InsaneJournal

PREVIOUSLY: After a dragon named Mirmulnir attacks the Western Watchtower in Whiterun, Andrel is dispatched by the Jarl to go help the town guards take care of the threat. When Mirmulnir is slain, Andrel absorbs his soul and knowledge, and unleashes his first Shout on a morbidly curious guard. He is summoned by the Greybeards to High Hrothgar, where he can learn more about what he is and how to use his newfound abilities.

A SHORT PREQUEL -- darkwater crossing - a pit stop before High Hrothgar.

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The road from Darkwater Crossing to Ivarstead carried Andrel and Lydia high into the Jeralls. The trek upward was tiring, but he knew once he'd made the Seven Thousand Steps, this hike would pale in comparison. By the time they got to Ivarstead, he was exhausted. They'd been walking for almost a full day, only making brief stops when necessary.

The settlement of Ivarstead was bigger than Darkwater Crossing, but smaller than Riverwood. Riverwood wasn't anything special but even that little hamlet had a decent economy - it was enough to boast a blacksmith, general store, and the mill.

Vilemyr Inn was to the right of the bridge as they entered the hamlet, and the inside was small, but warm. As he approached the counter, the owner of the inn peered up at him from behind the counter. "Welcome to Ivarstead, kinsman. The name is Wilhelm. What can I get for you?"

"We just came in from Whiterun. We need two beds for the night, and as much food and mead as we can get with this," Andrel requested, putting a pouch full of gold on the bar.

"There's a few rooms open right now. Pick whichever ones you want and get settled in. They're yours for the day. Lynly will bring you two something to drink and whenever you're ready, we'll bring your food."

"Much obliged. Do you get many visitors here?" he responded. "You must have felt the mountains shake yesterday."

Wilhelm nodded. "The Greybeards haven't called on anybody like that for centuries, not since ol' Tiber Septim." A moment of speculation, and he stared at Andrel. "You were the one they were calling for, aren't you, boy?"

Andrel nodded. "A dragon attacked the western watchtower outside of Whiterun. We went out there and we killed the dragon, but after it died, I absorbed its power. I can hardly believe it, myself, but I'm hoping the Greybeards will have some answers. The last few days in general have been difficult. I was at Helgen, too, when it was destroyed."

"By the Gods, the Dragonborn here in Ivarstead... The Divines have a plan for you, that much is sure. Tell you what, your mead and food is half-off."

"That's not necessary, sir," he chuckled. "I'm not looking for special treatment."

"Well, at least allow me to do something for you this one time," Wilhelm insisted. "

A sigh, and the Dragonborn smirked. "Very well, thank you. But henceforth, please allow me to pay the full amount for your services."

"Of course, Dragonborn," Wilhelm nodded.

He was so used to being called "lad" by strangers, the name sounded foreign to his ears. News in Skyrim travelled fast, and it would have been impossible for anybody to not hear the Greybeards' call. He supposed this was something he was going to have to get used to, because before long, everybody would be calling him "Dragonborn".

"If you'll excuse me, I need to go rest. Tomorrow my friend and I will be going up High Hrothgar so I can answer the Greybeards' summons."

"Alright. Enjoy your meal, and when you go up tomorrow, watch out for the wolves. And I think Klimmek mentioned a frost troll den being up there near the end... Use fire."

Andrel bowed his head and settled at the table next to Lydia. The pair spent the rest of the day resting their tired limbs, fueling their bodies for the next height of their journey to the monastery. A small table in the corner was claimed as they sat and talked over mead, while Lynly serenaded them with her lute.

Bards were important, whether anybody wanted to admit it or not; they boosted morale. The inn was quiet when they came in, and that was fine, but when one settled in, the last thing they wanted to hear was silence. Music provided a cozy ambience and a pleasant distraction from one's thoughts.

The evening passed and when the sun rose, Andrel felt a light push against his shoulder. Opening his eyes, he laid in the bed for several minutes to gather his wits before he forced himself out from under the warm hides. He joined Lydia in the main hall of the inn for some breakfast, and when they had food in their bellies, they left the inn and walked down the path to the bridge that lead to the monastery.

