Chapter Thirty Two

Snow whipped against the steps leading to High Hrothgar. Gaeolin had his hood drawn up to shield himself from the sun. Inigo and Auroth trudged along against the gale behind him. Once they entered the temple, they all felt as if they were frozen solid. 

Auroth took a few steps into the temple, stomping loudly in an effort to free his boots of snow. Gaeolin threw the older elf a sour look, one that was not missed by the approaching Arngeir. 

“You return,” he said, garnering the attention of the adventurers. “And you bring guests. It has been many years, Elmond.”

“‘Elmond’?” Gaeolin said with a quiet, untrusting sneer. “I thought your name was Auroth.”

“I don’t have to tell you everything-” the High Elf began, quieting as Arngeir laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Auroth, as you know him, came to us in a most troubling time, seeking asylum from a world that hated and pursued him. Certainly…you have some understanding of that, do you not?” Arngeir’s piercing glance humbled the Wood Elf. Surely the wise Greybeard had seen his vampiric gaze. “This aside, what brings you back here? Have you come seeking a solution to this new development?”

Gaeolin sighed, and pushed his pride back down with the lump in his throat. “Actually, Master Arngeir, there is something else. Inigo and I were attacked by a dragon.”

“And not some ordinary, run-of-the-mill stinky lizard, either,” Inigo chimed in. “He announced himself as…as…” he paused, taking his time to figure out the pronunciation. “Iiz-yol-viing? The fiend hit Gaeolin with some kind of curse, it-”

“-Muted my ability to shout,” Gaeolin finished, and shot Inigo an irksome stare. The Khajiit absently rubbed the back of his neck and returned an apologetic grin. “And, for a time, to speak. It wasn’t until we met Auroth that the curse was at least partially lifted. It’s become clear now where he learned to Shout.”

“He did not learn that Shout here,” Arngeir replied ambiguously as he turned and motioned for the others to follow. Gaeolin shot a questioning look at Auroth. If not here, then where…? The High Elf merely shrugged at the wordless question. Following the Greybeard, he lead the trio up a small flight of stairs that lead to a small library where another of the Greybeards sat, immersed in a book. He looked up as the others entered, and stood.

“Einarth!” Auroth called. “How’s the wife?”

“Eheheh! Wife! He’s-” Inigo tittered, his expression quickly swapping sobriety from mirth as all eyes in the room settled on him. “He’s probably not married,” he finished very quietly.

“Lost hi tiid, Einarth?” Arngeir whispered, the stone work shuddering under even the weak sound of his speech. “Mu yah vod onikaan nol fin Tey do Wuth.” 

Einarth set down the tome turning to face them properly. “Daar tinvaak do hi paar.”

“Iizyolviing ahrk suleykii wah Nahlot fin Zul. Gaeolin saan Aus thu’umii.” 

Gaeolin tried desperately to understand all that was said, but only a few words stood out to him in their discussion. Auroth found a seat, tightening a lace on his boot that had come loose during the climb. Inigo watched the two greybeards, occasionally looking to the ceiling as the rumbling persisted through their words. 

“It is an… exciting language, to say the least…” Einarth began sifting through the books strewn about the library. Despite his care, a great cloud of dust began to fill the air. Most of the books seemed unimaginably old. He opened one and heard an audible creak from it’s aging spine.

“Dovah kolos daar, Iizyolviing?” Einarth kept his eyes on the passage he read from. 

“Strunviikzul, Hofkahlaila.” Arngeir replied. “This could take some time, my friends. Einarth and I will keep searching, but in the meantime, please, help yourselves to food and drink. I will speak with you once we have found some sort of information you can use.”

Gaeolin took this as a request to give them a more comfortable atmosphere. If the role were reversed, he certainly wouldn’t be at ease with three strangers hanging around while he worked. He thanked the masters, ducking out into the dim hall to walk around the temple.

He felt even more unsettled with the sound of his footfalls ringing on the stones. Auroth… Elmond, had lied to him. Why was his name a matter of secrecy? Of the things that had sped through his mind when the Altmer had appeared, the idea of him being important enough to hide his identity hadn’t occurred. The more he thought about it, he had been a fool to enter into a binding agreement with him. I have no idea who he is, or who he is working for. What other things was his new companion keeping from him? He shook his head, settling to the floor in an alcove off the main chamber to wait. His throat stung, inspiring him to draw out a bottle of blood from his pack. 

As off putting as feeding was when he wasn’t starved, it was worse with cold blood. It was slightly gelatinous, making the act of swallowing more of a force of will than anything else. He coughed, trying his best to avoid wasting his meal. However, for as long as they stayed here, the bottles he had would have to suffice. He wouldn’t dare feed from the Greybeards, nor could he imagine feeding on Inigo. Auroth had eliminated himself as a target with the contract, leaving no other potential donors near enough for a midnight snack. The very thought of such a light hearted term running through his thoughts of this made him squirm with shame.

