Mortal (Book 3)

Prologue

I toss and turn myself over and over on the floor. The Greybeards offered us their own beds, but I refused it. Stone beds are really no better than bedrolls on the stone floor. Lydia, my new housecarl thanks to my new title as Thane of Whiterun, seems to have had no trouble falling asleep on the cold floor though.
I often wonder who this strange person is, this woman that promised her life and service to someone she'd never met, expecting nothing in return. Well, I can't say I've given her nothing. I've given her some of my own weapons and armor that I don't use, and I've fed her and given her a room in my house to sleep in. But that, in exchange for handing over her life? To spend weeks on a freezing mountaintop? It just doesn't make sense. She seems to have no interest whatsoever in freeing herself of this curse, so I've resolved to be as kind to her as I can and give her whatever she needs. "Dragonborn. I wondered if I would speak with you." I hear a small, rough voice whisper. Arngeir looms over me in his long robes, like a tall, ancient tree. He's the only one of the Greybeards that can speak to me for reasons I don't quite understand. Trying to speak to the others is pointless, they just stare at me from under their hoods. Once though, I mistook Einharth for Arngeir and greeted him. He responded by simply whispering "Dovakiin." and the entire mountain shook. The other Greybeards glared at poor Einharth, and he hung his head in shame. Arngeir is either the only one with enough control over his voice to speak normally, or he's the only one that really remembers how.
I stand up slowly from my bedroll, my body aching. Arngeir walks silently and quickly with small steps, almost giving him the appearance of floating in his long robes. He leads me out of the sleeping quarters and continues to walk with me through a long corridor.
"I suppose you haven't really adjusted well to sleeping here." He says, looking straight ahead.
"No, not really. It's very cold up here." You think I'd be used to the cold after this long in the coldest part of Tamriel, but the Throat of the World is a new level, literally and figuratively.
"I never really learned how to sleep here either." He says quietly. In the shadows, I see the dark circles around his sunken eyes. "But we live simply here. Anything that is not a necessity does not exist in our eyes. I suppose that includes a nice mattress." He says with a twinkle in his eye.
"Why did you want to speak with me, Master Arngeir?" I ask. He glances at me for a moment and smiles.
"Quite a clever young woman you are, Dragonborn. What I wanted to speak to you about is... A bit of a more personal matter. Do you ever wonder how our order has survived so long?" He asks.
"What do you mean, Master Arngeir?"
"Well, you didn't just assume the four of us were immortal, did you? No, no. While our lifetimes may be somewhat longer than most, we all wither away and die someday." He tells me thoughtfully.
"Then how do you get new members?" I ask.
"Our leader, Paarthurnax.. He tells us where to find them. Only very rarely though. I've only trained three, and I've devoted almost all of my life to High Hrothgar." He says.
"Who were they?" I ask.
"Well, you are one of them, Dragonborn. And what an honor it is.. When you first found your power, Paarthurnax told us, and we summoned you here." He explains. I remember the ground shaking, the entirety of Whiterun stopping to look up at the sky as I dragged Marcurio through the streets. "He told us he felt your presence in Nirn from the day you were born, and felt it from your ancestors, but he knew you were different. He has waited to tell us of you until he knew you were ready to fulfill your destiny... Whatever that may truly be." He says, his eyes distant. I wonder if this Paarthurnax would be able to tell me if I'm truly descended from the Septim emperors.
"When will I meet this man?" I ask.
"When you are ready, Dragonborn. Don't worry." He says with a smile.
"Then tell me about the other two you've trained." I ask, and his smile fades.
"Two young boys. Paarthurnax told us they would succeed us when we passed. The first I trained when I was much younger, and I'd only spent a few years as a Greybeard myself. I think sometimes that a Greybeard isn't truly a Greybeard until his beard is grey; if he can even grow one." He jokes, laughing softly. "But... I suppose it wasn't meant to be. The boy grew ill and died when he was very young." He says sadly.
"And the other boy?" I ask.
"Paarthurnax didn't want to take on another apprentice for a long time after the child's death, but many years ago he told us our next would be the son of the bear that ruled over the oldest city in Tamriel. Our leader speaks in riddles, I should tell you. This is because he's not only very old, but finds enjoyment in it. He doesn't get much company, you see..." Arngeir says, and I think I catch him rolling his eyes. "In any case, we had to solve this riddle. We knew that the oldest city in Tamriel was Windhelm, so we started there. I was sent in disguise to find the boy. Upon arrival in Windhelm I discovered that the Jarl of Eastmarch was often called 'The Bear of Eastmarch' as a title... I'm sure you can see where I'm going with this now."
"The Jarl's son was the boy you were looking for." I tell him as it comes together in my mind.
"Yes. You can imagine how hard it was to convince the Jarl to give up his heir to live the rest of his life in seclusion on top of a mountain. Eventually the boy, only about ten years old, convinced his father. Ah, he was gifted.. He had already learned two shouts by the time he was fifteen. Well, as you can learn a shout in a matter of minutes, I'm sure it doesn't sound like much to you. For any normal person, it takes years upon years to learn a shout, and we didn't even start trying to teach them to him until he was twelve."
"What happened to him..?" I ask softly, hoping Arngeir doesn't say what I think he's going to say. He only grimaces, as if he's tasted something bad.
"When he was fifteen, somehow the boy heard about some sort of war, perhaps from the letters he received from his father... He insisted that he leave to fight in it. We all advised him against it very strongly, myself especially. Paarthurnax told us that if he left, he wouldn't be allowed to return and complete his training, ever. Even when we told him this, he still insisted on leaving." He tells me, his voice growing sadder with each word.
"What was his name?" I ask.
"Ulfric. Son of the Bear of Eastmarch, heir to the throne, but to me... I never had any children, but that boy was like a son to me. Being the oldest Greybeard, I was tasked with training him, bringing him up." He says. He stares away from me for a long time, and I wonder if he's crying. "Dragonborn, tell me you've heard his name before, tell me you could search. It's been so long. I just need to know that he lives." He says softly, turning to face the window.
"He lives, Arngeir." I say softly. He visibly relaxes, as if releasing something he's been holding for centuries.
"What's become of him?" He asks.
"He... Survived the war. He was tortured, by the Aldmeri Dominion. He replaced his father as Jarl. In the past year, he led a rebellion in Skyrim." I tell him shortly.
"Rebellion? For what cause?" He asks.
"Skyrim has separated from the Empire. Very recently." I tell him, reluctant to tell him of my involvement. He sighs.
"The boy makes rash decisions. Is there anything else I should know?"
"Perhaps.." I say, taking a small breath.

