Author's note: As soon as information about Skyrim was revealed, and they said the hero would be called Dragonborn, I couldn't help but think of the connection to the Nerevarine of Morrowind, who had been called the same thing in the prophesies. The idea that they could possibly be one and the same (since the Nerevarine is effectively immortal at this point) came to mind immediately.

Spoilers for Skyrim, all current Skyrim DLC, and Morrowind. This will be set in the Skyrim timeline, but with flashbacks to the time of Morrowind. If you haven't played Morrowind, The Imperial Library (imperial-library dot info) has a pretty comprehensive summary of the game. But you should play it since it is an extraordinary RPG, and very, very cheap on either PC or xbox.

From seventh sign of eleventh generation,
Neither Hound nor Guar, nor Seed nor Harrow,
But Dragon-born and far-star-marked,
Outlander Incarnate beneath Red Mountain,
Blessed Guest counters seven curses,
Star-blessed hand wields thrice-cursed blade,
To reap the harvest of the unmourned house.

-The Lost Prophecy
as recorded in the Apographa of the Dissident Priests

16 Frostfall 4E 200

So this is how it ends.

Almsi's nose filled with the smell of blood and dirt, the remains of the Stormcloack beheaded before her only feet away. Gore coated the block, sticking to her skin and hair. She closed her eyes to the sun. Warm. It had been a very long time since she felt warm. Skyrim was a cold country, and her people were never made for such weather. To die warm would be a fine thing. Probably more than she deserved.

It was easy to ignore the priest. The shrill Imperial commander was another story, though.

I outrank you, she had thought briefly, looking at the woman who ordered her beheading. No one would believe her, though… if her rank even mattered any longer. It had been so many years since she had even been in Tamriel. Mentioning it was pointless.

Come to think of it, she really had no idea where an Operative of the Blades would fall compared to a Captain of the Imperial Legion. Back then the Legion didn't even have a rank called Captain.

No, she was better off keeping silent. It would just invite too many strange questions. And really… this is what she had wanted. Why argue against it?

There was a breeze, blowing her hair across her forehead while she waited for the blow. Thunder sounded in the distance.

It didn't look like rain…

No matter.

22 First Seed 3E 427

"Hey, elf," she was being shaken, jostled by someone much larger than her. "Get up, elf."

Opening her eyes, Almsi saw an enormous Nord leaning over her. Red-cheeked, he looked uncomfortably warm in his armor. Nords always seemed to be too warm. From the high slit of a window she could tell it was just barely dawn. A hint of Masser was still visible in the brightening sky.

"What?" she said, voice rough from weeks of disuse.

"Time to go."

Eyes widening, she shot backwards, scrambling on all fours to the wall. "No!" A quick drop and a snap, that was what her friend Ralen had joked. But not for a first offense… never for a first offense. She hadn't even killed anyone… well, not that they knew of. Her hand went up to her neck reflexively. "No, they said two months. Two months and I can go. That was it!"

"What?"

He looked confused. More than how most Nords always looked slightly confused. She briefly debated throwing herself at him, begging for mercy… but who knew how he would react. "I don't want to die," was what she said instead, voice sounding small and scared. "Please."

The man groaned at that. "Fucking elves," he mumbled, quietly, to himself. "Enough with the drama. We're not going to hang you, girl. You're free."

"…Free?"

"Emperor's orders."

Now that made no sense. "Emperor? What?"

"Don't ask me," he said with a shrug. "They tell me the emperor wants you free, I'm not one to question it. Wants you on the next boat to Morrowind. Maybe they'll tell you when you get there?"

"Morrowind?"

He just shrugged. "Like I said, it wasn't my call. Come on." Following him down the hall, she tried not to wince at the bright light that was creeping up into the windows. He was babbling. "You got yourself a big chance here," the man was saying. "New start, new place. You can be anybody. Make a real honest life for yourself."

"I… guess?" She had no idea how to respond. Being dumped friendless and penniless off a boat didn't lend itself to an honest life in any way she could see.