Across the bridge and up the first small set of stairs was a small wayshrine. As he approached, he could make out words etched into the stone, which he read out loud. "Before the birth of Men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus, their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs, for the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."

"There's bound to be more of these as we go up," Lydia said, adjusting her belt. "I reckon you'll have a lot of questions by the time we get up there."

"Like I don't already?" he laughed in response, leading her up the pathway. A couple goats trailed up ahead of them.

"Fair enough," Lydia replied with a grin, pacing to keep up with him. Her eyes perked as she heard a pack of wolves howling in the distance. "By the Gods, that's chilling."

"We'll be okay, Lydia," he reassured her. "They're more afraid of us than we are of them, but they are territorial. If we see them, we just have to make noise, throw some rocks perhaps, and they'll leave us alone."

"Good point," she replied. "Still, keep your eyes peeled."

As they turned into the next switchback, the path was walled by a large cliff, making their path seem a lot more narrow. As he looked down, Ivarstead was far below them, already, and they weren't even yet to the top of the mountain. His head craned up to look at the massive cliff towering over him, but he turned his attention back to the path until they came to the next wayshrine.

"Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus; The Dragons presided over the crawling masses; Men were weak then, and had no Voice," he read. The path was blanketed in a thin layer of snow now, and there was a chill in the wind.

"I'm sure you're going to ask the Greybeards about these wayshrines," he heard Lydia say. "But if you're interested in reading more about this, Farengar may have some books for you to read over."

"I am, but I am also interested in those books. When we get back to Whiterun, I'd appreciate it if you showed me which ones to look at. You've lived in Skyrim a lot longer than I have."

The path continued uphill, and a large boulder almost obscured the path going forward. He thought for a moment they'd already found another switchback, but it veered off to the south again as they walked. Now, it was snowing and the winds were howling. As they turned the corner, there was a small, steep incline. Looking behind him to Lydia, he nudged his head in the direction of the path. "It's a bit steep here. Watch out."

"Of course, thank you."

The path curled up west and to the south again, and as they got further up the path, there was a small clearing with another wayshrine, tucked into the corner.

This time, Lydia read out loud. "The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times; Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices; But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts..." – That's a reference to the Merethic Era. The old Nords of Skyrim used to worship dragons. They were the closest thing we could physically see of the Divines, then. Specifically, Akatosh."

Each of the wayshrines had what appeared to be a dragon's head carved below the etched tablets.

"And Akatosh created the dragons," he responded. "Admittedly, before now, I didn't used to think much about them. A passing thought here and now, but I was sure they were dead, just like most other people."

"Let's press on, shall we? Keep the blood flowing."

They continued on for a good distance. The edge of the path was now marked with squared stone columns and small piles of rocks with linen flags tucked in. The trail zig-zagged up and down the mountain a couple times before they found the next wayshrine.

"Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man; Together they taught Men to use the Voice; Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue," he read.

"One book you should definitely look into is The Book of the Dragonborn. I don't know if Farengar has a copy of it, but I imagine somebody would have it somewhere. Perhaps the College of Winterhold?"

"I don't doubt the College would have it. But if I find it sometime before then, I will read it."

"Excellent. Now, come on. We have to be getting closer, this mountain can't go on forever."

"Good point. How are your legs feeling?" he smiled.

Lydia laughed. "They're getting sore, that's for sure. Which is why we need to keep moving."

As they continued, the path with straight uphill to a canyon. Lydia put her hand in front of his chest, keeping him from going forward and drew her sword.

"Did you see that? Something's up here," she spoke, her eyes darting around their surroundings. He could hear some sort of growling, but it became apparent what they were facing. A creature covered in white fur was charging them. It had three black eyes, sharp teeth, and moved on its two hind legs.

"It's the frost troll!" he yelled. Drawing his sword, he readied his weapon but bathed the beast in a spout of flames from his palm. The troll swung at Lydia, slashing into her chest, but her steel armor protected her from the worst of it, though it did knock her aside. The attack bought him time to muster up enough energy to use his Voice.

