Disclaimer: Skyrim and all its canon content are the property of Bethesda Game Studios. No infringement is intended.

Reksadonviing is a character of my own devising.

Notes: Wrote this in one afternoon. Just a little drabble that may or may not evolve into a multi-chapter story. I'll bear out why in simple terms - I love Skyrim and its infinite plot possibilities. Among my favorite aspects about it are the dragons themselves.

I'll let you read the rest.

To any who know better than me: I am an Elder Scrolls noob. Take pity on the fact, right now, that I know little beyond what is covered in Skyrim. Any mistakes are my own.

Author's Notes (Edit 2): Another thing I should mention - though I know little about the franchise - but this story relies heavily on the reader already knowing which canon characters are who. So... spoiler alert?

Author's Notes (Edit 3): Fixed a plethora of capitalization errors and incorrect Dov terms between chapters one through thirteen.

"Forge"

Paarthurnax had been adamant at first. They were to leave Tamriel, no exceptions, leave behind the black mark Alduin had left on their kind's collective history. Jul - Man, Mer, and all variants in between - would not tolerate their presence. If there was any hope to make peace with the mortal races, it could only be achieved with the dragons putting as much collective distance behind them as possible.

Wise as he was, their once-lord's brother was only one dragon, and he was only weeks new to the command popular vote had bequeathed him. He could scarcely stop the dissenters from remaining in Skyrim if they so chose.

Odahviing was one such case. As a matter of personal honor, he had pledged himself to the individual who had slain Alduin. The objections of nay-sayers throughout their number did nothing to dissuade him. He broke from the formation following a short, heated discussion with Paarthurnaax - the only dovah to depart in service to another besides his or her self.

Others followed, their destinations varied, but their reasons all their own. Holding to his judgment, Paarthurnax did not try to stop them. The only scorn he offered were the forlorn glances paid whenever one of their number, unexpected or not, veered away.

Their kind - once a proud, tyrannical force to be reckoned with - were now largely aimless. After all the fighting, all the bloodshed, to seek peace with themselves was not something most of them could readily swallow. The older ranks of their dwindling numbers saw this, as only a few equal or close to Odahviing's age returned to the skies of Skyrim, apparently content with whatever fate their behavior would one day land them in.

Reksadonviing did not stray at first. One of the last to be resurrected by the late World-Eater, of only a shy dozen females that were entombed, she was not so sure of her place. Barely old enough to breed, resigning herself to brooding for a lifetime to sate various suitors did not hold the same appeal it once had hundreds of years previous. The world was, in many ways, the same as the one she remembered, but it was different enough to make her think hatchlings had no set place in it.

Put simply, she wanted to know. How was it different? Why were these people better left alone? Her own experiences with the mortals were few, as Alduin had ordered his harem to remain hidden, their needs seen to by a host of undead draugr and lesser-ranking drakes. Was there absolutely no middle ground to be reached with the Jul?

If shyness ever existed in their kind, she personified the loathsome trait to a tee. Adorned with fewer dorsal spikes than a typical fo dovah, her stature no where near as grand as that of a drake's. The small, gray-scaled female was hesitant to part company with her elders. Their guidance was tolerable if not their scrutiny. She flew with them for days without uttering a word, hunted alongside them dutifully, listened to them reminiscence about the past and fret about the future.

It did not go unnoticed by Paarthurnax. He recognized her silent deliberations and tense, distant stares for what they were. While they spoke on no more than on a handful of occasions, he always seemed able to read into the thoughts her lips dared not utter. Never was it discussed in detail what she wanted, for he already had to have sensed some idea. Finally, on one star-studded night while the flock roosted along an isolated island mountain range, he offered as much of a blessing as she supposed his old bones could muster:

"Bo tirahk."

Fly safe.

Without a backwards glance, Reksadonviing took wing, following the constellations back the way they had flown. The distance of the return flight did not daunt her. The restlessness taking root in her soul spurred her on, willing her to try and find something better.

