It was a two day slog to climb the 7000 Steps to High Hrothgar because Nigel refused to allow the horses to make the trek on the grounds that it is fucking cold and snowy and dangerous up there (not his exact words but that’s the gist) and I could not very well argue the point by pointing out I had ridden my previous horse there because a) that had, indeed, proved too dangerous for the poor thing and b) Helen’s opinion of me was already low as it was.

 

The troll was still there but it didn’t take long for the four of us to cut it down. I yanked out some of its teeth (engendering a few odd stares from the others) to re-create my necklace from last time, although I never got around to making it. I wonder what happened to those – I forgot all about that until just now. Hmm.

 

Anyway, we got to the monastery at around noon of the second day and I got a surprise first thing when one of the Greybeards who has not Arngeir (the only one who had spoken to me last time) took one look at me and blurted out, “It’s you! You are the Dragonborn?!”

 

He seemed to want to say more, but Arngeir snapped, “Wuulfgar!” and the man flushed, bowed his head under his deep cowl, and turned away before I could ask any questions.

 

“My apologies,” Arngeir said as he interposed himself between the chastened monk and me. “It is forbidden for us to speak unless granted dispensation, such as I have been given to speak with you, Dragonborn. I am Arngeir, and I speak for the Greybeards.”

 

“He seemed to recognize her,” Lane pointed out.

 

“Indeed. No doubt he saw you in a vision, Dragonborn, a common occurrence here. Ah, but I am making assumptions. Let us make certain you truly are Dragonborn. Show us; let us taste of your Voice.”

 

I shrugged. I hadn’t spent a ton of time with the Greybeards last time, but I knew enough to know I would get no further answers until I proved myself.

 

One Force Push later, Arngeir smiled and held his arms wide. “Dragonborn. It is you. Welcome to High Hrothgar. Tell me, why have you come here?”

 

“That’s a funny question to ask, considering you were the ones who called out to me.”

 

“We called but you did not have to choose to answer.”

 

“Fair enough. I’m here to learn how to Shout better.”

 

“"We are honored to welcome a Dragonborn to High Hrothgar. We will do our best to teach you how to use your gift in fulfillment of your destiny."

 

“Destiny, is it? If you say so. Teach me your words, shoutkeeper; I’m not afraid.” Naturally, this went right over his head. It is a lonely spot to be in a place where no one gets your references!

 

"You have shown that you are Dragonborn - you have the inborn gift. But do you have the discipline and temperament to follow the path laid out for you? That remains to be seen."

 

Spoiler alert: I did.

 

Actually, I probably did not – now that I think about it, Arngeir must have been under the impression I would need to expend some sort of effort, much like they did, but sucking up words and dragon souls required no discipline or any particular temperament from me at all. I just had to stand there.

 

That said, I did have to demonstrate quite a bit of discipline and restraint during the hour and a half of training I received from them, but not because learning the Shouts was difficult; it was so as not to make a fool of myself in front of them. Fortunately, I knew what to expect and had spent a lot of time considering how to handle it.

 

I will explain, although you probably already have a pretty good idea what I’m talking about.

 

The Greybeards taught me the second (and, eventually, third) stage of Force Push and the first stage of Wuld Nah Kest, which they call “Whirlwind Sprint” but which I, of course, call Force Speed. As much as I hate Skyrim, at least it gave me the opportunity to be a Jedi!

 

At each stage of this training, I soaked up the word, just as at the word walls, and one of the monks…emptied himself of their knowledge of the word and gave it to me. This is not sexual, in case that is what popped into your mind.

 

They tried to explain it to me – they learn “shapes” of words then imbue them with mana to make them work, or something to that effect. Apparently giving me their knowledge of the words meant they had to start all over with the building and filling of their shapes before they could use that word again, which could take years. I didn’t think much of it at the time (and had thought even less on my first trip there), but over time, it slowly dawned on me what kind of sacrifice that must have been.

 

Probably not coincidentally, Wuulfgar, the monk who had spoken out of turn at my arrival, was the one chosen to give me the first two words. I was dying to know what he had meant but, of course, he spoke nothing other than the dragon words to give them to me and Arngeir would speak no more of it.

 

Anyway, I had the same reaction to learning these words as I did at the walls and, although not as powerful as a dragon soul, a similar reaction upon receiving their mana. I did NOT want to flail around in orgasms in front of them, so before each time, I got onto my knees, keeping my legs tight and hands on my thighs, and just squeezed myself as the orgasms pushed through me. It worked, to a point – I didn’t flail around or sound like a third-rate porn star, but I could not keep some gasps and whimpers from escaping and I was sweating fiercely by the time it was over.

 

The best part, of course, came after my initial training, after I had demonstrated my new mastery of Force Speed.

 

“"Your quick mastery of a new Thu'um is... astonishing. I'd heard the stories of the abilities of Dragonborn, but to see it for myself..."

 

“Thank you.” I tried and, I think, mostly succeeded not to smirk as I added, “What’s next?”

 

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

 

“Oh! You mean this old thing?”

 

Ah, the expression on his face when I pulled out the horn was priceless! I had not talked to him much, in this life or the last,  but he had never shown a whiff of discomposure until that moment.

 

“The…the horn! How did…”

 

A pause then, as he gathered himself, then glanced at Wulfgar, who was watching us both with an intense stare.

 

“I…see. I will have to apologize to Brother Wuulfgar - he warned us something like this might happen but I did not believe.” Another cryptic statement that, once again, he refused to elaborate on. Instead, “You've retrieved the Horn of Jurgen Windcaller. Well done. You have now passed all the trials. Come with me. It is time for us to recognize you fully as Dragonborn."

 

This is where they gave me the final form of Force Push before performing a ceremony where they all Shouted a long litany of words in the dragon tongue (from close range – my ears were ringing by the time they were done). Unlike last time, when I was just looking for slavery-escaping power (a plan that turned out so well) and didn’t really care about the details, I actually asked what the hell they had said this time.

 

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

 

Not really what I had asked, but interesting. In distant retrospect, that should have raised an alarm bell or two, but I was, at the time, still ignorant of so many things. “What did you actually say?”

 

"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 now to you

 

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."

 

They did not give me an actual crown, so I’m still not sure what the first couple lines really meant, but the name stuck in the sense that, from that point forward, they called me Ysmir. Kellan also liked the name and started calling me his “little dragon,” which was both adorable and annoying at the same time but which was better than “she-devil,” at any rate.

With my training done in record time, we spent the night on uncomfortable stone beds (it was the second time Lazhah turned down my duty for the night, probably because the beds were in an open dormitory and all the Greybeards were present), so I cuddled with Kellan and failed to sleep because my back started aching almost immediately. The Monk life definitely is not for me.

 

 

Don’t feel the bastards. Make them sleep on stone beds instead. Trust me - that is a fitting punishment for nearly any crime.

 

 

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