Nastja Silverstone
"Paarthurnax, why have you summoned me?" she asked, wary of such an unusual invitation.
Nastja Silverstone stood at the Throat of the World, the greatest mountain in the known world. It was the highest point on land that a human could reach, but of course she had known places higher. Having the blood of the dragon within you wasn't always a thorn in your side.
She had been trading at the markets in Whiterun when the echoing Thu'um had been heard by all, shaking the stalls around her. Nastja knew that it must have been Paarthurnax summoning her; it was his Shout. She had been filled with curiosity on the long trek up to the Throat of the World. Paarthurnax rarely left his mountain; he would usually train other dragons there even. So it had been most curious that when Nastja had gone to pay him a visit a month prior to the summoning, he was absent. She had been filled with a dread that Esbern and Delphine had succeeded in having him slain…but here he was; whole, and very much alive.
The ancient dragon bowed his head towards her. Even now, after all this time, Nastja found herself humbled by his etiquette.
"Regrets, Dovahkiin. There is a matter of great importance that I need your help with. I have watched the situation for a long time, but Nii Los Tiid. It is time."
He spoke in a tone of concern, one he had only used when speaking of…
"Is it Alduin?" she asked, doubtfully. She knew that the World Eater was long gone, slain by her own hand, but remnants of his army still remained to torment those unfortunate enough to stumble upon them.
Paarthurnax shook his great head. "Niid, no. This is Westersaan."
Nastja was well learned in the tongue of dragons, but she found this word unfamiliar.
"Krosis, master. I do not recall the meaning of this word," she said apologetically. She was somewhat abashed. No matter how hard she may try, she would never even begin to obtain a fraction of Paarthurnax's knowledge. Many saw her as a legend for what she had done; some knew better.
"That does not surprise me. Few remember it. It means Westeros."
That word she did know.
"Westeros? But Master –"
Paarthurnax cut her off. "I am aware of the facts. Lingrah vod, long ago Tamriel and Westeros lived in harmony. Until the Targaryen King of Westersaan declared war on his oldest ally, and started a war he could not hope to win. Ahrk Ful Westersaan Drey Aus Fall Ahzid Bah Se Taazokaan."
Nastja didn't need Paarthurnax to translate. And so Westeros did suffer the bitter wrath of Tamriel. It was the last line from a famous poem about the Fool's War. Nastja was well enough educated – she knew the history just as most did. Roughly one hundred and twenty years ago, one of the Targaryen Kings of Westeros had been greedy and sought to conquer Tamriel. But Tamriel, though not quite larger than Westeros, won the war within a few short months with strategy, skill…and mages. It was no secret that the Westerosi only wielded magic because those of Tamriel had given them both the ability and training to use it, and even so the Westerosi were both sceptical and wary of magic and few dared to use it. The student rarely surpasses the master, and the Westerosi did not have half the capability with magic as those of Tamriel. Were it not for the mages and their determination, Westeros would no doubt have taken Tamriel with ease.
The Fool's War severed the connection between Tamriel and Westeros. Tamriel had won the war; the Emperor might even have taken Westeros for himself, some said, but this was unfeasible. But it would have taken men, more men than he had. It would have been a great folly to take on such a task. The Empire would never be able to hold Westeros. The Emperor declared Westeros "the land that ran red with traitor's blood." The Emperor was known to be merciless, and there was little or no trust left between he and the dragon kings. He decided to cease business with Westeros. No contact was to be made between the continents. In the eyes of the Emperor and his Council, Westeros had betrayed those who had always assisted them. All trading between the two continents ceased, though missionaries of the Nine Divines in Westeros were given some aid. There was no contact with Essos either; some of the wealthier Free Cities had aided Westeros in the war, and so Essos too was branded a traitor's land. Though it was heavy handed and rather excessive to cut off entire continents, none would speak against Titus Mede.
Westerosi immigrants suffered the worst of all; their lands were burned, they themselves viciously hunted. The immigrants that could afford to, sailed back to Westeros, and those who could not either stuck out their bleak lives until they were killed or ended their own lives. Any person of Tamriel that went to Westeros was marked a traitor and would be hanged if they ever returned, though one would have to be mad to even attempt such a voyage. Many families were torn apart as their loved ones were forced to sail across The Sunset Sea, and so it was a disheartening time for most.
Westeros suffered greatly; they had relied heavily on Tamriel for numerous traded goods, such as food, good steel, orisinum and many other crucial resources. Tamriel received most of its goods from its own provinces, so it was at little loss. For years after the War, thousands of smugglers had attempted to sail to Westeros and trade illegally, but it was a long and perilous journey, and few made it to Westeros, and even fewer came back. In time, Westeros began to receive more traded goods from Essos and harvested much from its own lands.
