Everyone needs their moment to mourn. Paarthurnax knows this. It is not something he has done often, but enough times to know the value of such a thing. Mourning for his friends so many centuries ago. Mourning for his poor foolish brother and that treacherous pride. He stays quiet, only his deep heavy breaths making him known there. When that question finally comes, he gives a heavy sigh.

"That is the question of all survivors... Grik los lein. That is how it is. For better or worse, your fortune has kept you safe. Yet you are not alone. There is a Bastion. A place of safety."