Chapter 1

Brimir had spent most of the time after his conquest of Alduin in Sovngarde traveling Skyrim searching to help the people that he could. Which is how he ended up fighting on a whole new plain of Oblivion, again. This time it was not a Daedric prince he was fighting but the first of his kind, Miraak, the first Dovahkiin. His conflict with Miraak had brought to the forefront of his mind that he himself hadn't even really thought on much, his own demons. He had always considered the dovah sil as a gift. It wasn't until he had come face to face with Miraak and saw how the dovah sil had corrupted him that he realized it was a double edged sword. As utterly as it could destroy his enemies it could also if, unchecked, lead to his doom. Upon his return to Skyrim he had returned to his home in Whiterun. The Jarl Balgruuf had been one of his first supporters and by far the fiercest. Balgruuf had been one of the reasons that he had sided with the empire in the civil war. He had been the man that Brimir had wanted to be, he saw the merits in both sides but knew in the end, an independent Skyrim was a weak Skyrim that would be an easy target for the Aldmeri Dominion. Balgruuf had known that the Empire had no love for the Thalmor and would not be content to remain under their control forever. The Dovahkiin had seen the wisdom in his thinking and sided with the Empire. He did not regret it at all he knew that Skyrim would be stronger for it in the end when it came time to clash with the Dominion once again. He wasn't shallow enough to allow his disdain for the Dominion influence his opinion on individuals. He had been to Windhelm seen the evidence there and knew that just as the Dominion viewed Humans, Humans could also view Elves, and Argonians in the same light.

He had been blessed by the gods many of times, there were moments when he knew he was doomed and somehow he had managed to cheat death. Through all his travels his faith in the gods had been through many trials after his first few interactions with the Daedric princes he had attempted to avoid them at all costs unfortunately he hadn't always been successful. One of the most trying confrontations with a Daedric prince had been the times that he had clashed Hircine. The prince wasn't necessarily evil he was wild, untamed, accountable to no one. Almost too similar to Brimirs' own dovah sil, being in situations that fell under the domain of Hircine always took its toll on his control. He had been young and naïve when he had first met the Companions in Whiterun and been only too eager to accept their gift. It was only when he'd found out what the costs were that he had known he had to rid himself of that curse. Lycanthropy hadn't messed well with his dovah sil. Having both made him even more violent than he enjoyed. When Kodlak had asked for his help in curing him of Lycanthropy so that his soul could join his brothers Brimir knew that this was his way to cure himself also. Brimir had gone the witches' lair, taken all the heads that he could gather and set on his way back to Jorrvaskr. Only to find that the White Hand had struck stolen the shards of Wuuthrad and killed Kodlak, he took his vengeance, and set out with the other companions to fulfill Kodlaks' last wishes and cleanse his spirit. They had travelled to Ysgramors' tomb where the ceremony would take place. There after fighting through past companions' spirits and other enemies they had found Kodlaks spirit. After watching Kodlaks spirit fight off the wolf spirit, the other companions had left and Kodlak had ascended to Sovngarde, he had through his own combat with his own wolf spirit cleansed his own soul and assured his own transcendence. He did not leave Ysgramors tomb empty handed though. He would always carry the shield of Ysgramor, and Wuuthrad would always be a treasured relic adorning the hall of Jorrvaskr, re-forged by Eorlund Grey-Mane. He dare not leave the shield its history meant too much to him to abandon.

He would still carry some trace of the wolf in him. Full moons set him on edge and set his blood to boiling, his appetite for rare meat still remained, but he was as Akatosh had made him now. He swore no other Daedric prince would corrupt him after that. He had been unable to completely avoid princes but had done his best.

After all his travels and challenges through Skyrim had forged him into the man that he was now. A proud son of Skyrim and loyal citizen of the Empire. He didn't follow all of the laws of the land though, he would always revere and worship Tiber Septim known to most of Skyrim now as Talos almost as much as he revered Akatosh his own father. He was a tall man standing a tad over six foot, he weighed a little more than seventeen stones. His body was adorned with scars, he had always been at home in combat, but sometimes bad luck or complacency led to mistakes and he bore the proof of it. After discovering the dovah sil he thought himself invincible but a bandit had proven that false and left a scar stretching down the left side of his face as a reminder that he was just a mortal. He kept his hair short and his beard trimmed, the close calls and dangers he had been through had turned his hair grey earlier than he would have wanted. His sword was a gift from Eorlund that he had carried ever since. Brimir had worn steel armor until he had slain enough dragons that he was able to forge himself a set of Dragonplate armor, it was one of his treasured possessions, along with his sword, amulet of Talos, and Ysgramors' shield. They were some of the only things that he really cared about in the world.

