"Why waste your breath cursing?" These dragons don't speak, she remembers from the not-a-Nord that's too like a Nord still for her comfort and these dragons don't organise. It's still no excuse. No excuse for parades to past glories when they're back. The Nords had their prophecy well-remembered, and even when vanquished there it sat in the dark, there they remembered that; a wall, a prophecy, deeds that stretched back centuries upon centuries. Finite. Temporary. Mortal. A shout that rested heavily in her mouth; knowledge comes with a price. "Your dragons don't speak mine...mine organise.

"Mine came back with a leader. Alduin the World-Eater who was called firstborn son of Akatosh god of time - man's god of time. How long does a dragon live?" If he can put anything to it then-- then why bother telling him? It won't matter. She looks at the gold-tinted banner of a fallen hero to see black on red fluttering in the cold winds of Solitude, the seat of the High King where his widow never sat easily.