Chapter 8

We awoke early. My plan was to start up the mountain while it was still dark down at ground level, but where the rising sun would illuminate our pathway as we neared the top. That’s what I hoped would happen, anyway.

Before we dressed, I took Lydia in my arms, kissing her again. “We have many wonderful adventures awaiting us, my dear. I’m glad to share them with you.”

She blushed. “It is my duty, my Thane. And ... my pleasure.”

As quickly and quietly as possible, we donned our armor. The main room of the inn was quiet, the residents asleep. The central fire pit was dampened down for the night, a soft smoke curl rising from it, the smell of the fresh pine boughs used to dampen the blaze filling the room. Smart. The fresh wood wouldn’t burn quickly, but as it dried in the heat, would make it easy to start up again later in the morning.

The town of Ivarstead itself was quiet as we left the building. A town guard walking with his torch held high commented that it was late to be wandering about. I ignored him. We followed the path through town and crossed the bridge. Even the roar of the waterfall behind the mill seemed muted this morning, in the calm.

Through the shadows to our south, I could hear the snuffling sound made by a bear that had been disturbed in it’s sleep. We weren’t interested in hunting, for as we crossed the bridge, we could see the carved rock stairs beginning their climb up the steep mountainside. We’d barely begun the climb, when to the side of the trail I saw a small shrine with an etched tablet in it. It read, ‘Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus. Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs. For the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land.’

Interesting. No wonder people talked about the pilgrimage up the mountainside. We continued climbing steps, and I heard a wolf howling ahead. I drew my sword and made ready with my shield. From the darkness, I saw the glowing eyes as it charged me. Dropping a knee, I moved my shield to block, the wolf hit my shield and bounced off. A quick swing of my sword dispatched it back to Hircine.

Continuing to trudge up the steps, I could see where this would be a severe journey for many to make. It’d been a good half a candle mark since I killed the wolf, and the pathway showed no signs of ending. We passed a couple of goats wandering on the mountain, though, which was a good sign. From out of the darkness ahead, I saw a single torch light. It was a man, standing in front of another small shrine. I asked him what he was doing.

“I like to spend time up here. Walk the Steps, meditate on the emblems. Doesn’t hurt when I bag some game along the way.” He started to leave. “I’d be careful if I were you. There’s wolves on the pathway up to High Hrothgar. And the Greybeards did something strange lately, summoned a Dovahkiin. I wonder what it means.”

He gathered up the rest of his gear – including the carcass of a freshly slain goat – and headed down. Behind him, I read the words on this shrine. ‘Men were born and spread over the face of Mundus. The Dragons presided over the crawling masses. Men were weak then, and had no Voice.’ This pilgrimage must also include the basis for the religion here.

Another half candle mark found us reaching the level where the snowline starts. I glanced away from the cliff steps, and was stunned at how far I could see. I didn’t realize that we’d climbed this high already. As our breath started to show in the cold, another wolf came charging at me. Lydia had her bow ready, and killed it with an arrow. A short distance past, we found another wolf, tearing into a dead goat. He snarled to defend his meal, and got an arrow down his gullet from Lydia for his trouble.

The snow and wind would now be harmful to older or weaker folk. I saw another shrine ahead. There was an offering bowl in front of this one, for truly only someone dedicated would have climbed this far for wisdom. ‘The fledgling spirits of Men were strong in Old Times. Unafraid to war with Dragons and their Voices. But the Dragons only shouted them down and broke their hearts.’

This tablet was describing events from the Merethic Era, nearly fifty centuries ago. And yet with dragons active in the realm today, it’s talking about now as well. Something to ponder as we continue to climb.

“My Thane, I feel as though we’ve traveled half way round this mountain already.”

“I can see why Klimmek doesn’t do this frequently, that’s for certain. It’s one thing to walk half a day on flat ground. It’s certainly another to do it while climbing up a frozen wasteland. There’s another one of those markers ahead. We’ll pause there for some food and drink, it looks sheltered.”

There were trees around it, making this a sheltered location. Another traveler was already there, resting as well. She was sitting to one side, and as we approached, she said, “Keep an eye out for wolves if you’re headed up the path to High Hrothgar.” I asked her what she’s doing on the pathway, and she replied, “I’m just a pilgrim, and let’s leave it at that. I’m walking the steps, meditating on the emblems. I make this trip every few years.”

With that she got up and continued down the mountain. I turned and read the tablet she’d been sitting at. ‘Kyne called on Paarthurnax, who pitied Man. Together they taught Men to use the Voice. Then Dragon War raged, Dragon against Tongue.’

Sounds like the Gods themselves intervened in that war.

We rested for a few minutes, then our climb went on. We neared the top of a long stretch of stairs and Lydia’s keen eyes saw something ahead. “My Thane, there is a troll moving in those rocks ahead.” I peered into the distance.

“Damn! Perhaps we can get him with bows before he closes. Be ready either way, this could be a difficult fight.”

From concealment and at a distance, we both put one arrow, then another into the troll. It didn’t seem to slow him down that much, and as he closed upon us, we drew our swords and readied ourselves. He came at us, first swinging his brutish arms at Lydia and shoving her backwards into the rocks. While his back was turned as he attacked her, I swung and stabbed with all my might into the troll. His flesh was nearly as hard as rock, and while my sword was slicing him, it was still barely damaging him.

