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Jimmy is the worst Dragonborn there’s ever been.
Hands down. Full stop. Never been one who was worse at their job than Jimmy. Not that many of them come close; he shares the title of Dovahkiin with the likes of Saint Alessia and Miraak. (And Tiber Septim.)
But of course Miraak was a power-hungry Dragon Priest, and Saint Alessia isn’t a true Dragonborn, so somehow Jimmy is meant to be the prophesied Last Dragonborn who will slay Alduin and halt the dragons’ return. Jimmy. Who can't even put his shoes on the right feet most mornings.
(And Tiber Septim is… yeah.)
It’s laughable, really. Jimmy laughs at it frequently. But somehow, it’s his life.
He’s only been the Dragonborn a handful of months. Well, according to the Greybeards he’s always been the Dragonborn, but it’s only been a handful of months since he slew Mirmulnir and absorbed her soul. Alduin keeps reawakening dragons, and they keep finding Jimmy, perhaps drawn by his irrestible Dragonborn aura. He kills them each time, absorbs their souls, and tries desperately to come to peace with the fact that this is his job now.
It’s not like the only surviving Dovahkiin is really hurting for gold. Or opportunities to make more.
Jimmy built a house in Falkreath Hold, on a small plot of land just north of Pinewatch, and dubbed it Lakeview Manor (which feels a bit pretentious, but everyone seems to want him to be more pretentious). He also owns Breezehome in Whiterun, and that’s where he spends most of his time. Lakeview was just a project, really. Go out in the woods, draw up some plans, mine some stone from the quarry. Get away from all the endless tasks that he was constantly being burdened with and just perform some manual labour. Something he’s good at.
He strolls through the streets of Whiterun on fourteenth Sun’s Dawn, bright and early. The birds are chirping, but most of the city has not awoken yet. He slides between the heavy gates leading into the capital city and smiles at the two guards standing just inside. They’re just guards like any others, their job no more glorious than Jimmy’s own, but one of them catches his eye. A blonde Breton, his hand on the pommel of his sword and his shield held protectively in front of himself.
Jimmy’s not sure what possesses him, but he greets the guard. “Good morrow, friend,” he calls out, though he makes sure to keep a safe distance. Can’t be coming off as a threat, not if he wants to stick around in Whiterun without getting his head chopped off. He barely escaped that last fall with the help of Alduin, and he’s not really chomping at the bit to repeat the experience.
“Well met, Dragonborn,” the guard replies. His brow furrows for a moment, and his voice changes slightly when he speaks again. “Heard about you and your honeyed words…”
Jimmy tips his head to the side. Guards do say that to him on occasion, but rarely with such confusion in their expressions. Jimmy’s built good relationships with shopkeepers all across Skyrim, often doing favours for them. Many of them offer him reduced prices now, so perhaps that information has travelled through the rumour mill. After a moment, he blinks and says, “right, well… what’s your name?”
The guard stares at him. “My name?” he asks, like he’s never heard of the concept before. Jimmy holds out a hesitant hand, sans any sort of weapon, no spells prepared.
“I’m James. Jimmy.”
The Breton stares at his hand for a long moment, then hesitantly his fingers lift from the hilt of his steel sword, and he uncertainly grasps Jimmy’s hand, offering a firm shake. Still, he’s quiet for another long beat before he says, “call me Tango.”
Tango. It’s a strange name, but Jimmy likes it. Jimmy smiles at him. This whole interaction feels off, but Jimmy can’t help it. Something draws him to this Breton, this Tango, in a way he can’t explain.
He probably holds Tango’s hand uncomfortably long before he finally pulls away. But when he steps away, turning to Adrienne at the forge barely ten paces, he can’t fight the smile.
Tango’s first conscious thought is that the Dragonborn is kind of cute.
Jimmy starts to see Tango around. He’s in Whiterun every few days at least, and he makes it a habit to greet the guard when he sees him. Tango often responds with something cryptic and impersonal, a soft frown adorning his features, before he perks up and answers Jimmy properly.
First Seed comes colder this year, though maybe that’s common for Skyrim. Jimmy’s well-travelled, but before his arrest while crossing the border, he had never visited Skyrim before. Still, as the final snows of the winter release their hold on the land and give way to spring, Jimmy tries to learn about his new friend.
“Where are you from?” he asks one day, sweating at Adrienne’s forge in only his underclothes as Tango loiters nearby.
Tango shrugs. “It’s a rare occasion that I ever leave Whiterun,” he answers. “I’ve been here long as I remember.”
Jinmy slips the heated moonstone into the cold water and glances at Tango just in time to see him shake his head. He looks concerned, or unsettled perhaps, but then his expression clears. Jimmy tries not to dwell on it. “Where are you from, Jimmy? Cyrodiil?”
Jimmy sighs. “I was born there, and my parents are Imperial, but I feel little connection to the Heartland. I’ve traveled throughout Tamriel. Before Skyrim, I was fleeing High Rock. I touched down in Cyrodiil and attempted to cross the border into Skyrim when I was arrested along with Jarl Ulfric.”
He doesn’t miss the uhappy look that flickers over Tango’s face. “Ulfric Stormcloak is a traitor,” he points out, almost as if compelled. “He’s a disgrace to the title of Jarl, and you shouldn’t offer him any such respect.”
Jimmy sighs, taking his fresh Elven sword to the grindstone. Perhaps declaring his… affinity (since allegiance feels too strong a word) to the Stormcloaks in the middle of ostensibly neutral Whiterun is a bad idea, but he feels it would be dishonest not to do so. At least to Tango.
He doesn’t want to lie to Tango.
“He sits upon the throne of Windhelm,” Jimmy argues. “He is a Jarl, until such a time as he’s unseated by the Imperials.”
Tango hums, his eyes following Jimmy’s every movement as he carefully lubricates and sharpens the blade. “Perhaps. But you know that Balgruuf is going to join the Empire, don’t you? All the guards can see it, even if he’s not prepared to admit it yet, and you’re in and out of his court enough…”
Tango trails off, suddenly looking suspicious. “What do you do, up at Dragonsreach? Are you plotting against Jarl Balgruuf?”
Jimmy’s so shocked he drops his sword, and the smooth refined moonstone clatters against the rough stones beneath him, making him flinch. “Of course I’m not going overthrow the Jarl, Tango,” he laughs in disbelief. “I barely talk to him. Mostly I go up there to engage the court wizard. I need soul gems to keep my enchantments sharp.”
It’s not uncommon to find people who don’t trust the Dovahkiin. But usually they’re not the guards of the cities the Dovahkiin protects. Maybe this is a lost cause. Maybe Jimmy should give it up.
His right hand closes around the hilt of the sword again, and his left falls to his throat, where his Amulet of Talos sits hidden beneath his undershirt.
“So, you support the White-Gold Concordat, then?” Jimmy asks, immediately sticking his foot in his mouth. That doesn’t sound like dropping it.
Tango huffs an impressed laugh. “That ain’t exactly small talk there, Jimjam,” he answers, shifting his stance against the wooden beam supporting the roof of the shop. “I could lose my job for shit-talking the Elves, you know.”
Jimmy grinds his teeth before turning back to the forge and tossing in some more refined moonstone, this time to make a chestpiece. “No one should be able to tell anyone else who they can worship. Even if you think my gods are heresy, you don’t have the right to take them from me, nor I you. We are all Battle-Siblings and we need to respect and love each other, even those we don’t understand.”
Tango’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that Jimmy glances up from pouring moonstone into the mold to meet his eyes. Tango’s just staring at him.
When Tango finally regains his composure, he says, “that’s very, er… Divines, what’s the word for it in your tongue? Dovahkiin of you.”
The little smile that tugs at the corner of Jimmy’s lips doesn’t feel like much, but it brings a matching one to Tango’s face, and Jimmy grins. “If anyone can do it, it’s me.” Then he chuckles awkwardly. “That sounds egotistical. I just meant– the Divines have plans for me. Whether I want them or not.”
