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— Diana — “Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” Diana blinked as consciousness returned to her and looked around. A man sat in front of her. “You were trying to cross the border, right?” he asked. “Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there.”Diana turned to look at the thief and finally registered that they were in a carriage being carted to…somewhere. Last thing she remembered was being excited to finally be at the border after her long trek from High Rock.“Damn you Stormcloaks,” spat the thief. “Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell now.” He turned to Diana. “You there. You and me—we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.” Stormcloaks? Thought Diana. No, it can’t be… “We’re all brothers in binds now, thief,” the Stormcloak responded before quickly adding “Brothers and sisters, that is.”“Shut up back there!” someone shouted. Diana turned and saw a grumpy-looking man in an Imperial uniform riding the horse drawing their carriage. To think, she came all the way to Skyrim to join the Imperial legion in their fight against the Stormcloaks, and now she had been imprisoned by them alongside the people who should’ve been their common enemy.“What’s wrong with him, huh?” asked the thief. Diana thought he meant their disgruntled driver, until she noticed him focusing on the man seated next to her.“Watch your tongue!” snapped the Stormcloak. “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!”Diana’s heart dropped as she failed to conceal her staring. She was sitting next to Ulfric Stormcloak— the Ulfric Stormcloak. The man who murdered her parents. She had hoped to face him one day, that was why she came to Skyrim in the first place, but she hadn’t expected that day to `come nearly so soon. She was nowhere near prepared to deal with this, let alone in the current circumstances that put her in his same boat.The thief seemed shocked as well. “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion! But if they’ve captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?!”“I don’t know where we’re going,” the Stormcloak answered. “But Sovngarde awaits.”“No, this can’t be happening! This isn’t happening!” the thief cried.A look of sympathy crossed the Stormcloak’s face. Diana was surprised they were even capable of such feelings. “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?” he asked in a clear effort to distract their fellow prisoner from their dire situation.“Why do you care?!” the thief snapped.“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”The thief considered his words for a moment before answering. “Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.”“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting.” Clearly the Imperials cared less for distracting the doomed from their fate.“Good. Let’s get this over with,” replied a man Diana assumed to be General Tullius. He was shorter than she had expected, and looked older as well. Less like a heroic general and more like a tired old man.The Stormcloak scoffed as they passed the general. “Look at him: General Tullius, the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this.”The thief began mumbling a prayer. “Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines, please help me!”“Evermor,” Diana said. The three men looked at her confused, and she clarified. “I’m from Evermor, in High Rock.”“You’re a long way from home then,,” the Stormcloak observed. “What brings you to Skyrim?”“Well, I was actually originally from Karthwasten,” she clarified. “My family moved to Evermor soon after my birth, but I’ve always wanted to see the Reach for myself.”The Stormcloak chuckled. “Well, you picked a bad time to return home, Breton.” He looked up as they passed under a stone arch into a city. “This is Helgen,” he said.“You know it?” Diana asked.The Stormcloak nodded. “It’s not far from my home. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in.”“That sounds good,” Diana said.“It was,” he replied wistfully. “I’d say you should try it some time, but, well…” he trailed off as the mood soured again. He was silent for a moment before chuckling to himself. “You know, it’s funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls used to make me feel so safe.”A little boy clambered out of his house and pointed at the procession. “Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?”His father followed him out the door and watched for a moment. “You need to go inside, little cub.”“Why?” the boy whined. “I want to watch the soldiers!”“Inside the house,” the father repeated. “Now.”The boy sighed. “Yes, papa…” He turned and went inside, followed closely by his father who closed the door behind them.“Whoa!” the driver called to the horse, bringing the carriage to a somewhat sudden stop.“Get these prisoners out of the carts!” called a soldier in what appeared to be a Captain’s uniform.The thief looked around frantically. “Why are we stopping?”“Why do you think?” the Stormcloak replied. “End of the line.” He sighed before getting to his feet. “Let’s go. Shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.”“No, wait! We’re not rebels!” the thief cried as he passed the Imperial guards.“Face your death with some courage, thief,” the Stormcloak chided.“You’ve got to tell them!” the thief insisted. “We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!”The Imperial Captain gave no indication of even hearing the thief’s pleas. “Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time.”Ralof snorted. “Empire loves their damn lists,” he muttered.A soldier next to the Captain pulled out a list and began reading. “Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.” As the man in question stepped forward, Diana felt her stomach churn. Her one solace was that if she was to die this day, at least she would get to watch that bastard die first.The Stormcloak soldier had different feelings. “It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.”The Imperial soldier continued reading. “Ralof of Riverwood.” The Stormcloak, evidently Ralof, followed in the footsteps of his Jarl. “Lokir of Rorikstead.”“No, I’m not a rebel, you can’t do this!” the thief, or rather Lokir, pleaded.“Step toward the block,” the Captain ordered.Lokir took a tentative step backward, then bolted past the Captain and her assistant.“Halt!” the Captain shouted after him, as if he was going to listen.“You’re not going to kill me!” Lokir called back, ducking and weaving between the onlookers who had gathered to watch the execution.“Archers!” the Captain ordered. A series of arrows zipped through the air, implanting themselves in Lokir’s back with the sickening sound of flesh being pierced. Lokir barely got out a groan before he slumped to the ground. The Captain preened herself before turning back to the remaining prisoners. “Anyone else feel like running?” she asked. No one said anything, so the soldier continued reading his list.“From-Darkest-Waters.”An Argonian stepped forward and tutted at him. “That’s Captain From-Darkest- Waters to you, boy.”“Step toward the block.” The Imperial Captain ordered.The Argonian rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah? Or else what? You’ll kill me? You don’t exactly have any bargaining chips, you land-strider.”The Imperial Captain groaned. “Whatever. Call her whatever title she wants.”The Imperial soldier cleared his throat. “ Captain From-Darkest-Waters.”The Argonian nodded, pleased and fell in line. “If they’re going to execute me, the least they could do is show some damn respect,” she muttered.After getting through the rest of his names, he paused and looked curiously at Diana. “Wait, you there,” he said. “Step forward.” Diana obliged, and the soldier looked her up and down. “Who are you?”Diana swallowed. “Di—Diana, sir. Diana Venlich.”The soldier raised an eyebrow. “You from Daggerfall, Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?”“No, sir,” Diana replied. “I’m from Evermor.”The soldier turned to his superior. “Captain, what should we do? She’s not on the list.”“Forget the list,” the Captain replied dismissively. “She goes to the block.”The soldier nodded solemnly. “By your orders, Captain.” He turned back to Diana. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock. Follow the Captain, prisoner.”As she followed, they past another line of prisoners who seemed to be having a similar problem. “Seems he’s not on the list.”“Damn the list, just take him to the block.” A rugged looking Nord dressed in rags was shuffled into line behind Diana. Just what she needed, more Nords.Once all the prisoners were lined up at the block, General Tullius addressed their guest of honor. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.”Ulfric responded only with a series of grunts muffled by the gag in his mouth.“You started this war,” the General continued. “Plunged Skyrim into chaos. But now the Empire’s going to put you down and restore the peace.”A strange sound shattered the ambience. It sounded rather distant, but was loud enough to be heard clearly.“What was that?” asked one of the soldiers.“It’s nothing,” the General dismissed. “Carry on.”“Yes, General Tullius,” replied the Captain before turning to a priestess. “Give them their last rites.”The priestess stepped forward and began reciting her rites. “As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved—”“For the love of Talos, shut up and get this over with!” one of the other Stormcloaks interjected.The priestess looked miffed, but stepped back. “As you wish.”“Come on, I haven’t got all day,” the Stormcloak taunted as he was led to the block. Clearly, gallows humor was popular amongst the Nords, or perhaps chopping block humor in this case. The Captain planted a foot in the Stormcloaks back and forced him to his knees. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials,” he said as he laid his head down. “Can you say the same?”Diana wondered the same of herself as she watched the headsman’s axe swing down and sever the Stormcloak’s head from his body. Is this what her parents would have wanted for her? Was dying at the hands of the Imperials any better than at the hands of the Nords?“You Imperial bastards!” shouted one of the other Stormcloaks.“Justice!” cried one of the Imperial soldiers.“Death to the Stormcloaks!” yelled one of the onlookers.Ralof bowed his head. “As fearless in death as he was in life.”The Captain turned back to the prisoners. “Next, the Breton!”As Diana began to step forward, the sound from earlier came again, closer this time.“There it is again!” commented the same Imperial soldier.“I said, next prisoner!” ordered the Captain.“To the block, prisoner,” the soldier said to her. “Nice and easy.”Diana approached the block and hesitated for a moment before it became clear that the Imperials hadn’t forgotten to remove the body of the Stormcloak before her, but rather had no intention of doing so at all. She felt nauseous as she was forced to her knees, her body falling onto that of her predecessor, which was still disturbingly warm. Her face was inches away from where his lay unceremoniously in a basket. His eyes were still open, staring to the side. She decided to look to the side as well, so her last side wouldn’t be that haunting expression. Instead, she was treated to a perfect view of the headsman’s crotch. She decided eyes shut was better.Right as the headsman raised his axe, Diana heard General Tullius cry out. “What in Oblivion is that?!”“Sentries!” barked the Captain. “What do you see?”“It’s in the clouds!” one yelled. Diana opened her eyes and saw the headsman hesitating over her. Something dark and massive darted through the sky unimaginably fast. It landed on the watchtower behind the headsman, perfectly in view.“Dragon!” shouted another sentry.And a dragon it was. It was clad in scales as black as midnight, each of its wings easily the size of a small house. “Strun Bah Qo!” it roared. The sky began twisting, the blue skies quickly clouding over and turning a sinister crimson as flaming rocks the size of meteors began raining down.The dragon seemed to look directly at Diana. “Fus Ro Dah!” it shouted. Diana and the headsman were thrown back, her tumbling like a ragdoll, and him smacking back first into a wall with a sickening crack . He didn’t get up.“Don’t just stand there! Kill that thing!” ordered General Tullius. “Guards, get the townspeople to safety! Someone get the battlemages out here, now!”“Hey, Diana! Get up!” Diana looked up and saw Ralof holding out his hand. “Come on! The gods won’t give us another chance!”Diana grabbed his hand as best she could with hers still being bound and followed him as he ran to a nearby watchtower. She froze when she saw Ulfric, but considered that now was not the time for vengeance.Ralof ran to his leader. “Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?”Ulfric, hands now free, tore the gag out of his mouth. “Legends don’t burn down villages,” he replied. “We need to move. Now!”“Up through the tower!” Ralof suggested. “Let’s go.”Diana ran after him, passing a couple Stormcloaks looking after their injured. “They’re hurt, but they’ll live,” she overheard. “Another second out their with that dragon and they’d both be dead.”Diana paused and considered trying to help, but Ralof jarred her back to reality. “Let’s go, Breton! With me, up the tower!”They climbed the tower to its second story and found a Stormcloak frantically trying clawing at a pile of rubble covering an opening. “We just need to clear some of these rocks to clear the way!” he explained when he spotted them.Suddenly, the rubble was blasted inward from the outside. Diana staggered backwards, while the Stormcloak who had been working at the pile was crushed. The dragon’s head poked through the hole. “Yol Toor Shul!” it shouted, a wave of fire blasting into the tower, incinerating the rebel. The dragon flew off and Ralof examined the newly cleared opening. “See that inn on the other side?” he said, turning to Diana. “Jump through the roof and keep going! We’ll follow when we can!”Diana wasn’t about to stick around and risk her life for a bunch of Nords, so she wasted no time in leaping through the hole, rolling to a stop in the burned-out remnants of what used to be Helgen’s inn. She jumped down to the ground floor through a hole and found herself back in the open.“Haming, you need to get over here. Now!” the soldier with the list was shouting at the curious boy from earlier. “That a boy, you’re doing great. Torolf— Gods, everyone get back!”“Yol Toor Shul!” the dragon shouted again. The boy's father, Torolf, screamed in agony as he was engulfed in flames. The soldier did his best to shield Haming’s eyes, but the child’s wails told Diana it wasn’t enough.The soldier finally noticed her. “Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way.” An ironic thing to hear from the man who just tried to execute her. “Gunnar, take care of the boy,” he said to one of the other soldiers. “I have to find General Tullius and join the defense.”Gunnar nodded, taking Haming in his arms. “Gods guide you, Hadvar.”Hadvar turned back to Diana and quickly shouted “Stay close to the wall!” Diana ducked to the closest wall just in time to avoid another spout of dragonfire. “Quickly, follow me!” he said once the flames died down.Diana followed Hadvar through the burning ruins of Helgen until they found General Tullius, who barely even seemed to register her presence. “Hadvar!” he shouted. “Into the keep, soldier! We’re leaving!”Hadvar nodded in confirmation and turned back to Diana. “It’s you and me, prisoner. Stay close!”The two of them ran toward the keep, where they came face to face with Diana’s Stormcloak acquaintance, with the Argonian captain in tow.. “Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!” Hadvar growled.“We’re escaping, Hadvar!” Ralof retorted. “You’re not stopping us this time!”Hadvar grimaced. “Fine, I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!”Ralof ignored him and focused on Diana. “Breton! Come on, into the keep!”“Quick, I can cut you loose inside the keep!” Hadvar countered.Diana hesitated for a moment, then ran after Ralof and the Argonian. Stormcloak or not, she wasn’t about to put her life in the hands of a man who so recently tried to end it. Ralof grinned as she followed him. “Through here, let’s go!”The three of them scrambled through the doors of the keep and slammed it shut behind them, listening to the sounds of the dragon. “Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki!” As the trio caught their breath, they looked around the room they were now in. Ralof sighed as he saw a body wearing the Stormcloak uniform. He walked over and knelt down, confirming it was dead. “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother,” he said mournfully. He turned back to Diana and the Argonian. “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it.”“Very astute observation,” the Argonian commented.Ralof ignored her jab. “That thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just like the children’s stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times.”“Two for two. Not bad, captain obvious.”Ralof rolled his eyes. “Now’s not the time for petty retorts, lizard. We should keep moving.”“And there’s number three in a row! Well done!”“Ah shut it, scale-back. Diana, come here and let me get your bindings off.”Diana stepped forward and let Ralof begin working on her bonds with his dagger while the Argonian inspected her claws without a care in the world. “There you go,” Ralof announced once he’d cut through the last of the ropes. “Since the lizard seems to have already gleaned some gear on our way here, you might as well take Gunjar’s. He won’t be needing it anymore.”Diana examined the corpse and shivered at the thought of looting it. Desperate times call for desperate measures, but she would prefer to be killed by the dragon than to wear a Stormcloak uniform, or to leave a dead man in the nude. She compromised by simply taking his axe and boots.Meanwhile, Ralof and the Argonian were exploring their surroundings. “Dammit, this gate’s locked,” the Stormcloak said from one end of the room.“And this one can’t be opened from our side,” the Argonian replied from the other end.Out of curiosity, Diana tried the doors they came in. Something must have fallen on the other side, because they wouldn’t budge. “These are stuck too,” she called.“Damn,” Ralof cursed. “Are we really trapped in here?”The Argonian suddenly shushed him. “Imperials are coming this way!” she hissed. “Take cover!”Diana looked around and couldn’t help but notice the complete lack of anywhere to hide. “No, follow my lead!” she insisted. She dipped her hands in Gunjar’s blood and spread it around her body before dropping to the floor. Ralof and the Argonian seemed confused, but followed suit anyway.“Get this gate open,” said a voice Diana recognized as the Imperial Captain from earlier. Keys rattled in the lock and the door clanged open. Diana and the other escapees held their breath as the Imperials entered the room.“Damn, I told her she should have come with me,” sighed Hadvar as he saw Diana on the ground.“Who cares?” the Captain asked. “They were supposed to die anyway.”“I know, but she wasn’t even on the list,” Hadvar explained.“Just like me, eh?” someone said.“Aye, I fear you weren’t the only one unjustly punished, Wiglaf.”“Ugh, who gives a damn?” the captain interrupted. “She’s dead now, just like the rest of those traitorous sons of bitches.”“Always the empathetic one, Captain Szivba,” Hadvar muttered.The three of them continued past the trio and unlocked the gate at the other end before leaving through the door. Once their footsteps faded away, Ralof got up and smiled at Diana. “That was some quick thinking!” he said. “Playing dead, quite crafty.”The Argonian sat up and cracked her knuckles. “Bit too crafty for my tastes.” she grumbled. “I much prefer good old-fashioned fisticuffs.”“You can have your fisticuffs later,” Ralof replied. “Right now, anything that can keep us alive is good enough for me.”Together, the three of them made their way through the keep, passing through rooms and corridors, until they came upon the deepest dungeon. “Troll’s blood! It’s a torture room!” Ralof exclaimed. They ran into the room and found a torturer and his assistant in combat with two Stormcloaks. The five of them made quick work of the former two. Once they were dispatched, Ralof turned to his compatriots. “Was Jarl Ulfric with you?”“No, I haven’t seen him since the dragon showed up,” one of them replied.“Damn, I hope he’s alright. We got separated at the tower.”The group continued further into the keep and found a broken wall leading into a cave system, where they overheard a group of Imperial Soldiers talking. “Orders are to wait until General Tullius arrives.”“We’re not waiting to be killed by a dragon!” another argued. “We need to pull back!”“Just give the General more time,” countered the first.The second looked like he was about to argue, but spotted the group. “Stormcloaks! Filthy traitors!”Ralof sneered at them. “Imperial dogs!”After taking out the Imperials, they found a tunnel leading further into the cave. “You three go on ahead,” said one of the Stormcloaks they picked up in the torture chamber. “We’ll wait here in case Jarl Ulfric comes through.”“Aye, Talos guide you,” Ralof agreed. He, Diana, and the Argonian passed through the tunnel, which promptly collapsed behind them. “No going back that way, now,” Ralof observed. “We’d better push on. The rest of them will have to find another way out.”“Always with the obvious statements,” muttered the Argonian.Ralof narrowed his eyes. “I’d think you’d be happy, lizard, seeing how you got more than enough of your ‘fisticuffs,’”“True,” the Argonian replied, wiping Imperial blood from her blade. “But there could always be more.”Diana scouted ahead while the pair bickered. First was a cave of Frostbite Spiders, and then another with a bear, none of which posed a challenge for the hunter. By the time Ralof and the Argonian caught up, she was at the mouth of the cave leading outside.“You’re a fast one, aren’t you?” Ralof said.Diana shrugged. “You two were taking too long.”“Tss! Get down!” the Argonian hissed. The unmistakable roar of the dragon rolled over them like thunder as the beast soared overhead and past them.“There he goes,” Ralof said. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time. No way to know if anyone else made it out alive, but this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We’d better clear out of here.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