There were still some toughened sailors who had gone to Westeros and returned, and they brought numerous goods. They were sold for high prices, for even the most trivial of trinkets from Westeros was a marvel, and the sailors spent a moon's turn or so living in a large manse before the Empire's soldiers came knocking on their door, to hang them for their treason. Nastja herself had bought a ring from an aged Nord who had once sailed to the North of Westeros; a black iron ring with curios runes and markings on it. Though she could feel a magic presence about it, all the enchanters that she had taken it to had insisted that it was not enchanted, though when they had attempted to tamper with it in such a way, they found it curiously impossible. Nastja had worn it for nigh on a decade and never taken it off, nor did she plan to. If nothing else, she was a stickler for tradition.
For decades, the people of Tamriel protested that it was ridiculous to cut Westeros off. It proved quite a costly and fruitful task, and it made life for sailors even harder. Each sailor was to carry official documents, costly ones too, whether they were sailing from Dawnstar to Solitude or from Skyrim to the Summer Isles. Trade fell greatly. But the Emperor felt the war a personal betrayal on the part of the dragon kings and would not be swayed. All the Emperors since had had the same view, curiously enough. Better to isolate oneself and be independent, than to depend on others and risk betrayal. The Empire was nothing if not paranoid.
Westeros was not something that crossed Nastja's mind often. It was something that men and women were known to mutter about when they'd had a tankard too many. It was something that had happened long before Nas' time, ancient history. What could Paarthurnax possibly…?
"Master," she said carefully, "what of Westeros?"
If Paarthurnax had been a human, Nas thought, he would have shifted uneasily. Instead, he flicked his great tail and seemed to sigh as if a great burden bore him down.
"I have been watching it. I have ventured into lands forgotten, seen things that I thought mere myths. And I have grave news."
Uneasiness stirred in Nas's stomach. Paarthurnax remained calm in the face of death…what could disquiet him?
"What is it?" she demanded, her voice shaking ever so slightly.
Paarthurnax bowed his head again.
"Darkness is coming. It will sweep over Westeros, and destroy all in its path. It is black magic, as old as Tamriel. As old as the skies and the seas. With it, come evil creatures. The Others…and far worse…" he trailed off.
Nas sucked in her breath. Old magic and evil creatures she knew much of, but she knew nought of black magic. Some believed that necromancy was black magic, but it was not so. Black magic would descend upon Westeros and kill everything in its path. And Paarthurnax needed aid.
The greatest battle of her young life had been with Alduin the World-Eater…she could fight dragons. She could fight men; she had fought men brave and cowardly, greedy and selfless, scheming and simple and all she had bested. She could fight beasts, from Chaurus to Giants. She could fight Daedra; she had beaten both Sheogorath and Mehrunes Dagon. She had fought countless types of magic too. Nastja was not big-headed, but she knew that she was one of the greatest warriors and one of the most powerful mages of Skyrim, perhaps even of Tamriel. She had outsmarted and killed beggars and Emperors alike. She did not doubt that she could beat any enemy…but ancient black magic was something she knew little of.
Why must Paarthurnax always ask her to do these things? He was a powerful dragon; surely he could vanquish these foes himself. But no, it was always left to Nastja. She was beginning to resent him for this; she had spent much of her time recently doing his bidding. She had places to see, drinks to swallow, songs to sing. She had spent so much of her youth fighting other's battles; she could not spend all of her life venturing into icy caves in Skyrim to kill dragons at his behest.
"Master," she said angrily, "what do you expect me to do? Is black magic like that of old magic, of the Thu'um? Can black magic be fought?"
Old magic…that she knew much of. She knew every Shout that could be known, she had mastered the Thu'um. She could speak the ancient tongue of dragons. The closest Nastja had come to black magic was a necromancer or two, none too skilled either.
Paarthurnax's huge eyes bored into her. They were the colour of the sea in a storm, and she read regret in them.
"Black magic is powerful. Very powerful," he said gravely. "It cannot be fought directly…but it can be stopped. Those it seeks to hurt can be protected. With your help. With the help of the Dovahkiin. I beg of you, Dovahkiin, do what is right. Do what must be done."
In that moment, she knew that she had to choose. Paarthurnax was allowing it to be her choice. Her anger faded away. Perhaps she was being too hard on the old dragon. She was Dragonborn, born with the blood of dragons. It was her duty to defend and protect. Paarthurnax was one of the few beings in Nirn who could tell her what to do, and she cursed herself for resenting his authority and questioning her purpose. She greatly resented being told what to do, as if something within her compelled her to do the opposite. She wasn't entirely sure why, though it likely had something to do with her childhood. It always did. But Paarthurnax was not trying to control her, to give her orders. He was asking her for her help, asking her to choose. But was it really a choice? Save Westeros from being destroyed or…
"What do I need to do?" she asked him, her voice determined.