"Give it a shot," he said with an air of finality. They went on, where she was told to sign things, passing through rooms and checkpoints. "Gotta be exciting for you," he said after following her into a rough looking carriage, the Legion's symbol on the side. "Chance to go home, all that."

"Home?"

"Morriwind." He looked at her as though she were slow witted.

"I grew up in Saint Alessia's."

He stared at her blankly. "Saint Alessia's Home for Girls," she said. "You know, that big orphanage in the Temple district? The one that makes the whole west end smell like cabbage? Never been to Morrowind."

His optimism couldn't be crushed. "Well, there you go! You really do have a chance at a whole new life, then!"

At last, they reached the docks. "Look," the guard told her as she stood on the plank walkway, "try it out. A nice young girl shouldn't be crawling in windows and robbing shops. I got a daughter your age; it's too young to go throwing your life away. They don't give you just a couple months for a second offense. You don't want to lose a hand."

It was a very sweet thing to say. For a moment she was filled with guilt, all her sins and crimes coming back to her. "I'll try."

"Good," he smiled, waving her off.

I highly doubt he has a forty year old daughter at home, she thought, mutely following the captain below deck.

Not being a Mer, that guard apparently had no idea she was older than him.

Still, his heart was in the right place. And the more she thought about it, the more she became excited about Morrowind. The Imperial City was a city of men. Imperials, of course, but also Nords, Redguards, and Bretons. They were everywhere. Bosmer and Altimer were rare, Dunmer rarer still. She was an oddity, something that raised eyebrows. Something that made people whisper behind their hands as she passed.

It would be a welcome change, Almsi thought, to finally be just another face in the crowd.

16 Frostfall 4E 200

When the thunder sounded again, it was accompanied by shouts. The blow she was expecting didn't come. As the screaming continued, Almsi opened her eyes. A cold feeling spread through her body, radiating out from her stomach. Cold, despite the flames. After a moment Almsi realized what that feeling was: terror.

She almost laughed. After centuries of recklessness that would make even a skooma addict wince, here she was, honestly worried she would faint.

"Dragon!" someone shouted. It really didn't need to be said. They were all staring right at the beast, twice as large as a house, louder than any storm.

Rolling away from the block, it took a couple stumbles before she was able to stand. Her tied hands didn't make getting around any easier.

"Hey! Hey elf!" Glancing around, she saw a big Nord, hair hanging free. He had been with her and the other prisoners all the way from the border. He was the only one among the Stormcloaks that actually talked to her. The rest just stared, suspicious. There was no love between the dark elves and the people of Skyrim, though. It wasn't surprising. "Dunmer, follow me," he called again, gesturing with a jerk of his neck. "This is our chance to escape!"

Chasing after him, she gave one last glance back. The dragon howled again, spraying flames at their heels. Almsi didn't need to see that again. She followed the Stormcloak.

Running is so simple. Just legs. Legs and feet, moving quickly. That's what you would think. If you ever tried to run with your hands bound you would quickly learn otherwise. Neither she nor the blonde man could maintain their balance without their arms in motion. Stumbling and panting, they finally made it into the keep, nearly toppling over.

"What do you think it means?" the stormcloak had asked his leader. The man had been gagged, something about his voice had terrified the Imperials. She hadn't quite gathered what that could be… he sounded perfectly normal. His accent was heavy, but reminiscent of the upper class of Skyrim. It was a voice of someone used to issuing orders, and having them obeyed, sure… but there wasn't anying inherently strange about that.

Neither knew what the dragon meant, no more than she did. They were all agreed, though- it had to mean something. Almsi decided that when a beast from legend shows up to personally interrupt your execution, it's generally wise to assume it's a sign. Had it been even five minutes later… she would already have been dead. It wasn't the voice of Azura… but it probably wasn't something to be ignored, either.

Oh good. Giant cosmic messages. My favorite. Always ends well.

Splitting up from the other Stormcloaks, most of whom were nursing injuries, she and Ralof made their way up the tower. The dragon had other plans for them, though. Back pressed to the wall where the beast had managed to break through, she could smell her hair burning. One of the Nords fared far worse. He had been on the stairs right in front of where the dragon crashed the wall open. "Down," Ralof shouted. The man froze, clearly terrified.