There had to be something more left for them in Skyrim. Never mind that the prophecy of the Dovahkiin had come to fruition. Any creature of higher calling had something to motivate their actions, and dovahhe - for all their shortcomings - were among the highest called. After much deliberation, she had decided this was hers.

The return was not without its difficulties. The lingerers of Keizaal were of stubborn mettle, jealously guarding their hunting territories as if they had never laid eyes on her in the weeks before. Already the more remote forests and cliffs were laid claim to by fire-breathing drakes, and in the first few days she found herself in the ironic situation of fleeing from former allies-in-arms, with little more than regrets and self-pity to fill her stomach.

Only one took exception to her: Odahviing. Like Paarthurnax, he did not pry into her affairs, but tolerated her otherwise-strange impulses. Their familiarity had already been established in the valley she and her creche-sisters had been sequestered in. Being a drake, he appreciated her presence simply on the basis of ego, and she appreciated the easy meals. They hunted and roosted together for a few short days before the call of the Dovahkiin wrenched Odahviing away. In his absence, a challenger encroached on the red dovah's hunting range, driving Reksadonviing away in a flurry of bites and fire.

She had not tried to reunite with Odahviing since, nor heard his voice on the wind trying to rejoin hers.

Sparsely populated as Skyrim was, there were regions avoided by the Dov. These places, where there were hard-won prey to be found and unforgiving elements that made flight as difficult for her, it made life on the ground struggle to get by. It was those locations that held the most appeal to her. On the days in which hunting proved fruitful and the weather favorable, Reksadonviing flew from one snow-covered hold to the next, well out of reach of the highest-flying arrows. She circled, watched and waited, learning what she could from afar.

Each city seemed so different from the next. The scattered villages, anthills in comparison to their larger colonies, all buzzed with the same mundane rhythm that was everyday life. The only common attribute between them all appeared to be the stir of hostile activity the gray dovah's presence brought about.

Her simple and immediate goal, communication, appeared almost impossible to achieve. Landing among the jooree in such states was out of the question. She would have to find just the right opportunity.

With the polar settlements discounted, she moved south. The lush central grassplains of the province looked like a prime spot to her, with plenty of space to land and take off. Save for a scattering of farmhouses patrolled by Whiterun guards, the only hunting hazard she could foresee would be the receiving end of an errant giant's club, should she edge too close to a mammoth.

But therein also laid the problem of distance: on a clear day she would be visible for miles around. Any passing folk were bound to run the other way once they caught a glimpse of her pallid gray hide. And there was nothing genteel to the sight of a dovah trying to petition a running audience into a stop, assuring they meant no harm.

Not that she would blame them. A dovah who did not crave to enslave or decimate mortals - it was virtually unheard of.

Eventually, resignation won out over caution. Dismayed, as she grew leaner and leaner, Reksadonviing thought less of her goal and more of her immediate needs. With desperation she latched onto the first insane idea that, in her deteriorated condition, seemed even vaguely sane.

Dragonsreach. The great balcony on which Numinex - and later Odahviing - had been imprisoned.

That was it. She would do as he did for the Dovahkiin: she would make an offering of herself.

Pride wasn't exactly a crucial deciding factor. The only thing at stake would be her own life, and if other dovahhe thought it their calling to one day defend their kind's honor by weeding her from their ranks, she would deal with that when and if it happened.

Understandably, when the residents of the keep had awoken to shouts of "dragon" by the overnight watch, Reksadonviing thought twice of her plan, and almost bolted. Nervousness hindered her approach, and she practically crashed into landing upon the stony balcony. Fighting every instinct not to lash out with claw and fire, she thrust her head under the protective crux of both wingthumbs - the most inane sight any human might expect - and froze, huddled, stifling growls at the initial volleys of arrows and firebolts ricocheting off her body.