— Wiglaf — Hadvar was well ahead of Diana’s group. He’d found himself alongside a different prisoner who, like Diana, hadn’t even been on the execution list, yet Captain Szivba couldn’t care less. At least she wasn’t executing the poor man here and now. They’d reached the mouth of the cave as well, with no sign of the dragon.“Closest town from here is Riverwood,” Hadvar stated. “My uncle’s the blacksmith there. I’m sure he’ll help us.”Captain Szivba grunted. “We’ll split up then. You two milk-drinkers can go cuddle up with your uncle if you want. I’m headed back to Solitude.”“Are you sure?” Hadvar asked. “It isn’t far from here, and I’m sure you could use the rest as much as us two.”“Yes, I’m sure,” Szivba. Replied flatly. “Do what you want, soldier. Just make sure you come back to Solitude as well once you’re finished licking your wounds.” She turned to the former prisoner. “I hate to say it, but you were helpful in escaping that damned lizard. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve earned your pardon, but until we can get that confirmed by General Tullius, keep your head low and your nose clean, understood?”“Yes ma’am,” he replied.“Good. And take care of Hadvar for me. Good luck out there, both of you.”The two of them watched her leave before beginning their trek to Riverwood. “I know the Captain can be harsh, but she has a good heart,” Hadvar said.The man nodded silently. He was a hard one to read.“I’m sorry to have to ask, but what did you say your name was again?” Hadvar asked. “I don’t think I quite caught it earlier amidst the chaos.”“Wiglaf,” the man replied simply.“Ah, that’s right,” Hadvar replied. “Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Wiglaf.”Wiglaf nodded again. Clearly not much of a talker.Hadvar looked around for something to break the awkward silence as they walked. “See that ruin up there?” he asked, pointing to the mountain ahead of them. “Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don’t much like the look of it.”“Makes sense,” Wiglaf said. Hadvar couldn’t tell if he meant that in an understanding way, or if Wiglaf just thought he was a milk drinker like Szivba.They walked in silence after that until they finally arrived in Riverwood. “Things look quiet enough here,” Hadvar said, looking around. “Ah, and there’s my uncle. Uncle Alvor, hello!”Alvor looked up from his forge. “Hadvar? What are you doing here?” he asked. “Are you on leave from…” He trailed off as Hadvar and Wiglaf got closer and he noticed their shape. “Shor’s bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?”Hadvar looked around nervously and shushed his uncle. “Uncle, please. Keep your voice down. I’m fine, but we should go in to talk.”“What’s going on?” the blacksmith insisted. “And who’s this?”“He’s a friend,” Hadvar explained. “Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I’ll explain everything, but we need to go inside.”Alvor looked perplexed, but agreed. “Aye, Sigrid will get you something to eat, and you can tell us what happened.”The three of them entered Alvor’s house, which was refreshingly warm and calm. “Sigrid, we have company!”“Hadvar, we’ve been so worried about you!” exclaimed his wife. “Come, you two must be hungry. Sit down, and I’ll get you something to eat.”The three of them sat as Sigrid began preparing food. “Now then, boy, what’s the big mystery?” Alvor asked. “What are you doing here looking like you lost a fight with a cave bear?”Hadvar sighed. “I don’t know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius’s guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked… by a dragon.”The blacksmith choked on his drink. “A—a dragon?! That’s… ridiculous. You aren’t drunk, are you, boy?”Sigrid arrived with some stew and lightly swatted Alvor. “Husband, let him tell his story,” she chided.“Not much more to tell,” Hadvar said. “The dragon just flew over and wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don’t know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I’d have made it out myself if not for my friend here.”“Mara’s mercy,” Sigrid said. “Well, I’m glad you two made it out okay at least.”“Aye,” Hadvar agreed. “I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what’s happened. I thought you could help us. Food, clothes, a place to stay.”“Of course!” Alvor heartily agreed. “Any friend of Hadvar’s is a friend of mine.”A little girl ran up to Hadvar excitedly. “Hadvar! Did you really see a dragon? What did it look like? Did it have big teeth?”“Hush, child,” Sigrid chided. “Don’t pester your cousin.” This did little to deter the girl, who continued rapid-firing question after question.Alvor chuckled before turning to Wiglaf. “Like I said, I’m glad to help in any way I can, but I need your help. We need your help. The Jarl needs to know there’s a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you can do that, I’ll be in your debt.”“I will try,” Wiglaf agreed. “How do I get there?”“Cross the river, then head north,” Alvor replied. You’ll see it, just past the falls. When you get to Whiterun, just keep going. When you get to the top of the hill, you’ll be at Dragonsreach, the Jarl’s palace.”“What should I know about him?” Wiglaf asked.“Jarl Balgruuf? He rules Whiterun hold,” Alvor explained. “A good man, perhaps a bit over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far, he’s managed to stay out of the war. I don’t think he likes Ulfric or Elisif much, but who can blame him? Still, I have no doubt he’ll prove loyal to the empire in the end. He’s no traitor.”Wiglaf looked confused. “Elisif?”“Ah, you’re new to Skyrim, eh?” Alvor asked. “ Jarl Elisif, I should say, although only because she was married to Jarl Torygg when he was murdered.” Wiglaf looked even more confused, so he continued. “Ulfric murdered Torygg, you see. Walked right into his palace in Solitude and killed him. Shouted him to death, if you believe the stories. That’s what started this whole war. The Empire couldn’t ignore that. Once the Jarls start killing each other, we’re back to the bad old days.”“So you support the Empire?”“Of course,” Alvor replied. “Skyrim has always been part of the Empire. Now, that doesn’t mean I support everything the Empire’s been doing lately, but Nords have never been fair-weather friends. People are rightly stirred up about the damned Thalmor being allowed to roam around arresting people, just for worshiping Talos, but was it worth tearing Skyrim apart, and maybe destroying the Empire? No! Ulfric will have a lot to answer for in the end. The Nords have always supported the Empire, and the Empire has always been good for Skyrim. Why, we didn’t even pay much attention to the White-Gold Concordat when I was a boy. Everyone still had their little shrines to Talos. Then Ulfric and his ‘Sons of Skyrim’ started agitating about it, and sure enough, the Empire had to crack down. Dragging people off in the middle of the night… One of the main causes of this war, if you ask me.” — Diana — “Riverwood is this way.”“The sign says it’s the other direction.”“The sign is wrong! I was born and raised here! You think I don’t know the way to my own home?”“I don’t think you know the way out of your own ass, or else maybe you could’ve gotten your head out of it by now.”“Why you—!”Diana groaned as she listened to Ralof and the Argonian continue bickering. The two had been at each other’s throats constantly since their escape from the cave. Now it was getting dark, and they seemed to be hopelessly lost. “Knock it off all ready, both of you!” she snapped. “I’d rather be back with the dragon at this point.”“Don’t blame me,” Ralof replied. “This stupid lizard is antagonizing me!”“Ooh, ‘antagonizing.’ That’s a big word, little boy,” the Argonian mocked.“That does it!” Ralof snarled, reaching for his axe.“Enough!” Diana yelled. She wedged herself between the squabbling pair and held them apart. “Either you two play nice, or I’m killing both of you myself.”The Argonian scoffed. “I’d like to see you try, kid.” Diana’s knife was poised at her throat before she could even finish the sentence. She looked down at the blade, seemingly unfazed. “Touché.”“Wait, those are the Guardian Stones over there!” Ralof interjected. “I know the way from here!”“Good,” Diana replied before the Argonian could get in any of her snarky quips. “Lead the way.”Night had fallen by the time they arrived, but at that point they were all thankful to arrive at all. The town was quiet and peaceful, the only light or sounds coming from the tavern. “Looks like nobody here knows what’s happened yet,” Ralof noted. “Come on, Gerdur’s probably at her home.”They followed Ralof to a house with a small farm. He knocked on the door which was opened a few moments later by a woman. “Brother! Mara’s mercy, it’s good to see you!” she exclaimed upon seeing Ralof. “But is it safe for you to be here? We heard that Ulfric had been captured, and we—”“Gerdur… Gerdur, I’m fine,” Ralof assured her. “At least now I am.”“Are you hurt? What happened?” she asked. She peered behind him and seemed to notice his companions for the first time. “And who’s this? A couple of your comrades?”“Not comrades yet, but friends. I owe them my life in fact,” he explained.“Aw, I’m your fri—Ow!” the Argonian was cut off as Diana stamped on her foot.“Is there somewhere we can talk?” Ralof continued, ignoring the pair. “There’s no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials.”“Helgen? Has something happened?” Gerdur asked. “No, you’re right, we should find somewhere private first. Follow me.” She stepped out and called in the direction of the tavern. “Hod! Come here a minute, I need your help with something!”A slightly inebriated man on the porch of the inn called back. “What is it, woman? Sven forget to put the tools away again?”“Hod, just come here,” Gerdur reiterated.Hod seemed to catch sight of the group in front of his house and came to attention. “Ralof?! What are you doing here? I’ll… I’ll be right there!”A little boy poked his head out of the house and lit up when he saw Ralof. “Uncle Ralof! Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed? Do you really know Ulfric Stormcloak?”“Hush, Fordnar. This is no time for your games,” Gerdur chided. “Go make sure your father gets here without any ‘distractions,’ all right?”Frodnar pouted. “Aw, mama, I want to stay and talk with Uncle Ralof!”Ralof chuckled and ruffled his nephew’s hair. “Look at you, almost a grown man! Won’t be long now before you’re joining the fight yourself.”“That’s right! Don’t worry, Uncle Ralof, I’ll make sure my papa is here soon!”Gerdur led the trio into the house and got them situated at the dining table. Frodnar returned soon after with his father in tow.“Now Ralof,” Hod said as he plopped into his own seat. “What’s going on? You three look pretty well done in.”“I can’t remember when I last slept,” Ralof admitted. “Where to start? Well, the news you heard about Ulfric was true. The Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing, like they knew exactly where we’d be. That was… two days ago, now.”“I was brought along with them since the Imperials wanted me executed for… other reasons,” the Argonian offered. “Then we ran into this one trying to stumble across the border along our way.”Ralof nodded. “Aye, and then we stopped in Helgen this morning, and I thought it was all over. Had us lined up to the headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.”Gerdur gasped. “The cowards!”“They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial,” Ralof agreed. “Treason for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then.”Diana was amazed at the sheer amount of irony that was lost on this Nord.“Then out of nowhere,” he continued, oblivious to her silent fuming. “A dragon attacked.”Gerdur’s eyes widened and Hod spat out his mead. “You don’t mean a real live…?”“I could hardly believe it myself, and I was there,” Ralof agreed. “As strange as it sounds, we’d be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion, we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?”“Well, I think Alvor’s nephew came by with some stranger,” Gerdur said. “But nobody else has come up the south road today, as far as I know.”Ralof sneered. “Ugh, Hadvar. Of course he made it out. Regardless, I was hoping we could lay up for a while. I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but…”“Nonsense,” Gerdur assured him. “You and your friends are welcome to stay here as long as you need to. Let me worry about Hadvar and the Imperials.”The Argonian sat up and stretched her arms. “Well, far be it from me to pass up on free hospitality. Night everyone.”Gerdur eyed the lizard as she flopped onto the largest bed and immediately began snoring. She sighed and turned her attention to Diana. “Well, any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine. Stay as long as you like. If there’s anything you need, just let me know.”“Thank you,” Diana replied. She still had mixed feelings about being in the company of these Nords, let alone Stormcloaks, but Gerdur had given her no reason to be rude. “I can try to help around here to repay you.”“No need,” Gerdur replied. She paused to think, then added “Actually, if you want, there is something you could do for me. For all of us here.”“Anything,” Diana agreed. Being indebted was not something she enjoyed.“The Jarl needs to know if there’s a dragon on the loose. Riverwood is defenseless,” Gerdur explained. “We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can. If you’ll do that for me, I’ll be in your debt.”“Thanks sister,” Ralof said. “I knew we could count on you.”“Of course,” she replied. “I ought to get to bed myself, but… did anyone else escape? Did Ulfric…?”“Don’t worry, I’m sure he made it out,” Ralof assured her. “It’ll take more than a dragon to stop Ulfric Stormcloak!”Diana nudged the lizard to one side of the bed so she could squeeze in. More than a dragon to stop Ulfric , she thought to herself. More than a dragon…  Diana woke bright and early the next morning, due partially to habit, and partially to the scaly arm that fell across her face as her bedfellow slept soundly. After extracting herself from the bed, she left the house as quietly as she could, grabbing a fishing pole on her way out. Early morning was prime fishing hours, so she wanted to take advantage of it.After catching a few salmon, she returned to Gerdur’s house and put the rod back in its place before cooking up her haul. A simple breakfast was ready by the time the others were beginning to stir. Gerdur insisted that Diana was a guest and didn’t need to cook for them, but Diana assured her that it was her pleasure. That, and it was less to be indebted to the Nords over. Her plan to not be a burden was truly flawless.She then began the long trek to Whiterun alone. Ralof was staying with Gerdur’s family longer, and From-Darkest-Water’s… well, she was still dead asleep, and no one was really sure what her plan was. Regardless, Diana welcomed the peaceful solitude, especially after yesterday’s constant bickering. The journey was indeed long, but thankfully uneventful, and the city was soon within sight. She continued down the hill and caught sight of a commotion. She sprinted toward it and found a group of people fighting off a giant that was attacking a farm. They didn’t seem to be in dire need of assistance, but two arrows sprouting from its eyes certainly didn’t hurt. Well, didn’t hurt them, at least.“You handle yourself well,” one of them said as she approached. “You could make for a decent Shield-Sister.”“Shield-Sister?” Diana asked.“An outsider, eh? Never heard of the Companions?” the woman asked. “We’re an order of warriors. We are brothers and sisters in honor, and we show up to solve problems if the coin is good enough.”Diana became suddenly aware of how light her coin purse was. “Could I join?”The woman shrugged. “Not for me to say. You’ll have to talk to Kodlak Whitemane up in Jorrvaskr. The old man’s got a good sense for people. He can look in your eyes and tell your worth. If you go to him, good luck.”Diana nodded. “I’ll think about it. First, I’ve got an errand to finish.”She left the Companions to clean up the giant’s mess and continued up toward Whiterun, where she was interrupted once again. “Halt,” ordered the guard at the gate. “City’s closed with the dragons about.”“I need to speak to Jarl Balgruuf,” Diana explained. “I have news regarding the dragons.”The elf sheathed his blade. “Fine. But we’ll be watching you.”After the warm welcome, Diana was allowed through the gate and into the city. It was much larger than the small towns and villages she was accustomed to, but the Jarl’s palace towering on the hill was easy enough to find. The doors to Dragonsreach were large and intimidating, but Diana pushed them open and entered.She made her way into the palace and heard an ongoing conversation. “My lord, please, you must listen. I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these. If the news from Helgen is true… Well, there’s no telling what it means.”“What would you have me do, then? Nothing?” replied a man seated in a throne in the center of the chamber, presumably Jarl Balgruuf.“My lord, please, this is no time for rash action,” the advisor insisted. “I just think we need more information before we act.”The Jarl noticed Diana as she approached and cut off the advisor. “Who’s this then?”A Dunmer stepped in front of Diana and drew her sword. “What is the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”“I’m aware,” Diana assured. “Gerdur sent me. Riverwood is in danger.”“As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention,” the elf replied. “Now explain yourself.”“A dragon has destroyed Helgen,” she explained. “And Gerdur is afraid it may come for Riverwood next.”The housecarl’s eyes widened. “You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak with you personally. Approach.”Diana stepped forward and knelt. “No need for that. Not here. Not now,” the Jarl insisted, and Diana rose. “So, what’s this about Riverwood being in danger?” he asked.“Yes, as I was telling your housecarl, Helgen was destroyed in a dragon attack, and Gerdur fears it may come for Riverwood.”“Gerdur?” Jarl Balgruuf mused. “Owns the lumber mill, doesn’t she? Pillar of the community. Not prone to flights of fancy. And you’re sure Helgen was destroyed by a dragon? This wasn’t some Stormcloak raid gone wrong?”“I’m certain,” Diana replied. “The dragon completely destroyed Helgen, and last I saw, it was heading this way.”“By Ysmir, Irileth was right!” the Jarl exclaimed. He turned to his advisor. “What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?”“My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once,” the housecarl suggested. “It’s in the most immediate danger. If that dragon is lurking in the mountains…”“We’ll do no such thing!” Proventus objected. “The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He’ll assume we’re planning to join Ulfric’s side and attack him! We should not—”“Enough!” barked Jarl Balgruuf. “I’ll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people. Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.”“Yes, my Jarl,” replied the housecarl.Proventus seethed quietly, but held his tongue. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ll return to my duties.”“That would be best,” the Jarl replied without looking at him. He instead turned back to address Diana. “Well done. You sought me out on your own initiative. You’ve done Whiterun a service. But there is another thing I need from you. Something suitable for someone of your talents. Come, let’s go find Farengar, my court wizard. He’s been looking into a matter related to these dragons and… rumors of dragons."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

— Wiglaf — Before beginning the journey to Whiterun, Wiglaf decided to gather some supplies. Alvor directed him to the Riverwood Trader, the town’s general store. He walked in, and was immediately met with an argument.“Well one of us has to do something,” a woman was saying“I said no! No adventure, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!” a man behind the counter replied“Well what are you going to do then, huh? Let’s hear it!”“We are done talking about this!” The man behind the counter locked eyes with Wiglaf and seemed embarrassed. “Oh, a customer. Sorry you had to hear that.”The woman huffed indignantly. “Maybe you can talk some sense into my brother.” “Camilla…” her brother warned. “Not in front of the customers.Wiglaf shifted his eyes awkwardly. “Did, uh, did something happen?”“Well, yeah, we did have a bit of a… break-in. But we still have plenty of things to sell! Robbers were only after one thing: An ornament, solid gold, and in the shape of a dragon’s claw.”Wiglaf finished gathering supplies and handed him the gold to pay. “If you want, I could help you get your claw back,” he offered.“You could?!” the man asked excitedly. “I’ve got some coin coming in from my last shipment. It’s yours if you can bring my claw back. If you’re planning on going after those thieves, you should head to Bleak Falls Barrow, northeast of town.”“So this is your plan, Lucan?” Camilla asked.“Yes, so now you don’t have to go, do you?” he replied.“Oh really? Well, I think your new helper here needs a guide.”Lucan grew visibly flustered. “Wh—no, I… Oh, by the Eight, fine. But only to the edge of town, understood?” He turned back to Wiglaf. “The sooner you find the claw, the sooner our lives can get back to normal. Just don’t let my sister do anything foolish. Now show those thieves not to steal from Lucan Valerius!”Wiglaf gathered his things and Camilla led him out the door. “We have to go through town and across the bridge to Bleak Falls Barrow,” she said. “You can see it from here, though, on the mountain just over the buildings.” Wiglaf looked where she was pointing, and sure enough, there was the telltale stonework of an ancient nord barrow."Those thieves must be mad, hiding out there,” she said as they walked. “Those old crypts are filled with nothing but traps, trolls, and who knows what else! Honestly, I wonder why they only stole Lucan’s claw. I mean, we have plenty of other things in the shop that are worth just as much coin.”Wiglaf sighed quietly. He wasn’t sure what the people of Skyrim had against walking together in silence.“Lucan found the claw about a year after he opened the store,” she continued, oblivious to Wiglaf’s discomfort. “He never quite explained where he got it. He’s a tricky one.”They finally arrived at the river that marked the end of Riverwood. “This is the bridge out of town,” she said helpfully. “The path up the mountain to the northwest leads to Bleak Falls Barrow.” She sighed, disappointed that her short adventure was already at its end. “I guess I should get back to my brother. He’ll throw a fit if I’m gone too long. Such a child…”Wiglaf waved her good-bye as he crossed the bridge. He continued the trek in blissful silence. The air was brisk, but refreshing, and the sun shone in the clear sky keeping the cold from becoming too intense. It wasn’t what he was accustomed to in Cyrodiil. Instead, it was perfection. This, this weather, the nature, the quiet ambience, this was why he had come to Skyrim.His happiness was cut off by some very rude bandits camped outside the entrance of the barrow. Wiglaf sighed and quickly dispatched them with his axe. He took one more look at the wonderful outdoors and entered the barrow.“So we’re just supposed to sit here while Arvel runs off with that golden claw?” Wiglaf ducked down as he heard voices.“If that Dark Elf wants to go on ahead, let him,” another voice replied. “Better than us risking our necks.”“What if Arvel doesn’t come back?” the first countered. “I want my share from that claw!”The two bandits continued arguing, allowing Wiglaf to sneak past them further into the barrow. The halls were littered with cobwebs clinging to every surface, including his armor and skin as he walked through them. Every corridor seemed to have more bandits, skeever, or webs. Wiglaf found himself seriously considering if Lucan’s claw was really worth this.“Is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?” a voice from further in called. “I know I ran ahead with the claw, but I need help!” The cobwebs were much thicker here, and seemed newer as well.Wiglaf sighed and continued forward, cleaving the thickest of the webs apart with his axe. This led him to a room where the walls and ceiling were completely covered in thick coats of webs, all glistening with sticky fluids. At the end of the room was what appeared to be a person, totally ensnared within the webbing.“Don’t let it get me!” the person cried. “Help!”Wiglaf looked up just in time to see the largest frostbite spider he had ever seen in his life descend from the ceiling. It spat webbing at him which he deflected with his axe, but left the blade unfortunately dulled by the threads.“Get it away from me! Kill it, kill it!” Easier said than done, Wiglaf thought to himself. He rolled dodge the spider’s fangs, and swung his axe into one of its legs. The webbing prevented it from cutting clean through like he had intended, but it still crushed the thing with ease. The spider let out an ear-splitting shriek and lunged again. Wiglaf smacked its mandibles away with the flat of his blade and scrambled to his feet, panting. Lucan’s stupid claw was not worth this, but it was too late to turn back now.The spider was moving erratically now with its broken leg, so he decided to balance it out by giving it another on the opposite side. The spider didn’t seem to appreciate this, and simply shrieked again. Even though it was injured, it did not back down. On the contrary, it seemed to have even more of a thirst for blood. It had him on the defensive, taking everything he could muster just to deflect and evade its onslaught. Then, the beast leapt into the air with agility that defied the physics of its massive body, and came barreling down on him.Wiglaf panicked and did the only thing he could think to do in the moment, leaping into the air to meet it with his axe swinging overhead. His jump was impeded by the webs clinging to him, granting him less altitude than he had hoped, but it somehow worked out for the better. Rather than the spider's face, his axe connected right below the base of its head and dug in. Pulled by Wiglaf’s weight, it cut a crude path made jagged by the dulled blade down the length of the monster’s abdomen, spilling green blood everywhere.The two fell to the ground together, the spider on its back and Wiglaf standing on top. It thrashed and squealed, spraying more of its blood everywhere, and forcing Wiglaf to squeeze his eyes and mouth shut. He clung to his axe, still embedded in the spider, in an effort to avoid being flung into the wall, until finally the spasms subsided into the occasional twitch.Wiglaf yanked his axe out of the spider’s carcass and wiped the blood from his mouth before turning to the man in the webs. “Arvel, I presume?”“Yes, that's me! Now cut me down before anything else shows up,” he snapped.“Where’s the claw?” Wiglaf asked.“Yes, the claw. I know how it works! The claw, the markings, the door in the Hall of Stories, I know how they all fit together! Help me down and I’ll show you! You won’t believe the power the Nords have hidden there.”Wiglaf remained skeptical. “Claw first.”“Does it look like I can move?” Arvel snapped. “You have to cut me down first!”Wiglaf sighed and sheathed his axe in favor of his knife. He began carefully and methodically cutting at the webs, careful not to hurt their captive.After a solid ten minutes of this, Arvel was finally free. He graciously thanked Wiglaf for his hard work by turning and running into the barrow. “You fool! Why should I share the treasure with anyone?”Wiglaf chucked his knife after the fleeing Dunmer, but it got snagged on a web and clattered uselessly to the floor. This sort of thing was exactly why he wasn’t a people person. He chased after Arvel, but the elf was swift for someone who had been stuck in a web for Divines knew how long, and Wiglaf was still drained from his battle with the thrice damned spider. Before long, he lost sight of Arvel altogether, and sat down to rest. His every muscle felt like it was on fire, and he needed a break.He took the time to clean the mess of webbing, venom, and cruor from his axe, and by the time he finished, he was feeling better. Not great by any means, but at least he could stand without his legs screaming mutiny. As he continued, Wiglaf was grateful the corridors of the barrow were a single path, so at least he didn’t have to worry about tracking down which way Arvel went. In fact, he even found the elf before long. Apparently the bastard wasn’t smart enough to recognize a pressure plate when he saw it, and had run headlong into an ancient Nordic booby trap.Wiglaf normally would feel understandably weird about looting a corpse, but Arvel’s attitude assuaged his reservations. He found Lucan’s Golden Claw in Arvel’s satchel, along with a journal he took the liberty of looking through. After all, Arvel had claimed to know how to use it for whatever, and he wasn't in any shape to impart that knowledge on Wiglaf anymore. Wiglaf just hoped the knowledge in question included a way out of the barrow shorter than trudging all the way back the way he had come.“My fingers are trembling. The Golden Claw is finally in my hands, and with it, the power of the ancient Nordic heroes. That fool Lucan Valerius had no idea that his favorite store decoration was actually the key to Bleak Falls Barrow! Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that ‘When you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.’”Wiglaf found it odd that an entire journal would consist only of such a short passage, but he wasn’t in the business of critiquing Arvel’s writing. He examined the claw for clues, but found only some crude pictures on the palm of what appeared to be a bear, a moth, and an owl. Hoping that information would be more useful once he made it to the Hall of Stories, Wiglaf trudged on.There were no more bandits or skeever at this point, and the cobwebs had died down as well, so all he had left to worry about were the corpses of the ancient Nords entombed in the barrow. Wiglaf wasn’t particularly squeamish, but these cadavers did bother him somewhat as they kept getting up and attacking him. They weren’t very smart, likely on account of how their brains rotted away centuries ago, but they were still persistent, and the stench of death and decay was enough to be classified as a weapon in and of itself.Eventually, he came to a long hall with a large locked door at the end. The Hall of Stories, presumably. The door had a circular pedestal in the center with markings shaped to the size of the claw. Surround the door were three rings, each containing the symbol of an animal, much like the claw, with a moth at the top, an owl in the middle, and a bear adjacent to the claw’s slot. The same symbols as the claw, but not the same order.Wiglaf frowned and tried brushing the dirt and grime off the moth to get a clearer look, and stumbled backwards as it clicked and began rotating clockwise, settling on a different segment, this time bearing the likeness of the owl. He pushed it again and it rotated once more, now showing a bear. He repeated this process for the other two rings, shifting them to be in the order on the claw. Once that was accomplished, he held his breath and tentatively placed the claw on the center, expecting some sort of trap to spring should this not be the desired answer.The rings rotated again, with the bear and moth turning to owls, followed by a harsh grinding noise as the stone door slowly lowered into the floor. Wiglaf let out his breath and allowed himself to relax. Apparently, that had been the right solution.The now-open doorway led up a flight of stairs into a large open cave, cut through the middle by what was once a stream, and was now a slow trickle of water with a bridge spanning its bed. Wiglaf crossed it and found a large wall covered in ancient nordic writing. He wasn’t able to read it, but one of the words drew him toward it. As he stared at it, it seemed to somehow implant itself in his mind. Fus, or force. He had never studied this language, and had now idea how he knew even this one word, but was nevertheless certain of it.The sound of a sarcophagus being flung open behind him distracted him from the disquieting thought, and he saw a powerful-looking Draugr climb out. Wiglaf swore at himself for foolishly letting his guard down and drew his axe. The Draugr locked its glowing blue eyes on him and opened its skeletal mouth. “Fus Ro Dah!”There it was again, Fus. The same word. The implications blew Wiglaf away figuratively while the Draugr’s shout did the same in a more literal sense, knocking him into the wall behind him where he fell to his feet. The Draugr wasted no time in charging at him, and he was barely able to raise his axe in time to block its sword before it could send him to an early grave.The two of them fought back and forth for some time. The Draugr was surprisingly strong and spry for something that had been dead since long before Wiglaf had even been born. Finally, Wiglaf managed to hook his axe under the Draugr’s sword hilt and wrench the blade from its grip before bringing the blade down on its head, cleaving its dusty skull in half.The Draugr fell to the floor in a clatter of bones and dust, and something else clattered out from its ribcage. Wiglaf picked it up curiously and found a five sided stone tablet covered in squiggly lines with a bunch of marks spread out sporadically, and a strange symbol at the bottom that loosely resembled a dragon, or perhaps a really gnarly bird of some sort. Could this be the power Arvel had been so keen on? There didn’t seem to be anything else around, save for the properly-dead Draugr at his feet, so he decided to bring it with him.Fortunately, the cave also contained an exit that led outside. Wiglaf drank in the fresh air and sighed happily. He never wanted to go into another damnable cave again. —Diana— “I’ll introduce you to Farengar. He can be a bit… difficult. Mages, you know?”“All too well,” Diana replied. “My brother fancied himself a mage growing up.”Jarl Balgruuf laughed. “Aye. Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. That’s all he does day and night. I’m not sure he ever sleeps.”“Yeah, that sounds like my brother all right,” Diana agreed.The little man poked up his head as they approached. “Farengar, I think I’ve found someone to help you with your dragon project,” Balgruuf explained, gesturing toward Diana. “Go ahead and fill her in with all the details.Farengar looked her up and down skeptically. “So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me? Yes, I suppose I could use you to fetch something for me. Well, when I say ‘fetch,’ I really mean ‘delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there,’ you see.”Diana raised an eyebrow. “What does this tablet have to do with the dragons?”“Ah, no more brute mercenary, but a thinker, or maybe even a scholar?” Farengar replied condescendingly. “You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors, and impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as ‘impossible,’ but I began to search for information about dragons. Where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from now?”“Right, so what does that have to do with this ruin?”“Well, I uh, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow: a ‘Dragonstone,’ said to contain a map of ancient dragon burial sites.  Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet — no doubt interred in the main chamber — and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.”Diana was still skeptical, given the “may or may not actually be there,” part, but headed out for her new errand anyway. As she made it to the door, she ran into a tall Nord man just as he was entering.“Oh, pardon me,” she apologized.“No, it’s my bad,” he insisted. “I’m just in a bit of a hurry. I need to inform the Jarl about the dragon attack in Helgen.”Diana blinked. “Uh, yeah, I actually just did that,” she said.The man seemed surprised. “You did? Wait, yes, I remember you! You were there too, weren’t you? You were the one Hadvar and I found dead in the keep.”“Oh, yeah, we wanted to avoid fighting the Imperials,” she admitted.“It was very convincing,” he replied. “And don’t worry, I’m not going to turn you in or anything.”“I appreciate it,” Diana replied. “If you’ll excuse me, the Jarl’s sent me to Bleak Falls Barrow.”The man raised an eyebrow. “Bleak Falls Barrow? The old Nordic ruin near Riverwood? What is he sending you there for?”Diana hesitated. “I’m not sure if I should give out specifics, but the court wizard wants me to find some tablet there. Why do you ask?”“Because I just came from there myself,” he said, rummaging through his bag. He pulled out a large stone tablet. “Is this it?”“No idea,” Diana admitted. “You should show it to Farengar. I’ll take you to him, Might spare me the trip if it turns out to be the real deal.”Farengar was pouring over some book with a hooded woman when they returned. “You see? The terminology is clearly First Era, or even earlier. I’m convinced this is a copy of a much older text, perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with later texts.”“Good, I’m glad to see you’re making progress,” replied the woman. “My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers.”“Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I’m now able to devote most of my time to this research,” Farengar assured her.“Time is running, Farengar, don’t forget,” she replied. “This isn’t some theoretical question. Dragons have come back.”“Yes, yes, don’t worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable,” he mused. “Now, let me show you something else I found… very intriguing. I think your employers will be interested as well.”The woman looked up as Diana and her new friend approached. “You have some visitors,” she told Farengar.The mage looked up from his tome. His expression turned irritated when he saw Diana. “Oh, I thought you were all ready on your way to Bleak Falls Barrow.”“I was,” she replied. “But I found someone who claims to have already been there.”“Yes, I’m Wiglaf, sir, and I heard you were looking for a tablet,” her friend continued. “I found this one inside. Could it be the one you’re looking for?”Farengar’s eyes lit up when he saw the tablet. “Ah, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow! My… associate here will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, through means she has declined to share with me.” He turned to the woman. “So, your information was correct after all. And we have our friend here to thank for recovering it.”The woman looked at Wiglaf impressed. “You went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work.” She turned back to Farengar. “Just send me a copy when you’ve deciphered it.”“Farengar!’ someone shouted. Irileth came running into his lab. “Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon has been sighted nearby!” She turned to Diana and Wiglaf. “You should come too.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

— Diana —
 
Farengar looked far too pleased at the prospect of imminent death. “A dragon?! How exciting!” Where was it seen? What was it doing?”

