Chapter 1

I laughed in exhilaration as I performed a double slash with my favorite dual Daedric swords. The bandit in front of me blocked part of the attack with his iron shield and shouted, "You picked a bad time to get lost, friend!"

Since I couldn't think of a witty retort at the moment, I simply cut off his head with a perfectly timed power attack. Doubtless I'd think of one to say later, over a good bottle of mead when I didn't need it anymore.

Whatever. I looted him (he had nothing useful except 10 gold) and mounted my horse. I had owned this horse for nearly a month now. Although all horses were hardy and strong, they seldom survived when a dragon attacked, which happened more than you might think. I had defeated Alduin a few months ago, but there was still the odd dragon roosting in various places around Skyrim. Secretly I was relieved. First, I relied on dragon souls to unlock the power of my Shouts, and second, the scales and bones fetched a great price at the markets. Everyone wanted a souvenir from one of the great beasts.

I shook my head. I think the strangest things when I'm tired. I started with horses, then jumped to dragons, and now I'm thinking about my own thoughts….

I snorted quietly to myself and spurred my horse on. It was a black and white paint, my favorite color. Random thought again….

I had just left Redoran's Retreat, a bandit hideout that the Jarl of Whiterun had asked me to clear out. Whiterun was very close by, just a couple minute's canter to the east. Luckily, me being a Thane there and all that, I had my own house inside the city. It was pretty small, not much to look at, but Breezehome was far nicer than spending the night in The Bannered Mare, Whiterun's inn. Although after all this fighting, I was in the mood for a bottle of mead before I turned in. I would pick up my bounty tomorrow, then head for Riften and tell Delvin I had finished his job.

Yeah, I had a busy life, but I loved every minute of it. Even after I had fulfilled my destiny as Dragonborn, I still kept myself busy and happy as a successful adventurer.

A pack of wolves chose that moment to attack, leaping at my legs and tearing at my horse's sides. For me, wolves were a complete joke. Their claws couldn't even pierce my Daedric armor. Unfortunately, my horse was not so invulnerable. It let out a pained neigh, but even while under attack still didn't attempt to run away with me. Taking pity on the beast I shot each wolf with a fireball, killing them instantly. I wrinkled my nose in distaste as the smell of burnt hide and flesh assailed my nostrils and spurred the horse on.

By now Whiterun was just a mile distant. I crossed the last of the plains and came to the stable, where I left my horse with instructions for her to be fed and watered. The sun was just setting as I trudged up the path leading into the Hold. I noticed that the Khajiit caravan that occasionally camped outside Whiterun was there, the Khajiit setting up tents and displaying their wares. I didn't care much for Khajiit, a sentiment I knew was shared among most Nords, although unlike Ulfric Stormcloak, I didn't openly hate non-humans.

The guards at the Whiterun gates recognized me and pulled one open. I didn't even notice, still caught up in my thoughts.

That was the one thing that I disliked about Ulfric. He was a strong fighter, a true Nord. He would find his place in Sovngarde among the great warriors who had helped him defeat Alduin. I respected him, nay, adored him. He was my leader, and I had followed him throughout the revolution and broken down the great gates of Solitude with him at my side. But no matter how much I loved my leader, I abhorred the way he treated non-humans. If you had ever been to the Gray Quarters in Windhelm, you would understand. The humans lived in the clean and well-tended parts of the ancient city, while the Dark Elves lived in one corner in dark and filthy houses that were falling apart with age. It was true, some of those elves hated Nords just as much as they hated the elves, but still! And that wasn't all of it either. The Argonians who worked on the docks were treated almost as badly. They had better living conditions, but low wages and dissent from the Nords who worked there as well discouraged many.

And why? Why was it this way? I actually had no idea. Khajiits I could understand. The feline race from Elsweyr was known for its sneaking ability, an ability which was used most often for theft and murder. I had experienced this ability firsthand in many instances.

But why Argonians and Dunmer? Many people of these races worked harder than the Nords who ridiculed them.

But whatever. I was thinking too much again, and I was tired. Walking up the main road in Whiterun, I weaved through the few people that were still out and about. The shops were just closing up, which annoyed me because I needed to trade off one or two things I had picked up from the bandits' hideout.

"Olfrid, patron of the great clan Battle-Born, which I'm sure you know well," one of the Nords passing by said grandly.

I rolled my eyes and continued walking. Olfrid spent half the day wandering the streets, telling anyone who would listen about the "great clan Battle-born". I had learned to ignore him long ago. To him, being a Battle-Born was even more glamorous and noteworthy than being the Dragonborn, which was completely ridiculous.