Gaeolin had just finished enough of the cold blood to where his hunger felt somewhat muted when he heard footsteps along the wall behind him. Despite the location, the Bosmer clutched at the dagger in his cloak. He had come to know his dear friend Inigo’s footsteps, and the Greybeards made almost no sound. As he expected, Auroth rounded the corner, both elves locking eyes as the older of the two came to a stop and stared at the weapon-seeking hand.

“Easy with that reflex. Wouldn’t want to kill us both, would you?” His signature sneer deepened. Gaeolin stood, hand resting on the hilt of his sword in spite of the Altmer’s warning. 

“Thanks for the advice, Elmond…Or is it Auroth?” Gaeolin’s words were spat more than spoken. Though he had resolved his hunger, it resurfaced in the form of aggression as he returned the expression.

“You sound like one of those bleeding-heart Nords. Let me guess – you’ve had a run in with the Thalmor and they hurt your feelings?”

“Run in… I suppose you could say that…” He glared, warning his antagonist. “And am I wrong to be suspicious? Your government hasn’t exactly offered a great deal of comfort to my people.” He hooked his thumbs into the space behind his belt. “I have a hard time feeling at ease around someone who may well be working for people who want me dead.”

“My government?” Auroth spat upon the stone. “Look at me, Bosmer. Do I look like the gods-damned Thalmor? Do I smell like one? The Thalmor take it upon themselves to be clean, well-dressed, educated. Have you ever ran into a Thalmor that would stoop to the level of the Nords, to wear their armor, to speak like I do? They would never lower themselves this way for any cause.”

Gaeolin was taken aback by the outburst. True enough, Auroth did not seem the traditional brand of High Elf. “I… Have not…” He took a few steps toward the center of the corridor. “But I can’t help but feel cautious. I’ve met more suffering around your people than anything else.” He looked Auroth in the eye. “Tell me… Why hide your name?”

Auroth’s gaze centered on Gaeolin as he crossed some of the distance between them. He pondered the question, eyes settling to the floor, a look of shame glistening within them. “Because I too have felt the wrath of the Thalmor, boy. Long before you were born, I was raised to become one of them. Being Altmer, I was born in the Summerset Isles…and born to command as a Thalmor Justiciar.”

“By the sound of it, not by choice.”

“All Altmer enter the Thalmor by choice,” he growled. “But…ideologies change. Elves change. I started with the same hate-mongering ideals as any other Altmer, but when I began to learn of other cultures, as we are instructed to do, I did not learn to hate them. I grew enamored with them, specifically Nord culture. I was even given special permission to fight like one, as long as I did not lose sight of our true goals. Goals I began to question.”

“What do you-” Gaeolin was interrupted by the appearance of Arngeir. The monk had his hands burrowed in his robes against the chill air of the temple.

“Apologies, I should have announced myself.”

“There’s no need, Master.” Gaeolin bowed. “Have you and Master Einarth learned something?”

“A great many things, in fact. Firstly, that you and Inigo were fortunate to have come out of the encounter unscathed. At least, for the majority. Iizyolviing has had a terrible history. It seems that he was among the most fearsome of Alduin’s commanders during the Dragon War.”

“Any information on the thu’um that he used?” Auroth crossed his arms. “When the Khajiit described it, I was reluctant to believe that such a shout could exist.”

Arngeir looked troubled. “Only pieces. We know that it was a very obscure ability. Apart from Iizyolviing, few dragons had the strength of will to use it in battle. As far as we could determine, only one victim of this power lived to see the curse removed.”

“Who was it?” Gaeolin nodded to Inigo as he approached the group.

“A bard and warrior named Lunerio. It was said that he challenged Iizyolviing on the slopes of the dragon’s mountain lair to the northwest. Strufin Iizdrog, it was called by both dragons and the cultists who served them. ‘Mountain of the Ice lord.’ After defeating Iizyolviing, he used his regained thu’um to weave a song amid the frosty mountain winds. In this way, he forced the dragon to succumb to the very element he claimed to control. I believe a monument was raised there to commemorate the battle.”

“If it was the beast’s lair, it seems likely that he would return there to roost.” Auroth repositioned his hammer. 

“So…” Gaeolin felt his throat tighten. “To restore my voice, I have to kill Iizyolviing?”

Arngeir nodded. “Until you best him, his will cannot be broken from you.” He produced a map, pointing to the peak in question. “Skyborn Altar, near the ancient city of Labyrinthian.”

Auroth inspected the map. “I’ve heard of the place. I’d say it would be best to reach it by traveling to Whiterun, coming upon the foothills from the south.” He turned to Gaeolin. “That is, if you’ll have me with you.”

Gaeolin looked at him, giving the closest thing to a smile he’d ever offered a High Elf. “It’s too late to try and keep you out of things now.”