Lydia staggered and went down, and he turned towards me. His three eyes glared at me with the fury of the wounded beast he was. He swung one arm towards me, and I barely was able to get my shield up to deflect the blow. Even then, the strength behind that arm shoved my shield back into my body, nearly stunning me. My sword arm came forward in reflex, and fortunately for me it did, as his other arm swung at me. His claws caught on my sword instead of in my face, which is what he’d intended. Either way, my sword arm was nearly numb from the blow, and I didn’t think I could take much more of this.

I stepped back, skidding a little on the snow, and ducked a blow that came over me. I remembered my Voice, and shouted, “FUS” at him. It staggered the troll backwards briefly. In the brief respite, I quickly pulled a potion of healing from it’s place on my belt and consumed it. The troll started back towards me and over it’s shoulder I saw Lydia back on her feet again, the glow from the healing potions she’d drank still upon her, as her sword came up and hit the beast in the back with a mighty blow. It felt that one, rearing back in pain. That gave me the opening I needed from the front, and I stabbed the troll in the chest with the point of my sword. The sharpened dragon bone, harder than any steel, penetrated the thick troll hide and split it’s heart.

I spat some blood on the corpse of the troll, from where I’d bit my lip. Lydia was limping a little, one leg obviously still causing her pain. “Here, my shield-maiden. I have another potion to help heal you.” I gave her more potions of healing from my diminished supply – I’d definitely have to use the alchemy lab back in Breezehome now – and cast healing with my magic to ease my own aches and pains.

Lydia looked at me, and then at the dead troll at our feet. “If we can avoid doing that again on this mountain, that would be a good thing, I think.” I smiled at her, and then pulled her to me.

“We survived, though, and it feels good, doesn’t it?” I laughed, and then kissed her deeply. Breaking the clinch, I said, “This troll has to have recently moved in here, none of those who say they’ve climbed this mountain mentioned one. I don’t think we’ll have to worry.”

The sun was now far enough into the sky that it reached over the top of the mountainside. My original plan had been a good one, it simply didn’t take into account that the pathway up to High Hrothgar wound all the way round the mountain, so we would be climbing in the dark for a good portion of our journey.

In any event, the rising sun now shone straight into another wayside shrine just past where the troll had been. ‘Man prevailed, shouting Alduin out of the world. Proving for all that their Voice was too strong. Although their sacrifices were many-fold.’

It had been hours since we’d started climbing. The wind, while strong, wasn’t as biting as I had feared, and the cold itself was almost refreshing. It was so far a cloudless day. We had gone so far around the mountain that as I looked into the distance, I could see Bleak Falls Barrow. That imposing and giant ruin was smaller than my hand, we were so far up.

Just beyond that incredible view was another small shrine. ‘With roaring Tongues, the Sky-Children conquer Founding the First Empire with Sword and Voice Whilst the Dragons withdrew from this World.’

I raised my eyes from these words, to look at the bleak and snow covered rocks that still towered over us. “By the Divines, sweet Lydia, how tall is this mountain?” Just a bit further down the trail, another shrine lay waiting.

This one was on an outcropping, the winds rising from below making it treacherous to get to. ‘The Tongues at Red Mountain went away humbled, Jurgen Windcaller began his Seven Year Meditation to understand how Strong Voices could fail.’

I hoped that didn’t mean I needed to study with these Greybeards for seven years. I glanced down, and recognized exactly where I was. If I took a few steps forward, I would end up in Riverwood. Of course, I would be dead if I did so, it was close to half a mile down from here. Turning from this remarkable vista, I saw another shrine ahead. How many of these things are there?

‘Jurgen Windcaller chose silence and returned. The seventeen disputants could not shout Him down. Jurgen the Calm built his Home on the Throat of the World.’

Ah, so whoever this Jurgen Windcaller was must’ve founded the Greybeards millennia ago. I wonder how many of these shrines there are. As I looked out towards the north, I see the tops of some clouds forming ... below me. The view was being obscured by weather moving in. Lydia continued to soldier on, and I almost wished for her Nord blood – the cold didn’t seem to be affecting her nearly as much as it is me.

We turned a sharp corner in the pathway. Up more steps, I could see the battlements for a castle. Here, on top of the Throat of the World. By Talos, this was truly a feat of building!

Another shrine was to my right. ‘For years all silent, the Greybeards spoke one name. Tiber Septim, stripling then, was summoned to Hrothgar. They blessed and named him Dovahkiin.’

Dragonborn. And my ancestor.

Interesting. This castle completely blocked any further pathway upwards, yet it wasn’t at the peak of the Throat itself. I wondered what was behind it. I saw a final shrine on the side of the path. ‘The Voice is worship. Follow the inner path. Speak only in True Need.’

I’m worshiping when I’m shouting? I don’t think so. Mayhap these priests or Greybeards can convince me otherwise.

A few more steps, and the path split, leading to doors on both sides. A chest was sitting where the path divides. This is where Klimmek said to put the food supplies, so I did. Then Lydia continued to follow me up the stairs, and I opened the doors.

The entry way of this edifice betrayed it’s age. This building has stood here for thousands of years. The granite pathways are worn with the footsteps of who knows how many people over the centuries. There’s a large room ahead, and I saw four figures, wearing long, flowing robes, gathered around the center of it. It appeared they were waiting for someone. I walked closer, shaking the snow from my armor.

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

I see why these men are called Greybeards. They are all unshaven, and their beards indicate none of them are young. The one who is speaking to me has a voice that reflects many decades.

“You call me Dragonborn. What does that mean to you?” I ask.