Queen Takes Pawn
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Summary: All the Dragonborn wants is to be left alone; jaded and embittered at the schemes and machinations of the political machine in Skyrim, she abandoned her role of Hero a long time ago. But she can't ignore the looming threat of Miraak, or the presence of a former lover suddenly complicating her life.
Pairing: Teldryn Sero/F!Dragonborn
Spoilers: Dragonborn DLC spoilers ahoy!
A/N: Anyone else find the number of titles you can earn as the Dragonborn ridiculous? It was after I earned Arch-Mage in the College of Winterhold questline without using magic that I realized that there was absolutely no way the Dragonborn received all of those titles through their own merit. Having a Hero of Legend associated with you and your organization is possibly the best PR ever conceived.
The World-Eater had been dead for ten years and according to hearsay the Dragonborn had died along with him.
This was, as most rumors are, untrue. Dovrasi was alive and well and as far from Skyrim as she could get. Currently she was residing in Kvatch. She liked Kvatch; it was near the Gold Coast and was a city big enough to hide in if that's what you were looking for. She spent time making friends with her neighbors, pursuing alchemy as a hobby, and was thrilled in general that no one knew of her history or asked her for any favors more daunting than borrowing a pot full of honey. It was quiet, uneventful, boring, the score of Thalmor walking around within the city annoyed her, but so far the peace that came with anonymity was worth the drawbacks.
It held the added bonus that Kvatch had its own Patron Saint of a Hero, long dead by over 200 years. No one cared that a living legend walked among them, buying her bread, her meat and her cheese like an average citizen of the Empire. Not that Dovrasi ever clued them in; living without the expectation that she was supposed to do something about the myriad of problems that faced everyone every day suited her just fine.
It was on a Mundus in the Second Seed when that carefully built peace was destroyed. The day had begun normally enough; she was in the market with her basket, looking over the meat offered by Erthgorn Sagelake.
"What do you have today, you old fraud?" She grinned at him as she picked over his wares, like she always did.
"Meat too good for the likes of you," He fell easily into their traditional banter. "If all you do is complain about what I offer I don't see why you bother to come at all."
"For the charming wit and hospitality of course!" she winked at him. "And because you adore me so it would be a cruelty to deny you my companionship."
Erthgorn laughed. "You call me the fraud when you have the silver tongue of Dibella herself. You've been hanging around Kaira too long."
She dickered with the Bosmer for a few more minutes, bartering both the price and an exchange of services until she left with a haunch of goat meat and he had extracted a promise for one of her vials of invisibility. Several other townspeople loitered around the marketplace and she greeted them all by name. It was a quiet, pleasant sort of day. The sort of day where bad things shouldn't happen…but they always seem to anyway.
Dovrasi's heart sank when she saw trouble, with a capita walk into the town square that served as the market. They were both dressed in brown robes, and had their faces hidden behind an awful mask that would have resembled a skull if it weren't for the pointy bits down near the bottom of it. The familiar feeling in her gut -the one that had kept her alive for so long despite her penchant for running headfirst into danger with naught but her bow and a terrifying, tooth-filled grin -was telling her that these men were dangerous, and more importantly, they were here for her.
They approached a Nord, a tall blonde woman whom Dovrasi hadn't noticed around town before. She strained to hear their conversation, missing what the men asked, their voices muffled by the masks they wore. The woman's reply was clear as day.
"I do not know of the woman you seek," she said disdainfully. "Nor have I time to entertain your petty concerns." She turned on them, and strode away from the marketplace. The men regarded her for a long moment, and one seemed to raise his hand to cast a spell in her direction when his companion forced his hand down. There were more murmurings and soon they ignored the woman as thoroughly as she had ignored them.
Dovrasi swore under her breath, lowering herself into a crouch behind a nearby stand as she kept an eye on the two strangers while trying to keep out of their line of sight. When she had first learned of her destiny as the Dragonborn the admiration and respect had been a heady feast for a starving soul who had been raised in the Grey Quarter of Windhelm. But as time went on and her fame and titles grew so did the attention and the demands on her time. Eventually she had become sick unto death of being used and manipulated into being a Thane (of multiple Holds) a Companion, Arch-Mage, Legate, Champion of Azura, Merida, Mephala, Clavicus Vile, Sanguine, Mehrunes Dagon (accidental as that one had been), and even a wife. Two years after she defeated Alduin Dovrasi had quietly absconded all of her titles to leave Skyrim with no word, no warning, and no forwarding address. She had come to realize that no one had wanted the skills and experience that she had earned on her own; they had all wanted the bragging rights that came with associating with the Dragonborn.
Oblivion knew it was why her damned s'wit of a husband had married her, and she'd bet her eyeteeth it was what had drawn these two strangers with obviously ill intentions into Kvatch.
