Myrmidon takes another deep breath before shuddering. He opens his mouth, almost as though he was going to speak.
He shuts his mouth, and whinnies softly, shaking his head from the left to the right. He blinks.
My face, originally dead serious, turns to confusion. A frown splits itself into my face, and I furrow my brow.
"Let's try this again. No need to shake your head. Blink twice if yes, once if no. Do you have a human's memories of soul?" I repeat myself, my voice shadowed by doubt. There's no way there's a human soul, or mind, in there, right?
He blinks twice, and I let out a quiet breath of air.
I'm going to confirm one more time.
"Once again. I have to be sure it's not a coincidence. Did you use to be a human?"
Myr blinks twice again.
"Shite, man. To be reincarnated as a horse... That's unfortunate."
Myr dips head twice, and I stare at him confused until I eventually realize that he was nodding.
"Wait... How do I know that you're not just a really smart horse?" I ask him.
Myr neighs, and shakes his head.
I sigh, and pinch the bridge of my nose. "I'm still not entirely convinced, but fine. How did you get here? Was it the Benefactor?"
Myr nods. Lydia shuffles her body again, and my attention snaps to her. It'll be preferable to make sure that she doesn't find out about my... reincarnated state.
"Right..." I squat down on the floor. My thoughts swirl around murkily in my head."I don't even know what to do anymore right now. Communication with you will be tedious, at best, and impossible at worst. You, Myr, stay here and rest. I'm going to go check what time it is."
I go back to the window and look out. The storm's over, and the clouds are still there, but I can see golden light hitting the backs of, and breaking through, the dark greyish-blue clouds, like some holy ensemble of colors. Yellow light brightens the shadows of the thinner clouds, while in the thinnest spots, beacons of light shine out.
Some of the clouds melt away in the bright warm light, and make way for the sun to blind people freely.
"A beautiful morning, no?" Arngeir says behind me.
"It is." I answer. His presence would have startled me, were it not for his breathing. It was somehow both quiet and loud at the same time, a raspy one you'd notice sneaking up to you, but also an airy one, one nowhere near loud enough to hear in a room with people speaking quietly to each other.
He stands with his arms folded inside his robe, with the ends of his long sleeves meeting in the middle. The tired and worn look on his face shows his age. His mouth is tightened into a flat, no-funny-business sort of look.
"Seeing that we're both awake, why don't we get started with your training?" Arngeir suggests.
"Won't we wake the others?" I ask in return. Shouting was, after all, still shouting. Well, most of them, anyways.
Arngeir chuckles as though I'd made a joke. "These halls are designed in shape to allow Shouting without disturbing others, in both rest, and meditation. This is, after all, a monastery of the Way of the Voice. If all we heard was each other's Voice, how could we listen to each other to learn to Speak? There needs to be silence in the midst of the noise, lest we all go deaf."
What he just said gives me a subtle confirmation that Lydia's moans did not, in fact, reach the other members of our party or the Greybeards, making me smile a little. Putting aside that thought, I nod, and say, "Then, let's go."
Arngeir guides me to the center room of the monastery, where the diamond on the floor lies. It's the same spot I practiced magic on earlier. The other three Greybeards are already standing on the sidelines, as if they knew Arngeir would take me with him.
"Stand here," instructs Arngeir, pointing to the middle of the diamond.
He stands at the empty corner directly in front of me, and I walk to the middle and face him.
"You have shown that you are Dragonborn." Arngeir begins. "You have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen."
The other three Greybeards walk to the other empty corners of the diamond after Arngeir finishes the introduction.
Arngeir continues. "Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your Voice into a Thu'um, a Shout. Now let us see if you are willing and able to learn. When you Shout, you speak in the language of dragons. Thus, your Dragon Blood gives you an inborn ability to learn Words of Power. All Shouts are made up of three Words of Power. As you master each Word, your Shout will become progressively stronger."
Arngeir gestures to Einarth as he lectures me more. "Master Einarth will now teach you 'Ro,' the second word in Unrelenting Force. Ro means 'Balance' in the dragon tongue. Combine it with Fus - 'Force' - to focus your Thu'um more sharply."
Einarth spreads his arms wide, and a prism of colored energy flows from him to the floor. Whitish-blue glowing characters appear on the floor. It's the Dragon language, and when I read it, I can see the word 'Ro', despite not really 'reading' it, per se, I do understand it. It's strange... I suppose 'reading' is just understanding the way the letters connect and flow to make the word, which provides the meaning.
I whisper the Word, "Ro", and the energy flows from the floor to me. The Word ingrains itself into my mind. A splitting pain erupts, but quickly dulls, then persists. I stumble backwards in surprise. My hands fly to my eyes. My vision darkens.
New information and memories flow through me. Flashing images from the quietest of deaths of old Greybeards whisper to my mind, and the loud, painful births of babies scream into my ears. A soul dies, and a soul is reborn. The images flash.
