The master did not always call the Greybeards to the peak. Among their duties was to seek wisdom, of which he gave without protest, calm and curled like a cat in slumber as he turned a listening ear. In a way the old men were like brothers to the great beast, regardless of the pride in blood shared by Paarthurnax and his breed.
Arngeir thought he had perhaps sought him more than any other in the dragon's everlasting lifetime. Even now, as the his very marrow ached, Arngeir remained brimming with curiosity, new questions arising as he woke from his dreams and saw Nirn itself shifting by the duress of time. That it was not shared by his fellow priests was perhaps why he was their emissary.
He nearly chuckled aloud at the epiphany, before he felt the viciousness returning to the winds. Arngeir shouted forcefully to the sky, the worst of the drought once more dispersing at his command. He growled with a deep huff, resisting the urge to curse the violent wisp responsible under his breath.
As he reached the flat surface of the peak, he was met by the sight of his teacher and friend laying near the edge, large eyes gazing across the land with a keenness Arngeir could not ever have imagined. A layer of white was draped along his snout and the leather of his wings, a sign he had not moved the slightest of his tremendous body for perhaps the entirety of a day. With light strides, Arngeir walked around to find where he faced, following his direction to a familiar shadow of a fortress, crowned by a massive, gabled tower. He sighed, concern forming into a frown on his cracked lips.
Gulps of snow fell abruptly like an avalanche in parts, landing at Arngeir's feet when Paarthurnax turned his head with striking speed. Arngeir dipped his head in a short apology, the grey glaze of the serpent's eyes unsuppressive of his evident surprise. "I did not mean to startle you, master." He spoke in Dovahzul.
Paarthurnax's mouth curved mildly up his jaw, creating the closest imitation of a smile a dragon's stiff, weighted skin could make. "You've lost the hunter's finesse in your old age, Arngeir." he replied jokingly, and roared within his throat alongside Angeir's momentary burst of laughter.
The man's features retreated into a stoic expression, head shaking somberly over recent memory. "It seems I am not the only one."
"You speak of Klimmek" Paathurnax said heavily, the large bones in his neck creaking as he veered back over the outlook. "I fear he may have to bear the burden for longer than he should."
"So he has said." Aimlessly, the priest peered at the remnants of Paarthurnax's covering, clumped in uneven rolls on otherwise smooth frost. He bent down, lightly brushing a mass into his hand, and throwing it over the cliff before it began soak his gloves. The snow smattered into a misty shape that fluxed like a flock of birds, the flakes somehow remaining bound together for however a brief instant.
The dragon swung his head around as if he was a great owl, watching the flurry be blown away by the gust. "But that is not the only reason you come."
"Klimmek." Arngier said assuredly. "I asked of him about the Throat, and what he had to say... Has left me to ponder."
Cartilage and muscle rustled frozen stone. A giant tail rolled out lazily, twitching to and fro so that Paarthurnax could rise on his hind legs without falling.
Though time had dulled a young life spent cautious of predators, never had Arngeir been fully ridden of the instinct. He recessively felt the need to step away from the ancient lizard, his head alone rivaling even the tallest of Skyrim's hardy pines. "Ponder on the anarchy of mortals? On their frailty of devotion?" The elder asked, words rendered orotund. Arngeir said nothing in return, the fabric of his hood folding as he casted his glance from the mountain vista.
Paarthurnax was too far above him to see, but by the slight movement he knew the Greybeard's eyes were upon him. "Of all that has laid hand in this time, Arngeir, mortals are the least cursed."
Arngeir lifted his head, looking up towards Paarthurnax abruptly with an incredulous face. If he were a lesser creature, the remark would have been taken as blasphemy against the gods. Yet such being said by a child of Akatosh, intrigue nudged at the corners of his intellect.
His teacher saw he had struck an adamant audience, and his inflection softened as he explained. "The Aedra know nothing of life or death. For them, it is eternity... or nothing at all."
Arngeir was suddenly reminded of the sky above them. The Throat held a marvelous blessing of the stars, a view of the Signs unseen in any other lands upon Tamriel, and perhaps all of Nirn. They glimmered through the clouds like bright torches against the night, lucid waves of colors circling slowly around a center point. That was where life was said to have been given, the breath of Kynareth forever marked in the heavens.
"The Aedra exist in Aetherius at a price." Paarthurnax drawled. "And that price is what most of your kind value far too much. That discarding it even by the blessing of the Divines is inconceivable."
Tranquility seemed to drift like a blanket upon the peak, gracefully falling with the supple dance of the snow. Arngeir recognized he was purely in meditation, and despite the sore spasm in his neck, he did not look away from the immemorial sight. "And what would that be?"
"Mortality." He answered gravelly in Arngeir's tongue. "The many gifts of mortality."