A hand falls on Jimmy’s shoulder and he jumps; Tango’s crossed to stand beside him at the forge. “We all have our part to play. We’ll figure it out together.”
Jimmy looks at him, trying to piece together his emotions, and then—
“My cousin’s out fighting dragons, and what do I get? Guard duty.”
The moment shatters. Jimmy looks away, and Tango steps back to resume his patrol, his hand resting on the pommel of his Steel sword.
Jimmy didn't even get to give him the Elven one.
Before Talos was a god, He was an Emperor.
Emperor Tiber Septim, they called Him. He united the nations of Tamriel, the Arena, the Dawn’s Beauty, through violence and bloodshed. Radiant conquest, He called it.
Jimmy knows, because before Tiber Septim was an Emperor, He was a man.
He was a man called Joel.
Jimmy pops into the gates of Whiterun moving excessively slowly. Tango watches him, though he’s unable to move to assist. He’s unsure whether he’s rooted in place by duty or by Divine, but either way, he can only watch as Jimmy takes step after painstaking step up the shallow incline of Whiterun’s main street.
Then Jimmy opens his mouth, and the sound that leaves it is entirely inhuman. “Wuld… Nah Kest!” he Shouts, and he seems to blur in Tango’s vision as he moves so quickly from the gates to the city center it’s as if he was always there.
Then he returns to walking slow and pained.
Tango watches him, counting, though he doesn’t know for what. He makes it to thirty-five; on thirty-six, Jimmy turns left and Shouts again, launching himself forward and out of Tango’s sight.
Dragon Shouts are perhaps the best known piece of Dragon history, now that they’re all extinct. Or… they were. The power of the Voice is well-known for being a rare gift, offered only to the Dovahkiin. To speak the Words of Power and access the ancient Dragons’ might is truly an incredible thing. Tango only knows the names in Common, not the Words in the Dragon Tongue.
Tango remains still as a statue. When he attempts to lift his arm from his sword handle, it fails to respond to his command. Panic surges inside of him, but it’s immediately met with a wave of calm. Hi tohviik maarohn hah, whispers a voice in his head. It’s gentle, like a mother’s lullaby, and he feels himself relax. Hi poksh ni morah. Dovahkiin drem.
Something about that tugs at his mind—isn’t Dovahkiin supposed to mean something important?—but he can’t conjure any thoughts and eventually the heavy presence that seems to press him into the floor lifts.
Jimmy strolls past him on his way out and tips his head in greetings as he goes. Tango waves at him, though his memory of the day is fuzzy. He opens his mouth to say something, but all that comes out is, “let me guess. Someone stole your sweetroll.”
Jimmy gives him an odd look but doesn’t stop, just disappearing out of Whiterun. Tango’s head feels heavy and pounding, but he blinks away the fog. His shift is almost over, and he wants to see if he can’t stop by that old bookshop. Surely they’ll have what he needs.
After all, there's thousands of years of Dragon history, right?
Jimmy kneels in the center of his bedroom in Lakeview Manor, directly in front of his shrine. He could never do this in Whiterun; he’d be far too paranoid of being caught, even within the safety of Breezehome.
He clutches his amulet of Talos in his fist, the cord draped over his knuckles, and begins to pray.
“O, Great Talos,” he murmurs to no one. “Ysmir, Dragon of the North, Grey Wind, Storm of Kyne. He Who Ascended, He Who Brings Hope.”
Here is where his words falter. Talos hasn’t communicated with him properly in years, so there’s really no way to know what He would prefer. Some part of Jimmy, the part that saw Him change over many years, thinks that He would find it demeaning to acknowledge Him as mortal. And yet, that’s who He was to Jimmy. That’s what feels most true.
“Emperor Tiber Septim,” he manages to choke out finally. “Joel, my dear friend.”
A bitter laugh escapes his lips. “What the fuck am I supposed to do?
“The Greybeards call me Dovahkiin. The dragons do as well. There is an entire world accessible to me that I should never have been granted entry to, and I am lost. I am scared. I am tired.
“I have found a companion, kind and pure of heart, but every time we seem to get close, he pushes me away. As though compelled, as though driven to keep me at a distance.
“I don’t know that I want to remain in Skyrim. I don’t know that I want to fight for the Stormcloaks, and I’ll bleed out in a cave before I join the Empire. It is no longer your Empire, Joel, holy and gruesome. It is no longer the Empire we built together. It’s become hollow, merely adornments worn by the Thalmor as they attempt to usurp our great continent.
“I will not let them take you from me.”
This is the only thing Jimmy knows with any certainty. No matter who he has to fight, how many dragons he has to fell, how many Septims are placed on his head. No matter who comes in his way, even…
(He swallows unconfortably at the thought, but forces himself to continue.)
Even if it’s Tango. They can pry Jimmy’s amulet of Talos—the last proper gift Joel ever gave him, the only thing he still owns that was touched by Joel’s hands—from his cold grip when his heart has ceased to beat, and not one moment before.
The tears stain his tunic and his eyes fall closed. Joel deserved His ascension with every bit of His being. He fought and He killed and He grieved and He sacrificed to bring the Empire together.
(Jimmy still remembers the last time he saw Joel cry.)
But that knowledge can never lessen the grief that stabs at Jimmy’s heart when he’s reminded that this is the closest he will ever again be to his best friend. Joel will never punch his arm or scrub his hair with His knuckles or pull him close and remind Jimmy that they’re Shield-Brothers.
Joel is gone. All Jimmy has left is a shrine he smuggled across the border in a box of Alto Wine and an amulet that was handcrafted by a god.
He’ll rot in prison before he lets them take what little he has left of Joel.
He barely notices he’s sobbing until he hears a small gasp from his own throat. He sets down the amulet beside the shrine to calm himself before he moves on. He takes a few deep breaths, wiping his tears, and takes the amulet in his fist once more.
“I don’t like the Stormcloaks,” he confesses. “They have high opinions of themselves, and they see the rest of us as… well, if not lesser than the Nords, then at least less worthy of the land we stand on. They talk about mer as mindless animals, they barely acknowledge the beasts. Even the Imperials they disdain, they think the Bretons and the Redguards savages.
“I was raised that we are all multitudinous beings with our own unique potential. This is why murder is the highest crime one can commit; because we are taking from someone their opportunity to change the world. To look upon the other inhabitants of Nirn as strange and different rather than as Battle-Siblings with much to offer doesn’t sit right with me.”
Jimmy takes a deep breath. “But if this is how I defend You, Joel, then this is how I shall defend You. I will not let the Aldmeri Dominion eradicate Talos worship from lands that are not even their own.”
He rises to his feet, his head bowed respectfully as he moves through the ending rites. “Through Talos, may we recognize all things are possible. May His Divine spirit spark my soul and lead me to cool rivers. May Talos remind me that one man has an ocean of power inside him. He can do anything he wishes.”
As he slips his amulet back over his head, he smiles at the little statue of Joel. “Even kill dragons.”
Books on dragons are few and far between. Even harder to come by are books on dragon culture. But Tango makes do. He starts by studying the alphabet—he’s found a lovely chart that seems to be a recreation of some ancient dragon ritual site—and once he knows he understands it, he starts to learn properly.
He forgets what he’s doing eight times a night, but each time it happens, he comes back faster.
He brings his books on guard shifts. No one asks him what he’s doing, and he wonders if he expected them to. He works every day.
(He doesn’t seem to have a house. He doesn’t seem to ever sleep. But Jimmy lives in Breezehome. It’s probably only a hundred yards away. Tango could just follow him inside sometime, right?)
(Is it weird that he doesn’t live anywhere? He’s also not homeless. There are only two homeless people in Whiterun; an elderly man and a young child. He watches Jimmy push a pouch of coins into old Brenuin’s hands every day. “Oh, thank you! Divines bless your kind heart,” says Brenuin in return.