Irileth glared at him. “I’d take this a bit more seriously, if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don’t know if we can stop it. Let’s go.”

The four of them sprinted up the stairs to the upper floor of Dragonsreach where the Jarl was talking with one of the guards. “So, Irileth tells me you came from the Western Watchtower?”

“Yes, m’lord.”

Irileth came to a stop beside the guard. “Tell him what you told me, about the dragon.”

“Uh, that’s right,” he replied. “We saw it coming from the south. It was fast, faster than anything I’ve ever seen.”

“What did it do?” Jarl Balgruuf pressed. “Was it attacking the watchtower?”

“No, m’lord. It was just circling overhead when I left,” he answered. “I never ran so fast in my life. I thought it would come after me for sure.”

“Good work, son. We’ll take it from here. Head on down to the barracks for some food and rest. You’ve earned it.” The Jarl turned to his housecarl. “Irileth, better gather some guardsmen and get down there.”

“I’ve already ordered my men to muster near the main gate,” she replied.

“Good. Don’t fail me.” He addressed Wiglaf and Diana. “There’s no time to stand on ceremony, my friends. I need your help again. I want you two to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon. You both survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here.”

“I should come along,” Farengar volunteered. “I would very much like to see this dragon.”

“No, I can’t afford to risk both of you,” the Jarl replied. “Besides, I need you here working on ways to defend the city against these commands.

Farengar sighed. “As you command.”

“One last thing, Irileth,” the Jarl called after his housecarl. “This isn’t a death or glory mission. I need to know what we’re dealing with.”

“Don’t worry, my lord,” she assured him. “I’m the very soul of caution. Everyone, let’s move out!”

The three of them sprinted down to the main gate where a group of guards were waiting. “Here’s the situation,” Irileth said to them. “A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower.”

“Now we’re in for it,” muttered a guard.

“You heard right. I said a dragon!” the housecarl reiterated. “I don’t much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it’s made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!”

“But Housecarl, how can we fight a dragon?” another asked.

“That’s a fair question,” she admitted. “None of us have ever seen a dragon before, or expected to face one in battle, but we are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail. The dragon is threatening our homes, our families! Could you call yourself Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to make me face this thing alone?”

“No, housecarl.”

“We’re so dead.”

“But it’s more than our honor at stake,” Irileth continued. “Think of it: the first dragon seen in Skyrim since the last age. The glory of killing it is ours, if you’re with me! Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?!”
 
— Jandowryn —
 
Jandowryn swore under his breath as he used what little healing magic he knew to soothe his burns. He was glad Bregar had thought to run and warn the Jarl when they first spotted the dragon, because it had attacked them not long after. Hopefully he had managed to get there without getting picked off.

“No signs of any dragons now, but it sure looks like he’s been here.” Jandowryn’s ears picked up faint voices from outside and poked his head out to find Irileth with a group of guards and the outsiders he had let in before beginning his shift at the tower. “I know it looks bad, but we’ve got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere. Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”

Jandowryn climbed the rubble, wincing as the hot stones singed his skin. “No, get back!” he shouted. “It’s still here somewhere! Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!”

Irileth heard him and ran toward him. “Guardsman, what happened here? Where’s this dragon? Quickly now!”

“I don’t know, but—” he froze as a familiar roar sent a chill down his spine. “Kynareth save us, here he comes again!”

“Here he comes!” Irileth repeated, her strong voice carrying across the open field. “Find cover, and make every arrow count!”

The dragon soared into the open sky. “Yol Toor Shul!” it shouted and rained fire down upon them.

Fire Inferno Sun

, Jandowryn mentally translated. He remembered that shout well enough from the dragon’s first attack. Not that knowing how to translate Dovahzul was all that useful in this scenario.

Their small platoon fired arrow after arrow at the beast. Many missed, but even the ones that hit seemed to have little effect, as most bounced harmlessly off its scales. Some however seemed to find chinks in its armor, which had to be doing at least a little damage.

Jandowryn remembered from his studies that dragons were particularly vulnerable to shock damage, and let loose a couple lightning bolts. They didn’t seem to do a whole lot more damage, but Irileth took his lead anyway and began doing the same.

A deep sorrow grew in Jandowryn’s heart as they fought. Watching his friends and comrades fall one by one in waves of fire, it was like he was back in the Great War again. He hadn’t spent much time on the battlefield admittedly, but the time he had had been… harrowing, to say the least.

And now they were fighting a seemingly hopeless battle against a monster as impenetrable as a fortress with the firepower of an army and the speed of an arrow. They must look like ants to it.

“You are brave,” the dragon's voice bellowed. “Balaan hokoron. Your defeat brings me honor.”

Balaan hokoron. Worthy enemies. Jandowryn certainly didn’t feel like he lived up to that name.

The one exception was one of the outsiders, the Nord. At first Jandowryn thought he was just a good aim, and that his every arrow was finding a chink in the dragon’s scales, but as he looked closer he saw that they were somehow actually piercing through. That bow must have had a draw strength of a hundred pounds or more.

“Krif fin. Pruzah! I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide. Brit grah!”

At least someone is enjoying this

, Jandowryn thought bitterly. His hand reached for his quiver and found he had used his last arrow. He swore and tossed his bow to the ground and began loosing lightning as best he could. He hated using magic, as he knew the Nords didn’t care for it. They were already suspicious of him for being an Altmer, and showing off magic made that much worse, but he had little choice in this scenario.

The Breton outsider wasn’t bad either. Her arrows didn’t pierce the dragon’s scales like the Nord’s, but they were expertly aimed with nary a miss. As Jandowryn observed, he noticed she seemed to be targeting its wings, which he began doing as well.

It must have worked, because before long the beast landed on the ground, its weight sending out a shockwave that staggered most of the guards. “Zu’u Mirmulnir! Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde!” it cried.

I am Allegiance Strong Hunt

, Jandowryn translated again, though the

Mirmulnir

part was likely the dragon’s name judging by context.

My Lord devours your souls in Sovngarde.

That one was trickier. Was this dragon, Mirmulnir, claiming to serve death itself?

His thoughts were interrupted as he watched the Nord leap onto Mirmulnir’s head. It thrashed and spewed flames, but was completely unable to reach him. He drew his axe and slammed it into the dragon’s face repeatedly,

“Dovahkiin? No!” Mirmulnir wailed with his dying breath.

Dragonborn

? Jandowryn thought.

But that would mean…

“Let’s make sure that overgrown lizard is really dead,” Irileth said. “Damned good shooting boys!”

As the Nord climbed down from Mirmulnir’s head, the dragon’s entire body began to smoke, as if it was about to explode. “Everybody, get back!” Jandowryn warned.

The closest guards took a few steps back while the Nord scrambled away, stumbling as he hit the ground. Jandowryn helped him to his feet and urged him further back. The dragon’s scales began evaporating, floating into the sky like shavings of burning wood. A strange sort of smoke began billowing out of its corpse directly toward Jandowryn and the Nord. The Nord jumped to the side to avoid it, but it changed trajectory. He continued trying to evade it, but it seemed to follow him wherever he went, clinging to him until it covered his entire body, before sinking into his skin and vanishing.

Jandowryn stared at him in awe. “You… must be Dragonborn!” he said.

The Nord looked at him confused. “Dragonborn? What are you talking about?”

“That’s right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn,” one of the other guards, Hrogr, chimed in. “Those born with the Dragon Blood in ‘em, like old Tiber Septim himself!”

“I never heard of Tiber Septim killing any dragons,” another guard, Bjorn retorted.

“There weren’t any dragons then, idiot,” Jandowryn reminded him. “They’re just coming back now for the first time in… forever.”

“But the old tales tell of the Dragonborn who could kill Dragons and steal their power!” Hrogr added. “You must be one!”

Bjorn pouted. “What do you say, Irileth?” he asked. “You’re being awfully quiet.”

Irileth took a moment to answer. “I say that some of you would be better off keeping your mouths shut than flapping your gums on matters you don’t know anything about. Here’s a dead dragon, and that’s something I definitely understand. Now we know we can kill them. I don’t need some mythical ‘Dragonborn.” Someone who can put down a dragon is more than enough for me.”

Hrogr sighed. “You wouldn’t understand, Housecarl. You ain’t a Nord.”

“I’ve been all across Tamriel! I’ve seen plenty of things just as outlandish as this!” Irileth replied, predictably infuriated. “I’d advise you all to trust in the strength of your sword arm over myths and legends.”

Jandowryn wisely kept his mouth shut, and let Irileth turn to the Dragonborn. “That was the hairiest fight I’ve been in, and I’ve been in more than a few,” she admitted to him. “I don’t know about this ‘Dragonborn’ business, but I’m sure glad you were with us. You and Diana better get back to Whiterun right away. Jarl Balgruuf will want to know what happened here.”

“What about you?” Jandowryn asked.

“I’m taking command here for the moment,” she replied. “How about you take these two back to Whiterun?”

“I—uh, yes, Housecarl,” he agreed. “You two, with me.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

— Wiglaf —
 
The three of them walked in silence before Wiglaf found himself breaking the silence for once. “What did you mean by Dragonborn?” he asked.

The guard looked at him funny. “What, you have at least heard of the Dragonborn, haven’t you?” Wiglaf shook his head. “Well, in the very oldest tales, back from when there were still Dragons in Tamriel, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power,” he explained. “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Absorbed that dragon’s power?”

“I… I don’t know what happened to me,” Wiglaf admitted. “The light just came out and started chasing me and then you were calling me Dragonborn.”

“Well, there is one way to find out. Try to Shout. That would prove it.”

“You want me to shout?” Wiglaf asked, confused. “Anyone can do that.”

“No, I don’t mean simply yelling,” the guard replied. “Shouting is an ancient art that mortals learned by copying the Dovah, the dragons, like how that one used its shouts to breathe fire. It takes years of training for a mortal to learn to shout, and nowadays it's pretty much only used by monks.”

“And Ulfric,” Diana added.

“Yes, although I believe he was actually trained by the monks, if memory serves,” the guard replied. “But according to the old legends, the Dragonborn was able to Shout without any training, simply by absorbing the power of dragons.”

“So what, I just shout ‘fire’ and suddenly I breathe flames?” Wiglaf asked.

“No, the Shouts are all in Dovahzul, the Dragon Tongue,” the guard replied.

Dragon Tongue?

Wiglaf thought.

Then maybe…

he stopped walking and looked up toward the sky. “Fus!” The word billowed from his mouth with the force of a sledgehammer and echoed into the atmosphere. It wasn’t nearly as strong as the shout the Draugr had used in Bleak Falls Barrow, but it was still significantly stronger and louder than any normal shout or anything.

“That was Shouting, what you just did!” the guard exclaimed excitedly. “You really are Dragonborn, then. We must tell the Jarl at once!”

The trio sprinted the rest of the way to Whiterun. As soon as they opened the gates, the entire world seemed to shake as the sky itself Shouted at them, “Dovahkiin!”

Wiglaf looked around nervously. “I swear that wasn’t me.”

“No, don’t worry,” the guard assured him. “It must have been… No, time for that later. First we must report to Jarl Balgruuf.”

“Or you could explain on the way… and he’s gone,” Wiglaf said as the guard continued sprinting to Dragonsreach.

“So much for taking us there,” Diana chuckled.

By the time they caught up with him, he was already at the door to the palace. “This way, quickly! The Jarl is waiting for you.”

As they got closer to the throne, they heard the Jarl speaking with one of his advisors. “You heard the summons. What else could it mean? The Greybeards…” he trailed off as he saw them approach. “So what happened at the Watchtower? Was the dragon there?”

Diana answered first. “The Watchtower was destroyed, but we killed the dragon.”

“I knew I could count on Irileth,” he replied. “But there must be more to it than that.”

Diana and the guard both looked at Wiglaf, which he took as his cue to answer. “When the dragon died, I, uh, absorbed some kind of power from it… or something.”

“So it’s true!” Jarl Balgruuf exclaimed. “The Greybeards really were summoning you!”

“The Greybeards?” Wiglaf asked.

“Masters of the Way of the Voice,” the Jarl replied, as if that helped. “They live in seclusion on the slopes of the Throat of the World.”

“What do they want with me?” he asked.

“The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice, the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu’um, or Shout,” he replied. “If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift.”

“Didn’t you hear the thundering sound as you returned to Whiterun?” the advisor asked. “That was the sound of the Greybeards summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn’t happened in… centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!”

“Hrongar, calm yourself!” another advisor chided. “What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here? Capable as he may be, I don’t see any signs of him being this, what, ‘Dragonborn.’”

“‘Nord nonsense?!’ Why you puffed up ignorant…” he eyed the Jarl and curbed the insults. “These are our sacred traditions that go back to the founding of the First Empire!”

“Hrongar, don’t be so hard on Avenicci,” the Jarl warned.

“I meant no disrespect, of course,” Avenicci said. “It’s just…what do these Greybeards want with him?”

“That’s the Greybeards business, not ours,” Jarl Balgruuf responded.

The guard who came with them made an effort to steer the subject away from Hrongar murdering Avenicci right then and there. “Whatever happened when you killed that dragon, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. If they think you’re Dragonborn, who are we to argue?”

The Jarl nodded in agreement. “You’d better get up to High Hrothgar immediately. There’s no refusing the Greybeards. It’s a tremendous honor.”
 
“So…this is High Hrothgar?” Wiglaf looked around. “It looks more like a farming village than a monastery.”

J’ahn, as the guard had introduced himself, laughed. “That is because it is,” he explained. “This is Ivarstead, the last settlement before the 7,000 steps to High Hrothgar.”

“Then why have we stopped here?” he asked.

“The Greybeards are… a solitary lot,” J’ahn said slowly. “They do not take kindly to outsiders. You are an exception, because you are Dragonborn. You have been summoned personally. I, on the other hand, have not been invited, and would likely be less welcomed, so this is where I leave you, for now.”

“I see,” Wiglaf replied. He wasn’t opposed to some alone time, but he had to admit he would feel better with J’ahn with him. Since the guard had volunteered to escort him — after getting permission for a leave of absence from Commander Caius, of course — Wiglaf had felt he could oddly rely on the elf. Not to mention he wasn’t keen on meeting these Greybeards alone. He still didn’t understand what they wanted from him, or any of this “Dragonborn” business, and J’ahn seemed like he at least had an idea.

“I will stay here until you return,” J’ahn assured him. “Safe travels, Dragonborn.”

Wiglaf returned the farewell, and began the solitary walk. He didn’t care to count, but it very much felt like there were indeed 7,000 steps, if not more. The blistering cold wind didn’t help either, nor did the wolves, ice wraiths, bears, and trolls he encountered.

Eventually, however, Wiglaf found himself at the doors of High Hrothgar. He knocked and the door creaked open. He took that as an invitation and stepped inside, closing the door behind him to keep out the wintry chill. As he took a few more steps into the monastery, he saw an old man with a gray beard approach.

“So, a Dragonborn appears, at this moment in the turning of an age,” the man said.

“Yes, I believe you summoned me?” Wiglaf replied hesitantly.

“We will see if you truly have the gift,” the man said. “Show us, Dragonborn. Let us taste of your voice.”

Taste?

Wiglaf thought.

That’s… weird.

Apprehensions aside, he took a deep breath in before shouting “Fus!”

The force of his Shout staggered the old man, making him take a few steps back to regain his balance from the push. He looked pleased, however. “Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar. I am Master Arngeir. I speak for the Greybeards. Now tell me, Dragonborn, why have you come here?”

Wiglaf blinked in confusion. “I… thought you asked for me?”

“Indeed we did,” Master Arngeir replied. “But have you come only because we called? Or do you have a will of your own?”

Wiglaf hesitated. “I… suppose I want to find out what it means to be Dragonborn.”

Master Arngeir nodded in approval. “We are here to guide you in that pursuit, just as the Greybeards have sought to guide those of the Dragon Blood that came before you.”

“So I’m not the only Dragonborn?” Wiglaf asked, hoping not to be the only one so in the dark.

“You are not the

first

,” Master Arngeir corrected. “There have been many of the Dragon Blood since Akatosh first bestowed the gift upon mortalkind. Whether you are the only Dragonborn of this age… that is not ours to know. You are the only one that has been revealed thus far. That is all I can say.”

“So, what now?” Wiglaf asked.

“You have shown that you are Dragonborn. You have the inborn gift,” Master Arngeir explained. “But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen.”

“I’m ready to learn,” Wiglaf answered.

Master Arngeir seemed pleased with that response, and guided Wiglaf to a diamond in the center of the monastery, where they were joined by three more men sporting the same robes and beards as Master Arngeir. “Without training, you have already taken the first steps towards projecting your voice into a Thu’um, a Shout,” Master Arngeir continued. “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.”

He then gestured toward one of the other Greybeards who stepped forward. “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.”

Master Einarth took in a breath. “Ro.” His Shout was but a whisper, yet it shook the room and left a burning mark on the floor. The symbols were similar to those on the wall in Bleak Falls Barrow, likely a sort of alphabet for the dragon tongue. As he studied it, it seemed to seep into his mind and soul, just like the first one had.

“You learn a new word like a master,” Master Arngeir observed. “You truly do have the gift. But learning a Word of Power is only the first step. You must unlock its meaning through constant in order to use it in a Shout.”

Wiglaf frowned. “But I—”

“Well, that is how the rest of us learn Shouts,” Master Arngeir added, chuckling lightly. “As Dragonborn, you can absorb a slain dragon’s life force and knowledge directly. As part of your initiation, Master Einarth will allow you to tap into his understanding of ‘Ro.’”

Wiglaf was briefly concerned they were asking him to slay Master Einarth before a light began emanating from the Greybeard that spilled out toward Wiglaf as if he was dragging it in. “Now let us see how quickly you can master your new Thu’um,” Master Arngeir continued. “Use your Unrelenting Force Shout to strike the targets as they appear.”

“Targets?” Wiglaf asked. “What tar—”

“Fiik Lo Sah!”

Wiglaf stumbled backward as one of the other Greybeards shouted, somehow creating a ghostly apparition of himself. Wiglaf’s eyes flicked to Master Arngeir, who gave him a reassuring nod. “Fus Ro!” The Shout was indeed more powerful, though still not as powerful as the one the draugr had used. The force collided with the apparition, dissipating it into thin air.

“Well done,” Master Arngeir commended. “Again.”

He did the same with the next targets, each summoned with the same Shout, first from Master Einarth, and then the final Greybeard.

“Impressive,” Master Arngeir said once the third was broken. “Your Thu’um is precise. You show great promise, Dragonborn.”

Wiglaf gave a short awkward bow. “Thank you, master.”

“We will perform your next trial in the courtyard,” Master Arngeir continued. “Follow Master Borri.”

One of the other Greybeards began walking to the back door, so Wiglaf took the hint to follow who was presumably Master Borri. He wished they could have stayed inside a little longer, as he hadn’t completely thawed out from his hike up the 7,000 steps, and the courtyard was not much better in terms of temperature.

“We will now see how you learn a completely new Shout,” Master Arngeir stated, seemingly oblivious to the bitter cold. “Master Borri will teach you ‘Wuld,’ which means ‘Whirlwind.’”

“Wuld,” Master Borri Shouted. Just like before, the word burned itself into the ground, and then seemed to seep into Wiglaf. Master Borri then shed the same light as Master Einarth, and Wiglaf felt himself somehow gain the understanding of “Wuld.”

Master Arngeir led him to a large gate, which peculiarly didn’t seem to lead anywhere other than off the edge of the mountain. “Master Wulfgar will now demonstrate Whirlwind Sprint,” he told Wiglaf. “Then it will be your turn. Master Borri?”

“Bex!” Master Borri Shouted, causing the gate to open.

“Wuld Nah Kest!” Shouted Master Wulfgar. Immediately he flew forward with truly alarming speed and passed through the gate just before it closed behind him.

“Now it is your turn,” Master Arngeir said. “Stand next to me. Master Borri will open the gate. Use Whirlwind Sprint to pass through before it closes.”

Wiglaf did as he was instructed. “Bex!” Master Borrie Shouted again.

“Wuld!” Wiglaf Shouted. He immediately felt himself flying forward, but his legs were slow to receive the message, and he ended up tumbling headlong into the gate just as it closed.

“Try again,” Master Arngeir suggested, without feeling the need to check on Wiglaf’s wellbeing. “Breath and focus.”

Thankfully, Wiglaf was fine, aside from his bruised dignity. He picked himself up and trudged through the snow back to where Master Arngeir was waiting.

“Bex!” Master Borri shouted once again.

This time Wiglaf braced himself before Shouting “Wuld!” He flew off again, but this time managed to stay on top of his feet as he sailed across the snow and through the gate, just in time for it to close behind him.

He returned triumphant to Master Arngeir, who seemed pleased, yet surprised. “Your quick mastery of the Thu’um is… astonishing,” he admired. “I’d heard stories about the abilities of the Dragonborn, but to see it for myself…”

Wiglaf felt his face grow warm. “Thanks, I, uh, I don’t really know how I do it. It just sort of… happens.”