"FUS!"

The troll staggered backward and roared at him, enraged by the Dragonborn's attack. It swiped again, this time at him. A searing pain erupted from his upper arm, the claws of the troll cutting into his flesh. He yelled in pain, clutching at his arm. Ignoring the sensation, he swung his sword, the tip creating a deep gash in the troll's muscular chest. Lydia was at his side and attacked again, putting every ounce of magicka she had at her disposal onto the creature, and Andrel followed suit, tossing his sword aside in the snow to use both hands. The troll recoiled from the heat, snarling and thrashing as they cornered it, and the troll fell dead.

Lydia picked up Andrel's sword and stuffed it back into his sheath for him, when she noticed the blood running down his arm in streams. "By the Gods, are you okay? You're bleeding, badly."

He winced, and knelt down, gathering some snow in his hands to wipe away the blood on his arm. "I'll be fine, just give me a minute to heal this." As he hovered his hand over the wounds, he watched as a golden light emerged and the wounds knit themselves to a close. He had some scars, but at least he wasn't bleeding. "What about you? Are you okay? It knocked you down."

"Would have been a lot worse if you'd not used your Voice. Thanks for that."

"Just because you're my housecarl doesn't mean I'm not going to watch your back, too. Sovngarde may sound like a nice place, but you're no use to me there."

"Good point. Now go read that next wayshrine. It's at the end of this canyon."

"Who's in charge here, again?" he smiled, giving her shoulder a light shove. "Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world; Proving for all that their Voice too was strong; Although their sacrifices were many-fold."

"I'll leave that one for the Greybeards," Lydia commented. "We can't be too far off."

"The innkeeper said the frost troll den was near the end, so you're probably right."

They could barely see downhill at this point. The wind was biting cold and snow was everywhere they looked. They couldn't even see downhill, at this point. The path went downhill and to the right, where they found another wayshrine.

"This is the sixth one so far," he commented to Lydia. "This one says, 'With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer; Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice; Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World'. That must be when the dragons started dying or disappearing."

"Exactly. The Dragonguard started hunting down all the dragons loyal to Alduin. They were basically driven to extinction. Until now, we've all thought them to just be extinct."

Fifty paces uphill, and they found another. This one was right at the edge of the cliff, looking down.

"The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled; Jurgen Windcaller began His Seven Year Meditation; To understand how Strong Voices could fail."

"I see another one, right up here. Gods, these are getting close. I hope we're getting closer to the monastery."

"Let's keep moving," he agreed. As Lydia pointed out, he made it a short way up the trail before they found another wayshrine, tucked into another little corner. "Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned; The 17 disputants could not shout Him down; Jurgen the Calm built His home on the Throat of the World."

Without stopping to chat more, he continued on down the path and Lydia followed. As they rounded the corner, High Hrothgar was finally in view. They'd made it. He soon found another wayshrine, this one settled underneath a statue of Talos. He figured if these Greybeards were so powerful, the Thalmor wouldn't dare come up here to pick a fight over it. Not only would it be petty, it'd be stupid, on their part.

"For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name; Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar; They blessed and named him Dovahkiin."

"That's you," Lydia joked in the background. "Striking resemblance, honestly."

"Are you always this funny?" he retorted, tugging her along. There was one last wayshrine, standing at the bottom of the staircase. A twin set ran around the center tower of the monastery. "The Voice is worship; Follow the Inner path; Speak only in True Need."

Up the staircase, the Dovahkiin opened the door and stepped inside with Lydia. The winds were muffled, though now they sounded more like whistling. A man in grey robes approached him and Lydia as they entered. He couldn't tell how old the man was, but his face was marked with great age, his face wrinkled and hair a dull white.

"So...a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of the age," the man spoke. He had a soft voice.

"I'm answering your summons," Andrel replied. "This is my housecarl Lydia, she accompanied me here. Is it alright if she stays?"

"Of course, Dragonborn. Now, we will see if you truly have the gift. Show us. Let us taste of your Voice."