A young man, born into a rich and powerful clan, watches as his home burns and his family is murdered by a rivalling clan. Years later, he returns to hunt those who killed his family. After he succeeds, he sees a child, a youth from the clan he had almost totally eliminated, who had witnessed the crimes he had just committed. That child promises to himself to kill the murderer of his clan, and so the next image flashes.
Years fly by as the decades pass, and I'm looking over everything, from high up in the sky. The blue lakes dry up, the mountains crumble, forests burn, and animals die. Another image flashes by, and I see the exact opposite. Lakes flooding, volcanos erupting, forests overtaking buildings, and animals overpopulate, choking out other life.
Finally, I see another image. It's of peace and rage, love and hate, grieve and celebration. I hear the whispering voice of a woman, soft and kind.
‹These are the ways the scales are made even. Unrelenting Force results in the death of all. But Time shall pass, and Balance shall be put into the world. Things live, and things die. They hate, and they love. But eventually comes the time when evil is too commonplace, and good is far too little, and so the World calls for Balance. Force to be Balanced, *that* is but another part of Unrelenting Force.›
As the last word is whispered, the pain completely disappears, and my head burns. My ears ring and my vision is spotty, and I can barely make out Arngeir's voice. He sees my reaction, and says something.
"In...ible. A reac... that, is... I don't... -en know... Hello? Are you alright? Can you hear me?"
Arngeir comes to me and speaks to me again. He waves the other Greybeards over and directs them.
"Here, lift him up. Vokrii Hahdrim Ahraan." He Shouts. I mentally translate the words into English as I get healed. 'Heal, Mind, Wound.'
The pain in my head completely disappears, and I sit up. They had pulled me against a wall, which is where Arngeir healed me. Speaking of, he did so using a Shout.
There wasn't any Shouts that healed others in the game, and I don't think there wasn't any reason for that, so Arngeir's ability to heal me using it is, to say the least, impressive.
I sit up, and another wave of pain jolts through my head. The Shout's clearly healed me, but it wasn't enough. It's fine though, as the pain from the headache fades away quickly.
Arngeir, smiling proudly at me with his blue eyes, praises me. "You learn a new word like a master... you truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step... you must unlock its meaning through constant practice in order to use it in a Shout. Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts. As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon's life force and knowledge directly."
Master Arngeir turns to Einarth. "As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of 'Ro'."
Einarth steps forward and spreads his arms. Images flow through my head once more, and my vision darkens again, as energy similar to the one from Mirmulnir flows into me from the man.
An image of wood aflame, floating on a salty sea of ice-cold water. A dark grey... No, black cloudy sky, drifts thousands of feet above me. My vision, no, it's someone else's, watches on as my arms reach across the wood, and grab onto the opposite side, despite the risk of burning my hands. Wait... These aren't my arms. I gasp, as I realize: they're Einarth's. It's his memory.
An explosion rocks the wood, and my body, no, Einarth's, starts to flounder, kicking wildly at the water underneath. Eventually, he calms down, but he constantly has to readjust the positions of his hands, as they keep getting stung by the embers of the burning wood.
Einarth can't let go of the wood, no matter how much it burns him. Einarth doesn't know how to swim. He was never taught to. The slaughterfish... They were too much of a problem to go swimming. He can't climb into the board either. It's much too small for that.
Something brushes by Einarth's legs, and Einarth spooks even more, the wood slipping from his hands, and flipping over with a cheerful little splash. He sinks into the water.
Another terrible wave of fear strikes through his mind again, and the scene changes.
Einarth is older, taller, stronger, having moved far inland, far away from the deep waters of the frigid seas. He's currently an adventurer, hanging onto some hard-earned free time he bought fighting his way up here. Friends stand beside him. Warriors he's fought beside for a long time now. He laughs as one makes an inaudible joke. The waterfall is too loud.
He stands at the edge of the wooden ledge of Bard's Leap Redoubt, a bridge stretching over the deep pool of a waterfall, standing in front of a Nordic Barrow. He can see for miles on end, panning his view from the left to the right, before looking down and seeing the water far, far below him.
His vision pulses and his breath starts to quicken. Beads of cold, fear-filled droplets of sweat slide down his arms, and his forehead. It's not the height. It's the water. A horrid shade of dark greenish-blue, filled with what? Einarth doesn't want to know. Better to not know, than to fall in, only to find out it's not deep enough, or worse, filled with slaughterfish. Einarth is known for being brave, so courageous in the face of goblins, trolls, bandits. But water? The soaking depths of his nightmares are just as bad. He remembers choking, spluttering, trying to breathe. The thick salty water kept filling his mouth, even when he kept his head above the water. He came so close to death... It was after he was saved that the aquaphobia developed.
A girl grabs Einarth's shoulder and spins him around roughly. A Nord girl, around the same age as him.
"It's a leap of faith." She said, staring deeply into his eyes. She pulls the collar of his tunic closer to her, and gives him a kiss, before releasing him, backing up, and saying, "At the same time. You ready?"