“You were given this gift by the gods for a reason,” Master Arngeir explained. “It is up to you to figure out how best to use it.”

“Makes sense,” Wiglaf agreed. “So what’s next?”

“You are now ready for your last trial,” Master Arngeir replied. “Retrieve the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller, our founder, from his tomb in Ustengrav. Remain true to the Way of the Voice, and you will return.”

“Wait, who is Jurgen Windcaller?” Wiglaf asked.

“He was a great war leader of the ancient Nords,” Master Arngeir began. “A master of the Voice, or Tongue. After the disaster at Red Mountain, where the Nord army was annihilated, he spent many years pondering the meaning of that terrible defeat. He finally came to realize that the gods had punished the Nords for their arrogant and blasphemous misuse of the Voice. He was the first to understand that the Voice should be used solely for the glory and worship of the gods, not the glory of men. Jurgen Windcaller’s mastery of the Voice eventually overcame all opposition, and the Way of the Voice was born.”

“The Way of the Voice?”

“The Voice was a gift from the goddess Kynareth at the dawn of time. She gave mortals the ability to speak as dragons do. Although this gift has often been misused, the only

true

use of the voice is for the glory and worship 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.”

This was all starting to get a little too religious for Wiglaf’s liking. “So do I have to follow this ‘Way of the Voice’ as well?”

“The Dragonborn is an exception to all the rules,” Master Arngeir admitted. “The Dragon Blood itself is a gift of the gods. If we accept one gift, how can we deny the other? As Dragonborn, you have received the ability to Shout directly from Akatosh. We therefore seek to guide you on the proper use of your gift, which transcends the restrictions which bind other mortals.”

“What about Ulfric? He uses the Voice for battle,” Wiglaf remembered. “Does that mean he’s Dragonborn as well?”

Master Arngeir’s expression hardened. “Ulfric is not of the Dragon Blood, no. He once trained here with us to become a new Greybeard, following Jurgen Windcaller’s Way of the Voice.”

“Then what happened?” asked Wiglaf.

“He defected,” Master Arngeir replied bitterly. “The Great War between men and elves began, and he abandoned his station and his training so that he could bask in the bloodshed. Worse still, he used our teachings to do it.”

“Wow, that’s… not great,” Wiglaf responded. “Why don’t you stop him?”

“We have no means to do so,” Master Arngeir answered. “He will not listen to our request. The only way to put an end to his misuse would be through force, causing us to betray our ways just as he has.” He sighed heavily. “But let us not dwell on regrets of the past. I believe you have a trial to complete, no?”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

—Jandowryn—
 
As confident as he was in the Dragonborn’s capabilities, Jandowryn could not help but question if he made the right decision. True, there was little to no chance the Greybeards would have let him in, but he could have at least escorted Wiglaf up the 7,000 steps. And why hadn’t he? Because he would rather wait in the warm comfort of the Vilemyr Inn than on the freezing doorstep of High Hrothgar? He had sworn to protect and serve the Dragonborn at any cost, even his own life, so wasn’t it his duty to tough out a little cold weather in the name of ensuring Wiglaf’s safety?

“You look troubled,” the innkeeper observed. “Care for a drink to ease your mind?”

“Very well, just a light mead,” Jandowryn lamented. He had never much cared for alcohol, but the people of Skyrim seldom had anything else to offer.

The innkeeper took the gold and handed Jandowryn his mead. “Hope it’s to your liking. Don’t think I’ve seen you round these parts before. What’s your name?”

Now

that

was a loaded question. The name Jandowryn stook out in Skyrim like a sore thumb, and would immediately tell anyone he was Altmer, which, given the actions of the Aldmeri Dominion, weren’t exactly the most popular race in Tamriel, especially Skyrim. His Imperial upbringing had graciously spared him from an Altmeric accent, so as long as he kept his hood up or helmet on, he could usually pass for human, or at least a Wood Elf, right up until he said his name. That was why ever since he came to Skyrim, he had gone by J’ahn. It sounded passably human, and was certainly easier for the locals to pronounce, not to mention the trouble he could get into if the wrong people

recognized

him by his name.

“J’ahn,” he answered. “And you are?”

“Wilhelm,” the innkeeper replied. “Pleasure to meet ya, J’ahn.”

The door of the inn creaked open, and in walked a tall nord coated in a fine dusting of snow. “Ah, Wiglaf!” Jandowryn exclaimed. “It’s good to see you in one piece, my friend.”

Wiglaf nodded and sat down at the bar next to Jandowryn. “Greetings, stranger. What can I get ya?” asked Wilhelm.

“Anything hot,” Wiglaf replied, shivering.

Wilhelm chuckled. “Aye. I take it you tried your luck at the 7,000 steps, eh lad? Don’t be too hard on yourself. Pilgrims try to climb it all the time, and very few even get halfway before they have to turn back.”

“No, I made it up,” Wiglaf replied, snatching the steaming bowl of stew Wilhelm was handing him.

“Really? Well now, that’s mighty impressive,” said Wilhelm. “I’d best give you two some time to catch up, eh?”

“So, how did it go?” Jandowryn asked once Wilhelm was out of earshot.

“Hm? Oh, it went fine,” Wiglaf replied between slurps of stew.

“Fine?” Jandowryn asked with bemused skepticism. “This is your training of the Thu’um with the Greybeards we’re talking about, not just the mountainside stroll.”

Wiglaf shrugged before continuing to inhale his stew. “Not much more to say. Learned a couple Shouts, got sent to find some horn, probably got frostbite.”

Jandowryn chuckled. “You’re a man of few words, aren’t you, Dragonborn? I can respect that.”

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” Wiglaf agreed.

“So, what’s this about a horn then?” Jandowryn pressed.

“Ustengrav,” Wiglaf replied, as if that was a sufficient answer. After an inquisitive look from the elf, he elaborated “It belonged to the founder of the Greybeards, Jurgen Windcaller or something. They want me to retrieve it from his tomb as my final trial.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” Jandowryn agreed. “Did they say you had to do it alone?”

Wiglaf shook his head. “Didn’t specify.”

“Mind if I come along then?” the elf asked. “Of course, I understand if you’d prefer more solitary time, but I thought I might offer my services nevertheless.”

“Yeah, sounds good,” Wiglaf replied. “But we can go in the morning. Tonight I want to sleep.”

Jandowryn laughed again. “Of course, Dragonborn. I’ll cover your bed, and your stew as well. It’s the least I can do.”
 
—Wiglaf—
 
Ustengrav lay in the hold of Hjaalmarch, just northeast of Morthal. As such, getting to it was not altogether difficult. The issue lay in the necromancers waging war with the draugr inside. It took far longer to slog through them all than Wiglaf would’ve liked, but the mages were hellbent on dying, and he was in no position to deprive them of that.

One thing that was of interest however, was another wall inscribed with dragon text, like the one in Bleak Falls Barrow. Also similar to Bleak Falls Barrow, one word in particular stuck out and imprinted itself on Wiglaf’s mind: Feim. Fade.

It was only after he learned the word that Wiglaf became aware of J’ahn’s muttering “Nonvul bron dahmaan daar rot…”

“What are you saying there?” Wiglaf asked, hoping his companion hadn’t lost his mind.

“Oh, sorry, I was just reading the inscription as well,” J’ahn explained. “I may not be able to learn Shouts from it like you, but there is still much to be learned from the writing.”

Wiglaf raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you can read this stuff? I didn’t think they taught dragon text in guard academy.”

“Oh no, they don’t,” J’ahn assured him. “I learned it during my studies with the… well, while I was in Cyrodiil. Would you like me to translate?’

This was not the first time J’ahn had acted rather suspicious. Wiglaf could tell he was hiding something, but he wasn’t sure what. It didn’t seem to be anything sinister, but if it wasn’t, then why hide it at all? “Yeah, go ahead,” he agreed.

“This first line says ‘Nonvul Bron dahmaan daar rot do fin fodiiz bormah,’ which translates to “Noble Nords remember these words of the hoar father,” J’ahn began. “Then it continues in the second line, ‘Nii los heyv do enook mun wah lahney voth ahkriin ahrk zin,’ which translates to ‘It is the duty of each man to live with courage and honor. Then the final line at the bottom reads ‘Leh rok feim vodahmin kotin vulom,’ meaning ‘Lest he fade unremembered into darkness.’ Rather sage words of advice indeed.”

“Hoar father?” Wiglaf asked. “What’s that?”

“Not what, but who,” J’ahn corrected. “Not much is known about him, sadly, but he seems to have been a philosophical figure who was venerated by the ancient Nords for his great wisdom and insight. Some scholars theorize he may have been an early personification of one of the divines, perhaps Akatosh or Shor, but that’s little more than speculation.”

That was

definitely

more scholarly jargon than any simple city guard should reasonably know. There was clearly more to J’ahn than met the eye, but he didn’t seem anxious to share. Wiglaf couldn’t deny his curiosity was piqued, but he tried not to make a habit of prying into other people’s personal affairs. He liked his privacy, so to not respect that of others would simply be hypocritical.

“At any rate, enough of my ramblings,” said J’ahn. “Let’s get you that horn.”

The continued through Jurgen’s tomb, finishing off the remaining draugr and spiders, until they arrived at a gate leading to what appeared to be the main burial chamber, judging by its sheer size. “Are you ready?” J’ahn whispered. “I have no doubt there will be a plethora of opponents to engage once we raise this gate.”

Wiglaf nodded, and J’ahn pulled the chain on the wall. The gate slowly rose, and they entered the chamber, where they were surprised to find… nothing. No skeletons, no draugr, no necromancers, not even a spider.

“That’s… unexpected,” Wiglaf observed.

“Indeed,” J’ahn agreed. “But look over there! It looks like a bunch of draugr are over by that wall, but they look pretty thoroughly dead. And properly dead at that, not just the undead they usually are.”

The elf was right. Against the far wall was a pile of slain draugr. “Well, don’t look the gift horse in the mouth, I suppose,” Wiglaf muttered. He and J’ahn continued into the cavern. At the center lay a large sarcophagus, with a stone hand extended upward, holding the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller.

At least, it looked like it

used

to. Now, however, there was nothing but a small sheet of parchment. J’ahn carefully picked it up, as if he expected it to be booby-trapped, and unfolded it. “Dragonborn, I need to speak to you urgently,” he read aloud. “Rent the attic room at the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood, and I’ll meet you. Come Alone. Signed, a friend.”

“So someone

was

here ahead of us,” Wiglaf confirmed.

“It would seem so,” J’ahn agreed. “If the Greybeards want that horn, then I suppose we have little choice but to go to Riverwood. And by ‘we,’ I mean ‘you,’ Dragonborn. It seems your friend doesn’t want company.”

“So this is good-bye then?” Wiglaf asked.

“No, not permanently,” J’ahn replied. “I wish to return to Whiterun temporarily, so I will go there while you meet with this mystery friend. If you want to keep traveling with me, meet me in Whiterun when you’re done.”

“All right,” Wiglaf agreed. “Sounds like a plan.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

—Jandowryn—
 
It was good to return home to Whiterun. As far as Jandowryn was concerned, it was the best city in all of Skyrim. No Stormcloaks, no Imperial Legion, and the perfect weather. The people were great too. Sure, Nazeem could be a prick, and Heimskr never knew how to shut up, but otherwise most of the city were very pleasant people to be around.

The first thing he did was check in at the barracks. The other guards were largely pleased to see him and welcomed him home with open arms. True, there were those who still remained skeptical of him due to his Altmeri heritage, but he could hardly blame them, and it made the warmth and acceptance of the more open-minded ones all the sweeter.

“Ah, good to see you made it back in one piece,” Commander Caius said. “Had your fill of adventure, I take it?”

“No, actually,” Jandowryn replied. “I’ve just come back for a day or two. After that, I’ll be heading back out with the Dragonborn.”

“You seem awfully fond of that lad,” Caius commented.

Jandowryn shrugged. “Just doing what I can to help protect us from the dragons, sir. The Dragonborn is our only hope against the beasts, so if anything happens to him, we’re all doomed.”

“Fair enough,” Caius replied. “Just don’t forget to watch out for your own safety as well, J’ahn. You’re one of our best. We’d hate to lose you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Jandowryn replied. “Your words do me great honor.”
 
—Wiglaf—
 
Wiglaf hadn’t been back to Riverwood since leaving for Bleak Falls Barrow. It was only when he returned that he remembered he still had Lucan Valerius’s Golden Claw. In all the excitement with the dragon at the Western Watchtower, finding out he was the Dragonborn, and being summoned by the Greybeards, he’d completely forgotten to return the trinket.

He opened the door to the Riverwood Trader. “Hey, got your claw.”

“You found it!” Lucan exclaimed. “Have to admit, Camilla and I were getting worried about you. I can’t believe you’re still alive, and you found my claw to boot! I’m going to put this back where it belongs. I’ll never forget this. You’ve done a great thing for me and my sister. Ah and of course, your pay.”

Wiglaf accepted the purse of coin and bid Lucan and Camilla farewell before continuing to the Sleeping Giant Inn. Once he entered, he flagged down the innkeeper, who looked oddly familiar for some reason. “Excuse me, I’d like to rent the attic room for the night.”

The innkeeper gave him a puzzled look. “Attic room, eh? Well, we don’t have an attic room, but you can rent the one on the left. Make yourself at home.”

Wiglaf frowned as he settled into the room. He double checked the note from Ustengrav, and it did specify the attic room. He hoped this wouldn’t cause problems.

The innkeeper entered his room a minute later. He assumed she was there to check on him, until she said “So, you’re the Dragonborn I’ve been hearing so much about. I think you’re looking for this.” She held out a large horn, which Wiglaf could only assume to be the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. “We need to talk,” she continued. “Follow me.”

Wiglaf hesitated for a moment. Following a strange woman to an undisclosed location didn’t seem like a particularly good idea, but she

had

given him the Horn, so perhaps it was worth giving her the benefit of the doubt at very least. He got up and followed her into the room across from his, and closed the door behind him. The innkeeper took out a key and opened the room’s wardrobe, then pressed on the back panel. It clicked into place and slid away, revealing a staircase down into a lower level. The innkeeper descended the stairs without a word, so Wiglaf followed her.

Inside was an array of supplies, ranging from alchemical and enchanting ingredients to weapons and armor. In the center of the room was a simple table with a map of Skyrim on it, covered in a series of dots. “The Greybeards seem to think you’re Dragonborn,” the innkeeper finally said. “I hope they’re right.”

“They are,” Wiglaf confirmed.

“I hope so, but you’ll forgive me if I don’t assume something’s true just because the Grebeards say so. I just handed you the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Does that make me Dragonborn too?”

“I don’t… think so?” Wiglaf replied, unsure if that was a trick question. “Have we met? You look familiar.”

“So you were paying attention,” she observed. “I arranged to have Farengar recover the dragonstone for me. It’s what I do. I make things happen from behind the scenes. After all, here you are.”

“Is that why you took the horn from Ustengrav?” Wiglaf guessed.

“Exactly. I knew the Greybeards would send you there. They’re nothing if not predictable,” she agreed. “So when you showed up here asking for the attic room, I knew you were the ones the Greybeards sent, and not some Thalmor plant.”

“What’s with all the cloak and dagger?” he asked.

“You can’t be too careful,” she replied. “Thalmor spies are everywhere.”

“Why would the Thalmor be after you?”

“We’re very old enemies,” she explained. “And if my suspicions are correct, they might have something to do with the dragons returning. But that’s not important right now. What is important is that you might be Dragonborn.”

Wiglaf was quickly growing tired of the way she beat around the bush. “Well, here I am. What do you want with me?”

“I didn’t go through all this trouble on a whim. I needed to make sure it wasn’t a Thalmor trap. I’m not your enemy. I already gave you the horn. I’m actually trying to help you. I just need you to hear me out.”

“Well, I’m listening,” he replied.

“I’m part of a group that’s been looking for you,” she explained. “Well, someone

like

you, for a very long time. If you really are Dragonborn, that is. Before I tell you any more, I need to make sure I can trust you.”

“How can I prove that?” he asked.

“We remember what most don't, that the Dragonborn is the ultimate dragonslayer,” she replied. “You’re the only one that can kill a dragon permanently by devouring its soul. If you can do that, that would be more than enough proof.”

Wiglaf shrugged. “I absorb some kind of power from dragons. That’s all I can say. I really don’t know anything about this Dragonborn business.”

The innkeeper rolled her eyes in annoyance. “This is no time to play the reluctant hero,” she chided. “You may be the only one who can stop these dragons, but you’ll understand that soon enough.”

She was

really

starting to get on his nerves. If there was one thing Wiglaf hated more than unnecessary conversation, it was unnecessarily drawing out an actually important one. “So what’s the part you’re not telling me?”

The innkeeper hesitated for a moment before replying. “Dragons aren’t just coming back,” she explained. “They’re coming back

to life

. They weren’t gone somewhere all these years. They were dead, killed off centuries ago by my predecessors. Now something’s happening to bring them back to life, and I need you to help me stop it.”

“And what makes you think that?” he asked.

“I

know

it,” she insisted. “I’ve visited their ancient burial mounds and found them empty. And I’ve figured out where the next one will come back to life. We’re going to go there, and you’re going to kill that dragon. If we succeed, I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“How do you know which one is next?”

“The dragonstone was a map of ancient dragon burial sites,” she explained. “I’ve looked at which ones are now empty. The pattern is pretty clear. It seems to be spreading from the southeast, down in the Jeralls near Riften. The one at Kynesgrove is next if the pattern holds.”

“So we’re headed to Kynesgrove then?” he asked.

“Exactly,” she replied. “If we can get there before it happens, maybe we’ll learn how to stop it. I’ll meet you at Kynesgrove. Don’t waste time getting there.”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
Jandowryn was waiting in the Bannered Mare when Wiglaf finally returned. “Ah, there you are. How did things go with our mysterious friend?”

Wiglaf held out the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. “She gave me the horn,” he replied. “Apparently she just wanted to talk.”

“About what?” Jandowryn inquired.

“Me being Dragonborn, mostly,” Wiglaf replied. “She seemed really paranoid, and wanted me to go with her to kill a dragon at Kynesgrove.”

“Kynesgrove?” Jandowryn asked. “I haven’t heard of a dragon being seen around there.”

“Yeah, she thinks she can predict it based on the old burial sites or something,” Wiglaf explained.

Jandowryn raised an eyebrow. “Well now, that’s… peculiar. So what’s the plan then?”

Wiglaf blinked. “I was sort of hoping you would know that,” he replied.

Jandowryn chuckled. “Indecisive as ever, eh Wiglaf? Very well. High Hrothgar is on the way from here to Kynesgrove. I say we stop by there to return that horn to the Greybeards, and then see what our friend wants in Kynesgrove. What say you?”

Wiglaf shrugged. “Sounds fine to me.”
 
—Wiglaf—
 
The 7,000 steps to High Hrothgar were no more forgiving on his return than they had been his first time, and by the time he made it to the Greybeards he was predictably freezing. J’ahn had stayed down in Ivarstead once again, and Wiglaf found himself envying him. The thought of Wilhelm’s warm stew made his stomach hurt.

“Ah, you’ve retrieved the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller,” Master Arngeir observed as Wiglaf approached, oblivious to his shivering. “Well done. You have now passed all the trials. Come with me. It is time for us to recognize you formally as Dragonborn.” Master Arngeir led him back to the diamond in the central room, and motioned for Wiglaf to stand in the center. “You are ready to learn the final word of Unrelenting Force: ‘Dah,’ which means ‘Push.’”

The other Greybeards gathered at the four points of the diamond surrounding Wiglaf, and Master Wulfgar stepped forward. “Dah.” Just like with the other words, Master Wulfgar’s voice seared the word into the stone floor, where it then imprinted itself upon Wiglaf’s mind.

“With all three words together, this Shout is much more powerful,” Master Arngeir explained. “Use it wisely. Master Wulfgar will now gift you with his knowledge of ‘Dah.’”

That strange light emanated from Master Wulfgar and was drawn into Wiglaf, who found himself somehow understanding the word. He really was never going to get used to how weird all of this felt.

“You have completed your training, Dragonborn,” Master Arngeir stated. “We would Speak to you. Stand between us and prepare yourself. Few can withstand the unbridled Voice of the Greybeards, but you are ready.”

Wiglaf did as Master Arngeir instructed, and the Greybeards began chanting. “Lingrah krosis saraan Strundu’ul, voth nid balaan klov praan nau. Naal Thu’umu, mu ofan nii nu, Dovahkiin, naal suleyk do Kaan, naal suleyk do Shor, ahrk naal suleyk do Atmorasewuth. Meyz nu Ysmir, Dovahsebrom. Dahmaan daar rok!”

The room shook and echoed with each syllable, and Wiglaf struggled just to stay on his feet as their Voices battered him from every side, but when they finished, he still stood. “Dovahkiin,” Master Arngeir said quietly. “You have tasted the Voice of the Greybeards, and passed through unscathed. High Hrothgar is open to you.”

Master Arngeir turned to leave, but Wiglaf stopped him. “Wait, what exactly was that ceremony about?”

“We spoke the traditional words of greeting to a Dragonborn who has accepted our guidance,” Master Arngeir explained. “The same words were used to greet the young Talos, when he came to High Hrothgar, before he became the Emperor Tiber Septim.”

“Right, but what did those words mean?” Wiglaf clarified.

Master Arngeir seemed mildly embarrassed to have misunderstood Wiglaf’s initial inquiry. “Ah, I sometimes forget you are not versed in the dragon tongue as we are. This is a rough translation: ‘Long has the Stormcrown languished, with no worthy brow to sit upon. By our breath we bestow it to you now in the name of Kyne, in the name of Shor, and in the name of Atmora of old. You are Ysmir now, the dragon of the north. Hearken to it.’”
 
J’ahm was once again waiting in the inn for Wiglaf’s return. This time he knew better than to try to get information out of him until after he had finished his hot stew, which he had seemed to have asked Wilhelm to have ready for when he arrived. Wiglaf gratefully shoveled the steaming meal into his mouth without so much as a word.

They spent the night there in the Vilemyr Inn, and when morning came, began the journey to Kynesgrove. The trip took longer than expected, due to several encounters with bandits along the road, and by the time Kynesgrove was within sight, the sun was already setting once again. When they arrived, the town was in chaos. “No, you don’t want to go up there!” a woman yelled as they approached. “A dragon is attacking!”

“Where’s this dragon?” J’ahn asked the woman.

“It flew over the town and landed on the old dragon burial mound!” she replied, pointing to the top of the nearby hill. “I don’t know what it’s doing up there, but I’m not waiting around to find out!”

“Come on, let’s hurry. We might be too late.” a voice said. Wiglaf looked over and saw the innkeeper from Riverwood had joined them and was running up the hill, so he followed, with J’ahn right behind him.

The sky darkened suddenly as a massive dragon swooped overhead. “Lorkhan’s eyes, look at that big bastard!” the innkeeper exclaimed. “Keep your heads down. Let’s see what it does.”

“Sahloknir, ziil gro dovah ulse!” the large black dragon roared. If he wasn’t mistaken, Wiglaf thought the beast looked an awful lot like the one from Helgen.”

“Phantom sky hunt, spirit bound dragon eternity,” Jandowryn muttered, next to him. “Phantom hunter of the sky, I bind your dragon spirit for eternity.”

“Slen tiid vo!” the dragon Shouted, blasting away the earth covering the burial mound.

“Flesh, time… undo,” J’ahn translated. “No, it can’t be…”

To their horror, bones began rising from the burial mound and knitting themselves together. The became cloaked in the same light Mirmulniir had when it died, but rather than its flesh burning away, it was reforming around the skeleton of the dragon.

“Thuri! Boaan tiid vokriiha suleyksejun kruziik?” the skeletal dragon roared as it took shape.

“Lord, flies time unkill power of the king ancient,” J’ahn muttered. “My lord, has the time come to revive our ancient kingdom.”

“Geh, Sahloknir, kaali mir,” the black dragon replied.

“Yes, Salohknir, my champion,” J’ahn translated.

