The weather hadn’t improved. Winds howled, flinging sharp needles of ice and snow into their faces. It was so loud that Qaralana nearly missed her uncle’s raspy shouts for her to stop.
“What is it?” she shouted back, moving closer to him.
“We’re going up?”
“Yes!” she shouted back.
“OK!” Dardeh yelled, nodding.
We at least have to get high enough up that we can hear each other.
She trotted up through the stone entry to the summit trail and felt the words of power building within her.
“LOK- VAH KOOR!”
Qara dashed through the place the freezing mists had been, with Dardeh on her heels. After she’d used Clear Skies several times and they’d crossed the rope-and-plank bridge partway to the summit, they stopped.
Dardeh trotted up beside her. “So we’re going up because…” He left the sentence unfinished, clearly a question, leaving her the option of choosing right there and then. She couldn’t do it.
“Because I can’t do anything until I hear the story directly from Paarthurnax, Uncle Dar.”
Dardeh nodded. “That’s wise,” he agreed. “For what it’s worth: I didn’t kill him twenty years ago but I don’t know whether that was right.” He frowned. “Maybe I’m more like Arngeir than I knew.”
Qara laughed. “I don’t think so.”
He shook his head. “Delphine once told me that all the great heroes have had to decide. You hear about the ones who used their power well, or who used it poorly, but you never hear about the ones who never made a choice. She was talking about the Greybeards – but I also did nothing.”
Qara stared at him. Did he really believe that about himself? “I don’t know how you could possibly say that, Uncle Dar. You killed Alduin! If that wasn’t using your power I don’t know what is. And after that? You’ve done more with your power than half the rest of us combined.”
Dardeh smiled a crooked smile at her. “Well, maybe. But I was talking about this specific decision. I didn’t make one. I was too busy trying to take out the one dragon to worry about the other one.” He stopped for a moment, looking shocked, as though something had occurred to him.
“And?”
He frowned and shook his head. “Ever have one of those moments when you think you’re on to something important but it slips away before you can really grasp it?”
Qara grinned. “All the time.”
He chuckled. “I just had one of those. Let’s go, Dragonborn. It’s still your choice, but I want to hear what our friend Paarthurnax says as well.”
There was one more ice wraith between them and the top of the mountain. Qaralana spotted a dead mountain goat, on its side on the icy path. The next thing she knew was a sudden burst of pain as the wraith attacked with its frozen fangs. Dardeh once again roared past her, taking the wraith down as she healed herself as best she could.
This doesn’t bode well.
They were still well short of the summit when she started hearing dragons.
“I guess Paarthurnax has company,” Dardeh muttered as he ran alongside her. “I don’t know whether I like the sound of that or not.”
“I don’t know what to expect, Uncle Dar. I’m assuming they won’t attack. Will they?”
He frowned. “I hope not.” Qara heard the uncertainty in that statement and shuddered inwardly.
They were approaching the final curve of the trail when the sound of wings had them looking up. A familiar form – this one with red and white wings – soared overhead.
“I’ll be damned,” Dardeh said. “That looks like Odahviing. What is he doing here?”
Qara peered up at the sky and watched the graceful beast floating around the peaks. “What does that mean?”
“I don’t know. He’s been… an ally. After I killed Alduin and came back to Skyrim I found myself here, surrounded by dragons. Paarthurnax flew off. Odahviing said my Thu’um was the strongest and pledged to help me whenever I needed him, and he has. But I have no Thu’um now, and…” He trailed off.
“It doesn’t matter, Uncle Dar. We’re here.”
They emerged from the last of the mist near the old, broken word wall where they’d each learned the first word of Fire Breath. Qara looked around the plateau and gasped. So did Dardeh.
Paarthurnax was not alone.
Arranged around the plateau were three other dragons. A fourth, maybe more, called out a challenge from somewhere nearby. One was a muddied white, much like Paarthurnax himself. Another was reddish. Qara couldn’t tell whether it was Dardeh’s friend Odahviing or some other red dragon, but she hoped it was Odahviing. Red dragons were notoriously powerful. The third was an intense, blinding white like a patch of ice in the sun.
“What’s going on, Uncle Dar?” she whispered to him.
“I don’t know. I’ve only seen a gathering like this once. Every other time I’ve been here it was just Paarthurnax.”
