Prologue

"Are you going to share that pipe, brother?"

J'darra looked up from the skooma pipe to see his elder twin brother smiling at him. With a yelp of delight the younger Khajiit jumped to his feet to embrace him. "J'zalgo! You have returned. Come, sit, enjoy skooma. You must tell me of your adventures."

J'zalgo snorted as they sat down. "Of adventures, I've had plenty. But I'll tell you, brother, a caravanner would sooner avoid such trouble and misery. A life of riches is better spent than a life of stories."

"Ay! But if you are here, then the former you must not have. Come then, J'zalgo, tell me of Skyrim and the peoples of the north."

The elder Khajiit leaned back in his chair and took a long drag from the pipe. "Skyrim," he paused, "is in chaos. Everyone is at war. The Nords fight amongst themselves, they fight the Empire, they fight the Elves, they fight savages…they fight the harmless caravan merchants who simply want to make a decent living!" He slammed his fist against the table. "And their petty wars were the least of problems. There are dragons, brother, DRAGONS!"

J'darra smirked. "Come now, brother, don't tell me the Argonians have taken to wearing costumes to frighten small children again." He laughed, remembering a troupe of Argonian bards he had witnessed years prior.

"This is not a joke, J'darra. I have seen them. Dragons, larger than this inn. Terrible beasts with hard, scaly skin and enormous, beating wings. They are harbingers of death and destruction. Entire villages have been consumed by their rage."

The younger Khajiit frowned, fear lining his face. "D…dra…dragons? Here? In Tamriel? Brother, they are stories…legends told to small children."

"They are legend no longer. Yet, do not fear brother. The greatest among them has already fallen. His brethren, those that were not slain, have scattered."

"But, who, or what, could kill such beasts?"

J'zalgo sighed. "They call him the Dragonborn. He can fight them and kill them. He can speak like them. He consumes their souls. It was he who slayed the dragon leader. And they say it was he who shouted down the gates of Solitude and repelled the Empire from Skyrim."

"Repelled the Empire?"

"Yes, J'dara. There has been a war. A terrible war. A Nord, Ulfric Stormcloak, defied Imperial rule. He murdered the true high king and sought to claim the throne for himself. He fought to liberate Skyrim. His actions only succeeded in destroying it. Cities were torn apart. Clans that had been friends since the days of Talos were pitted against each other. The young men and women of Skyrim were slaughtered by their own people, their farms and homes set to flames."

"And this Ulfric, he was victorious?"

"Not before the Dragonborn. The war came to a cold standstill. Stormcloaks fought Imperials, but neither side could gain the advantage. There was a truce, however brief, so that the dragons could be dealt with. But when they were dead or scattered, the hero joined the Stormcloaks.

"Why?"

"No one is sure, brother, but his sword and his shout turned the tide of the war. With the Dragonborn leading his armies, Ulfric slowly strangled the Imperial legions. Camps were destroyed, cities were captured. One by one the loyal holds fell to the Stormcloak onslaught. All that remained was Solitude. But the ancient walls could not withstand the tongue of a beast. It is said that the Dragonborn shouted the very gates of the city down. The Imperials fled before his terrible wrath. Then, in the last vicious strike, he slew General Tullius."

"They killed an Imperial general?"

"Not they. The Dragonborn. Some whisper that he has the cold, darkened heart of the malevolent dragons he slew. Others, that he is the manifestation of the Daedra."

"The Daedra! But the legends say he is the blessed of Akatosh!"

"I do not believe he is a Daedra. I met him once, very briefly. He seemed…troubled…by who, by what, he was. There was a darkness that surrounded him, but it was not wickedness. Pain, perhaps. As if a great weight lay on his shoulders. I do not know if he is the blessed of Akatosh or the son of the Gods, but he is no Daedra."

"So what happened after he slew the general? Who now rules in Skyrim?"

"Ulfric Stormcloak does. With the Imperial army defeated and its remnant fleeing back to Cyrodiil, the Jarls had no choice but to crown Ulfric. And he wasted little time in consolidating his power. He divided the kingdom into three provinces, one to be ruled directly from his throne in Windhelm and the other two administered by his generals, the Dragonborn and another. Of course, he let Jarls who would stay loyal to him rule their holds, but their power is greatly restricted by Stormcloak armies roaming their throughout their cities and lands."

"So the Jarls rule their holds, but the generals rule a province?"

"Each province oversees three holds. In the West, the Dragonborn General Stormblade rules over the province of Westreach. He controls Haafingar, Hjaalmarch, and the Reach. Ulfric's other general, Galmar Stone-fist, oversees the Pale Plains: The Pale, Whiterun and Falkreath. Finally, from his throne in Windhelm, Ulfric directly rules over Wintermarch: Winterhold, Eastmarch and the Rift. So, yes, the Jarls still retain their power, but Ulfric's influence is ever present."

J'darra stared at his brother. He took a drag from their skooma pipe and sat back in his chair. "You said they still fight though," he replied. "If this Stormcloak is now king, what more fighting can there be?"