Tired of observing (which was really just hiding and waiting) Dovrasi stepped out of the shadows in full view of the men. These days she didn't go around armed; she was clad only in a simple peasant's dress and held nothing more in her hands than her basket filled with that mornings purchases.
"What business do you have in Kvatch, strangers?" She called, standing tall and regal. Her red eyes narrowed at them as they turned around to inspect her. They approached, their movements turning serpentine as one took her left and the other flanked her on the right.
"It's the Pretender," one of the men said. "You cannot escape the truth. You cannot escape the True Dragonborn!"
The second man spoke. "When Lord Miraak appears, none shall dare oppose him."
Then all chaos she had been expecting broke loose.
Most people, when they find themselves on the wrong end of an assassination attempt, cower, flee, or beg for mercy as they lose control of their bodies and the odor of urine fills the air. It's an expected, even understood, reaction. Dovrasi was not one of those people; she simply let the rage build as she conjured a blade in one hand and felt the power of the Thu'um gather in her throat.
She dove to the side, somersaulting to her feet to avoid the Chain Lightning the men directed at her. Townspeople fled, screaming in fear, away from the battle unfolding in the middle of the town square. More than one guard fell from the mens' magicka, and Dovrasi took advantage of the noise and confusion to unleash the first Shout she had used in years.
Her Thu'um was perfectly timed; no one but the intended targets were caught in the brutally punishing force. One was killed instantly, his skull connecting against the corner of a nearby house to thoughtfully decorate the white walls with the color of his blood and the grey splatter of his brains. The second lost his feet, tumbling ass over tail-feather, barely missing the same fate as his comrade by mere centimeters. Dovrasi ran after him, as fleet-footed as she had been ten years ago, ducking past the shell shocked guards and townspeople who were still trying to figure out just what exactly had happened. Before he realized his stroke of good luck, or even that he'd had one, she was on him; a spitting, snarling embodiment of rage. His mask was ripped off and the spectral blade in her hand shoved against his throat. Her knee pressed painfully into his gut while her thumb was strategically placed near his right eye.
"Who sent you, n'wah?" Her spittle rained on his face.
"My Master," he groaned. "Lord Miraak."
"Who," she growled, digging her knee deeper into his gut simply because she wanted to, "in Oblivion is Miraak? What does he want with me?"
Her captive struggled underneath her, his eyes wide with a terror he hadn't felt in years. The stench of feces became apparent as he lost control of his bowels. "He'll kill me," was all he would wail.
"So will I," she threatened. A stain of red seeped through the fabric of his robes as she twisted the blade in her hand into his flesh. "If you didn't notice, my threat is much more immediate."
"Solstheim," he cried out. "We came from Solstheim to remove the false Dragonborn, so that our Lord may return unfettered!"
Above him Dovrasi stilled, the weapon in her hand dissipating to where she had conjured it from. She stood abruptly.
"Get that out of here," she ordered flatly to the contingent of guards waiting nearby, prodding the prone body at her feet. Around her she felt the stares of the townspeople; her friends and her neighbors, the people who had up until now assumed she had only been a friendly alchemist. Soon, after the shock wore off, the questions would come, followed by the favors, then the never ending politics where she was nothing but a mere pawn.
"Child of Akatosh," she heard in an awed whisper. That proclamation opened the floodgates of commentary and in the cacophony of noise she heard the theory that maybe she was a long lost Septim heir.
No.
Fuck no.
She pushed and shouldered her way out of the crowd, ignoring the sudden onslaught of gossip and awe-struck stares. When she finally managed to push her way free from the crowd she broke into a dead run for her home, running as if a dremora was on her heels. Her door slammed behind her and in the quiet solitude of her home she felt the peace she had spent so long searching for shatter like the fragile glass it had always been.
She screamed in Dunmeri, throwing a goblet across as the room even as her brain ran through its pragmatic list of what needed to be done if she wanted to make as clean a getaway as was possible. She had no time to mourn the life she'd had before this clusterfuck on the chance that even the illusion of control slipped through her fingers.
Upstairs, a simple set of leather armor and her ebony bow had lain idly since she had come to Kvatch. That armor and the bow had been bought with the money she had earned as she was leaving Skyrim for good, the only things that had held no attached strings, and therefore the only things she had kept from her old life. Other than the need for a new bowstring, the bow was in good condition for which she was thankful. The armor, serviceable but worn, slipped on like an old friend, her fingers remembering every buckle and tie, even that one wonky one she'd never had properly repaired.
The situation wasn't ideal but being back in her armor with her bow in hand felt…freeing. The prospect of fighting, conquering, to be herself instead of this pale imitation of what she had used to be in order to be left alone was a powerful feeling. It felt good and right to be doing something instead of simply letting life pass her by.
