Ivarstead.
Calling it a village was being fairly generous; really it was a just small collection of houses and an inn. The only thing they really contributed was lumber thanks to their riverside saw mill. But even that wasn’t going too well with the bears decimating nearby trees, marking their territory, and stealing pik-a-nic baskets. The bears in Skyrim were far smarter than your average bear, that was for sure.
It felt at times the only reason little Ivarstead was on the map at all was because of the Greybeards up in their monastery, casting the looming shadow of their greatness and wisdom on the people living below. Everyone knew that this was unintended, as the monks were far too peaceful and content with their meditations to even realize how much everyone revered them. Because of them, there was still traffic through the town, and those occasional pilgrims were what brought any sort of change or excitement.
And oh boy… were they in for excitement when our heroes showed up?
…
At the moment, two men from the village, Wilhelm the innkeeper, and Klimmik the fisherman were talking about the one odd quirk of their town that no one was happy about.
“I’m telling you Klimmik, I saw it again, just standing outside the Barrow!” Wilhelm said shakily, “If this keeps up, it’ll scare away anyone who comes through here. No one will want to stay at a haunted inn!”
“Calm down Wilhelm, it’s probably nothing.” Klimmik responded in his normal deadpan tone. He’d never been one for superstitions, so when everyone else had been in a panic over the tale of some ghost haunting Shroud Hearth Barrow, he merely rolled his eyes and payed it no mind.
Wilhelm raised a finger, and was about to accuse Klimmik of never taking anything seriously enough, when he suddenly heard shouting in the distance.
Klimmik had heard it too, and the two of them turned to the path leading down the mountain towards Whiterun.
At first there were only distant shouts, but those gradually evolved into the sounds of battle, and the two of them hesitantly considered running back to town to alert the only two guards stationed there.
They didn’t decide quickly enough though, and the source of the commotion crested the sloping trail like a furious, rampaging dustball!
A troll as large as one and a half bears came barreling out on all fours chasing after a group of three travelers, madly swiping with its arms whenever it got within reach of them.
“Hold it still!” yelled an elf with a sword as she tried to get any kind of striking angle on it.
“I’m trying my thane!” yelled an armored nord woman, who tried to engage the beast but was easily punted aside.
In response, the elf desperately hacked and slashed at the troll’s limbs and face to try and beat the creature into submission. She was doing a fair amount of damage to it, cutting deeply. But the thing about trolls… they just don’t give a fuck.
“Stross! Where in Shor’s name are you?!” She called out while she stepped out of range of the troll's mad swings.
Suddenly the troll burst into flames from behind. The smell of burning troll fur was nauseating, but its wounds stopped healing instantaneously, cauterized by the fire. Without its advantage of fast healing, the troll quickly succumbed to the elf’s ferocity with a blade.
Thus another flame war against a troll was won.
“Is it dead yet?” asked a cloaked figure as he emerged from his hiding place behind a cropping of rocks.
“Yeah Stross, we got it.” the elf confirmed. She then took the end of her sword, carved off a lump of fat from the troll’s carcass and shoved it inside her pack, muttering something about potions.
“You three handled that troll pretty well.” Klimmik complimented, approaching the three. “Let me guess, here to climb the seven thousand steps?”
“Seven… thousand?” Fenora asked, sounding apprehensive.
“Yep, that’s what everyone calls ‘em at least; ‘bout the only thing anyone comes through Ivarstead for. People from all over come to make the pilgrimage up the seven thousand steps. Most just read the ancient tablets while trying to bag some game along the way, but some try to gain an audience with the Greybeards themselves.” At that Klimmik paused for a slight chuckle. “Of course none of them 'ave had any luck with that, those monks prefer to be left alone. Still… I tend to get up to their monastery in my spare time and deliver a bag of salted meat or fish so they don’t starve.
“Or… at least I used to.” Klimmik sighed, “My knees have been awful stiff lately. If you three wouldn’t mind taking this latest shipment up to the monastery, I’d be grateful.”
“We’ll do it!” Stross agreed before Fenora could get her word in.
Stross was then flattened under a bag of fish thrown his way.
Fenora frowned in distaste for Stross's over eagerness. “Well alright then. Anything on that path we should look out for?”