She grabs tightly onto his hand, and he nods, shivering. They back up two steps, before jumping off the ledge. I can feel Einarth's fear, his trepidation at the moment, then a realization of some kind. The girl is going to miss. She's not going to land in the water, but smash against the stone. He tries pulling her closer, but it's not enough. Right before Einarth hits the water and the girl dies, the scene changes again.
This time it's a much older Einarth, by about a decade older. He's pacing back and forth in front of a large medical tent, bleached white with a painted red cross on it. Screams can be heard crying out from inside. A female calls out several time, "Push!!", and after minutes of agonizing fear and waiting, a woman comes back out holding a baby, swaddled in cloth. It's Einarth's.
He cradles the child in his hands and holds the baby close. He starts to cry as he holds it. Then, a woman stumbles out from the tent, her stomach large and bloated. Einarth jumps to his feet and runs to her side, holding her and their child close to him. Even more tears flow from his worn eyes, as he lets out the feelings he's been having for years. The sadness and grief he's felt over the years had only grown, while he's been too... weak, too mortal, too incapable of changing their fates.
Decades later, he now stands in front of a grave, holding a bouquet of flowers. It's his wife's. She died, while their child was still young from a crew of bandits, and Einarth had to take care of their daughter on his own. Eventually his daughter has a child of her own, and she leaves her father to build her own family.
The scene flashes again, and now he's climbing High Hrothgar in the summer, having decided to make his life above the clouds, and away from the troubles he faced in the ground. When he finally reached the monastery, he requests to become a member of the Greybeards.
Years of training later, he meditates on a woven mat, staring to the ground. The silence consumes him, and he lets his mind flow free, cut from the boundaries of the world. With all the... noise he's had in his life, this silence is wonderful.
This is the point where Einarth has finally reached the conclusion that all of his life he's seen balance.
The fire floating on the water, a chance for life in the face of death. His desperate graspings at life while the slaughterfish wait below for his body to finally grow weak. The girl he was attracted to in his youth, dead, and the daughter he helped to bring into the world: a life taken and one restored. He beat his fears, too, but only at the cost of a life.
And the scales have finally come to rest at peace and silence, after all of the battling and noise he faced throughout his years.
I myself realize something else now, too. It is one thing to know balance on the scale of a world, but entirely another to experience it personally. One is uncaring, sometimes unjust, and is simply the fixer to the tipped scales, even if it results in total destruction. The other is comparably minute, but hopeful, and a chance for victory, even in the face of great loss. After realizing this, I can feel myself automatically ingraining the Word into the memories, and they fuse, creating something much more powerful than just Fus.
My vision returns to what it normally is and unlike last time, I experience no pain, or discomfort. Actually, it's the opposite. I feel seen, heard, and noticed. Like I had value. Like my own purpose isn't meant to be seen easily and clear, but to found and understood only after being experienced.
Einarth smiles at me, lowering his arms, and I step forward. I give him a nod. This experience was overall incredible.
"Thank you." I say to him, and Arngeir smiles as well.
"Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu'um." He says, and the Greybeards stand back on the four corners of the diamond.
They each summon an avatar of themselves, an exact copy, except the clones are translucent and glowing blue.
"Use the Unrelenting Force shout to strike the targets as they appear." Arngeir directs me.
I inhale deeply. "FUS RO!" I yell, staring at the one in front of Wulfgar. It disappears, and Wulfgar takes a step back, flinging his arms to stop himself from falling from the effects of my shout. He rights himself, and gives me a nod.
Arngeir gestures to the other two. "Well done. Again."
I make quick work of the other two, Borri and Einarth suffering from the same situation Wulfgar did, and earn more praise from Arngeir. He smiles at me, the crinkles in skin around his eyes showing how happy he was at my progress.
"Impressive. Your Thu'um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn."
Arngeir quickly shoos me and the other Greybeards out the door, saying, "We will perform your next trial in the courtyard. Follow Master Borri."
Borri steps forward, ahead of the others, and heads to one end of the room. We reach a massive set of iron doors, stretching upwards at least twenty feet. Borri pushes them open and we're blasted with an icy breeze. Snow falls from the door to our clothing as we pass the doorway, and step onto the frosty-white ground.
The ice crunches beneath our feet, and Boori guides us to a set of two small stone pillars around four feet high, and around a couple dozen yards away is a large black steel gate, with no fencing or form of defense on either side of it. Hoops of iron are hooked onto the pillars hanging down, as if they're supposed to be lanterns hung in them during the nighttime.
Borri clears his throat, snapping my attention to him, and he says, "Wuld."
Characters in the Dragon language glow red against the snow, and the Word permeates itself into my mind, similar to what happened with 'Ro'.
My vision darkens once more, and the feeling of looseness, unlike any kind of looseness I've ever felt before. Completely disconnected from the world, literally, as I realize that this feeling of looseness is based off of an incorporeal form. It feels incredibly good, as though my joints and limbs could move as freely as I've ever wanted them too, but also terrifying and horrible. I have little to no control over my movement, and instead of floating cheerfully through the air like I imagined I could, I cloud up, and storm through the winds.
