4E 202, High Hrothgar
Gerron Ironbreaker
With travel on dragonback, arriving at High Hrothgar only took the better part of three days. Vermithor was quite an odd dragon, certainly one Gerron had never seen before.
Then again, his experiences with dragons stemmed from the ones in the Western Watchtower and Caraxes himself, so it wasn't like he was the expert on the matter. The Bronze Fury had a wit sharper than most men, able to banter with him, Serana, and Kiera as though he were a soldier on the march. He was bigger than Caraxes too, with wings wider than two mammoths standing abreast, and that told Gerron all he needed to know about the dragon's strength.
Power seemed to roil off of him in unseen waves. The kind of power Gerron had learned to associate with the Thu'um—raw, ancient, world-shaking. Kiera trusted him, though, and that was enough for Gerron.
High Hrothgar came into view then, a monastery made of ancient grey stone carved into the side of the mountain itself. It wasn't the highest point, that belonged to the Throat of the World itself, where Kiera said Paarthurnax would dwell.
Though not today it seems, as Gerron could see the aged silver dragon in the courtyard of the temple.
"Is that—" Gerron started.
"Yeah. Paarthurnax." Kiera nodded as they descended.
The Greybeards stood waiting alongside the dragon, grey-cloaked figures with their hands hidden in their sleeves,
"Welcome back, Kiera." Arngeir greeted. "Lady Serana, Gerron Ironbreaker. It is good to finally put a face to all of the stories. Kiera has spoken of you often."
"Good things, I hope," Gerron said with a half-grin.
A low, rolling chuckle escaped Paarthurnax. "I see the both of you are not…regular warriors. A chosen of a Divine, and a pure-blooded vampire blessed by the light of Meridia. Kiera, you walk with fine companions indeed."
"What can I say?" Kiera shrugged. "Skyrim breeds irregular people."
"That it does," Vermithor rumbled, amused.
"Is High Hrothgar prepared to receive visitors?" Gerron questioned.
Arngeir nodded. "We are. I will say, it is good for the people to attempt peace. Ulfric Stormcloak seems to have changed much from the boy that made the ten thousand steps all those years ago."
"So Ulfric Stormcloak really did come up here to learn the Thu'um." Serana confirmed as she crossed her arms.
"He did." Arngeir nodded. "While he never climbed to the Throat of the World and met our master, he spent many years here refining his mastery of the Voice. He was a talented child, proven when he mastered a few shouts in just a few years of learning. He was supposed to be a Greybeard. But when the Great War erupted, he returned to fight for his home."
"And it was in the Great War where he became jaded. I had heard he was tortured by the Thalmor at some point. Was that when his hatred came in abundance?" Gerron mused.
"I would imagine so." Kiera said, before she shook her head. "Nevertheless, our plan is in motion. We have the Elder Scroll."
Paarthurnax nodded. "Impressive work. So then, shall we see what the heroes of old had done to defeat Alduin centuries ago?"
Together, they climbed to the Throat of the World. The sky opened wide above them, endless and harsh, while winds clawed at their cloaks. This was the place. The scar of time itself seemed to hang heavy in the air.
"Here, Dovahkiin," Paarthurnax intoned. "Open the Elder Scroll within the Time-Wound, and a vision shall be opened to you."
Kiera inhaled deeply as Gerron summoned the Elder Scroll to his hand, pulling it from the storage of the Forge Eternal, the name of the system that he had learned from Zenithar.
The scroll materialized in a shimmer of light. He handed it to her carefully.
"Are you ready for this?" Gerron asked.
"Yes," she said, steady as iron.
He passed it to her, stepping back with Serana, Vermithor, and Paarthurnax. Then came the voice in his mind.
"Focus your insight on the Dragonborn, Gerron."
"Zenithar?" Gerron thought back, startled.
"With the Forge Eternal, you can see the same vision she is about to witness. Watch. Learn."
"…Got it."
