Young Writers Society

Lydia huffed, swinging the heavy pack over her opposite shoulder as it began to slide off once more. "Sure you didn't pick up enough mead at Belethor's?" she murmured to the Dragonborn sarcastically.

Belethor's General Goods was one of several shops in the Plains District within the city of Whiterun, where they had recently stopped for a quick trade and bite to eat. Well, 'quick', as Dragonborn had put it. After eating at The Drunken Huntsman, he proceeded to drag his housecarl Lydia into the Bannered Mare. Wanted to hear some man with a lute or thing of the sort. That, of course, made that afternoon longer than Lydia had hoped.

Now on the stretch to evening, she trekked up the mountainside to High Hrothgar behind her thane and companion, the Dragonborn himself. The legendary Dovahkiin, born with the blood of the dragons of Akatosh. 

The savior of all the land Tamriel stretched over...

"Lydia! Hear that? Frost troll!"

Lydia lifted her head and furrowed her brow as she stopped with Dragonborn, who had clearly ignored her earlier comment. When she, too, heard the groaning of the troll in the distant blizzard, she wrinkled her nose. "I don't like the sound of that."

"Are you kidding? I want to see what kind of bone I can get out of that."

"Dragonborn! I can assure you it's in our best interest to keep going."

Too late. He was already drawing his hunting bow.

Lydia swallowed. She was sworn to fight by his side. Reluctantly, she unsheathed a simple iron sword. 

Dragonborn began sneaking up towards the creature hiding out between two walls of the icy rock, and his housecarl obediently followed. Nocking an arrow quietly, he knelt beside a particularly tall Standing Stone; he made a quick mental note to stop by that later and pick up its power.

Dragonborn began counting, his breath freezing in the air.

"Three...two..."

On his last count, he released.

The arrow pierced the white-haired beast in the back. Growling in rage, it turned to show its beady eyes and fangs.

And then it began to charge.

Lydia's eyes grew wide and she sipped in a cold breath. "Damn."

"Run," Dragonborn scrambled up.

The two began fleeing as the troll sprinted after them on all fours. Its paws beating against the snow-covered ground, its breathing huffed through its nostrils-- it was all drawing nearer.

Lydia turned her gaze briefly to the side where her thane ran with her; he was lighter on his feet even with his heavier armor. He didn't have all the weight of the packs she had to carry.

Even so, Lydia noticed that look in his eyes.

He was going to use his Thu'um. His Voice. The power of Shouts in the Dragon language to bring forth magic upon his own body.

Dragonborn opened his mouth and with great strength Shouted, "Wuld... nah kest!" Whirlwind Sprint.

He flew forward with a speed unmatched by any winged creature. By the time the power had worn off, Dragonborn was merely a speck in the distance to Lydia.

She cried out, now panicking. The troll was on her heels. She had no such power as her thane. 

"DRAGONBORN!" she screamed.

All she felt was the burning in her lungs and the cold biting harshly at her limbs and her face. 

And then...an incredible gust of wind coming past her.

And suddenly she was being carried.

The scene was a blur; Lydia gasped, clutching onto Dragonborn's neck. From behind her, she could barely make out the image of the frost troll lunging forward, his claw outstretched.

Judging by Dragonborn's scream, then, he had scraped a good gash in his back. But the destined one kept running. So quickly, in fact, Lydia had been sure he was using magic. She knew it wasn't possible, though, with so much effort on him and his new wound.

Leaving a trail of blood in their path, Dragonborn and his housecarl lost the creature's track gradually, finally collapsing under a stone-roofed shelter under a small peak.

Lydia rolled beside Dragonborn, panting. She couldn't imagine what he felt like.

Hastily, she dug into one of their packs for a potion. "I'm sorry," she breathed, clearing her throat in hopes to cover the emotion in her voice. 

"My fault," Dragonborn managed, wiping sweat-drenched hair from his forehead and limply reaching for a health potion. "I shouldn't...have run like that..."

Lydia assisted him in getting the red liquid down; it burned down his throat and made a warm feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

"No," she said surprisingly quietly. "Might as well use that power when you can. If you didn't have it, the world wouldn't think a thing of you."

Dragonborn mused, breathing a little laugh. "I suppose you're right."

Lydia stood, thinking about this. Had she offended him? She hoped not. Dragonborn was not easily offended. 

She looked out over the valleys and rivers below, then overhead at the path they had to follow. Just a short ways to High Hrothgar.

"Rest," she told Dragonborn, sitting by his side. "We're almost at the Throat of the World."