Snowflakes and lightning strikes fall from my body, making me feel as though I'm dropping weight and bottled up emotions like it's nothing. Eventually, the storm calms, and I mold from a quickly brewing storm cloud to my usual form.
'So that's what being a whirlwind must be like...' I think. 'Does that imply that the wind itself has thoughts?' I shiver at the thought, and shake my head, relieving myself of the thought. At a certain level, knowing that makes the wind start to be a bit more creepy, but whatever. The trees are alive, too, both literally and figuratively, so what makes the nonliving incapable of life in this world, too?
Besides, I don't think the atronachs, primal beings of their determinate planes, have heartbeats either. Flame atronachs might maintain it's temperature at a certain level, but it doesn't bleed. Frost atronachs might keep their body in a tight and strong physical form, but that doesn't make them alive either. Storm atronachs are... Different from the other two. I think now isn't really the best time to go over all the different types despite that bit I gave just then.
In any case, I've now got the concept of 'Wuld'. Seeing that, Arngeir nods once, and tells me to, "Approach Master Borri and he will gift you his knowledge of 'Wuld'."
Master Borri turns to me, and I step forward. Borri bows his head and energy flows into me, just like before, with Wulfgar.
My vision darkens yet again, and I see the past. The dark grey clouds of a storm flies overhead a snow-covered peak, and low-hanging clouds amix with rain, block the visage of what's in front of me, through the window I am looking. This is clearly a rainy spring season at High Hrothgar.
Master Borri is definitely afraid, but not for himself. It's for someone else. I, (Master Borri's body), rush towards the doors of the monastery and flings them open.
"Arngeir!" 'So this must be decades ago', I presume, because Borri is speaking freely. He shouts out into the storm. "You must come inside! It is far too dangerous for a mere mortal to withstand this! Nay, not even a flame atronach would be able to survive this weather! Come inside!"
Just after Borri finishes saying that, a bright flash of an explosive flame shatters the dark skies. It's Arngeir's Fire Breath. The significantly darker silhouette of a man appears against the suddenly bright backdrop, and he slowly walks into the light of the lanterns and the heat of High Hrothgar.
"Calm yourself, Brother Borri." Arngeir says smoothly, "I will never relieve myself of the opportunity to meditate and reach a deeper understanding of my Voice. But I will not also forsake my life in the path of the Way of the Voice."
"This... Spring storm, is but a whirlwind in the eyes of Mother Kyne. This rain will flash by like lightning, be gone faster and lighter than a leaf in high wind. The damp ground is but a remembrance of what was, and another reminder of what, yet again, will be."
Time seemed to freeze after he said that, and the moment was locked into Borri's understanding of Whirlwind Sprint, which is where my understanding of it clicked into place as well. The Shout is meant to put a meaning to speed, and lightness, although it's closer to a weightlessness, rather than lightness. Quick and gone, faster than springtime shower, but yet heavy enough to leave a mark.
My vision returns, (no headache this time!), and Arngeir walks towards the large black gate ahead of me, saying, "Master Wulfgar will demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint. Then it will be your turn."
Wulfgar steps ahead of me, and Borri opens the gate via Shouting the w
Word, "Bex!" The gate opens smoothly, and Wulfgar squats slightly, before spreading his arms out and Shouts.
"Wuld!"
He flies across the ground, hovering very slightly, as if he were a bird gliding over water, about to take it's next meal. The ground itself ripples marginally under his feet, creating lines just like if he were a jet, scarring the sky with it's cloudy lines. He practically disappears mid-effect of the Shout, and reappears at the other side of the gate, like a flash of lightning.
"Incredible," I can't help but to mutter out. He has done exactly what he sought out to embody, and he has embraced his own success. Borri returns to his normal, neutral position, and stands beside the gates.
Arngeir ignores my words, turning to me and walking back. Behind him, the doors to the gates slam shut of their own volition.
"Now it is your turn. Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate. Use your Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes."
I nod and get into the same position as Borri did, or as close as I figure I can get.
"Bex!" Borri opens the gate.
I take a deep breath and Shout.
"Wuld!"
My body shoots forward, nearly out of my control. I fly across the snow-laden ground, and through the gates, but then I suddenly stop. The stop surprises me, but I mentally assume that I should keep moving forward, (and because of Newton's Laws of Motion, by all rights I should), and so try to catch myself, except it's completely unnecessary, and I end up throwing myself to the ground, face planting into a pile of icy snow. '*Fuck!*'
As frozen stiff as it is, it's nearly as hard as rock, and my nose breaks once I make contact, with it turnt to the left. My armor jumps into play, and I roll over, my body bruising.
Borri helps me get up, shaking his head silently. "Vokrii." He Shouts, and my body speeds up the healing process. I shake the pain out of my head, and cast Healing. I take a deep breath and ready my mind for my next action. I forcibly reset my nose, causing a lot of pain but it was a necessary measure if I want it to regrow correctly.
