Disclaimer: Nope, I'm not Bethesda. Sorry, not the owner. Just borrowing. I promise.

Prologue

Homeward

Home was not the bustle of a city filled with action and shouting and chaos. Home was not the sound of a street lined with merchants and brimming with sales, with gleaming Imperial soldiers marching off to a faraway destination in the service of a weak Emperor. Home was not the timbre of her voice, lazily asking him, accusing him, really, when he would marry her, and exclaiming in a loud and shrill and furious voice that he was a good-for-nothing ex-soldier with too much gold and not enough determination when he refused to speak.

Home was the sound of the courier catching him outside his small home with a worn letter, a letter that smelled of pine trees, of his brother's particular ink. Home was the anger that rose up in his throat when he read "Bandits again, my brother. They keep raiding our village because the Jarl refuses to solve our border crisis" and heartache sinking into his gut when he read "Father is ill. The healer says he is plagued with bone break fever. We have no money for potions, but we hear you are faring well in Cyrodiil. We miss you, and we want to see you. It pains my pride to beg of you, younger brother…"

Home was not in Cyrodiil, in the Imperial City, in her arms. Home was in Skyrim, in Helgen, with his brother, sister, and father. He had not been home since he was barely of age, fighting in a war for an Empire that buckled under the weight of golden-skinned Mer. He had not fought another battle since that day he helped liberate the Imperial City alongside a young man older than he was then, clad in Imperial armor with bear's fur draping off his shoulders like the cloak of a barbarian.

Even then, he could hear the exclamations the man uttered from his throat in a strange tongue, the way the Elves couldn't stand against the translucent blue tidal wave that ripped itself from his lungs. How the soldiers around him shouted, "The true Nord among us! The son of Skyrim!"

For a long time, he wished he could wield such legendary power. The songs sang of the Dragonborn, wielding power not unlike the Ancient Nords who now rest in barrows under the ground of beautiful Skyrim. Would this power be able to save his father from dying?

And now, as he looked past the border on the steed he had bought, horse reins held tightly in his rough hands, he took in a deep breath, blue-grey eyes shut, and shouted. Not the Shout of the Son of Skyrim, but of the Prodigal Son:

"I, Vithar Eagle-Feather, have come home at last!"

And so begins the story of Vithar Eagle-Feather, and thus my first fanfic. I know this is awfully short, but you know, it's past midnight here and I'm pretty exhausted. Been a long day. But I figured I'd at least get something put on this site to appease anyone who actually...you know...found my profile. This is just the beginning. Helgen awaits, my beautiful Nord Vithar, and your destiny as well...

His quest will follow the Main Quest and Civil War (DUH) as well as Thieves' Guild, a bit of Dark Brotherhood, and if I want to, the Companions. I haven't gotten that far in-game. I just got Dragonborn for PC...so you can expect a Dragonborn story to follow up after this is done. I have it all mapped out in my head.

So stay tuned, dear reader!