Return
She is hurt.
She painfully arches her head toward the soft winter sky, a weak smile dancing across her cheeks. The hushed wind is like a mother's soothing lullaby in her near-deaf ear, and the snow feels like a blanket of chilled relief.
She is back.
Her raw fingers twitch as she rakes them through the icy flurry she lies on top of, ensuring herself that she is indeed alive, indeed in her own flesh once again. A tear threatens to slide over the edge of her burning eye, as it has seen better days and so has she. The ash and fire have caused so much pain, so much destruction, and she wishes she could view that damage, but her eyes fail her so.
She is blind.
She hoarsely calls out for help, but her timid voice fails her, as it crawls into the back of her throat and disappears. She can faintly distinguish the roar of legends, the Thu'um, and glances as best as she can toward the sky to see winged shadows cascading through pure white. They all congratulate her, and give her their thanks for setting them free. But at what cost? She is here, on the ground, watching them in their bliss, when she herself has suffered. They caused all of this, why must she pay for it?
She is confused.
The old beast that allowed her to gain the knowledge of the past lands beside her, she can sense him through the blood that they share. He tells her she has done it, and that the one she was born to face is no more as of now, and that she can continue her life the way she wants it to be, in the shadows, in the light, destiny is a strange thing.
She is relieved.
Her consort that helped her in reaching the fabled land of her people is next to interlope, pledging his loyalty to her and acknowledging her power. He is sincere in his gratitude, and vows to always be at her side at only a holler away. She feels the gust of snow hit her face as the beast, Odahviing, takes to the sky, leaving her to lie in a burnt pile in the freezing tundra.
She is alone.
At that moment she wishes nothing more than for him to come to her side, to pick her up in his arms and kiss the pain, the tears, the sorrow of all her hardships away. She wants him to remind her of the reason to live, the whispers and moans that fill her with endless pleasure, the soft caresses that make her heart flutter, the eternal bond that makes all of this pain worth something.
She is crying.
The wet salty beads come rolling over the rim of her irises, seeming endless as she sobs and shakes. She can taste their sorrow on her tongue as she struggles to breathe; gasps and coughs escaping her ash-infused lungs. The damage is too heavy, she is burnt, she is bloody, and she is in this on her own. She thinks of everyone who would miss her, everyone who wouldn't mind if she was gone, and chokes on a few more tears as they continue to stream down her bruised cheeks. No longer will she see the towering hills of the Throat of the World, no longer will she be able to enter the beauty of the Blue Palace to heed her loyalty's call, no longer will she tiredly slump into bed at Breezehome only to be reprimanded by him for being out so late and finally winning him back by kissing his scowl away. She laughs as she views the thought, and a few more tears make their march down the side of her face as the darkness finds a new home in her vision and in her mind.
She is dying.
A thought on what would happen if the Dragonborn didn't survive the fight with Alduin when she returned from Sovngarde. The 'him' mentioned can be any of the male NPC's you want, although if you read my current story, you probably know who he is here.