I stayed the night in Solitude, knowing it would be foolish to ride so late into the night. With the Thalmor continuing to patrol the roads and inflict punishment on whoever they saw fit, it was even more unsafe to travel than it had been in the war.

So there I was, in the Winking Skeever, holed up for the night. Sitting in my rented room, I scratched the white quill over the piece of paper, lost in the sound of merriment in the room below.

"My love,
No doubt you heard it: the Call of the Greybeards. You know I must answer it; I have no other choice. I know you must have questions. Why they're summoning me, what's going on, and I'm afraid I don't have any answers. What I know is their call is not one I can ignore. By the time this letter reaches you, I will probably be on my way home. Just know that I'll be delayed, but I'll also be all right. You've nothing to fear, Vilkas. I'll be home before long.
Give my love to the children. I miss all of you terribly.
Lovingly yours,
Ylva"

I set the quill back in the inkwell, rubbing out my cramping hand. I was used to sword fights and brawls, but dainty letter writing.

"Listen to yourself," I murmured. "You sound like Farkas."

I chuckled a little, folded the now-dry letter, then carried it to the courier waiting downstairs. I paid him twenty septims and asked him to deliver it as fast as he could. He nodded and left the inn.

The next morning, I set out early. There was no point in tarrying long; the Greybeards had been patient with me for long enough. I needed to get to High Hrothgar before they lost their patience.

Even from this distance, I could see the Throat of the World towering above the rest of the mountains. If I strained my eyes, I convinced myself that I could see Parthurnaax or Odahviing circling over the mountaintop. In truth, there was no way I could see my scaly brethren from this distance.

As I rode, I contemplated paying the dragons a visit after I left High Hrothgar. It had been too long since I had taken counsel with Parthurnaax, and perhaps he could give me advice on the next part of my plan.

I need to make time to see them. They're my friends, and I haven't spoken to them in forever.

-------

It was a long ride from Solitude to Ivarstead, longer than the ride from Whiterun to Solitude. The soreness I had in my legs before was nothing compared to this. And my journey was still not done.

I patted Kes on the neck as we began our climb. I let him slow to an easy walk as we navigated the broken steps leading up the mountainside. I stayed on high-alert as Kes clip-clopped over the snow-dusted stone. The mountain was home to plenty of dangerous creatures, and I was in no mood to be attacked by a bear or troll.

A few hours of slow riding later, I tethered Keskivö to a nearby crumbling stone statue, and walked up the slippery stairs leading to the monastery.

The interior was just as dim and cold as I remembered, with no signs of life aside from a few tattered banners hanging from the ceiling, and torches burning in the sconces. The main difference was that everything looked older. I had not been here in over eight years.

Maybe things do change around here.

Faint, padding footsteps turned my attention to my left, where the Master Greybeard Arngeir was striding into the room. He, just like the monastery, showed the past eight years. His face was more wrinkled, his robes dustier, and beard whiter. Yet, his eyes were the same. Always so bright, even at his age. So wise.

I faced him and bowed low, my hair falling over my shoulders and nearly touching the floor. "Master."

"Rise, Dragonborn," said Master Arngeir in his soft, raspy voice. "Welcome back to High Hrothgar."

"Thank you, Master." I stood up and brushed my hair behind my ears. "I'm here to answer your summons. Has something happened?"

His weathered face turned hard. He almost looked... angry. "Something has happened, yes. You have strayed from the Way of the Voice."

My brow furrowed. That was why they called me? But why would they do that? "I'm sorry, but I don't understand."

"Do you think your actions go unnoticed? We know of your attempts to start a war. We know you have rescued Ulfric from his isolation, and we know you have requested the Imperial Legate in Solitude lend her forces to your cause."

"Master, I just—"

"I was not finished. You intend on stirring up trouble. That is not the way of the Dragonborn."

"I don't care." I strode closer to him, fighting to keep the scowl off my face. "I do not answer to you, Master. I answer only to the gods, and they have said that it is my place to save Skyrim once again."

"How have you communed with the gods?"

"You'd be surprised at what you can do when you're dead."

Under his hood, Arngeir's brow knitted together, doubling the number of wrinkles already on his sagging forehead.

"That is a story for another time, I think. For now, know that I am following the predestined path laid before me. I must do this."

His expression softened, growing amused, but it was only for a moment. "You once said you didn't believe in destiny, Dragonborn. You once said you wanted no part in your dragon blood or your role as this world's savior."

"And I have matured since then. I was only twenty winters old when I first came to you. I was young and scared. But my training and your guidance made me stronger, made me wiser. I believe that I know my role by now."

"Perhaps, but do you think that war is the only answer? Don't you think you can try to have a peaceful negotiation with these elves?"

"Peace has never been an option."

"Remember that the elves are also children of the gods. They are creations, as you and I are, and not monsters."

"That's where you're wrong. They are monsters. They're killing families."

"And you will not? Do you think you can go through this war without spilling any blood?"

"I am not going to kill mothers and children. I won't. They took my parents from me, and they will kill my children if they can get their hands on them. I won't allow that, Master."

He sighed. "I see that you will not be swayed. If you are determined to fight the Altmer, then we cannot stop you." His gaze grew weary. "But as long as you are fighting in this war, no help will come from us."

"Master—"

"You have overstayed your welcome, Dovahkiin. You and your violent ways are not wanted in our monastery."

I forced my expression to remain blank, but I was internally seething. I was no longer welcome here? Arngeir was forcing me to leave?

"Master Arngeir, I did not come here to cause trouble. I came because I was summoned. Why did you call me if you were just going to expel me from the monastery?"

"I had hope that you could be persuaded, that you would have the wisdom to listen to my counsel, but you are like all Nords: stubborn and battle-hungry. As long as your dragon spirit craves war, you will remain unwelcome here."

I clenched my teeth. I had an overwhelming urge to Shout, to show Arngeir just how strong my Thu'um had become in my time below. But doing so would only result in more conflict.

"If I am no longer welcome here, then I will leave." I crossed my arms. "But I desire to seek Parthurnaax's counsel before I return home."

"So be it, Dragonborn." His gaze was cold. It was as if this man was no longer Arngeir, but a different and overtly hostile foe.

Without another word, I offered a shallow bow and headed for the doors leading to the courtyard. As I stamped out, I noticed the other Greybeards approaching me. I shrugged their looks off and shoved the doors open.

"You and your violent ways are not wanted in our monastery. You are like all Nords: stubborn and battle-hungry. You will remain unwelcome here." Those words tumbled in my head as I pushed my way through the snow drifts outside. I had let my temper get away with me, and I should have handled that like a woman. Like the savior or the world, and not the immature girl who first set foot in the monastery. I should have been mature and patient, not angry.

But it's done. There's nothing I can do to change it now.