“It’s been getting dangerous lately, but probably nothing you won’t be able to handle. Just watch your footing and you’ll be fine.” Klimmik told them.
“Right, well we better get a move on. Skyrim won’t save itself.” Fenora said, but paused after a few steps. “Is it…really seven thousand steps up that mountain?” she asked hesitantly.
“Honestly, I never bothered to count.” Klimmik shrugged.
Fenora sighed and kept walking, her companions catching up a moment later.
Once they were out of earshot, Wilhelm ventured to ask, “Are your knees actually giving you trouble?”
“Nah,” Klimmik shrugged, “but this is way more convenient.”
As Fenora, Stross and Lydia climbed the winding path up the mountain, the air got colder, and before long, snow gradually phased into existence. The seven thousand steps were really just numerous slabs of weathered rock that lay disheveled and uneven all along the ground.
Before too long, they came across a man in hunter’s garb, sitting before a stone tablet with his bow set off to the side. He was seemingly deep in thought, and didn’t notice their approach until Fenora called over to him.
“Oh ‘ello there. Didn’t expect to see so many other pilgrims on the mountain today.” He greeted, “I come up here to meditate on the tablets now and then. And if I happen to bag a bit of game along the way, well…” he chuckled to himself a bit.
While Fenora just rolled her eyes at the hunter’s comment, Stross found himself quite intrigued, and decided to read the tablet for himself.
{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.}
“What does it mean?” the changeling asked.
“Well that’s the mystery ain’t it? It’s what we come to think about after all.” The hunter told him, “There’s more further up, but I never go that far. Too sodding cold.”
“Stross, let’s go!” Fenora called from further up the path.
Stross took another quick look at the tablet and pondered over the words before moving on.
“So Fen, what do you think we’ll find when we get to the Greybeards?” Stross asked after they had walked for a while.
Fenora paused almost mid step. She hadn’t thought about that.
As silly as it sounded, Fenora hadn’t given a single thought as to what these Greybeards were like, or what they were going to do to help her. She had just assumed she’d go to them, and then they’d do… something. Then… profit?
“Well,” she began searching her brain for anything that could tell her what to expect, “From what little Jarl Balgruuf told me, they’re experts when it comes to dragonborns… which is what I am, somehow. I guess when we get there, I’ll just tell them the dragons are back. If they really are as wise as everyone says they are, they should know what to do. Right?”
Stross shrugged. “I dunno. I’m not even from this world, remember?”
Fenora nodded. But then a curious thought came to her. “Hey Stross, there are dragons in your world right? How do you fight them?”
“Oh that’s simple. You don’t!” Stross said with a cackle.
“That’s helpful. What do you do when one tries to burn down a village; does everyone just politely ask them to leave? Maybe make them say they’re sorry?” Fenora said in a mockingly sarcastic tone. But to her surprise, Stross told her that was exactly what everypony did.
As he continued, Fenora stumbled back and forth across the line between thinking Stross was joking, and thinking Equestria was completely insane.
Apparently, the dragons in Equestria were far more tame than the ones currently trying to kill everyone in her own world. The dragons of Equestria preferred to be left alone most times, sleeping for weeks at a time atop huge hordes of gold and jewels, only walking up so they could eat some of those jewels before going back to sleep.
When a dragon was napping somewhere that was hazardous for ponies or other creatures, a small task force would be assembled to ask it to move. And most shockingly of all, the dragons would usually comply with little complaint! At least, as long as they weren’t provoked… and weren't teenagers.
According to Stross, adolescent dragons were apparently the worst; they were caught with all the energy and rowdiness that came before adulthood, but had none of the self-control that came with age. They were the ones that would burn down towns for fun. They were the ones that loved to cause trouble. They were the ones that just wanted to party!
Still, Fenora felt she would gladly trade her dragons for the ones Stross was familiar with.
The further up the path they got, the more the snow fell around them, and the harder it became to see. Stross could barely feel his fingers, and was reminding himself of how much changelings didn’t like the cold. He envied Fenora and Lydia, who were either used to frigid weather, or just didn’t care about the cold.
Then his ear twitched, having picked up something in the distance.
“What was that?” he asked, looking around for the source of the noise.
“It was probably just the wind.” Lydia reasoned.
That however made Fenora stop in her tracks and grab her sword. “It’s never just the wind.” She said through her teeth, “Keep your guard up, and be ready for anything.”