I reached The Bannered Mare and sat down heavily on a bench next to the large fire pit in the center, grateful for the warmth. Although it was far warmer in Whiterun than in, say, Dawnstar, the air still held some of the chill from the north at night. Saadia came over shortly and asked if I required anything. I got a Honningbrew Mead and stared into the depths of the fire, sipping at it occasionally.

"This is one's a favorite of mine. A legend we all know and love." I looked up as the Bard started singing.

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart.

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes.

With a voice-wielding power of the ancient Nord art.

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes.

It's an end to the evil, of all Skyrim's foes.

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes.

For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows.

You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come.

He finished singing to the general applause of the room. I applauded just as loud as anyone, that particular song being my favorite, and left the inn in high spirits, humming "The Dragonborn Comes" quietly to myself. I didn't think anyone in The Bannered Mare recognized me, which miffed me a little at first. In retrospect, however, a little break from all the notoriety and fame was kind of nice.

Upon entering my house, Lydia, my housecarl, said politely, "Long life to you, Thane." I nodded at her where she stood stirring some kind of soup in the pot on the other side of the fireplace, but went straight up to my bedroom in the loft above the main room. I divested myself of some heavier pieces of armor and flopped down heavily, exhausted. Clearing and looting an entire cave of bandits can do that to you. I had run into a giant as well. No, literally. I was coming around a large rocky rise in the ground on my way to Redoran's Retreat, and as I came around the side, I literally ran into its leg. Of course that made it hostile, but after fighting Alduin in Sovngarde, one lone giant was a walk through Solitude. Just don't let it too close to you and shoot it to death with magic, or else bash it repeatedly with a shield while stabbing in between the bashes. Simple as that, especially for someone as incredibly talented as myself.

Feeling very self-satisfied and proud of my accomplishments in life, I drifted slowly to sleep.

The next morning dawned, and of course it was raining. That was just my luck. Here I have a journey to Riften planned, and it just has to rain. Rain drips uncomfortably through the smallest chinks in your armor, never completely soaking you, but leaving you perpetually damp. You have no idea how annoying that is. But whatever. I gulped down a quick breakfast of snowberry crostata (which is heavenly, if you've never tried it) which revived my lagging spirits- at least until I went out into the deluge.

I slogged my way through the streets, grumbling to myself. Most people were inside, and it was too early as of yet for the merchants to open their carts in the center of Whiterun anyway. The Jarl ought to be up, however. He had had a lot to do in the aftermath of the Battle of Whiterun (which I had practically won singlehandedly, by the way), and was still not finished quelling some of the grumblings, most of which originated from clan Battle-Born.

My wandering thoughts had taken me all the way to Dragonsreach, and as the guards knew me by sight, I was allowed to pass without being challenged. I entered and walked up the short flight of stairs and past the banquet table, where the court mage and one or two others were enjoying breakfast. The Jarl was, as I had expected, seated on his throne in that lazy, unconcerned posture which was somehow copied by all the Jarls across Skyrim. Maybe it was a requirement, to master that pose…. I had actually tried to do that once, and it had turned out to be far more uncomfortable than it looked.

Stifling the sudden urge to laugh, I dispensed with formalities and informed Jarl Vignar that the bandits in Redoran's Retreat had been accounted for. With just as few words, he thanked me and handed me a coin purse, which I took gladly. I had a fair amount of gold, but more was always welcome, especially since I had a bad habit of overspending on Daedric arrows, health potions, and the like.

Exiting Dragonsreach and once more entering the pouring rain, I headed for the stables, determined to follow my plan to go the Riften even in the rain. With any luck, it might clear up later anyway. My horse, on the other hand, was neither so inclined nor optimistic, and it took me a good five minutes to coax her out of the warm, dry stable into the yard so I could mount. Even then she put her head down pitifully and looked miserable, but I was firm and we took off at a canter across the plains surrounding Whiterun, heading southeast. I had made the journey between Whiterun and Riften several times, and knew the route so well I seldom followed the roads. Anyway, there was some interesting stuff out there. Shrines, abandoned camps to loot, bandits to slay, and new locations to discover and ink onto my map were all things you couldn't find following the same roads everywhere. A map which, if I may brag some more, was more complete than any other map in Skyrim. Do you know, I've had scholars send legions of soldiers to kill me, just to obtain that map?

… Okay, that may be a slight exaggeration.

Fine. A complete exaggeration. Probably no one even knew I had a map.

The water was starting to get through my armor now, and I could feel it trickling down my back in the most infuriating manner. Thank the Divines, however, that most of my other weapons and armor that I was carrying at the moment would be kept safe and dry in my pockets.

