When she requested—flinching a little as she spoke—they take yet another side trip on their way back to Whiterun, Vilkas was starting to think she was stalling for time. She had told Tullius that once she returned home he would have his answer within a week—maybe she was using this extra time as an opportunity to really think it over.

He was tempted to tell her he wasn't going—she mentioned it so offhandedly, despite the fact that the destination was the Throat of the World. The top of a goddamn mountain. The Throat of the goddamn World. What business could she possibly have up there?

"You may return to Whiterun ahead of me, husband," she said, holding suspiciously tight to the reins of her horse. "I won't be more than a few days."

He stared at her. Sure, he had just been considering exactly what she suggested, but something about doing as she said lit a fire of stubbornness under him. "What will you be doing?"

"I must speak with my mentor." She gave him a sidelong glance. "I don't wish to impede your return home."

Her mentor? He remembered that the Throat of the World was home to High Hrothgar and the Greybeards. Was she going to pay them a visit?

"I'll accompany you." The words slipped from his mouth before he could stop them. Hadn't he said this to her before?

"That's not necessary, husband. I'll be fine on my own," she said. She offered him a smile. "It's a path I've traveled many times. There are no surprises for me on that mountain."

"Still," he went on, "I'd like to go with you."

Something shifted in her gaze, and her voice tightened. "I wouldn't want to bore you, husband."

"Aveline." He said her name with as much force as he could muster without shouting. "I'm going with you."

Her lips formed a thin line. "Very well."

"Why are you always so secretive about where you go and when you leave?" he demanded.

"I wouldn't want to burden the Companions with my duties as Dragonborn. That's hardly fair, Vilkas." She had lost her fight when she said these words, and he regretted getting frustrated with her.

"You're not just our Harbinger, Aveline," he whispered. "You were our shield-sister first. Don't feel like you have to hide things from us. Farkas, Aela...we want to help. You don't have to do everything on your own."

She looked at him, her lips forming an 'O'.

He cleared his throat and straightened his back. "I'm going with you on all Dragonborn-related ventures from now on." A weird feeling surged into his chest. "After all, I'm your husband, aren't I?"

She caught him off guard by actually smiling at that. "Yes, Vilkas. You are."

It took two days to get to the mountain. They reached the base in the middle of the afternoon, and Aveline gave him a small smile before telling him she wished to continue. The trip to the top of the Throat of the World took them well into night. He wondered if she pushed herself like this often—after all, if she took the time to camp every night, each of her absences would have taken much longer.

He could see the continuation of the steps that would lead them to High Hrothgar, but Aveline was leading him up a separate path. He frowned but didn't verbally question her. There was probably a reason; everything Aveline did had a reason, whether he agreed with that reason or not. They were curving around the top of the mountain, the moon casting their only source of light. Vilkas had pulled on his furs at the earliest signs of snow—he disliked being cold, disliked it immensely. Aveline had yet to don her own. Perhaps she had been to the mountain so often she was used to its temperature. She paused with her hand on a rock, and turned to look at him.

"I'm about to do something that will greatly disturb you, Vilkas," she said, "but I ask you now to lower your sword."

He quirked his eyebrows at her. "My sword? It's not even—"

"I know how you think, Vilkas." She smiled at him. "When something frightens you, you draw your sword on it. I'm asking you to stifle that instinct, just for a brief period of time while I speak with my mentor."

"We're going to speak with him now? This late?"

The smile was suddenly tinged with mischief. "Trust me. He won't mind, husband."

He followed her the rest of the way up, until they reached the very top of the mountain: a flat area with some kind of shrine wall built off to the side. Vilkas froze in place, his fingers twitching for his blade, and he realized now why Aveline had warned him against drawing his sword. Curled in the center of the top of this mountain was a large sleeping dragon. It was humongous, grey, with worn-looking wings. It was covered with spikes—on its face, along its spine, on the curve of its tail. It even had horns.

While he stood stock still, Aveline approached the creature and laid her hand between the horns on its head—the only smooth part of its scalp. She knelt so that she was positioned directly in front of its eyes should it awaken.

"Paarthurnax," she said firmly, smiling and massaging the heel of her palm against its head. "In. Nii los zu."

[Master. It is I.]

There was a great exhale from the beast, steam rising from its nostrils as it stirred from its slumber. "Dovahkiin."

Vilkas swallowed harshly, fighting against the yelp that had built behind his teeth. He had fought many creatures, killed many things, but a dragon at this hour of night? It was enough to terrify the most hardened of men, especially when the thing—Aveline had called it, him?, 'Paarthurnax'—lifted itself up on its haunches. It bowed its head in Aveline's direction, and in the moonlight Vilkas could see the soft expression on her features.

