Chapter 12

Chapter 12

     If I hadn’t been so shocked I might have been embarrassed as the bandits started laughing.  “What is that, ancient Dwemer?” one taunted.

     I hardly even heard her.  Why hadn’t it worked?  That was the very first Shout I had ever learned, and ever since I had used it with no training or preparation after a fight with a dragon I had never had something like this happen.

     I had spoken the words, but I hadn’t felt the normal rush of power that Shouting usually stirred up.  It was like the energy to Shout was used up, even though I hadn’t Shouted since I had used one on Diivanah.

     Gormlaith reared suddenly and I snatched at the reins, jolted out of my momentary surprised paralysis.  All five of the bandits had drawn their weapons.  Three were charging toward me while one was fanning out on each side, obviously trying to surround me.

     Just what I needed, a good fight to get rid of some of this frustration.

     It only took about thirty seconds to slay them all.  Gormlaith took out one while I killed the rest, three with fireballs and one that got to close with my remaining Daedric sword.  After wiping the blood off the sword onto the bandit’s leather armor I remounted Gormlaith and continued on.  The fight hadn’t even caused me to breathe hard.

     I need a real quest.  Something that has nothing to do with Miraak or Shouting.  Maybe if I took a break from all these complications and cleared my head, I would come back and see it all in a different light.

     I finally managed to do what I’d been attempting since I left Solitude and shoved all thoughts of my current situation out of my head.  I couldn’t do anything about this until I spoke to Paarthurnax, so why keep agonizing over it? 

     Fortunately, since even I can’t simply decide not to agonize over something, there were plenty of other things I could agonize over instead.

     For instance, it had started raining again.  Of course, it wasn’t merely raining.  Instead, the omnipresent wind was blowing the freezing sheets of liquid straight into my face.  It was times like these in which I wanted to move as far south as possible and stay there forever, doing nothing but lying in the sun all day.

     I complain about cold a lot, don’t I? 

    

     The rain gradually became less cold as I advanced southward until it was merely a light, warm shower.  Gormlaith trotted sullenly down the road toward the distant walls of Whiterun.  The city looked deserted and weatherworn in the gloom of dusk, but I knew that inside there were bright fires and mead to hold the gloom at bay.

     Lydia greeted me as usual when I slogged into the house.  I replied shortly and headed straight up the stairs to change, already feeling guilty over my rudeness.  For once I shed every bit of my armor and donned a simple tunic and trousers.  I was about to reopen the door and head back downstairs, but as an afterthought I picked up my sword belt, damp though it was, and buckled it on with the Daedric sword still attached.  One can never be too careful in Skyrim.

     I thumped back downstairs and sat in one of the chairs around the fireplace, letting the warmth sink in.  “Let me greet you properly now, Lydia.  It’s been a long day.”

     “No worries.”  She smiled at me briefly, then went back to stirring a pot.  Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful.  “Long quest?”

     “Of a sort,” I evaded.  I really, really didn’t feel like going into detail right now.

     Fortunately she picked up on my mood and started talking about something else.  “Ysolda gave birth while you were gone.  A lovely baby boy it is, and he looks just like his father-”

     I let her chatter on, gazing into the depths of the fire and massaging my shoulder.  Would the blasted thing ever stop aching?  Every single cold wind seemed to chill it to the bone.  And it was only the shoulder that Miraak-

     No.  No, I wasn’t going to think about Miraak right now.  Time enough for that on the Throat of the World.

     I again pushed such thoughts to the back of my mind and leaned back hard against the back of the chair, briefly shutting my eyes.  It was so warm and peaceful, right here, right now…. 

     “My Thane?”

     My eyes snapped open and I started out of my near slumber.  “Sorry?”  I rubbed my eyes.

     “Would you like some apple cabbage stew?”

     “Yes, thank you.”  I accepted the bowl, determined to at least eat a little before I fell asleep and nosedived forward into the fire.  It was an excellent stew, but the flavor made little impression on the tired fog that pervaded my mind.  The instant I finished I excused myself (probably not very graciously, I was too tired to remember what I said) and went back upstairs. 

     My very last thought before I fell asleep was that beds are very comfortable.

     Maybe it was the sunshine, or the fact that I had slept in a proper bed the night before, or even just the fresh and crisp smell of the rejuvenated air after the rain.  Whatever it was, it put me in an excellent mood and set me to whistling as I rode along.  True, it was a bouncy, off tune whistle to a tune that only a conceited Dragonborn would whistle as he rode along on a horse, but it felt like a good thing to do.  Gormlaith pranced along like a frolicking filly rather than the powerful war horse she was, stepping high and eyeing her surroundings with bright eyes.  I paused in my whistling to pat her neck.

