“FUS, RO-DAH!!” I Shouted, and had the satisfaction of watching Arngeir’s projection stumble and fade into nothing.
“Your Thu’um is powerful,” Arngeir said with satisfaction. “How did you come to an understanding of this Shout so quickly?”
“Any warrior would understand it,” I replied. “It’s the Way of Battle. Without it, you can not prevail.”
“Explain,” he commanded.
“When a warrior goes into battle, he must know with certainty that his cause is right and just, that his arm is powerful, and his foe is powerless before him, and wrong to stand in his way. Thus, he can strike hard and fast without fear or hesitation and sweep his enemies aside like dust. If he allows himself to imagine for even one moment that he might lose, he‘s as good as dead. When I swing my blade, whether it is an axe or a sword, I know on some level that my foe is also trying to kill me, but I hardly notice his efforts. These dragon words you have taught me, they translate most simply as Force, Balance, Push, but their true meaning encompasses everything I have just told you.”
Arngeir’s eyebrows arched, and he glanced at Borri, his fellow graybeard. Arngeir said, “I don’t imagine your orphan girl would describe it the same way, would she?” Borri made no sound, but I had the clear sense he was laughing.
“What are you talking about, Graybeard?” I asked.
He replied, “Your battle training was as a Prince of Skyrim, scion of a powerful house. It colors your understanding of Force-Balance-Push more than you realize. Most of the other Dovahkiins would not have described it that same way.”
“There are others?” I asked, surprised.
“No, there is only you.”
“You speak in riddles,” I complained.
“Before we heard your Shout, we had foreseen the coming of the Dovahkiin, but we didn’t know who it would be. You probably imagine that only a prince of Skyrim could fulfill this prophecy, but in our meditations, we had seen many thousands of different Dovahkiins. For instance, Borri saw the coming of a young orphan girl, an orc raised by humans. To her, battle was a puzzle to be solved, and Force-Balance-Push was just one of many pieces. I myself saw the coming of a giant Khajit bounty hunter, for whom war was only business, and Force-Balance-Push was a hilarious joke, a raspberry at his enemies, if you will. Einarth foresaw the coming of a Bosmer thief and werewolf, who would not only save the world, but also lead the Companions to great Honor and the Thieves Guild to power. Her favorite Shout was not Force-Balance-Push, but rather Fire Breath, though she’d never have admitted it.”
“A werewolf Dovahkiin?” I asked in amazement.
Arngeir nodded. “We’ve even seen the coming of a Dovahkiin corrupted beyond sense and sanity by daedric influence. That was a dark vision.”
But I was still interested in the werewolf Dovahkiin. “Tell me more of this Bosmer werewolf girl who leads the Companions to honor.”
Argeir shrugged. “Their stories are only dreams now. Once every potential Dovahkiin existed at once. Now that we have heard your Thu’um, you are the only one, and the others will go on with their lives, happily or tragically ignorant of what they might have been.”
I pondered what he had said, and suddenly guffawed. “I think there is a reason this Fate came to me and not to these others, and the reason is because none of them understood the Way of Battle, the way of Force-Balance-Push. I must thank you for your training. I had lost my Way, and you have helped me find it again.”
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