I've wanted a Skyrim/ASOIAF crossover that's good for quite a while. Hopefully there are others who love skyrim like I love skyrim. There will be elements of a few skyrim themes in this story. Enjoy;)
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"Sweet Mother, Sweet Mother,
Send your child unto me
For the sins of the unworthy
Must be baptized
In Blood and Fear."
The north is a place of ice, cold hands, and wolves lurking in the trees.
The Starks had been the most valued house in the north for centuries. Not one house could claim any differently. Their name holds an inherit strength. The myths of their beginning are noble and regarded as inerrant truth. Every northern house bows to the wolves of Winterfell with no apparent shame.
Except house Skuldafn. Who's sigil depicts a single dragon in the shape of a diamond. Who's words are, "In Blood and Fear". A formidable house of guerrilla warfare and powers once seen only in the children of the forest. Covered in many myths that look so similar to truth when you dig deep enough.
My house had been around longer than the Starks but we stayed under the radar. Our home lies behind the Wall. Through the ancient trees and bitter winds we worship the Mother. Not the one of mercy but the Mother who knows the void. The Mother who speaks for Sithis, the embodiment of the void. Not many worship or know of her.
Due to tales of our beliefs and our training as members of The Dark Brotherhood, we brought fear to all who knew. Every child born in Wintersbane is raised as a skilled fighter and assassin not unlike the Faceless Men. Though we do not change faces, we are trained to hide them and move like the wind.
So as a consequence of our deadliness and fierce stoicism, Wildlings daren't wandered through our walls. A few adventurous fools would come only to be given over to Sithis. Even in my childhood they came and entered the void. Because the void welcomes fools of honor and fools of curiosity.
Our legendary tales haunted them too. Our Black Sacrament used as a war chant as we hunted down those who wished to harm us. Our Valyrian swords ready to carve and slice men in half. Though we had our wars with the Wildlings, we eventually became cordial.
Despite our truce, they still told their tales like everyone else across Planetos. We were like the Dothraki of Westeros.
They said we had scaled skin and reptilian eyes. That the Dragons Beyond the Wall eat children and drink the blood of children. We were tales spun to children by wet nurses to keep the fear of yonder real and true in men.
Not even Aegon the Conqueror conquered us nor did they conquer the Wildlings.
He'd heard the tales spun by the King Who Knelt. He'd heard the songs sang in the streets. Many of them about the Dragonborn who's voice can bring the dragons to their knees. About the silver eyed dragons beyond the wall. He didn't dare test the legend.
It is said that the dragonborn comes every other thousand years through the blood of the Skuldafn. Only in the walls of Wintersbane can they be born. The voice of the dragonborn shakes the foundation of the realm and can bend the will of a dragon. Even destroy whitewalkers without effort. I personally scoffed at the thought.
Our origins traced back to Valyria, which I never understood. My father always told me that our forefather and my namesake, Oerion Dragonborn of House Skuldafn, fled Valyria for the north on a dragon before the doom. For what reason, we do not know.
He'd been known for his skill in taming dragons with his voice and even killing the wild ones. They called him the Dovakiin, the dragonborn, for the way the dragons bent to his will like one of their own. He spoke the language of the dragons called Thu'um. It shook the ground with its power.
I never believed that and even hated that my mother and father did when they made Lydia and I learn Valyrian. It was beautiful, yes, but it was a language we didn't need at the time. Though, we ended up using it to hide things from those who couldn't speak it.
Anyway, my house kept our heads down and our swords ready for battle for centuries. The one thing we are masters of is death. Our existence remained a myth to the more prominent houses.
Our spacious home of Wintersbane, built from an odd type of stone forged by dragon fire. Bran the Builder himself was said to have built it by Oerion's side with help from his dragon, Alduin The Worldeater. The few outsiders who saw it swore it so. The architecture of the place elicited awe.
Alduin is said to be buried directly outside the walls of Wintersbane. His body perfectly preserved in the frozen ground.
They didn't call us wolves like the Starks. More like wolf tamers and Snow Dragons. They told tales of the Skuldafn clan riding direwolves into battle with weapons made of bone. They said we lurked in the ice like the wolves, ready to hunt.
Our eyes wide and steel grey, almost silver. Hair jet black and dreaded in knots, thick as a lion's mane. Our voices booming in warcries that shake the earth and send chills down even a wight's back.
My wet nurse always had such wonderful tales.
The truth is, my family was once strong and fierce. The terror that resides in the night for any that dared to wander upon our land. The Skuldafns used to be a formidable force but now? Well, my twin and I are all that is left.
I remember the night they came, the wights. Their glowing eyes haunt our dreams and memories. They had slaughtered our men, our families, our name. All we could do was run in the end. The waves of the dead do not rest nor do they stop to weep.
My mother's eyes, my father's eyes, all lifeless and empty. He'd managed to kill a few with his sword but he was not a young man. His Valyrian sword fell to the ground as they tore into his body. The scream that left my mouth had made me stop fighting to look at her. I'd never forget that look on her face.
