Hey all, sorry this one took so long. Life's been crazy on my end. Hope you enjoy :3

To the non-PM crew:

Lyriel: good to see you back :) Also I totally agree about the Whalebone thing.

Guest: The Companions will be a bit concerned. :3 Let's just leave it at that for now, eh?

Onward.

-)

I don't know how long I was out, but when I next came to, the world was dark and cold. Not freezing, just cold. I felt like I should have been shivering, and yet I found no reason to be. Was I finally getting used to Skyrim after all?

Wait… Skyrim!?

I cracked my eyes fully open, wincing when something dry flaked off my eyelids. Something leathery and dark was over my head, and I pushed it out of the way with shaking fingers. (Maybe I was shivering after all?) The sun was setting, not so blinding as it would have been in the daylight against the snow. The sky above was clear, the stars like teardrops of light against the inky darkness. I sat up, rubbing my eyes as I did so. More of that crusty, flaky gunk came off on the palms of my hands, and even more so than that, I was staring at the palms of my hands in utter disbelief.

I had earned a lot of scars during my time with the Companions—a lot of scars—and there was one on my left hand where I'd grabbed the wrong end of my dagger. It had been under the knapsack I'd been using as a pillow when those bandits had jumped me. Even with my hand bleeding all over the dirt, I'd killed the three of them before I was even fully awake. Or at least, I'd had that scar. Now the skin was smooth and unmarked as my name day.

Speaking of which, so was the rest of me, minus the tattoo on my hip of the Daedric Letter A, and the giant, half-circle Alduin had given me. I also realized I was naked as my name day, sitting in the snow on the throat of the world. I immediately curled into a tight ball upon this realization, embarrassed even though no one else was around. As a werewolf, I was a little more used to nakedness than most, but it was still an uncomfortably vulnerable experience. Especially to a Dunmer lady such as myself.

But my skin… something wasn't quite right with it. I brushed off more of that flaky gunk, not pausing long enough to consider what it could be. It was sort of like burned tissue, but my skin wasn't the pink of a burned Dunmer. It was blue-grey, the way it was supposed to be. Just… clean. I had only two scars left. Two scars to show a life of hardship and strife and coming out on top anyway. Nchow, I was going to be no fun around a campfire any time soon.

I glanced around, realizing that I was sitting atop the Throat of the World, and that thing I'd woken up staring down was Paarthurnax's wing. My armor—or rather, what was left of it—was lying in a twisted heap across the way, the ebony folded in on itself as though it had been exposed to dragons' fire at close quarters for an extended amount of time. It was of no use to me or anyone else in that state.

A deep rumble over my shoulder alerted me to the fact that Paarthurnax had taken wing. His shadow passed over me before he set himself down with a huge thump a short ways away. He fixed me in his ancient gaze and rumbled, ""So, it is done. Alduin dilon." Alduin is dead. "The Eldest is no more. He who came before all others, and has always been."

I nodded, curling into an even tighter ball because now I had to keep up a sentient conversation with someone. Well, something. In all honesty, I don't think Paarthurnax even realized I was naked. "You sound… sad."

Paarthurnax sighed—as much as dovah do, anyway. "Alduin was once the crown of our father Akatosh's creation, mal briinah." Little Sister. "Zeymahi lost ont du'ol Barahu." My brother was once the son of my father. "You did what was necessary. Alduin had flown far from the path of right action in his pahlok—the arrogance of his power." Another huge sigh from the Onik Gein, the ancient one. "But I cannot celebrate his fall. Zu'u tiiraaz ahst ok mah." I am dreadful at his fall. I probably translated that one wrong, but I had no chance to dwell. "He was my brother once, Dovahkiin. This world will never be the same."

"Perhaps that is for the better, fahdon."

Paarthurnax sighed. "Perhaps. But family is family, little one. That cannot be denied."

I sighed, pulling my knees up tighter against my chest. "I know. But Alduin brought it upon himself. I regret nothing."

"Nor should you. Alduin failed to see, rok funta koraav. Perhaps now you have some insight into the forces that shape the vennesetiid—the…"

"Currents of time," I finished with him, and Paarthurnax blinked in astonishment.

If it is possible for a dragon to look confused, than Paarthurnax did. "How did you guess that?"

I shrugged. "I didn't guess, in." Master. "I knew."

"You knew…?" Paarthurnax's eyes narrowed as he studied me. I shifted in discomfort beneath the scrutiny.

Stop staring, dammit! "Err, Paarthurnax, would you kindly…?"

"The Yol se Aaz!" he practically bellowed, and normally, I would have jumped out of my skin at the sudden noise, particularly from a dovah. For some reason, though, this time I didn't.

My brow furrowed. "The what?"

Normally I wouldn't say Paarthurnax smiled, but there was no way to explain this facial expression any other way. "Yol se Aaz, little sister. Fire of Mercy, in your tongue. This is a wondrous occasion!"

My brow furrowed. "Err, Paarthurnax…?"

But he was still going. "Krosis, mal briinah. Were you a true dovah, I would have recognized this in you immediately! Krosis, krosis…" He seemed truly apologetic for not realizing this… Fire of Mercy. What in Oblivion did that even mean, anyway?

