4E 201, High Hrothgar
Kiera Fendalyn
"FUS RO DAH!"
The ancient words of power echoed through the snow-choked heights of High Hrothgar, slamming into the ground like a battering ram. The force of the shout rippled through the frozen landscape, launching a shockwave that cracked through the air. Snow and frost erupted skyward in a white plume, while jagged rocks tumbled down the western slope in a controlled avalanche.
Kiera lowered her arms slowly, exhaling. Her lips tingled from the shout's force, but it was nowhere near as bad as before.
A pulse of pride surged through her chest. She'd done it. Finally.
Nearly two months worth of training and meditation and she could finally utter the Unrelenting Force shout without fear of collapse or backlash. The fatigue that once staggered her was gone. The shout rang stronger and purer through her body, more so than even the Greybeards had expected.
The rocks that tumbled down the side of the mountain would no doubt grow to be a landslide, but there was nothing at the foot of that side but Helgen, which had long been abandoned after Alduin's actions.
"You have done well, Dragonborn." Arngeir said as he approached with hands clasped behind his back, beard thick with ice crystals. "That is three complete shouts you have mastered now, with many more whose first Words you have learned."
Kiera gave a modest nod, but her heart swelled at the recognition.
There was a time not long ago when the Thu'um felt alien—when each word clawed at her throat and made her dizzy with power. But now… now the Voice was becoming part of her. Not just magic. Not just ancient language. It was becoming a rhythm, a second heartbeat.
She understood why so few ever mastered the Voice. It was not about memorization or spellcasting. It was understanding. Knowing what each Word truly meant. Not just in the tongue—but in the soul.
The meaning gave the power shape.
It was quite similar to other magics in that way. As the Dragonborn, she had a massive advantage in the way that understanding came easy to her. Having the Soul of a dragon helped immensely, and she had now mastered the three shouts Unrelenting Force, Whirlwind Sprint, and Clear Skies.
The first was obvious since it was the very first word she had learned after the jaunt in Bleak Falls Barrow. The second was something she wanted to learn after seeing Caraxes' ability to move near instantly to wherever he wanted. That kind of speed would be a boon to any warrior.
Kiera had asked the Greybeards whether or not they knew that shout, and luckily for her, they did. They even had an entire contraption prepared specifically for training the Whirlwind Sprint shout. Learning the words itself wasn't difficult, but what took time was adjusting after her body moved that quickly. She had to learn to get her bearing quickly and control her shout enough to not overshoot where she wanted to go.
She had bruises to prove how hard it was to control that speed. Many times she almost hurled herself off the mountain by accident.
It was a delicate balance, one that needed time precision to master. She relished when she managed to do it the first time.
The last shout she mastered was a personal request by Arngeir himself. Kiera had initially wanted to focus on the Marked for Death shout since it had proven the ability to weaken dragons, like what she did to Caraxes.
She acquiesced to the request of course, especially when he told her of the power of the shout. The ability to manipulate the weather was a powerful one. How many armies in history died to the unpredictability of weather? Drowned under heavy storms or buried under the cold winds of the snow?
She even realized that this single shout served as a counter to one of the things she saw Alduin do. Calling down meteors from the sky was among the many shouts of the Thu'um that the Greybeards were unfamiliar with. From what she could tell, Clear Skies should be able to stop, or at the very least slow it down.
That reminds her, there was something she wanted to ask from the Greybeards.
"Arngeir," she said, turning toward him as the winds settled, "What does it mean for a dragon to breathe fire of a different color? Caraxes had flames of crimson red. They burned longer and hotter than the flames I saw from Mirmulnir and Silklovkul."
The old monk closed his eyes for a moment, as if listening to the wind for answers. "As we have taught, Dragonborn," he said slowly, "simply knowing the Words is not enough. One must understand them. The dragons are no different. They meditate, they refine, and through their mastery, their Thu'um becomes unique. I surmise this Caraxes had gained understanding of the Fire Breath shout much deeper than the rest of his kin."
Kiera nodded thoughtfully. Of course, it made sense in a way. After all, as proud as she was with her progress with the Unrelenting Force, it paled in comparison still to what Alduin was capable of. She had seen herself the World Eater use the same shout to turn Helgen into rubble.
"In your journey, you will find many dragons who are masters of their own Thu'um." Arngeir said, opening his eyes. "Some would meditate upon the same word and reach different conclusions, and there are others who can barely speak the Words. They are as varied as us humans, men or mer."
"Then why do you train me?" She asked gently. "The Greybeards do not meddle in the affairs of the world. Despite all your power, the order never uses the Thu'um to harm others."