"Get down," she hissed. If he would have laid on his belly, the short remains of the wall could have protected him. He appeared too scared to move.

They both turned away, not wanting to see his flesh after it began to sear and melt. The screams stopped after only a few seconds, thankfully.

She had been ready to continue up once the dragon left, but the Nord stopped her. "Look there," he said, pointing to a half-fallen building not far from the break in the tower. "I think we can make the jump."

She wasn't entirely sure about that. "Hmm," was all she said, evaluating the distance.

"I'll be right behind you!" Neither, apparently, was he.

What's the worst that could happen? she mused, climbing onto the ledge. It was only after she was in the air that Almsi found herself fondly remembering levitation spells. Never thought I'd miss that. Tucking her body as small as possible, she managed to roll as she hit the ground… right into a flaming bookshelf.

"N'wah!" she screamed, jumping up and batting at the flames. They had taken her weapons, of course, but also found it necessary to give her horrible sackcloth clothes in place of her armor and robes. It was far from fire-repellent.

She didn't care about the robes, not really. Or the armor. Neither were special or valuable. The rest of her stuff, though… that had to be found.

True to his word, Ralof was right behind her. "You all right?" he asked, running past without waiting for an answer. "Let's go!"

Sprinting through what remained of Helgen, they made their way towards an ancient keep. At one point a man from the Legion called out to her, saying she should follow him. He had been kind, far more than necessary or expected. The man had even promised to return her remains to Morrowind. It was a gesture of amazing thoughtfulness. Something she was sure came from him- not the Legion.

Of course, that was the problem. He had been kind… about taking part in her execution. No, she would follow the Stormcloak for now. At least he hadn't been trying to kill her.

Funny, she mused as the door slammed closed. I thought I was perfectly ready to die.

"Here," he said, once they were inside. "Let me get your hands free."

"No need," she said. He looked confused. "Rope burns," she reminded him. "Dunmer don't. I cast a spell while we were hiding behind that broken wall." She had found it fairly rude that the other Stormcloaks hadn't seen fit to help her, but they were distracted. She wouldn't hold it against them.

There was a dead Nord woman on the ground. Ralof suggested Almsi take her gear, and without waiting for her answer, turned his back politely so she could change. The armor was too large, of course, but she didn't complain. At least I'm not an Altmer, she thought, cinching the dead stranger's belt tighter and cuffing up the pants so she wouldn't step on the hem. Too big was more easily fixed than too small. Picking up the small axe, she gave it a few swings. "It'll do," she told him.

"You've used an axe before," he said. It was an observation, not a question. People in Skyrim seemed to do that a lot, phrasing things as questions when their tone made it clear they weren't asking anything. They apparently liked reassurance.

"I'd prefer a sword, but given the circumstances…" she shrugged, smiling.

"I know the feeling," he said, checking the doors. "A board with a nail is better than nothing." He grumbled to himself, yanking fruitlessly on the handle. "They're locked."

Before she could comment they both froze, taking up positions on either side of the gate. Voices were drawing near, Imperial voices.

A key in the lock. She held her breath, waiting for them, wanting that element of surprise. The gate opened, and she jumped. Axe high, Almsi brought it down with a shout on the first man's head, prying it free with a foot on the corpse's shoulder. Ralof was squaring off with another not far away. A familiar voice shouted at them.

She goes to the block.

Ralof turned to face the woman at the same time. He, too, was wearing a grim smile. The captain might have been tough, but she wasn't a fair match against two angry, grudge carrying opponents with battleaxes.

"Maybe one of them has the key," he said, wiping a splatter of her blood from his face.

"Already on it," Almsi was rooting through the woman's pockets. "Key!" Something else caught her eye. Flipping the body over, she smiled. "And this is mine!"

Yanking the dagger free, she wiped down the handle. It bothered her to think of anyone else touching it. "Very nice," Ralof said, looking surprised. "I didn't know the dwarves ever worked in glass."