"Paarthurnax," I said in a cold, hard voice—the way the dovah speak, "what did Alduin do to me?"

But he was taking to the skies; my words were lost. "Keizaal must know the Dovahkiin is a true dovah! He was absolutely beaming. "Nol Yol se Aaz, Vedod se kiin, Zahrahmiik se Dov, alok. Alok, feyn se dez, ahrk kos Sunvaarseyollokke. The prophecy may yet be fulfilled…" He flew into the rapidly deepening night, calling back over his wings. "Perhaps mine zeymahhe might yet bow to the rightness of my Thu'um after all, with the Dovahkiin through her yol se aaz…!"

I watched his silhouette recede into the distance and felt a growing sense of unease unfurl beneath my sternum. How on Nirn was I going to get down from here, naked as my name day, no armor, no weapons, and the Greybeards in the way? By the damn Seven, how had I gotten into this mess? And that bloody prophecy of Paarthrunax's, thrown over his shoulder as he flew… what did that even mean?

I could translate it, sure—From the Fire of Mercy, the Black Snow of Birth, Sacrifice of Dragonkind, arise. Arise, bane of fate, and be the Beast of Fire and Skies—but it didn't make any bloody sense. The longer I sat there fuming, the angrier I became. This was just like the dov, to leave me in the dark assuming that I knew something or other because I had dovahsos, dragon blood. Like that was a substitute for being raised in the doctrine and schooled in it from birth! I knew the difference; I was a bloody Dunmer raised in the House tradition. I knew who I was, dammit.

Or at least, I used to. I realized, dimly through the rising anger, that this wasn't like me. I didn't rage like this, I certainly didn't rant like this, and I didn't feel this distinct need to rip something limb from limb in my fury. What in the Sixteen Realms of Oblivion is happening to me? First I lose my temper in Skuldafn, now this?

I realized, I had another dovah to call—Odahviing. I just didn't know him nearly as well, and there was still the resounding problem that I was naked. I was shivering in the frigid Skyrim air now, and tempted to shift into the Beast with its warm fur coat. But if I shifted to the Beast, the Greybeards wouldn't recognize me, and I'd probably get Shouted off the mountain, if not burned to a crisp.

Before I could think to Shout, a dark figure looped up and over the summit of the mountain. How on Nirn can I fight like this…? I'd heard the Clansmen of Falkreath run into battle stark naked, but the Dunmer of Ald'ruhn sure as Oblivion didn't. But the figure landed, a great scaly beast, and I was relieved to realize I recognized the bloodred scales.

Odahviing landed in the snow before me, and he bowed low, the dovahhe way. "Pruzah wundunne wah Onik Gein, niid?" Good travels to the Old One, no? "I wish the Old One luck in his…" Here Odahviing struggled to find the word. "…quest. But I doubt many will wish to exchange Alduin's lordship for the tyranny of Paarthurnax's 'Way of the Voice.'"

I snorted. "Will you?"

Odahviing paused to consider this. "You have proven your mastery twice over. Thuri, Dovahkiin." My overlord, Dragonborn. "I gladly acknowledge the power of your Thu'um." He brought his head to eye level with mine. "Zu'u Odahviing." I am Odahviing. His breath was hot against my face, and I could feel the newly-formed skin de-thawing. (I had realized, belatedly, that that's what that gunk had been—old skin.) "Call me when you have need, fahdon; I will come if I can." He began to pump his wings in preparation for take off.

I realized how I was going to get down from here. "Odahviing!" I called before he'd risen too far.

"Geh?" he asked as he hovered there. Yes?

"A favor, fahdon," I called to him, gesturing for him to land again as much as I could without really moving my arm. "I need you to do something for me."

Odahviing thumped down onto the ground again, looking as confused as Dovah ever do. (Their faces are kind to facial expressions.) "What is it you need, mal briinah?"

I drew in a deep breath. "I need you to fly to High Hrothgar and ask the Greybeards for a spare robe."

He blinked at me. "A… what?"

I was cold and annoyed. "Clothes, Odahviing. Those things humans and elves wear? I need them."

Odahviing blinked. "Is that why you sit like this?"

I nodded, feeling the flush creep into my face. "It's embarrassing. I can't believe I've had a conversation like this. Two in fact."

Odahviing cocked his head like a confused wolf. It reminded me of the Wolf Twins in their Beast forms with a painful pang beneath my sternum. "You win a morokei grah, and you are embarrassed?" A glorious battle.

I shot him a look. "Just go, would you?" Where was this commander in me coming from? Bloodlines somewhere?

To my great surprise, Odahviing nodded. "Geh, Dovahkiin. I go. I just do not understand." He took to the skies, muttering, "Fahliille are strange creatures."

I watched his silhouette against the moon for a moment as he dove towards High Hrothgar. Then the cold set it, and when I set a foot down to move myself, the snow burned like frozen fire. I realized belatedly that I hadn't asked for boots.

By the bloody Nine and all the Daedra in Oblivion, this was going to be a long night.