Lydia moved out of his way, but stood off to the side so she could watch. She'd gone quiet out of respect, and was simply there to observe, now. She gave him an encouraging glance, and he turned to the man, using the only Shout he currently knew. His Voice was loud and echoed through the temple, hitting the Greybeards from the front, though the one who spoke didn't stagger as much as he'd expected.

"Dragonborn, it is you," the man said with a faint smile. "Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?"

"You summoned me. I want to know what this all means," he replied.

"We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."

"And what is my destiny?"

"That... is for you to discover," Master Arngeir clarified. "We can show you the Way, but not your destination."

"I'm ready to learn whatever you can teach me. I have a lot of questions."

"I will answer those questions to the best of my ability, Dragonborn," Arngeir spoke.

"Thank you," he responded. His legs were tired, but he ignored the dull ache in his bones in favor of listening to the Greybeards.

"Now, tell us everything of note that's happened to you in the last week. Spare us no details, we are here to help you understand."

"I'm from Cyrodiil," Andrel started. "I came to Skyrim to join the Imperial Legion and help in the Civil War. I was caught in... I don't want to say the 'wrong place at the wrong time'. I'm not a criminal, but I was taken to Helgen and I was to be executed there. When I was about to be killed, that's when I saw the first dragon."

"Yes, go on," Arngeir encouraged. "It was a misunderstanding, I presume. Why things happen the way they do cannot always be explained, especially where the Divines are concerned. What did he look like?"

"Black, and red eyes. The way his hide and scales were, it reminded me of molten rock. He landed on the tower just above me and when I looked up, we were looking each other in the eye. I got this feeling, and then I didn't know what it was."

"But it's becoming clear to you now," Master Arngeir finished, with a slow nod. "What else can you tell us?"

"When I left Helgen, I started hearing voices. They were incomprehensible at first, but they seemed to be coming from Bleak Falls Barrow. I ended up going there as a favor to the Jarl, and when I found the innermost chamber, there was a wall with runes. They were louder once I was right there."

"When you have the Dragon Blood, or you've studied Dovahzul the way we do, you become sensitive to its power. The Rotmulaag, words of power, want you to come and find them, Dragonborn. You aren't going mad," Arngeir reassured him. "Now, we know you killed your first dragon just a couple days ago, and you've already learned how to use your Voice. It is our duty now to help you hone it. I know you must have many other questions, but you will have answers to them in due time. For now, we have a couple things to teach you."

One of the other Greybeards approached him, though he didn't know his name.

"Ro..." was the only word the man uttered, and the speech manifested into the ground before him. The runes were the same alphabet he'd seen in Bleak Falls Barrow, and the meaning of the word plunged into him, the same way "fus" at the word wall had.

"Master Einarth will now give you his understanding of "Ro"," Arngeir spoke. Master Einarth gave a small bow, imparting his knowledge to Andrel as Arngeir circled them. "Ro in the Dragon Tongue means "balance". "Fus" means "force". Together, these two Words will work in harmony and you will have more stability and poise when you use them together. By itself, "fus" is raw, unbridled power. It needs focus to work at its full potential."

Master Arngeir stopped once he was in front of Andrel again, and backed up. "Go on, show us again. And do not worry about harming us, we can handle it. Let the meaning of these words envelop you, and let it loose."

"Very well then..." he replied. Lydia backed out of the way again, and he turned to Master Arngeir, giving him the breadth of his "attack". Arngeir stumbled much more this time, but Andrel didn't stagger as much as he did when he first used his Voice on them. The very ground seemed more secure under his feet, but his Voice unleashed chaos on anything in his direct path.

When Arngeir was stable on his own feet, his mouth curved into a smile. "Impressive. Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn. We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri."

The one named Borri turned and went up the small set of stairs, opening a door to a large courtyard. In the near distance, he could see a tower and an archway. The archway was blocked by winds so heavy, he couldn't even see the path ahead. Though High Hrothgar was still windy and snowy in its own right, the localized heaviness seemed to him to be a protective magic, concocted by the Greybeards, themselves. Borri instead walked off to the left, towards a small clearing with a large gate.