At least, that's what I try and convince myself with while I gasp, cradling my face in my hands. Blood and snot drips from my nose, and tears start to form, (and subsequently freeze), in my eyes, despite my actual pain being fairly light for a broken bone. Of course, it may have been my ego getting injured just as much as the actual injury, as this proves that despite my being Dragonborn, that doesn't, evidently, make my ability to use the Thu'um perfect.
After a solid few minutes of healing my broken face (and broken ego), I get up, having acknowledged and accepted the fact that I am flawed just as much as any other person, and despite my apparent skill, I still have to work and improve it myself if I wish for it to get better.
"Try it again. Breathe and focus." Arngeir says, verbally supporting me.
I walk back over to the smaller pillars where I started, and try again.
"Wuld!"
I fly over the snow, but instead of overcompensating for the sudden drop in speed, I undercompensate, and fall backwards this time, trying to regain my balance. I fall onto my ass and curse under my breath.
I get back up, and head back to the pillars. I try again, and fail, falling to my knees. So I head back and try again, but this time when I Shouted, my Shout came a second too late, and I slam into face first into the doors again.
And that's how I spend the majority of the morning: slamming my face into various objects, or my knees into the frozen snow, or slipping and falling, or tripping on my way to the gates.
Over thirty times I fail, have to Heal myself, and get back up, for the better part of at least three hours. During all of this, my skill in reacting to the drop in speed from the Shout slowly gets better and better, and my balance and brain, are starting to be conditioned to the idea that I can suddenly stop moving without injury, despite the Laws of Motion. Of course, the Greybeards offer me slight points of advice, but aren't willing to just *tell* me how to do it well.
And then, when I've reached what is probably around my 43rd attempt, I Shout, fly forward, and manage to stick the 'landing'. I stop myself from moving, and manage to keep upright. Having finally accomplished what I've set out to do, Arngeir and the other Greybeards convene in conversation a few feet away from me, and people behind me start clapping. I turn around.
It's Lydia, Ja'Rado, and Emeric. Lydia and Emeric are the ones clapping, while Ja'Rado nods approvingly.
"Good job!" Lydia calls out.
"Yeah! You didn't slam your face into the ground. Good on you!" Emeric calls out, sarcastically it feels like, before Ja'Rado whacks his paw into his side, reprimanding him with a light growl.
"What, Ja? He didn't!" Emeric complains, rubbing his arm. "That's good! That means he's improving! He's making progress!"
"Hmmm. Yes, but the *way* you said was what made it rude." Ja'Rado explains. "It's not really a compliment if you mess up the way it sounds. Tone holds as much meaning as the words spoken. You should know that. Pfft, knight. How did you even get here?"
'Knight? Emeric was a knight? How'd he manage that? With his talkativeness and complaint-filled attitude, it almost doesn't make any sense.'
Something moved in the corner of my eye, and I turn to face it. It's the Greybeards, having finished whatever discussion they were having.
Arngeir walks to me, and looks into my eyes with a kind look on his face.
"Could you make another attempt to use Whirlwind Sprint and pass through the gates?" He asks me.
I nod, and get back to my ready position, half crouching with my hands near my waist, somewhere between a rugby starter position and a sprinter's position for a track meet. Borri opens the gates a final time.
"Bex!"
I Shout as soon as the gates are fully open in a quick breath. "Wuld!"
I fly forward, and in a fit of sudden curiosity, try to jump into the air once I pass the gates. Up I go in a smooth angle, and I spin, snapping my legs around me in a tight clockwise motion, and land deftly, like a ninja in one of those old Japanese movies from the 90's. My right leg stretches out to my side, and I crouch lightly on the landing with the other, my left heel raised off the ground.
'Hell, yeah! I bet that looked pretty damn cool! Would've been cooler if I was able to unsheathe my swords as I did it, though.' A smile tugs at my lips, and generous boots to my self-esteem warm my heart up.
I stand smoothly and turn around.
Lydia flat out cheers, confirming my thoughts, and rushes towards me, barreling like a careening rocket, about to tackle me. She jumps onto me, as if we finally met after years of waiting, and I catch her spinning, and pulling her into a tight hug. She mashed her face onto mine in a rough, but delicious kiss, and I look over her shoulder to the Greybeards, whose mouths hang agape, alongside Ja'Rado's and Emeric's.
"Might wanna shut those before a bug flies in," I casually say after she pulls her face off of mine. Lydia congratulates me properly and hugs me tightly.
All of their mouths slam shut at roughly the same time, and they rush towards me as well.
Arngeir gasps, before gushing over me. "Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is... astonishing. I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself... Incredible..."
"Well, I'm sure it didn't take this long for you guys, right?" I ask, tilting my head.
"Hahhh." Arngeir sighs. "Quite the opposite..."
Arngeir has a depressed look on his face, but then he perks right back up as if he remembered something important. (It feels weird to see that, because Arngeir is like 70, but whatever).