Every day. Like clockwork.)
(The more Tango watches, the more he thinks that maybe Jimmy is the only truly free person in all the city. He wonders what that means.)
“Where would you go, if you could go anywhere?”
Tango’s practicing writing the names of the Nine Holds in the Dragon Script, which probably has a name, but Tango doesn’t know what it is yet. His notebook is carefully held so that Jimmy can’t see it, but Jimmy looks up when Tango asks.
(They’re in the Bannered Mare, sitting by the fire. Jimmy’s already downed three glasses of Black-Briar Reserve, and Tango ordered an Ashfire Mead but he hasn’t been drinking it. Drinking doesn’t seem like such a good idea lately. Are they allowed to be in the Bannered Mare? Surely Jimmy is, he’s the Dovah kiin [DRAGON-BORN, nice and direct as translations go] and he can go where he likes, but is Tango?
Tango can’t even tell if there are others in the inn with them. Every time he glances up, it seems a wildly different state of occupancy, though no one seems to be talking. Just Tango and Jimmy.)
Jimmy hums. “I’ve seen most of Tamriel, but perhaps I’d visit somewhere again. I liked Morrowind, though it’s quite hot. Maybe I’d go to Summerset.”
Tango smiles fondly at his paper. Jimmy always makes him smile. So little of his life makes sense, except for Jimmy. Jimmy fits in right where he’s supposed to. “You just love mer, don’t you?” he laughs.
Jimmy rolls his eyes, sitting up from where he’d been lying on a bench, his pretty golden braid dragging on the floor, surely getting all manner of grime and muck in his hair. “I think people are fascinating,” is his completely evasive non-answer. “What about you? Where would you go?”
Tango sets down his pen, looking out across the room. At the edges of his vision, dark shapes that might be people dart—disappear—flicker. He stares at the wall.
“I had a friend from Bangkorai,” he says, though he’s not sure where this memory comes from. He doesn’t remember ever remembering this before, yet it’s clear as day in his mind. “A Redguard. He disappeared years ago. I’d like to find him someday.”
Jimmy’s left hand touches the hollow of his throat. Tango’s eyes have traced the outline of him enough times to know he wears a pendant beneath his tunic. He even has a suspicion what the pendant might be.
(It’s already Midyear, the summer days dawning longer and longer, burning warmer and warmer, and soon it will be Sun’s Height. Four months Tango has known Jimmy; simultaneously a lifetime and a single breath. Sometimes Tango thinks Jimmy is blessed by Akatosh, the way that time seems to flow around him in whatever stream he pleases.
But Akatosh is not the Divine Jimmy serves, Tango doesn’t think. He’s seen the outline of Jimmy’s treasured pendant, traced it with his eyes enough times to have a pretty good idea that Jimmy devotes himself to Ysmir.
Two months ago, in Rain’s Hand, the Dovahkiin made clear his intention to join the Stormcloaks. Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun joined the Imperials. Jimmy is not barred from Whiterun—the entire guard force couldn’t keep him out if this was where he wanted to be—but it should mean that they can’t see each other like this. Certainly not so publicly.)
Tango should turn him in. It would be the legal thing to do, the path least likely to have Tango stripped of his title and cast out into the cold to fend for himself. Perhaps it would even be the right choice.
But something cold and sickening squirms in Tango’s gut every time he considers it, and he dismisses the idea each time.
“I had a good friend who left me, too,” Jimmy says, bringing Tango back to the moment. “It was always his destiny, but I loved him. I think… he may have even loved me. But that was many years ago. Eventually, the only path we have is forward.”
Tango wonders what Jimmy considers to be many years ago. He doesn’t look a day over thirty-one, but he carries himself with the world-weariness of a man who’s seen so much cruelty. More than his share.
Tango smiles, lifting his pen again to attempt Jimmy’s name once more. “I agree,” he says softly. “The only path we have is forward.”
Jimmy leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What are you doing?”
Tango shakes his head. “Practicing penmanship,” he answers. “But it’s getting quite late Jimmy, and the fire is dying. You ought to get home.”
Jimmy smiles. “Will you write me a letter?”
Not yet, Tango wants to say, but Jimmy gives him the sweetest look, his long dirty braid slung over his right shoulder, and Tango gives in. “What do you want it to be about?”
Jimmy pretends to think, and as he does, Tango’s eyes fall to the amulet around his neck, leaving a hint of a shape in his tunic. A hammer and arrowhead. “Can it be about you?”
Tango’s eyes flick back to Jimmy’s face, and oh… oh. Jimmy’s so close Tango can feel his breath, electricity flying between them like a rune of shock on the tabletop.
Tango becomes suddenly very aware that he’s never kissed anyone.
Jimmy licks his lips. The light in the room is dim. The people that may or may not be there are the last thing on Tango’s mind, and he looks and Jimmy and wants.
“Tango,” Jimmy says quietly. It sounds like a warning. Tango should listen.
He doesn’t.
Before he can stop himself, he leans forward to taste Jimmy’s lips, just in case he never gets to do it again. Jimmy presses back against him immediately, and with his last rational thought Tango closes his notebook because Jimmy can’t be seeing that before he’s ready.
When they’re both thoroughly out of breath, Jimmy pulls back, staring at Tango with wide blue eyes. Fuck, his eyes are so blue.
“You can’t do this to me, Jimmy,” Tango gasps, lifting a hand to touch his lips. He feels stunned, he feels strange. He feels so very unlike himself.
Maybe that’s why Jimmy likes him.
The thought is sobering. Abruptly, he stands from the table, pushing back his chair and hearing it scrape on the cobblestone floor. Jimmy looks up at him, his eyes now wide with alarm rather than with—
Well. Whatever that was before.
He grips his notebook in a sweaty palm and reaches for his pen. Jimmy’s hand closes around his wrist.
“Please,” he whispers. “Tango, talk to me.”
“You’re grieving,” Tango says, swallowing. “You had– you left someone behind.”
“He left me,” Jimmy says with sudden and surprising anger in his tone. “He was always going to leave me.”
Tango pauses. For just a moment, he thinks he can hear Jimmy saying something else.
Hi nis zakkil zu’u tibn.
You can’t leave me too.
Tango doesn’t have time to think about why he knows the translation, or why he can hear Jimmy’s thoughts. His heart breaks cleanly in two, and he drops back into the chair with a quiet thunk as the uneven chair legs wobble on the cobblestones.
Jimmy stares at him for a long moment, and Tango stares back. “I’m sorry,” Tango says finally, shattering their fragile silence. “I’m not– I won’t go anywhere.”
Jimmy’s brows relax just slightly. “You’re– you mean it?”
Tango nods numbly. “We’ll have to discuss some things. And I don’t think we should be seen together in public.”
Jimmy’s face falls just slightly. “When will I get to see you, then?”
Tango doesn’t have an answer. He does, after all, live all his life on the streets of Whiterun, walking up and down the cobbled roads scanning for looters, pickpockets, petty thieves… and dragons.
He closes his notebook. “I’ll write you a letter, Jimmy,” he answers quietly. “It’ll be about me.”
Jimmy watches him walk away. Tango wonders if he’ll even make it to a bed.
Tango can’t enter Breezehome. Jimmy invites him one night—not for anything like that, just because he wants some privacy—and Tango walks up the steps to stand in the doorway, then stops. Jimmy raises his eyebrows at him from three steps inside.
“You comin’?” he asks quietly. Tango tips his head to one side.
“I used to be…” He trails off. “Jimmy?”
Jimmy nods, confused and starting to get a little scared. “Yeah. Come on. We’re just gonna have tea.”
Tango’s leg moves as if to take a step, but his foot winds up right back in the same place as it started. His expression is growing panicked. “Jimmy,” he says again. Jimmy rushes to his side.