"Now we will see how you learn a new Shout," Master Arngeir instructed. "Approach Master Borri again. He will teach you the first word of Whirlwind Sprint."

Again, Master Borri imparted the Word and his knowledge to Andrel, who soaked in the new information like a linen sopping up water.

"You learn a new Word like a master. And now, we'll see you put it to use. Master Wulfgar, a demonstration."

Wulfgar gave the Dragonborn a short bow before turning towards the gate. Borri stood off to the side of the gate, where he Shouted.

"Bex!"

The gate flung open, and Wulfgar Shouted in succession.

"WULD... NAH KEST!"

Wulfgar was carried forth with the wind, stopping just a few feet short of the cliff's edge, past the opened gate, which had closed. Arngeir urged Andrel to go next and moved out of the way to allow him room. Staring at the small pillar, he waited until Borri opened the gate again.

"WULD!"

In a giant swoosh over the snow, he found himself half-kneeling next to the pillar, clinging to the freezing stone. His stomach was lurching from the sudden movement, like he'd jumped off a cliff - ironic when the cliff's edge was right there. Pushing himself to stand again, he crossed back over to Arngeir.

"Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is...astonishing," Master Arngeir commended. "I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself..."

"Thank you," the Dragonborn replied. "What now?"

"You are ready for your next Trial, Dragonborn," Arngeir responded, walking towards the fortress again as Andrel followed. Lydia trailed after them. "Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in the ancient fane of Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return."

"I still have some more questions, do you mind if we talk inside?"

"Of course, Dragonborn."

Once they were inside again, Master Arngeir lead him to a table with a couple chairs. Lydia stood off to the side, still watching her Thane.

"So, I'm assuming the dragons returning has something to do with me," Andrel started. "We read the etchings on the Pilgrimage on the way up."

"The appearance of a Dragonborn at this time is not an accident." Arngeir replied, his hands folded on top of the wooden table. "Your destiny is bound with the return of the dragons, but your destiny is for you to decide, Dragonborn. We cannot decide it for you, and are only here to help guide your path.

"Yes, Master."

"Do not stress yourself," Arngeir warned. "You are new to Skyrim, and you should first work on making a name for yourself in other ways."

"What about the Horn?"

"The Horn is your test to take when you feel you are ready," Arngeir replied. "There is no rush. Do not let your easy mastery of the Voice tempt you into the arrogance of power that has been the downfall of many Dragonborn before you."

"Of course, Master. I understand."

"Soon your path will be made clear," Arngeir reassured him. "For now, take your time. What did you come to Skyrim for?"

"I don't suppose you would be happy to hear this, but I initially came to Skyrim to join the Legion. My father served in the Great War. I also wanted to travel."

"I can respect your desire to help, Dovahkiin. Join the Legion if you truly desire to do so, but always beware of what you're fighting for. Perhaps take some time to think about what that purpose is."

"Understood. Thank you, again," he responded. The part of him that came to Skyrim to join the Legion, came because he wanted to join the Legion like his father. However, Master Arngeir provided a fair point. Was he joining for him, or was he simply following in somebody else's footsteps?

"Any other questions?"

"I hear you talk so much of the 'Way of the Voice', but what is it?"

Master Arngeir clutched his fingers and shifted in his seat. "The Voice was a gift of the goddess Kynareth, at the dawn of time. She gave mortals the ability to speak as dragons do."

"Right," he replied.

"Although this gift has often been misused," Arngeir continued, "the only true use of the Voice is for the worship and glory of the gods. True Mastery of the Voice can only be achieved when your inner spirit is in harmony with your outward actions. In the contemplation of the sky, Kynareth's domain, and the practice of the Voice, we strive to achieve this balance."

"And what about me? What should I do if I wanted to follow the Way of the Voice?"

"That's commendable, Dragonborn. Remember, though. The Dragon Blood itself is a gift from Akatosh. Do not try to deny that gift. Your destiny requires you to use your Voice. As long as you use your Voice to the purpose of Akatosh, you will follow the Way."

"And what of Alduin? He's a dragon. He was gone, but now?"