"You must journey to Westeros and warn the Westerosi. You must unite the Seven Kingdoms and end the civil war if they are to stand a chance against this. But you cannot protect Westeros alone. You may very well need the help of Tamriel."
Nas was nearly speechless. The task itself was great indeed. She knew many powerful people in Tamriel and did not doubt that she could gain their assistance, but to convince all of Tamriel to assist Westeros? While most of those in Tamriel wished to end the feud with Westeros, many of those in power upheld the old words of the Emperors of old; He who has betrayed once will do so again, for an honest man does not make such grave mistakes as to betray those who have aided him.
Nastja felt a great sickness come over here. Something in the pit of her stomach ached, as though the life was being sucked out of her. She knew nothing of Westeros. Not the geography, not the people…she did not even know what language they spoke. How can you convince people who know you only by the enemy land from which you hail that there is a danger? They have no reason to trust me. Nastja attempted to take a deep breath. She did not want the doubt to swallow her.
"How will I journey to Westeros? How much time do I have? With whom must I speak?" she asked him.
"I know you have a lot of questions," Paarthurnax said. "But Krosis, I know very little. As for reaching Westeros, you will fly by dragon. As you know, I have been made progress in teaching dragons The Way. One of them will take you. When the Darkness will strike…I do not know. Two years, three at the most. This may seem like a long way away, but I can assure you, the task you have been given will take time. Faal Vulom Saaran Fah Niid Gein."
The Darkness waits for no one. Those words sent a chill up her spine, and she knew that they would stay with her forever.
Paarthurnax continued, "As I said, I know little of what is to come. But I do know this; there is an Elder Scroll in Westeros. Find it, and it shall guide you in your quest."
An Elder Scroll. A spark of hope filled Nas; an Elder Scroll would no doubt offer her many of the answers which Paarthurnax did not have.
"Where will I find the Scroll?" she asked Paarthurnax confidently.
Paarthurnax bowed his head yet again, a clear sign of uneasiness.
"I'm afraid that I don't know the exact location of the Scroll. It lies in the Land of Always Winter, but that is all I know. But beware, Dovahkiin. Do not seek out the Scroll unless you are truly lost. It is more important to first unite the Seven Kingdoms and gain Tamriel's aid. Only then should you search for the Scroll; it may be time consuming, and we have little enough time as it is."
Nastja nodded in agreement, though she felt light headed. Where the "Land of Always Winter" was she did not know. She bit her lip uneasily. Unite the Seven Kingdoms. So she had to unite an already warring continent, whose people she knew nothing of, in order to save it from its own fate. She would have to find a map of Westeros before she left. Where she would find such a thing she did not know.
Nastja looked at Paarthurnax. The desperation in his eyes was almost palpable. It was in that moment that Nastja wondered if she had been wrong about him. The great dragon had always seen her as a mortal; one with the dragon's blood within her, and an accomplished one at that, but still quite mortal. Nastja abhorred the way in which strangers built her up in their minds as some god. The mild disappointment when they met her kicked her every time. Most gods weren't women. Most gods weren't so inherently flawed.
If Paarthurnax believed that she could accomplish a task as great as this, she wondered if he too had glorified her to the point that she was no longer mortal. It was a troubling thought, and so she pushed it to the back of her mind.
"Anastasia…" Paarthurnax began. The use of her full name sent another shiver up her spine; Paarthurnax very rarely called her anything other than Dovahkiin.
"I beg of you, remain calm in Westeros. Each shadow hides an enemy, and you must not let your temper get the better of you. You have a kind heart, but you can be rash in your fury."
His words stung, but there was a truth to them that Nastja must accept. Her friends often told her merrily that she had "the temper of a dragon" and that was something she had always known, but Paarthurnax's remark about her recklessness had been an unforeseen blow. Nastja was the first to recognise her flaws, but she hadn't thought that impulsiveness was one of them.
"Is there any other advice that you can give me?" she asked plainly.
Paarthurnax's eyes bored into hers, as they so often did.
"No. Just that you must keep watch in Westeros. There are many who would deceive you, and very few who would aid you. You will need to use your wits and your sword…and think carefully as to which is needed in your given situation. I merely hope that you are the wise young warrior you have become, and not the foolish, stubborn child you once were."
A/N: For quite a while I've wanted to write a GoT/Skyrim fic. I realise that there is already a crossover, but I think you'll find this one is quite different. In that crossover, the Dovahkiin is instructed by Paarthurnax to teach Daenerys to Shout. Mine, though it begins with the Dovahkiin also being instructed by Paarthurnax, is the story that ASOIAF is building up to anyway: the battle with the Others etc. This is merely my version of events, with the Dragonborn acting as the main protagonist. However, every second or third chapter will be from the point of view of GoT characters and their, reactions so to speak, to the Dragonborn and the Darkness. I hope you enjoyed it; feedback would really be appreciated.