     This was just how I liked it, my horse and I traveling on a fine clear morning along an easy road in pursuit of a quest. 

     Later, maybe, reality would jostle me out of my good mood, but for now I was going to enjoy the scenery and easy ride around the mountain to Ivarstead.

     Everyone likes to be right, correct?  If you were wrong it means someone else was right, and that someone can now brag to you about being right.  Well, I was right when I unthinkingly thought that reality would spoil my good mood.  In fact I was so right that not only did the climb up the Throat of the World to the Greybeard’s residence ruin my happiness, but took that happiness, ground it into powder, and scattered it to the icy winds.  Basically, even though most of the time I prefer to be right, this one time I would have preferred exactly the opposite.

     Up here there wasn’t even anyone to brag to.

     Why, why couldn’t the Greybeards live in a warm, beautiful castle next to a lake or something?  Didn’t they ever get tired of the constant cold and wind?  They probably see it as just another hardship involved in learning the Way of the Voice, I thought bitterly.  Of course, I also knew they stayed in High Hrothgar mostly to protect Paarthurnax from people like the Blades, but I didn’t feel like crediting them with that right know.

     The Blades.  Instantly I started considering how the Blades would figure into the fight against Miraak.  As they were an ancient group that slayed dragons and I was the ultimate dragon slayer you would think we’d be friends, or at least allies.  Unfortunately, their leader, Delphine, had required me to kill one of the only dragons I would never slay: Paarthurnax.  She believed that no dragon could be trusted, no matter what change of heart it had seemed to have.  I truly believed that Paarthurnax was not like the dragons that resided on lesser mountains and flew around burning towns and eating livestock.  Those I was happy to kill, Paarthurnax I was not.  Our disagreement escalated into a heated argument and then finally we had drawn swords on each other.  I really think I might have killed her if Esbern, a master of dragon lore, hadn’t stepped in before blood was shed. 

     Needless to say, I left the Blades’ retreat and I’ve managed not to return since.  My pride instantly rejected the idea of going to them for help, but I might not even need to.  They were sworn to fight dragons, and if Miraak intended to raise an army of dragons, their honor would not permit them to sit idly by.  But it would be better if they would coordinate with others who would be fighting the beasts instead of running their own separate campaign.  Two sides make for a simple war: either you fight for one side or the other, or else you remain neutral.  Three add a bit of complication to the fight, and any more ulterior motives add even more sides and more complication. 

     I abruptly cut off my chain of thought in order to give my undivided attention to the ice wraith and wolf attacks that were becoming more frequent the higher I climbed on the mountain.  I had passed High Hrothgar and was now on my way up the steepest and windiest part of the mountain before the peak broke into the clearer sky above.  Every step on the icy path was a risk, and I stayed as close to the rocky mountainside as possible. 

     When I finally got to the top I moved away from the edge, panting slightly as I wiped my bloody sword clean on a rag I took out of my pockets.  Tucking the rag back into the pocket I sheathed the sword and finally looked around, instantly noting that I didn’t see the rather hard to miss form of a dragon anywhere.  Nocturnal, please let him not have flown to somewhere like Solitude, I prayed fervently.

     I guess Nocturnal was listening because Paarthurnax materialized out of the gloom and landed with a wash of wind on his customary rock.  “Dovahkiin,” he greeted, his voice to deep and projecting to be human.  “Drem yol lok, greetings.”

     “Drem yol lok,” I replied back, because saying ‘hi’ to a dragon felt stupid.  “I have come seeking advice.”

     “Geh, paazigran do onikaan.  Advice is one thing all will give for free.”

     To ask for advice about Miraak, I had to go back to the beginning and explain how I had gotten into this situation.  I began with the note I had found on the ground after Miraak’s priests attacked me, then sketched a quick account of my landing on Solstheim.  Then to explain about Apocrypha and the Black Books I had to go over my encounter with Frea and the Skaal.

     I was completely unprepared for the bitter feelings of regret, anger, and sadness rushed back to me as I remembered what Miraak had done to the Skaal village.  Trying to swallow the knot in my throat, I coughed before continuing, then gave Paarthurnax a summary of my fight with Miraak and subsequent defeat (which still stung, by the way).

     Of course, after all that I had to tell the dragon of my encounter with the bandits and how my Shout had not worked.

     I carefully omitted my involvement with Brynjolf and Vex, even though I guessed Paarthurnax already knew about my secret identity.  He didn’t interrupt throughout the story, on sat on his rock with his great blue eyes fixed unerringly on me.  It was slightly unnerving, actually.