"Krosis, Paarthurnax," Aveline said next. [Apologies, Paarthurnax.] Her gaze flickered to Vilkas and then back to the dragon. "For rousing you at this hour of night."

"Faas ni," spoke the dragon. [Fear not.] "My slumber was not deep." Paarthurnax used his snout to gently touch her shoulder. "You are not one to treat our visits lightly. Why have you come, Dovahkiin?"

Again, Aveline looked to Vilkas. She gestured for him and he took an unsteady step forward. Her eyes betrayed an exhaustion he had never seen before. "Paarthurnax, I would like you to meet Vilkas. He is a Companion, hailing from Whiterun." She offered the dragon a wavering smile as Vilkas reached her side. Her voice lowered slightly as she slipped easily back into the dragon's language. "Rok los ahmul do Aveline."

[He is my husband (husband of Aveline).]

"Aan zin, ahmul do Dovahkiin." [An honor, husband of Dragonborn.] Paarthurnax dipped his head towards Vilkas next, who stiffened but said nothing. The dragon repeated it so that Vilkas could understand, tone patient and understanding, and Vilkas returned the statement with an awkward half-bow. He licked his dry lips.

"It's an honor as well to meet Aveline's mentor," returned Vilkas, his voice cracking. He cleared his throat.

"Husband," said Aveline in a quiet voice. She put her hand on his arm and he looked at her, surprised. "Why don't you get some sleep while Paarthurnax and I talk? You've gone too long without rest."

So have you. He wanted to protest, wanted to demand that she include him in whatever she was to speak of with the dragon, but as soon as she spoke he realized how tired he was. He let his hand fall to her waist, the other moving her hair out of her face, and he kissed her long and slow. He ignored the warm air that hit him and the strange noise emanating from Paarthurnax—the dragon was chuckling, deep and rumbling within its chest. When he parted from Aveline, he swiped his thumb briefly over her lower lip.

"You'll tell me what the two of you discuss, won't you?" He searched her eyes.

Her gaze softened and she gave him a simple nod. He nodded in return and left her, gathering their things from where they had left the horses and setting up his bedroll in a slight alcove away from the wind. They began speaking avidly—on Aveline's part, anyway—in Dragontongue, and listening to the purr her words held, Vilkas drifted to sleep.

He awoke with Aveline in his arms, awake and staring at him. He blinked twice, rubbed his eyes, and promptly burst into a coughing fit. Aveline sat up, concern etched on her features, but he waved her concern away as he regained control of his breathing. He peered around her, frowning.

"Where's..."

"Paarthurnax?" She smiled. "He flew off maybe an hour ago. He sends his deepest regrets he was not able to properly congratulate us on our wedding, or properly say goodbye, but I told him not to wake you." She reached for him, then thought better of it and slowly withdrew her hand. Instead, she clasped her hands in her lap. "I know how...uncomfortable that must have made you."

He shook his head in wonderment at her. "When did you learn to speak it that fluently?"

She smiled again, slightly reassured, and answered, "I've been taking lessons from him for the better part of three years. This isn't far from Whiterun, no more than a day's travel to get here and back." She laughed suddenly. "It's been a few months since I've visited last. He said my accent hasn't gotten any better."

Vilkas' face wrinkled at the absurdity of the comment, and her laughter grew. Before he realized what was happening, he was chuckling along with her. Once it had died down, he regained a stern expression and stood to begin packing their things. She joined him.

"What did you discuss?" he asked after a few minutes of debating with himself.

"My path," she answered cryptically.

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I promise to explain it in detail once we are home and rested, Vilkas." She touched his arm, just a light brushing of fingertips against his bicep. "I've spread you too thin. You need to sleep long, in a proper bed, and then we can worry ourselves about the future."

He didn't let himself question her or badger her for answers. He took her words, he absorbed them, and he nodded. She stared at him as if anticipating it to be a joke or a mistake, but she seemed altogether relieved. He gave no remarks about it, one way or the other, and he thought she gave him a smile of pure warmth before turning to their horses.

Whether he had been mistaken or not, the smile had lit a fire within his chest that burned long after they reached Whiterun and long after he fell to blissful sleep in his Breezehome bed.

A/N: I included translations in-text in brackets since there was so much Dragon language in this chapter. I hope it didn't confuse anyone!

I think Vilkas handled meeting Paarthurnax quite well! Though his pride wouldn't have allowed for anything else. Thoughts on this chapter?