He grabs Tango’s arms, summoning Healing Hands to his palms, and tries to push the restoration magic into Tango’s skin. There’s really no telling whether this will do anything for him, but he doesn’t know Calm yet. Tango’s eyes are blown wide.
Jimmy searches inside himself for something else to do. Clearly there’s a reason Tango can’t enter. Clearly there’s something going on. He can’t just drag him through the door. He has to do something else.
The words that leave his lips are words he doesn’t even know, or at least doesn’t remember learning. He presses his forehead to Tango’s and murmurs, “hi toviik maarohn ha. Hi poksh ni morah.”
Immediately, Tango’s posture relaxes. He clings back, his hands falling to Jimmy’s waist. His eyes close and he presses against Jimmy like he wants nothing more than to crawl into Jimmy’s armour. “I’m sorry,” he gasps through boiling tears. “I’m sorry, Jimmy.”
Jimmy steps out, closing the door behind himself with one hand, never moving the other away from Tango’s face. “It’s alright. I don’t know what’s happening, Tango.”
Tango shakes his head. His blonde hair falls around his shoulders in delicate waves, as if he hasn’t been standing beneath the hot summer sun in Steel armour all day.
(Does Tango ever take off his helmet when he’s not with Jimmy?)
(On that note, where does Tango sleep?)
Tango’s lower lip trembles. “I don’t know what’s happening either, Jimmy. There’s so many– I don’t understand.”
Jimmy swallows, lifting a hand to tuck Tango’s hair behind his ear. “We’ll figure it out. It’s alright. Go home.”
Tango looks as though he wants to say something else, but then he closes his mouth, shaking his head. “Alright,” he answers softly. “Come… come find me? Next time you’re in town?”
Jimmy smiles weakly. “Of course.” He moves to step away, to reopen his house, but Tango stops him with a hand on his arm, shoving something into his palm.
“For you. Like I promised.”
Tango’s gone before Jimmy can look at it. It’s a small crumpled piece of paper in Tango’s neat, cramped handwriting. A letter.
Jimmy steps inside and sits at his cooking fire. He reads the letter, then reads it again, and when he falls into bed, it sits neatly folded on his bedside table.
“Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin,” says Tango excitedly when Jimmy walks past him. It’s a Loredas and Sun’s Rest, so most are making sweetrolls at home rather than working, praying, or purchasing any goods. Clearly the guards don’t get the day off, though, which Jimmy thinks is a bit of a shame.
Jimmy stares at Tango like he’s grown a second head. “Where did you learn that?”
The only person—if he can be called that—who’s ever said that to Jimmy was Paarthurnax. Jimmy’s also heard the dragons say it to each other, but he doesn’t actually know what it means.
Tango pulls his helmet off and beneath it, he’s grinning at Jimmy. “Found it in a book. I’ve been doing a lot of research, actually– fucking nobody seems to have any resources on Dovahzul. I had to pull some strings with Martyn, who contacted a friend in Solitude, who imported a bunch of books from Winterhold and Cyrodiil.” When Jimmy doesn’t really respond, his face falls slightly. “I… uh. I was trying to learn Dovahzul. For you.”
The pieces click together in Jimmy’s head. His face burns hot, even as his chest warms. “You… you were trying to learn the dragon tongue to speak with me. Because I’m Dragonborn.”
“Well met, Dragonborn,” says another guard, pressing a fist to her chest as she strolls by. Suddenly, Jimmy becomes keenly aware that they’re having this rather personal conversation right in front of the gates of Whiterun. They seem to do that a lot.
Jimmy glances to both sides, then grabs Tango’s arm and drags him behind Adrienne’s forge. She won’t bother them. “Right?” he prompts, and Tango swallows, nodding.
Divines, Jimmy’s so embarrassed.
He lets go of Tango, ducking his head. He can’t meet Tango’s eyes when he says this. “I don’t, actually, uh.” He swallows. “I don’t actually speak Dovahzul.”
There’s a long silence. Jimmy counts to eight, then hesitantly glances up at Tango, who’s simply staring at him. Jimmy flutters his blonde eyelashes, and then Tango cracks a smile, and Jimmy relaxes.
“That is… the funniest thing I’ve ever heard.” Tango says. He snorts quietly, then collapses into a fit of giggles. “Three months I’ve been studying every book I could find– and you don’t even know what I’m—”
His shoulders shake with laughter, completely swallowing his words. Jimmy can’t help it; he starts to laugh as well. He has to lean against the sturdy stone walls of Warmaiden’s to keep from collapsing into the dry grass beneath their feet. Tango braces himself against the smelter and they giggle until they’re both out of breath.
Jimmy inhales deeply, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. (Tango always does this to him. It’s been so long since anyone could make his palms sweat this way.) He grins at the Breton, opening his mouth to say something, but he doesn’t know what.
Tango shakes his head, his smile wide and open. It’s so rare that Tango seems completely free from anxiety, but Jimmy likes it. “So I’m gonna teach you Dovahzul, then.”
Jimmy glances through the forge toward the gates, but no one’s looking at them. Quickly, he leans in and drops a rebellious kiss on Tango’s lips. Tango chuckles in the space between them as Jimmy pulls away. “That sounds good,” Jimmy agrees, smiling. “What’s Drem Yol Lok then?”
Tango lights up. “Okay, so literally it translates to PEACE-FIRE-SKY, but in common usage it just means ‘hello’ or ‘greetings’.”
It’s silly, but somehow, hearing Tango speak the Dragon tongue is the hottest thing that’s ever happened to Jimmy. He leans in again, pulling Tango close with an arm around his waist. “Whiterun can go without one guard, right?” he purrs. Tango rolls his eyes, but his smile gives him away.
“I figured out how to get in your house,” Tango breathes. Jimmy tries not to think about that, about Tango relentlessly trying to force his way into the building until he finally pushed through whatever invisible barrier kept him outside. Instead he just twists his fingers in Tango’s hair.
“Well, then I’ve got a bed big enough for two,” he breathes. “And maybe you should keep throwing Dragon words at me.”
“Incorrigible,” Tango chuckles, but he accepts the kiss graciously.
Tango likes Jimmy. He likes talking with him, poring over books, drinking each other under the table, betting on games of chance (even though Jimmy’s got more gold than fucking Talos for whom the Septims are named). He likes the kissing too, and the… other stuff. But even with all of that, Jimmy’s the Dovahkiin, and Tango’s slowly coming to the realization that he’s…
Well. The only way he knows how to think of it is that he’s not a person.
He doesn’t seem to have a history. Or friends, relationships of any kind outside of Jimmy. He has no home, he has no hobbies, he has no skills. He doesn’t know the names of any of the other guards he posts with, even though he spends twelve hours with them a day. Do they have names? Are they as inanimate as he is?
He tries not to think about it. (It’s so easy not to think about it; when Jimmy’s not around, the world is dimmer, and Tango’s mind goes blank. It’s blissful. It’s peaceful. It’s terrifying.)
Tango likes Jimmy, but that doesn’t change the fact that Jimmy’s strange, and Tango doesn’t understand him. For example, Jimmy’s talking to Adrienne. Tango’s watching them both; they’re probably thirty yards from him. He’s looking at them straight on. And yet, he’s not quite sure what he’s seeing.
Jimmy keeps handing over chestplates—Elven, Elven, Elven, Ebony, Daedric, Dwarven—and then he stops. He says something to Adrienne, and she responds. And then Jimmy draws his weapon.
(Jimmy uses a Glass Shield of Resist Magic that lives on his right arm, and a Glass War Axe of Absorb Health in his left hand. Tango’s watched him upgrade them; when they first met, he was using a Steel War Axe and an Ancient Nord Shield he pulled out of some draugr’s tomb.)
Tango would swear on his life that Jimmy attacks Adrienne. Which he would never have expected from Jimmy, because Jimmy hates violence. But then Jimmy is no longer holding his weapons, just standing peacefully with his hands at his sides, rummaging through his pack to pass her an Ebony Warhammer. Tango didn’t even blink; there was no movement. Something was happening, and then it had never happened.