A knowing smile touched the corner of his mouth. "It is not that we do not harm others, but we use the Thu'um merely as a way of worship, as our founder Jurgen Windcaller himself has decreed. For centuries we have followed the Way of the Voice, never to use our understanding for military exploits."
"But I digress. We are not the people to ask should you have questions regarding the Dragons. No, there is someone much more worthy to answer them. It is time you meet the Grandmaster of our order, Kiera. It is time to journey across the heavy winds, to the Throat of the World."
The words rang in her bones. The highest mountain in all of Tamriel. The sacred peak where sky met stone, and legends were born. The path ahead was steep, buried beneath blinding blizzards and perilous winds. The Greybeards walked ahead of her, silent, reverent.
She followed.
The steps were ancient and worn, carved into the mountain's skin. With each footfall, the winds howled louder, tearing at her cloak and hair. The cold gnawed at her fingers. Visibility dropped to nothing. The snow around her swirled in a constant haze. The very air resisted her progress, like the mountain itself tested her resolve.
She could barely see ten feet ahead.
It seems clear now why Arngeir requested for her to master that specific shout.
'So this was the final test.'
She quickly packed her meagre possessions and strapped Dawnbite to her side. The path ahead had vanished into white fog and gale-force winds. Ice crystals stung her cheeks as she looked up. Above her, the mountain peak pierced the heavens, hidden behind cloud and storm.
She took a breath. Centering herself.
And then she shouted.
"LOK VAH KOOR!"
The air split.
Three brilliant Words, full of clarity and purpose, burst from her soul like a thunderclap. The clouds recoiled from her Voice, shrieking away like torn silk. The snow melted from the path, the fog receded. Above her, the skies turned blue, sunlight gleaming through cracks of white.
The storm obeyed and the way was clear.
And ahead, high above the world, the summit of legend awaited.
Kiera stepped forward.
…
4E 201, Shor's Stone
Gerron Ironbreaker
Two months. That's how long it took him to bring all his affairs into order. Shor's Stone had now turned from a vulnerable mining town into a fortified community capable of surviving. He had done enough to make sure the town could keep going without him.
He didn't know how or why everyone looked to him for decisions. Everytime he walked on the streets people saw him as a hero and saviour. Tales of his actions as the lauded Dragonslayer had spread far and wide across Skyrim now, and despite the attention and scrutiny now held upon him, he found himself enjoying it.
The state of the town wasn't perfect yet. It wasn't even close. But it was something.
The Shor's Guard had become a proper armed force, capable of handling brigands and bandits that came their way. Grogmar had insisted on the name, claiming it "sounded like they meant business." Gerron had laughed, but the orc had been right.
They did mean business now.
The ten best archers carried dragonbone bows, their frames curved like predator talons, each with a firing range that rivaled siege engines. He'd seen them pierce a troll's eye at two hundred yards. Gerron had personally tested them at three hundred.
The heavy infantry—given to the most capable warriors—wore armor of thick ebony plate, lined with fur and reinforced with dragonbone trim. Only a dozen sets existed, not nearly enough, but enough to form a bulwark against whatever may come.
Grogmar himself was a fortress on legs, wearing chainmail beneath a tabard depicting Shor's Stone's new symbol: a black hammer atop a mountain. On his back rested his polished ebony axe—massive, brutal, and deceptively quick in his hands.
Many called him a warlord now, training and preparing to create and found his own Hold. He had none of those ambitions, at least not fully. It was his goal to make Shor's Stone a self-sufficient fortress that could handle all threats that came at it, whether they be dragons or bandits. Whatever happens in the achieving of that goal, happens.
He hadn't done it alone of course. Filnjar had kept the day-to-day life of the town from falling apart. He was the one who handled the construction and expansion of the town, as well as the many trade deals that Shor's Stone now found themselves in.
Riften, Windhelm, and Whiterun are now their clients for weapons and armor, the Stormcloaks especially. The orders will be handled by the blacksmiths that Gerron had trained himself.
Four of them proved capable smiths. They weren't at Gerron's level—not even close, but they were skilled enough to be considered masters themselves, at least on the level of the court smiths employed by the other major holds.
Gerron himself has a plethora of new weapons and armor with him. His ebony armor now bore a blood red dragonscale vest across the chest taken from Caraxes' himself, layered for flexibility and fire resistance. A longsword and round shield made of sharpened dragonbone were now strapped to his side and back.
Gerron had learned the hard way that while his hammer was powerful, there were plenty of chances where the hammer could leave his grip. No matter how strong you were, the wrong moment—the wrong misstep—could cost you everything.
Even after being disarmed, fighting unarmed was still a choice. But he'd rather avoid it if he could help it. The only reason last time succeeded was due to sheer dumb luck and adrenaline.
