The Dragonborn's Oddest Journey
Chapter 1: Our Hero
My name is Dyln Rennikk. I am a 22 year-old Breton. I have long brown hair. I am the Arch-Mage, head of the College of Winterhold. I am a Legate in the Imperial army. I am the champion of Azura and Clavicus Vile. I have a beautiful wife and two daughters. I live with them and my two Housecarls, Lydia and Jordis in my Manor in Solitude. Oh, yeah, and I'm the Dragonborn.
This story begins at Dragonsreach in Whiterun, celebrating the defeat of Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the rebellious Stormcloaks. The war had just been won.
"Another song for our hero! The Dragonborn!"
The performers started to play their instruments. A woman in a green dress walked onstage, eliciting a few whistles and howls from the drunken men.
"Our hero, our hero claims a warrior's heart…
I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes…"
I smiled as the woman continued to sing my favorite song. I laid back in my chair and let the music fill my ears. My friend and captain, General Tullius sat down next to me. He took a few gulps from his mug and smiled.
"Now, now, men! Don't get too drunk! We're still soldiers of the Empire!" he yelled to his men. I pulled on the collar of my tunic and loosened one of the buttons. The bard started to wrap up her song. Her knowledge of the hidden words surprised me. They were lyrics I thought only I had known.
"Dovahkiin, dovahkiin
Aal ok zin los vahriin
Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst Vaal!
Ahrk fin norok paal graan
Fod nust hon zindro zaan
Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal!" I clapped a little louder than I normally did. Mostly for the extra bit. Some men looked at each other, confused. I chuckled to myself. They were probably wondering what gibberish all that was. Tullius nudged me.
"Like the Nord language in that last bit?" I chuckled.
"I give her a point for authenticity," I said to him. I looked out the window. It was beginning to rain. "I'm gonna head back home. I'll report to base tomorrow."
"Ah, take a couple weeks off. You've earned it, son." I smiled at him. As I opened the door to head out, Jarl Balgruff called out to me.
"Take this for the road!" he yelled to me. He tossed me an orange bottle. I caught it. It was a bottle of mead. I smiled and waved to him. I closed the door behind me and sighed. It was a long walk to Solitude. I looked left and right. No one was looking.
"Alright," I whispered to myself. I focused on an image of the front of my Manor. I imagined the citizens walking about Solitude. I slowly began to dissipate and float into the air. I slowly reformed in front of my house. Fast-traveling always made me a little sick to my stomach, but I was beginning to get used to it. People didn't usually take kindly to my disappearing and reappearing out of thin air, so I didn't do it too often. But this night I wanted to sweep up my wife in my arms. It was a good day.
I smiled and strolled up the steps. I opened the door to find that only one candle was lit in the dining room. Everyone was asleep I presumed. I tip-toed in and quietly shut the door. The floor was made of stone, so it was easy to make a lot of noise in my boots. I grabbed the candle. The wooden stairs creaked as I went into my armory in the basement. That was where Lydia, Jordis, and I kept all our armor and weapons we got on our adventures. My wife, Tershia, used to be a warrior-mage, but those days were long behind her since her brother was killed. That was before even I ventured into Skyrim.
I strolled over to one of the weapon racks and hung up my concealed dagger. I was usually a mage, but I liked to keep a dagger on me just in case. I put a few spare potions on the shelf; a few healing and magicka potions. The stairs creaked more as I headed back up, downing my mead. I put the empty bottle on the kitchen table and picked up a sweet roll. I nibbled on it as I headed up the second set of stairs. I turned left to see the Housecarls' door closed. I slowly opened my daughters' door to find them both asleep. I softly touched 9-year-old Sophie's head and kissed her temple. I found Sophie on the streets of Windhelm. She was trying to sell me cheap flowers and broken glass. I had hated most Nords from Windhelm (even the children were messed up), but she was different. Her mother was killed in childbirth and her father died as a Stormcloak. I kissed 13-year old Tamara's forehead and smiled. She was begging for coins in Whiterun until I took her in. Her parents were Companions and were killed by Vampires. I was sometimes amazed by how much my family was wrapped up in tragedy. Tershia's parents were killed during a bandit raid when she was just nine. Her older brother took care of her for her entire life until he was killed by the Stormcloaks. Even I, the supposed untouchable Dragonborn was almost killed as a child. I was adopted by a kind family of Dark Elves as a baby. My birth family was friends with them and was killed by a hungry giant. The Dark Elves barely got out with their lives. Their baby was killed as well, and they took me in as their own. They were killed when I was fifteen by bandits. I felt so helpless… I screamed at the sky and my Shout was heard all across Tamriel. That was the first sign that I was Dragonborn. I lived at my family's farm and made a living until I was 19. That was when I tried to get into Skyrim. And well… you know the rest.
I slowly walked into my room and closed the door, shrouding the room in darkness. I could hear my wife's soft breathing from the bed. I quietly took off my tunic and pants and dropped them in the basket. Tershia rolled over as I sat on the bed to take off my socks. I laid down and slowly pulled the blanket over my shoulder. Tershia rolled over again, right into my arms. She stirred a little and I could see her blue eyes open just a bit. "I'm home," I whispered to her. She smiled a tired smile.
"How was it?" she softly asked me. Her voice wasn't very high pitched, but it wasn't like a man's voice either.
"It was… well, Whiterun. Same as usual," I whispered with a smile.
"Sorry I couldn't be there. Lydia and Jordis are feeling a bit under the weather. And I fear the girls are starting to catch it," she whispered. She put her soft hand on my scruffy chest. I always thought it was odd that healing potions could patch up any wound, but couldn't cure the cold. Even potions of cure disease couldn't help, because they're meant for actual diseases, thus being overpowered for the cold. It would leave the user with massive headaches and could even make their ill worse. I'd sometimes spend hours in my lab trying to make a potion that could cure the cold. Oh well. Life is full of inconveniences.