"He wants to marry me."

~

"Did.. Did you hear me..?" He asks. 
"Yes. I heard you." I tell him when I finally find the strength to breathe.
"...Then answer me." Vilkas says. As he stares at me with tears in his eyes, something inside me snaps.
"Vilkas, why are you here?" I ask him. He shakes his head.
"I can't let this go on any longer; I can't go on pretending like I don't care what you're doing. All I know is that I can't let you marry him." He says. He says simply, shrugging. After everything, he thinks he can shove an amulet of Mara and a half baked apology in my face and fix everything?
"Is that it? Because someone else might want me, now you've changed your mind? After you've insulted me and blamed me and destroyed me? I've built myself back up, brick by brick, and now you're here?" I ask, my volume growing. It seems that none of the wedding guests talking with the new couple have taken notice, but Marcurio sees the exchange and steps away from the crowd. He smiles at the two of us and lays a friendly hand on my shoulder.
"Nova, who's your friend?" He asks.
"None of your concern, Imperial." Vilkas grunts.
"Vilkas..!" I hiss. "Marcurio, this is Vilkas. He's a member of the Circle as well—"
"Ah, I see! So this is yet another man in your endless string of lovers." Vilkas snaps, recognizing the name from my letter.
"Vilkas, Marcurio has just gotten married. Please be respectful." I tell him through gritted teeth. He just shakes his head.
"Come speak with me, privately, when you're ready." He insists, stomping away. As soon as he's gone, I scrub my face with my hands.
"Nova, is he bothering you..? What's going on?"
"I'm sorry Marc, he's just... We used to be..." I don't know how to describe what we were; I never did.
"Oh." Marcurio appears to understand regardless.
"...And he just asked me to marry him."
"Oh. What about the King?" He asks.
"I turned Vilkas down; and Ulfric is not king, not yet." I tell him. "I have to go talk to him, I'm sorry."
"Don't worry Nova. We'll speak later, alright?" I nod slightly, and he disappears into the crowd to find his wife. I follow Vilkas' path through the courtyard of the temple and find him in a small, gloomy cemetery.
"I can't marry you." I tell him, breaking the quiet into a thousand pieces.
"Why." He grunts.
"It's too late, Vilkas." I tell him abruptly. There's simply no kind way to say it. He holds the amulet of Mara in his hand, the one meant for me.
Traditionally in Skyrim, a person who wants to get married will wear an amulet of Mara while looking for a spouse and carry another with them, should they need to propose. When they find someone, they propose, usually in a public way. If their spouse-to-be agrees to the marriage, they'll be given the second amulet to wear until the wedding. Throughout the day of their wedding, they'll wear the amulets backward, with the pendant hanging on their back instead of their chest to show everyone it's their wedding day. I've heard that you can't take the amulet off at all on your wedding day, not even for... Well, the honeymoon. They say it's bad luck.
"Give it to someone else." I say quietly as he stares at it.
"I don't want anyone else." He says, taking off his own amulet and stuffing both away in his satchel.
"You'll find someone." I try to say reassuringly. He simply shakes his head.
"No." He says with an odd amount of certainty. "Do you love him?" He asks.
"Ulfric?" I ask. He nods, finally looking up at me. I think for a long time. If I said yes, I'd be lying. At the same time, I'd still be lying if I said no.
"It's alright if you don't know the answer. Sometimes you don't know until later. Just don't wait too long, or it'll be too late." He tells me. I feel small tears running down my cheeks, and a large lump in my throat preventing me from responding. "You've cured yourself." He says after a long silence.
"Yes." I choke, wiping my tears. "Aela went with me."
"How does it feel?" He asks, a hint of something other than sadness in his voice. I look in his eyes, and see hope.
"Amazing. It hurts, at first. But once the hurt is over, it feels like you'll never hurt again. I can sleep now. I can't hear people's hearts beating from across a room or smell them from miles away, but I'd gladly give that up to feel alive again." I tell him. As I say it, I swear he almost smiles. "Don't you want to cure yourself?" I ask.
"Yes, Farkas has said many times he would come with me, but... I felt I had dishonored myself and the Companions. I don't deserve to set foot in the tomb." He says. I nod thoughtfully, understanding the feeling.
"When you're ready, the witch heads are still in Jorrvaskr. You'll feel better, I promise." I insist.