"Just the once." She put it on her hip, feeling more herself again. "Sort of… a family heirloom." It's siblings Wraithguard and Sunder had been lost for many years, likely still buried in the ruins of her home at Tel Uvirith, or melted from the lava. Keening had never left her side, though- even if only for reasons of practicality. She had never worn heavy armor, she had never fought with a hammer. But a dagger? A dagger she could use.

Without further commentary, they went on. Down, down, down… through tunnels and dungeons, until finally, they came to another room will signs of life. A meal spread out, and a man slumped over the table. "Let's see if we can find any potions," he suggested. It wasn't a bad plan. They were able to come up with a few… painfully few. He looked at the stock with an expression of concern.

"Have you been injured?"

"It's nothing," he said. She stared at him and he turned, revealing a blade wound across his left shoulder.

"Here," she offered, raising her hands. It was an easy wound to heal with magic, and he nodded, grateful, once she had finished. She knew Nords didn't trust magic as a general rule, but she also knew they were an immensely practical people. Practical people could look beyond distrust when it came to healing.

As they finished the search of the room, she glanced again at the body. Hands were both on the table, one reaching for the other. Looking closer, she could see a ring just barely placed over one finger.

"You stupid fucking fetcher," she said under her breath, seeing why the man had dropped dead without any visible injury. Retrieving the ring, she accidentally cut the corpse's finger with a point of the star. He didn't complain.

She held it in her hand, looking down for a moment. A vivid memory came to the surface; unwanted and foreign, it was the thoughts from the mind of a long-dead man. Golden eyes in a golden face, gaze intense across a table. …I would be new, Vivec said, gripping his hands from across the table, and believe in the one moon and star as your banner does.

Lies. So many lies.

But then… he couldn't help himself. Vivec was always a poet, and poets lied. That's what poets did. He couldn't be blamed for being what he was. Might as well complain about a guar eating your boots. Maybe he wasn't even lying. Maybe everything that came later was… well, who knows. She wasn't there, after all. Despite what they said, she wasn't him. The hero. The legend. She had never been him.

But the ring was hers, despite all that, and she put it on.

Two of three. One more left.

They continued on. She could hear voices. A quick glance at her new companion told her he did as well. "Torture!" Ralof seemed deeply offended by this, whispering the word in a hiss. Apparently it was looked down upon in Skyrim.

He was lucky he had never been to Morrowind. There were Telvanni masters who had elevated it to an art form.

These men, fortunately, were not Telvanni masters.

The two of the quickly stripped the room of anything valuable. Finding a small cache of weapons set aside in a corner, they pawed through them, looking for anything more deadly, more useful. He was tossing things aside, making comments about craftsmanship as he went. "Junk," he said, shoving throwing a pile of staves to the ground.

Almsi bent, digging through them. He might not see the value in magic, but she certainly did. Most were common, with simple enchantments. Little more than branches, really. The Imperial Legion had never really done right by their battle mages. Anyone of skill would probably learn provide their own equipment. One though….

"Yes," she gasped, grabbing it. "Thanks to Azura." This was not Legion issue, not even close. Fingers tracing the heavy Daedric script, she smiled. Keening, she could live without. The ring… well, she suspected that would find its way back to her eventually. Daedric gifts couldn't really be lost, not forever. Not even if you wanted them gone. The staff was her only real concern when it seemed she might find her possessions. It was the only thing that was hers. Not Indoril Nerevar's. Not the Nerevarine. Just Almsi's.

"Is that a good one?" the Nord asked.

She looked at it, considering that. It wasn't a magnificent staff. It was a very good staff… but it wasn't the stuff of legends. It was simple, once just one of many identical weapons. Not the staff of a Telvanni master, but certainly the property of someone high enough to be taken seriously. "It's mine. I've had it a long time."

He looked curious. "How long?" the man asked after an abnormal pause. It wasn't the question he wanted to ask, but it was as close as he would get. How old are you? That was what he wondered. Men always did. They seemed to view Mer lifespans with a mix of equal parts curiosity, envy, and revulsion.