He focused, and as Kiera unfurled the Elder Scroll, light swallowed the world.
The others saw only blinding radiance. But Gerron? Gerron saw everything.
The mountain was the same, yet not. Time peeled away like bark. Where snow and silence had been, now stood three Nord heroes.
Gormlaith Golden-Hilt, Hakon One-Eye, Felldir the Old.
Beside him shimmered the faint outline of Kiera's spirit, her eyes wide at the sight. She caught him looking, threw her hands on her hips, and gave him a look that all but said of course you'd end up here too. He only shrugged helplessly.
The battle raged before them. Dragons circled overhead, their roars making the stone tremble. The clearing was a charnel field, Nords and dragons alike strewn across the snow. Fire and frost still smoked in the air.
Then came the shadow. Vast. Terrible. Alduin descended in a storm of black flame, his roar splitting the world in two. Snow melted into steaming rivers. The air itself seemed to burn.
The three heroes did not flinch. Instead they raised their voices as one, shouts ripping from their throats.
"JOOR ZAH FRUL"
The shout struck like thunder. Alduin faltered mid-flight, slammed down upon the mountain as if chains of mortality had been thrown over him. His wings clawed at the air, but the Dragonrend held.
And yet still, he was the World-Eater.
With one sweep of his claws, Gormlaith was rent asunder. Her scream cut short. Her blood steamed upon the stones.
Kiera's outline stiffened beside Gerron, horrified. Gerron clenched his jaw.
Hakon roared his grief and fury, charging headlong, his sword flashing as he kept Alduin's gaze upon him. His courage was a mountain in motion.
Felldir seized the chance. He lifted the Elder Scroll and shouted words that seemed to come from the bones of the world itself.
"Hold, Alduin on the Wing! Sister Hawk, grant us your sacred breath to make this contract heard! Begone, World-Eater! By words with older bones than your own we break your perch on this age and send you out! You are banished! Alduin, we shout you out from all our endings unto the last! You are banished!"
The power of it shook Gerron to his core. His Forge Eternal flared, recording every flicker, every strand of arcane structure. He saw how time twisted, how the Elder Scroll tore a hole in the river of ages and flung Alduin into it.
He saw the moment where the World-Eater vanished, screaming his rage, and how that same hole, centuries later, opened in the Fourth Era, in the year 201.
The same moment he was chosen, where he awakened the Forge Eternal.
Cause and effect. Forge and fire. The connection was undeniable.
The vision collapsed. Gerron and Kiera staggered back into the present, both gasping as though dragged from deep water.
Serana was by their side in an instant. "What happened? Are you guys okay?"
"Yeah…" Gerron exhaled, hand on his knee. "I'm good. Just…shaken."
"Same here," Kiera admitted, clutching her chest.
Paarthurnax leaned in, voice soft but grave. "What did you learn, Dovahkiin? Did you find the Shout they wielded against Alduin?"
Kiera nodded slowly. "Dragonrend. It forces him to know mortality. To drag him down. But…" she hesitated. "…even on the ground, he was still beyond deadly."
"The Nord heroes certainly earned their place in legend," Gerron added grimly. "Strong enough to face Alduin and force him back through time itself. Were they extraordinary or has the strength of men waned since then?"
"The latter, most likely. It is something I noticed since I woke up." Serana murmured. "Long ago, back in the first era at least, finding warriors and mages that could single handedly match the power of an ancient vampire wasn't…difficult. But now, few can. The world has…softened."
Paarthurnax's eyes closed. "Muraag do joor lost sahlo. The strength of mortals has waned, indeed. The cause is Vomindok. Unknown."
"Yet it may serve us still," Vermithor rumbled. "Alduin feeds upon dinok—death. Weaker souls slow his feast. His hunger starves."
"And not all strength has faded," Serana countered. "We have powerful allies on our side. The Dawnguard, the College, the Vigilants. Enough to matter."