Tango needs to get his eyes checked. Or get some better sleep aids from the apothecary.
The letter that Tango wrote Jimmy—the first one—lives on his Shrine to Talos. He’s not sure why (he knows why) but it feels like the right place to put it. This one is in Common. Tango also wrote him one in Dovahzul for practice. Jimmy has that one memorized by now, the words soothing his dragon’s blood when it boils with rage and pain. When he thinks too hard about Talos, sacrificing himself for the good of his Empire.
In another lifetime, in another Era, Jimmy was the right hand of the Emperor. He razed Tamriel and brought all manner of warriors to their knees before Tiber Septim. He was violent, and cruel, and bloodthirsty, and he reveled in it. He loved it. He loved to serve his King, his friend.
He knew it would come to an end. He knew that nothing could last forever, but he wanted to have his time at Joel’s side. Even if, by then, there was no one else alive who knew that name.
In the end, they fought. They screamed at each other, and they spoke angry words that they neither believed. Jimmy had summoned a Bound Battleaxe, right there in Tiber Septim’s throne room, and Joel had pulled for destruction magic, and they crossed blades.
Tiber Septim died that night. Jimmy had held him (a man, not yet a god), cross-legged on the floor with Joel’s head in his lap, and Joel had made him promise. He had watched the tears slip down Joel’s cheeks, and he knew that he would have promised anything.
He hadn’t watched when the Divines came down to lift Joel out of his arms. But he had desperately wished he could have pulled Him back down.
Fall in love again.
Such a simple promise. Jimmy had made it, unsure if he would ever be able to keep it. Ashamed of the way that Joel had been so keenly aware of Jimmy’s feeble, sensitive feelings. Whether He returned them or not never mattered; Jimmy knows that now. Joel was always destined to join the ranks of the Divines. Jimmy was always meant for a life of fighting dragons, apparently.
At least now he’s kept his promise. But when Tango’s not with him, he kisses his Amulet before bed. “Miss you, Joel,” he whispers on occasion. Maybe, somewhere, Joel can still hear him.
He hopes so.
Tango lays at Jimmy’s side, their fingers intertwined, and asks, “when’s your birthday?”
Jimmy chuckles. “Rain’s Hand, the sixteenth.”
Tango nods. “Ah, so you’re under the sign of the Mage.”
“You don’t really put stock in that Astrology stuff, do you?” Jimmy asks. He turns his head to look at Tango, and Tango meets his eyes.
In honesty, Tango doesn’t know. The more time he spends with Jimmy, the starker their differences become. Tango’s begun to feel so hollow and one-dimensional. Jimmy knows so many things, he has opinions. He has beliefs. Tango isn’t sure he’s got any of that.
But what he says is, “not really. Fun to think about, though. Imagine saying that the stars really decide who you are.”
Jimmy smiles, but it’s a sad sort of smile. A tight one. “I think the Dragons decided who I was.”
Jimmy doesn’t ask when Tango’s birthday is. Tango doesn’t have a birthday.
Was he even real before Jimmy woke him up?
And then there’s the day that Jimmy gets arrested.
It isn’t really anything. He snags a couple of Poisons of Damage Magicka Regen off of Arcadia’s shop counter to sell back to her. Only she catches him doing it.
She screams to the guards and within moments, Jimmy finds himself spinning to face the horde that flies through the doors to Arcadia’s Cauldron. At the head, of course, is Tango.
Tango holds out his sword—he’s required to use a sword, but no one’s mentioned anything about Jimmy upgrading his gear for him, so now he stands out from the other guards in Ebony armour and a Daedric sword—and looks at Jimmy with a blank expression. Like he doesn’t even recognize him.
“You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people,” Tango intones, and his voice is doing that thing again, where it’s not him. There’s nothing of Tango in it. Suddenly, Jimmy feels very cold and very scared. “What say you in your defense?”
“Tango,” Jimmy pleads. “It’s me, I’m—”
He glances around the room. There’s five guards here, in their matching Scaled guard armour, with their identical Steel Swords. And then Tango stands directly in front of Jimmy, looking nothing like them, and staring at the Dovahkiin like he’s never seen him before.
Something breaks inside of Jimmy. He swallows. “You caught me. I’ll pay off my bounty.” He passes a pouch of gold and the stolen potions to Tango, who tucks them away and sheathes his sword, then relaxes into a normal posture. The rest of the guards disperse.
“Oh,” Tango says, blinking at Jimmy as though seeing him for the first time. “Hi, Jimmy.”
Jimmy swallows. “Hi, Tango,” he answers softly. He feels weak, he feels exhausted. He wants to crawl in his bed and sleep for days. He wants to pull Tango against his chest and hold him until he knocks whatever’s wrong with him back into place. He wants to cry.
“I’m going home,” he says instead. Tango reaches for him, but Jimmy brushes past him, defeated.
He rides his horse back through Whiterun Hold and into Falkreath Hold, unable to appreciate the glimmering wildlife along the roads. He sees no one.
He doesn’t understand why Tango does this. Talks to him like they’re not… whatever they are. It stings, every time, but today cuts deeper than anything else. Tango looked at him with no compassion. He looked at Jimmy like a job.
Is it really that easy to turn off whatever they are to each other? Is it really that simple for Tango, to pretend that Jimmy’s not the same little dovah who kissed his chest this morning and whispered praises in a strange mix of Common and Dovahzul?
He doesn’t understand any of this. So he does the only thing he knows how to do.
He kneels at his shrine, and he prays.
“Dragon names are comprised of three words in Dovahzul, arranged in order of importance to the sentence.” Tango’s voice is soft and soothing as he speaks. “Typically, they’re monosyllabic words, like the Words of Power in your Shouts, so that Dragons can call each other by Shouting their names across the sky.”
Jimmy hums. “Paarthurnax gave me one.” When Tango raises his eyebrows, Jimmy chuckles. “Right, uh. Paarthurnax is a dragon who lives at the Throat of the World. He’s trying to teach me what I need to know to take down Alduin.”
The thought makes Jimmy falter just a bit. He’s supposed to be stopping the Dragon threat, protecting Skyrim from the World-Eater, but he keeps getting distracted. Mostly by Tango.
It’s not fair, Jimmy thinks. There’s just so many things he’s meant to be doing, and it’s too much to put on one guy. Even a guy like Jimmy. Does he not deserve some time for himself? Does he not deserve to take a load off and kiss a beautiful boy and try to build a life in this miserable province?
He’s laid in his bed, atop the covers with his ankles hanging off the edge, propped up on his elbows. Tango lays next to him on his stomach, poring over one of his many, many books. “What’s your Dovahzin?” he asks. Jimmy flops down onto the covers, staring up at the ceiling.
“Paarthurnax calls me Dovyolviir. Personally I think the V-Y combination is kinda hard to say.”
Tango repeats it under his breath, like he’s tasting the words. “You just collect names and titles, don’t you, Jimmy?” he murmurs. “How many Holds are you Thane of by now?”
Jimmy grins at him, lifting back onto his elbows to see Tango better. “All nine. I never expected to spend this long in Skyrim, but here I am.”
“Thane, Harbinger, Arch-Mage. Dovahkiin, Dovyolviir.” Tango looks up at him through his lashes, coy and soft. “I think I like Jimmy the best.”
Jimmy giggles, and if they weren’t in such awkward positions, Jimmy would kiss him right now. Instead he just grins at Tango, his face feeling warm and his chest feeling light. “I like you too, Tango,” he teases. Tango rolls his eyes.
“That’s not what I said—” he argues, and Jimmy shakes his head.
“But you meant it!”
Tango cuts himself off with a fit of giggles. “Whatever, Jimmy,” he laughs. “You’re so– Divines, you’re so incredible.”
