Disclaimer: I don't own Elder Scrolls.

This is set before the events of Helgen.

Visiting High Hrothgar

It was during one of Arngeir's weekly visits with Paarthurnax that the ancient dragon looked over the edge of the Throat of the World and hummed. At Arngeir's inquisitve look, he offered an amused smile. "I believe the Greybeards will be havjng company soon."

"What?" Arngeir scoffed. "No one climbs the seven thousand steps these days except the young man who delivers our supplies. None of Skyrim, or even the Empire, is interested in learning the Way of the Voice anymore."

Paarthurnax hummed again, still distractedly looking over the south-western edge of the mountain at something only his draconic eyesight could see.

Arngeir let the dragons remark slip from his mind almost immediately after he let the path to Paarthurnax's Wall close behind him again, secure in his thoughts. After all, even if someone did climb the seven thousand steps, the doors were locked and he wouldn't open them unless the person sincerely wanted to learn the Way of the Voice.

So it was to his great surprise a few days later, during his early morning prayers and ponderings on the language of the dragons, that the heavy copper doors to the courtyard swung open to admit a figure clad in dark red leather and a short hooded cape trimmed in fur. As the doors shut behind the figure with an echoing thud, the figure shook back their hood, revealing a strong feminine face with short platinum blonde hair swept messily back from her face.

"Hello!" She almost chirped at Arngeir. He stared at her in surprise before rising to greet her.

"Welcome. If I may ask, how did you get in here?" He asked her. She flashed him a grin, blue eyes unlike anything Arngeir had seen since he was a young boy shining in the candlelight with exhileration set above high cheekbones that were flushed pink from the cold wind outside.

"I climbed. Your front doors are all very imposing, but they don't really work if people come from above and slip over the wall." She chattered. "Actually, I would have gone higher but there's this wicked blizzard going on just above your courtyard that would have torn my wings off, so I figured-"

"I'm sorry, did you just say wings?" Arngeir interrupted her babbling. She blinked in surprise.

"What? No, I said arms. Why would I say wings? I'm no dragon or anything." She peered at him. "Are you alright? Maybe the cold, or the isolation, or even just your old age is finally catching up to you. You know, this is a horrible place to retire to. You should go somewhere warmer, like Markarth or Whiterun or Falkreath. Actually, go to Falkreath! They have a really nice lake with some sunken ruins where the slaughterfish live and people are always leaving stuff there-"

"That's very nice," Arngeir interrupted her again. He had a feeling that if left to her own devices, she'd prattle on for hours. "But you still haven't told me exactly how you got here."

"Oh. Well, I was wandering around Falkreath, exploring the lands between my house and Riverwood - I do that, you know? - when I overheard someone say that the Throat of the World is the tallest mountain in all of Tamriel! So of course I just Had to climb it." She rattled off. "It took me a while - some of those faces are pretty sheer after all - but after the ice troll it was easy pickings to find a way up. You've got this really nice shelf that takes a bit of jumping to reach but the snow there's really soft and it brings you right over you're nice big wall."

"Let me get this straight." Arngeir rubbed the bridge of his nose in an attempt to stave of the headache that was slowly building. "You heard that this mountain was the tallest in the world, so you climbed it. Why?"

"I like heights."

"Right. And instead of climbing the seven thousand steps like a normal person, you chose to literally climb it, sheer rock faces and slippery ice and all."

"Paths are for pussies. But not Khajiit. Khajiit are awesome. Especially M'aiq." She shrugged.

"And you fought and presumably killed an ice troll by yourself."

"Yep!" She beamed at him. "My parents have been teaching me how to look after myself since I tried to pet a wolf at the age of four!"

Arngeir groaned. "You know what? Welcome to High Hrothgar. Please respect our solitude while you're here, and you'll have to leave the way you came in. I don't want to disturb the other Greybeards by opening the front door for you."

"You mean you want me to climb down the mountain the way I came up? No problem!" She chirped. He resolutely turned back to his prayers and ignored her, and she disappeared from his sight soon after.

Later that day, after she had exited into the courtyard again and presumably started her climb down the mountain side, one of the other Greybeards showed Arngeir the potted plants which were all missing their flowers. Another showed him the side rooms, which were missing the potions kept there in case of frostbite or injuries from the snow and each other. A third brought him a note found in the dining hall which sent chills down his spine. The message was innocent enough - it merely said 'Nice table'. However, it was written in perfect Dov.

He went to visit Paarthurnax after that. The ancient dragon looked at the letter, looked at Arngeir, looked over the edge of the mountain where presumably he could see the impertinent girl making her way down, and hummed. Arngeir almost tore his hair out in frustration at the nonchalance the Dragon was showing.

"Don't fret over it, Arngeir." Paarthurnax assured him. "Did you get her name?"

Arngeir felt like a foolish young man trying to learn his first Word again. "Uh...no." He admitted. "I was trying to get her to leave before she disturbed our way of life or talked us to death. Or herself to death."

"Did you at least find out where she's from?"

"She said something about a house in Falkreath?" Arngeir offered. Paarthurnax smiled indulgently, as much as dragons can smile.

"Send her a letter and ask for the items back."

That was all the advice the ancient dragon gave Arngeir on the matter, so he did just that. Later, when the young man who brought the Greybeards their supplies for month arrived, Arngeir gave him the letter. The young man was dubious as to whether the letter would reach her, and Arngeir had to admit he may be right. After all, Arngeir only had a description of her to go off - young female adventurer who likes heights - and there were sure to be plenty of those around the Hold.

The next month, a package arrived wrapped in a familiar fur cape with the rest of the supplies, much to Arngeir's surprise. Carefully wrapped in the soft fox fur and tied in seperate bundles with twine were fresh cuts of lavender, dragons tongue and tundra cotton. There were also three jars of snowberries, jazbay grapes and juniper berries and a handfull of potions. Not only did she return the potions she had taken, she had also sent a few cure disease, resist frost and minor healing potions.

At the very bottom of the package was a note once again written in perfect Dov. 'Thanks for letting me visit!'

AN: This is a chapter in a minor story I was thinking about, based on my own game. Only this is set before the events of Helgen, not after. I actually climbed the mountain from just above the Falkreath Stormcloak Camp and came up along a shelf of snow that brought me right over the walls of High Hrothgar.

The name of the story is the name of the dragonborn - or at least, the name she goes by. It means Little Fire Maiden in Dov.