Eventually, the pricks of pain lessened, and the host of armed swordsmen assaulting her drew back. Their war-cries devolved into stuttering exclamations of confusion, as one by one they realized their attacker's lack of retaliation. Slowly, she peeked out from behind her tattered folds of ash-gray wing, bleeding from a dozen superficial wounds, green eyes wide and beseeching. It took all the composure she possessed to steady her voice for a simple, if equally guttural and meek greeting of "hail Whiterun".

The news spread like wildfire over a water-starved wheatfield. A dovah had graced Dragonsreach of its own accord, with apparently-non-hostile intentions. Within the hour, as early sunlight flooded the landing, a crowd filled the balcony's fringes on three sides. Townsfolk of assorted classes pointed and chattered among themselves, and the few children in attendance, already smitten with the newcomer who must have seemed like a storybook character come to life, strained against their elders' protective hands.

Said dovah huddled against the floor, silent, unable to help the occasional uneasy glance up at the wooden trap poised over her head. Surrounded by walls and people, she felt trapped enough. With some convincing, she had let herself be ushered forward, into position underneath the would-be restraint. To assure her 'hosts' this was no trick, she had agreed to place herself in the most vulnerable, claustrophobic position imaginable, short of being muzzled or blinded by magic.

The city's jarl and his esteemed colleagues finally took center stage, flanked to either side by no less than a dozen guards, to address their unexpected visitor.

And thus Reksadonviing's opportunity to address the Jul, however trivially, arrived.

Formalities aside, Jarl Balgruuf the Greater summed up the situation with as much bluntness as one could expect:

"Well. This is quite the unexpected reception I did not see myself giving upon lying down to rest last evening."

Black claws planted firmly beneath her, wings curled securely to her sides, Reksadonviing held her head low, jaw parallel with the floor as she spoke. She kept her eyes down as though it were an address of Alduin himself. "Had I the means to send word ahead I would have done so and not caused such a stir, milord. Krosis. My apologies."

Halting and unnatural as her Tamrielic dialect was, by the murmur of astonishment she heard rippling through the onlookers around, it sounded like her subservient tone had had the desired effect.

"Apologies notwithstanding, you ought to have known better."

She paused in replying, mindful to keep her speech perfectly plain and understandable. "Aye, I'm aware of your recent... capture of Odahviing, as are the rest of my kind. But as I come to throw myself at your mercy, despite the inadvertent grandness of the occasion, it is not a large favor I wish to ask."

"What favor could a dragon possibly want of Whiterun?"

Reksadonviing blinked, glancing up at the housecarl's incredulous utterance, intent on silencing him with a glare, to no avail. The jarl's sideways glance and raised hand mutely signaled his deference to ask the same.

Swallowing what felt like a mace lodged in her throat, the grounded dovah voiced her answer: "Merely the pleasure of your city's company, milord."

"Preposterous!"

Proventus Avenicci's cry was taken up a hundredfold as voices and fists alike were raised all around in outrage. Reksadonviing flinched despite herself, closing her eyes and wishing at that moment she could do the same for her ears. The noise grated on her confidence more than her inborn hatred of mortal kind.

"Nonsense! What kind of request is that?"

"Slay the beast and be done with it!"

"Not in a thousand years!"

"Order, order!" Balgruuf's stout commands eventually made their way over the ensuing din as his guards fanned out among the crowds, swiftly returning the palace's balcony to a state of tense near-silence. To Reksadonviing's surprise, he turned his back on her, waving to direct his subjects' collective attention. "Now, I trust that was the biggest surprise our guest had in store, and we will suffer no further interruptions. One more outburst, you will all be removed from the premises and these deliberations made confidential, understood?"

The gray dovah attempted to steel her nerves, holding a breath as the jarl turned to face her, hands placed to his hips. His expression remained grim. "You can gather for yourself why that may be a favor I cannot honor, dragon."

She tilted her head down, unable to help feeling the disappointment she knew had always been a possibility. "Yes."

"However, your motivations escape me. Was it not your kind's ultimatum to leave Tamriel for good?"