"Hmm, anyways." He continues. "You are now ready for your last trial. 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 nod, and thank them, bowing slightly as I do so.
"Thank you for your guidance, Masters."
Arngeir nods."You are welcome. Both from me, and the others. Should you need advice or request teaching from us in the future, please know that we are willing and able to assist at any point in time." He smiles softly at me, and praises me.
"Good job."
We shake hands, and my party walks back to through High Hrothgar, both to get Myrmidon and Daryon, and to make our way back down the mountain. On our way out, I drop off Klimmek's supplies, but they deny the goods inside, saying that the salted fish they have in their storage was more than enough to wait until the next time Klimmek makes a delivery, so they let us have it.
After waving goodbye to the Greybeards one final time, we begin the trip back down the mountain.
Despite the frost-ridden snow of the mountain path, I can clearly see flowers blooming, in spite of the cold and snow. I'm mildly impressed at the flowers' tenacity and urge to survive, even on a mountain and in the fall.
I change my view from the flowers, out to the southwest, where the battlefield was. The battle that happened there no longer rages. Instead, tiny moving specks pick up other tiny specks, and drag them to large piles to be grieved and given funerals later. Soldiers, clearly, retrieving corpses, and mounting them for the burial. They're too far to make out which side each individual is on, and the low hanging fog in the area certainly doesn't help, but I try anyways, and after a few seconds spot small scattered red on silver uniforms. The Imperials have won this battle.
The dragon is gone, having had its' fun wiping out soldiers left and right. Or rather, it's not gone, but has been shot down, and remains there on the battlefield, it's corpse charred and blackened with magical flames, and it's skull crushed into a large red and black spot from the brute force of warhammers, so I assume. One of it's wings are folded over itself, as though it were trying to protect itself from the horrors it both wreaked and suffered. A large black streak behind it indicates it's rough landing, having had lost more than enough health in the crossfire.
With all the magic spells that were flying about, I'm not even surprised. I'm willing to bet that soldiers and warriors from either side joined forces temporarily to attack the dragon.
On other parts of the field, standard-bearers' corpses stand forlorn, their corpses holding up their flags, even beyond death.
On the bluer side, the Stormcloaks' side, lies a large area, wrapped in a dark aura that has killed the nearby plants and wildlife, and in it's place, has overgrown with vines and flowers of doom and death thrive in place of the natural flora: deathbell, nightshade, and more. Blackened trees, ditches, and walls of earth scatter the battlefield.
I sigh, remembering that the others are waiting for me. I turn away from the battlefield, back to the bright glimmering white of the snow and ice of the mountain, and we continue down our path.
We march on for the rest of the day, setting up camp when it begins to fall dark, and rest for the night. This one was quiet, more focused on just sleeping and getting rest.
Lydia sleeps on top of me, her body warming mine, and a blanket of furs is wrapped over the two of us. It feels incredible, but the battlefield stays on my mind, despite the disjointed feeling I get from it. The bodies, the burning fields. I wasn't a part of it, and yet it feels like I was.
I eventually fall into an uneasy sleep, and unlike all the other times, dream.
....
I'm standing in a field, completely empty, not a single tree in sight. Clouds pass over a bright sunny sky, and since that's the only thing in sight, I look up to it. Beautiful at first, it quickly turns to a crimson red, and the sky turns black. Stars shine in the sky, red speckled spots filled with hate and foretelling of doom.
Looking up was the wrong decision. Pain erupts inside my chest, and I gasp for air. I quickly look down, only to find that I've been stabbed in the stomach. The blade of a shiny, silver-colored sword has pierced through my stomach, and is quickly pulled out. I turn around, grabbing at my stomach trying to stop the blood suddenly pouring out, to find that no one is there. I flip back to the direction I was originally facing and a disembodied black spirit-entity-thing stands in front of me, holding the sword that stabbed me. It chops at my chest and I can't find the energy to dodge or attack in return. Not like I could, anyways.
I'm unarmed and clothed only in my sleepwear, a light tunic that usually goes under my armor, alongside a pair of sackcloth pants. My breathing rushes from completely different points to others, bouncing between my impending death.
So I take the hit, and fall to the ground. A flood of bright red pain flashes across my chest, and I have the thought that maybe I'm supposed to be somewhere else. I look around, and the entity is gone, instead replaced with a wolf, the one that killed me back when Hadvar and I were escaping from Helgen to Riverwood.
It stands on a boulder, one that also was not there before then, and it howls, then I hear something all around me. Sounds of fighting. Swords clashing, men screaming. It's the battle I watched two days ago.
Magic flies all around me, fireballs, ice spikes, whatever you could imagine, and people glow with the golden light of Restoration magic, healing themselves.
An Imperial necromancer wrapped in black battlerobes stands in a circle, surrounded by men with silvery glowing eyes, a dark aura of light wrapping around them. They are his minions, the risen dead. Not zombies, but somewhere in that vein of magicks. He sends them out to fight a group of Stormcloaks.
