A/N: So I'm doing a write-your-protagonist fanfic. But since I've played the quests to death I refuse to just copy and paste the dialogue and relay exactly what happens. That's boring. Anyone who plays the game has a good idea of what happens. So instead I'll be jumping around the place to important scenes where she has interesting thoughts and stuff, and otherwise keep it somewhat short.
This will probably end up taking me through the main quest, the civil war, dawnguard and dragonborn. Other quests and stuff I might make separate one-shots or drabbles depending on what it is. My dragonborn doesn't do all the questlines anyway - I play other characters for roleplaying purposes. They might get their own stories too, and they'll definitely appear here.
Updating might be slow going. This is totally just for fun. And I have a wack-ton of headcanons that I'll be stuffing in here too. I'll probably explain them in notes if I don't during.
Links to AO3 and tumblr on my profile page. Also check out other parts of this series! :)
"And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold,
That when brothers wage war come unfurled!
Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,
With a hunger to swallow the world!"
– Song of the Dragonborn
[Chapter 01: Unbound]
.
Mana thought that maybe she should stick to the roads if this is what camping in the woods brings her.
She did possess all the necessary documents and papers needed to cross the border, which she was generally very careful in keeping track of after the complete disaster that had been her first visit into Cyrodiil. However, due to unforeseen circumstances, her papers were snug in her pack, currently several miles away along with the rest of her camp.
Having heard noises in the night, she had gotten up to investigate, only to walk straight into what appeared to be an ambush by the Imperials (which her fellow prisoner moaned about as they huddled in the back of a horse-drawn cart). She'd been caught literally in her underclothes – armor, weapons and identification papers all but forgotten.
They had, of course, not believed a word she said when she tried to explain that she was not a member of the rebel force and was simply a victim of poor circumstance, and that if they just take a short walk she could prove that she was just a traveler and was in no way connected to the war in Skyrim. After all, what human would believe the word of a Khajiit? (This caused her a great deal of bitterness and frustration.)
Mana wondered why she would ever want to come to Skyrim in the first place, especially with tensions running so high. They (being sympathetic bartenders or roaring drunks) warned her that it was dangerous to head north, especially alone. She had arrogantly thought that she could avoid the fighting if she stayed away from the roads and stuck to the wilderness. The wildlife didn't scare her – she could handle bears and wolves and whatever else lurked beyond civilization.
It had been more than a simple whim, especially with how much preparation she'd gone through. Something about the north pulled her. It had been in the back of her mind since she was young – it was part of the reason she left Pellitine for Anequina. And after many years of living in Dune, she ultimately abandoned it to travel into Cyrodiil and other northern states. For years she had avoided Skyrim because she heard rumors from caravans that their kind were not allowed into cities and that their lands were crawling with monsters, but her curiosity got the better of her eventually. There was something about Skyrim that called out to her. It was infuriating.
Now she cursed her wish to see the north, because it put her in shackles.
This wasn't the first time she'd been imprisoned. Several years ago when she'd been ghosting through Hammerfell a group of slavers had overwhelmed and captured her. They had wanted to break her spirit before they sold her, so had kept her in the basement of an old fortress they'd taken. She hadn't seen the sky for months.
When she had finally worked off the restraints, she had slaughtered everyone indiscriminately. It was a bloodbath, and she vividly remembers standing on the top of the fort, swords clenched in her hands, watching the light of dawn over the desert sands, carcasses strewn around her.
The cart rattled, shaking Mana out of her thoughts. She opened her eyes, pupils thin slits in the bleak early morning light.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake."
Gods give Khajiit patience.
Mana's tail lashed side to side as she stood next to the Stormcloak prisoners. Hers lips continued to twitch and she tried not to bare her fangs, but it was a difficult prospect when she was in line to have her head removed.
The Imperials are very fond of drama, she thought idly, yellow eyes sweeping over the General as he ranted at his muzzled prisoner. I suppose this is a moment that they will celebrate in their books until their memories fade.
The man, General Tullius, wanted to believe so badly that he could bring Skyrim peace.
Mana tried not to laugh.
The Khajiit's ear twitched as an echo came over the mountains and rung through the valley. It sounded like the cries of some great beast. Everyone in the square turned their faces to the sky, but when it fell silent they turned back to the matter in front of them, oblivious.