She looked at me apologetically. Like she was giving up on her fight. Like she knew we would get away and her time had come to an end. A scream of my own built in my chest as I watched them swarm her. My sister fought even harder with a cry of her own.
"Oerion, Lydia. Run," my mother whispered. The wights ripped to her shreds in front of our very eyes. A piece of my sanity left at the sight of it.
The wights continued to rip our home apart. Lydia was struggling to continue fighting and I had just been disarmed by a particularly strong bastard. I looked to the ground where my father's sword lie, our family sword. I wouldn't let all of our history be lost. The sword embodied us.
The sword has always intrigued me. It was not shaped like a normal sword. The tip of the blade is the shape of a rounded triangle, two sharp points jutting out on the side and one at the top. The Valyrian blade held a design of a man's face. His mouth hanging open in shock and dismay. The pommel displayed our family words.
My father called it the armorslayer on occasion. It deserves the name. I've seen it destroy metal armor with ease, rip through leather, and chop off heads like small branches. He had only let me hold it once and it weighed almost as much as a battle axe. It behaved like one too.
Father said that it was named Soulsnare before magic left the world. Which is why the soul on the sword was screaming in agony. He believed that the souls of the dragons that Oerion the Dragonborn slayed live inside the sword. With the way it destroys, I would say I believe him.
I picked up the heavy greatsword with an ease I didn't expect and called Lydia to follow me. We fought back to back like we were one. We'd practiced this since childhood. Our parents believed one of us to be the dragonborn. If not both of us.
I still don't know how we made it out. I do know that we didn't make it out unscathed. Scars still litter our skin to this day. Lydia's left arm was broken and her face held scars as well. My shoulder had been dislocated and somehow we both still managed to fight.
I had the strongest urge to roar come over me but I held it in. Fear for my twin kept me silent and deadly. We ran with aching legs and injuries. We ran through the trees and the snow. We ran in blood and in fear.
Oerion the first would be proud us for we are something more.
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My sister and I move through the crowds of Mereen in perfect synchronization like we'd practiced since childhood.
Essos has been kind to us northern dragons. We fled our home with this place in mind after the red comet pierced the sky. We had felt the awakening of something inside of us. Something powerful bubbling to the surface like a scream and a pull tugging us here.
Also, our Valyrian tongues are appreciated in this foreign land. Though, our looks bring about suspicion among the people at first glance. Our skin is too pale and our eyes too ethereal. Some of them speak in hushed tones as we pass even now.
The women love us, though. Twins are seen as good fortune here and bedding them spreads the wealth. I don't know how I feel about that. My sister and I are close but she's not too fond of men or sharing her women. I personally don't care either way.
"Where the fuck are we goin' again, Ori?"
I rolled my eyes at Lydia's wandering mind. We had planned this the other day and yet she insists on forgetting everything after a night of Dornish horsepiss and women.
"We are going to see if the hearsay is true. There is a supposed Targaryen in our midst," I said smirking. Lydia gave me a sidelong glance. "I know you want to see a dragon just as much as I do. I know you can feel the power."
She huffed in annoyance but did not disagree. She knew what I spoke of. The blossoming desire that welled in us to follow the pull. Even if we don't really believe we are Dovahkiins, we have to see if the dragons are real. If they are, that means that maybe the feelings we have are what we think they are. Maybe our parents weren't crazy...
As we got closer to the place where the "Mother of Dragons" resided, we saw a sight unlike any we expected.
Circling the large pyramid, was a huge dragon that dwarfed any imagination we had conjured up. The beast castes a shadow over the pyramid with ease as it circled. Lydia grabbed my hand to steady herself.
"Motha and Fatha would have shit bricks if they saw this," she said, gaping at the creature. I nodded and swallowed thickly.
The overwhelming pull in my chest grew stronger at the sight of it. The urge to release a roar tingling and clawing in my throat. I could see that my sister felt the same. Her throat bobbed unconsciously.
"Alright, maybe we are the Dovakiins. We can't just start shouting the thing out of the sky. She has armies," Lydia reasoned. I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "What are we going to do?"
I stared at the beast some more as it landed somewhat gently on top of the pyramid. It's eyes found us from afar and it roared. Our hackles rose at the challenge. I could almost understand what the beast was trying to say. After all, the dragonborn know the dragon tongue inherently.
"I say we go meet this Targaryen and see if she's anything like Aerys. If so, we see if we can bend her dragons to our willl. If not, we try to get her on our side. Show her the threat of the Night King," I explained, cracking my huge knuckles.
Lydia turned to look me in the eye, brows raised in surprise. She never saw me as a fighter. She'd always been the roughest even though I am the only son. Even though I dwarf her in size, she was the fighter between us. I felt pride in her gaze.
"Wow, little brotha. I see you've grown a pair of balls," she rasped, smirking evilly. I shoved her in jest and walked toward our destination. "If Cicero was still alive he'd be proud of you."
"I'm not little and you're only older by a few minutes ya cunt. Oh and that fool Cicero was a bloodthirsty killer. I miss him though."
Her condescending laugh irritated my ear drums as I stared at the large dragons circling the pyramid.
Our journey was finally beginning.