I know, you must be thinking, "Pockets? You can't fit weapons and armor in pockets." Yes, you can. These pockets have been enchanted appear smaller on the outside than they really are on the inside. I could easily carry another set of armor than the one I already had in them, along with the loot from two dragons and still be able to carry a few more pounds. As a rule, however, I tried to carry only two suits with me, a suit of heavy armor and one of light armor. My light armor was used for my… other job, and my heavy armor for general fighting. One thing about being both the Dragonborn and a member of the Thieves Guild is that I really had to watch my step. If the people of Skyrim found out the hero who had saved their province from utter ruin was a member of a band of thieves, well, let's just say things might not go well for me.

So whenever I was given a new job, I always made sure to change into my set of Thieves Guild armor first, not only because it was all enchanted with various spells that heightened various useful skills, but also because of the hood that overshadowed my face even in bright sunlight.

Speaking of sunlight, it had finally stopped raining and the sun was peeking over the smaller hills outlying the Throat of the World. I turned my horse a little to the left in order to avoid those hills, reminiscing over my first time climbing the largest mountain in Skyrim. On the outskirts of Ivarstead on the eastern side of the mountain there was a pathway leading to the seven thousand steps, the only way up the mountain. Why would anyone want to climb a mountain? Well, the Greybeards, masters of the Way of the Voice, lived at the top (well, almost the top) in an ancient fort. They had called me shortly after I Shouted for the first time, and consequently I had made the long and bitterly cold journey up the seven thousand steps. At first I had actually tried to count the steps (being curious as to whether there were really seven thousand of them) but I kept getting attacked by ice wraiths and the like. Then I had lost the steps somehow and spent nearly five hours trying not to slide to my death. I did make it eventually, and when I complained to the Greybeards, they simply asked me why I didn't use Clairvoyance. I had totally forgotten about that spell, and it still miffed me to this day. They had been too polite to laugh, but still….

I was now on the other side of the Throat of the World. Turning a little more south now, I began to keep a sharper eye out. Bears and frostbite spiders infested southern woodlands, and although they were no danger to me, they could still kill my horse. The woods were strangely quiet today. I saw two frostbite spiders when crossing the Darkwater River, but nothing more dangerous.

Before the sun was even directly overhead I arrived at Riften. I left my horse at the stable like usual and entered the city. Deciding to sell off some of my unnecessary loot, I first headed for the center of Riften. If you're ever in a strange city in Skyrim and you want to find the market, try heading toward the middle.

Grelka was her usual charming self, saying as I neared her, "You gonna stare all day or buy some armor?"

I hope you noted the sarcasm in that.

I sold two dragon bones and two dragon scales before she would buy no more, then moved on to the next merchant. By the time I was finished bargaining, I was several pounds lighter and had bought a refill of Ebony arrows for my quiver. I nonchalantly strolled to the Riften graveyard and, ensuring no one was watching, I pressed the button that opened the secret entrance to the Thieves Guild and climbed down the ladder. "Where's Delvin?" I asked Rune.

Rune jerked a thumb in the general direction of the Ragged Flagon. "Where he usually is."

I gave him a nod and went through the disguised door into the Ragged Flagon. Delvin was indeed sitting in his usual place at the table nearest the door. When I told him I had finished the job, he said his usual "I might start to respect you" line and I exited through the secret entrance 600 gold richer.

I took in a deep breath of air. Riften air may smell like fish and stagnant water, but it was better than the smell of the sewers beneath the streets. I could never understand how Delvin, Vex, and Brynjolf spent so much time down there; I could hardly stand to go down and report before leaving just as quickly.

What should I do now? I pondered. I hadn't really decided what to do after I came to Riften, so I took a look at the journal in which I jotted down the various quests I had incurred. Crossing off the two newly completed ones, I eyed the list. Retrieve this, find that, steal this, kill this dragon, those bandits….

Screw this. I decided to just explore a bit, maybe travel north to Windhelm while discovering a few new locations and maybe a couple new quests.

Pleased with my decision I left Riften with a sigh of relief. My mare whickered when she saw me, and I realized that I was actually starting to bond with this horse. I should name her….

I swung myself up and nudged her forward in a northerly direction, pondering possible names. Apparently, although I was great with swords and magic, I was not particularly creative. After ten minutes of steady trotting I still hadn't thought of anything. Something warlike…. Unbidden, my thoughts once more strayed to that last battle against Alduin. That had been a battle. I smiled, remembering all the freed dragons circling the top of the Throat of the World. Seeing so many of the majestic beasts in one place had been awe inspiring.

Perfect! "Gormlaith," I said to the mare. "Your name is Gormlaith now." Gormlaith had been a Nord warrior, one of the ancient Nord heroes who had first banished Alduin into time with the Elder Scroll. I had met her in Sovngarde, one of the few times I had actually felt humbled by another warrior.