"True enough," Kiera agreed. "And if the Peace Summit holds, we could unite Skyrim itself. Maybe even bring the Empire to the table. With those kind of numbers, it would be an army worthy of a god's attention."
"Let's just hope it holds," Gerron muttered. "The first of them should reach Ivarstead in a week. We'll need to be ready."
"Agreed," Kiera said.
…
4E 202, Ivarstead
Balgruuf the Greater
According to Durak, the Orc Dawnguard member, the Daedric Prince behind the Whispering Door is none other than Mephala, the Prince of Lies herself.
Balgruuf did not fear Daedra. He respected them, hated them, and avoided their influence whenever possible. But this troubled him more than usual. The true question that gnawed at him was not what Mephala wanted, but why Nelkir. Of all his children, why his youngest son? Was it merely a cruel jest of fate, or was there something special about the boy?
Nevertheless, the question would have to wait. The time for the Peace Summit was quickly approaching, and he had to prepare.
Leaving Hrongar and Proventus in charge, Balgruuf sent specific orders for Farengar to work with Durak to monitor that door and to double the guard around it. Balgruuf would not allow misfortune to befall his city while he marched elsewhere.
Now, with Irileth at his side, a hundred of Whiterun's finest guardsmen, and Vilkas and Farkas of the Companions riding as trusted blades, the Jarl of Whiterun set out toward Ivarstead.
The journey was long but uneventful. They passed the plains of Whiterun Hold, green and golden beneath the kiss of the sun's first light. He met with a few of his people, farmers and homesteads who remained stubborn enough to stay in their homes outside of Whiterun's walls despite the threat of the dragons.
Such was the Nord way, fearless or foolish, it was often hard to tell.
No bandits troubled them, though Balgruuf suspected it had more to do with the sight of a hundred armed guards than any newfound respect for order. Six days passed in quiet travel.
At last, they crested the final hill and Ivarstead came into view.
The small settlement at the foot of the Throat of the World was usually sleepy, no more than an inn, a handful of homes, and fields worked by tired hands. It lay far from the veins of trade and travel. Few merchants came here; even the Khajiit caravans rarely bothered. Yet now, it looked more like a war-camp than a town.
Banners fluttered in the mountain wind. Tents crowded every scrap of open ground. He saw the Grey Blue Stag of Falkreath, the Brown Bear of Eastmarch, the Crossed Daggers of the Rift. They were the only three holds closer to Ivarstead than Whiterun, which would explain why they arrived first.
The many Guards from different Holds mingled uneasily, steel at their sides, their hands never far from the hilts. He wasn't surprised. The war was still in full force. They were all here, forced to tolerate the presence of the people yesterday was called an enemy.
Balgruuf drew in a slow breath. "So it begins."
He turned to his housecarl. "Irileth, find a good place to set camp."
"Yes, my Jarl." The Dunmer inclined her head, her crimson eyes flicking across the camps with suspicion. "What will you be doing?"
"I will take Vilkas and Farkas to the inn," Balgruuf said. "It is time I spoke with Ulfric before the summit begins."
Irileth frowned but did not argue. "Very well. I shall come for you once our men are settled."
The Jarl strode down the slope, the two Companions at his flanks. The streets were swollen with unfamiliar faces. Hold guards in their colors stood watch in loose knots, Stormcloak soldiers walked openly in their blue, and the air was heavy with the tension of many rivalries forced into close quarters.
Balgruuf can't imagine what it would look like once the Imperials get here.
"You ever been here, brother?" Farkas asked absently as they walked.
Vilkas shook his head. "No. I've wandered half of Skyrim on contracts, but never Ivarstead. Strange, isn't it? We stand on the threshold of the Greybeards, yet no Companion has ever had the call to climb the mountain."
He gave Balgruuf a sidelong look. "Though I am curious why you requested our presence here, Jarl Balgruuf. The Companions do not meddle in politics."
