“Is it time to switch?” Finn asked, sheathing her sword and looking triumphantly down at the slain Sabre cat . Behind her, Ulfric nodded curtly, less than thrilled with the three heavy hatchlings perched on his shoulders and arms. Since the climb had begun, the two had traded off between fighting any threats and carrying the dragons. Finn had been the one to suggest it, naturally. As the Breton took her hatchlings back, beaming all the while, the Jarl shook his head yet again. This turn of events had yet to stop amazing him.
“I haven't made this climb in years,” he reminisced now as they set off again, the cold winds starting to batter them and hinting that they were getting closer to the top. “Decades, even. I imagine the Greybeards have hardly changed, no matter how long it's been. I wonder...” He trailed off, and Finn glanced up at him, though he had his back to her. From what she had heard, his training with the Greybeards hadn't ended on the friendliest of notes, and his voice had taken on a more nostalgic, even wistful tone. It wasn't like him. She frowned a little, watching for something that would give away his emotions for once, but he simply drew his blade again, his eyes on a pair of Frostbite spiders just ahead.
“Norok bormah,” one of the hatchlings remarked from atop Finn's head. The Breton had to pause again, the language still not entirely fluid in her mind.
“Geh, rinik krilot,” she eventually came up with. “Nuz voth pogaas rahgol--”
“You realize I know what you're saying, Finn,” Ulfric called over his shoulder, starting up the mountain once more. Finn smiled to herself, hurrying to catch up with him while balancing the dragons.
“I'm just entertaining them, you know,” she remarked. “I didn't see you talking to them when it was your turn.”
The Throat of the World was bitterly cold, and the winds were enough to stagger the little band of travelers. A quick Clear Skies shout fixed this right up, leaving Finn to take a better look around.
“Paarthurnax?” she called out, her gaze up at the sky. His perch was empty, and there was no responding roar... “...Damn it.” Of course. He had warned her that he'd be moving around a bit these days, and that he wouldn't be able to tell her when he would and wouldn't be at his regular spot atop the mountain. She hadn't considered that when the idea had come to her, naturally. Her feet quite literally throbbing with pain, she took a seat on a nearby rock, letting the hatchlings dart around on the ground as she let herself pout for a moment. For lack of a better idea, Ulfric took a seat beside her, watching her despair silently.
“...You're ridiculous,” he said bluntly. Finn nodded silently, watching the closest dragon emit a slight puff of frost from its throat before looking confusedly back up at her. “If you insist on keeping this up, I'll take you to the Greybeards.” He regretted it instantly-- the Greybeards would be less than pleased to see him after all this time-- but the Breton's face instantly lit up, and she unwittingly threw her arms around the Jarl of Windhelm and victor of Skyrim's civil war.
“You're nicer than you let on!” Finn said triumphantly, beaming. Of course, she did blush when she realized what she was doing, but simply pulled away and grinned nonchalantly, standing again and looking down at the dragons. “Tiid wah daal, dovahkiir!” As they started off again, Ulfric forced himself to stand once more, humming thoughtfully in response to their interaction.
She had an outstanding grasp on the language, he thought decisively.
"Something Like Parents" 3/?
“I haven't made this climb in years,” he reminisced now as they set off again, the cold winds starting to batter them and hinting that they were getting closer to the top. “Decades, even. I imagine the Greybeards have hardly changed, no matter how long it's been. I wonder...” He trailed off, and Finn glanced up at him, though he had his back to her. From what she had heard, his training with the Greybeards hadn't ended on the friendliest of notes, and his voice had taken on a more nostalgic, even wistful tone. It wasn't like him. She frowned a little, watching for something that would give away his emotions for once, but he simply drew his blade again, his eyes on a pair of Frostbite spiders just ahead.
“Norok bormah,” one of the hatchlings remarked from atop Finn's head. The Breton had to pause again, the language still not entirely fluid in her mind.
“Geh, rinik krilot,” she eventually came up with. “Nuz voth pogaas rahgol--”
“You realize I know what you're saying, Finn,” Ulfric called over his shoulder, starting up the mountain once more. Finn smiled to herself, hurrying to catch up with him while balancing the dragons.
“I'm just entertaining them, you know,” she remarked. “I didn't see you talking to them when it was your turn.”
The Throat of the World was bitterly cold, and the winds were enough to stagger the little band of travelers. A quick Clear Skies shout fixed this right up, leaving Finn to take a better look around.
“Paarthurnax?” she called out, her gaze up at the sky. His perch was empty, and there was no responding roar... “...Damn it.” Of course. He had warned her that he'd be moving around a bit these days, and that he wouldn't be able to tell her when he would and wouldn't be at his regular spot atop the mountain. She hadn't considered that when the idea had come to her, naturally. Her feet quite literally throbbing with pain, she took a seat on a nearby rock, letting the hatchlings dart around on the ground as she let herself pout for a moment. For lack of a better idea, Ulfric took a seat beside her, watching her despair silently.
“...You're ridiculous,” he said bluntly. Finn nodded silently, watching the closest dragon emit a slight puff of frost from its throat before looking confusedly back up at her. “If you insist on keeping this up, I'll take you to the Greybeards.” He regretted it instantly-- the Greybeards would be less than pleased to see him after all this time-- but the Breton's face instantly lit up, and she unwittingly threw her arms around the Jarl of Windhelm and victor of Skyrim's civil war.
“You're nicer than you let on!” Finn said triumphantly, beaming. Of course, she did blush when she realized what she was doing, but simply pulled away and grinned nonchalantly, standing again and looking down at the dragons. “Tiid wah daal, dovahkiir!” As they started off again, Ulfric forced himself to stand once more, humming thoughtfully in response to their interaction.
She had an outstanding grasp on the language, he thought decisively.