(just like it says on the tin, trying to tie some ends together in order to tell a more cohesive tale. Possibly done un-successfully, and I admit I haven't been playing Skyrim much the past few weeks, work returns, heigh ho!)
When I returned to High Hrothgar with the Horn, I had to seek Arngeir out. He was meditating in the black halls, and I knelt beside him and placed the Horn into his hands as I did so.
“Ah, yes – I wondered what had kept you,” he said quietly as he turned the Horn over in his hands.
“I was delayed. Someone else found the Horn first,” I replied. ”Things have become rather…complicated. Arngeir, I seek some advice.”
Arngeir’s brows raised at this, and he offered me the faint ghost of a smile. ”I will attempt to give it, but first, a simple ceremony is required as we accept and greet you as Dovahkiin. It’s a tradition and it may help you in some way. Come, come.”
It would be difficult for me to describe what this ceremony was like – all I can say is you have to understand that Thu’um is power, and can literally shake you apart unless you have the training and ability to withstand it. Words are so much more than words when speaking the Dragon’s Tongue. That I am able to withstand it without ill effect (other than staggering about trying to keep my bearings) was a way of validating my status as Dovahkiin…and of sealing my wyrd, once and for all. This didn’t terrify me as much as it had before – I was ready, most definitely, and my eyes shone as I withstood the Thu’um of the Greybeards.
But still, I didn’t understand what had been said, and I asked Arngeir of a rough translation. Again, I won’t share this with you – words have power, as I said – but even while he was happy to explain it to me, it rankled. That damn dragon had been right. I didn’t understand the language of Dragons. And considering what Shouts were, and what they did, this was now vitally important.
Arngeir seemed to understand this on some level, though now there was a new question.
“Arngeir…where did you learn the Dragon’s Speech?”
The Greybeard looked at me sidelong; and I’ve known how to read people for a very long time. For all his meditation and reserve, the ascetic wasn’t a very good liar, that I knew. So, he just evaded the question.
“You will learn Words as you go on in the world,” he replied. ”I and my brothers can feel the faint echoes of Words in the world, and I can direct you to these. That is one way to learn.”
“And what about who leads you? Will I ever have a chance to meet them?”
“In time, in time, Dovahkiin,” Arngeir said with that often-frustrating patience. ”When you are ready to do so, you will know, and so will we. Now, what is this advice?”
I told Arngeir what I had seen – the black dragon which spoke in Tamrielic, and of Delphine. I also expressed my doubts about going into the Embassy as it seemed a rather ridiculous tangent, but that I had no other leads. ”So, what should I do?”
Arngeir said nothing for a very long time, then clasped his gnarled hands before him as he studied me solemnly.
“I cannot tell you your path. It is not our way. I can only counsel you and tell you if your conscience has given you caution, you should listen to it. Whatever path the Blade may put you on, it will be tinged with vengeance.”
“So is mine, Arngeir,” I muttered. I could still remember that dragon’s voice.
Arngeir sighed, silent again for a few moments, and then he gestured toward the door. ”I will tell you this. I will bring your…concerns…to our elder. And when I receive his counsel, I may have an answer for you when you return.”
It was the first time I had been dismissed before. I eyed Arngeir warily, but the old mystic’s face was as impassive as the stone walls around us. No clues there! With a sigh and a shake of my head, I ventured out of High Hrothgar once more, my ears still ringing from the “Greeting” I had been given, and feeling none the wiser.
Of Delphine’s scheme to enter the Thalmor Embassy…I’ll say nothing. I will however admit to you even though it probably doesn’t make me a hero in anyone’s eyes that I felt it was the best piece of intrigue work I had ever done. I have no love for my Altmer “cousins”, believe me, and since I married a Nord that only had become worse. So while I understood Delphine’s anger and her burning need for the Altmer to be at the bottom of the dragon-necromancy, I knew there wasn’t a chance of it. What I needed was to convince Delphine, and I managed to do that by getting the evidence, killing more than a few Altmer in the process, and rescuing a Nord at the end of it all. Not a bad piece of work, if I must say so myself, though it took the whole night.
When I finally emerged from the turmoil I had wrought, carrying several books, a gem, and quite a few other things which technically hadn’t belonged to me when I went in, Delphine was waiting. I managed to keep a straight face as she pored over the journals, cursing when there was no information to feed her suspicions.
“Nothing! Not a scrap!” She scowled and paced her small rooms in the inn, and I watched impassively.
“I could have told you this, Delphine,” I replied. ”That dragon was just leading us astray. Kept us busy so it could raise more kin. I sincerely doubt any force on this world could control it. You heard it’s voice.”
“Yes, yes…” she sighed and leaned upon the table, frowning. ”Right…well there’s another move I can make. It’s a long shot but it’s probably a better idea. How well do you know Riften?”
“Pretty well,” I managed to say, although my belly sank. Riften? With Mercer still around? Not a chance. Hm, that reminded me…Karliah was probably waiting for that journal. No rest for me for a while; it was my turn to sigh.