Balgruuf nodded. "True. But this is no longer politics. This is survival. And besides, your Harbinger sanctioned your presence. Kodlak knows as well as I do, the threats before us are not men nor mer, but dragons, Daedra, and vampires. Against such foes, every blade matters."
Vilkas fell silent, considering that. Both twins shifted uneasily at the memory of the Companions' old shame.
When they had been hired to fight on both sides of a war, shield-brother against shield-brother. Balgruuf did not press the wound further.
It was a dark mark in their long history, one of the few ever since Ysgramor arrived in Skyrim with the Five Hundred Companions at his side.
Instead, Farkas snorted. "Well, I'll be glad to see Gerron again. That madman can drink like a Nord and fight like ten. Haven't had a proper contest since the last time he swung a blade beside us."
Vilkas chuckled. "He fit right in with us, didn't he? The bards wouldn't stop singing Breaker of Iron even weeks after he left Whiterun."
Balgruuf barked a laugh. "Aye, I remember. Even the minstrels in Dragonsreach wouldn't put their lutes down."
Their conversation stopped when they arrived in Ivarstead's inn, which was named Vilemyr Inn.
Their mirth carried them through the door of Ivarstead's inn, the Vilemyr Inn.
Warmth and the smell of roasted meat embraced them. The place was crowded; jarls, emissaries, and guards seeking food and ale before the summit. But Balgruuf's eyes fixed immediately upon one man seated by a table, long braided dark brown hair went past his neck, tickling the black cloak he always wore. What caught attention was the thing he wore atop his head, the Jagged Crown.
Beside him sat Galmar Stone-Fist, loyal as always.
Balgruuf crossed the room. Ulfric looked up as their eyes met. Neither smiled, but neither looked away.
He took the seat opposite. Vilkas and Farkas settled nearby, close enough to move if needed, far enough to grant privacy. At a gesture from Ulfric, Galmar rose and moved toward the bar.
"Balgruuf," Ulfric greeted, his voice level.
"Ulfric."
"I'm glad you came."
"As am I. Imagine my surprise, though, when the letter calling for peace bore your name," Balgruuf said dryly. "Then again, being stared down by a dragon might make any man think twice."
Ulfric grunted. "Do not mistake me, Balgruuf. I have not laid down my cause. Skyrim will be free. But the dragons…" He shook his head. "The dragons are the greater threat."
"On that, I agree with you." Balgruuf inclined his head. "Though coming here with that crown might make others think twice of you. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were calling for a moot."
Ulfric snorted. "The moot shall only be called when the war is done. When I united Skyrim under one rule."
"Through blood and death." Balgruuf spoke.
"A necessary sacrifice." Ulfric spoke with conviction, before he sighed. "At least it used to be."
Balgruuf gave a nod, before speaking once more. "I heard you met with Gerron."
"The Dragonslayer?" Ulfric's brow rose. "Aye. Strong and steady. Word of his deeds at the College has reached even Windhelm. It's amusing, he never gave me the impression of being a practitioner of the arcane arts."
Balgruuf leaned back. "So it always is. When darkness rises, heroes rise with it. You and I fought side by side in the Great War, Ulfric. I called you a shield-brother then. Let us do so once more."
For a heartbeat, silence hung between them.
Then Ulfric gave a slow nod. "Aye. Let us."
…
AN: Kiera learns Dragonrend, the shout meant to knock any dragon out of the sky. In canon lore, reading the Elder Scroll at the time wound would be an invitation for Alduin to go up there and challenge the Dragonborn.
That didn't happen here. Instead, Gerron got the chance to study the time shunting magic that Felldir used to send Alduin forward in time.
The first arrivals for the summit arrive in Ivarstead as the Jarls meet once more for something that wasn't a moot.
As always, more chapters are available on my Pat_reon. Chapter 64 should be available by the time this chapter is posted. Just look up my name and you'll find me.
Hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! Cheers!