One runs forward - their commander. He's wrapped in his officer's wear: an intricate set of a steel cuirass, complete with detailed pauldrons, vambraces, and a chainmail hauberk flowing down to his knees. A thick, wide belt with a triskelion centered on it adorns his waist, and his shins are covered in steel greaves under which are leather boots. Hanging from the belt are scaled brigandine faulds, and under it is a padded blue doublet. Wrapped diagonally over his cuirass, from his right shoulder to the left of his waist is a wide leather strap, it's purpose likely to carry a shield.
Wherever said shield went, is up to fate. Flapping behind him was a blue cape, demarcated with the symbol of the Stormcloaks: a four-toed bear paw. Interestingly enough, he didn't choose to wear a helmet, despite the fact that a helmet might be the best possible thing a warrior can have on a battlefield. If you can dodge an arrow, you can dodge a sword, but if you try to dodge the hammer and are too slow...
The wild look in his eyes and his open yelling maw, combined with the axe in his hands made him look incredibly formidable and somewhat terrifying. I vehemently doubt that I could take this man on in combat. Perhaps if I were able to attempt an assassination I might be able to kill him, but here, in open combat? Not a chance.
He rushes towards the opposing side with a war cry, his men pressing forward behind him. It takes less than a second for him to reach the Imperials' commander and begin fighting him, and in the meantime, I'm stomped to death by the people rushing to attack the other side. My pained gasping turns into screams of agony as parts of my body are getting stepped on.
First my ankle was broken, then my arm, shattered, then my chest, crushed, and finally my head. The last thing I saw was a mud-covered boot falling towards my head.
....
I wake with a start, practically jumping out of my bedroll. 'What the hell was that? Why am I suddenly feeling something for the huge amount of dead? I felt this two days ago as well. Is something changing in me yet again? Why is it that when I watched Alduin, I was asking to see more, but having witnessed a battle from this distance, I can't stand it? What happened?! What changed?!'
That was the first dream, or rather nightmare, I'd had since getting here. 'Wait, where'd Sithis go again? He can't just keep leaving me dry like this.'
Lydia's to my side, having slid off my chest sometime during the night.
I can't stay in bed. I've started to sweat a disgusting, fear?-filled sweat, despite the cold, and am starting to freeze. 'I could probably dry off with Flames and heat up at the same time. Besides, I don't want her to smell me after I've sweated like hell and back.' So I slide out of the bedroll, trying not to wake her, and manage to get most of my body out, but not before she wakes up in a haze, too, and grabs my arm.
"Don' go. S'ay here. C'mere." She murmurs, pulling down on my arm. Except she pulled weakly, and I don't budge. Her eyes are barely open, and her grip is weak.
My heart and chest warms at her act, but unfortunately, my skin is still freezing, so I try to pull away, saying, "You don't want me to, I'm sweaty and cold."
"No. I don't care. You're not going. Get down here." Lydia sits up and clearly demands me. She pulls down extremely hard on my arm, and forces me to the ground. Her eyes open wide, and her grip is practically inescapable.
"But I'm, quite literally, drenched in sweat, and the cold is not being nice to me right now." I complain, straining to break free, while restraining my own strength. I don't try to break free so much that I might hurt her, but just enough that I might able to escape her surprisingly tight grip. 'Gorilla grip for sure, goddamn, let go of me!'
"Too bad. I'll be even meaner if you go away." Lydia says, and since this argument (and her grip) is clearly going to get us nowhere, I relent. I allow her to pull me back inside the bedroll, where she proceeds to wrap her body around me again. She nuzzles her head into my neck, kissing it with her lips, lightly at first, and starts to give me wet, sloppy kisses, soaking my collarbone.
I'm obviously still sweaty, but the heat is slowly starting to warm me up. The feeling of having Lydia kiss my neck, (albeit sloppily), is amazing, sending buzzing signals all throughout my nervous system. Her right arm is wrapped over and around my chest, and her left is under my back, her forearm curling up behind my neck. Her legs are hooked around my right.
She eventually stops kissing my neck, and just lays her head on my chest. She starts to hum a song quietly, a lullaby, I think, based on the melody. The melody is roughly similar to Hush Little Baby. Then she starts to sing it.
"Sleep now, my little one, safe in your bed,
Close your eyes, and rest your weary head.
The stars above you, they shine so bright,
And keep you safe throughout the night.
May the dragons dream of flying high,
And the giants keep watch as you lie,
May the gods bless you with sweet dreams,
And keep you safe until morning beams."
She finishes the lullaby off, holding that last word.
Her singing voice is fairly good, but I mean... I wouldn't say she'd make it as a singer on Earth. However, she is singing at almost a whispering level, so I wouldn't make all bets on that.
That being said, I'm not stupid enough to actually say those things out loud.
I quietly applaud her.
"That was beautiful. What was it?" I ask.
"A lullaby." Lydia answers, smirking snarkily.
