strength," he retorted coldly.

Olaf chuckled bitterly as he set his goblet down on the silver platter that the servant was still carrying beside his throne. "As I said, I must still play my part in this war," he said grimly. "To that end, I have raised as many levies as I can in preparation for marching on Veloth, to help bring an end to the Chimeri rebellion."

"Oh! So you have men enough to partake in a fool campaign halfway across Tamriel, but not enough to help prevent the conquest of your own homeland?!" Vahkiir shouted, his hands curling into fists.

The guards still standing in the hall abruptly began unsheathing their weapons, but Olaf held up a hand. He held Vahkiir's gaze as he replied in a low voice, "I am marching with them because I wish to prevent the conquest of my homeland. This campaign in Veloth offers the potential for a glory and prestige… prestige enough to perhaps seize the Jagged Crown for myself." His good eye widened as he lowered his hand. "Consider it, Vahkiir – if I prove myself the finest warrior in Veloth, in full sight of my fellow Nords, I may finally sway the Moot into voting for me to take up the mantle of High King. That would not only end this war, it would also prevent Vokrijun from seizing the crown himself and gaining the means to enact his fool plan to resurrect Alduin. Would it not?"

"And if you do not?" Vahkiir retorted coldly. "What if Vokrijun proves himself the greatest warrior during this campaign? What if he obtains enough prestige to become High King? Will you then meekly bow before him and allow him to tear Skyrim asunder? Will you hold your wrists out for him and Alduin to clasp them in chains?"

Olaf chuckled grimly. "If it comes to that, then I will lead a rebellion of my own against him. I have already captured one dragon, after all." As if to emphasize his point, at that moment, a muffled roar echoed from above them.

"Then I am pleased you have such confidence in your own abilities," Vahkiir spat.

Olaf's smile faded, replaced with a dangerous scowl. "Enough," he growled. "I have tolerated your outbursts, but you are trying my patience. Dovahkiin or not, I will not tolerate insolence so long as you stand within my hall! Curb your tongue!"

"Or what?" Vahkiir snapped, his anger rising.

Olaf simply held his gaze without replying, then lifted one finger. A soft whistling sound rushed past Vahkiir's ear, and he caught sight of something out of the corner of his eye a split-second before an arrow buried itself into the wooden post he was standing beside, quivering before his eyes. Swinging around, he glanced around frantically until he noticed an archer standing by the door, his bowstring still vibrating from the arrow he had loosed, while another stood beside him with another arrow nocked and pointed at him. Vahkiir's heart stopped as Olaf smirked at him. "As I said, Dovahkiin, you stand within my hall," he warned. "Powerful as your thu'um is, I hold the advantage here. Furthermore, as a jarl in this war-torn land, I am also not unused to staring down powerful opponents. The fact that I still hold my throne is proof that I have always emerged victorious… even against a dragon. Do not test my patience."

Vahkiir snarled as he looked away from the arrow, his anger once again beginning to override his momentary fear. Brevyn started to rush forward, but Vahkiir held up a hand to stop him. "Nevertheless, you said that you believe me about Vokrijun," he pressed in a more level tone. "To that end, is there anything you can do to aid me?"

Olaf sat back on his throne, lacing his fingers on his stomach as he gazed at Vahkiir, seeming pleased by Vahkiir's calmer attitude. "As I have said, you have free passage throughout my territory. This… vision that Tarius experienced suggested that the Elder Scroll that you need lies beneath the earth, yes?"

"Apparently," Vahkiir said drily.

"In that case, it seems that you will need to venture into the lands of the Dwemer. To that end, I can direct you to the nearest Dwemer structure in the region – the Tower of Mzark."

Vahkiir's eyes widened slightly. "You have a relationship with the Dwemer?" he asked. "I was told that they were reclusive, that they never speak with outsiders."

"I never said that I have a relationship with them," Olaf pointed out. "Only that I can guide you to their nearest settlement. Entering their realm, whether through diplomacy or through force, will be your responsibility, Dovahkiin. I can provide you with an escort to the tower, but I would recommend that when it is within sight, you approach it on your own. If you venture near the Dwemer with dozens of soldiers at your back, they will undoubtedly view it as an invasion, and they will not greet you with open arms. Not that I expect them to either way, but I would prefer that you not cost my warriors their lives without need."

Vahkiir tilted his head back. "Because you wish to retain as many warriors as you can for the invasion of Veloth?" he asked coldly.

Olaf chucked softly. "That too. Not only are lives are my responsibility, I do also intend to achieve victory in the east, and I need as many men as I can spare," he replied.

Vahkiir narrowed his eyes. "You say that you believe that Vokrijun is a threat, yet you still refuse to fight him? You prefer to leave it to my companions and I, while you march off to some distant land?"

Olaf shrugged. "In this war-torn land, Vahkiir, you seize every opportunity that presents itself, you address every threat that rears its head, and you place your trust where you can. I trust you to deal with Vokrijun, I trust my men to follow me to put down the Chimeri rebels, and I trust my own ability to triumph in the upcoming campaign."

Vahkiir stared at Olaf, cold anger simmering in the pit of his stomach. While he was furious that the jarl was being obstinate about not focusing his attention on Vokrijun, he did have a begrudging respect for the man's ability to face multiple problems at once. "You seem to believe that all of this will work out," he remarked.

"Not necessarily. But I will attempt to triumph however I can," Olaf replied with a slight smile. "If I can claim victory on even one front, I will be that much closer to gaining the kingship and bringing an end to this constant war."

"Perhaps," Vahkiir replied. "Though I wonder if your people will appreciate your cunning… or if your rivals will."

Olaf chuckled softly. "You can see yourself out, Dovahkiin," he replied calmly. "I would recommend you move swiftly, before Vokrijun claims your prize. Kyne watch over you."