Then Stross heard a growl right next to him. He turned and saw a tiny pair of yellow eyes staring back at him.
A second later the wolf lunged at him, having blended into the background so well with its white fur that it seemed to appear out of nowhere! It knocked him over, clamped its jaws down on the bag of fish on his back and ran off.
“Heeeeeeeelp!” Stross screamed as he was effortlessly dragged along with it.
“Stross!” Fenora yelled as she ran after him as fast as she could. “I told you to watch out for anything, and this technically counts as anything!”
Both Stross and the wolf dragging him were out of sight in seconds, so Fenora had to follow the trail left in their wake. Sword drawn, she plowed through the snow, keeping her eyes on the shallow trench made by Stross’s body until it came to an abrupt end at a sheer drop down the edge of the mountain.
“No.” she gasped, knowing what that meant.
Fenora stood at the edge and peered over, but at her height she couldn’t even see where the drop ended, much less where the changeling had landed. She stepped back only to fall on her rear. The realization hit her like a sudden kick to the head, and she didn’t want to believe it.
It couldn’t have happened just like that. Stross couldn’t be…
“NO! Bad doggies! Drop it! Sit! Play dead!”
Still alive?
Fenora spun to the sound of his voice, only to see the most ridiculous scene she’d witnessed in nearly two hours.
Stross hadn’t fallen… he’d flown. She’d forgotten that he had wings. But that wasn’t all; the wolf that had dragged him was still holding on to the bag of fish as stubbornly as ever, even as it dangled in the air by the strap. And Stross wasn’t giving it up, even as he beat his wings for dear life, hovering over at least half a dozen more wolves, two bears, three sabertooth tigers and Lydia.
“Somepony call animal control!” Stross screamed.
It took Fenora a moment to snap out of it in order to do something.
“Stross, just drop the bag already!” Fenora ordered.
“No! This is for the Greybeards, they need their protein!” Stross refused and tried once more to shake the wolf off.
“Stross-” Fenora stuttered in disbelief. “Look where you are! It’s just a bag of fish for some monks. Who cares?!”
“You know what?” Stross said with a suddenly dead serious look in his eyes. “I cares.”
Stross glared down at the amassed crowd of wild animals and sent a barrage of glowing orbs at them. Knowing what that meant, Fenora looked away before the flashbangs went off. Once they did, Stross added some fire to the mix. Blinded, deafened and now on fire, the animals scattered, rolling in the snow and stumbling away in a panic.
With his cunning victory and the bag of fish in hand, Stross fluttered back to the ground to await praise worthy of a hero. Worthy of-
“Stross you set Lydia on fire too!” Fenora scolded him.
“This housecarl’s on fire!” Lydia sang.
Finally reaching their destination, they stood before the monastery doors. The entire building was made of solid black stone cut into hard edges. The sides of the flat pillars had been ornately decorated with carvings that must have been made centuries ago, only to weather the wind and snow ever since. The metal doors themselves were no less imposing, located on either side of the steps leading to them, they were twice as tall as a person, but remarkably, they were also unlocked.
Looking to one another, the three of them entered with caution...
Only for Stross to ruin the suspense when he ducked outside to deposit the chewed-up bag of fish in the food chest.
Inside the monastery, they were greeted by cold and dimly lit stone halls filled with unlit braziers, and a great echoing silence. The stone floor, worn and faded with age, still bore simple patterns set into the stone.
Our heroes looked around in confusion at the darkened halls branching out from the main room. Then out of the shadows, four monks in heavy black robes strode slowly towards them, surrounding them on all sides.
For a moment, Stross thought they’d taken a wrong turn and stumbled into some cultists' hideout. That was until one lifted his hood, allowing them to see his elderly face while he introduced himself.
“Greeting travelers, I am master Arngeir.” the old man spoke in barely more than a whisper, “I assume that one among you is the dragonborn.”
“That would be me.” Fenora answered and stepped forward.
“I sensed as such. We’ve awaited your arrival, and are pleased you have sought us out so quickly. It is an honor to meet you.” Master Arngeir greeted Fenora with a slight nod. “We are the Greybeards, disciples of the goddess Kynareth, and masters in the way of the voice. I am sure you have many questions. Rest assured, we shall answer them in time. But first, we must test your thu’um, in order to see how much of your power has awoken.”
