When they set off the next morning, the sun was shining and the weather had improved significantly. The sky was a clear, bright blue that lifted their spirits and lightened their step as they continued down the main road to Ivarstead.

They hadn't been walking long before a young man with brown hair and a satchel strapped across his chest came running up to them.

"Are any of you named Rebecca?" he panted.

Rebecca exchanged a suspicious glance with T'ariq beside her.

"That would be me." she answered. "Who's asking?"

"Got something I'm supposed to deliver." The man reached into the leather satchel and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "Your eyes only."

The group edged to the side of the road as the courier ran off past them. Unfolding the note, which was written beneath an ivy green border, was a short paragraph written in a delicate, slanted scrawl.

Dear Rebecca & company,

My sincerest apologies for being unable to bid you farewell before leaving Windhelm. Some urgent business called me away and regrettably, there was little time to stop off for formalities.

However, I wanted to thank you for being so welcoming to me during our brief time together. I truly hope that we meet again some day.

Warmest regards,

Feraldur

P.S Rebecca;

If your wound reopens, please dress it with a poultice of wheat and blisterwort (if you are unable to find a healer).

"And so, the mystery continues." T'ariq chuckled as Rebecca folded the note away and tucked it under the strap of her belt.

"I'd wager that Feraldur wasn't even his real name." Angmar grunted as they made another turning, away from an ominous looking cave. At Rebecca's suggestion, they skirted the path and went through the woods before coming up on Sarethi Farm, to avoid the bandits to the south.

The rushing of water and the rustling of the wind between leaves heralded their approach as the trees cleared and the group found themselves facing the bridge before Ivarstead. The sun shone clear and bright, glinting from their armour as they strolled into the sleepy town. The locals all stopped to stare at the newcomers, marvelling at their weapons and the heavy sacks they carried, laden with treasure and gems. Even the Rift guards turned their heads at their arrival, although what they were thinking was anyone's guess, their eyes hooded under the heavy steel helmets.

They headed straight for Vilemyr Inn, receiving much the same reaction from the villagers inside, gathered in little groups by the fireside or along the tables at the walls. Having skipped breakfast, the company decided to rent a room to dump their belongings in, and sit down for some oats and bread. As usual, Angmar started off his day with a full tankard of mead.

"What a boring town." he remarked, casting a disappointed glance around the inn.

Rebecca's eyes landed on Lynly Star-Sung, who was playing a lute by the bar. "Don't be fooled," she warned the Reachman. "Ivarstead has its secrets, like any other town."

Bassianus Axius, the red-headed Nord, approached the table holding three jugs of milk. He glanced warily at Rebecca, who raised an eyebrow.

"You don't look like pilgrims," Bassianus sneered, taking in their spiked shoulder pads and horned helms. "Why bother visiting Ivarstead?"

Rebecca gave him a knowing smile as she patted a couple of gold septims into his hand. "Between you and I, Bassianus, you should talk to Fastred's mother," she winked. "She supports your love, you know."

Her smile widened at the glimmer of shock that appeared in the man's eyes. He wriggled out of her grasp and stepped back in fear. "How could you possibly-" he spluttered.

Rebecca pressed a finger to her lips, and looked pointedly over at the door, as Fastred's mother, Boti, walked into the inn. Bassianus stumbled away, still wide-eyed and clearly shaken.

Rebecca gave a contented sigh and tucked into her porridge, ignoring the stern glare that T'ariq was aiming her way.

"What?" she asked, finally glancing up at her protector. "I'm enacting Mara's will."

T'ariq shook his head. "You should not scare people so. You draw much attention to yourself."

Rebecca shrugged, watching as the Nord approached Boti with a nervous glance back at her table. Scared or otherwise, it was still a good deed. And who knew? Maybe the Lady of Love herself was watching from up above with a smile on her heavenly face.

After a warm and hearty meal, they paid Wilhelm to keep an eye on their room as they stepped out into the bracing air and headed to the start of the 7,000 steps. Rebecca would normally have been worried about such a pilgrimage as this, and would likely never have attempted it in her old life. But since landing in Skyrim she had become much fitter – she had found a new strength in herself, and was able to carry more and journey farther with each day that passed.