Gormlaith snorted as though she approved of the name, and I stroked her neck.

The next instant I was hauling back on the reins as two strangely dressed people blocked the way in front of me. Gormlaith reared and I muttered some comforting nothings to her as I studied them.

At first glance they had reminded me of the dragon priests I had occasionally encountered in various barrows around Skyrim. Both of the- I actually couldn't tell what race they were- men wore masks that resembled the ones dragon priests wore, except they appeared to be made of bone. Long brown robes fell to their feet, and they wore boots and gloves to match.

"You there! You're the one they call Dragonborn?" one of the masked men demanded harshly.

For the first time since I had found out what I was, I felt reluctant to admit I was Dragonborn. I didn't know why, but these men made me wary, more so of something than I had been in a long time.

Come on! I scoffed at my own hesitation. Don't be such a coward. "That's me," I answered, watching for any signs of hostility.

"Your lies fall upon deaf ears, deceiver. The True Dragonborn comes, you are but his shadow!" The man appeared to be working himself into a fury, and suddenly both raised hands that were crackling with lightning.

The true Dragonborn? I suppressed a snort. These people were obviously quite deluded. "I don't know who you are, but I assure you, I am the true Dragonborn." I would prefer to avoid a fight, especially since I just named this horse.

"None shall stand against Miraak!" With no further prelude they let loose twin lightning spells, both hitting Gormlaith. She let out a pained whinny and I dismounted with a curse, slapping her on the rump and causing her to dash away. Just in time I dove behind a tree and drew one Daedric sword, gripping a Fireball spell with the other hand. Their own lightning spells struck the tree with a crack. I yelped as some of the spell hit me around the tree. Even just that indirect hit had done quite a bit more damage than I had expected. By Nocturnal, they're strong!

I took the opportunity to peer around the side and shoot a Fireball at one of them. I was rewarded with a cry of pain, and I loosed another one from the other side of the tree. Another Chain Lightning spell struck the tree and it splintered around me. I felt the heat sear my arm even through the gauntlet.

My vision flared red as the dragon blood within me ran hotter with anger. No, no, no! But it was too late. The dovah side of me took over completely and with utter disregard for safety, I threw myself from behind the tree.

And Shouted.

YOL TOOR SHUL. Fire Breath. The men caught on fire before my eyes, and after just seconds, both were charred corpses.

Wearily I leaned against the burnt tree, staring at the two bodies. I'd done it again. Shouted. Even after I had promised myself I would be careful and never let the dovah side of me take over again.

Some people thought being Dragonborn was all glory and fame, but there was more to it than that. Dragons were naturally inclined toward fighting and domination, and since I had dovah blood in me, I was subject to the same urges. I fought and hid them better than dragons, but they were still there, and sometimes the dragon came to the surface and… took over. This was most likely to happen when I was hurt, tired, or angry, because then my self-control was at its lowest.

Don't get me wrong. My Shouts are almost always controllable, and the dragon part of me doesn't have to be in control for me to use one. It just… feels so natural that way. Stronger too. Normally Fire Breath wouldn't have killed both adversaries in one hit, but since the dragon had been in control, the Shout had been far more powerful. Powerful enough, in fact, to even scare me a little.

Sternly commanding myself to get it together I glanced around, hoping to find some sort of clue as to who the madman who had sent these men was. I caught sight of fluttering white paper against the brown of the fallen leaves and picked it up, unfolding it and smoothing it out.

Board the vessel Northern Maiden at Raven Rock. Take it to Windhelm, then begin your search. Kill the False Dragonborn known as Kisvar before he reaches Solstheim.

Return with word of your success, and Miraak shall be most pleased.

I read the note four times, something that was totally unnecessary since it was so short I practically memorized it in one glance. Solstheim? That little island off the northern coast of Skyrim? Why would I want to go there?

Finding orders to kill me on the bodies of thugs who were sent after me was not an uncommon experience. Though there were many who adored me and praised my name, there were also those who hated me just as passionately.

Well, if this Miraak had hoped to either kill me or scare me off, he had sadly miscalculated. I was now determined to find the Northern Maiden in Windhelm, purchase passage, and head for Solstheim to see who this upstart was. Hopefully she hadn't yet headed back for… Raven Rock, was it? I consulted the note and found this was correct.

Having no inkling where Gormlaith was, I started for Windhelm on foot, glad that I had been heading there anyway and thus was not too far away.

I should really do some research on Solstheim if I'm going there…. Knowing the geography might help.

Did you catch the sarcasm in that?