“Thu’um? You mean shout fire like those dragons do?” Fenora asked. “I can breathe fire!?” she started getting excited until master Arngeir held up a hand to silence her.
“Yes, among a great many other other things. A thu’um is the outward projection of one’s inner power. Being dragonborn, you have the ability to use this power without the years of arduous training that others would normally require. But know that with this great power, comes a great responsibility. You must have control.”
“Okay, so how do I do it?” Fenora asked.
“To begin, you must have knowledge of the dragon language, usually no more than three words go into a thu’um. Once you feel the word resonate within you, the rigorous training to focus it into a physical projection would take place. But being Dragonborn, it should come far more naturally. Simply focus on the words, and shout.” Arngeir explained, his voice briefly raised to a loud whisper.
“Okay, I’ll try.” Fenora said, her voice still harboring some doubt.
“No.” Arngeir stopped her, “Do not try. There is no try. Simply do… or do not. Now dragonborn, give us a taste of your power; as masters of the voice, we can withstand it.”
Fenora closed her eyes and focused hard, but found she had no idea of what to focus on. “Um, master… how do I thu’um?”
“It cannot be explained. You will simply know.” Arngeir told her cryptically.
“That just means he doesn’t know either.” Stross quipped, invoking a glare from the old monk.
Fenora searched her thoughts again, knowing there had to be something. But even if some small part of her did know what to do, it wouldn’t have helped. Every time she tried to focus on any one thing, hundreds of other thoughts swam around in her head. Each of them screamed out for attention, and she couldn't possibly ignore them;
The Imperial ambush…
Helgen burning down around her…
Whiterun's watchtower and Irileth’s dead soldiers.
Bandits and necromancers!
All the while the thought of Skyrim- no. The world about to be destroyed, and only she had the power to save it, but she couldn’t even figure out this… dragon shouty thing!
What was she supposed to do!?
“Fen.” Stross grabbed her arm and pulled her out of her head. “Calm down, it’s just a test.”
Fenora found herself gawking at him.
“Just… a test?” she felt her eye twitch. “JUST A TEST?!”
In that instant, Fenora’s voice literally exploded, booming into a furious shockwave of energy that lifted Stross off the ground and flung him into the nearest wall.
“Stross!” Fenora rushed over to check on him.
“You rock Fen. Woo-hoo.” Stross cheered weakly from where he was imbedded in the stone.
“Dragonborn, it seems you do possess the gift. But wielded in anger, the voice shall only bring ruin, as perhaps you can see.” Master Arngeir warned as Fenora and Lydia tried to safely pry their changeling out of the wall.
“I’m sorry, it’s just-“ Fenora began, wanting to tell him about the pressure she was feeling. But he calmly silenced her again.
“Do not be sorry. Simply learn, and improve. Control your inner voice, be at peace with the world, and be at peace with yourself. Only then will you follow the way of the voice.” Arngeir recited.
Fenora nodded. She didn’t think any of this would be easy, but… “I know, I just- Okay… okay I can do this.”
“Very good.” Arngeir smiled. “Now… once more. And this time… with control.”
Fenora stepped before them again and took a deep breath. Closing her eyes again, she found her mind considerably calmer, letting things come and go around as they pleased instead of trying to contain them or push them aside. Eventually her thoughts drifted back to the word wall in Bleak falls. Doing her best to push away all other stray thought and focus on that one word, she took a deep inhale.
“FUS…” the first word came, and a second drifted into view of her mind’s eye. “RO…” the last she didn’t even think of, it simply bolted from her mouth on the tails of the other two. “DAH!”
It was like her mind sort of knew that something was missing and did what it could to fill in the blanks.
Once the ringing echoes cleared from the halls, and silence returned, Arngeir spoke again.
“The shout of Unrelenting Force.” He identified, “Whole and unfragmented. Astonishing. Your voice is powerful dragonborn, and your knowledge equally impressive if not more so. With proper training, your voice might one day rival the most legendary heroes to wield it. That said… shall we continue?”
The group of adventurers and monks left the temple to a courtyard in the back (an open air courtyard with wind and freezing snow-covered ground, much to Stross’s disliking). Positioned outside, was a large gate that seemingly served no purpose, as it stood in the middle of nowhere and didn’t really keep anything in or out.
