Disclaimer; I don't own Skyrim or the Elder Scrolls, and I am making no profit from these works. These stories were inspired by Morninglight's Ysraneth's Tales series.

Chapter 0:

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"'No Shouting match between Dragon and Man… No fire or fury did this battle entail…' now how did Jeand and I say the rest went?" Viarmo whispered to himself as he tried to prepare for the coming 'Burning of King Olaf' festival. Whilst it was true that the late Jarl Elisif, bless her soul, had made the burning of the effigy a weekly event, the actual festival itself was still an annual event within the city of Solitude. The distinction between the two events is that where, in the past, the festival marked the admittance of any new bards via the actual burning of the effigy, in the years since it's almost banning, it has grown into a day long event that celebrates not only the bards, both new and old, any additions to the Poetic Edda from the previous year, but also a recounting of the very verse that Viarmo had recited to Jarl Elisif so long ago, and ends with the burning of a much more spectacular effigy, one adorned with a coat from the current high ranking military official within Solitude (whether it was donated to the college, or stolen as part of a tradition amongst the initiates, is never really a problem either way).

Recent events, however, have made things a tad difficult for the Headmaster. Memory being not what it used to be, Viarmo had conceded to writing the… 're-envisioned' portions of King Olaf's Verse within the book itself, so as he wouldn't need to strain himself to remember the exact details (as well as blow it to the entirety of Solitude that what they'd been listening to year after year was, in fact, a lie). Yet, after another bedlam job by the Thieves Guild, the book had been stolen. Luckily for the College, Jeand, the Dean of Skalds, who had originally retrieved the verse when he'd been an initiate, had volunteered to retrieve the book from the Guild. Unluckily for the College, Jeand was known for getting… sidetracked.

As I recall, he had spent a day in Whiterun marketplace before actually BRINGING the book… Viarmo thought to himself, remembering those war torn forlorn days gone by…

Shaking himself out of his reverie, Viarmo sat in one of the library chairs, returning to task before him. "'O, Olaf, our subjucator… The One-Eyed betrayer…'" he recited once more, trying to call the memories forth, that is until he was interrupted by the slamming of the College's main door.

"By the Divines! Can't anyone see that I am in need of peace! Without Olaf's Verse, I have to carefully recall the words for the ceremony, and that requires silence!" the Altmer Headmaster yelled as he arose to give the offending party a piece of his mind. Oh the many angered lectures he could've given to the miscreant; the importance of the ceremony, the history of King Olaf, the life-threatening struggles to actually retrieve the Verse the first time, all of them died upon Viarmo's lips as he saw WHO it was that'd interrupted him. Clad in black/deep red robes of a magic user, simple boots, a hide bracer upon the solitary arm, and a dark hood to help obscure the figure's light sensitive eyes and reddish-brown hair, stood the only other person in the Bards College who knew of the importance of King Olaf's Verse; Jeand One-Arm, Dean of Skalds at the Bards College, Companion of many a Hero during the Civil War, Apprentice Mage at the College of Winterhold, Thane in one third of Skyrim's holds, and the Last Dragonborn.

Jeand merely smiled at the stupefied Headmaster, before reaching into one of the robes' satchels, saying "I apologise for my rudeness, sir, but I just thought that this…" the Reachman pulled out an old, brown, leather bound book and waving it in front of Viarmo "…would probably be of some help, wouldn't you say so?" the Breton/Nord finished with a laugh.

"The Verse. My word, Jeand, you never cease to amaze." Viarmo retorted to his colleague as he grabbed the book, and sat back down, pouring over the words the two had added many years ago. "The festival should be able to go off without a hitch this year, thanks to you once more." he continued, eyes never leaving the pages as Jeand took the seat opposite him, half shrugging as he did. "It wasn't as bad as last time." the dragon in mortal form replied, taking a bite out of an apple as he did so.

It was a few hours later, the sun having set some time ago, until Viarmo had finished re-familiarising himself with the passages, before the elder of the two snapped the book shut. "Which reminds me…" the Headmaster started, gaining the attention of the Dean, "this year, many wish to hear your additions to the Poetic Edda…"

"Viarmo… You know as well as I do why that isn't the best of ideas…" Jeand sighed. It was one of the things the two of them had debated over since the loss of Jeand's right arm, and the subsequent end of his adventuring career; Viarmo argued that even as a bard, as Dragonborn, Jeand deserved his place in the Poetic Edda, but the Reachman had countered that many wouldn't want to hear praise of someone such as him.

As both sides were unwilling to have another argument over the matter, Viarmo merely saying, "All I ask is that you think about it…" before he left to retire for the night. The last thing Jeand heard Viarmo say to him being "And remember, no snacking on any of the initiates…"

/

That night, Jeand walked the parapets of Castle Dour, watching the auroras dance and flicker in the night sky. It was one of the things he had always loved about his homeland; on crystal clear nights, the sky lit up in a brilliant dance of colours for all below to bear witness. Sometimes he even went to the Throat of the World, use Clear Skies, and just sit and watch the spectacular with Paarthunax, Odahviing (if he were around), and Durnehviir. It truly was a marvel.

That night however, the auroras held a different meaning than the one before, as Viarmo's words about his additions to the Edda echoed within the Reachman's mind as the lights danced above him… Awakening within him…

Memories long since past…