"Odahviing," the name slipped out, without her knowledge of what she had said. She had always loved the sound of the dovah speech in her mouth, whether it were thu'um or name. It was as if her blood boiled with each syllable dropped from her tongue. The end of an era had come and gone - - the moot had summoned the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak, as the new High King. Dovahkiin had found herself lost of purpose, had dabbled in the various organizations that came and went through Skyrim, public and… non-public. Alduin was defeated, banished from Mundus forever, and Sovngarde had been freed from his soul devouring mists. Sometimes, Dovahkiin thought she could hear the Hero's praises from beyond the dark veil of death when she pushed too hard, caught too many arrows in the knee.

She smiled briefly, before it faded and she returned to watching the mountain peaks from Sky Haven Temple. The quiet calmed her, and if she listened hard, she could hear Sovengard's Heroes in their great hall.

Sovngarde's song often called to her. The sensation was odd, and her immortal Dov blood denied its song while her human body often followed its pull. It was a strong song, one that could not be uttered in the realm of mortals, deep and thrumming, like that of the thu'um, yet not. The sound was deep, of drums and countless warrior's voices. Dovahkiin's memories of Sovngarde were hazy, but the smell of roast ox came to mind, of sweet meads, and the great terrible - -

"Dovahkiin!" The words were like thunder, and the great wings of the reptile that circled above shot the Dragonborn to her feet from the stone-cold bench. The earth trembled under the mighty Dovah Odahviing as he landed upon the edge of the cliff. His tail shook the ground as it slapped, throwing a cloud of dust from the ground, his foul breath promising molten fire. "Long has it been since I've heard your Thu'um, fahdon, friend."

The great beast looked upon her, and she looked back upon him. His coal black eyes held little warmth, and pierced her. She who had slew so many of his kind. His scales were red like blood and layered with protruding bones and spikes. His teeth yellowed with age but sharp. Between them a hot breath poured in her direction, a flicker of flame. She was reminded of the time they first met, in the Dragonsreach. It seemed so long ago.

Dovahkiin smiled softly, "I am sorry, Odahviing-" her blood lurched at the sound, how her tongue rolled the name, like fire between her lips. "I forgot how powerful my Thu'um is. I've been distracted as of late."

"Aam?" She was not sure he believed her. Her Thu'um had destroyed Alduin, after all. His voice grated, so low she felt the stones beneath her feet shake, pebbles jumping up from the ground. But she was no fool, Odahviing was not as patient as Paarthurnax, the Kruziik Gein - - Ancient One.

"I will age," Dovahkiin smiled shortly. "I will no longer be the Dovahkiin that slew Alduin; if I were to face him then-" she couldn't resist using more of the words, "Geinmaar sol dir, I would die." Now the ground shook at her voice, fearful of the fading legend she was becoming. Even the peoples of Skyrim talked of her vaguely, as if she'd already died. A hero who touched Nirn for only a moment and then was gone.

He took a moment to ponder her words before replying, "Hin Thu'um los mul kruz, your voice is strong still."

The Dovahkiin closed her eyes against the heat of his maw, and lifted her hands to her confining helm. The Dragon Plated armor had been forged for her by Eorlund Gray-Mane at the Skyforge behind Jorrvaskr. It felt right, somehow, to be covered in the scales and bones of dragons, as if her human skin was not enough for her Dov blood. The crisp air caught her freed hair and blew the auburn strands forth. She thought it fitting, in that moment, that the sun made it the color of flame.

The Dovahkiin's face was dirty, and her war-paint faded. "I am mortal," was her reply. "I may have a Dov's blood, but I am human still. I will grow weak with age, and I will die."

These were the thoughts that the hero thought at each passing moment. She would grow old, and die a miserable death in a sickbed. There was no glory in that death. She feared it unreasonably so. She heard Sovngarde's song, yet would she be worthy of it if that were to be her death? All her foes had died already.

The dragon's breaths rumbled loud in her ears, bringing her back from her quiet musings. His wings were large, taking much of the court-space - - but Odahviing was an elder dragon. He, a Dovah, was the very image of power. It left a quiet but calming thought in her mind.

"At the end," she bore her steel colored eyes into his cold reptilian orbs, "Would you end me?"

Odahviing let out a shuddering snarl. It's sound was unlike any she had heard before. And yet she saw the fire in his eyes. "Hiin lor moro," The Dovah unfurled his great wings with a force that was hard to stand against, even for her, as it always was facing a terrible beast like the dragon. "You want glory?"

"I want mercy!" she snapped back at the suddenly callous dragon.

His patience had worn, she noted with a bitter/wry humor. With one sweep of his great veined wings, Odahviing had dove from the cliff-face. A roar echoed in her ears, drowning out Sovngarde's call for the time. The great winged beast disappeared as he had come, like angry thunder.

The Dovahkiin sank back to the bench, and stared into her helm, as if it had a face. "It's mercy I want," her voice was humble then, only the winds to hear her. "Hiin lor aaz."

Thank you for reading; reviews and critiques are much appreciated! I get strange ideas for stories when I'm up for a few days straight (night work schedules tend to do that).

Because there is no "complete" dovah language, I took a little precedence when wording things but here are the translations to the Dovah language written. Those with a * are made up, lol.

Aam: (a sound of disbelief)
Aaz: mercy
Dir: die
Dov: the dragon race
Dovah: (a) dragon
Dovahkiin: "Dragonborn"
Fahdon: friend
Geinmaar: one/oneself
Gein: one (as in a person)
Hiin: (informal) you
Hin: (formal) your
Kruz: still/yet
Kruziik: Ancient
*Lor: want
*Los: is
Moro: glory
Mul: Strong
Odahviing: "Winged Snow Hunter"
*Sol: would
Thu'um: Shout