“Here we shall see how you learn a whole new shout: Wuld, which means whirlwind.” Arngeir led them before the gate at one end.
“How do I ‘learn’ a shout? The last one I got from a wall in a tomb.” Fenora asked, “I don’t have to go delving into more do I?”
The Greybeards all shared a chuckle at this.
“Er... Not this time, at least... no.” Arngeir said, still laughing a bit. “Master Borri, if you would…”
On his que, one of the other monks stepped forwards and faced the ground. “WULD.” He whispered, slight disturbances in the air making themselves known before the ground cracked, an imprint of the dragon word forcefully stamped into it.
“Oh man that’s cool.” Stross whispered while Fenora knelt down and studied the engraved word.
“Okay,” she said, finally standing up. “I think I got it.”
Arngeir nodded, but his knowing smile told more. “You understand the word, yes. But not of its meaning just yet. In order to attain such knowledge, the word must be felt in mind… and in spirit. Such things can take years of training, but for the sake of time, we shall share our knowledge of the word with you as the dragons of old did with their kin.”
One of the monks stood before Fenora and spread his arms in a slight bow to her. The wind picked up around the two, and Stross slipped into his changeling vision. What he saw wasn’t emotion flowing from the Greybeard to Fenora, but knowledge, bright but colorless. He saw Fenora’s eyes widen as she took in the last of it.
“Ah, now there are the eyes of one who has attained true understanding.” Arngeir said. “Now, step up to the starting post, and master Borri shall demonstrate how the thu’um of Whirlwind Sprint.”
Master Borri stood between two small, stone posts, aiming for a cooler full of nord mead bottles on the other side of the metal gate.
“BEX! (Open!)” one of them used a shout to open the gate.
When the gate opened, the timer began clicking down the seconds before it closed. Borri spoke the words of Whirlwind Sprint “WULD NAH KEST”. The second they left his mouth, the old monk was whisked along the snowy ground and through the open gate at a speed that could probably outpace a hyper pony like Pinkie Pie.
Then it was Fenora’s turn to give it a try. She stepped up between the two posts and bent her knees in a sprinter’s position.
“BEX!” the opening shout was called again.
“WULD…” Fenora spoke the first word and was propelled forward, kicking up a trail of snowy powder in her wake. “NAH…” but as the second word was spoken, she blazed past the ice-filled box of mead bottles and towards the edge of the cliff. “KES- Woah! Too far- Too far! Shiiiiiiii…”
“Fen!” Stross screamed, his wings punching through the back of his cloak as he flew off the edge of the cliff after her.
“Oh dear.”master Arngeir droaned.
The four Greybeards and Lydia moved forward slowly and cautiously before daring to peer over the edge. How were they going to explain to anyone that the legendary Dragonborn, savior of the entire world... died because of gravity?
“Halp!” screamed the changeling as he buzzed his wings furiously to keep both himself aloft with Fenora dangling from his ankles.
“I’m coming my thane!” Lydia shouted as she turned and ran back into the monastery, no doubt planning to run down the entirety of the seven thousand steps, around the base of the mountain, and climb up to them.
Luckily one of the Greybeards had a much better idea, and simply tossed down a rope.
“Once again Dragonborn, you must learn control if you are to wield the Voice. You nearly gave us a heart attack just now.” Arngeir criticized as Fenora pulled herself and Stross to safety.
“Right… yeah, I’ll work on that.” she said, gasping for breath. “Say… you wouldn’t happen to have a shout for not falling off cliffs, would you?”
“Or wandering into spike traps… or getting mauled by bears… or being roasted alive by accidentally standing in fire… or-“ Stross began listing off commonly dumb ways to die.
“Actually… there are.” One of the other Greybeards mentioned. And then the earth shook slightly in response to his voice, even though it was only a slight whisper.
“Cool. I’d like to learn all of those too please.” Fenora requested.
Immediately all the Greybeards gasped at the sheer audacity of such a request, murmuring amongst each other if such a thing were even possible.
“Arrogance will get you nowhere Dragonborn.” Arngeir warned in a mildly scolding tone. “It is true you have shown considerable talent in mastering the thu’um. But you are not yet ready to undertake the higher levels of training. Safely mastering even one thu’um would normally take years of discipline and practice. Already, two shouts have been granted to you, and so far your experience in using them in minimal at best. None can be so brash with so great a power.”
