Eventually the quiet of the domestic life simply grew too old for the Dovahkiin and at last she decided to really set out again. The first person… well, not person, dragon morelike that she visited was Paarthurnax. With the marked decrease in dragon attacks, she found herself missing the presence of other Dov.
It seemed ridiculous, being that she wasn’t even a real dragon, and she’d killed plenty in her time, but there it was. The Greybeards were old and stuck in their ways, and put simply none of the lot were real good conversation. Paarthurnax tended to drag, but at least he usually was pleased to see her. And far more serene than herself, it would seem.
The old Dove was perched as always at the Throat of the World, lingering on the ragged word wall that squatted forlornly at the top. She’d had little trouble with the wolves on the way up, but it’d been nice to wet her blade again. She cleared her throat to make sure she was announced and Paarthurnax turned to acknowledge her arrival.
“Greetings Dovahkiin. What brings you back to visit an Old Dov? From what I recall our early meetings you seemed quite…Aam… impatient with our speaking.”
Color lit the human’s cheeks as she looked off a bit at the faded writing on the wall he stood on. “I─I was hardly that impatient. But yes, I suppose I was a bit hot tempered then. Saving the world, fulfilling destiny, all that.”
“Mmmmm…” the ancient dragon’s head canted to the side, one large eye quite plainly perusing her shifting form. It made the weary Dovahkiin increasingly self-conscious, and she brushed at some of the snow gathering on her armor, wondering if she was looking off or something. That was the one downside of hanging out with being older than most conceivable time, that looming weight of ages that seemed to make their thought processes utterly incomprehensible. “And still are I see. Does peace not suit you, Dovahkiin? You have experienced…Krongrah… Your great victory, and yet you seem so… Restless.”
This was not something that expected from Paarthurnax, and she was almost frustrated, angry because he was so damned perceptive. The Dragonborn didn’t want to admit it, because damn it, it felt stupid. She should be feeling triumphant, accomplished and ready to retire to the life of a legend. Instead she felt discontent, unfinished, and defeating Alduin had not soothed the feeling.
Crossing her arms she sighed, finally just sitting down on a rock and letting her head fall back against the wall. “Am I ridiculous? I mean by the Nine, I’ve done everything that fate has dictated, but I can’t help but think this can’t be end. Maybe I’m just a glory hound…”
Hot air blew over her face, ruffling her hair and her nose winkled as the scent of a previously devoured meal came with it. Paarthurnax had scoffed, the old Dovah rustling on his perch, “Do not doubt yourself, Dovahkiin. You are right to feel so discontent. I have a feeling that…Dez… fate has much more in store for you. Though perhaps the weight of ages does not weigh so heavy on your bones, you would think that by now you’d see that… Unslaad…there are no true endings. You are not done yet, Dovahkiin. I predict that there is much still in store for you, do not fret.”
Somehow the old Dovah’s words actually gave her more peace than all the hot meals and quiet days ever had. A tension she hadn’t even fully understood that had been building in her, like steady suffocation seemed to ease, and the Dragonborn let loose one shaky human breath and closed her eyes in quiet pleasure. So she wasn’t simply going insane, or senile in her middle age.
She had no idea how much tension she’d been carrying, but somehow on that stiff rock with her head against the crumbling wall that Paarthurnax favored so much she fell asleep beneath the shelter of old wings. She awoke warm, but her back stiff from her awkward curl on the rough stone.
The Dovahkiin groaned, her gaze rolling up with some surprise to see the great looming form of the old Dovah above her, his breath keeping her warm and wings blocking out the harsh Skyrim wind.
F!DB/Human!Alduin, "There Are No Endings" (2/?)
It seemed ridiculous, being that she wasn’t even a real dragon, and she’d killed plenty in her time, but there it was. The Greybeards were old and stuck in their ways, and put simply none of the lot were real good conversation. Paarthurnax tended to drag, but at least he usually was pleased to see her. And far more serene than herself, it would seem.
The old Dove was perched as always at the Throat of the World, lingering on the ragged word wall that squatted forlornly at the top. She’d had little trouble with the wolves on the way up, but it’d been nice to wet her blade again. She cleared her throat to make sure she was announced and Paarthurnax turned to acknowledge her arrival.
“Greetings Dovahkiin. What brings you back to visit an Old Dov? From what I recall our early meetings you seemed quite…Aam… impatient with our speaking.”
Color lit the human’s cheeks as she looked off a bit at the faded writing on the wall he stood on. “I─I was hardly that impatient. But yes, I suppose I was a bit hot tempered then. Saving the world, fulfilling destiny, all that.”
“Mmmmm…” the ancient dragon’s head canted to the side, one large eye quite plainly perusing her shifting form. It made the weary Dovahkiin increasingly self-conscious, and she brushed at some of the snow gathering on her armor, wondering if she was looking off or something. That was the one downside of hanging out with being older than most conceivable time, that looming weight of ages that seemed to make their thought processes utterly incomprehensible. “And still are I see. Does peace not suit you, Dovahkiin? You have experienced…Krongrah… Your great victory, and yet you seem so… Restless.”
This was not something that expected from Paarthurnax, and she was almost frustrated, angry because he was so damned perceptive. The Dragonborn didn’t want to admit it, because damn it, it felt stupid. She should be feeling triumphant, accomplished and ready to retire to the life of a legend. Instead she felt discontent, unfinished, and defeating Alduin had not soothed the feeling.
Crossing her arms she sighed, finally just sitting down on a rock and letting her head fall back against the wall. “Am I ridiculous? I mean by the Nine, I’ve done everything that fate has dictated, but I can’t help but think this can’t be end. Maybe I’m just a glory hound…”
Hot air blew over her face, ruffling her hair and her nose winkled as the scent of a previously devoured meal came with it. Paarthurnax had scoffed, the old Dovah rustling on his perch, “Do not doubt yourself, Dovahkiin. You are right to feel so discontent. I have a feeling that…Dez… fate has much more in store for you. Though perhaps the weight of ages does not weigh so heavy on your bones, you would think that by now you’d see that… Unslaad…there are no true endings. You are not done yet, Dovahkiin. I predict that there is much still in store for you, do not fret.”
Somehow the old Dovah’s words actually gave her more peace than all the hot meals and quiet days ever had. A tension she hadn’t even fully understood that had been building in her, like steady suffocation seemed to ease, and the Dragonborn let loose one shaky human breath and closed her eyes in quiet pleasure. So she wasn’t simply going insane, or senile in her middle age.
She had no idea how much tension she’d been carrying, but somehow on that stiff rock with her head against the crumbling wall that Paarthurnax favored so much she fell asleep beneath the shelter of old wings. She awoke warm, but her back stiff from her awkward curl on the rough stone.
The Dovahkiin groaned, her gaze rolling up with some surprise to see the great looming form of the old Dovah above her, his breath keeping her warm and wings blocking out the harsh Skyrim wind.