Chapter 44: Way of the Voice: Part 13
The path beyond the makeshift bridge curved upward the cliffside like a vine tracing the flow of water. The waterfall beside us roared louder with every step, its voice deep and endless. The mist hung thick in the air, still clinging to our skin.
Lydia led the climb, ever the dependable one, her steel armor groaning with each step, from the damage it had sustained. Sweat beaded at her brow and ran down her temples, despite the creeping chill that thickened the higher we climbed.
Her breathing grew heavier, controlled and deep, as though every ounce of her strength was poured into maintaining her rhythm, and it wouldn't be wrong.
She was carrying everything on her, the armor, sword, and shield. I did try to convince her to change into something more suitable for such a steep climb.
But she was too cautious to let her guard down, ever since the tomb. It was bothering her, I could tell in her steps, in her gaze flickering to every falling leaf.
I need to do something about this workaholism.
Uthgerd, on the other hand, had stripped down to a light tunic for the climb, leaving the broken gear to my inventory to carry. The thin fabric hugged her athletic frame, the outline of muscle and curve visible beneath where it stuck, damp from sweat and mist.
While Agna struggled to keep up, even with nothing holding her down. Exactly the reason I was at the bottom of the climb. To catch them.
And soon, after a twenty-minute climb, flattened into a plain clearing where a broken wall sat, well, not much of a wall since only the places that held the rusted hinges of the broken iron gate remained.
A house? At least the remains of one
We ignored it; too busy gathering our breath.
I could see the smoke of—hopefully a chimney's—rising in the distance. A small climb down to another river split, There are too many rivers here, I sighed looking at the small stream fed into the larger fall, but instead of cascading on our right like the previous one, it dropped to our left, a sudden three-meter plunge over jagged rocks that hummed with music as the water cracked and danced over them before plummeting out of sight.
And Lydia again stepped forward, testing the stepping stones first, crossing the narrow run with sure and precise movements. Her boot landed with a metallic thunk before she turned and gave a thumbs-up.
Uthgerd followed after her. I looked to Agna; her eyes were fixed on the gap ahead.
"Need another ride?" I asked, keeping my voice low, teasing.
She blinked up at me, startled from her thoughts. A subtle hue of pink touched her cheeks, and she shook her head quickly—too quickly, "I… no. I've got it," she murmured, stepping forward before I could tease her more.
I chuckled under my breath and followed behind, glancing at the small bridge that was now in view, connecting Ivarstead to the path leading up toward High Hrothgar.
***
It's cold here.
We stood at the edge of Ivarstead.
Ahead, a dirt path led deeper into the town, winding between timber-framed homes and small, fenced plots. Chickens pecked the earth lazily near the weathered coop, while a trio of cows stretched their necks through slats of homestead fences for a taste of vegetables growing inside the pastures.
The town was larger than I remembered from the game. More houses, more people. A place that was alive, just like Riverwood, only richer with sound, half from the waterfall, and half from motion.
On the opposite side of the small farm, brushing against the river, stood a watermill. A red-headed woman worked atop the saw platform, guiding logs with practiced ease.
Gerdur, her name flashed through my mind as I caught the sight of the mill woman. I clicked my tongue and glanced at her again, watching the sweat gather on her brow, her red hair neatly tied behind.
The red hair reminded me of another woman I failed to take, Sigrid.
I'm starting to hate this town.
My eyes drifted to the bridge on the side, arched over the rushing river, which connected to the foot of the mountain path. The stairs that wound their way to the very throat of the world.
Behind me, Agna's voice cracked the silence.
"Where… where exactly are you heading?" Her eyes moved between the three of us, uncertain but finally curious about the right thing.
"High Hrothgar," I answered after a moment of silence.
Agna's face shifted, her lips parted slightly, her breath caught for a moment, her eyes widened, as if solving a puzzle, whose pieces she had already found. The Shout, the strength, and then that thundering voice that stirred, fear, anxiety, and hope in every soul of Skyrim just days ago.
She repeated the words in a whisper that shook the clouds, like it might summon the thunder again.
"Dovah…kiin."
I turned my head slowly toward her, a half-smile playing across my lips. "You know me?"
She stared at me, uncertain, searching my face. "Are you really… the Dragonborn?"
I hesitated, not liking what would come after I went around claiming to be the Dragonborn.
Miraak.
I had no doubt his cultists would find me no matter what, but I didn't want her getting hurt because of it.
So I lied, smoothly, like I always do.
"No," I said with a small chuckle. "I was joking. I'm heading up there to learn more about the Voice. I was taught by them years ago, I'm just hoping to learn more."
The lie hung in the air, convincing, at least to Agna.
As Lydia shifted slightly beside me, her gaze flicking toward my face. Uthgerd raised a brow, half-curious, half-confused. But Lydia, at least to some degree, seemed to understand why I had lied.