“It’s not brashness if you can back it up. I’ve got the potential; if you give me the power now, I can learn to control it through actually using it.” Fenora countered.
Master Arngeir shook his head in disappointment. “Have you heard nothing since coming here? You must have patience and calm. Jurgen Windcaller, our very founder knew this better than anyone, for he was taught it through sorrow and loss.”
“And why do you think I’m even here?!” Fenora shouted. “Master… what kind of time do you think we have?”
A pause, and a moment of silence between them.
“Alduin isn’t in the process of returning, he isn’t some looming threat in the distance; he’s back. He already burned Helgen to the ground along with dozens of innocent people. His minion killed all of Ireleth’s men before we stopped him from burning down Whiterun! He won’t just sit around eating sweetrolls while I learn how to… meditate!” Fenora ranted, “I know Balgruuf said you were removed from the troubles of the world up here, but I had no idea you didn’t care about them at all!”
“Fen! That’s not fair.” Stross tried to rein her in and defend the Greybeards.
“You bet it’s not fair!” Fenora turned on him now, “You’re the one who told me not to walk away and abandon everyone. You convinced me to give a fuck. Well, this is me giving a fuck!”
“We understand your frustration Dragonborn,” Arngeir began again, drawing Fenora’s attention back to him. “But we are merely acting with caution, as we have always tried to. We had watched for the signs, the civil war between the Stormcloacks and Imperials was when we knew for sure. When Alduin returned on the morning of yesterday, we knew that the prophesy was finally coming true, and that you would come to us. We are fulfilling our duty in training you in the way of the voice, but above all, we cannot let the power of the voice consume you. We do not wish to create another monster, even in such dire times.”
“That won’t happen, I promise.” Fenora told them.
Arngeir smiled at her sincerity, but still he shook his head. “That is not something you can promise.” He told her, and as she was about to speak up again, Arngeir continued. “Ulfric Stromcloak. Do you know the name?”
“Hey, he was that guy who was going to be executed at Helgen.” Stross remembered, “He’s the leader of some rebellion in Skyrim.”
“Indeed. But do you know how the rebellion came to be, how it began?” Arngeir asked, to which neither Fenora or Stross had an answer.
Lydia however, did. “He used the voice to kill High King Torygg. Walked right in and challenged him to a duel for the throne. When the duel began, he shouted him to the floor and put a sword through his chest before he could get up. Then he just walked right out again.” Lydia told them. “I was there when it happened. Queen Elisif was crying over his body for days.”
This shocked Fenora and Stross. They’d heard tidbits and bold statements from passing townspeople, but never a proper retelling of what happened. For Stross it hit especially hard; he didn’t even know Queen Elisif, and his heart still went out for her, knowing she’d watched as someone she loved was killed in front of her.
“And do you know how he came to possess the power of the voice?” Arngeir asked.
None answered, but they could all hazard a guess.
“Young Ulfric came to us with such sincerity, and such willingness to learn the way of the voice. He was more dedicated to his studies and training than any we had seen in decades. But it was fueled by a rage he could not conceal, a lust for vengeance burning in his soul.” Arngeir opened his eyes and looked at Fenora, “I see the same anger burning within you, Dragonborn. You might have seen the consequences that come with abusing the voice. We do not wish to make such a mistake again.”
“That’s-“
Stupid.
Fenora was going to tell them all that was the stupidest excuse she’d ever heard for not wanting to give their only hope every advantage she could get.
But… on the other hand, she could maybe… just maybe see why they were so hesitant. After all, they lived their lives on a mountain to keep their own powers in check, so chances were, they took sharing that kind of knowledge seriously.
“I’m not Ulfric Stormcloak.” She began again. “I don’t want to rule Skyrim or destroy anyone. I just want to stop Alduin.”
Mater Arngeir regarded her in silence for what seemed like a long while. Then finally he let out a sigh.
“Very well. As you wish, we shall continue your training.” He said, defeated. “This way.” He motioned for Fenora to follow.
===
"This time..." Arngeir prayed silently to himself, and to the goddess of the sky above, "Please let this one turn out right."