“Ful, losei Dovahkiin?” the black dragon continued. “Zu’u koraav nid nol dov do hi!”

“So, you are… Dragonborn.” Wiglaf felt his heart drop when he heard J’ahn’s translation. The dragon was addressing him, meaning it knew he was there. That it knew

they

were there. “I… I see nothing of the dragon in you.”

“Hey!” Wiglaf protested.

“You do not even know our tongue without your elven friend, do you?” the black dragon accused, switching to mortal tongue. “Such arrogance, to

dare

take for yourself the name of Dovah! Sahloknir, krii daar joorre!”

Wiglaf didn’t need J’ahn to translate that last order, as Salohknir, now fully reformed, locked his sights on the trio and took to the air. “Yol Toor Shul!”

The three of them scattered to avoid the billowing flames from Salohknir’s maw. Wiglaf figured now was as good of time as any to try his new Shout. “Fus Ro Dah!”

He nearly lost his footing from the recoil alone. Master Arngeir had not been exaggerating when he said the third word made the Shout

much

more powerful. Now it was at least as strong as the one the draugr had used in Bleak Falls Barrow.

Unfortunately, it still did little more than stagger Sahloknir. It would take a lot more to do any significant damage to a monster of that size, but it was still something. “Dovahkiin, your Voice is no match for mine!” the dragon taunted. “Yol Toor Shul!

J’ahn’s crossbow managed to land a solid hit on the dragon while it gloated. “I see it is to be a real fight, then! Good!” Sahloknir growled. The beast landed on the ground, causing a veritable shockwave to knock its assailants off balance.

The innkeeper and J’ahn kept Sahloknir busy while Wiglaf charged it from the front. He planted the butt of his axe into the ground in front of the dragon and used it to vault himself up and onto the beast’s head. Sahloknir let out a frustrated roar. “I see that mortals have become arrogant while I slept!”

Wiglaf gritted his teeth as the dragon tried to shake him off. He swung his axe over his head and slammed the blade into Salohknir’s skull, eliciting a shriek of agony. “Thurri du hin sille ko Sovngarde!” Wiglaf wrenched it out and slammed it in again and again until the dragon beneath him ceased struggling. Salohknir went limp and his body began to glow as smoke rose from it, which Wiglaf took as his cue to leap off.

“So you really are…” the innkeeper murmured as the telltale light began to stream from Salohknir’s corpse. “It’s true, isn’t it? You really are Dragonborn.” The last of the energy left the dragon and was absorbed into Wiglaf’s body. The innkeeper away from the skeleton, a look of awe on her face. “I owe you some answers, don’t I?” she said. “Go ahead, whatever you want to know. Nothing held back.”

“By the Nine, I was right!” J’ahn exclaimed. “It’s good to see you again, Delphine!”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
Wiglaf’s mysterious friend had seemed familiar, but Jandowryn hadn’t dared to get his hopes up. Now that the turmoil had calmed, however, he could see his initial hunch was right, and the stranger in question was in fact his old friend, who seemed as surprised as he was.

“J’ahn?” she asked incredulously. “Gods above, is that really you?” Delphine sheathed her blade as Jandowryn removed his helmet. “I didn’t even recognize you in that get up!” she said. “What are you doing here?”

“Same as you, I presume,” he replied. “Killing dragons with the Dragonborn.”

“So it would seem,” she smirked. “So have you told him…?”

“Ah, no, not yet,” Jandowryn admitted. “I suppose now is as good of time as any, wouldn’t you say?” He turned to Wiglaf, who looked thoroughly perplexed. “Right, so I assume you have questions, my boy.”

“That… is an understatement,” Wiglaf said slowly. “Who… what… why?”

Jandowryn couldn’t help but laugh at his confusion. “To start with the ‘who,’ Delphine here and I are some of the last members of an organization known as the Blades. A very long time ago, the Blades were dragonslayers, and we served the Dragonborn, who was the ultimate dragonslayer. As you may know, Emperor Tiber Septim was Dragonborn, and so the Blades served as his personal guardians, and extended that service to all of his descendents who shared the Dragon Blood. All that changed two hundred years ago, during the Oblivion crisis. Martin Septim sacrificed his life to protect Tamriel from the Daedric Prince Mehrunes Dagon, but in doing so ended the Septim Dynasty, and with it, the royal lineage of Dragonborn.”

“Ever since then, the Blades have been searching for a purpose,” Delphine continued. “Now that the Dragons are coming back, our purpose is clear again. We need to stop them. For the past two hundred years, we’ve been searching for the next Dragonborn to guide and guard, as we are sworn to do, but we never found one. Until now.”

“Then how did you know to find me in Whiterun?” Wiglaf asked.

“Believe it or not, that was purely coincidence,” Jandowryn chuckled. “You see, after the Great War ended and the Thalmor began hunting us down, I helped where I could to fight back against the Aldmeri Dominion, namely in Hammerfell. After they successfully won their independence, I came to Skyrim where I heard another resistance was forming. Unfortunately, the leader of that resistance was Ulfric Stormcloak, who did not want the aid of someone with my complexion. I wasn’t welcome in any Stormcloak territories, and I wasn’t safe from the Thalmor in any Imperial territories, so I found myself in Whiterun, the last neutral hold. I became a member of the guard to blend in, began going by J’ahn, and began my life there.”

“Wait, your name isn’t even J’ahn?” Wiglaf asked.

“Not quite,” Jandowryn admitted. “My true name is Jandowryn, but as you can imagine it is quite hard to hide one’s Altmeric heritage with a name as conspicuous as that, and many Nords find it too hard to pronounce anyway, so I shortened it to J’ahn. With my helmet on and work on my accent, I could reliably pass as human, and remain out of the notice of the Thalmor.”

“Why are the Thalmor after you anyway?”

“Before the Great War, the Blades helped the Empire against the Thalmor,” Delphine explained. “Our Grand Master saw them as the greatest threat to Tamriel. At the time, that was true. Maybe it still is. So we fought them in the shadows, all across Tamriel. We thought we were more than a match for them. We were wrong.”

“To our credit, we didn’t make it easy on them,” Jandowryn chimed in. “I was actually quite an asset, if I do say so myself. One of the benefits of being an Altmer is that I blended right in with their ranks, making me the perfect spy. The downside, of course, was that many of my own comrades frequently questioned my loyalties. An understandable fear, given the circumstances, but I would be lying if I said it didn’t wear on me over time.”

“Wow,” Wiglaf said. “That’s… huh. That’s a lot to take in. Putting that aside to process later, what do you know about the dragons?”

“Not a damn thing,” Delphine muttered. “I was just as surprised as you to find that big black dragon here.”

“I’ve seen it before,” Wiglaf chimed in. “The one that got away, that is.”

“You have?” Jandowryn asked eagerly. “Where?”

“It was the one that attacked Helgen,” Wiglaf replied. “Back when Ulfric escaped from the Imperials. I’d remember that monster anywhere.”

“Interesting, same dragon,” Delphine muttered. “Damn it, we’re blundering around in the dark here! We need to figure out who’s behind it all?”

“And how exactly do we do that?” Wiglaf asked.

“The Thalmor are our best lead,” Delphine answered. “Even if they aren’t involved, they’ll know who is.”

Jandowryn raised an eyebrow. “What makes you so sure the Thalmor are behind this?”

“Nothing solid,” Delphine admitted. “Yet. But my gut tells me it

can’t

be anybody else. Think about it: the Empire had captured Ulfric, the war was basically over, and then a dragon attacks, Ulfric escapes, and the war is back on. And now the dragons are attacking everywhere, indiscriminately. Skyrim is weakened. The Empire is weakened. Who else gains from that but the Thalmor?”

“Even if we assume they

do

know anything, how do you propose we get that information?” Jandowryn pressed.

Delphine paused to think. “If we could get into the Thalmor Embassy… it’s the center of their operations in Skyrim… Problem is, that place is locked up tighter than a miser’s purse. They could teach

me

a few things about paranoia…” She sighed. “Okay, I have a few ideas, but I’ll need some time to pull things together. Meet me back in Riverwood. If I’m not back yet when you get there, wait for me. I shouldn’t be long. J’ahn, stick with the Dragonborn, keep him safe. And both of you keep an eye on the sky. This is only going to get worse.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

—Wiglaf—
 
J’ahn filled him in on the rest of his tale during their carriage right back. His parents had been Blades before him and laid down their lives in service of the Empire during the Oblivion Crisis, leaving J’ahn — no,

Jandowryn

— to be essentially raised by the order. As trouble began stirring with the Aldmeri Dominion, he infiltrated their ranks and reported information back to the Blades, and continued doing so throughout the Great War. When the White-Gold Concordat was signed and the Thalmor began hunting down the Blades, Jandowryn had gone to Hammerfell to help their fight against the Dominion, then moved onto Skyrim. He’d been turned away from the Stormcloaks due to being an elf, and settled down in Whiterun, where he eventually met Wiglaf.

It was all very noble and tragic, and Wiglaf did his best to wrap his head around it. His own life story was quite tame in comparison. He’d been born and raised in Bruma, and came to Skyrim just to see nature, only to be caught up in the Civil War nonsense and then the whole Dragonborn business. He began to feel self conscious. Jandowryn was this war hero who had risked his life in honor of his parents, whereas everything heroic and dramatic about Wiglaf’s life had just happened

to

him, nothing he had chosen. He never chose to be Dragonborn, or the chosen one, or the savior of the world or whatever. He was certainly no hero, just a glorified tourist.

At least he was up to speed by the time they got to Riverwood, where Delphine seemed to have also just arrived. “I don’t think we were followed,” she said. “Come on, this way.” She led them back down to her secret basement, double and triple checking they were alone.

“I’ve figured out how we’re going to get into the Thalmor Embassy,” she said once she was satisfied they were safe from prying eyes.

“That didn’t take long,” Wiglaf commented.

Delphine smirked. “I’ve been doing this a long time, remember? While the Thalmor’s been looking for me, I’ve been watching them.”

“Yes, such a long time,” Jandowryn teased. “A whole what, thirty years? Thirty-five, maybe?”

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up,” Delphine replied, rolling her eyes. “We get it, you’re twice as old as the Dragonborn and I combined. My point still stands.”

“So what’s the plan?” Wiglaf asked, hoping to get back on track.

“The Thalmor ambassador, Elenwen, regularly throws parties where the rich and connected cozy up to the Thalmor,” she explained. “I can get you into one of those parties. Once you’re inside the Embassy, you get away and find Elenwen’s secret files. I have a contact inside the Embassy. He’s not up for this kind of high-risk mission, but he can help you. His name’s Malborn, Wood elf, plenty of reason to hate the Thalmor. You can trust him. I’ll get word for him to meet you in Solitude, at the Winking Skeever — you know it?”

Wiglaf nodded, so Delphine continued. “While you’re doing that, I’ll work on getting you an invitation to Elenwen’s little party. Meet J’ahn and me at the Solitude stables after you’ve arranged everything with Malborn. Any questions?”

“I do, actually,” Jandowryn cut in. “Is sending Wiglaf necessarily the best idea? He is our only Dragonborn after all, so if anything happens to him in there, we’re toast. Not to mention — and I truly mean this with all due respect, Dragonborn — but he has no experience in infiltration or espionage, do you?”

Wiglaf shook his head. He did not, in fact, have any experience in anything remotely similar to this. Hell, he managed to get arrested at Helgen just for sightseeing, so forget actually trying to sneak in somewhere.

“Well do you have a better plan?” Delphine snapped.

“Yes, actually,” Jandowryn answered. “As I was telling our friend Wiglaf, I have quite the experience with infiltrating the Thalmor and blending in. While its true I likely have something of a target on my back, I stand the best chance of slipping in unnoticed.”

Delphine frowned. “I don’t like it, but you make a good point,” she admitted. “Are you sure about this? You know what the Thalmor will do to you if they catch you.”

“Oh, I’m well aware,” he replied solemnly. “I probably know that better than anyone. But it is a risk I will have to take. We cannot afford to place the Dragonborn in harm’s way when we can avoid it. Unlike him, I am expendable.”

The statement made Wiglaf feel sick. He never asked to be a hero, but he didn’t want people sacrificing themselves for him or calling themselves “expendable.” He might be Dragonborn or whatever, but that didn’t mean anyone’s life mattered less than his… right?

“All right,” Delphine agreed, oblivious to Wiglaf’s discomfort. “I’ll see you in Solitude then, J’ahn. Dragonborn, you can stay here for now. Rest up, train, whatever. We’ll meet you back here once J’ahn’s made it out.”

“Sounds good,” Wiglaf lied.

“And J’ahn?” Delphine said. “Be careful.”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
“Ah, a fellow latecomer to Elenwen’s little soiree!” Jandowryn stepped out of the caravan to see a Redguard walking up to him. “And arriving by carriage, no less! I salute you, sir!”

Unnecessary interaction was probably illadvisable, but on the other hand, he would stand out less if he mingled. “Yes, and good to meet you, mister…?

“Razelan,” the Redguard said, holding out his hand for Jandowryn. “And my lateness is due more to getting lost on the way up this gods-forsaken mountain than any desire to actually arrive late. I prefer to arrive early, often the day before the party, so as not to miss out on any of the drinking. There’s not enough drinking in the world today, wouldn’t you agree?”

A colorful drunkard with a boisterous personality. Yes, he would make a fine cover. “Oh absolutely,” Jandowryn agreed. “Drinking makes the world go ‘round, I say.”

“Ha, a man after my own heart!” Razelan’s laugh quickly turned into a cough. “I think I’ll just… rest here a moment. Although it is damnably cold out here. I don’t look forward to the trip back down…”

Now on that point, Jandowryn agreed. The bitter freezing air of Skyrim was something he still hadn’t gotten used to, and up in the northern mountains where they were it was even harder to breathe. “Perhaps we might share a carriage after the party?” he offered. Making plans for after the fact could help solidify his alibi. “I know, I know, we’ve just met, but—”

“Nonsense!” Razelan exclaimed, beaming. “I think by the time the party is over, we’ll no doubt be fast friends. I look forward to it.” He swayed as he stood up, and clasped onto Jandowryn’s shoulder as he nearly fell. “Whoops, don’t mind me,” he laughed, the smell of booze on his breath. “I’m perfectly insensible in the cold. I’ll go after you, although these guard fellows know me. I

never

miss one of Elenwen’s parties, you see.”

“Oh, but of course,” Jandowryn agreed. “Take all the time you need, my friend.” He left his new companion to his devices and approached the door to the Embassy. His heart pounded as the Thalmor guard stopped him, and he worried they might hear it beating within his chest.

“Your invitation, please?” the guard asked. Jandowryn pulled out the invitation Delphine had handed to him at the stables, and made a note of his pseudonym, Aesrael. He handed it to the guard who looked it over briefly. “Thank you, sir, go right on in.”

Behind him, Razelan had recuperated enough to stand. “Now then, here’s my invitation,” he was saying to one of the other guards. “I don’t have a poisoned dagger strapped to my thigh, et cetera, et cetera.”

“I’m just doing my duty, sir,” the guard replied coolly. “Everything’s in order. Welcome back, sir.”

“Yes, yes,” Razelan replied dismissively. “Now to find myself a drink!”

The two of them entered the embassy, where they were immediately met by an elven woman. She was tall, even by Altmer standards, and Jandowryn felt a chill run down his spine just looking at her.

“Welcome, I don’t believe we’ve met,” she said coolly. “I am Elenwen, the Thalmor Ambassador to Skyrim. And you are…?”

“Aesrael,” Jandorwyn answered, thankful he checked his alias. “Pleased to meet you, my lady.”

“Ah yes, I remember your name from the guest list,” Elenwen replied. “Please, tell me more about yourself. What brings you to this… to Skyrim?”

Jandowryn took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and was thankfully saved from further conversation. “Madam Ambassador, I’m sorry to interrupt…”

Elenwen sighed and turned to the offending party. “What is it, Malborn?”

“It’s just that we’ve run out of the Alto Wine,” the wood elf replied. “Do I have your permission to uncork the Arenthia red?”

“Of course,” Elenwen snapped. “I’ve told you before not to bother me with such trifles!”

“Yes, Madam Ambassador,” Malborn apologized as Jandowryn took advantage of the distraction to slip past her.

Elenwen continued to be distracted when she noticed Razelan, who seemed to have something of a reputation, as Jandowryn was quickly learning. He stopped by Malborn and said “I’d like a drink,” the code they’d agreed upon to signal he was ready.

“Of course, sir,” Malborn agreed. “Here you go, our finest Colovian Brandy.”

Everything was in order and going perfectly according to plan. All Jandowryn had to do now was create a distraction. However, if he did that so soon after his arrival, that could stir up suspicion, so it would be better to mingle for a while until Elenwen ideally forgot about him entirely. Of course, he couldn’t mingle

too

long, or else the people there might notice when he left.

The first problem he ran into was a familiar face in the crowd: Proventus Avenicci, from Whiterun. That could be bad.

Proventus also seemed to notice him. “Oh hello, what are you doing here Ja—”

“Aesrael,” Jandowryn said quickly, extending his hand. “Pleasure to meet you. And you are?”

Proventus raised an eyebrow, but luckily said nothing. “Proventus Avenicci,” he replied. “I’m the Steward of Whiterun. I serve Jarl Balgruuf in Dragonsreach. Truth be told, I’d be more comfortable if I were back there. I get nervous in the company of so many worthies.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, my friend,” Jandowryn assured him. “A steward is every bit as worthy as a Jarl. Though I must say, this is quite a gathering, wouldn’t you say?”

“Oh yes, quite,” Proventus agreed. “So many important people from all across Skyrim! And quite enjoyable as well, might I add. Elenwen always serves the best wine at her parties. The food is excellent as well.”

“Is it now?” Jandowryn asked. “Well, I suppose I’ll have to try some for myself, then. If you’ll excuse me.”

Small talk complete. He couldn’t help but feel a little proud that he still had his game after all these years. Now all he needed was a distraction, and Razelan seemed to be done being grilled by Elenwen. What perfect timing.

“What does a fellow need to do to get a drink around here?” the Redguard complained as Jandowryn sat next to him.

Jandowryn looked at his own bottle of brandy. “Are they not letting you have any?”

“My friend, you are very perceptive!” Razelan agreed. “I have a powerful thirst that cannot be slaked! And none of the waiters will bring me a drink, Elenwen must have told them to cut me off, the frigid bitch. Afraid I’ll cause another scene, I suppose.”

Another scene, you say?

Jandowryn thought. “Here, friend. Why don’t you take mine?”

Razelan immediately snatched the brandy from Jandowryn’s hands. “Ah, the one generous soul amongst a gathering of pinch-pennies and lick-spittles! If there’s anything I can do for you, do not hesitate to call upon me!”

“Funny you should say that,” Jandowryn said as Razelan gulped down the drink. “Actually, there

is

something you could do for me, if you’re up to it that is.”

The drunk wiped the excess alcohol from his lips with his sleeve. “Wonderful! I can begin to repay your generosity immediately! Say on, friend.”

“I need you to cause a scene,” Jandowryn said, lowering his voice enough not to be overheard, but not so much as to arouse suspicion. “Get everyone’s attention for a few minutes.”

“Is that all?” Razelan laughed, a little too loudly for Jandowryn’s comfort. “My friend, you’ve come to the right person. You could say that causing a scene is somewhat of a specialty of mine. Now, stand back, and behold my handiwork!”

Jandowryn’s heart rate increased as Razelan stood up and loudly cleared his throat. He hoped he hadn’t just made a critical blunder. “Attention, everyone! Could I have your attention please? I have an announcement to make.” Jandowryn carefully stood up as all eyes began to turn to his new friend.

“I propose a toast to Elenwen, our mistress!” he continued. This got the attention of the guards as well as Elenwen herself, who moved toward him as Jandowryn crept toward the back door with Malborn. “I speak figuratively, of course. Nothing could be more unlikely than that someone would actually want her in their bed.”

“Razelan, what are you doin?” Elenwen hissed.

“Although, most of you are already in bed with her!” Razelan continued, ignoring her and the guards encircling him. “But again, I speak figuratively, of course!”

“Let’s go, let’s go!” Malborn whispered as Jandowryn sneaked toward him. It was clear the Bosmer was not accustomed to espionage. “Before anyone notices us!”

Jandowryn followed the nervous elf through the door into the kitchens, as Razelan’s commotion seemed to be dying down. “Fine, fine, get your hands off me! I’ll be a good boy now,” he was saying. “Wouldn’t want to offend our Thalmor overlords, would we?”

“So far so good,” Malborn said as he closed the door behind them. “Let’s hope nobody saw us slip out. We need to pass through the kitchen. Your gear is hidden in the larder. Just stay close and let me do any talking, got it? Follow me.”

Jandowryn silently followed him further into the kitchens. His heart skipped a beat when he saw they were not alone, but Malborn at least seemed to have this much handled.

“Who comes, Malborn?” said the chef. “You know I don’t like strange smells in my kitchen.”

“A guest, feeling ill,” Malborn answered calmly. “Leave the poor wretch be.”

“A guest? In the kitchens?” the chef asked. “You know this is against the rules.”

“Rules, is it, Tsavani?” Malborn shot back. “I didn’t realize eating Moon Sugar was permitted. Perhaps I should ask the ambassador if the rules—”

Tsavani hissed angrily. “Fine, get out of here,” she grumbled. “I saw nothing.”

Malborn led Jandowryn into the larder. “Your gear is in that chest,” he whispered, pointing. “I’ll lock the door behind you. Don’t screw this up.”

Jandowryn nodded and quickly popped the chest open. Just as Malborn had promised, his trusty dagger was inside, along with the lockpicks and potions he had given him earlier. He snatched them quickly and hurried through the door.

“Good luck,” Malborn whispered as the door clicked shut behind him. “You’re on your own now.”

That was the easy part done with. Now came the difficult part. He had much less experience with this form of espionage than simply listening in on parties and meetings, but it should still be manageable.

“Did you see those march in this morning?” Jandowryn froze in place as he heard voices up ahead. “Who were they with? More of the emissary’s treaty enforcers?”

“No, they’re high mages, just in from Alinor,” answered a second voice. “I guess Herself is finally getting worried about all the dragon attacks.”

“Ah, good,” replied the first. “I’ve been wondering how we were supposed to defend this place from a dragon. If a dragon does show up, maybe we’ll get lucky and it will eat the mages first. Might give us enough time to kill it.”

The second one laughed. “I’d like to see those arrogant bastards taken down a notch. Always looking down their noses at us lowly footsloggers.”

Interesting. It seemed Delphine’s hypothesis about the Thalmor being behind the dragons was incorrect. Hopefully they at least knew who or what

was

behind it, or all this would have been for nothing.

“Well, we’d better get back to our rounds,” the first voice said, which Jandowryn took as his cue to find a hiding place. He ducked into an open room on the right and dropped behind an upturned table just as one of the guards entered.

Jandowryn peeked through the door behind the guard and didn’t see any others. This was likely his best chance. He crept up behind the guard and quickly stuck his sleeve in the guard’s mouth to stifle their voice before cutting their throat, using his other sleeve to catch the blood. Their body went limp in Jandowryn’s arms, and he carefully lowered it to the floor.

He recalled the first time he took a life this way. He had practiced for countless hours with the Blades, but doing it for real was far different. He’d felt so sick that he’d nearly botched that mission, and likely would have had he been alone. By now, the most disturbing part of his kills was how little he felt at all. There was probably something to be said on his occupation’s desensitization to such callous murder, but this was neither the time nor place of philosophy of moral quandaries.

In no way assuaging his ethical dilemma, he stripped the dead guard of their uniform and put it on. There was a spot of blood along the neckline that he’d failed to catch, but it would have to do. Now, assuming the guards weren’t all intimately familiar with one another, he should be able to pass as one.

After stuffing the bleeding corpse into a wardrobe, he stepped out of the sideroom and was immediately met with another guard. The guard simply nodded at him and continued walking. Stage two was a success.

He continued through the room to a door which led outside. The wind kicked up snow making it hard to see, which would be to his advantage. He was also glad he kept his standard clothes on under his Thalmor robes, as they provided extra protection from the bitter cold.