She nodded. “Well, audience or not I need to talk to him.”
Qara moved carefully toward the ancient white dragon and looked up at his huge head and broken horns. A distant part of her mind observed that she was not afraid, not at all; in fact, there was a fire in her gut that was fanning itself up into a full blaze. It was a challenge, she realized. A challenge much like the one she’d felt on Falskaar, just before Ahkrinviing appeared and swooped down to grab the screaming Yngvarr Unnvaldr in its razor-sharp talons.
Paarthurnax looked down at her and drew his mouth back into what she hoped was a smile.
“Drem Yol Lok, Dragonborn. Greetings, Dovahkiin. What brings you both back to Monhaven?”
Dardeh cleared his throat. “We’re both looking for answers, Paarthurnax. Qara will speak for both of us, but first I have one question. Who are these other dovah?”
Paarthurnax swiveled his head around, gazing at the others. “These are my lieutenants. Toormaarfeyn. Hevnofokriid. Gaafkrokulaan. And of course you know Odahviing.”
Dardeh gave a sharp nod. Then he backed away leaving Qara to speak.
Lieutenants, is it? Military ranks? Well, I suppose there’s no reason to drag this out. I’m just going to say it.
“I’ve listened to the Greybeards and I’ve listened to the Blades. The Blades tell me that you must die.”
She thought she saw a familiar glint in the old dovah’s eyes at that. He arched his neck and peered down at her.
“The Blades are wise not to trust me.” He looked past Qara, toward Dardeh. “It is as I have told you, Dovahkiin. We were made to dominate.” He looked back down at Qara with an expression that she interpreted as a grin. “All these centuries I have overcome my nature by meditation and long study of the Way of the Voice. But it is always wise to distrust a dovah. There has not been a day when I was not tempted to return to my inborn nature.”
Qara glanced back at Dardeh. He was holding one hand up to his mouth, holding back the words he so clearly wanted to say, battling his own nature and his own blood to give her the opportunity to learn what she needed to know.
She thought back to the conversation in the Palace of the Kings. In particular, Roggi’s observation came to the forefront of her mind. Jurgen Windcaller, he had said, dreamed up the Way of the Voice as an excuse.
“So you spent centuries studying a philosophy created by a loser?”
The great dragon snorted.
“Yes, you heard me. A loser. He lost at the Battle of Red Mountain and cooked up an elaborate rationalization why that loss had nothing to do with simply being outclassed.”
“I taught mankind how to use the Thu’um. His mastery of the Voice was second to none.”
Qara shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. Nobody told him he couldn’t use it later, did they? No. He simply lost a big battle and lost it badly, in spite of having a huge Thu’um. And instead of admitting the loss he decided the gods had put some limitation on that power. I don’t understand why you bowed your head down to him. You were the teacher, he was the student, and yet you have spent whole Eras living according to his invented creed. Up here on the mountain.”
“It is wise of you to ask such questions. I taught mortals to use the Thu’um in order that they might someday prevail against my brother, Alduin.”
There it was again, the nagging feeling that she was just shy of the answer she sought. “That’s what the Greybeards told me, too. But…” She shook her head. “Give me a moment, Paarthurnax, before we continue this conversation. I need to think.”
Qara walked back to the edge of the plateau and sank to her knees. She cast her eyes to the skies above, praying that Satakal would guide her thoughts.
I need to think. There’s something missing.
Paarthurnax says that he taught mankind to use the Voice. That’s what everyone says, even the Greybeards. Esbern showed us the carving of the three original Tongues using Dragonrend to send Alduin forward in time. But the Greybeards also said that most mortals – even those three – have to master the Voice through great effort and long practice. People like King Ulfric, and Harald – even the Greybeards themselves – they all had to learn to use their Voices that way.
She lowered her gaze to Dardeh. He stood nearby, watching her, nodding his head just slightly. Silent.
He was the one who killed Alduin.
There was a sudden burst of light in her mind, a sudden handclasp of one idea to another, Satakal’s fangs finally puncturing its own tail.
Uncle Dar killed Alduin. Destroyed him for all time. The three Tongues didn’t have the power to kill him. They had the Voice. So did Jurgen Windcaller. But none of them, not even the most powerful of those Paarthurnax taught, had the ability to destroy a dragon’s soul.