If Mana's face was not covered in fur, she would have gone very pale.
That was…
Her chest felt cold, and the words of the humans fell away. Something was wrong, very wrong. And yet at the same time, all the fear from her impending execution suddenly lifted. An urge to cry with joy overcame her; it nearly knocked her over in its strength.
"Next, the cat!"
Mana's eyes locked with the woman-soldier, and the multitude of sharp weapons everyone was holding. For a moment she was brought back into her immediate, and considered the chances she would have at slipping loose and making a run for it. Though after the show they made of the thief, she wasn't so eager for a repeat performance.
Another of the strange sounds rumbled through the air.
For a moment they forgot the Khajiit, looking over their shoulders. This time a blanket of unease settled over everyone.
"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the soldier who had greeted her off the back of the cart said.
Fools – something is coming!
"I said, next prisoner!" the captain snapped, remembering her duty.
The boy's face was full of compassion and apology, "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."
Mana faced the Imperial captain as she stepped forward, but even as she approached the block she could feel no apprehension. The smell of the Stormcloak who had been killed only moments before – his blood was still spilling across the ground – filled her nose. It was thick and heady.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood, her tail erected. She was pushed down onto the stone, knees scraping the harsh cobbles, and turned her face to the blue above. Something in her stomach twisted, and for a moment her heart stopped in her chest.
Above the executioner, beyond the tower keep, a shadow took to air with a great roar.
That is…
The Imperials scrambled, giving Mana the perfect view of its great shape swooping through the air. It was as black as the night sky and the shards of its skin looked like obsidian. Her still heart thundered, shaking her chest and causing a shiver to go down her spine.
Dovah.
Above her the unknowing executioner lifted his axe. The Dov landed on the tower with a great shudder, knocking everyone around it to the ground. Someone screeched, "Dragon!"
Its eyes were on hers. Mana stared into the bright red points, her mouth dry and a dry heave shaking her chest. She could hear whispers in the back of her mind, crowing in happiness. The dragon looked over the assembled crowd, and the euphoria was extinguished, replaced by stone-cold dread. Oh no.
The Dov opened its black maw; an ear-shredding boom knocked everyone who had been struggling to their feet down again. The sky itself roiled and twisted, fireballs forming in the clouds to rain down on them.
Mana's ears pressed flat against her head as she fought off a bout of violent nausea, and she struggled to her feet. Her vision was shaky, though she couldn't tell if it was because of the headache that suddenly plagued her, or the tears gathering in the corner of her eyes.
A voice called to her, and blindly, she turned to follow it.
She wove through the rubble and hellfire, watching as men fell to the Dov's fury. For it was obviously enraged, delighting in the carnage and slaughter. What had happened to make it so mad, Mana didn't know, but as it bust its way into the top of the tower and released a jet of flame that turned a Nord to ash in front of her, she figured it must be something long seated.
If it had its way, no one would leave Helgen alive.
There was ash in her mouth, smoke in her lungs. It was hard to breathe.
("Legends don't burn down villages." The man was already down – it ignited his corpse anyway.)
Words were ringing in her ears. There was probably blood in them.
("Toor…Shul!" and there was bright fire, burning against her eyes. Its great wings arced above her head.)
Hadvar ran in front of her, his armour streaked with blood. Mana was pressed to keep up with him, as her whole body was shaking and her thoughts sluggish.
"Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time."
Mana wanted to shout at them, tell them that their petty fight did not matter. Alduin was coming.
"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."
She wanted them all to just shut up.
Mana turned her eyes to the burning sky again, and the beating of wings. Her mind was splintering, her heart ached. Something was pulling at her, it wanted her to stay. But she knew that if she hesitated she would die.
"With me, prisoner. Let's go!"
Painfully, she turned her gaze away from the mad dragon, and followed Hadvar into the keep.
A/N: Headcanon: there are two types of dragonborn. The first is blood only, which can be passed genetically - such as the Septim bloodline with the whole dragonborn emperors and dragonfires and all that kerfuffle. The second type are also dragon in soul: as in they were reincarnated. It can happen out of the blue without warning, and the dragonblood is just with them since birth, without genetics in play. The Last Dragonborn is the second type. (There is more to this headcanon but this is not yet relevant.)