His brother laughed. "More than one could imagine. As I said, brother, their land is in chaos. Sure, the Imperials are defeated, but they are not gone. Those who did not flee have banded together. They may be small but they still harry Stormcloak caravans. And, of course, there are still some in Skyrim who bear no love for Ulfric or his uprising. There are Nords that would rather bend the knee to an emperor than they would to him. Ulfric is deeply distrustful of his own nobles, hence the appointment of his generals to the provinces."

"The war is far from over then?"

J'zalgo paused. "For the most part, it is over. But how long Ulfric remains upon his throne is yet to be seen. Yet," he paused again, taking a drag from the skooma pipe, "a few disgruntled nobles are the least of his worries. The Aldmeri sees this rebellion as a sign of hostility. There are rumors that the sons of skyrim and the mer will clash once again. The Imperials are also mustering their forces. Skyrim is one of their provinces, and Mede will not take this defiance lightly. And there are always the Reachmen."

"The Reachmen?"

"Distant cousins of the Bretons. They claim that Markarth and the Reach belongs to them. But they are terrorists, not an army. They descend from the mountains to kill and slaughter and then disappear. Yet, now that Skyrim is weak from her own war, they have grown bolder. And there are whispers, in the darkest taverns in the Reach, that they are planning something terrible. Something that will shake the very foundation of Ulfric's new reign."

J'darra gaped at his brother. He absorbed everything that he had learned and then smiled, very slowly. "It seems you've left at the right time then."

"I left because the Nords would have killed me. Ulfric is distrustful, some say hateful, of anyone who isn't a Nord. In Windhelm, he won't even allow the elves to live with anyone else. He says they are Thalmor spies. Of course, now anyone who isn't a Nord has become a spy, either for the Thalmor, the Empire or the traitorous nobles. He grew paranoid. I was arrested for trying to sell wares. Some of my companions were slain." He looked at the table.

"With such chaos, how can this Ulfric continue to rule?"

The elder Khajiit took another long drag from the skooma pipe and answered with a long, depressed sigh. "What hope there is brother, lies with their hero, the Dragonborn. If he truly is the blessed of Akatosh, then perhaps he can restore peace to their kingdom. If not, I fear the destruction his new king shall reign upon our world."

A soft knock rapped against the door to the cavern chamber. As it opened with a soft groan, candlelight from a lantern filled the room. The man looked up from the myriad of books that covered his desk to see a boy standing with his head in the doorway. "M…mi…mi lord," he squeaked, his voice trembling, "they…they wish for your presence in the hall."

The man stood up from his desk. "Lead the way then Aedd." The boy nodded and bound down a long hallway. He led the man into a wide cavern, filled with men and women. Some of them tended to cooking pots, others to the mending of armor. Some of them stood around a table, a large map spread across its surface. The map bore small flags, indicating the forts, villages and cities of Skyrim. The man approached the table. The men and women in the cavern bowed their heads to him in a sign of deference. He smiled and nodded at them in affirmation. "What is it Nepos?"

"My lord," the man called Nepos answered, "we have found it. The crypt of Hevnoraak. It lies within the ruins of Valthume."

"And, the priest? He is still there?"

"Yes, my lord. Our research indicates that he still slumbers."

The man smiled and walked toward the map. There was a small black flag indicating the ruins of Valthume. He traced his finger along the mountain ridges and swept it against the map. "The Reach will be ours once again. Prepare an excursion. We must distract these insufferable Stormcloaks long enough so that they will not hinder our true plans. Burn their villages, their hovels. Kill their women and their children. I want them worked into a frenzy. I want them so enraged that they cannot see what goes on beneath their noses."

"My lord, it will be done." Nepos turned and began issuing orders to the warriors that surrounded him. The man left the table. "I will be in my chambers should I be needed again. But, find out more about this Hevnoraak and Valthume. I want to move quickly."

Nepos nodded at the man. "Yes sir."

The man smiled to himself. Ulfric fashions himself King of Skyrim, he thought, but, I, the King in Rags will rise again. I will punish him, and these Nords, for what they have done to my people. I will take back what belongs to us. The Reachmen will rise again and they will crown me, Madanach, King in the Mountains

This is my first fanfiction. All reviews and reads are greatly appreciated. As you can tell, this takes place after the events of Elder Scrolls: V. After Alduin's defeat, the Dragonborn joined the Stormcloaks, helping Ulfric win the war and gain his crown. In return for his loyalty, Ulfric granted rule over the new province of Westreach to the Dragonborn. As such, the Dragonborn oversees the holds of Solitude, Markarth and Morthal. Galmar oversees Whiterun, Dawnstar and Falkreath, leaving Windhelm, Winterhold and Riften to Ulfric. The Jarls, of course, are far from happy with this situation, but with much of their country still in chaos, they acquiesce to the Dragonborn's rule. I hope you enjoy!