Walking at a leisurely pace, he continued through the courtyard to the inner keep. Thankfully, this embassy seemed to have the standard layout shared by most Thalmor embassies, meaning Jandowryn was quite familiar. If that was the case, then this building would be the Solar. If there was any classified information in the embassy, that was where it would be.

A guard posted at the door of the Solar stopped him as he approached. “Why aren’t you at your post, Justiciar?” he demanded.

“Emissary Elenwen was asking for you inside,” Jandowryn lied. “I was sent to retrieve you.”

“Really? What for?” the guard inquired.

“Bit of trouble with one of the guests,” Jandowryn explained. “Caused a bit of a stir. The ambassador seems to think you’re best equipped to handle it.”

The guard couldn’t hide his smug grin. “Why didn’t you say so?” he said. “Take over my post. Make sure no one enters the Solar, understood?” He sauntered off without even waiting for a response.

Jandowryn was glad to see little had changed. The key to tricking Thalmor was not flattery, they saw through that too easily. No, the key was feigning jealousy. If you flattered them in such a way as to come across as envious, they would buy just about anything, at least in his experience. Suckers. He stood guard for a moment until the guard he replaced disappeared into the hall, then quietly entered the Solar.

“But I need that money!” a voice whined as he entered. “I earned it! I have my own expenses, you know.”

“Silence!” an elven voice snapped back. “Do not presume, Gissur. You are most useful, but do not presume. We have other informants who are less… offensive.”

“But no one else has brought you such valuable information, have they?” Gissur argued. “Etienne, he’s talked, hasn’t he? He knows where that old man is you’re looking for, he told me himself!”

“You’ll get the rest of your money when we can confirm his story,” the Thalmor answered sternly. “As agreed.”

“So he

has

talked!” Gissur exclaimed. “I knew it!”

“Everyone talks in the end,” the Thalmor replied. “Now, I have work to do. Leave me to it if ever you want to see the rest of your payment.”

“Can I… That is, I could help you,” Gissur offered. Smart, changing from asking a favor to offering one. “He’d talk to me. He trusts me.”

“Ah, you’d like to come downstairs with me, is that it, Gissur?” the Thalmor asked in a mocking tone. “Shall we loose his bonds and put you in a cell together? You can ask him anything you like, and see how he answers!”

“No, no!” Gissur hastily backpedaled. “I’ll… I’ll wait outside.”

“That would probably be best,” the Thalmor agreed. “Now get out!”

Gissur moped out of the room and right past Jandowryn without even giving him a second glance. “He can’t treat me like that,” Gissur muttered under his breath. “He needs me! Rulindil, pah! One day, the shoe will be on the other foot. I knew he was telling the truth, I can always tell. They’re scared of the dragons too, aren’t they? Paying too well. They don’t know anything. Etienne

must

know something related to the dragons. Who else might know? Greasy Thom? No, they’d see right through him…” The informant angrily threw open the door to the courtyard and stomped out, still muttering to himself.

Not long after Gissur left, the Thalmor Jandowryn assumed to be Rulindil went down a flight of stairs and through a door which he closed behind him. Jandowryn scouted around the room the Thalmor had previously been in, and found a few things of note. There were three Dossiers, notes Thalmor kept on people of interest. One on Delphine, one on Ulfric Stormcloak, and one on himself. Interesting and undoubtedly worth reading at some point, but not the pressing matter. The fourth thing was a key, hopefully to the door through which Rulindil had left. The fifth and final one was a small note with a heading that read “Dragon Investigation: Current Status,” which sounded very promising.

First Emissary Elenwen,

We anticipate a breakthrough in our efforts to uncover the party or power behind the dragon resurrection phenomenon. An informant has identified a possible lead, whom we have brought back to the Embassy for a full interrogation. The subject is obstinate, but by all indications holding back the information we seek. I have authorized immediate Manual Uncoiling — I do not expect more will be necessary, unless you feel time presses.

I know you prefer to be present for the final questioning; I will inform you immediately when the subject is fully receptive. Two days should tell the tale. In the meantime, if you wish to audit our technique, your expertise is welcome, as always. I have placed the prisoner in the cell closest to your office stairs, for your convenience.

— Rulindil, 3rd Em.

So the Thalmor had also figured out the dragons were being resurrected. That made sense. The Dominion was nothing if not effective and thorough. Still, there was nothing there Jandowryn and Delphine could use, so it looked like he was going to have to follow Rulindil into the interrogation chamber.

The interrogation chamber in question was in fact, as Jandowryn had suspected, a torture room. If the bloodstains and racks hadn’t made that clear enough, the sounds of metal hitting flesh and pained groans would have.

“Stop, please, I don’t know anything else!” a voice begged weakly. “Don’t you think I’d have told you already?” In all likelihood, that was the Etienne Gissur had mentioned.

“Silence,” snapped an elven voice. “You know the rules. Do not speak unless spoken to. Master Rulindil will ask the questions.”

“Let’s begin again,” continued a voice that sounded like Rulindil’s.

“No, for pity’s sake!” Etienne sobbed. “I’ve already told you everything!”

“You know the rules,” Rulindil chided. The sound of metal hitting flesh again was quickly followed by an agonized scream from the prisoner. “Start at the beginning as usual,” Rulindil instructed. Etienne said nothing, so Rulindil continued. “If you persist in this stubbornness I’ll have—”

“No, wait!” Etienne cried hastily. “Please, I was just catching my breath! Why wouldn’t I tell you again? I don’t even know anything. There’s an old man. He lives in Riften. He could be this man you’re looking for, but I don’t know. He’s old and seemed kind of crazy, that’s all I know!”

“And his name is…?” Rulindil prompted.

“I don’t know his name!” Etienne insisted. “Like I’ve told already a hundred, augh!” He was cut off but the torture device biting into his flesh once again.

Rulindil tutted condescendingly. “You know the rules. Just answer the questions. Where can we find this nameless old man?”

“Like I said, I don’t know!” Etienne cried, his voice garbled by hiccups and sobs. “I’ve seen him down in the Ratway. Maybe he lives down there, but I don’t know for sure.”

Rulindil sighed. “That will be all for now. I must say I continue to be disappointed in your lack of cooperation. I hope you will do better.”

“What else do you

want

from me?” Etienne snapped. “I’ve already told you everything! Listen, if you let me go, I can take you to Riften, show you where— gah!”

“Silence, prisoner!” the guard shouted, accompanied by more blows. Etienne went silent, and Jandowryn could only hope he was just unconscious and not dead. The same could not be said for Rulindil, who never even got the chance to scream before his throat was slit. The same happened to the sole guard soon thereafter.

The Thalmor were looking for an old man, who according to their lead, was potentially living somewhere within the Ratway of Riften. That unfortunately still wasn’t enough to go on, and if Rulindil had anything more, he was in no shape to divulge it. Jandowryn did not regret that part. Not only did he doubt Rulindil would ever tell him anything even if he were still alive, but also that sadistic bastard had it coming.

He scouted the room and found another Thalmor Dossier. He recognized the name on this one as well, but it was not one he was expecting.

Thalmor Dossier: Esbern

Status: Fugitive (Capture Only), Highest Priority, Emissary Level Approval

Description: Male, Nord, late 70s

Background: Esbern was one of the Blades loremasters prior to the First War Against the Empire. He was not a field agent, but is now believed to have been behind some of the most damaging operations carried out by the Blades during the pre-war years, including the Falinesti Incident and the breach of the Blue River Prison. His file has remained dormant for many years, an inexcusable error on the part of my predecessor (who has been recalled to Alinor for punishment and reeducation), in the erroneous belief that he was unlikely to pose a threat due to his advanced age and lack of field experience. A salutary reminder to all operational levels that no Blades agent should be considered low priority for any reason. All are to be found and justice exacted upon them.

Operational Notes: As we are still in the dark as to the cause and meaning of the return of the dragons, I have made capturing Esbern our top priority, as he is known to be one of the experts in the dragonlore of the Blades. Regrettably, we have yet to match their expertise on the subject of dragons, which was derived from their Akaviri origins and is still far superior to our own (which remains largely theoretical). The archives of Cloud Ruler Temple, which is believed to have been the primary repository of the oldest Blades lore, were largely destroyed during the siege, and although great effort has been made to reconstruct what was lost, it now appears that most of the records related to dragons were either removed or destroyed prior to our attack. Thus Esbern remains our best opportunity to learn how and why the dragons have returned. It cannot be ruled out that the Blades themselves are somehow connected to the dragons’ return.

We have recently obtained solid information that Esbern is still alive and hiding somewhere in Riften. Interrogation of a possible eyewitness is on-going. We must proceed carefully to avoid Esbern becoming alerted to his danger. If he is indeed in Riften, he must not be given an opportunity to flee.

Well, it was good to know Esbern was alive and relatively well, and it gave him a solid lead. The downside was that the Thalmor were also hot on his tail. Jandowryn needed to get out of there and bring word to Delphine as quickly as he could.

At that moment, the door to the upstairs of the Solar creaked open. “Listen up, spy!” a voice called out. “You’re trapped in here, and we have your accomplice! Surrender immediately or you both die!”

Jandowryn dared to hope for a vain moment they may be bluffing, until he heard Malborn’s voice. “Never mind, I’m dead already so—”

“Silence, traitor!” the Thalmor soldier shouted. “Now move. Slowly.”

Jandowryn slunk into the shadows and surveyed the situation. There were two Thalmor soldiers in full armor, including the one he tricked at the entrance and the one who’s friend he’d killed earlier. Malborn was being held between them, hands bound behind his back. He doubted his Thalmor robes would be enough to squeeze out of this, so that just left the hard way.

He snatched the torturer’s club from the ground and crept behind the Thalmor who were nervously scanning the room. He smashed the instrument into the back of the head of one of them, then quickly slashed the second with his dagger before they could attack him or Malborn. The first crumpled to the ground, the blood leaking from their head wound suggesting they weren’t getting up, while the second cried out in pain before Jandowryn struck his blade through a gap in their armor and sank it into their heart. The Thalmor gasped in pain and Jandowryn twisted the blade for good measure before wrenching it out.

“Thanks for saving me,” Malborn said bitterly as Jandowryn wiped the blood from his dagger. “But now the Thalmor will be hunting me for the rest of my life. I hope it was worth it.”

“It was,” Jandowryn assured him. “Now we need to get out of here before more reinforcements come, but there’s someone else we need first.” He dashed into Etienne’s cell to see the prisoner just starting to open his eyes.

He groaned as he saw Jandowryn approach, clad in full Thalmor robes and dagger in hand. “I told you, I don’t know anything else about it,” he begged.

Jandowryn quickly began unlocking his shackles. “I’m not here to torture you,” he assured him.

“What?” Etienne mumbled in a daze. Poor man likely had a concussion at least. “Who… what do you want then?”

“No time to explain,” Jandowryn replied, finishing with the last of the restraints. “Let’s get out of here.”

“Yeah, sure, okay…” Etienne agreed. “Come on, there’s a trapdoor this way. I’ve seen the guards use it to get rid of bodies. It must lead somewhere.”

“Sounds good,” Jandowryn responded. “We’ll follow your lead, then.”

“Whatever you want,” Etienne mumbled. “But let’s go, now.”

He led them two the trapdoor in question, which Jandowryn managed to unlock with the key he swiped earlier. They dropped down into a small cave system which, as Etienne had suggested, had a number of bodies littered around. Not the sort of sight to make one feel better after a stressful day, but at least there was a literal light at the end of the tunnel. The three of them dashed to it and found themselves outside in the cold wintry air. The wind was freezing, but it was still better than the Thalmor.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

—Jandowryn— The journey back to Riverwood was blissfully uneventful, and the town itself was as quiet as ever. Delphine greeted him as he returned to the Sleeping Giant Inn. “You made it out alive, at least. Your gear’s safe in my room, as promised. Did you learn anything useful?”“Yes, thank Akatosh,” Jandowryn replied. “The Thalmor don’t know anything themselves, but they’re looking for Esbern.”“Esbern? He’s alive?” she exclaimed. “I thought the Thalmor must have got him years ago. That crazy old man. Figures the Thalmor would be on his trail, though, if they were trying to find out what’s going on with the dragons.”“Indeed,” Jandowryn agreed. “Though you must admit, it’s a little funny that the Thalmor think we know about the dragons.”“Ironic, right?” Delphine smirked. “The old enemies assume that every calamity must be a plot from the other side. Even so, we’ve got to get to Esbern before they do. He’ll know how to stop the dragons if anybody does. Do they know where he is?”“Not exactly,” Jandowryn admitted, flipping through Esbern’s dossier. “But they seem to think he’s hiding out in Riften.”“Riften, eh?” Delphine asked. “Probably down in the Ratway, then. It’s where I’d go. You’d better get to Riften. Talk to Brynjolf. He’s… well connected. A good starting point, at least.”Jandowryn raised an eyebrow at her ominous description but chose not to comment. “You’re not coming?” he asked instead.Delphine shook her head. “I’ve got business to take care of here, plus someone has to stay in case the Dragonborn comes back looking for us.”Jandowryn nodded. “Fair enough. I’ll catch you later, then.” —Ahlzqi— “Before I let you into Riften, you need to pay the visitor’s tax.” Ahlzqi groaned as she overheard those words. Was that guard seriously still trying to pull that scam?“There is no visitor’s tax,” the guard’s victim insisted. “Now let me in. I have business to attend to.”“If you want in, you need to pay,” the guard reiterated. “No pay, no entry.”The elf opened his mouth to argue, but Ahlzqi decided to put him out of his misery. “Enough, guardsman,” she hissed. “Let him in, or I’m reporting you to Brynjolf, got it?”“Yes ma’am,” the guard replied hurriedly when he saw her. “Go on in, sir.”“Thank you for the assistance,” the elf said to her as the guard opened the gate.“Think nothing of it,” Ahlzqi assured him. “Khajiit is glad to be of service.”“How kind of you,” the elf replied. “Now, did I hear correctly that you know Brynjolf?”Ahlzqi’s ears perked up. “That is correct. How does this one know him?”“Oh, I don’t” the elf explained. “Not personally, anyway. I was told to find him.”“Ah, and who sent you then?” she asked.The elf hesitated. “I’m not sure she’d like me throwing out her name,” he admitted.“The secretive type, eh?” Ahlzqi mused. That at least sounded like someone of their world. “Very well. Khajiit will take this one to Brynjolf.”“Oh, thank you very much,” the elf replied. “You have my sincerest gratitude, miss…?”“Ahlzqi,” she answered. “And how is this one called, if Ahlzqi may ask?”“Ah, I am Jandowryn,” he returned. “Pleasure to meet you, miss Ahlzqi.”“Likewise,” Ahlzqi replied. “But first Ahlzqi needs you to do a favor for her, which will have the added benefit of helping Brynjolf as well.“Of course,” Jandowryn replied eagerly. “What did you have in mind?”“This one got a bit of an errand to perform,” Ahlzqi explained. “But I need an extra pair of hands, and in my line of work, extra hands are well-paid.”“What do you want me to do exactly?” Jandowryn pressed.“Simple. Ahlzqi is going to cause a distraction, and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from a strongbox under his stand. Once you have it, place it in Brand-Shei’s pocket without him noticing.”Jandowryn blinked. “Ah. You’re a thief. You want me to commit a crime.”Ahlzqi was also surprised. “This one thought you were looking for Brynjolf, no?” she asked. “Are you not… in our line of work?”“Of course he’s also a thief,” Jandowryn muttered. “Classic Delphine. Fine, sure, I’ll do it. If that’s what it takes.”“Good,” Ahlzqi replied, glad they recovered from that stumble. “Wait until Ahlzqi has started her distraction, then show her what you are made of.” By then they’d made it to the marketplace, where she began addressing the crowd. “Everyone, everyone! Gather round! Khajiit has something amazing to show that demands your attention! Gather round, all!” —Jandowryn— The various buyers and sellers came toward her stall, while he made his way to the jewelry stand. He’d forgotten to ask his guide which one was Madesi, but there was only one jeweler in the marketplace, so it seemed a safe bet.“Come on, Ahlzqi,” a Dunmer complained. “What is it this time?“Patience, Brand-Shei,” Ahlzqi assured him, simultaneously letting Jandowryn know who the mark was. “This is a rare opportunity, and Khajiit would not want you to get left out.”“That’s what you said about the wisp essence!” replied the Argonian who had been tending the jewelry stall. “And that turned out to be crushed nirnroot mixed with water!”“That was a simple misunderstanding,” Ahlzqi dismissed. “But this item is the real thing. Khajiit presents to you, Falmerblood Elixir!”The lock on Madesi’s strongbox clicked open and Jandowryn quickly snatched the ring from inside. He felt guilty stealing from an innocent man, but it was the only way to find Esbern. “Oh come on, are you talking about the Snow Elves?” Brand-Shei replied skeptically.“The one and only!” Ahlzqi agreed. “Mystical beings who lived in legends and were masters of great magic. Imagine the power that coursed through their veins!”“How did you get it then?” Madesi retorted. “No one’s seen them in years!”“This one’s sources must remain a secret for their own protection,” Ahlzqi apologized. “But Khajiit can promise you that the contents are genuine! One sip of the elixir and your wishes will be granted. Great wealth, everlasting life, or perhaps limitless power could be yours!”Jandowryn had made it to the group and gotten close to Brand-Shei by this point. He still felt apprehensive about his role in framing the Dunmer, but he had little choice in the matter.“How much does it cost?” Brand-Shei asked.“Only twenty gold septims!” Ahlzqi announced. “Hurry, before the supply is gone!” Screw it, here goes nothing , Jandowryn thought. He rushed to the front of the crowd, and as he shoved Brand-Shei aside, dropped the ring into his pocket. “I’ll take it!” he called.“And sold!” Ahlzqi cried, catching his drift. “Time is up, come back tomorrow if you wish to buy!”“What a waste of time,” the Argonian muttered.“Looks like Khajiit chose the right person for the job,” she said as the crowd dispersed. “And here you go, your payment, just as this one promised.”Jandowryn looked down at the stack of coins she placed in his palm. “I… I don’t want this,” he said, handing it back to her. “I just want to know where Brynjolf is.”“Ah yes, he will be down in the Ragged Flagon,” Ahlzqi replied, quickly pocketing the money he refused. “Come, Ahlzqi will show you. Your friend may come too, if she likes.”“My friend?” he asked.“Yes, your Khajiit friend,” she reiterated pointing behind him. He turned and saw another Khajiit casually leaning against the wall of the tavern, trying to look inconspicuous. “She has been following you since before you entered the city. A shy one, I take it?”Jandowryn’s blood ran cold. “She’s not my friend,” he replied. “I’ve never seen her before in my life.”“Truthfully?” Ahlzqi asked. “Then it would seem you have a secret admirer. Perhaps she will follow us into the Ratway. Come.”Jandowryn nervously followed her, trying not to glance behind him lest he tip of the Khajiit that he was aware of her presence. She had to be a Thalmor spy, he was sure of it. And if she was shadowing him, that meant he’d been made.Ahlzqi led him through the Ratway into the Ragged Flagon without incident, for which he was thankful. It was filled with shady looking characters, all wearing the same leather armor ripe with pockets and holsters for all kinds of lockpicks, knives, and other knick knacks. “Job’s done, boss,” she called out. “And this one brought someone for you.”One of them turned around and looked Jandowryn up and down, like he was scanning him. “For me? What do you mean, Ahlzqi?”“Said he’s looking for you,” she explained. “That’s all Khajiit got out of him. But he helped her with the Brand-Shei job.”“Did he now?” The man’s eyes narrowed skeptically. “Just who are you, lad?”“Jandowryn,” he answered. “I presume you must be Brynjolf?”The man nodded. “What is it you want with me?”“I’m looking for someone,” Jandowryn replied. “I have it on good authority he’s somewhere in the Ratway. Can you help?”“Depends,” Brynjolf replied. “There’s plenty of people here. If you can give me a more apt description than ‘someone,’ then that might help your cause.”“Wait, is that you?” One of the figures from the back of the Flagon stepped forward. “It is you! Good to see you, my friend!”“Wait, Etienne?” Jandowryn asked.“Yes, that’s me!” Etienne confirmed. “I’ll never forget how you saved my life from those Thalmor maniacs. Glad you made it!”“Ah, so you’re the one who saved Etienne, are you?” Brynjolf asked. “In that case, I’m more than glad to help.”Jandowryn really wished he’d known that before framing an innocent man for theft, but what was done was done. “Right, I’m looking for—”“The old man the Thalmor were after, right?” Etienne asked. “I’ll gladly take you to him, my friend!”Ahlzqi lept in front of them. “Khajiit should go with you as well,” she decided. “Etienne is still not to full strength.” Etienne led their small group through the Ratway, which smelled about as well as Jandowryn had expected an ancient labyrinthine sewer system to. There were so many twists and turns that he doubted he ever could have found his way on his own, let alone get back out again.Ahlzqi also pitched in, helping keep them safe from the various dangers that called the Ratway home. There were a number of skeever, allowing it to live up to its name, and also a number of people that Jandowryn had no word for other than crazy. He supposed it made sense in a way. After all, no sane person would want to live here, and any who were forced to likely wouldn’t remain that way for long.“Come here, come here!” a voice called. Jandowryn paused and looked around for its source, but saw no one. Due to the Ratways echoing halls, he couldn’t even triangulate where it had come from. He dismissed it and continued following Etienne and Ahlzqi before hearing it again. “Yes, yes, closer, I won’t bite.”“Hello?” Jandowryn called out. “Who’s there?”“Come over here, please, pretty please?” the voice continued.Something suddenly wrapped itself around his wrist causing Jandowryn to jump in fright, but it was only Ahlzqi. “Stay close to us,” she reprimanded him. “And don’t talk to Knjakr if you don’t want to get eaten.”“Give me just one… little… bite!” the voice cried out.Jandowryn nodded. “Understood. Please, lead on.”Eventually, they reached what seemed to be the end of the Ratway, which featured a large metal door coated in chains and shackles. “That’s his place,” Etienne confirmed. “If he is the man you’re after, at least.”“Right. You two stay back a bit, I’ll approach him myself,” Jandowryn said.He went up to the door and knocked lightly. A small slit opened and two bloodshot eyes stared out. “Go away!” cried a voice from behind the door, followed by the eye slit slamming shut.Jandowryn knocked again. “Esbern?” he called. “Is that you?”“What?!” the voice cried. “No, that’s not me. I’m not Esbern. I don’t know what you’re talking about!”That was definitely Esbern in there. “Esbern, please open the door,” Jandowryn pleaded. “It’s me, Jandowryn. You remember me, right?”The slit opened again and the bloodshot eyes seemed to bore into his soul. “Jandowryn?” he said. “How did you…” the slit slammed shut again. “So, you’ve finally found him, and he led you to me!” he shouted. “And here I am, caught like a rat in a trap!”“What? “No, Esbern, I am Jandowryn,” he insisted. “The Thalmor have found you, and we need to get you out of here!”“Oh, how reassuring!” Esbern yelled sarcastically. “Most likely you’re with the Thalmor and this is just a trick to get me to open the door!”Jandowryn sighed and racked his brain for a way to get through to his old friend, when it hit him. “Hey, Esbern?” he called softly. “Do you remember the 30th of Frostfall?”The slit slowly reopened. “The 30th of Frostfall?” Esbern asked quietly. “Indeed, I do remember. It’s really you then? You’d better come in and tell me how you found me and what you want.”The slit closed again and from the other side came the sound of rattling chains as Esbern presumably began undoing the locks. “This’ll just take a moment,” Esbern assured him. “This one always sticks… there we go. Only a couple more… There we are!” The door finally swung open.“Don’t worry about us,” Ahlzqi called from where she and Etienne waited. “We’ll stand guard.”“Come in, come in,” Esbern insisted, ushering Jandowryn inside. “Make yourself at home.” He shut the door, but thankfully didn’t relock it. “So, I see you keep up the fight, after all these years” he said, sitting down in a chair. “I thought you’d have realized it’s hopeless by now. I tried to tell you, years ago…”“It’s not hopeless,” Jandowryn assured him. “We can still fight them, but the Thalmor have found you. We have to get out of here.”“No, you don’t understand,” Esbern sighed. “I’m not talking about the Thalmor. The end is upon us. We might as well die here as anywhere else. I’m tired of running, aren’t you?”“What are you talking about?” Jandowryn asked, starting to worry Esbern’s time in the Ratway may have affected his mind.“Haven’t you figured it out yet?’ Esbern demanded. “What more needs to happen before you all wake up and see what’s going on?”“We don’t have time for this!” Jandowryn insisted. “Just come with me, and we can deal with your existential crisis later.Esbern sighed. “The foolishness of youth, always so shortsighted,” he lamented. “Very well, I will go with you. Give me just a moment, I must gather a few things.”“I’m well over twice your age,” Jandowryn reminded him as Esbern got up and began packing various belongings.“I’ll need this… No, no, useless trash… Where’d I put my annotated Anuad?” he muttered, ignoring Jandowryn’s remark. “I know time is of the essence, but we mustn’t leave secrets for the Thalmor. Now there’s one more thing I must bring… Well, I guess that will have to be good enough. Let’s be off.”Jandowryn opened Esbern’s door, anxious to finally leave. “Come on, just follow—” he suddenly cut off when he saw the Ratway. “Oh no.” —Ahlzqi— Ahlzqi wasn’t sure why she volunteered as muscle, but by the moons was she regretting it. After Jandowryn slipped into his friend’s little cubby hole, half a dozen Thalmor agents had popped out of the woodwork and surrounded them. Four of them were Altmer, one was the Khajiit that had been tailing Jandowryn, and the last was Gissur, the traitor who sold Etienne out to the Thalmor in the first place. Speaking of Etienne, he was still in no condition to fight, so it was all up to her.“Surrender now, and we will give you a quick death!” one of the soldiers ordered.“Pass,” Ahlzqi replied. She leapt at the soldier and slashed with her claws, only for them to bounce harmlessly off the moonstone shield.A conjured sword swung at her as she recovered from the stagger, giving her only enough time to dodge the brunt of the attack, though it still shaved a solid chunk of her forearm. Dammit. A single Thalmor agent she could handle, maybe even two or three, but six? She was out of her depths, and Etienne was no help. Her only hope was to stall until Jandowryn came out, which meant she needed to get them talking.“What do you even want him for?” she asked. “He is a crazy old man. Those are a septim a dozen down here.”“Silence!” another soldier barked at her. They chucked a firebolt which she managed to dodge, only to be knocked down by another’s mace. She coughed as she hit the floor, and saw her paw was dotted with red. Not usually a good sign.Gissur charged at Etienne who was cowering behind her, but she managed to get to her feet and tackle him to the ground. The soldier with the mace ran after her, and she rolled so Gissur was on top of her, becoming a shield. The weapon collided with enough force that Ahlzqi felt the shockwave even below. Gissur cried out and went limp. One down, five to go.“Damn you!” snarled the Thalmor with the mace.“Go ahead and try!” she taunted. So much for stalling and talking. The only good news was the remaining five seemed to have forgotten about Etienne, which of course meant she had their undivided attention. Terrific.An arrow whizzed past her head and embedded itself in the stonework behind her. A fireball followed, and while the initial blast missed her, the explosion knocked her off her feet yet again. She scrambled and barely caught the conjured blade between her paws, inches from her face. She pulled it free of its wielder’s grip, only for it to vanish and reappear in their hand. Stupid bound weapons.“She’s a slippery one,” the  other Khajiit remarked. “What should we do, Captain Calliben?”“Just get her!” barked the one with the mace. “She’s one Khajiit, she shouldn’t be this hard for you!”There was definitely an innuendo to be made there, but they gave her no time to come up with it before firing another onslaught of arrows and spells. Each one that so much as nicked her hurt like hell, and slowed her movements which only made her easier to hit. An arrow lodged solidly in her shoulder and she yowled in pain.“That’s right, sing for us you stupid cat!” Calliben taunted. “Fire again!”More arrows and flames came at her. She dodged as best she could, but another arrow sliced the side of her neck while the fire singed the fur on her leg. She tried to hold in the pain so as not to give her tormentors the satisfaction, but couldn’t help but cry out.“Ahlzqi!” Etienne cried in fear.“Stay out of this!” she yelled at him. “Go to the Flagon! Tell Brynjolf!”Etienne darted to the exit, pursued quickly by the Thalmor. “No… you… don’t!” Ahlzqi growled and tackled the first two to the ground. She fought tooth and nail, slashing and biting at any exposed flesh she could find. She couldn’t think clearly, her mind was clouded with pain and fear. All she had left was raw instinct, and she let it consume her.Pain seemed to be erupting from everywhere, but it felt distant, like it was being felt by someone else and she was just watching. She couldn’t afford to give up. She was not going to die here, not like this.Calliben’s clawed mace dug into her back, but the pain was blunt and dull, even as she felt the cool trickle of blood leaking from the wound. She whirled around and sank her teeth into the Thalmor’s arm. It was the bastard’s turn to scream in pain, and it was like music to her ears.The other Khajiit punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground. The world seemed to spin and sounds dulled like she was underwater. Calliben spat on her face as he stood over her, mace raised above his head. “Any last words?” he snarled.Ahlzqi couldn’t think of anything to say, or even anything to do. Dammit. Maybe sheer force of will wasn’t enough to stay alive. It had been worth a shot at least. She panted, her breathing badly labored. “Just do it,” was all she could say.She closed her eyes as the mace began its downward arc toward her head and braced for the worst. Rather than a skull-crushing blow, it felt more like a clumsy bonk. She tentatively opened her eyes and found the mace laying next to her head, with Calliben on the floor in front of her, a small bolt sticking out of his forehead. —Jandowryn— It was wrong to hold Esbern responsible, but Jandowryn couldn’t help but blame him a little. If he’d just opened that damnable door sooner, perhaps this could have been prevented. The other four Thalmor immediately turned to him as soon as their leader dropped dead.“There’s the Blades Agent!” one cried. “Kill him!”Thankfully, Jandowryn’s crossbow was fast enough to take out two of them first, and his blade made quick work of the other two. It helped that they seemed to be rather injured already, covered in cuts and what appeared to be bite marks.He rushed down to Ahlzqi, followed closely by Esbern. “Ahlzqi?” he said, holding her head in his lap. “Ahlzqi, talk to me!”The Khajiit was silent for a long moment, but eventually her eyes fluttered open. “Five…” she mumbled.“Yes, you took on five on your own,” Jandowryn agreed. “You were wonderful. Just stay with me, okay?”Ahlzqi groaned. “No… need… five…”“You need something?” Janfowryn asked. “Five what? Herbs? Potions?”“Five…” she muttered again, followed by a violent cough. “Five… more… minutes…”Jandowryn resisted the urge to laugh. “Ahlzqi, please, this is not the time for jokes,” he chided. “You need to stay with me.”Ahlzqi forced out a laugh. “Always… time… for jokes…” she replied.The door out of the Ratway slammed open and Jandowryn cursed. He drew his crossbow once again and almost fired, before recognizing the emerging figure as Etienne. “I brought help!” he called. “She’s this way, quickly!” As ethically questionable as they were, the Thieves Guild took care of their own. Brynjolf promised Jandowryn that Ahlzqi would be well tended to by the best healers money could buy, and bid him and Esbern on their way. Jandowryn still didn’t like the idea of collaborating with organized crime, but anyone with that much loyalty to their subordinates deserved at least a begrudging respect.With that taken care of, Jandowryn dragged Esbern to Riverwood, despite him still moping about the end of the world or whatever. He was far too tired to give the old man much of a rundown on the carriage ride, so Esbern got to be pleasantly surprised when he met Delphine at the Sleeping Giant Inn.“Delphine! I… it’s good to see you,” he said. “It’s been… a long time.”Delphine met him with a hug. “It’s good to see you too, Esbern. It’s been too long, old friend. Too long.” They pulled apart and she turned to Jandowryn. “Well then, you made it, safe and sound. Good. Come on, I have a place we can talk. Orgnar, hold down the bar for a minute, will you?”“Yeah, sure,” Orgnar agreed.Jandowryn and Esbern followed Delphine down to her basement. “Now then, Esbern, what can you tell us about these dragons?” Delphine asked.“I can tell you it is hopeless,” he replied gravely. “This has all been foretold. The end has begun.”“What’s he on about?” Delphine asked.“Not sure,” Jandowryn admitted. “He’s been like that since I found him. I’m worried his time in the Ratway may have gotten to him.”“My mind is just fine, and so are my ears!” Esbern snapped. “Well, actually I am a little deaf in my left one, but that isn’t the point. Why do you refuse to understand?”“Understand what, exactly?” Jandowryn insisted.“It isn’t just dragons returning,” Esbern explained. “It is the Dragon, from the dawn of time, who devours souls of the dead! No one can escape his hunger, here or in the afterlife! He will devour all things and the world will end. Nothing can stop him. I tried to tell you, but you wouldn’t listen. Fools. It’s all come true. All I could do was watch our doom approach…”“Esbern, we still have no idea what you’re talking about,” Delphine replied.“Alduin!” Esbern cried. “The World-Eater! Alduin has returned, just like the prophecy said!”Jandowryn’s blood ran cold. “Wait, you don’t mean the Alduin?!” he asked.“The one and only,” Esbern agreed. “Now you see how hopeless our predicament is. Only a Dragonborn can stop him, but no Dragonborn has been known for centuries. It seems the gods have grown tired of us. They’ve left us to our fate, as the plaything of Alduin the World-Eater.”Jandowryn exchanged looks with Delphine. “Esbern, it isn’t hopeless,” he insisted. “We did it. We found a new Dragonborn.”Esbern immediately perked up. “What? You… Can it really be true? Then… then there is hope! Where is the Dragonborn?”“He’s in Rorikstead at the moment,” Delphine replied. “But he should return soon. In the meantime, tell us what hope you’ve got.”“Yes, well, this changes everything of course!” he rambled excitedly. “There’s no time to lose. We must locate… let me show you. I know I had it here somewhere…” he began rifling through his books.“Esbern, what—” Delphine began.The old man slammed an open book down on the table with surprising energy. “Here it is! Come, let me show you. You see, right here?” he asked, pointing at the page. “Sky Haven Temple, constructed as one of the main Akaviri military camps in the Reach, during their conquest of Skyrim.”“Do you know what he’s talking about?” Delphine asked Jandowryn.Esbern shushed her and continued. “This is where they built Alduin’s wall, to set down in stone all their accumulated dragonlore. A hedge against the forgetfulness of centuries. A wise and foresighted policy, in the event. Despite the far-reaching fame of Alduin’s Wall at the time — one of the wonders of the ancient world — its location was lost.”“Esbern, what are you getting at?” Delphine demanded.“You mean…” Esbern glanced at the two of them. “You don’t mean to say you haven’t heard of Alduin’s Wall? Either of you?”“Only vaguely,” Jandowryn admitted. “I know it had something to do with Alduin of course, and that it was much sought after, but beyond that I know nothing.”Esbern sighed in disappointment. “Alduin’s Wall created by the ancient Akaviri Dragonguard, the forerunners of the Blades. It was where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return,” he explained slowly. “Part history, part prophecy. Its location has been lost for centuries, but I’ve found it again! Not lost, you see, just forgotten.”“Isn’t that the same thing?” Jandowryn asked, earning his own shushing.“So you think Alduin’s Wall will tell us how to defeat Alduin?” Delphine clarified.“Well, yes, but there’s no guarantee of course,” Esbern admitted.“Good enough,” Delphine agreed. “Sky Haven Temple it is then. I knew you’d have something for us, Esbern. So where is it exactly?”“Ah yes, the entrance seems to be what’s now known as Karthspire,” he replied. “We’ll have to see what we find when we arrive.”“Excellent, I’ll send word to the Dragonborn that we’ll meet him at Rorikstead, since it's on the way there,” Jandowryn decided.The three of them went back upstairs before Delphine stopped by the bar. “Well Orgnar, this is it,” she said. “The inn is yours. I’m probably never coming back here.”“Well now, that’s something to think about,” Orgnar replied.“Take care of yourself, Orgnar,” Delphine continued. “Goodbye.”“Yeah, sure,” he grunted. “You too, Delphine. You be safe.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