She threw a few essentials into her pack; a pouch full of septims, a few potions of cure disease, and restoratives for both her health and magicka when a knock on the door interrupted her mental checklist. It was tempting to ignore the knocking by sneaking out a window in the back but her house was in the middle of town and such an action would actually draw more attention. With a sigh, Dovrasi opened the door.
"What's this horseshit about you being some sort of God?"
"Hello, Kaira."
"Don't you hello me, you pain in my backside," the tiny Imperial humphed, pulling out a chair like she owned the place. "I always knew you had a touch of the Divine upon you…Oh don't give me that stupid sheep's look, I'm a priestess of Dibella, I'm not *stupid* you know. At the very least I should be able to see that," Kaira pinned a stern eye on the squirming Dunmer with a pointed glare. "I never asked about it because any fool could see you didn't want to be asked. So I'm calling upon all the favors I never asked of you in our years of friendship to ask you now."
Dovrasi told her.
"Well," Kyra said, leaning back against the chair like the wind had been knocked out of her. "Well."
"Quite," Dovrasi agreed. She flicked the key of her home towards Kaira. "Here, take this."
Kaira caught the key, inspecting it between her fingers. "You want I should watch your house for you?"
"I'm not coming back," Dovrasi stretched. "You can take the house and everything in it."
Kaira gaped at her like a fish. "You're joking."
"No joke, no catch, no lie. I probably won't come back to Cyrodiil."
Kaira reached over to punch Dovrasi in the shoulder. She immediately blew on her knuckles when she realized how hard that armor actually was. "I'm going to miss you, you stupid goat."
"And that's why you get the house," Dovrasi chuckled. "Host an orgy in my honor."
"I should," Kaira grumbled, still shaking her hand. "It certainly didn't see any action with your celibate ass living here. While you're out there putting the fear of you into this Miraak asshat, you should fix that."
"Fix my celibacy?" Dovrasi raised an eyebrow. "I'm not getting married again, Kaira. That went so well the first time, why would I want a repeat performance?"
"Who said anything about marriage?" Kaira shot back, grinning wickedly. "Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free?"
"I'll think about it," Dovrasi said, knowing she'd do no such thing.
"Write me," Kaira stood as Dovrasi did a quick look over in her pack to make sure she wasn't forgetting anything. "Even if you think I can't write back, write me anyway. I wanna know how your stupid horker's face is doing."
Dovrasi nodded, and that was a promise she would have kept even if she hadn't been asked. She didn't say another word as she walked out of her house and out of the town she had called home for the past eight years.
On the road from Cyrodiil into Skyrim she'd had a number of run-ins with cultists. In a gambit to lose them she had eschewed the straightest path from Kvatch into Skyrim, choosing instead to detour into Chorrel. She hoped the fact that she hadn't been accosted in weeks meant that she had been successful; she'd recently crossed the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim and Riverwood was in sight.
Because of her connection with both Hadvar and Delphine, the ties Dovrasi had to Riverwood were causing a queasy, rolling, sick sensation in her gut. Miraak's little lackey hadn't been as forthcoming with information as she had wanted him to be and a stop at the Throat of the World would be in order before she figured out a way into Solstheim. To get to the Throat of the World, she desperately needed to resupply before she continued and in there laid the rub. People didn't leave little towns like Riverwood; it was a profitable trade center connecting Whiterun to Cyrodiil and there was a good chance she still knew a good many of the people who lived there. The last thing she wanted was to drag the trouble following her onto their literal doorsteps. The sooner she could complete her business and quit the sleepy little hamlet the better off everyone would be.
Lucan Valerius was behind the counter of the Riverwood Trader; his hair had thinned and he was a little long in the tooth but he had that same booming voice and welcoming manner she remembered from way back when. She approached casually trying to keep her face shadowed by the hood of her cloak. She placed her pack on a clear spot on the counter between her and Lucan.
"Hello, traveler!" Lucan leaned in on his elbows at her approach. "Welcome to Riverwood Trader. Everything you see is for sale, and if you don't see it I may have it in the back."
So far Lucan didn't seem to recognize her and Dovrasi wanted to keep it that way. She rifled through her pack casually, sorting through her sundries to take a quick mental stock of what she had and what she needed. There were a handful of gems at the bottom that she pulled out to set them in front of her. "Do you have any restoratives for physical health?" she asked. "Or even magicka?"
"I've got both," he said, turning around to sort through the shelf behind him. He pulled out two small philters: one red, one blue. She nodded approvingly then pushed the handful of gems toward him.
"Those cover the cost?"
Lucan picked up a ruby, examining it closely. He picked up a few more and appraised each one with a quiet hum and practiced eye. "More than enough," he finally said. "Enough to cover the cost of another philter, if you wanted."