"Yes, he is, and was. By your description, he is the one that you saw in Helgen. There is much you do not know, but you will learn when the time is right. As I said, there is no rush. You can trust us, Dragonborn. We would not obstruct your path without good reason."

"Understood, but what does this all mean, being Dragonborn?"

"Some believe that Dragonborn are sent into the world by the gods, at times of great need," Arngeir replied. "Whether a gift or a curse has been a matter of debate down through the centuries. You are mortal, but you have the blood and soul of a dragon. You possess a great deal of potential power, but beware that your skill does not outstrip your wisdom."

"And this is why you want me to do other things, for now?"

"Precisely, Dragonborn. I won't say much more on this matter, but dragons - even those like Alduin - are bound by a certain code of honor. Your destiny is tied to Alduin, but he will not attack you when you are not ready to face him. It wouldn't be fair, when you're just starting to figure out what you are. Such is their way," he told him. "Now, you must go. Return to High Hrothgar when you are ready."

"Yes, Master Arngeir," he agreed, standing and pushing his chair in. Cocking his head at Lydia, the pair wove their goodbyes to the other Greybeards and traveled back down the mountain.

When they reached Ivarstead again, they took refuge in Vilemyr Inn. He couldn't tell what time it was, but it looked to be around noon. The trip to High Hrothgar had been quicker than he thought it'd be. Getting up the mountain was the hardest part. His legs were aching again, and it was a massive relief to sink into a chair near the warmth of the fire pit, a flagon of mead clutched in his hand as his legs stretched out.

"So, how do you feel about everything?" he heard Lydia ask him. Opening a single eye to glance over at her, he grunted.

"Enlightened," he decided after a moment of silence and a sip of his mead. "Things are beginning to make a lot more sense. I want to find literature on the Dragon Wars as soon as I can, but not before I rest both my mind and my poor body. It's been a long last few days for me."

"Understood," she replied with a laugh. "For a second I thought I was going to have to drag you down the rest of the way."

"Endless running around, and I haven't even gone to Windhelm for Annekke, yet," he groaned. "Once we're back in Whiterun, I'm going to bunk in the Bannered Mare for a few days. Maybe if I ask nicely, the man with the axe there will chop my legs off for me."

"Okay, but do you have any extreme thoughts?" she laughed. "There's a house for sale in Whiterun, just by Warmaiden's. Proventus could tell you more about it. With how hard you work, you'd have that house in no time, and I'd be there to watch over it for you while you're gone."

"I'll look into it," he promised. The idea of having a home was nice. He couldn't carry his possessions with him forever, after all. "Gods, I don't even know how much coin I have."

"Most steeds here cost a thousand. I reckon the house will be quite a bit more than that, but once you get it out of the way, you don't have to worry about it, anymore. It'll be worth it, I promise you. And after that, the gold will keep piling."

"I hope so. Being taken made me near-penniless. Hadvar and his uncle in Riverwood helped a good lot with making sure I had something after Hadvar and I got out of Helgen, but now I'm on my own. I suppose I can take on some small jobs around Whiterun and start building a fund up for myself."

"Good plan. If you're looking for work, there's plenty around Whiterun. Someone like you would be a great fit in Jorrvaskr. I think they have lodging there for the members and you could probably keep your things safe there, until you can buy a home."

"The Companions, eh?" he asked.

"They're a group of mercenaries. People pay them a good amount of coin to solve problems around Whiterun. I don't know them very well, but I know Kodlak Whitemane is their Harbinger. You should talk to him, if you're interested."

"You had me at 'bed' and 'chest'," he chuckled. For the rest of the day, their conversation was filled with talk of dragons, Alduin, and Ustengrav. Lydia was helpful in her many suggestions. He wouldn't go to Ustengrav for a while, but he couldn't put his finger on an exact date.

The Greybeards wanted him to make a name for himself and become known in the community as somebody other than the Dragonborn of legend, so that's what he would do. His stance on joining the Legion was still favored, but he respected Master Arngeir's warning, and was going to wait and travel around to see what he could before he settled on anything. For the first time in nearly a week, he felt at ease.