Tonight his armor, shield, and sword rested on his table in his home in Whiterun. He had been cleaning, oiling, and sharpening. Brimir didn't know why but he had a feeling in his gut that something was coming. He sat before the table in the dim firelight provided by his nightly fire, thinking. He didn't know what but over the years he had learned to trust his instincts. After completing his nightly ritual of bathing, offering blessings to the gods and settling down to read, he finally climbed the stairs to his room and laid down for a night of rest. Climbing into his bed he lay there pondering all that he had been through. He was unable to shake off the feeling of restlessness that was creeping through his mind. It left sleep just beyond his reach. Sighing he resigned himself to a night of sleeplessness. Descending the stairs to his sitting room, he made his way over the cold hardwood floor to his book self. Perusing through the titles he looked for one that would peak his interest. Settling on one of his Brief History of the Empire volumes he settled in his armchair to read. After almost a quarter of an hour his eyelids began to droop and slowly sleep over took him.

Fire swept over his vison. Brimir scouring to figure out what was going on. He didn't know where he was, what was going on, or what happened. The vision was shifting he saw a land on fire, a huge desert occupied the middle of the continent. The western edge was bordered by a long mountain range that sat on the coast of the sea. To the north a vast forest stretched as far as he could see. It was at that point that he realized he was seeing all of this from the air. The minute he realized this everything changed he saw strange dragons bound in chains, they were unlike the Dovah in Skyrim, and they were all hued in bright colors and had four legs that he could see. He could hear dragons screaming in pain. Their cries were animalistic, broken, not what he would expect from dragons. Then as quickly as it had come it was gone. Leaving him heaving in his sitting room breathing hard and sweating. His dream was not leaving him as he woke up it stuck with him he could see it all. He knew that it meant something it was too clear and sharp to be anything but a message. Brimir was frustrated if it was a message it was from the gods and they never directly interfered in the affairs of the world. He, the Dovahkiin was their actor, their right hand in the world.

But if it was the gods they had never given him such a confusing message it was always something that would immediately tell him what needed to be done. Like a giant dragon interfering in his execution. With this dream there was no clear message, only a feeling. Like something tugging at his soul. A sense of urgency, he didn't know what it was but he began striding across the room towards the entrance to his cellar before he knew what was happening. He had no idea why he felt this way just that there was something he needed to do, so gathering himself he made his way to the cellar. Lifting the latch he descended down the steps into the dry air of the cellar. Reaching the bottom he cast magelight one of the few spells that he had been able to master. His furrows into magic had been few and far between. When a bandit was descending upon him there hadn't been much time to ready a spell and he wasn't the type of man to stand back from a fight. He had a code, one that said honor in combat was only gained through an honest fight. Many of his friends from the Mages College had laughed at him, but that was the way of the Nords. Shaking these thoughts from his head he made his way to a small corner of the cellar he approached a small worn chest. Its looks were deceptive it had been warded by the best the Mages College had to offer, for its contents were priceless. Inside resting upon the bottom of the chest was an object of great power, a fragment of creation itself, an Elder Scroll. Brimir had no idea what had possessed him to once again involve himself with an Elder Scroll. After he began to collect them he had decided that it would be best if they were hidden away in separate locations. One had been sent to the Mages College, the second one rested in the hands of the Greybeards on High Hrothgar. The final one rested here in his hands now, as his gaze lingered upon the scroll another vision struck him. This time he was able to recognize it, the Throat of the World. Without wondering where these visions were coming from, his instincts were telling him that he was once again being tasked to aid the gods in some calamity.

Rising from the basement he began to outfit himself for another journey. He gathered simple provisions for a long journey, bread, salted meat, water he would find along the way. Simple clothes that would blend in, jerkins and leggings for under his armor. All these he placed into saddle bags, later he would strap him to his horse that he had stabled at the Whiterun stables. He donned his armor, loving the way its weight settled over him. If he made a good pace he could reach High Hrothgar by morning and from there he would figure out when the time came. The shield of Ysgramor he strapped to his back but left loose so that he could sling it down to his arm if need be, his sword rested on his left hip. Placing his helm on his head he squared his shoulders and ready himself for what may happen. He left his house without a backward glance he made his way to the stables. There he saddled Ysmir, his horse, named in honor of Tiber Septim. Lashing the bags behind the saddle he began his journey, he would take the road to Helgen and from there to the throat of the world.

As the sun began to rise over the horizon Brimir looked up from the rocky trail ahead of him to rest his gaze upon High Hrothgar, home of the Greybeards. It never failed to impress him. Dismounting and hobbling his horse, he untied the bag containing the elder scroll to take with him, he made his way up the steps to the doors of High Hrothgar. Opening them and entering the dimly lit room therein the memories of training here flashed before his eyes. He smiled at the fond memories, he and Arngeir had always had tension between them over their different uses of the Voice. Arngeir had accepted that as Dragonborn Brimir was the exception to the rules. His dovah sil had been given to him by Akatosh and by extension Brimir was using the Thu'um with Akatoshs' blessing. Walking across the room, he heard the voice of his old teacher.