Jimmy reaches out to pull the book toward him. “I want to give you a Dovahzin,” he breathes. “Something to keep close. Something you’ll know keeps you connected to me.”
“Are you allowed?” Tango asks. “You’re not technically a Dovah.”
Jimmy shrugs. “I have the soul of a Dovah, according to Paarthurnax and the Greybeards. I have a Dragon’s blood. And also, I’m the fucking Dovahkiin, and I can do whatever I want.”
Tango’s laughter echoes through the rafters of Breezehome. Jimmy does so love to make him laugh. Jimmy reaches out to card his fingers gently through Tango’s hair as he examines the list of Words of Power. “Briijaxyol,” Jimmy decides softly after a long moment. “BEAUTY-HEART-FLAME.” He opens his mouth to explain, but the words fail him. There’s no distilling Tango down to three words, in any language, but these are the ones that sing to the Dragon in Jimmy’s soul.
Tango’s eyes well with tears and he ducks his head. Jimmy feels his expression drop. “You okay?”
Tango shakes his head. When he speaks, he sounds choked. “You’re too good to me, Jimmy,” he gasps. “You’re so fuckin’ precious.”
Jimmy sighs, closing his eyes in contentment. “I can’t help it,” he says quietly. “I just love you.”
What were quiet breathless gasps become outright sobs. Tango drags the book off the bedcovers and Jimmy hears it hit the floor dully. On shaking hands and knees, Tango lifts himself to crawl on top of Jimmy, laying his head on Jimmy’s chest. He’s quiet for a long minute, the silence broken only by the painful choking noises wrenching themselves from his chest, and then he says, “you don’t mean that.”
Jimmy blinks, gently toying with Tango’s hair with one hand. “What makes you say that?”
Tango can barely speak through his tears, but he manages. “There’s not– enough of me– to love.”
Jimmy thinks of strange, impersonal greetings. Of a blank stare as he holds the Dragonborn at the tip of a weapon he made. Of missing time and foggy memories and invisible barriers.
Then he thinks of a man who learned an ancient, nigh-lost language for him. Of kisses in the side streets of Whiterun and in the loft of Breezehome and under the silent stars. Of letters that collect on every bookshelf in every home Jimmy owns.
“I think there’s plenty of you,” he answers. “Certainly enough for me.”
He holds Tango close, rubbing circles into his shoulders until the sobs calm to quiet gasps once more. Tango is so good to him. He’ll be patient. He’ll love him through all of this.
“Do you have a Divine? A particular one you pray to?” Jimmy asks softly. “Maybe they can help to soothe some of… this.”
Tango sniffs softly, wiping at his face. “It’s just another of those ways I was never a person,” he sighs. “I never developed my own spirituality. But if I have to pick one… Stendarr. Or Julianos. Mercy and justice, protecting the weak, that feels like you. I think I’d worship Stendarr to be close to you. Julianos because I feel so lost, so alone, and He could guide me to the knowledge and wisdom I need to…” He trails off, staring at a fixed point on the wall. “To learn who I am,” he finishes finally.
Jimmy’s fingers trail through Tango’s hair as he collects his thoughts. “Those both sound like good choices for you. If you want, I’ll make you an Amulet of Stendarr to aid you in battle.”
Tango is quiet.
Jimmy wonders if he should tell him. If there’s anything he can say that will prevent Tango from marching him straight to Dragonsreach and dropping him at Balgruuf’s feet. He swallows, lifting a hand to his throat out of habit. As always, Joel’s Amulet stays tucked beneath his tunic. Tango follows the movement with his eyes.
“You don’t have to tell me,” Tango says quietly. “Plausible deniability, or something. But I won’t turn you in. I couldn’t.”
Could you stop yourself? Jimmy thinks, but he keeps the words locked tightly in his throat.
“Okay,” he says finally.
Tango shifts, slipping an arm under Jimmy’s back. “Do you ever feel like something is… really wrong?”
Somehow, Jimmy knows exactly what he means. Something is really wrong with us. Something is really wrong with you. Or something is really wrong with me, and I’m breaking the world somehow.
Jimmy pulls him closer. “There’s a lot I don’t know about the world, Tango,” he whispers. “But I think we can figure it out.”
“That’s very Dovahkiin of you,” Tango mutters. An echo of something that came before, simultaneously so recent and so very long ago.
(Jimmy feels so much older than his many, many years. For just a moment, he thinks of Joel, and he wonders if Joel would ever approve.)
A tear tracks its way down Jimmy’s cheek and he closes his eyes. “If anyone can do it, it’s me,” he breathes.
Jimmy is the worst Dragonborn there’s ever been. Everyone expects so much from him, sees such potential in his future, and he can’t seem to find it. It still astounds him that he’s not gotten himself killed yet. The problem, ultimately, is that despite how much everyone’s falling all over themselves to worship at his feet, in awe of the unimaginable power he wields, Jimmy simply isn’t that impressive.
Tango lifts his head, and Jimmy opens his eyes to meet his gaze. “I love you too, Jimmy,” Tango whispers. Jimmy feels a bit of tension release in his chest.
Tango kisses him, and Jimmy wonders if he always tasted like melted plastic.
The dying sunlight filters through the windows of Lakeview Manor. The Amulet glimmers in the light, a green abstract hammer dangling from a fine woven cord. Jimmy stares at it, trying to work up the courage to start the prayer. For once, he doesn’t want to talk to Joel.
He doesn’t want to feel Joel’s disapproval.
He sighs, pressing the Amulet to his sternum. “O, Mighty Talos, God of Men, Storm of Kyne, et cetera, et cetera.” Something ghosts over the back of his neck. It feels almost like humour. Jimmy brushes his braid over his shoulder. “I made you a promise. I didn’t know if I would ever achieve it. But I think… I finally have.”
He licks his lips nervously, bowing his head. His grip tightens on the amulet, the arrowhead digging into his palm. “I don’t know how much longer I will have. Every day is a fresh peril, and the Dragons are dedicated to destroying me. I want…”
He falters. The words rest heavy on his tongue, and it would be so easy to swallow them back down. To walk away. He doesn’t want to face Joel’s disappointment in him.
The sun sinks below the horizon, the rays of sunlight dying and the room lit only by flickering candles. Jimmy forces himself to relax his punishing grip on the amulet.
“I was in love with you,” he gasps. Joel knew that, and Jimmy knows that he did, but he never actually said it out loud. “The last man I fell for was a hero of men, a conqueror, an Emperor, a god. And now…”
He shakes his head. “He’s just a guard. He’s just a guard in Whiterun, and he could never fill your boots, but I love him, Joel. I just– please. I need your guidance.”
The room is quiet for a long moment, and then the wind carries in Jimmy’s name. His eyes fly open and he looks around the room. No one is with him, and yet he can feel a presence. His heart rate picks up. It can’t be—
The statues of Talos like to embellish him. They make him tall, broad, well-built and muscled. His jawline is sharp and his cheekbones are excessive. That’s how he appears to others; that’s who he always wanted to be.
But when he appears in Jimmy’s home, he looks so painfully like Joel. Jimmy’s knelt at the foot of his bed in front of the low wardrobe where he keeps the shrine; Joel is lounging on Jimmy’s bed like he’s always belonged there.
“Ayup, Jim,” he says softly. Jimmy gasps in a breath; his lungs feel too small.
“Joel, I—”
“Listen, Jimmy, I haven’t got much time. I can only do this for a few minutes.” Joel kicks his feet off to one side and leans forward, resting his hands on the carved wooden footboard of the bed. “Your guy doesn’t have to be impressive. He doesn’t have to be like me. I’d rather he wasn’t, cause I wanna be special.” Jimmy laughs softly, and Joel’s answering grin is brighter than the sun. “Does he make you happy?”
Jimmy’s lip trembles. “He does, Joel. He’s so incredible.”