—Wiglaf—
 
Since his promotion from nature hiker to savior of the world, Wiglaf had learned many facts and terms about these adventure sort of things. If he remembered correctly, the technical term for his current situation was “Not Good.”

“Nahagliiv, zil gro dovah ulse!” the black dragon shouted. “Slen Tiid Vo!”

Just like the one at Kynesgrove, the earth around the burial mound shattered, and a skeletal dragon clawed its way to the surface. “Alduin thuri!”

“Alok, Nahagliiv. Tiid boaan,” the black dragon seemed to respond. “Mu grind einzuk, Dovahkiin. Mey boaan het. Hin suleyk los sahlag. Dir ko maar.. Nahagliiv, krii daar nisaad dovah.”

Wiglaf understood precisely one word of that, being Dovahkiin. Well, and by extension dovah, but that didn’t count for much. He wished Jandowryn were there to translate, and the newly resurrected dragon didn’t seem keen on providing that service. It roared what sounded like a battlecry, followed by a few words Wiglaf

did

recognize. “Yol Toor Shul!”

He hit the ground just before the flame washed over him, feeling the searing heat across his back. Wiglaf scrambled to his feet in time to see the black dragon flying away yet again. Part of him wanted to chase after it, but the dragon in front of him wasn’t allowing that.

“Fus Ro Dah!” he Shouted. The Unrelenting Force struck the dragon square on and it cried out in pain, a very satisfying reaction indeed. Wiglaf took the opportunity to leap onto the dragon’s head, planning to use the same maneuver he’d used to slay Sahloknir.

Unfortunately,

this

dragon didn’t seem to be weakened enough as Sahloknir had been, and objected rather strongly to his presence. It spread its wings and took to the sky, Wiglaf clinging desperately to its face as it tried to shake him off. Like most people, Wiglaf had idly dreamt of flying before. In his imagination, he’d had a little more control, however. This was not the idyllic majesty of soaring through the sky, but rather a chaotic rodeo a hundred feet in the air.

A projectile of some sort cut through the air and embedded itself between the dragon’s scales, barely a hair from Wiglaf’s face. The dragon bucked and thrashed, nearly throwing him off. He looked down to the ground, which was disconcertingly far away by now, and saw three figures that could be people, but at this height looked more like ants. “Stop shooting!” he yelled as loud as he could, hoping they could hear him.

Another bolt lodged itself into his mount, and he had to shut his mouth to avoid biting off his own tongue as the dragon thrashed even harder. It furled in its wings and began diving toward the ground at a speed far faster than anything Wiglaf was remotely comfortable with. The wind whipped at his face, threatening to tear off his skin. It was all he could do to cling to his unwilling host.

The dragon pulled up at the last second before they could hit the ground. It followed up by doing an impromptu barrel roll to dislodge Wiglaf to no avail, but had the benefit of getting him close enough to see the origins of the projectiles.

“Hi Jandowryn!” he yelled quickly as he flew upside down past the elf. He barely had time to register his friend’s look of shock before soaring away at breakneck speed.

The dragon began a corkscrew spiral back into the sky, and Wiglaf realized his only option was to ground the beast by force. He gritted his teeth and let go of his battleaxe so he could pull out his knife. He did his best to lock himself into place with his legs and right arm, and began digging his knife into the dragon with his left.

It roared in pain as his blade bit flesh, and began losing altitude. It spat fire, heating up the air around them. That likely wouldn’t be good for Jandowryn and the others on the ground, but he couldn’t afford to worry about that right now. He dug his knife further in, twisting it until one of the plates of scale was wrenched free and hurtled through the air behind them. Hopefully it wouldn’t land on anyone.

With more flesh exposed, Wiglaf began furiously doing as much damage as he could, much to his host’s dismay. They began losing more and more altitude, until they eventually crashed into the ground. The impact finally dislodged Wiglaf, who was sent tumbling from the monster into the dirt kicked up by their crash landing. He got to his feet as quickly as he could, and was faced with a very pissed off dragon.

The dragon opened its maw and he saw the inside of its throat begin to glow as it readied another Fire Breath. With no time to dodge, he did the only thing he could think of in the moment. “Fus Ro Dah!”

The Unrelenting Force struck the dragon head on, causing it to choke on its own flames. It began retching and coughing, thick black smoke billowing from its mouth. Wiglaf was surprised his desperate gambit had worked, but took full advantage of it. He leapt at the dragon, slashing at any weak points he could find. Eyes, nose, the inside of its mouth when he could. He fought like a wild animal, and it paid off.

The dragon roared in despair before fully collapsing to the ground. Its body began smoking, followed by its flesh flaking off and floating into the air like ash. The corpse glowed with that familiar light, which washed over him as he soaked it all in. That dragon wouldn’t be bothering anyone ever again.

With the last of the soul devoured, Wiglaf became aware of his audience. Jandowryn and Delphine stood not far away with an old man who looked as surprised as they were. He became self conscious at the attention. “Did any of you see my axe?” was all he could think to say.

Jandowryn was the first to regain his composure. “Yeah, about that,” he said. “Well done on defeating the dragon, but well, I’m not sure what you expected, dropping your weapon from such a height, especially at those speeds.”

Wiglaf had an idea of where this was going. “Ah. I see.”

The elf led him over to a patch of torn up grass, where his trusty axe lay in several pieces. “I’m terribly sorry, Dragonborn,” Jandowryn apologized.

“It’s not your fault,” Wiglaf sighed. “I suppose it was about time to get a new one anyway. Rest well, old friend. You were a good axe.”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
After briefing Wiglaf on the situation involving Alduin’s Wall, the four of them continued to Karthspire. The exterior was currently serving as a base camp for a group of Forsworn, but after bearing witness to the Dragonborn’s Thu’um when the first couple attacked, the rest were persuaded to allow them to pass.

The path led through a small cave then back into a grotto open to the sky and surrounded on all sides by the walls of the mountain. On the far wall was what appeared to be a carving of the face of Emperor Reman Cyrodiil, with its eyes looking slightly downward to the center of the room. There on the floor was a large circular platform with various engravings and glyphs. Jandowryn was able to recognize a few, but not all of them.

Fortunately, they had Esbern to fill in for the gaps in his knowledge. “Wonderful! Remarkably well-preserved too!” he said excitedly. “Look how the ancient Blades revered Reman Cyrodiil. This whole place seems to be a shrine to Reman. He ended the Akaviri invasion under mysterious circumstances, you recall. After the so-called ‘battle’ of Pale Pass, the Akaviri went into his service. This was the foundation stone of the Second Empire.”

“So where’s Alduin’s Wall?” Delphine asked

Esbern sighed at her impatience and gestured toward the circular platform in the center of the floor. “Well, here’s the ‘blood seal,’ another of the lost Akaviri arts. No doubt triggered by… well, blood.” He turned to Wiglaf. “

Your

blood, Dragonborn.”

Wiglaf paled. “Wait, Are you saying I need to be sacrificed?”

“On no, not at all,” Jandowryn assured him. “It shouldn’t require too much blood. A simple cut should do.”

“Ah, that’s a relief,” Wiglaf replied. He knelt at the circle and took out his knife before taking a deep breath. He winced as he drew the blade across his palm, then held it over the seal as his blood began to seep from the cut. Almost immediately, the circle began to glow with a soft light, and the rings began refiguring themselves. The braziers next to the carved face lit up, and the face itself started making a loud grinding noise as it folded upwards, revealing a passageway behind it.

“After you, Dragonborn,” Jandorwyn insisted. “You should have the honor of being the first to set foot in Sky Haven Temple.

Wiglaf nodded and led them through the doorway. The interior was dark, as this area was not open to the sky as the rest had been, and the ancient braziers had long since been extinguished. With only the light of their torches, they delved further into the abandoned temple.

“Fascinating!” Esbern exclaimed as he followed after the Dragonborn. “Original Akaviri bas reliefs… and almost entirely intact! Amazing, you can see how the Akaviri craftsmen were beginning to embrace the more flowing Nordic style through their increased usage of—”

“We’re here for Alduin’s Wall,” Delphine reminded him. “Right, Esbern?”

Esbern cleared his throat. “Yes, of course. We’ll have more time to look around later, I suppose. Let’s see what’s up ahead.”

What was up ahead was a grand chamber, with the occasional holes in the ceiling allowing light to spill in. They didn’t look intentionally carved as windows, but there wasn’t any rubble on the ground to suggest a collapse either, so Jandowryn theorized they were likely natural and original parts of the temple that the Akaviri architects simply kept. Or perhaps they had patched the holes with other materials such as wood which simply rotted away rather than caving in. This also suggested that the cavern wasn’t entirely carved out of the mountain as he’d initially believed, but instead utilized a natural cave as its base, then presumably smoothing out and refitting it from there. Of course, that wouldn’t explain the support pillars, which flowed seamlessly into the ceiling and the floor, and didn’t seem to have been placed there, suggesting they were not placed their but rather the area around them carved away, leaving the pre-existing stone to hold up the—

“Shor’s bones!” Esbern exclaimed, shaking Jandowryn out of his analysis. “Here it is, Alduin’s Wall, and so well preserved. I’ve never seen a finer example of early second era Akaviri sculptural relief…”

“Esbern, we need information, not a lecture on art history,” chided Delphine, who seemed to be the only Blade not fascinated by the temple.

“Yes yes, let’s see what we have here,” Esbern lamented. “Look, here is Alduin! This panel goes back to the beginning of time, when Alduin and the Dragon Cult ruled over Skyrim. Here the humans rebelled against their dragon overlords — the legendary Dragon War. Alduin’s defeat is the centerpiece of the Wall. You see, here he is, falling from the sky. The Nord Tongues — masters of the Voice — are arrayed against him.”

“So does it show how they defeated Alduin?” Delphine asked. “Isn’t that why we’re here?”

“Patience, my dears,” Esbern assured them. “The Akaviri were not a straightforward people. Everything is couched in allegory and mythic symbolism.” He continued examining the Wall, until he seemed to find something of interest. “This here, coming from the mouths of the Nord heroes,” he pointed. “This is the Akaviri word for ‘Shout,’ but there’s no way to know what Shout is meant.”

“You mean they used a Shout to defeat Alduin?” Delphine asked.

“Hm? Oh yes, presumably something rather specific to dragons, or even Alduin himself,” Esbern confirmed. “Remember, this is where they recorded all they knew of Alduin and his return.”

“So we’re looking for a Shout then,” Delphine concluded. “Damn it.”
 
—Wiglaf—
 
Delphine turned toward Wiglaf, who had remained rather quiet up to now. “Have you ever heard of such a thing?” she asked him. “A Shout that can knock a dragon out of the sky?”

“No, can’t say I have,” Wiglaf admitted. “Would be useful.”

Delphine sighed. “I was afraid you were going to say that. I guess there’s nothing for it. We’ll have to ask the Graybeards for help. I hoped to avoid involving them in this, but we have no other choice.”

Wiglaf was taken aback by the bitterness in her voice. “What do you have against the Graybeards?”

“If they had their way, you’d do nothing but sit up on their mountain with them and talk to the sky, or whatever it is they do,” she explained. “The Graybeards are so afraid of power that they won’t use it. Think about it, have they tried to stop the civil war, or done anything about Alduin? No. They’re afraid of you, of your power. Trust me, there’s no need to be afraid. Think of Tiber Septim, do you think he’d have founded the Empire if he’d listened to the Graybeards?”

“What she means to say, is that the Graybeards can be rather caught in their ways,” Jandowryn interrupted. “I trust they told you the story of their founder, Jurgen Windcaller?”

Wiglaf nodded. “Yeah, he realized the Thu’um wasn’t meant to be used for battle or something, right?”

“Yes, after a devastating defeat,” Jandowryn agreed. “During his time, the Thu’um had become seen as nothing more than a weapon, albeit a rather powerful one. His loss in battle showed him the error of that, but he overcorrected. He came to the conclusion that the Thu’um should never be used for any battle at all, a philosophy the Graybeards have upheld. They were not entirely wrong of course, but they took their pacifism to an extreme. The gods originally gave mortals the Thu’um to allow them to fight against the dragons, after all. Using it for petty squabbles and meaningless war was wrong, as Jurgen Windcaller concluded, but it is equally wrong to not use it for any combat whatsoever.”

