She dreams of dragons roaring in the distance, wind whipping past her face as she sits on the back of a dragon with scales the color of fresh spilled blood, seeing the sun rise over tall, snow-capped mountain peaks.
She dreams of snow and hot blood hissing as drops fall to the ground. A sword rasping from its sheath.
Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin, naal ok zin los vahriin, wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal!
Ancient words, sung in a mead hall on a winter's night, a short stop on the long road to a temple high in the hills.
She dreams of a past not her own, she knows this. But as she wakes, the feel of a blade's hilt in her palms lingers and the memory of dragon-fire scorching the earth before her keeps her awake.
Dream-sight is what her mother had called it. "Azura has given you a gift, child," her mother had said, dark eyes gleaming in the firelight so long ago. "She must have done so for a reason. Don't question Her choice."
She rolls over with a quiet sigh, noting her husband is still asleep. He shifts though as she settles her head onto her pillow. He's always been a light sleeper.
She carefully stretches out a hand, tracing one high cheekbone. The dim light of the twin moons casts his face in shadows. Pale lips curve into a slight smile, eyes remaining closed.
"Do you have any idea what time of night it is?" he asks quietly, his voice thick with sleep.
"Of course, my dear husband," she says, moving closer and pressing a kiss to his cheek.
He sighs. "Cruel, cruel woman," he says as she curls next to him.
"You knew exactly what you were getting into when you married me," she says, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders.
He snorts. "Of course I did." His left arm snakes around her waist, a familiar, comforting weight.
"Now, go back to sleep," she says, grinning.
He chuckles softly.
"As you wish."