Joel reaches out with his right hand and for one breathless moment, Jimmy thinks he’ll feel Joel’s body heat again. But Joel’s hand never makes contact; he’s incorporeal. “Our love was stillborn, Jimmy,” he whispers. “But you have a second chance. A second chance that I never got. You have to take it.”
Jimmy nods. “I’ll always love you, Joel. Nothing can take that from me.”
Joel rests his hands on either side of Jimmy’s face, leaning in to press his lips to Jimmy’s forehead. Even though he can’t feel it, it still means more than Jimmy could ever have imagined. “We had our time,” Joel says, and he doesn’t sound at all like the Emperor who united the Arena in unimaginable bloodshed, but he still sounds like Jimmy’s best friend. “But now it’s time to move on. I give you my blessing, Jimmy.”
Jimmy stays there until Joel fades back into nothingness, and only then do the tears finally fall. This time, he doesn’t try to stop them. He lets them flow as long as they need to, and when they finally cease, he feels scorched clean on the inside, as if his organs have been forged anew from Dragonscales.
He drapes his Amulet over Talos’ shoulders and slips an Amulet of Mara over his neck.
Something’s different about Jimmy. Immediately, the moment he appears. Tango scrutinizes him, for once grateful for the helmet blocking any view of his face. It’s like playing Spot the Difference, but then it clicks.
Jimmy normally wears his amulet beneath his clothes, but today it’s outside of his armor. And it’s definitely not his normal one.
“Jimmy,” Tango gasps. Jimmy spins to look at him, grinning.
“Hi, Tango,” he whispers.
Tango pulls his helmet off so quickly he half expects it to take off his nose. “Jimmy, is that– that’s an Amulet of Mara.”
Jimmy looks like he’s fighting a smile. “It is,” he agrees.
Wearing an Amulet of Mara is like sending up a flare. Especially for the Dragonborn. Is there no one else who’s trying to snatch him up? “So you’re…” Tango swallows. “You’re looking for marriage, then?”
Jimmy shrugs. “If there was someone who wanted me,” he answers. He’s being evasive; he’s looking for something specific.
Tango tosses his helmet off to the side and sinks to his knees, looking up at Jimmy, helpless in the best way. “Choose me,” he whispers. “Please. Let me be the one to share your hearth. Nothing would please me more than to spend my meager years warming your side.”
He watches as Jimmy’s eyes well with tears. He opens his mouth, but Tango will never get to hear his answer, because at that very moment, a deep roar pierces the heavens.
When Paarthurnax Shouts, his Thu’um rings in Jimmy’s head, vibrating his bones and turning his blood to ice in his veins.
It’s unmistakeably a summons, echoing throughout Tamriel, but it’s only for Jimmy. What’s worse, it’s not even Dovahkiin. That would be one thing. But no, it’s Jimmy’s Dragon-Name.
Dovyolviir.
Paarthurnax gave him this name when they started to meet regularly. Literally, Jimmy’s Name means DRAGON-FIRE-DYING. Poetically translated, it’s something like The Last Embers of the Dragons.
This is the name that Paarthurnax calls out to him, rending the sky open with his vicious Thu’um. Not his title, but his name.
“I have to go,” he tells Tango tearfully once the sound dies and his head stops ringing in his Dragonscale helmet. Tango’s proposed marriage to him and he can’t do anything, can’t answer him yes or no because he has to find an Ancient Dragon. “I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Tango looks upset, devastated, and Jimmy breaks. He drops to one knee and presses his lips to Tango’s, sharp and deep. “If you want to marry me,” he whispers into Tango’s lips, “I would be thrilled. I just have to see Paarthurnax first. I’ll be back soon, and we’ll go to the Temple of Mara in Riften. You can live with me in Breezehome. You can quit if you want. You don’t have to be a guard, I have more than enough gold to support us both. I—”
Tango’s laughing, shaking his head. He presses his sweaty forehead to Jimmy’s. “Go, Jimmy,” he breathes. “I’ll see you soon.”
Jimmy forces himself to stand, hauls Tango to his feet, and pulls his helmet back on. “Alright. I’ll be back.”
As he walks away, he tries to ignore the tugging at his heart saying that something isn’t right.
Paarthurnax is a Dragon. To some degree, that means he will always be intimidating to Jimmy. But relative to the other Dragons Jimmy’s faced, he’s pretty tame. He’s large and scaled and he can breathe fire, but Jimmy speaks his tongue. Jimmy knows his secrets.
“Dovahkiin. Hi daal wa faal Monahven.”
Yes, he has returned. Jimmy steels himself, setting his jaw. “Hi takroll zu’u, Paarthurnax. Hi takk dii dovahzin. Tas dreh hi laan?”
Paarthurnax lowers his head, appraising Jimmy. “You speak to me in Dovahzul. You have studied.”
“Zu’u lost ji’arre ol faal Dovahkiin,” Jimmy replies. “I have responsibilities as Dragonborn.”
Paarthurnax lifts his head once again, his long, scaled neck stretching above Jimmy as he looks down at him with slitted eyes. “Responsibilities that you have been neglecting.”
Jimmy’s posture straightens involuntarily. “What do you mean?”
If Paarthurnax had a face that was capable of expressions, he would probably look displeased. “Every day, Alduin raises Dragons from their graves. Every day they rend and raze and strengthen his attempts at dominion over Tamriel. Hi los voktur, goraan, golah! You need to be corrected.”
“Corrected?” Jimmy reels as if he’s been slapped. “What the fuck does that mean.”
Paarthurnax’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t comment on Jimmy’s language. When he speaks again, his voice is low and even, and his words are cryptic. “Rok dreh ni fit kotin hin lein. Hi lost riikahn rok, ahrk rok losk riikahn hi. Hin iiklarin lassdilok kos jahrin.”
Jimmy’s head feels light. He knows most of these words—He does not fit into your world. You have changed him and he has changed you—but some he doesn’t—iiklarin? Jahrin?
“You can’t take him from me,” Jimmy gasps. “Please.”
Paarthurnax closes his eyes, steam shooting from his large nostrils. “You can walk away, or you can be dragged. You do not have a choice.”
Jimmy does not hesitate. His Dragonscale shield is strapped to his back, and he unclips it with his right arm, pulling his Dragonbone axe out of the loop on his belt. “I’ll go through you if I have to.”
“Morokei mulhaan, morokei midun.” Literally GLORIOUS UNCHANGING, GLORIOUS LOYALTY. In Common, it’s something equivalent to eyes on the prize. “Alduin is a greater threat to all of us than I am to him.”
“I can still defeat Alduin.”
“Not if you are distracted. Stubborn Dovahkiin, do you not see this is bigger than all of us?”
Jimmy touches his Amulet. For a moment, he forgets it’s an Amulet of Mara, not an Amulet of Talos. What he wouldn’t give to call on Joel’s might in battle.
Something pushes back into his fingers. Peace. Drem. Hi toviik maarohn ha. Hi poksh ni morah.
He relaxes and slips his axe back into his belt. “I won’t marry him. But that’s all you’ll get from me. And if you do anything to him, I will come back here and I will bring all the fury of Talos with me.”
Paarthurnax pulls close to him. “The Divines have plans for you, Dovahkiin. Whether you want them or not.”
Tango’s not in Whiterun.
Anywhere.
Jimmy’s sprinted through the whole city looking for him. He asked the guards where to find him, but they just greeted him—“Hail, Companion” and “guard might get nervous, a man approaches with his weapon drawn.”
Jimmy still doesn’t bother to slip his axe back into his belt. Tango isn’t here, Tango isn’t here.
“Paarthurnax,” he Shouts, his Thu’um rending the heavens in turn. He hopes Joel can hear him, wherever he is. He hopes his Voice reaches the glorious temples of Sovngarde. “What did you do?”
Somehow, he infuses even the Common with the power of the Dov. People stop in the streets, staring at him in fear and wonder, and for the first time, Jimmy thinks maybe he’s not so bad at being Dragonborn.