Wiglaf’s internal conflict must have shown, since Jandowryn changed tactics and spoke in a softer, quieter voice. “The truth of the matter is that the Blades and the Graybeards have been in conflict for millenia, so many of us can be… a little harsh,” he said, glancing at Delphine. “That’s part of why I sent you to High Hrothgar alone. It’s true they aren’t fond of guests, but being a Blade, they likely would be even less happy to see me.”

“So, you’re saying I need to pick a side,” Wiglaf said slowly.

“No no, not at all!” Jandowryn replied quickly. “Quite the contrary. You, Dragonborn, are your own person, and on your own side. I’m saying you should listen to all the advice and wisdom you can, and use it to come to your own conclusion. Do not blindly follow whatever the Graybeards ask of you, but do not blindly follow us either. The Graybeards and the Blades are two sides of the same coin, two extremes of polar opposites. Your role is not to choose which is right and which is wrong, but to find balance.”

“That didn’t sound like what Delphine was saying,” Wiglaf pointed out.

Jandowryn sighed. “Yes, well, Delphine is… she is a great person. A loyal friend and ally, and damn good swordsman. But she can be a little… headstrong, shall we say. She has something of a one-track mind. As I said earlier, the philosophies of the Blades and the Graybeards are equal and opposite extremes, but even within each group there is a gradient. I, for one, believe the Graybeards’ wisdom to be quite valuable and worth considering. Just because we are both Blades does not necessarily mean we are in perfect agreement on everything. That is to say, I don’t think you should blindly follow me, either. I undoubtedly have my own biases and flaws. All I ask is that you take our words into consideration, and have trust in your own judgment.”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
Rather than wait in Ivarstead yet again, Jandowryn had Wiglaf travel alone. Instead, he stayed in Sky Haven Temple with his fellow remaining Blades, and took the time to marvel at the history they were standing in without Delphine tapping her foot impatiently.

“Look, here in the third panel,” Esbern said, examining Alduin’s Wall. “The prophecy which brought the Akaviri to Tamriel in the first place, in search of the Dragonborn. Here are the Akaviri — the Blades — you see their distinct longswords. Now they kneel, their ancient mission fulfilled, as the Last Dragonborn contends with Alduin at the end of time. Are you paying attention, Delphine? You might learn something of our own history. I know the prophecy by heart. Once, all the Blades knew it.”

“As do I,” Jandowryn agreed. “When the Brass Tower walks and time is reshaped / When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles / When the Dragonborn ruler loses his throne and the White Tower falls / When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, and bleeding / The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”

“Well, I’m going to look around some more,” Delphine replied, ignoring their not-so subtle hints. “See what the Blades left for us.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea,” Esbern agreed. “Who knows what lost treasures we might discover?”

Jandowryn looked around at the cavern as Delphine wandered off. “This would make a great headquarters for rebuilding the Blades,” he observed. “But we can’t exactly do that with just the three of us.”

Esbern looked up from the mural. “What did you have in mind?”

“I was thinking we should scout for some recruits,” Jandowryn explained. “What do you think?”

Esbern furrowed his brow. “Hm, that would certainly help us rebuild,” he agreed. “But openly recruiting is practically an invitation for the Thalmor to find us. And who would even want to join with them threatening to hunt us all down?”

“Which is why we won’t openly recruit, we’ll do it quietly, reaching out on an individual basis, to minimize the chances of the Thalmor catching wind,” Jandowryn continued. “As for who, most of this province would gladly risk their lives even for the sole purpose of fighting the Thalmor. You may not have noticed while you were in the Ratway, but they aren’t exactly the most popular group in Skyrim at the moment.”

“You raise some good arguments,” Esbern conceded. “I think we should run this idea by Delphine, but if she agrees, then we should go for it. I presume you have some people in mind?”

“You know me too well,” Jandowryn laughed.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

—Wiglaf—
 
The 7,000 steps to High Hrothgar did not believe in the saying “third time’s the charm,” as this ascent was every bit as brutal as its predecessors. Wiglaf still wasn’t sure where he stood on the Blades and Graybeards stances on the usage of the Thu’um, but he would do anything to be able to breathe a little fire to warm himself. Sadly, he still hadn’t figured out that Shout despite how many times it had been used against him. The only thing that kept him going was the thought of Wilhelm’s hot stew waiting for him down in the Vilemyr Inn. Needless to say, the doors of High Hrothgar were a more than welcome sight once he finally reached them and stumbled inside.

“Ah, Dragonborn, you have returned,” observed Master Arngeir as Wiglaf warmed himself by the fire of the braziers. “What can we do for you?”

Wiglaf simply shivered by way of answer while he waited for his tongue to thaw. After a few moments, he finally answered. “I need to learn a Shout.”

“You have learned so much already, Dragonborn,” Master Arngeir replied. “Growing your gift too quickly would be dangerous. But there are many Words of Power in Skyrim, carved in the Dragon tongue. Even from here, we can feel the Thu’um resonating from them. Finding these lost words would be a sufficient test, to temper your abilities with experience.”

Wiglaf was beginning to see what Jandowryn had meant about the Graybeards being overly cautious. “No, you misunderstand,” he corrected. “I need a specific Shout, the one used to defeat Alduin.”

Master Arngeir’s expression immediately soured. “Where did you learn of that?” he demanded. “Who have you been speaking to?”

“Uh, something called Alduin’s Wall…?” Wiglaf offered, surprised by the sudden aggression.

“The Blades!” Master Arngeir exclaimed angrily. “Of course! They specialize in meddling in matters they barely understand. Their reckless arrogance knows no bounds. They’ve always sought to turn the Dragonborn from the path of wisdom. Have you learned nothing from us? Would you simply be a tool in the hands of the Blades, to be used for their own purposes?”

His accusatory tone was starting to get on Wiglaf’s nerves. “The Blades are just trying to help me defeat Alduin,” he argued. “And at least they aren’t keeping secrets from me.”

“Don’t be so sure of that.” Master Arngeir warned. “Beware, the Blades may claim to serve the Dragonborn, but they do not. They never have. As for me, I kept from you only what you were not ready to know. And are still not ready to know, as your question reveals.”

“So you won’t help me?” Wiglaf asked.

“No,” Master Arngeir confirmed. “Not until you return to the path of wisdom. I suggest you reconsider your course.”

By now, Wiglaf was thoroughly fed up with the condescending old man, and could see why Delphine felt the way she did. He was about to continue arguing, when the two of them were interrupted by Master Einarth.

“Arngeir,” he said, his voice causing High Hrothgar to rumble. “Rok los Dovahkiin. Strundu’ul. Rok fen tinvaak Paarthurnax.”

Wiglaf barely understood any of that, but whatever it meant, it made Master Arngeir bow his head in shame. “Dragonborn, forgive me,” he apologized. “I was… intemperate. I allowed my emotions to cloud my judgment. Master Einarth reminded me of my duty. The decision whether or not to help you is not mine to make.”

“So, does that mean you’ll teach me the Shout?” he asked, rather confused.

“No,” Master Arngeir replied again. “I cannot teach it to you, because I do not know it. It is called ‘Dragonrend,’ but its Words of Power are not known to us.”

“I thought you knew all the Words of Power?” Wiglaf asked.

“Most, but not Dragonrend,” Master Arngeir answered. “We do not regret this loss. Dragonrend holds no place within the Way of the Voice. The knowledge of that Shout was lost in the time before history began. Perhaps only its creators ever knew it. But I am not the one to speak of it to you.”

“You talk about it like it’s evil,” Wiglaf observed. “What’s so bad about Dragonrend?”

Master Arngeir sighed and sat down. “It was created by those who had lived under the unimaginable cruelty of Alduin’s Dragon Cult,” he explained. “Their whole lives were consumed with hatred for the dragons, and they poured all their anger and hatred into this Shout. When you learn a Shout, you take it into your very being. In a sense, you

become

the Shout. In order to learn and use this Shout, you will be taking this evil into yourself.”

“Well if it’s lost, how can I even learn it at all?”

“Only Paarthurnax, the master of our order, can answer that question,” Master Arngeir replied. “And only if he so chooses.”

“Wait, what?” Wiglaf asked. “Who’s party snacks?”

“Paarthurnax is our leader,” Master Arngeir corrected. “He surpasses us all in his mastery of the Way of the Voice. He lives in seclusion on the very peak of the mountain.”

“How does he even survive up there?” Wiglaf asked. “I can’t imagine it’s any warmer there than the way up here. Why not just live in here with the rest of you?”

“He has his ways,” Master Arngeir replied. “And his reasons. He speaks to us only rarely, and never to outsiders. Being allowed to see him is a great privilege.”

“So, I am allowed to see him then?” Wiglaf asked.

“You weren’t ready. You

still

aren’t ready,” Master Arngeir lamented. “But, thanks to the Blades, you now have questions only Paarthurnax can answer. However, only those whose Voice is strong can find the path. We will teach you a Shout to open the way to Paarthurnax.”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
Back in Whiterun once more. Every time Jandowryn returned, it only reaffirmed to him that this was the best place in all of Skyrim. The climate, the people, the culture, all of it was simply sublime. But as much as he wanted to bask in the radiance of his home, he hadn’t come for pleasure. He had a job to do.

“Ah, good to see you again, J’ahn,” Captain Caius greeted him. “How goes your adventure with the Dragonborn?

“Quite well, all things considered,” Jandowryn replied. “How have things been in Whiterun since I’ve been gone?”

Captain Caius groaned. “Wish I could say it was better, J’ahn, but I have to admit it’s been eventful, and not in a good way. Had to lock up that damn bastard that ran Honningbrew.”

“Sabjorn?” Jandowryn asked. “What did he do?”

“Apparently he had something of a skeever problem,” Captain Caius replied. “He assured me he got rid of them, but when I tried some of his special ‘Honningbrew Reserve,’ I felt like I was straight up poisoned with how contaminated it was. Still having trouble holding down food.”

“Wow, I can’t say I saw that coming,” Jandowryn admitted. “Have you tried talking to Arcadia?”

“Yeah, and she gave me a couple potions that have helped a little,” the Captain answered. “But they can only do so much, apparently. She says I should make a full recovery, and just have to let it run its course.”

“My condolences,” Jandowryn offered.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s nothing serious,” Captain Caius brushed off. “But enough about me. I presume you didn’t come by just to catch up, so what do you need?”

“Ah, I actually have something of a favor to ask,” Jandowryn admitted. “I’m looking for some personnel, you see. It would be a lifetime commitment, so I don’t feel comfortable asking you to assign any guards, but I was hoping to ask around for volunteers. Do you know of any who might be interested?”

“I suppose it would be inappropriate for me to ask what exactly you need them for,” Captain Caius said wryly. “Don’t worry, I trust you have your reasons. At any rate, I can’t say I know any off the top of my head, but if you want to head down to the barracks and ask around, you’re more than welcome to do so.”

“Thank you so much, Captain,” Jandowryn replied. “You are too kind.”

“You can thank me if you find any volunteers,” Caius countered. “And I can’t make any promises that you will.”
 
—Wiglaf—
 
The Graybeards had led Wiglaf out to the courtyard, which was expectedly blustery and cold. “The path to Paarthurnax lies through this gate,” Master Arngeir explained, gesturing to a large metal gate on the far side of the shelter. Just behind the gate swirled  intense winds, like a self-sustained stationary tornado. “I will show you how to open the way.”

Master Arngeir began circling the large brazier that served as the only source of heat. “Lok,” he said, his voice little more than a whisper. The word seared itself into the ground, and the Graybeard continued further. “Vah,” he said, causing another word to appear in the stone. “Koor,” he finished.

Wiglaf took in the sight of the three Words, and felt them work their way into his mind. “I will grant you my understanding of Clear Skies,” Master Arngeir stated. “This is your final gift from us, Dragonborn. Use it well.”

The familiar light began emanating from Master Arngeir and was subsequently sucked into Wiglaf. He still couldn’t figure out exactly how they were able to transfer power like that, and he had a hunch that it would be one thing he would never fully understand.

“Clear Skies will blow away the mist, but only for a time,” Master Arngeir instructed. “The path to Paarthurnax is perilous, and not to be embarked upon lightly. Keep moving, stay focused on your goal, and you will reach the summit.”

Wiglaf nodded and braced himself, facing the whirlwind. “Lok Vah Koor!”

His Shout collided with the maelstrom, dispersing it into the atmosphere. The snow falling from the sky started slowly swirling again, so he decided to take Master Arngeir’s advice and move quickly.

If the 7,000 steps were bad, the path to Paarthurnax was so much worse. At least the steps had trees to break up the wind, but there was no such reprieve this high up. Wiglaf couldn’t imagine how anyone could manage to live up here, let alone why they would want to do so.

After what felt like an eternity of struggling through the treacherous climate, he finally reached the summit, but there was still no sign of Paarthurnax. What he did find was a massive dragon. It wasn’t as large as Alduin, but it was easily the closest. Although the idea of some dragonfire did sound somewhat appealing, fighting a dragon in these conditions was significantly less so.

Fortunately he was spared from that particular battle when the dragon peacefully landed in front of him. It opened its mouth, but rather than Shout, it simply spoke. “Drem Yol Lok,” it said. “Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax.”
 
—Jandowryn—
 
During his search of Whiterun, Jandowryn managed to scrounge up three volunteers who were eager to join the cause. He kept the details sparse, not mentioning the word “Blades,” but a group dedicated to fighting dragons and Thalmor was more than enticing enough for the warriors of Skyrim.

First there was Uthgerd the Unbroken, a strong Nord woman who had been kicked out of the Companions when she accidentally killed a sparring partner. She was hot-headed and ruthless, but with proper training, Jandowryn had no doubt she would make a fine Blade.

Second was Jenassa, a Dark Elf mercenary who had earned a reputation for cunning and stealth. She took a little more convincing, but once the prospect of payment was addressed, she was fully on board. She was a stark contrast to Uthgerd, preferring results over glory or honor, but if the Blades were to rebuild, they would need variety within their ranks.

And finally there was his old friend, Creftgar. They had served together in the Whiterun Guard, but before then Creftgar used to be an adventurer, until he took an arrow in the knee so to speak when he met his wife. After that, he retired from that lifestyle and became a guard to stay with his wife and child. A couple years ago, their son had grown restless with the peaceful life and set out to become an adventurer like his father before him. His youthful passion infected Creftgar, who had since been looking for an excuse to find something more exciting in life, and joining Jandowryn was just what he needed. What he lacked in the raw strength and talent Uthgerd and Jenassa possessed, he more than made up for with his years of experience, training, and discipline.

Jandowryn took the three initiates back to Sky Haven Temple where they were given the full story of what they would be joining. “I understand this is a lot to ask, and I apologize for not telling you everything sooner,” Jandowryn said to them. “I understand if any of you have reservations about this, be it about throwing yourself in danger of dragons, or painting a target on your back for the Thalmor.”

“Are you joking?” Uthgerd scoffed. “A true Nord never backs down from any challenge! I would gladly bring the fight to any dragon, elf, troll, or anything else that dared stand in our way!”

“I know nothing of fear,” Jenassa agreed. “I am an artisan, painting in strokes of blood red upon the canvas of life. It matters not where that blood comes from.”

“And I am yours to command, in this as in all things,” Creftgar added. “You have proven yourself a noble warrior the likes of which any Nord would dream of being, my friend. I would follow you into Oblivion itself if you asked.”

“Thank you all,” Jandowryn replied. “Your loyalty and courage will be of great use to us all. I have the utmost faith in each of you.”

As he dismissed them to get fitted with their armor and begin training, Delphine approached him. “J’ahn, we need to talk.”

“What’s on your mind?” he asked.

“If we want to reform the Blades, we need to rebuild the structure as well,” she replied. “We’re going to need someone to act as Grandmaster.”

“Ah, I suppose you’re right,” Jandowryn agreed. “Only question then is who shall have the honor?”

“Esbern and I talked it over while you were out,” Delphine answered. “He’s not one for leading, and would be much happier in his old position as archivist. As for the two of us, you have seniority, J’ahn. Esbern and I both agree you are the most deserving of the position, if you so choose.”

Jandowryn was admittedly surprised. “Well now, I’m flattered you both think so highly of me,” he replied. “If that is what you wish, then I would be honored to accept the responsibility.”

“Excellent. I knew I could count on you,” Delphine responded. “With that out of the way, let’s see about whipping these new recruits into shape.”
 
—Wiglaf—
 
“You’re Paarthurnax?” Wiglaf asked incredulously. “I wasn’t expecting you to be…”

“A dragon?” Paarthurnax finished for him. “I am as my father Akatosh made me. As are you, Dovahkiin. Tell me, why do you come here, volaan? Why do you intrude on my meditation?”

“I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout,” Wiglaf answered. “I was told you could help me learn it.”

“Drem, patience,” Paarthurnax replied. “There are formalities which must be observed, at the first meeting of two of the dov. By long tradition, the elder speaks first. Hear my Thu’um! Feel it in your bones. Match it, if you are Dovahkiin.” He turned to face the side of the mountain. “Yol Toor Shul!”

The flames from his Shout scorched the stone, and left the three words smoldering in their place. “The Word calls you,” Paarthurnax explained. “I have spoken. The Rotmulaag awaits.”

Wiglaf hesitantly approached the burning Words, and once again felt them work their way into his mind. “A gift, Dovahkiin,” Paarthurnax continued once the words had sunk in. “Yol. Understand Fire as the dov do.” The dragon’s power emanated from his body and was absorbed into Wiglaf, once again granting him knowledge and understanding he hadn’t previously possessed.

“Now, show me what you can do,” Paarthurnax urged. “Greet me not as mortal, but as dovah!”

“You… want me to hit you?” Wiglaf asked.

“Indeed,” Paarthurnax agreed. “Do not be afraid. Faasnu. Let me feel the power of your Thu’um. Nin yol.”

Here goes nothing

, Wiglaf thought. “Yol Toor Shul!” The flames erupted from his mouth, warming him enough to forget about the blistering winter winds, and struck Paarthurnax head on.

“Ah, yes!” Paarthurnax cried with glee. “Sossedov los mul! The Dragonblood runs strong in you. It has been long since I had the pleasure of speech with one of my own kind. So, you have made your way here, to me. No easy task for a joor, mortal. Even for one of the Dovah Sos. Dragonblood. What would you ask of me?”

“I need to learn the Dragonrend Shout,” Wiglaf reminded him.

“Yes, I expected as much. Prodah,” Paarthurnax agreed. “You would not come all this way for tinvaak with an old dovah. No, you seek your weapon against Alduin.”

“The Graybeards didn’t seem keen on me coming at all,” Wiglaf muttered.

“Hmm, yes, they are very protective of me,” Paarthurnax replied, sounding a little proud of his followers. “They are bahlaan fahdonne. But I do not know the Thu’um you seek. Krosis. It cannot be known to me.”

“Why not?” Wiglaf asked.

“Your kind, joor, mortals, created it as a weapon against the dov, the dragons,” Paarthurnax explained. “Our hadrimme, our minds, cannot even comprehend its concepts.”

Wiglaf resisted the urge to groan in frustration. “How can I learn it, then?”

“Drem. All in good time,” Paarthurnax assured him. “First, I have a question for you. Why do you want to learn this Thu’um?”

“I need it to stop Alduin, don’t I?” Wiglaf answered.

“Yes, Alduin, zeymah. The elder brother,” mused Paarthurnax. “Gifted, grasping, and troublesome, as is so often the case with firstborn. But why? Why must you stop Alduin?”

“I’m Dragonborn,” Wiglaf replied. “I’m the only one who can, according to the prophecy.”

“True, but qostiid, prophecy, tells what may be, not what should be,” Paarthurnax countered. “Qostiid sahlo aak. Just because you can do a thing, does not always mean you should. Do you have no better reason for acting than destiny? Are you nothing more than a plaything of dez, of fate?”

Wiglaf hesitated. This dragon really knew how to target his insecurities. “What better reason is there?” he finally replied.

“If you can see your destiny clearly, your sight is clearer than mine,” Paarthurnax responded. His tone was something between sarcastic, and somewhat wistful. “Dahmaan, remember, Alduin also follows his destiny, as he sees it. But, I bow before your certainty. In a way, I envy you. The curse of much knowledge is often indecision.”

His words reminded Wiglaf of what Jandowryn had told him before his departure. “Have trust in your own judgment,” he had said.

“But you have indulged my weakness for speech long enough. Krosis,” Paarthurnax continued. “Now I will answer your question. Do you know why I live here, at the peak of the Monahven, what you name the Throat of the World?”

Wiglaf thought for a moment. “Uh… dragons like mountains…?” he said uncertainly.

“True,” Paarthurnax agreed. “But few now remember that this was the very spot where Alduin was defeated by the ancient Tongues. Vahrukt unslaad. Perhaps none but me now remember

how

he was defeated.”

“Using the Dragonrend Shout, right?” Wiglaf asked.

“Hm, yes and no,” Paarthurnax corrected. “Viik nuz ni kron. Alduin was not truly defeated, either. If he was, you would not be here today seeking to defeat him. The Nords of those days used the Dragonrend Shout to

cripple

Alduin, but this was not enough. Ok mulaag unslaad. It was the Kel, the Elder Scroll. They used it to cast him adrift on the currents of Time.”

“Wait, they sent him forward in time?” Wiglaf asked. “How is that even possible?”

“It was not intentional,” Paarthurnax replied. “Some hoped he would be gone forever, forever lost. Meyye. I knew better. Tiid bo amatiiv. Time flows ever onward. One day he would surface. Which is why I have lived here. For thousands of mortal years I have waited. I knew where he would emerge, but not when.”

Wiglaf was thoroughly confused by now. “So, how exactly does that help me?”

“Tiid krent. Time was shattered here because of what the Nords did to Alduin,” Paarthurnax explained. “If you brought that Kel, that Elder Scroll back here, to the Tiid-Ahraan, the Time-Wound… With the Elder Scroll that was used to break time, you may be able to cast yourself back to the other end of the break. You could learn Dragonrend from those who created it.”

This was not helping Wiglaf’s confusion. “You… want me to time travel? Is that even possible?”

“Kelle Vomindok. Nothing is certain with such things,” Paarthurnax admitted. “But I believe the Scroll’s bond with the Tiid-Ahraan will allow you a seeing, a vision of the moment of its creation. Then you will feel,

know

, Dragonrend, in the power of its first expression. You will see them, wuth fahdonne, my friends, Hakon, Gormlaith, and Feldir.”

“Uh, who?” Wiglaf asked.

“The first mortals that I taught the Thu’um — the first Tongues,” explained Paarthurnax. “The leaders of the rebellion against Alduin. They were mighty, in their day. To even attempt to defeat Alduin, they were sahrot hunne, mighty heroes. The Nords have had many heroes since, but none greater.”

“If the mightiest heroes of Nordic history, even armed with Dragonrend, weren’t able to defeat Alduin, what hope do I have?” Wiglaf asked.

“Ah, they were indeed mighty, yes,” Paarthurnax mused. “But they were not Dragonborn as you are. The gods gave mortals two gifts to free them from Alduin’s tyranny. One was the Thu’um, the Shouting magic dragons themselves possessed, and the other was the Dovahkiin. Only utilizing both could they hope to stand a chance against the Dragon Cult, but they were betrayed. Dragons are rulers by nature. Our blood calls us to dominate. Sharing our blood, the First Dragonborn felt this call as well, and succumbed to its temptations. He sought only to expand his power for personal gain, and refused to aid the Tongues in their time of need.”

“Wait, am I going to become like that?” asked Wiglaf. “I don’t want to be an evil overlord!”

“Indeed, you do not,” Paarthurnax agreed. “For you are stronger of will than Miraak, the First Dragonborn. You are able to resist the allure of the Dovahsos, as you have so far. As for whether you will continue to do so, or if you will succumb to your nature as your predecessor once did, I fear only time will tell.”

“Well that’s ominous,” Wiglaf mumbled. “So do you at least know where I can find this Elder Scroll?”

“Krosis, no,” Paarthuranax apologized. “I know little of what has passed below in the long years I have lived here. You are likely better informed than I.”

“Of course, that’d be too easy,” Wiglaf replied. “Hopefully Jandowryn or someone knows.”

Paarthurnax nodded in affirmation. “Trust your instincts, Dovahkiin. Your blood will show you the way.”