The cold lingered on the ferocious wind, caressing the land with ice. Trees bent against its force, bowing in deference to the majesty of the storm. Not for a hundred years had Skyrim seen devastation like this. It raced across the sky, tearing it asunder with thunder and lightening.
High above the tempest, perched upon the throat of the world, a cabin shuddered against the wind. The timber walls struggled to stay together and a thin trail of smoke drifted from the chimney, only to be ripped into oblivion.
Inside the cabin and huddled under many furs and blankets, lay a man, his face shrunken and pale. He shivered with each gust of wind, the fire guttering as it consumed the last of the wood he'd gathered the day before. He didn't have the strength to face the storm for more and knew he wouldn't make it through the night without it.
He closed his eyes and shivered in time with the walls. Each tremor caused his weary bones to ache and fire to race through his veins. The fever had been raging for as many days as the squall outside, weakening the old man.
Long gone were the days of his glory, the days of dragon riding, adventuring and heroism. Those golden days seemed blurry to his old mind now, once bright and full of life, now dull and misted, slowly forgotten.
Once he could have broken a storm like this with ease, just a few words torn from his throat and strengthened by the dragon blood within him. Once, a storm like this would have meant nothing to the Dragonborn ... but now ... now he had not the strength to stand, let alone use the power that dwindled within him.
Sadness trickled through his mind, an old song ever familiar. He had lost much in his long life. His wife and children long dead, his hounds and horse buried in the mountains. Even the old Greybeards stopped visiting him now a new dragonborn had entered the world.
Not that she was needed. Long had peace reigned in Skyrim thanks to him. Wars had been calmed, the dragons befriended, the blades returned to their old glory; though with new laws regarding dragons. He was naught but a long forgotten relic, hidden away on the highest mountain he could find, escaping the memories of his past, trying to forget the blood and gore of the war between mankind and the dragons.
No, there was no room in this world for the old Dovahkiin.
"Now I wait to die," he said out loud. His voice cracked with misuse and the simple act of speaking caused him to cough and shake as his lungs burned. When blood coated his dry lips, he knew he wouldn't last the night. Sorrow once again tightened its cold grip on his heart. To die alone … after all he had done for the world.
'Tis folly of my own that caused this. I left their world ... it's right I depart it alone.
Outside, a new sound broke the constant howl of the wind. "Lok Vah Koor!"
The storm stopped in it's tracks, like a beast scenting a hunter. Wind died mid scream and the clouds parted to reveal the beauty of the night's sky. Through his window, the dragonborn watched as a distant shadow flew past the moon.
Paarthurnax ….
The old man raised his head, fighting his aching bones. To see the clear sky for the last time ... his old friend had returned to give him this last gift.
As he watched the ancient dragon fly closer, he smiled. "My old friend," he whispered. Coughing, he dragged himself out of bed, drawing upon his last reserves of strength. He would not greet the ruler of dragons lying upon his death bed.
By the time Paarthurnax had landed, his tattered wings folded to his sides, the dragonborn was stood in the stone circle, furs upon his shoulders and cane in hand.
"Drem Yol Lok," the dragon said, bowing his huge head. "You look tired, my old friend." Eyes that held a millenia of memories studied the frail old man in front of him and pity soon took over their depth. "Time has been unkind."
The dragonborn moved closer, his shuffling steps halted and unsteady. Despite the cold, sweat trickled over his papery skin. "You have been gone for many years, my friend." He coughed and blood stained the snow.
Paarthurnax let his tongue flick out, tasting the air and the sickness that riddled his friends body. "I have returned once more to this land, to take you home to Sovngarde" he said, his deep voice rumbling across the sky. "Ahkrin, courage, Dovahkiin, for this flight will be your last."
Joy filled the old man's heart and his shoulders straightened. "You honor me," he said, his voice weighted with tears.
Paarthurnax moved closer and lay his great head down onto the snow. He stayed still as his friend slowly climbed into the juncture between his wings. The graybeards had fitted him with a saddle, and once he knew the dragonborn was safely settled in, he stretched out his wings and took flight, letting the soft breeze carry them over the land below.
The frail old man in the saddle wiped tears from his tired eyes and gazed out at the view before him.
Wisps of clouds parted for them and below, the world lay glittering in the bright sunlight. Streams flowed into rivers, weaving their way through mountain and town alike, unbowing to the machinations of man.
As the rivers shimmered, the shadows of the mountains stood still, dark against the light. Ranges spanned as far as the eye could see, tipped with ice and snow and girdled in forests so vast, legions could lose themselves in the green mazes.
Every now and again, villages made up of no more than a few houses popped up, all close to the roads leading to the great holds that their lords ruled from. The holds themselves were vast, ever changing and growing; thanks to the peace the dragonborn had fought so hard for.
Taking it all in, the dragonborn felt a mixture of pride and humbleness. This world was truly a wonder. "Dahmaan," he said, raising his voice so the dragon could hear him.
"Yes, it is beautiful," the dragon agreed, wings beating strongly against the wind. "Look, Dovahkiin, our kin come!"
Looking around, the dragonborn gasped. Hundreds of dragons had taken wing and circled above and below, all honoring him with their roars. He had freed them all from Alduin and in return they flew beside him. Though he didn't have wings, they took him as their own, protecting him now he couldn't protect himself.
They swept over the mountains, holds, rivers and great forests, watching as the people he'd fought to protect pointed up in awe. Never before had so many dragons been seen at once. All bowed or kneeled at the sight, waving and cheering.
Raising his arm, the dragonborn bid them farewell. He knew he would never again cast his gaze upon this land, and for that, he was glad. He had lived for so long now, he knew each hill and rock, each river and animal. He would find no more adventure here.
He was bound for Sovngarde
With no seen signal, the dragons began to ascend, rising above the clouds. Paarthurnax carried him higher and higher, into the mouth of the unseen void. Humans could not see the gateway to Sovngarde but that didn't matter. It only took the span of seconds to breach it.
He felt the old magic take him and looked back to the man upon his back. Joy filled his heart. His old friend had been given another gift. He had been returned to what he was.
Flame red hair crested his strong brow and fierce blue eyes blazed from his face. Arms that were weak before now bulged in his furs and legs that held him gently now gripped his sides with a strength once lost.
Man and dragon—now alone as only they had passed the gate—flew over the misty fields of Sovngarde towards the giant castle in the distance. There waited the old heroes of the past, each one ready to greet the dragonborn that had freed them all.
They would feast for eternity, never growing old or withering. Forever in glory, as it should be.
Paarthurnax felt a moment of sadness. He would miss his friend, but knew that he would return once his own time came to rest. For now, he must remain in the mortal world, keeping to the pact the warrior on his back had made. The pact that created peace between dragon and man.
Landing with a great boom of sound, he closed his wings and let the dragonborn climb down. Unable to form words, he slowly lowered his head, blowing a draft of warm air over his face.
"Thank you, my friend," the dragonborn whispered. He reached out, daring to do something he had never dared before; he gently placed his hand upon the dragons snout. "Thank you."
Without another word. The two ancient friends parted, sorrow and joy mingling in their hearts. The dragonborn watched as Paarthurnax once again took wing. Once he was out of sight, the hero of Sovngarde turned and greeted his kin. Welcomed with open arms and cheers, he walked into their halls a hero, to feast and be merry for all eternity.
A/N well, I hope you like my little random story. It's not true to the game, I know, and I kinda went a bit off the lore with it all, but still, it was fun to write. Please leave a review of you liked it, or see anything I can improve on. Feedback is always best. (unsure why some is in italics. It refuses to change itself)