Beware of the boy-
A boy of fallen snow,
the Falmer king, the Falmer king!
He dwells deep down below
but one day he will awake
and all of the world will quake
the trees will scream, the earth shall shake
and blizzards shall reign supreme-
There won't be you, or I, or me
just the Falmer, and the king!
~ Ballads of the Fallen, Pt 1
Darkness. That was all he remembered, and a sense of knowing. His limbs seemed longer, somehow. More pronounced. Something damp brushed against his lips. He tried to move, but felt a weight pressing down on him, holding him down, tethering him in place. His fingers twitched.
"He's waking, waking he is."
There was a flurry of movement, and his eyes rolled wildly from beneath the eyelids. They seemed heavy, too heavy to open. A groan escaped his throat, and he turned his head to the side. There was a smell of rotting meat, with a hint of gleam blossom- the smells, after so much of absence of it, overrode his senses, and he sneezed.
"Prepare him his Chaurus, his Chaurus to be prepared."
Silence. Blissful, quiet, silence. Perhaps he could sleep at last.
And then, pain; excruciating, mind numbing pain.
And he awoke- with a scream.
Lark gazed into his reflection, not comprehending. Using gleamblossom for light, he peered into the puddle closer.
This could not be right. This face, it did not match his mind. It was his face, but it was much too young. By the gods, he looked about four. Blue eyes, large on his face, dwarfing his other features. Pale, smooth, white skin, having never seen the light. Cobweb blonde hair, almost white, so long it brushed against the base if his spine.
"How long was I asleep?" He asked in Falmer-tongue. His voice was raspy from years of abandonment- these were his first words.
A shaman crouched next to him, entranced by his hair. Her bony fingers grasped the silky strands almost longingly.
"76 years, years of 76." She said finally.
"Why am I so young? Look at me. I'm a child." He spat, disgusted. His face was one of quiet rage, and he looked truly menacing.
He focused his gaze on the shaman, who seem embarrassed.
"Unsure, unsure. Wrong something went?"
Lark got up, brushed himself off. His reflection sickened him, but he realized it could be worse. After all, he could have came out looking like her; with no hair, no eyes. Granted, he looked like a child, but this would change.
"Something went very wrong. Who is it that put me asleep? I seem to have forgotten," He said, looking down at his short legs. It would take him ages to get anywhere at this rate. He glanced over at a Chaurus Reaper and groaned- no doubt he'd have to ride that creature. The giant insect chattered incoherently and waved it's mandibles, before bowing low to the ground, as if acknowledging his birthright.
This one was abnormally large, he realized, as he tossed one leg over and straddled it's back. Lark winced at the feel of plated armor beneath him.
The Shaman reached over and made as if to touch his hair once more, and all at once, he felt disgusted at this creature. Without giving it much thought, he backhanded her, with such a violent rage that her entire head turned, and the smack echoed throughout the cave.
The Shaman hissed, gripping her cheek, but she did not retaliate.
"Touch me again, Falmer, and I will show you what fear tastes like," Lark said calmly. "Now, lead the way."
It got annoying, fast. Every falmer he passed reached out as he passed, muttering to themselves, and laid gleamblossoms, chitins, and rubies at his feet. He couldn't slap every one of them, since they quickly learned to touch and back away; and he didn't have much of a reach. This irritated him, not being able to properly dish out punishments.
After a good number had seen him, the shaman lead him to a river and bathed him, scrubbing his body with soap made from poisonblooms, blossoms, and glowing mushrooms, and then cut his long hair with a dagger. Greedy hands reached out for the fallen strands, and Lark didn't bother to stop them.
Following this, they dressed him. All of their armor was far too large for him, and Lark sure as shit wasn't putting on some clothes from a desecrated corpse. So he walked around naked, his pale skin giving him an otherworldly glow.
And finally, finally, they lead him to a secret place- The Forgotten Vale. The falmer didn't wish to leave sharpslope cave, rather, they looked worriedly out from it. Disgusted at their cowardice, Lark left them behind and entered the sun for the first time.
Bright, too bright. Cold, too cold. Too much of everything- he sneezed.
"That's not much of an entrance, little brother. So much for the King of Falmer!"
Lark shielded his eyes from the harsh light and looked towards the voice, grimacing. And who was it? None other than Arch-Curate Vrythur, keeper of Auriel's Bow.
He explained everything, as they walked across the ice. It was perilously thin, and Lark wondered what was beneath it.
"You see, you remained physically four because that's when you were put in a trance," The snow elf said. "Your mind, however, progressed normally. And now it is up to you to fulfill your destiny, little brother."
Lark glared up at him. "I am older than you. Remember that." The shorter snow-elf snapped, processing the information.
"Anyways, I really must get going now. Duty calls- I have a feeling in a few years, someone will come for the bow, towing a daughter of Coldharbour, and I must get to preparing. This is your world now, go seek your destiny and what not. The falmer only listens to you, do what you wish with them. What else, hmm? Oh yes. You'll be attacked very shortly, so I'd get ready."
