The guards at Windhelm's gates knew Finn well by now. Since the end of the Civil War, she was practically idolized by the city, guards included, and her attempts to speak to them each time she passed won her some points as well. So when she headed up that day, an unusually large crate in her arms, she was greeted as usual.
“Welcome back, Thane Finn. That's quite the package you have there,” one guard observed, leaning back on the wall as the Breton smiled cheerfully at him.
“Well, you know. Spoils from fights and all. What'd I miss?”
“We had a brawl up at Candlehearth. Haven't seen one of those in a while,” the second guard chimed in, listening closely. He could have sworn he had just heard a distinctive thump from inside the crate, but it hadn't sounded again, and the Thane was suddenly speaking particularly loudly.
“No kidding! Anyway, I need to go see the Jarl, so I'll leave you to your duties. Have fun!”
Once she was through the gates, Finn felt the pressure in her chest lighten again, and sighed with relief. The dragons were getting restless. She was just surprised they hadn't burned a hole through the crate yet. Trying to ignore the curious looks from passersby, she hurried to the palace, hoping she hadn't come all this way just to find out he was on another one of his trips to Solitude.
Thankfully, Ulfric Stormcloak was on his throne and consulting his steward when she arrived, crate and all. His lips turned up in a rare smile at her disheveled state, and he rose, coming down to greet her.
“What brings you here, Thane Finn?” he asked, his focus more on the crate. Finn glanced over at the steward, then leaned forward a little.
“I need to talk to you in private,” she whispered. Ulfric nodded, an eyebrow raised, then turned back to the steward in question.
“If we receive visitors, tell them I will only be a moment. Hopefully.” As Jarl and Thane vanished into the privacy of his quarters, the Nord looked down at her, this time openly tapping on the crate. “What is this, Finn?”
“This is what I need to talk to you about. I found...something...while I was out today.” She placed the box on the floor of Ulfric's bedroom and proceeded to pry the lid open, revealing its live, squirming contents. For the first time since meeting him, she saw her Jarl's jaw drop.
“By the gods<\i>, Finn, you brought dragon hatchlings into Windhelm?!” The Breton raised a hand to quiet him, looking at him pleadingly.
“I'm sorry! But their mother was dead and I didn't know who to go to, and you know the language so I thought maybe--”
“Why me, then? You speak to the Greybeards! Why wouldn't you take them up there, instead?”
“I...actually didn't even think of that,” Finn admitted, blushing a little. “Okay, you got me. But please, no matter what I do, you need to help me!” Before she could resort to grovelling, the most social of the three babies climbed out of the crate, its eyes set firmly on Ulfric.
“Bormah!”
“I am nobody's bormah!” Ulfric complained, indignant. Finn stifled a giggle, tilting the crate so that the other two could climb out as well and approach the Nord. “Finn!”
“They like you,” she teased him lightly, sitting cross-legged to watch the interactions. “I couldn't help it. They're a bit...cute, aren't they?”
“'Cute'?” Ulfric echoed, amazed. “They're dragons.” As he continued to lecture her, Finn frowned, the idea suddenly hitting her full force.
“Dragons,” she repeated, nodding. “I need to take them to Paarthurnax.” The name surprised even Ulfric, who looked up at her in disbelief.
“You speak to--” he began, only to go silent. Of course she spoke to him. She was Dragonborn, after all. “Very well. Take them to the Throat of the World.” He had only just moved to stand when Finn leveled him with a hopeful look.
“Will you come with me, my Jarl?” she asked, knowing that the formality might just be enough to convince him. He scoffed, picking up a dragon gingerly and returning it to its box.
“You should know better than that, Finn,” he pointed out, catching onto her game immediately. “Still...yes, I will come with you.”
"Something Like Parents" 2/?
“Welcome back, Thane Finn. That's quite the package you have there,” one guard observed, leaning back on the wall as the Breton smiled cheerfully at him.
“Well, you know. Spoils from fights and all. What'd I miss?”
“We had a brawl up at Candlehearth. Haven't seen one of those in a while,” the second guard chimed in, listening closely. He could have sworn he had just heard a distinctive thump from inside the crate, but it hadn't sounded again, and the Thane was suddenly speaking particularly loudly.
“No kidding! Anyway, I need to go see the Jarl, so I'll leave you to your duties. Have fun!”
Once she was through the gates, Finn felt the pressure in her chest lighten again, and sighed with relief. The dragons were getting restless. She was just surprised they hadn't burned a hole through the crate yet. Trying to ignore the curious looks from passersby, she hurried to the palace, hoping she hadn't come all this way just to find out he was on another one of his trips to Solitude.
Thankfully, Ulfric Stormcloak was on his throne and consulting his steward when she arrived, crate and all. His lips turned up in a rare smile at her disheveled state, and he rose, coming down to greet her.
“What brings you here, Thane Finn?” he asked, his focus more on the crate. Finn glanced over at the steward, then leaned forward a little.
“I need to talk to you in private,” she whispered. Ulfric nodded, an eyebrow raised, then turned back to the steward in question.
“If we receive visitors, tell them I will only be a moment. Hopefully.” As Jarl and Thane vanished into the privacy of his quarters, the Nord looked down at her, this time openly tapping on the crate. “What is this, Finn?”
“This is what I need to talk to you about. I found...something...while I was out today.” She placed the box on the floor of Ulfric's bedroom and proceeded to pry the lid open, revealing its live, squirming contents. For the first time since meeting him, she saw her Jarl's jaw drop.
“By the gods<\i>, Finn, you brought dragon hatchlings into Windhelm?!” The Breton raised a hand to quiet him, looking at him pleadingly.
“I'm sorry! But their mother was dead and I didn't know who to go to, and you know the language so I thought maybe--”
“Why me, then? You speak to the Greybeards! Why wouldn't you take them up there, instead?”
“I...actually didn't even think of that,” Finn admitted, blushing a little. “Okay, you got me. But please, no matter what I do, you need to help me!” Before she could resort to grovelling, the most social of the three babies climbed out of the crate, its eyes set firmly on Ulfric.
“Bormah!”
“I am nobody's bormah!” Ulfric complained, indignant. Finn stifled a giggle, tilting the crate so that the other two could climb out as well and approach the Nord. “Finn!”
“They like you,” she teased him lightly, sitting cross-legged to watch the interactions. “I couldn't help it. They're a bit...cute, aren't they?”
“'Cute'?” Ulfric echoed, amazed. “They're dragons.” As he continued to lecture her, Finn frowned, the idea suddenly hitting her full force.
“Dragons,” she repeated, nodding. “I need to take them to Paarthurnax.” The name surprised even Ulfric, who looked up at her in disbelief.
“You speak to--” he began, only to go silent. Of course she spoke to him. She was Dragonborn, after all. “Very well. Take them to the Throat of the World.” He had only just moved to stand when Finn leveled him with a hopeful look.
“Will you come with me, my Jarl?” she asked, knowing that the formality might just be enough to convince him. He scoffed, picking up a dragon gingerly and returning it to its box.
“You should know better than that, Finn,” he pointed out, catching onto her game immediately. “Still...yes, I will come with you.”