She stood up, holding it tightly. Her knuckles had gone white around the tarnished silver.

He was so pleased when she came back to announce her success. She could tell he hadn't expected her to return with good news. "This will be very good for us," Master Aryon said, beaming. He didn't smile often enough, but news of a new ally on the house council was cause for celebration. "Very good. I need allies now." He spun on his heel, muttering "don't go, I don't want to forget this," and retreating to dig around in a cabinet. "I know it's here…" he mumbled.

Aryon never seemed to know where he had left anything. She once came in to find him searching frantically for an amulet... that he had been wearing around his neck at the time. Almsi suspected things as mundane as objects and his corporeal form weren't particularly important when he could traverse the realms of Oblivion with a wave of his hand. Probably why his hands and cuffs were usually covered in smears of ink. He mumbled to himself as he looked.

"I set it aside for you last night… I know it's got to be… Damnation, where… Ah!"

Turning back, he was holding a silver staff, topped with the likeness of a monster. Green jewels shone between its teeth like some kind of unholy fire.

"Here it is!" he said. "It's a Silver Staff of Peace."

"For me?" She hadn't been expecting anything. Maybe some coin but not a gift. Especially not a gift he had evidently set aside just for her.

"It's tradition," he said.

"What do I do with it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "You don't know how to use a staff?"

"Not any staff with peace in the name," she said. She had wondered if it was just a badge of office, something to wander around holding and looking important.

"It's just the name," he said with a laugh. Almsi suspected he tolerated her because her ignorance amused him. "That's the traditional gift a patron in House Telvanni gives to their new protégée." He paused. "Well, it does paralyze people as well. I suppose that could make them peaceful. Or give you an opportunity to set them on fire… or just bash them in the head like an angry Orc until they fall down and stop twitching. Whatever strikes your fancy. Far be it for me to tell you how to do your job." He looked pleased with himself when she started to giggle. "In any case, I'm giving it to you. Do with it what you want."

She stared at him for a moment, and then at the staff, piecing the information together. Realizing what had happened, Almsi shrieked, throwing her arms around the shocked wizard. As soon as she touched him she regained some semblance of her mind and jumped backwards. "Oh! Oh gods, I'm sorry. I… I'm so sorry, that was completely—"

"It's fine," he said, brushing her apologies aside as he shoved his hair back. "It was, um, certainly more enthusiastic than the reaction I got from Galos." No, she couldn't imagine his humorless Mouth shrieking and hugging him, under any circumstances. Master Aryon looked to be blushing. "Anyways. There you are. Please try not to waste all your time standing on a platform in Sadrith Mora. You're far too useful for that."

She closed her eyes for a moment, taking a breath and returning to the present. With a dragon behind them and more Imperials ahead, she couldn't afford to get lost in old memories. "I got this in Tel Vos," she said. "A gift from an old friend."

"I've never heard of Tel Vos," he said.

"It was on Vvardenfall."

He stared at her. "Oh," the Nord finally said, looking surprised as he put the information into place. "I see. I'm sorry to hear that."

She nodded, thanking him, and suggesting they move on. It wasn't a subject she wanted to discuss in detail.

Just holding the staff, she felt better. More herself. It was funny, her most treasured possession and she wasn't even supposed to keep the thing. Aryon had received it from his patron, and she should have passed it on when she became a patron herself. Almsi couldn't stand the idea of giving it away, though. Instead she spent an unholy sum buying a new, identical, staff from a merchant in Sadrith Mora. The staff from Aryon was hers.

That, and using something called the Silver Staff of Peace exclusively to hurt and kill people… well, it was pretty funny. It lived up to the name, at least. Things were always much more peaceful after she finished using it. Aryon had been right about that.

Following Ralof, Almsi stifled a laugh, suspecting that was something she should keep to herself.

Thanks for reading the first chapter of this fic! (and thanks in advance to anyone who reviews!) If you follow my New Vegas fic, I'll have an update to that either tonight or tomorrow.