They were about to cross the bridge out of town when Rebecca noticed a wood elf and a man having a conversation by a stone wall. She rushed over to the Nord, beaming up at him.

"Klimmek?" she asked. The man turned around and frowned down at her. "Yes?"

"I was told you needed a hand taking supplies to the Greybeards," she explained. "We're heading that way if you'd like us to help you out?" Rebecca suggested, gesturing to the trio of warriors behind her, waiting awkwardly beside the path. Klimmek looked from her to them and back again.

"Um," he reached to scratch the back of his head. "Ah, ok...if you could." He reached beneath him and handed her a great sack of food.

"What was that all about?" Felix asked her as they crossed the river. Klimmek was still staring after them, as though wondering if he had just made a huge mistake.

Rebecca waved a hand dismissively. "He'll pay us when we get back down." She slung the sack over her shoulder and walked on ahead. Angmar was leading the way, and had stopped in front of the first wayshrine.

"Before the birth of men, the Dragons ruled all Mundus," he read. "Their word was the Voice, and they spoke only for True Needs; for the Voice could blot out the sky and flood the land."

Rebecca spotted a purple mountain flower lying in the offering bowl beneath the plaque, and stooped to pick it up, remembering Feraldur's little trick from the day before. She bit off the head of the plant and felt the familiar warmth seeping through her bones as they began the ascent up the snow-covered steps.

"The Voice?" Felix echoed Angmar's recital. "Is that the shouting that you do?"

Rebecca nodded. "The thu'um. The Greybeards are masters of the Voice. That's why we're visiting – I need to learn from them."

Angmar and T'ariq took up the head of the group, weapons drawn in case they stumbled upon a pack of wolves, or a bear's den. They had only climbed the first set of stairs and already, Rebecca was beginning to tire, glad of the mountain flower in her hand as the wind picked up in the trees around them.

Felix nodded slowly. "So only the dragonborn can visit them?"

"No, I don't think so," Rebecca answered. "Although, you might not be allowed in, I don't know. I've never tried to enter with three companions before." She saw Felix's brow furrow in confusion and cursed herself for thinking aloud. "Anyway," she added hurriedly. "They must let in others because they've taught those without the dragon blood before. Including our good friend Ulfric."

Felix looked up from the snowy ground in surprise. "Ulfric can shout?"

"Yup," she sighed. "That's how he killed High King Torygg."

Now Felix's brown eyes shone with shock. "The High King is dead?"

"Jesus," Rebecca laughed. "You never cease to amaze me, Felix."

Felix grinned stupidly, as though proud of himself, and skipped a step. "I don't aim to."

They stopped at every wayshrine, greeting the hunters they found on the way up and cutting down ice wolves left and right. The steps flattened out just as Rebecca thought she might collapse from exhaustion and frostbite as the effects of the purple flower wore off. Snowflakes began to fall in thick clumps around them, their footsteps muffled as they crunched through the soft piles of snow.

When the path bent around a hidden corner, Rebecca stopped her companions in their tracks and gestured to the shelter of a rocky ledge where they could rest.

"There's a f-frost troll up ahead." Her teeth were chattering, and her breath came out in white puffs. T'ariq nodded, gesturing for Angmar and Felix to follow him. Despite the warmth afforded to him by his dark fur, T'ariq seemed to be feeling the cold just as much as the rest of them, and had lost his sense of humour about a thousand steps back.

Rebecca waited in the dark of the overhang as the clashing of steel and the roar of a troll sounded from around the bend. She wondered if perhaps she should have gone ahead to help them, but, considering her recent injury, she had decided against the idea. Regardless, she wished that she could at least be moving around out there with her friends, if for no reason other than that it might keep her blood flowing.

They returned after a few minutes, their breath heavy and their weapons stained with blood. T'ariq looked a little more chipper for the flames dancing between his fingers as Rebecca stood to continue the path. She knew there were no more dangers ahead, and was even allowing herself to get excited at the prospect of meeting the Greybeards and stepping inside High Hrothgar for the first time.

