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Skyrim: A Dance of Dragons and Bears Page 16
"Our hero, our hero, claims a Warrior's Heart.
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.
With a voice wielding power of the ancient Nord art,
Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.
It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.
Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.
For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows,
You'll know, you'll know the Dragonborns come."
-The Dragonborn Comes" by NicklebackShe'd be atop High Hrothgar by now, under Master Arngeir's scrutiny. He laughed under his breath, suddenly feeling sorry for her. What would the training unlock within her? Would she come back the same creature? Somehow confident and unsure, powerful and weak, hard and...so very soft?
"I can assume you're not pining away after one of those pretty golden hairs from Riften, can't I, Ulfric?"
The Jarl turned towards the familiar sound of his housecarl. "I have no clue what you mean," Ulfric groaned, rolling his eyes, before turning his gaze back in the direction of the Throat of the World.
"I'm no fool, Ulfric. I've known you since you were small enough to call a dagger a sword," Galmar laughed, stepping beside his leader and friend, taking in a deep breath of the crisp Windhelm air as they stood atop the roof of the Palace of Kings. "The damn Cat has your favor."
"She has a name, Galmar." It was a careful growl, and his cool gray eyes cut towards the slightly shorter Nord like sharp steel. "She's bled beside you and for you...and you for her. She deserves more respect."
"I call her that not out of disrespect, Ulfric, but to remind you of what she is," Galmar explained, folding his musclebound forearms atop one another. "Damn! I've grown to like the little shit myself. But no matter what she does, she's still just that. A Cat. And you're no common Nord. It'll never be accepted, boy." The last part was said with the tiniest bit of gentle sorrow.
Ulfric's noble profile dropped slightly, his eyes downcast. "I know."
Galmar stood with him for a few more moments, the both of them regarding the truth in uncomfortable silence. Once Stormcloak stood alone again, he looked once more to High Hrothgar, feeling both the stirring of desire and hopelessness. And yet, still, he could not tear his eyes away from where he knew she was.
FIN.
Beat that self-introduction, Daenerys Targareyan.
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[Ice Veins? Was that my doing? :D ]
"You know... I'm surprised you old boys didn't laugh me off the face of High Hrothgar. I walk into half the places I do and the looks I get speak more than words."
"Khajiit. Only in body. Heh. Are you going to carry that crutch your entire life?"
Iona's head cocked to the side. "Wait... what...? Don't talk like you know what I go through!"
"Mm. And how warm is the greeting a lone Nord gets in Elsweyr?"
Iona halted. "Well... that's-"
"Different? It is, isn't it? You have great perspective in one sense, Dovahkin. But in another, your eyes are atrophied. A Dunmer walks in the Black Marsh and dirty looks are the least of his worries. An Imperial walks on Summerset Isle and finds she can't see an Altmer's eyes without looking past their nose. A Khajiit walks Skyrim and finds doors closed to her.... until it's revealed that she is descended of Akatosh."
"What's your point, old man?"
"My point, Dovahkin, is that perspectives change from different points of view. You carry a chip on your shoulder. Your very race. You are from Elseweyr, but you didn't grow up there. Yet you carry it like a burden.'
"Still waiting for that point..."
"By the sacred oath, girl, calm yourself, lest I add a lack of patience to the list."
"Hah! If I didn't have patience, I wouldn't have spent days throwing myself fully into smithing to learn all I could about it! I must have made five hundred iron tools and weapons from the mountain of ore I'd mined! Made me a pretty penny too..."
"Heh, so you have patience when your passions are involved?"
Iona froze, realizing he had her.
"Mm, so perhaps you need learn to harness your passions. Learn these words, Dovahkin... I am convinced that Talos Himself conspired with Akatosh to deliver you here. Talos saw his people were losing their way, turning to prejudice. What better irony and lesson then to send a razor-tongued Khajiit to show that heroes and saviors are who they are, regardless of color or shape."
Iona felt a streak of humility slip through her soul at those words...
"I.... yeah... okay...." She said, at a loss for anything else to say.
She made her way for the bedchambers. She'd spent the whole day learning shouts, and the night had brought out even deeper cold and terrible beasts that would make any journey down the many steps doomed.
"Thank you, brother..." Iona said, pausing in the doorway.
"You know... I'm surprised you old boys didn't laugh me off the face of High Hrothgar. I walk into half the places I do and the looks I get speak more than words."
"Khajiit. Only in body. Heh. Are you going to carry that crutch your entire life?"
Iona's head cocked to the side. "Wait... what...? Don't talk like you know what I go through!"
"Mm. And how warm is the greeting a lone Nord gets in Elsweyr?"
Iona halted. "Well... that's-"
"Different? It is, isn't it? You have great perspective in one sense, Dovahkin. But in another, your eyes are atrophied. A Dunmer walks in the Black Marsh and dirty looks are the least of his worries. An Imperial walks on Summerset Isle and finds she can't see an Altmer's eyes without looking past their nose. A Khajiit walks Skyrim and finds doors closed to her.... until it's revealed that she is descended of Akatosh."
"What's your point, old man?"
"My point, Dovahkin, is that perspectives change from different points of view. You carry a chip on your shoulder. Your very race. You are from Elseweyr, but you didn't grow up there. Yet you carry it like a burden.'
"Still waiting for that point..."
"By the sacred oath, girl, calm yourself, lest I add a lack of patience to the list."
"Hah! If I didn't have patience, I wouldn't have spent days throwing myself fully into smithing to learn all I could about it! I must have made five hundred iron tools and weapons from the mountain of ore I'd mined! Made me a pretty penny too..."
"Heh, so you have patience when your passions are involved?"
Iona froze, realizing he had her.
"Mm, so perhaps you need learn to harness your passions. Learn these words, Dovahkin... I am convinced that Talos Himself conspired with Akatosh to deliver you here. Talos saw his people were losing their way, turning to prejudice. What better irony and lesson then to send a razor-tongued Khajiit to show that heroes and saviors are who they are, regardless of color or shape."
Iona felt a streak of humility slip through her soul at those words...
"I.... yeah... okay...." She said, at a loss for anything else to say.
She made her way for the bedchambers. She'd spent the whole day learning shouts, and the night had brought out even deeper cold and terrible beasts that would make any journey down the many steps doomed.
"Thank you, brother..." Iona said, pausing in the doorway.
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