Secret
A Very Shippy Christmas — Day Nineteen
Dria squinted at the man before her. Tall, elven in ears, Nordic in face. Inhuman eyes. Akatosh had told Dria as much, that as Dragonborn he would task her with the a quest only she could do.
As punishment for his failure to do his job , and instead choosing to rule over mortals, Alduin had been turned into that which he hated. And Dria was tasked with keeping him in control.
“You can’t let anyone know who you are.” She said plainly.
Alduin snarled. “And why is that?”
“It’s very simple. You are now mortal. You do not know how to fight as a mortal. If anyone finds out who you are, you will die.”
“Again.” Serana added smugly.
“So,” Dria began, “this is our secret, yes?”
Alduin glared daggers at the Nord women before him. He looked at his pitiful mortal hands and attempted to will them back into clawed wings. When he was unsuccessful, for the hundred-and-fifth time that day, he huffed and looked away with crossed arms.
“Fine.” He said begrudgingly. “But I get to pick my new name. I’ll not have joore deciding what to call me.
Dria and Serana looked at each other. Serana shrugged.
Dria sighed. “Fair enough. What shall we call you?”
Alduin pondered for a moment. He didn’t want to change his name. But he remembered that dragon priests and their followers would name their children for him. There was one in particular that struck him.
“Aldor.” He said finally. An almost wistful gaze on his face. “I demand to be called Aldor. This is the only way I shall keep this secret.”
Dria rolled her eyes. “Fine. Aldor, welcome back to Skyrim and welcome to my home. If you cause trouble for me, I will not hesitate to lock you in the cellar. Understood?”
Alduin rolled his eyes right back. “Understood, dovahkiin.”