Only the Dragonborn could do that.
Uncle Dar has the blood of the dragon. The blood he and I share. It’s not Paarthurnax’s instructions or Jurgen Windcaller’s philosophy that have the power. It’s us. It’s something native to us. We didn’t have to be taught to use the Thu’um. Yes, we were given shortcuts to some of the words, by others who knew them – but it wasn’t a requirement. We had that spark of immortality in us already.
She glanced at Dardeh again. He was staring at the ground, his eyes snapping back and forth as if watching a scene play out before his eyes yet again. His face, so often wreathed in sorrow, was heavy with a frown of anger.
He rejected Paarthurnax’s suggestion that this world was only the egg of the next, that this world had to end. It makes sense now! Paarthurnax wanted his brother Alduin killed to avoid that, so that he could be the one in power! Uncle Dar didn’t intend to assist him in that, but he did, inadvertently – and he made himself vulnerable to Hermaeus Mora in the process.
There is a cycle to be ended. The avatar of Shor showed me that. The cycle needs to end -but the world doesn’t.
I must become the avatar of the great serpent, and I must destroy the remnants of the dragon civilization. That is why Dardeh swallowed his own Shouts, and why I was awakened as Dragonborn at this time. There is a great need.
She rose to her feet. It was thrilling and terrifying at the same time: thrilling because she finally had an answer that made sense, and terrifying because it meant that she and Dardeh were in mortal danger.
Dardeh stepped closer to her and spoke quietly. “So have you decided, Dovahkiin? What must we do?”
“I think you know, Uncle Dar.”
Dardeh closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes, I think I do.” He opened his eyes – one amber, one green – and looked at her again. “But I need to hear you say it. I can’t make a bad decision. Not again.”
“He called these other dragons his lieutenants.”
“Yes.”
“That’s a military title. As in – war.”
“Yes.”
“I think he means to declare war on mortal kind, the way he did before you killed Alduin. Only this time he’s the one in charge.”
Dardeh heaved a sigh. “I think you’re right.” He paused for a moment and frowned. “He hinted at this twenty years ago, but I didn’t act. I was too busy with other things. I won’t make that same mistake this time. But it’s your decision, Dragonborn. I’ll do whatever you need me to do.”
“Let’s do this, then.”
Qaralana reached for her bow.
I wish Chip was here. He’s the archer. But I’m not bad, and Uncle Dar is better. If I can get the drop on Paarthurnax, I’ll be able to ground him. Between the two of us, he won’t stand a chance.
I hope we’re doing the right thing.
Before she could talk herself out of it, Qara fitted an arrow to her bowstring and launched it into the air. She didn’t see it strike the ancient white dragon, but she saw that it had – for the four dragons leapt into the air. Circling the plateau but apart from the others was another great red dragon, its wings dusted with white like snow.
Odahviing. I hope he’s still on Uncle Dar’s side.
But she didn’t have time to worry about that. She aimed her Voice toward Paarthurnax and Shouted.
“JOOR- ZAH FRUL!”
The shimmering energies of the Dragonrend Shout struck the grand old beast and she watched, half in delight and half in sorrow, as he reacted in horror to the understanding of his own mortality. She darted out of the way of his descent, swapping her bow for her blades, and winced as the Fire Breath of this ancient being singed her even at a distance.
She heard Dardeh shouting “I’m gonna kill you!” and saw him approaching Paarthurnax with his much larger blades at the ready, and she saw where her arrow had lodged in the dragon’s wing, just behind the elbow. They converged on him, Dardeh at the snout and Qara at the tail, and only a few moments later the great being that had existed since the dawn of time itself came crashing to the ground, bursting into flames. Qara stared at the huge carcass in stunned silence.
By the gods. How? I thought he would be more of a challenge. How can he be dead?
Is he really dead?
She thought she heard Dardeh utter a strangled cry, but it was quickly drowned by the crackling and snapping of Paarthurnax‘s body bursting into flame, and the booming of his soul flowing into hers with a rush of power unlike anything she’d ever experienced before. She had to stop for a moment, catch her balance, and get her bearings even as she heard Dardeh calling out a challenge to another of the dragons.