He slides his helmet back on and tightens his bracers. He’s going to find Tango if it’s the last thing he does.
A nameless guard stands against the wall, his shield heavy on his arm. He watches. He waits.
Something isn’t right.
Hi toviik maarohn ha. YOU QUIET CALM MIND. Hi poksh ni morah. YOU NEED NOT THINK.
The tension doesn’t leave his body.
The smell of rotting meat drifts up from the Ratway. He hates Riften.
It’s a brief stop. Just to check with Maramal, to see if Tango came ahead for the wedding. He checks in the Temple of Mara, but Maramal hasn’t seen nor heard of him. On his way out of the city, though, a familiar voice greets him.
“Hail, summoner. Conjure me up a warm bed, would you?”
Jimmy freezes in place.
He turns slowly to meet red-gold eyes. His hair has changed, no longer shoulder-length waves but now shaved on the sides, pulled back into a small ponytail high on his head. But he’s a blonde Breton with eyes that Jimmy would know anywhere. It’s definitely him.
Jimmy blinks at the guard. “Tango?” he asks in disbelief. “You're– you're here. In the Rift. Did you get reassigned?”
Tango doesn’t answer, just stares at him, shifting his weight to his other leg, his arms crossed across his chest. Then he pulls out his sword—it’s really strange to see the grey of a Riften guard’s shield on Tango’s left arm instead of the bold yellow of Whiterun—and sheaths it again. He turns, takes one step, then stops and turns back to Jimmy.
“I used to be an adventurer like you. Then I took an arrow in the knee…”
The words go through Jimmy like a bolt. It’s as if Tango doesn’t hear a word he’s saying. As if he’s not Tango anymore.
(It’s only then he realizes; Tango’s in a Riften guard’s uniform. The sword in his hand is Steel. What happened to his Dragonscale?)
Jimmy forces an awkward laugh, trying to smooth the tension with a joke. “If you’re married, Tango, we committed a lot of crimes back in Whiterun.”
There’s no flicker of recognition in Tango’s expression. It’s as if he’s looking straight through Jimmy.
A long silence before Tango speaks again. “Lightly armored means light on your feet. Smart.”
Jimmy chokes down the tears.
He shakes his head. This can’t be real. This can’t be real.
He pulls out his axe and it swings wild and careless to his left side as he stares accusingly up into the sky. “Is this really what you do to your great warriors?” he demands of the Divines. “Your prophesied heroes of mankind, and you treat us like this? You already took Joel from me, and now you take Tango? What else do I have left?”
Mjoll the Lioness approaches him. “Hail, friend. Is there something we need to speak about?”
Jimmy shoves her away. “Keep your distance,” he orders all the bystanders. “Stay back!”
Hands fall to their weapons. Jimmy watches as all of The Rift prepares to accost the last Dovahkiin. “Stay back!” he shouts again, summoning the power of the Dragons behind his words. As if compelled, every person circling him takes one step backward.
The tears are burning Jimmy’s cheeks. Every breath rattles in his ribcage, boiling over with rage and pain. He reaches for his Amulet, but only when he feels the smooth discs rather than the rigid points of an arrow does he remember he still hasn’t retrieved Joel’s Amulet from where it rests on his shrine.
He’s never leaving home without it again. His hand closes around the Amulet of Mara and he tugs it sharply down, feeling the woven cord snap at the base of his skull. He tosses it into the grass. “Yol Toor Shul!” he screams, and his Thu’um is dancing flames, raging inferno as he spins. Dry autumn grass alights and there are horrible gasps from the onlookers as the flames lick their boots, ever growing in spite of the lack of fuel. They stumble back, tripping over each other to escape Jimmy’s wrath.
All this, and Tango still hasn’t moved.
Jimmy glances back at him, and even as the fires of his rage sputter and die in his chest, the anguish only roars louder, a cave bear begging for his attention.
He feels the power of the Voice seeping back into his fingertips and he immediately calls upon it again. “Fus Ro Da!”
His Unrelenting Force sends eight people flying into the stone exterior of the Bee and Barb, and Jimmy hears bones snap. Tango draws his sword, and Jimmy spins to look at him again.
“You have committed crimes against Skyrim and her people. What say you in your defense?”
Jimmy grits his teeth. Just another echo of the past, this time dressed in blooded rags. Jimmy wants to shred the moment, to rend and tear with claws and teeth, to call upon the power of the Dragons and the Divines and rebuild Tamriel until it stops hurting. Until he can erase Tango’s name where it’s engraved on his ribcage. “You don’t get to do this to me, Tango. You, of all people.”
Tango just watches, his sword pointed at Jimmy. (They took everything that made him Tango, even his armour—)
Jimmy glances around at all the other guards watching the exchange. The fire has caught on the thatched roof of the next building; Jimmy watches it spread.
“I’d rather die than go to prison,” he spits. Tango takes one harsh step forward.
“That can be arranged.”
Jimmy didn’t think his heart could break twice.
His shield comes up with practiced precision to catch the side of Tango’s blade. He knocks it away and swings the flat of his axe, hoping to catch Tango in the arm. The flimsy chainspun tunic that passes for guard’s armour tears beneath his blade.
An arrow whizzes past Jimmy’s ear and lodges itself in the wall. The fletching smoulders.
Jimmy blocks the next two with his shield, then slips his axe back into his belt and summons Dragonhide to his palm. His fingers flex as he casts, just in time to catch a Steel arrow in the back of his shoulder. It’s barely a pinprick; Jimmy pulls the whole thing out and discards it on the ground.
“You don’t remember laying beneath the Whiterun stars with me?” Jimmy begs of Tango. “You don’t remember kissing the birthmark on my shoulder and promising that wherever I found myself in Tamriel, we would always be looking at the same sky?”
Tango swings at him again, and this time Jimmy lets him, switching quickly from Dragonhide to Fast Healing. The blade slips neatly into the gap between Jimmy’s chestpiece and his bracers, sinking into the flesh of Jimmy’s sword arm. Jimmy embraces the pain.
Talos, help me, he thinks. The sight of his own blood staining his tunic brings him closer to Joel than he’s been in a long time. He flicks his wrist and the wound closes, the pain subsiding.
If he can’t have Joel, and he can’t have Tango, then Skyrim can’t have a Dovahkiin. Alduin can raze the whole damn place, as far as Jimmy’s concerned.
“I love you,” he whispers anyway. “My Tango. My BEAUTY-HEART-FLAME.” He straps his shield to his back and reaches out with one gloved hand, pressing his fingers to the hollow of Tango’s jaw. “I will miss you, Briijaxyol.”
The guards give chase as Jimmy tears down the walk, through Riften’s gates, and toward the stables where Bullseye awaits.
One guard remains behind, touching his cheek with curious fingers. “Briijaxyol,” he repeats to himself. “Dovyolviir.”
Jimmy rips Paarthurnax’s heart out. It’s not even difficult.
He clutches the Amulet of Talos in his fist, standing over the lifeless body of his Dovah mentor, and he knows that Joel lent him strength. He kisses the amulet, blood in his teeth.
“I love you, Joel,” he declares. “I love you, Tango.”
He raises his fist to the sky, and the clouds answer him with a clap of thunder. He wonders if he will ever again have a home.
It’s like the beginning of a joke. A mortal god, the Dovahkiin, and a Riften guard walk into a polyamorous relationship.
Briijaxyol doesn’t know what the punch line is, yet. But he opens his red eyes and knows his next destination. To Whiterun. He has a little dovah to find.
His Amulet of Mara dangles from his bag, right next to the Amulet of Talos.
In the quiet, misty morning
When the moon has gone to bed
When the sparrows stop their singing
And the sky is clear and red
When the summer’s ceased its gleaming
And the corn is past its prime
When adventure’s lost its meaning
I’ll be homeward bound in time
—Homeward Bound, James Medanus and Tango Vettles