"Ah Dovahkiin what brings you to High Hrothgar?" Arngeir stepped out from a side room and walked over to meet him. Removing his helmet and tucking it against his side Brimir clasped arms with his former teacher. Brimir raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner.

"What makes you think I've not come for a visit? Can't an old student come to see his teacher?"

Arngeir frowned. "With what little news reaches us here on the mountain I doubt this is a social visit."

Brimir laughed a little then sighed. "Once again you are right" He paused not sure how to explain. "I've had a vision" At this Arngeirs' frown deepened.

"What was in this vision?"

After spending a few seconds gathering the words necessary Brimir began. "I saw a strange land burning. There were strange dragons chained, they walked on four legs and were brightly colored." Brimir paused not sure how to explain the feelings that had been left by the vision. Arngeir waited patiently for the Dragonborn to continue. He was both intrigued and disturbed. Another land? He raked his brain trying to think of where it was. He was unsuccessful if there was another country with different dragons Paarthurnax would have known. His thoughts were interupted

"That was not the only thing strange that happened" Brimir waited, Arngeir motioned for him to continue.

Brimir reached into the bag that he had brought in with him withdrawing the elder scroll. If Arngeir had looked disturbed before now he looked plain upset.

"I felt the urge to bring this here and take it to the time rend upon the peak for some reason."

Arngeir nodded "Then go take the scroll and speak with Paarthurnax he is more knowledgeable than me."

Brimir placed the scroll back in the bag, stepped back out into the chilly mountain air. He stood their letting the cold set in. Placing his helmet back on his head he retied the bag to Ysmir and mounting him rode through the stables to the back courtyard. He continued up the path to the peek occasionally using the clear skies thu'um to clear the path. When he reached the peak he dismounted letting Ysmir wonder around the peak. Approaching the word wall that was usually Paarthurnaxs' perch he wasn't let down. The old dov was there as he always was.

"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings Dovahkiin." His voice was as old and gravelly as he had always known. The old dragon lowered his head so that he could look into Brimirs eyes.

Taking a few moments to accurately and fairly quickly summarize what had happened, after finishing he posed his biggest question yet.

"What now, what should I do?"

Paarthurnax hummed, "The ways of our father are strange even to the dovah, though we are his blood. Follow what your sil, soul, says. Perhaps it is dez, fate that guides you now, who can tell."

Brimir listened silently agreed and when Paarthurnax finished he looked within himself for guidance, finding nothing he frowned. His attention was drawn to the time wound. If it was a portal through time that could be used by the Elder Scrolls could it also be used as a portal between worlds? Turning to Paarthurnax he expressed his idea.

Paarthurnax looked at him and rumbled a half growl half rumble that Brimir realized was a laugh.

"As with all you have done you still wish to push the bounds, but the Kel are not fully understood, perhaps the Tiid-Ahraan, the time wound would let you travel there." Paarthurnax looked at the time wound, "There is no way to know for sure."

Brimirs mind was made up, worst case it didn't best case he would finally figure out what was going on. Paarthurnax had once told him to trust his instincts that his dragon blood would show him the way, perhaps that was what it was finally doing. Gathering the reins to Ysmir he walked over to the time wound. He had what he needed and if he was going to blend in he couldn't take too much. Paarthurnax looked at him.

"Lok bo, Thu'um tuum. Sky above, voice within. Tread lightly Dovahkiin."

Brimir nodded "Lok Thu'um" Withdrawing the Elder Scroll he caught his breath and hoped that this wouldn't end too badly. He stepped into the time wound and unrolled the scroll.

His senses were assaulted at that point, his sight was a myriad of light and he heard the song in his ears, the same song that called at his soul when he slayed a dragon. His felt as if he was walking through a fire. He tasted copper, although he couldn't place it. It was similar to the experience of traveling through Oblivion but whereas that was dark and cold this was bright and hot. Finally he felt as if someone had grasped his head and stretched him from the ground to the sky and suddenly let go. His stomach flew to his throat and he felt like he was going to be sick. Throwing off his helmet he bent over and retched up his light breakfast for that morning. Gathering himself he looked around, the first thing he noticed was the heat. It was sweltering here completely different from Skyrim. He stood a few hundred meters off from a road that lead across a grassy plain with few groves of trees scattered here and there. Brimir felt something nudge him in the small of his back. He turned around smiling happy to realize that Ysmir had made the journey with him. Laughing he realized that his plan had worked and all he needed to do now was find out what exactly the gods had in store for him.

Miles away atop a hill in a ramshackle stone building an old hermit talking with a young man suddenly felt as if a change had come over the land. His madness abating for a minute he felt through his connection with the world around him. He focused on the change that he felt and smiled. Things were about to get interesting. Turning to his dinner companion he smiled. The Young man had not missed the change in demeanor that had over taken the old hermit. The Hermit was smiling at him with a hint of madness in his eyes, less so than before.

"Find the dragon that walks on two legs."

The young man scoffed and pressed the hermit for what he meant but the hermit would have no more to say.