Agna exhaled, and I caught the sound in her breath, disappointment, subtle, but it was there.
"What about you?" I asked, diverting attention from the Dargonborn, "Where are you headed?"
She blinked, pulled from her thoughts, and looked down for a moment, considering. Then her eyes rose to mine again.
"I'll stay here," she said quietly. "I'll rent a room at the inn for the night. In the morning, I'll… head back to the tomb, before heading home,"
Her voice dimmed, like a flickering lamp, Golldir's face flashing in her mind still.
"How about we have a drink before going for the climb?" Uthgerd said, breaking the awkward silence. Her eyes glanced at the climb up the mountain, which was going to be more back-breaking than the one we had just traversed.
All three of us turned to her and then to the steps. It's gonna be a long way up.
***
We sat inside the lively Vilemyr Inn, the main floor buzzing with the midday crowd. Laughter echoed off the timber walls, mingling with the clatter of mugs and spoons striking wooden bowls. The scent of roasted leeks, buttered bread, and simmering stew filled the air.
It was warm inside, from the fire pit burning inside to heat the whole Inn, the chill from the mountain outside was nowhere to be found here.
A young woman darted between tables like a lightning bolt trapped in a glass bottle, voluptuous and full of energy. Her blonde voluminous neck-length hair bounced with every swift movement.
Her tunic was damp with sweat, sticking to her generous curves. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with exertion; her 'milkers', yes, they were too big for her size, recoiled against the fabric with every step.
She appeared at our table, at the corner of the Inn, farthest from the bar, her voice low and sultry despite her exertion, "Anything I can help you with? A drink or perhaps something to eat?"
"A bard?" I blurted unconsciously.
She blinked, slightly caught off guard, a flicker of surprise in her eyes before a polite smile returned. "Sorry, milord, but I won't be singing this afternoon. Perhaps in the evening."
I waved a hand at the misunderstanding, "Don't worry, love. No songs required, just food, and something to put out the thirst." I raffled off our order: stew, grilled chicken, and fresh bread.
She gave a quick nod and dashed back toward the kitchen, a faint smile on her face.
I turned back to the women sitting at the table. Uthgerd gave me a knowing smile, while Lydia sighed, looking around the Inn, still on guard duty.
Agna was facing away from me, her cheeks shaded rose. Was I staring that much?
—Some time later…
After the meal, we made our way to the bar to settle the bill. Behind the counter stood an older man, bald with a clean-shaven face to complement. He looked to be in his late fifties, his posture still proud, but his eyes tired from years of tending the same wooden hall.
"We don't get many visitors around here," he said as he grabbed two bottles of Black-Briar Mead from a shelf behind him and slid them across the counter. "Unless they're headed up to High Hrothgar, of course."
His gaze lingered on me for a beat, then shifted to the three women behind me, Lydia in her clanking steel, Uthgerdi in her sleeveless tunic, and Agna standing slightly apart.
I withdrew a small pouch from the inventory and placed a small stack of septims on the counter, chuckling softly, "You couldn't be more right."
The old man gave a knowing, almost sheepish smile before swiping the coins from the counter.
As the old man tucked away the gold coins, Agna stirred beside me. Something in her expression shifted, remembering something.
***
We stood on the porch of the inn, the noise and warmth of Vilemyr's lunch hour now a fading hum behind the closed doors. Out here, it was quiet. Just the cold wind of the afternoon brushing past wooden posts and the soft creak of the old floorboards beneath our boots.
Agna stood in front of me, her posture unusually hesitant, fingers nervously toying with the string of her small pouch. "About your payment…" she began, whispering almost, tone slightly embarrassed. "I don't have much on me…"
She held the pouch out—medium-sized, heavy with a coin. Maybe four hundred septims, give or take. Her fingers brushed mine as she placed it in my hand.
"I don't carry much when I travel long distances…" she added quickly, as if justifying herself, before her gaze drifted up to meet mine. Then, just as quickly, it slid downward, to her chest, where a thin silver chain glimmered against her skin. "I have this necklace, if you—"
I stepped forward and gently pressed the coin pouch back against her soft stomach. Her breath hitched, and she looked up at me, startled by the closeness. "This will do," I said, letting one coin slide between my fingers and holding it up with a smirk, "For now."
Her lips parted. "But—"
I leaned in, closing the remaining distance, my voice soft. "You can pay me when we meet again." I pressed a kiss to her forehead, slow and deliberate.
She stiffened for a second at the unexpected contact… then relaxed. Her grip on the pouch loosened. Her heart was pounding in her chest.
And before she could speak, I was already walking down the steps, the wooden boards creaking behind me.
"I'll surely pay you," she called after me, her voice more certain this time. "I promise."
I stopped at the edge of the path, glancing back over my shoulder with a grin. "I wouldn't have it any other way."
****
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