The Girl with the Voice - Onmund

By the nine…seven thousand steps…

No one lied when they described the journey to High Hrothgar. Onmund wasn't quite sure how he had gotten himself involved in this journey. But he suspected that she'd have gone alone had he not accompanied her.

Curse this hard-headed Breton!

Marieka had found herself in trouble no matter where she turned. But he'd have followed her to the ends of the nine holds and beyond. When they'd first met at the College of Winterhold, she took an almost abnormal interest in her fellow apprentices, including Onmund. He'd not met many Bretons in his travels. She certainly was his complete opposite in so many ways…Nords didn't normally embrace the use of magic, but Bretons did. And she undoubtedly had the natural affinity for the arcane that her people possessed. His blood made him stronger…taller than her – he towered over her. Gods…most Nord women towered over her. As well as Orcs, Khajiit, Argonians, Redguards and most elves. She was…tiny. Yet her slight stature did not stop her from…well, most anything. He had been too nervous to even confront Enthir to give him back the amulet that belonged to his family, after he'd stupidly sold it to him. Gods only know what she had to do to please the damned Bosmer enough to convince him to give that amulet back. Onmund never asked her…he didn't really want to know. Yet she'd done it…she'd retrieved the amulet and given it back to him without hesistation…without question. Of course he'd follow her when she needed. She'd never had to even ask.

Still, he knew she most definitely would have gone to High Hrothgar alone. Why would she have done otherwise? You don't refuse the Greybeards when they call you. You don't refuse the Greybeards when you are told that you are the only Dovahkiin to be born in centuries.

You just don't.

He thought back to the day the dragon had been slain in the outskirts of Whiterun. There they were, minding their own business…about to leave Dragonsreach to head back to the College when…

Now, how did that go again?

Onmund thought back to the beginning. In one of her journeys, she'd told him that she 'ran into' Balgruuf. He didn't know how one simply runs into the Jarl of Whiterun, but this was Marieka he was thinking about – she had this odd way of running into people that could get her places. He had discovered that she was studying at the College and since everyone seemed to believe that mages should stick together, insisted that she speak to his court's Wizard, Farengar. It would seem that the man was having some trouble locating a stone of some kind. Without hesitation, she left Whiterun on her own to find the stone. It ended up being a map of some kind – she didn't know, or she didn't say. And he wasn't about to ask.

But she had returned home to the College – with the stone. She'd been so proud that she found it on her own. Onmund felt a twinge deep inside of himself when he discovered she'd put herself into danger by travelling alone like she had been. He told her that she'd not be left alone again…that he'd go with her when she returned to the Wizard to deliver the stone. She laughed at him. Said she didn't need protection. Yet she accepted his offer anyway. Perhaps the promise of companionship was more needed than protection anyway.

They returned to the Jarl's home…Dragonsreach. Onmund had never been to Whiterun, but it was a beautiful city. Some internal squabbling between clans, but then, what Nord city didn't have a little conflict? Farengar had been given his stone, which he excitedly referred to as the Dragonstone.

Dragons…everywhere. If Onmund had not heard the word dragon again, it would have been too soon.

But of course, the Dunmer had entered the room and made it too soon. Far too soon…

A dragon had attacked the Western Watchtower. Irileth, the Jarl's housecarl, asked them…well, asked her to come with her to hunt the beast. Marieka replied with no words…only action. There was a fire stirred within her that was barely perceptible to those who didn't know to see it…yet Onmund saw. He knew. Something big was on the horizon. Something bigger than the dragon that they were about to hunt.

When the dragon lay dead next to the tower, Irileth watched as Marieka stood alongside it…as something…something…flowed from the dragon and into her. Its essence? Its soul? The guards watched in awe…some of them spoke the word…

Dragonborn…

Marieka didn't know what to think. She ignored the cries from the soldiers that stood round her. She pushed through the group and Onmund hurried after her.

"I can't be… How could I be…? Onmund, let's just go back to the College. Get away from all of this," she pleaded with him and he'd obliged. They hurried on and as they neared the gates of the city – the gates that the pair were about to avoid – the world shook.

A rumble…a collective voice…beckoning…calling…

The look of fear – pure, untainted fear – crossed her face. Onmund took her hand and their eyes met. Before either could say a word in response, Irileth approached them from behind.

"You do not think you will be leaving before speaking to the Jarl, do you?" she asked. Though it was not a question, so much as a command.

Marieka resigned herself to go with the elf, and Onmund walked at her side. He heard her mumbling to herself…over and over… "I'm not Dragonborn. I'm not Dragonborn. I'm not Dragonborn."

The Jarl told her immediately that she must be Dragonborn, for the Greybeards summoned her. He told her she must go…seek them out at High Hrothgar. There was no choice in the matter.

And she agreed. At least topically.

For when she left Dragonsreach…when she left Whiterun, and she was left alone with only Onmund at her side, she collapsed to her knees and wept.

"I don't want this, Onmund!" she cried out. "I can't…I can't do this!"

His face fell. How to comfort her…how to reassure her that things would be okay…?

He knelt down in front of her…took her hands away from her face. She looked terrified as the tears poured from her eyes. For the first time in the time he'd known her, she was broken. She was vulnerable, and he didn't know how to handle it.

"It'll be okay, Marieka," he said without thinking. "You…whatever happens…you will handle it. And I'll be here to help."

She looked up at him. "I can't ask you to be here through this. This isn't for you to bear."

"Come here," he said, wrapping his arms around her tightly. "It doesn't matter. I want to help. You can do this alone…I have no fear of that. But you shouldn't have to."

Her arms found their way around his back and she gripped his robes in her fists. He could feel her shake – afraid to accept his offer, but not certain she could go on without him by her side.

So what else could she do but accept his help?

When she finally loosened her grip on him, he stood up and offered her a hand up. She took it and he helped her get to her feet.

"Are you sure, Onmund? This journey…I don't think…it's not going to be easy," she said quietly.

"Of course I'm sure," he replied. "I will be there by your side the entire way." He reached out to wipe the tears from her cheeks and her mouth turned up slightly at the corners.

"Thank you," she said.

Onmund stopped for a moment on their journey towards the peak of the Throat of the World. Between her breakdown to this point, she had gained back all of her confidence…felt more positive about her potential role as Dragonborn. And when they reached the peak, the Greybeards would confirm it.

"Onmund?"

He looked up the path at her as she stood in the blowing wind and snow.

"Why have you stopped?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No reason. Just thinking…"

She smiled at him. "We're almost there."

He looked ahead and could see the monastery was now in sight. "Why, we must be near step six thousand, nine hundred!"

"I reckon you're correct, my friend," she replied.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I think so," she replied. Her voice wavered a little. The uncertainty surprised even her for a moment. She reached her hand out to him, and he responded by closing the gap between them and taking it.

"Now I'm ready," she said.

The two continued towards the monastery, hand-in-hand. If she was to be the Dragonborn, he could at least be there to support her. When they reached the grand doors of the home of the Greybeards, they exchanged a nervous glance with each other.

"You can do this," he said.

"With you here, Onmund, I believe it."