The storage ability means he will never truly be caught off guard. He could pull a new weapon into his arms in seconds, put armor over his body in a blink of an eye. Dozens of blades, hammers, axes, shields were now kept in his storage space. He was a walking, talking armory, capable of outfitting a small army at any time.
As of right now, the dragonscale shield and dragonbone sword shall be his secondary set of weapons. Made of Caraxes' scales and bones, the vest and shield had proven to be very heat resistant, much more than Mirmulnir's. The sword's grip was wrapped in troll hide for weather resistance, its edges sharper than steel.
He had even crafted sets for others. Serana now wore a bodice of dragonscale tailored to her slim figure, flexible yet strong. A cloak lined with dragon sinew kept her warm—or at least, warmer. She didn't need much. Vampires were naturally resistant to the cold. But now she could endure fire as well.
However, not everything was going well. Grim news had arrived weeks ago that Windhelm was attacked by a Dragon. According to the many rumours, the ancient City of Kings still stood, though not without casualties.
Hundreds of lives had perished in the attack and the walls had broken down. It painted a grim picture. The dragons were starting to get bolder. Two of the hold capitals had been attacked now. How long would it take for others to have dragons descend on them?
Windhelm was more defensible than Shor's Stone, with taller walls and many more defenders. What would happen if the town was attacked and he wasn't there?
The news had Gerron hurrying his schedule. Any available blacksmiths and arbalists would continue building ballistas. Archery training became mandatory for the militia, the long hall, the central tower, and the granaries were all reinforced with stone, and gallons and barrels of water were taken from the nearby river and stored in several key locations to douse any fires.
It wasn't enough, far from it, but it was a start. It was the reason why he needed to get to the College quickly. There were many ideas and artifacts he could make that could turn the tides, but he lacks the knowledge and resources to make them. Resources that the College should have.
The one thing he has now with the most potential is the Tamrielic Inscriptions. The Standing Stones had long been sources of power for the denizens of Skyrim.
If he could master that, then maybe—just maybe—they'd stand a chance.
"Ready to go?" Serana's voice came from the doorway behind him. He turned and saw her leaning casually against the frame, one brow raised, a small smile tugging at her lips. She looked beautiful, clad in her new armor and cloak. The blood-red bodice greatly accentuated her figure, matching the crimson shade of her eyes and lips. Her pale skin made her look ethereal. Part of it came from the natural charm and allure of a vampire, especially a pure-blooded one like her. Gerron had noticed many men in town could scarcely look away.
Serana had quickly become one of his closest confidants. She had that sort of dry wit that often clashed with his stubborn bluntness, and had lived in an era that one could only glean from history books. Conversations with her were as enlightening as it was amusing.
Her efforts in training the mages had also borne fruit. More than half of her apprentices are now capable in handling the more mundane tasks required of them and were able to advance their own studies without needing a hand to guide them every step of the way.
It took a while for the more narrow-minded Nords to get used to living with mages in such close proximity. But Gerron was adamant of it.
It also helped that Erandur would be staying here as both an advisor to Filnjar and to take Serana's place as magic tutor.
The Priest of Mara had his secrets, but Gerron was fine with that. As long as he doesn't do anything untowards to his friends and allies, he's welcome in the budding city.
"Yeah," he said, taking one last look at the town. "It's time. We've done all we can here."
Serana nodded.
When they stepped out of his home, the chill morning air greeted them with a whisper of frost. Waiting by the main gate were Filnjar and Grogmar.
"Finally leaving?" Filnjar asked, arms folded, face unreadable as usual.
Gerron gave him a firm nod. "There's still more that needs doing. Besides, you have things handled here."
"Aye, we do," Filnjar said. "Good luck, lad. We all need it."
Grogmar stepped forward and clasped forearms with him. The grip was strong—reassuring. "Don't get yourself killed," the orc said gruffly. "I'll keep this place safe. You have my word."
Gerron smiled. With a single nod, he and Serana climbed their horses and left the town behind.
…
End of Act 1
…
AN: There we are, the end of Act 1. This act encompasses many things, from the introduction of Gerron and Kiera as well as the many factions that have a role to play in the coming conflict.
I thought a great place to end it would be Kiera and Gerron going to the final destinations in their preparation. Kiera to the Throat of the World where Paarthunax awaits, and Gerron to the College of Winterhold.
The next act should be where things escalate, many factions will start making their moves and the first flames of war should be ignited.
For that, I'll be taking a week long break to prepare. I also need to get my Fairy Tail fic caught up to where I want it to be, so I'll be focusing on that for the next week.
I really hope you guys enjoyed the story, writing in the world of Skyrim has been a fun challenge that really made me grow as a writer.
Cheers lads, see you in the next arcs!