And within seconds, the Elf had vanished, leaving Lark very irritated and very confused.
There was a tremble, beneath the ice. A soft one, but nevertheless, one Lark felt. Spurred to movement, he dashed to the side, wincing at the feel of ice shards dig into his soles.
There was a deafening crash, the sound of shattering ice, and fragments of light exploded everywhere. Up from the ice shot two dragons, taking to the sky at an ungodly speed.
And Lark was not afraid.
He felt aware of a power rising in his chest, and he felt a presence within him.
Rise, it told him. Shout your battle cry to the heavens. Destroy them with your thu'um. Chase them through the sky, rake your claws down their scales, burn them alive.
"I can't do any of those things. I'm an elf," Lark muttered angrily, trying to resist the urge to flap his arms in an attempt to chase them down.
We have done this before. Can you not remember? Shout, you ignorant child. I have been dormant inside you too long. Allow me to take over.
The two dragons circled above, roaring, but Lark knew they wouldn't do that for long.
You have no weapons. Let me consume you! Feel my power. Let me free!
Lark grit his teeth, heart pounding. Something told him this would be a bad, bad, idea. However, he didn't have any options. Damn his brother! He'd have his hide for this.
Taking a deep breath, Lark relinquished his body to the dovah within him.
Finally! Free at last.
The Dovah within him took control of his throat, of his chest, of his limbs. Lark let out a fierce, alien battle cry, a deep bellow, trumpeting through the area, fire exploding from his mouth, flickering around his face- but he was unharmed. He shouted yet another roar- something that sounded like Strength, Dragon, Wrym, and immediately he was covered head to toe in dragon plated armor, glowing like a kindled flame.
Lark uttered a spell and at his side was suddenly a boneman. He didn't understand where the spell came from, but he wasn't complaining.
"Kill those things! Or at least get them to land," The snow elf commanded, in a voice that was not his own. He felt like a specter, watching this all from afar. It was too surreal.
The skeleton drew a bow and began to shoot with startling precision. Hot red blood fell to the earth, melting the ice.
A dragon began it's ascent, before finally landing against the ice. Lark, against his will, charged forward, summoning two blades into his hands.
Uhg. Your body is so small. And these weapons are... How do I say it in your tongue? Terrible. But it will have to do. The dovah complained.
"Shut up and kill the thing!" Lark snapped, leaping across the slippery ice, crossing entire holes in bounds.
If you're going to be so demanding, why don't you do it?
And just as quickly as it came, the presence left, silenced. The Dragon Aspect armor faded, and the boneman collapsed in a pile of ash. All that was left was Lark, naked, with two purple swords.
His mind came to two conclusions very quickly- he could run, and have a chance at being chased down and eaten alive, or try to kill it, or tame it, and have an even larger chance at being eaten alive.
Lark jumped to the side, barely avoiding a torrent of frost breath, and began the very risky task of mounting the dragon at the base of his head, where neither flame or ice from his maw could do harm, and raised his sword.
"Drolack! I submit, I submit, Dovahkiin." The dragon said, rolling a giant eye up to face him. Lark paused- this wasn't what he was expecting. There was a roar from above, and the other dragon slammed into the ground, snapping it's jaws angrily.
"You were always a coward, Voslaarum. I should kill you myself. I cannot believe we are related, you sorry excuse for a Dovah!" This voice was feminine, higher pitched, but still deep and powerful.
Voslaarum spun around, cracking his spade-like tail against the ground, before sending a torrent of frost into the other dragon's face. "Silence, Naaslaarum You weren't very excited to fight him either."
"Is it because I can rip your souls out from your body?" Lark asked. His swords suddenly vanished with a crackle of electricity, and that was that.
Naaslaarum turned to face him, baring fangs, that made Lark dwarfed in comparison.
"No, you insolent boy. There are worse things then death. No, it's the Dovah you have lurking inside of you. He shouldn't even exist anymore. But, I suppose, he found a way to hide himself within you to avoid being obliterated."
"What's his name?" Lark asked, unsure. Naaslaarum hesitated, and finally, it was Voslaarum who spoke.
"He is called Kruziik-Thur-Nah. It translates into Ancient, Overlord, Fury. We fear him- all dragons do. But that will not always stop them from attacking."
Lark shivered- the name sent chills down his spine, and it was already cold. The snow elf paused.
"And why did you guys try to kill me? I did nothing wrong."
More silence.
"It's hard to explain. Something..." Voslaarum trailed off, and Naaslaarum finished it for him. "Drove us to do it. I'm not sure, but we were being... manipulated. By whom, I don't know."
Lark sighed.
"I spared your life. Serve me, until the end of time." He said.
The dragon beneath him trembled, and shook his head.
"No can do, Dovahkiin. The most I can do is take you where you need to go." Voslaarum raised his wings, propelling them into the sky with two quick pushes.
"And where is that?!" Lark demanded, but he could not drive the creature to answer him.