The last stretch of steps lay ahead of them, a white trail that ended at the twin staircases leading into the legendary fortress, black and steady against the snow and the howling wind. They slung Klimmek's sack into a chest at the base of the entrance before proceeding up to the great iron doors.

"Now when we get in, you have to let me do the talking," Rebecca warned the men, her cheeks flushed pink in the cold. "The Greybeards are a little jumpy."

The inside of High Hrothgar was, to Rebecca's dismay, only a tad warmer than the mountainside. The lit fires did little to dispel the cold air within those stone walls, and the floor and walls lay naked, without a blanket or rug in sight.

How on earth can they live here? Rebecca thought. Alone, cold, and old – sounds like the start of a really bad dating show.

As they stepped inside the entrance hall, shaking off snowflakes from their hair and shoulders, they were greeted by the dark cloaks of the Greybeards gathering sinisterly before them. She recognised Arngeir at the head, his hands hidden in the folds of his cloak and his long, white beard tied in a knot at the base of his neck.

"Greetings, Masters" Rebecca bowed in respect, gesturing for the others to do the same. "I have come to answer your summons."

Arngeir did not bow back. In fact, none of the Greybeards did. Instead, they, formed a tight circle around the visitors and glared rather menacingly.

"So. You claim the mantle of Dovahkiin, do you, warrior?" Arngeir asked, his voice rumbling like thunder. Rebecca nodded, her eyes shifting anxiously between each of the cloaked men.

"I do not know what bounty you had hoped to win by travelling this far on a falsehood, stranger," Arngeir sighed. "But believe me, this is an ill-informed con that you have orchestrated."

Rebecca's mouth dropped open. "I'm not lying!" she cried. The Greybeards stepped closer, their heads bent. The scrape of metal sounded as Felix drew his swords behind her.

"You bring violence and deceit to a place whose foundations were built in the name of peace and truth." Arngeir's blue eyes were icy now, a cold pit of fury that seemed to burn through Rebecca as she struggled to form an answer.

"But she is the Dragonborn!" Angmar protested, one hand on the hilt of his greatsword. Felix and T'ariq showed equal resistance.

"I've seen her take a dragon's soul!"

"This one is able to shout."

Arngeir raised a hand to silence them, and the Greybeards took another step, forcing the group against the door. "We must ask you to leave quietly, or else we will make you." he told them, placing his feet shoulder-width apart on the floor. The other masters of the voice copied him, lowering their hands to their sides as they prepared to shout.

But their stance only lit a lightbulb in Rebecca's mind. With a deep breath, she drew all the air and tension around them within her, concentrating all her energy on one sole focus.

"FUS!"

With a shout that ripped through the air like lightning, Rebecca copied their pose and released her Voice on Arngeir. The older man stumbled back a pace, his eyes wild with a combination of anger and bewilderment.

"This...how did you learn to do this?" he growled. Two of the monks ran back to help him up to his feet. Rebecca groaned in exasperation.

"I didn't learn!" she yelled, her temper getting the best of her. "I just knew it. We slayed  Mirmulnir down in Whiterun and I stole it's soul – that's when we heard the summons you sounded, and came running here!"

The Greybeards had gathered around Arngeir and were watching her closely beneath their hooded eyes. After a moment of silence they seemed to have made their decision and stepped back, allowing the warriors out of the draught blowing in from the door.

"Deepest apologies, Dragonborn," Arngeir and the others fell into a deep bow, returning their hands to the sleeves of their robes. When he stood again, the Voice of Voices' eyes were awash with a spark of deep concern. "Forgive us for not recognising your blood sooner."

Felix sheathed his swords and Angmar breathed an audible sigh of relief. Rebecca folded her arms. "Apology accepted." she mumbled.

"Under normal circumstances, we would have welcomed you humbly upon your arrival," Arngeir explained, his eyes flitting between the newcomers fearfully. "Were it not for the one who came before you."

Rebecca frowned. "Who came before us?"

Arngeir paused, not meeting her eyes. "The other Dragonborn."