“I’m gonna crush you like a bug!”
Toormaarfeyn thundered to the ground between Qara and Dardeh even as the last of Paarthurnax’s energy flowed into her. She pondered the name for a moment. Inferno. Terror. Bane. She was about to call out, to warn Dardeh that this one breathed fire, and had just a moment to laugh at herself – because of course Dardeh would know that as well – when the huge beast slammed its tail down, hard, sending her flying backward. She hit the ground and made a loud whoosh as the air flew from her lungs, painfully. Her vision narrowed to tiny dots.
“Qara!”
She felt as well as heard Dardeh’s voice calling her name, blood calling to blood, and her mind identified it as a strong sound, a clear sound, the sound of Dardeh at-Dadarh, the Last Dragonborn. She blinked, and gasped as air filled her lungs again; she struggled to her feet and found her blades in the snow where they’d dropped. Dardeh was striking the dragon, over and over, dodging its magic. Toormaarfeyn crouched in a stance she recognized as him gathering his strength to leap skyward again, and she Shouted.
“JOOR- ZAH FRUL!”
The dragon screamed in frustration and fear. Qara pushed forward, trying to strike it with her blades and somehow not having enough strength to pierce its hide. It was the fall. I have nothing left. I have to have something left. I have to! She watched the magic beginning to fade and Shouted at the dragon one more time, and then saw its breath attack being directed at Dardeh. It wasn’t fire. It was frost.
Of course! Frost! The bane of fire – not fire itself! No wonder we can barely move!
She circled around the ever-darkening plateau, almost blindly, Shouting once more and missing the target. When a dragon plummeted to ground near Dardeh she fired arrows at it and heard one connect solidly, only to hear Dardeh’s voice as though it was in her ear, blood calling to blood: “No! That’s Odahviing! Don’t harm him! He’s helping!”
I’m hallucinating. That fall was too hard.
But she ran forward then, toward the grounded Toormaarfeyn, and watched Dardeh land a finishing blow on the dragon. It burst into flame, and its energy swirled around them, but into which of them she couldn’t tell because there were more dragons in the skies above. Hevnofokriid – the icy white dragon – thundered to the ground, staggering both of them. Brutal. Frost. Slaughter. Oh good, she thought distantly. Another frost dragon. And we’re only half Nord.
“You won’t get away from me,” Dardeh growled as she Shouted to keep it grounded. This time she stayed well back from the creature’s head, out of the frost, and was able to land her blows. Dardeh, though, was caught directly in its attack and sank to one knee. Qara screamed in wordless rage and struck faster, again and again, until at last she sent it to ground and it exploded into flames. She watched Dardeh struggle back to his feet and then lost track of him as the flames blinded her for a moment.
“You’re good as dead!” she heard, off to her left somewhere. She heard the crash of a dragon coming to ground and then the piercing shriek of Fire Breath – YOL- TOOR SHUL – but it was a dragon Shouting, neither she nor Dardeh, and of course it wasn’t Dardeh because he had no Voice any longer. She blinked again, hard, trying to get her bearings back. It was Odahviing, Shouting fire at the last of Paarthurnax’s lieutenants, Gaafkrokulaan. Ghost. Sorcerer. Prince.
What does that mean? she wondered, drawing her bow forward and readying the best arrows she had. Harald. Harald is the prince. But he’s not here and this dragon breathes…
A huge gout of fire blasted toward them and toward Odahviing. She Shouted Dragonrend at the beast, keeping the arrows flying and moving forward even as she did so, for she could hear the percussive sound of each impact and could see Dardeh whirling, slicing the beast over and over as it perched on the edge of the mountainside. It couldn’t take off, even as the magic of her Shout waned, and she knew then that they were close to ending it. It turned and belched flames at Dardeh, who howled but kept beating against the beast’s muzzle with his scimitars. Finally, just as she reached the dragon and drew forth her own blades, Dardeh drove one of his up through the base of the dragon’s skull and then scrambled to pull it free – for the huge body was toppling over the side of the cliff even as it burst into flames.
Qara closed her eyes and stood there, breathing slowly, letting the dragon’s energy flow around and into her and gathering what had been her very scattered thoughts into some sort of coherent state. She heard the bones crash to the stone below them, and then heard Dardeh’s raspy voice say “thank you, my friend,” followed by the rush of wings.