Word of the exodus had travelled fast.

"For those loyal to Paarthurnax and his ideals, yes, milord. But as with any race, there are those who believed differently, and sought their own fates. This is the one I have chosen for myself. Were it so easy, I would have fostered an agreement with another jarl of some lesser standing long before this."

If Balgruuf was in any way flattered by the praise, he did not show it. His tone remained polite, if suspect: "Then why chose Whiterun to approach?"

"Latent events. Odahviing still heeds the call of the Dovahkiin. And your city was instrumental in forging that alliance. Intrigued, I seek no glory other than to know your kind better for myself."

"For yourself, and not dragonkind?"

Reksadonviing inclined her head in acknowledgement. "We both know how stubborn and unreasonable my kind can sometimes be. I have no ties to them besides kinship of build. Should you grant this privilege, you will have no trouble from me."

The housecarl piped up: "Hmph. What guarantees do we have you won't double-cross us? Those who know loyalty only to themselves are often of the most dangerous ilk."

At this the dovah glanced down to wait on the jarl's approving nod before addressing the dark elf. "If I may be so blunt, to what end would treason serve me, milady, when I've already decided to part from my kind?"

"For what reason?" Standing with arms crossed, Avenicci's pinched expression remained the definition of unconvinced. "You seem relatively unscarred to bear any sort of grudge that would compel you to desert them."

Reksadonviing clicked her jaws together, contemplative. She had wondered the same thing for many nights on wind-swept bluffs. Replaying old memories had dulled her to the pain that was her early life. The crowd of townspeople and guards ceased to be important as she lost herself in telling the abridged edition of her life story.

"I was not long for the world in, what you dub, the Second Era. My clutch-sisters and I were hatched after Alduin's banishment. It was a time in which little to no allegiance existed among the Dov. Besides the instinctual love a mother will have for her young, we were not so loyal among ourselves as to ourselves. That mindset has survived to this day. All of us swore ourselves to Alduin for returning us to this plane of existence. With him gone, some pledged themselves to Paarthurnax, while others went their own way, for - like it or not - that has always been our way."

A growl surfaced in Irileth's voice. "And the enslavement your lot perpetrated upon Man and Merkind? Are we just supposed to forget that ever happened?"

Reksadonviing thumped her spade-shaped tail against the stones behind her, claws curling to match the tight edge of her words. "There are no words I can speak that will erase that it ever happened, fahliil. All that I can do is look to the future, and hope taking a different path turns out to be the right one. In a sense, I come here asking for help that my kind's old ways not lead me astray."

"Blazing a trail, as it were, so that others might follow?" Balgruuf spoke under his breath, but the scaled petitioner quirked her head, birdlike, at the drawn comparison. "You're not so unlike Paarthurnax as you'd like to see yourself, dragon."

"My name is Reksadonviing."

"That so?" One of the man's blond eyebrows hiked up, a glint of amusement surfacing in his eyes - the gleeful look of a fighter whom had accepted a challenge, if only for the fun of the struggle, if not the victorious outcome. "Then... Reksa, how may Whiterun assist you?"

Author's Notes: As I said, it's a drabble. At this point, I don't have a long-term plot in mind for Reksa. I kept her descriptors pretty vague for that very reason (I picture her as a less-spiky Frost Dragon, basically). But her full name, even if doesn't roll off the tongue, does translate to "She Gray Wing" in Dragon Language.

It began with the idea of Numinex, and what his captive life in Dragonsreach might have been like. I like the idea of a dragon, post-Dragon Crisis, proving themselves, little by little, to be a worthy ally to the people of a given region (in this case, Whiterun Hold). If that's not revolutionary compared to how boastful and destructive they have acted in the past, I don't know what is.

Other inspirations include Dragonheart, How To Train Your Dragon, and the book series Temeraire and Age of Fire.

Thanks for reading. I'm open to suggestions.

Author's Notes (Edit 1): Made a few tweaks, added a forgotten word here and there.