I flick the back of her head. She quickly covers her new 'wound'.
"Is that the case? I meant, what was the *name* of the lullaby?" I ask again.
"It's called the Resting Hymn. My mother sang it to me before she..." She answers seriously.
"Oh." My eyes widen as I realize what she implied. "I'm sorry for your loss."
Lydia looks at me, confused. Her brow furrows. "What? She didn't die, she just... Got busy with her job, and couldn't afford to truly *care* for me as much."
"Are you okay?" I ask, worried. Knowing about her family situation feels like something I should both stay out of, and know well, because while she is my, well... lover, she is also my Housecarl, and thus my subordinate. I'd also like to get to know her better on a personal level, too, so this is important to me.
"I'm sure she loves me, she just... Didn't have the time for me anymore. My father didn't either, but it's not exactly his fault either. He was a tax collector, and very much disliked. The stress got to him and he became an alcoholic so to relieve himself of stress." Lydia continues.
I think about her words for a second, before saying, "Hmm... I feel like that... that's not something a mother or father should do. Both of them should first and foremost care for their family. The matters in the house matter just as much, if not more than the matters out, because inside the household is where people will spend the majority of their time. The matters outside will happen regardless anyways, so you might as well focus on dealing with the things you can change inside. Most of all, I'm sorry you had to go through that in your childhood."
Lydia pulls away her arm from around me, and turns her head to face mine, planting her head into her palm. She smiles, a cute small one that showed both how grim her childhood was, and how she felt presently. It was soft, not unlike the way a marshmallow is.
"Thanks. I'm just glad I was able to meet you. You treat me and love me better than my parents did or ever could. Although... I suppose it is a different kind of love that you're giving me."
I smile in response, and look up to the roof of our tent. "I just... think it's not fair that you couldn't enjoy the kind of childhood I did. A relatively happy one."
Lydia sighs, her smile fading. She shuts her eyes lightly.
"What's happened has happened. No going back and changing it now. All we can do is focus on the good we can do in the future, remember?"
"Yeah, I agree. Oh, and one more thing."
"Yeah?" Lydia asks me. She squiggles her nose up, 'My God, why is she so cute?', and looks at me confused again. I struggle the urge to move forward and kiss her, and explain what I was planning on saying.
"Time for us to sleep. We've been up for long enough. Nightmares or otherwise, we've got each other, and that's more than enough for us both."
Lydia blushes, and shoves her face into my stomach trying to escape my gaze, although she wasn't able to go very far. My abs prevented that, and for that I'm glad, because she immediately realizes that she won't be able to hide her face there, and so she rolls on top of me and hugs me tightly from above, her face to the left of mine.
I grab onto her ass, not sexually or anything, just holding her there, and I feel her body heat me up even more. Her cheeks, (face, not ass), are hot.
I eventually fall back to a hazy sleep, this time filled with the sensation of holding Lydia's ass.
------------------
Funds: 1,004 septims
Weapons:
💠 - Orcish Sword of Paralysis
💠 - Blade of Whiterun (Ebony longsword, 3rd Era, 10 points Frost damage/5 to Stamina/ slow)
💠 - Quicksilver Throwing Knives {x5}
💠 - Nordic Daggers {x2}
- Elven Bow, Unstrung {x12 Elven Arrows, 1x Ayleid Arrow}
- Orcish Sword
Apparel:
💠 - Refurbished Steel Helm (15% more armor)
💠 - Steel Armor (HP Regen. Injury Heal Rate 25%↑, Light Wound Heal 50%↑)
💠 - Spiked Steel Gauntlets (+20 extra H2H damage)
💠 - Refitted Steel Boots (15% more armor)
💠 - Custom Quicksilver buckler (18% more armor)
💠 - Winter Cloak (20% Cold Resistance)
💠 - Snow Bear Greatcloak (50% Cold Resistance)
- Shield of the Dragonslayer (Kite, 40% Fire Resistance)
Potions:
- Mysterious Potion {x4}
Food:
- Basket of Fruits and Vegetables; {onions x1, apples x2, leeks x1, potatoes x2, head of cabbage x1, carrots x2, loaves of bread x1}
- Salted Fish (Salmon x5, River Betty x3, Silverside Perch x4, Histcarp x3, Slaughterfish x20)
Books:
- Stack of Stormcloak notes and letters to family {x15}
- Letter to Thrynn & Torturer's Ring
- Spell Tome: Sparks
- Spell Tome: Oakflesh
Scrolls:
- Scroll of Blizzard
Supplies:
- Backpack
- Bedroll / Mountain Bedroll
- Cooking pan
- Waterskin
- Metal Bowl
- Torches {x3}
- Tent
- Pitons
- Climbing harness
- Rope (200 ft.)
- Hiking Staves {x2}
- Ice Picks {x2}
- Bar of Soap
Miscellaneous:
- Lockpicks {x1}
- Vial for Mysterious Potion
- Golden Claw
- Potion bottle remains
- Klimmek's Supplies