Odahviing saying goodbye.
She opened her eyes and ran to her uncle. “Uncle Dar! Are you alright?”
He had just finished consuming a healing potion, and tossed the empty vial aside as she approached. He nodded; but Qara couldn’t help seeing the pain in his eyes, even as dark as it had become.
“Yeah. Are you? That was a hard fall.”
She shook her head, trying to get the cobwebs out. “I thought I heard your voice. Sounding like it used to, I mean. It was like you were right beside me.”
Dardeh frowned. “No, I’m still not able to Shout. I’m not sure how I made enough noise for you to hear me. Roggi will be pleased, though. If he doesn’t kill me first.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Well think about it, Qara. There can only be one active Dragonborn in the world at any given time.” He sighed. “My day is done. I won’t be called out to fight dragons anymore. And so is his,” he said, pointing sadly at the skeleton recognizable as Paarthurnax’s by its broken horns. He looked away from her, dejectedly. “He was my friend, once.”
The bleakness and devastation of those five words had Qara swallowing hard against the lump in her throat, wishing there was some way she could spare Dardeh from the pain. She hadn’t ever considered Paarthurnax a friend. He was just an old dragon, to her. But her uncle was grieving. That much was clear.
“Did we do the right thing, Uncle Dar?”
“Does it matter? It’s over now.” He shrugged. “For what it’s worth, I think we did.” He took an enormous breath and expelled it. “Let me ask you something. Why did you decide we should kill him?”
Qara didn’t even need to think about an answer. “Because he had decided he should kill us.”
“Do you really think so?”
She nodded. “Oh yes. Absolutely. You heard him call these other windbags his ‘lieutenants.’ He was going to war. He even admitted it, Uncle Dar. He said he’d been fighting his nature for centuries but was always tempted to return to his inborn ways. He didn’t say he was still fighting. He said he had been. I think all these other dragons were whispering in his ear for years, and finally broke through that wall that kept him from trying to rule. Even his name says it.”
“Ambition to be the cruel overlord. That’s who he was the whole time.” Dardeh shook his head. “My mistake was not paying attention to that fact twenty years ago. I took him at his word so that I could kill Alduin. It was the wrong choice.”
“Not really,” Qara told him, trying to find something, anything that would wash the pained expression from her beloved uncle’s face. “You saved the world. It was the right choice at that moment. You killed the one dragon. Now you’ve killed the other one.”
Dardeh’s mouth dropped. He continued staring at the snow, but blinked, several times.
“Shor’s bones,” he breathed.
“What is it?”
“That’s what it is!” he said slowly. “All these years and that’s what it has always been! I was wrong. I was wrong so many times, over and over again.”
“Uncle Dar,” she said, crossing her arms and fighting to keep herself from stomping into the snow – it would accomplish nothing, not even a sound. “What IS it?”
Dardeh laughed. “The other one. Remember I told you I’d had a thought just slip through my fingers?”
“Yeah? And?”
“Let’s start down the mountain. I’ll tell you on the way.”
And so he did, as they picked their way carefully down the darkened mountainside, stopping for Qara to Shout and clear the skies as needed. He told her how the spirits of his father and their maybe-grandfather, maybe-older-than-that predecessor from Hammerfell had told him he needed to kill “the other one.” How, over the years, he’d thought at various times that “the other one” was Ulfric, or Miraak, or even himself, and how that had played into his decision to still his own Voice.
“I’m sure people got tired of hearing me talk about it. Especially Roggi. But he always went along with whatever harebrained idea I had next. But I was wrong, Qara. The simplest answer is usually the right one. I needed to end both of the brothers. I can feel it in my bones. Maybe that’s why you needed to be the Dragonborn at this time and place.”
“How so? I don’t understand.”
“Because I was wrong. Because I made the wrong decision by letting Paarthurnax live. And because what I did in the meantime – after the decision was completely out of mind – damaged me. I was right about that part. Hermaeus Mora wants to work through me, still, and I will not let him do it. I couldn’t make this decision anymore, Qara. I needed you to make it for me.”
“I don’t quite understand all of it, Uncle Dar, but if I did something to help, I’m glad of it. I’m also glad you didn’t freeze to death up there. Uncle Roggi can be…”
“Frightening?”