     When I had finished speaking Paarthurnax lifted a claw and itched at his throat.  “And you have come here why, Dovahkiin?”

     I was at a loss for words for a moment.  “Well, do you have any idea why my Shouts won’t work?”  I had even tried to Shout again, partway up the mountain.  Again, I could say the words all I wanted, but there was no power behind them, only my voice.

     “Ah yes, your Thu’um.”  The dragon adjusted his tail on the rock.  “Apocrypha is the domain of Hermaeus Mora.  Without his permission, orlaavend wah rahn, it is difficult to leave.  Miraak would have needed something, something like a soul, to make his escape possible.”

     My stomach dropped as I realized the truth.  Miraak had needed a dragon, a living dragon, to escape, but he had also needed a soul.  To be specific, the dragon soul that resided within my own body.  No wonder I couldn’t Shout….  And now that I thought about it, Miraak’s own dragon soul could have been keeping mine at bay during the fight.  That was why it hadn’t tried to take over….  “But if my dragon soul is gone, how could I still Shout to control Diivanah?”

     “The blood of a dragon still runs through your veins, you are still Dovahkiin.  The Shout you used is directly related to dragons.  You may still use any Shout that pertains to dragons, but dragons only.”

     Well, that made next to no sense….  “Can I get my dragon soul back?”

     “Perhaps, if you kill Miraak, sil gahrotiik.  But with two Dragonborn souls, he will be twice as powerful.”

     I honestly was not sure how to feel at this turn of events.  My Shouting, in other words my dragon soul, were the defining aspects of my being.  I had taken my discovered identity as a Dragonborn and built my life around it, using the knowledge to make me what I was now.  If it was gone, then what did that make me? Just a normal adventurer?  But no, not just an adventurer.  I still had dragon blood and I could still Shout, albeit that ability was limited. 

     I still felt like a part of myself had been taken away and locked inside a chest.

     Turning my mind back to my other problem, I asked, “Do you know anything of Miraak?”

     “He is kruziik hokoron, an ancient enemy of the dragons.  When dovah ruled man, Miraak was old.  Now, he is ancient.” 

     I was slightly exasperated, but I kept my impatience out of my voice.  “Does he have any weaknesses or… something?”

     “Miraak has spent thousands of years in the Great Library, the feykro se onikaan.  What is there to do in a library but read books?”  Paarthurnax licked the claw.

     “I don’t need to be reminded how powerful he is, I witnessed that firsthand.  I need to know how to destroy him, once and for all,” I prodded.

     “Krin kendove, always so impatient,” Paarthurnax sighed.  He fiddled with a loose scale on his leg.  “I am ancient, Dovahkiin, even among the dovah.  I have seen pogaan kein, many wars, and pogaan bronjun, many kings.  Despite my years, I do not have what you seek.”

     Well great.  Even the oldest being in the entire world doesn’t know how to kill one man.  “Is there nothing, no ancient lore that could help me?”

     Paarthurnax hesitated.  “There is one legend.”  I wanted to strangle him until he told it to me, but then I remembered his neck was wider than I was.  “Long ago, there were whispers, soven sumah, of a Shout more powerful than any other.”  I started to interrupt, but my voice was entirely drowned by Paarthurnax’s far more powerful gutturals.  “I am not the eldest of my race.  There is another, a kruzzik dovah, who may know more of this Shout.”

     And this is what I hate about questing.  I would find one person, then that person would tell me to find another person, then that person would tell me to find an object which was always in an obscenely dangerous place like a draugr crypt or the dungeon of an old fort.  “Do you know where I can find him?”

     “He gave up the power to fly, wah mu’ul lok, long ago.  He lives deep underground in this era.”

     A dragon that lives underground.  That was a first.  “Where exactly underground?”

     “Somewhere in Keizaal.  More I cannot say, for I have not seen him since the Dragon Wars, the Dovah Kein.”

     I knew that Keizaal was Dovahzul for Skyrim, but Skyrim was a very large land to simply search for an underground dragon.  It was clear I would get no more out of Paarthurnax, who was beginning to look sleepy, so I thanked him and turned away.

     “Dovahkiin.”  I turned around, and Paarthurnax fixed serious eyes on me.  “Do you know what gives a Shout its power?”

     “The number of Words the user has mastered,” I answered, confused.

     “And the more Words, zuk rot, one knows, the more power the Shout has.”

     I nodded.  I had known this before I ever made my first Shout.

     “The reason this Shout has more power than any other is because it has hen Rotmulaag, five Words of Power, instead of three.”

Vote or comment?  This chapter was a bit difficult to write because of the way Paarthurnax talks.  All the Dovahzul in the dialogue is real words, by the way.