Delphine didn’t seem to notice however as she drew a hasty map which I didn’t actually need. ”You’ll need to seek someone out. An old scholar – he’s a bit…strange…but he knows more about dragons than anyone in Skyrim. You’ll have to find him, he’s hiding down in the sewer system of Riften, I don’t know where. But I can give you a rough idea. I’ve heard the Thieves’ Guild operates there. If you find him – he’s called Esbern – speak this phrase: Where were you on the 30th of Frostfall? He’ll know I’ve sent you.”
“Do I bring him here?” I asked, my mind already whirling ahead. I’d have to get the journal and the rubbing of charcoal – hopefully not smudged – and get it back to Karliah. It meant backtracking a fair bit, but I couldn’t think of any other way to handle it.
“Yes, and do it quickly, I imagine we’ve managed to get the Thalmor quite angry. It’s possible they’ll be looking for him too.”
Again I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose, but turned and left Riverwood. There was only one of me! But I was being pulled so many different ways at once. Still, it was a reminder – Karliah had been waiting too long, and I couldn’t go down into Thieves’ Guild territory until I had dealt with Mercer. My throat stung at the moment, and I scowled. Yes, I owed him some payback, no doubt about it.
Heading back to Jorrvaskr, I checked in on the Companions. All going well, coffers beginning to overflow and the Skyforge was doing good business as well. And the twins even had a surprise for me.
“Some women get flowers,” I muttered, eyeing the hagraven’s head in the sack with some distaste.
Farkas and Vilkas however were grinning from ear to ear. ”Well, it’s something we’ve been discussing anyway,” Farkas said in his slow, measured way. ”I’ve wanted to get rid of the beast blood for a while now.”
“And I too wish to be cleansed, as you know,” Vilkas added, leaning over to nuzzle my temple with his rough jaw. ”And I know you grow weary of the beast blood as well. We can all go together, have the job done.”
Well…I needed to go to Winterhold anyway, to meet with Karliah and plan our next move. What Vilkas said also spoke true – I had grown weary of never having restful sleep and always feeling the Blood’s call. More to the point however, I wanted to be able to go to Sovngarde with my husband when the time came, if such a place was open to a Bosmer. I knew he had waited this long as he had thought it meant we would be together even after this life, but I would never condone that sort of sacrifice.
Besides, it meant I would be travelling with my two favourite people in all of Skyrim, and right about then, I needed the friendship and comraderie. Especially when we’d be going right back into the cold and dreary far North once more.
“Let me just get my heavy fur cloak,” I said, putting the book and papers carefully into my pack.
Cold. Have I mentioned I hate cold? I never understood how the lads couldn’t even so much as feel it. We trundled our way into Ysgramor’s Tomb – taking the easy route this time, though the dead stayed silent and there was no trouble. Three times we burned the heads of the hagravens, three times we battled the wolves which were torn from our souls. And at the end, we stood victorious, panting and beaming at one another.
“I feel aches I didn’t know I had!” Farkas laughed, leaning upon his sword.
“Much better,” Vilkas sighed as he pushed his helm back off his head and clipped it to his belt, studying me with his ice blue eyes. ”And you, love?”
I took in a deep breath. Gone the thousand-and-one smells, gone the extreme hearing. I felt muffled somehow, but I also couldn’t feel the seething murmur in the back of my mind that called for the hunt, called for blood and howling beneath the moon. And that was no bad thing at all. I laughed, kissing Vilkas gently and hugging his brother round the waist.
“Better. Much better. Now, can we please go and get a drink? I’m cold and tired and there’s much to do today.”
“You go on ahead,” Farkas said, sheathing his blade and giving us both a knowing smile. ”Now I don’t have to worry about embarrassing myself with my shame, I’m going to have a look around here. I’ll see you two back in Jorrvaskr.”
Vilkas and I stepped out into the evening chill once more, side by side. So, his soul was now pure, and I couldn’t have asked for more. But what about mine? I couldn’t say. I was a thief, cut-throat, and sharper. I’d done more dirty deeds in the name of my own pockets than I could even remember. And yet…I was also Dovahkiin. I was the Harbinger of the Companions. What did that say, really? I remembered when I had escaped with Ralof and we had come across a stone circle – stones which were said to bless you with their attributes when you stood in the circle and traced the outline of the runes. I had give two of them a cursory glance and strode right up to the third, which was inscribed with a cloaked figure, shrouded and holding up a dagger. I knew what it was, and that was the stone I chose.
“The Thief, eh?” Ralof had said, eyeing me for a few moments. I had merely glared back at him, daring him to say a word. Instead, he had just shrugged. ”Well, it’s never to late to change one’s path in life. Now, come, Riverwood’s this way.”
Remembering that, I blinked as I stood there with Vilkas. He was watching me now – he must have called my name, but I hadn’t heard him. ”What is it, love?”
I smiled at Vilkas, and merely shook my head. “I’m just remembering some sound advice I should have taken when I actually heard it.”
“Oh, well, where’s the fun in that?” Vilkas chuckled, kissing my cheek. ”We all have to stumble along best we can, and knot up the loose ends as we find them.”
“Point made. Let’s get up to Winterhold and out of this cold, please. Long day, and I could use some sleep.”
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