“That’s a good way to put it, yeah.”
Dardeh stretched his arms out and his chin up to the skies. “Well it’ll be scary enough when we get back to Windhelm but there’s one thing I know for sure.”
“What’s that?”
“I’m never leaving his side again. I am done.”
Qara smiled. “Well, with any luck you won’t have to. But I do suppose we have to get past High Hrothgar before we can get back to Windhelm.”
Dardeh stopped in his tracks. “Oh gods.” He sighed. “Arngeir is going to be an issue. He thinks that the four of them are responsible for every bit of power either of us has. He has no idea what it’s actually like being Dragonborn.” He started walking again. “You saw him.” Then he chuckled. “Honestly, if I never have to deal with that man again it will all have been worth it.”
“Don’t like him much?” Neither do I, Qara thought, but after all he’s so much older than me that I didn’t know what to think about him. At least he isn’t as creepy as Yngvarr was.
“That’s putting it mildly. I think I tried for approximately an hour to be polite, and after that length of time he’d rubbed me the wrong way. Entirely. If a person has an inborn gift and has made this trek based on nothing but a loud noise, it is… irritating… to be asked to prove the gift. I had the same issue with Delphine, frankly. Guess that was the dragon blood talking.”
It was good to hear Dardeh chattering all the way down from the summit to the monastery. Thinking about Yngvarr, though, had her pondering another issue.
Somehow I have to convince Daddy to come to Falskaar with me. He just has to. Even if it’s a quick trip there and home.
All thoughts, though, vanished as soon as she pushed open the doors to High Hrothgar. The atmosphere inside was silent. Not just quiet, the way it had been on her previous visits, but positively funereal. Arngeir knelt in the place where both she and Dardeh had, each in their turn, been greeted as Dovahkiin by all four Greybeards. She remembered how the building itself had shaken as they spoke, and hoped that they would understand the need to have slain Paarthurnax.
Her hopes were in vain.
Dardeh silently indicated that he would speak to Arngeir, and moved toward him. “Master Arngeir,” he began, respectfully.
The old man rose to his feet and turned to Dardeh, his face contorted into a mask of anger just short of utter rage.
“This is how you repay our trust? Paarthurnax’s trust? His… noble spirit? The wisdom of ages? His deep understanding of our existence? All gone? And for what?”
His voice got progressively louder as he continued speaking. Dardeh stood silently, allowing the old man to air his grief; but Qara quietly readied her own Unrelenting Force Shout. She was certain that she wasn’t Arngeir’s equal – but she was the Dragonborn, not him and not Dardeh. And she wasn’t going to allow her uncle to be harmed.
“A mindless vendetta urged on you by a cabal of Akaviri barbarians! Begone! Before even my philosophy is tested beyond the breaking point! We are men of peace! And you are not!”
Dardeh sighed. “For what it’s worth, Arngeir, I am sorry that it came to this. I’ll leave you now.” He inclined his head toward the old Greybeard and turned to swap a mournful look with Qara.
Qara didn’t much care for Master Arngeir herself, but neither had she known him for twenty-odd years. She approached quietly to stand beside Dardeh and cleared her throat.
“Master Arngeir, I…”
Arngeir gave her the same angry sneer he’d given Dardeh. “We have nothing to say to each other. Paarthurnax’s murder is beyond my powers of forgiveness.”
Her anger boiled over. Dardeh tried to place a hand on her arm, to hold her back, but she shook it off. She wasn’t going to be silenced.
“You foolish old man! Paarthurnax was about to declare war on all mortals, you included. He and his lieutenants had decided they’d had enough of peace. That’s why there were fresh waves of dragon attacks everywhere!” She stomped her foot on the cold stones, making a satisfying smack that echoed through the mostly-empty halls. “Sit up here, the four of you, and talk to the sky if you wish. There’s nobody up there anymore, and nobody is going to answer you. But at least you’ll be alive.”
She turned on her heel and strode out the front door with Dardeh close behind.
I took a huge risk just then. And I know Arngeir is mourning what he thought was a close relationship. But he’s a fool. An old, lonely fool.
I want to get Dardeh back to Roggi, and I want to give Harald a hug.