"Do you have one that cures disease?" she asked. "I've been finding myself running into a lot of vampires lately and I don't want to be caught short."
"I do," Lucan reached to his left to push the desired philter toward her. "You're still coming out poorer for the trade however."
"It's fine," she shrugged as she rearranged her new items so the glass bottles wouldn't break. It was hard to see the interior of her bag in the dim light so she pushed the cowl of her cloak from her face. "They're just taking room in my pack and it's nice to be able to find someone willing to do a straight trade."
Lucan's eyes narrowed at her and his mouth pursed. "You look familiar," he began tapping his finger to his chin. "This your first time in Riverwood, stranger?"
She froze for a moment, fingers clenching around the philter of cure disease so hard she nearly broke it. "I've been to a lot of places," she said carefully, taking care to avoid looking Lucan in the eyes as she readjusted her hood to hide her face in the shadows again. "Maybe you've seen me here a time or two."
Lucan continued to peer at her, that finger continuously tapping at his chin. "My sister and I," he began, "lost a valuable family heirloom once upon a time. Drove Camilla insane; she wanted to go after the thieves herself. A mercenary took it upon herself to go retrieve that heirloom for us. She looked a lot like you do, come to think of it."
Dovrasi forced a laugh. "Well, you know how all we Dunmer all look alike! I suppose it's possible I have a doppleganger out there somewhere."
Lucan kept that stoic, all too knowing face for a moment longer before he broke into a wide grin. "Well wherever she is, I hope she's doing all right for herself."
Relief flooded her. She returned his smile, looking into his face for the first time since she walked into the outpost. "I'm sure she's doing fine."
"I bet she is," Lucan winked. Dovrasi shouldered her pack and headed to the door. She made sure she was gone before morning.
Being back in Skyrim brought with it a powerful wave of nostalgia. She wanted to look upon Jorrvaskr, to see how Balgruf was doing, and if the Battle-Borns and the Grey-Manes had ever settled their feud after the cessation of the civil war. Whiterun had been the first place that had felt like home, and it had welcomed her with open arms. If there had been any regret in leaving Skyrim, it had been leaving behind Whiterun Hold and everything in it. It was with a heavy heart and a stern reminder of her purpose that she forcibly turned right at the intersection at the bottom of the mountain, making certain her feet took her steadily toward Iverstead.
It had been a long time since she had gone to see Paarthurnax. The steps were steep and it seemed like there was a pilgrim at every plaque. She ignored them all, intent on getting to the top as quickly as possible. The air thinned the higher she climbed and when a frost troll appeared she thought for a moment she was in trouble. But somehow through some creative dodging and her every trusty bow, she eventually panted over the damn thing's carcass, victorious.
It wasn't long after when the impressive building of High Hrothgar came into view. She mounted the steps with no ceremony, pushing the doors open as if being in the sacred monastery was her birthright. Her sudden appearance startled the usually stoic Borri out of the meditative trance he'd been maintaining in the front hall. Dovrasi breezed past him, not bothering to acknowledge him or Arngeir, who had come running to see who had caused a disturbance in their sanctuary. The door to the courtyard drew ever closer as she hurried through the hall, hoping that if she were gone before the Greybeards had regained their bearings she could avoid the confrontation she had felt building eight years earlier.
"Dovahkiin," Arngeir called, stopping Dovrasi in her tracks. "We had believed you dead."
Despite the long talks she'd had with herself the entire way here from Kvatch, Dovrasi felt her posture shrink and her bluster diminish in front of the four men who had taught her much all those years ago. "I'm glad to find you in good health," she said with sincerity, bowing formally in greeting. They did not return the gesture.
"You abandoned your training," Arngeir said sternly. "This place is sacred; if you have come here for a selfish purpose that is a blasphemy we cannot tolerate."
The undercurrent of anger in Arngeir's usual even-keeled tone confused her. They hadn't shown any anger when Ulfric had used their teachings to start his war, and she took a step back, adopting an even more humble posture as she felt herself dip into a bow.
"I need to consult with the Master," she said, hating how small and scared and petulant she sounded. "It's a matter of vital importance."
Part of her, the part that was more dov than mer, railed against her humility and quiet acceptance of their crushing guilt and disappointment. That part pointed out that she had done nothing to earn their ire; she hadn't supplicated herself before them for their assistance or their training. They had been the ones to seek out and summon her. She wanted badly to point that out, to reclaim that bravado, fearlessness and simple knowledge that the only person to whom she owed any sort of obligation to was herself. She felt that hard won truth slipping through her fingers under the heavy regard of those she had disappointed no matter how tightly she tried to cling to it.
But old habits die hard and she stood silently as she allowed them to berate her.
"The Blades numbers have increased and their force has strengthened these past years," Arngeir said.
This confused her even further. "Ah?" she said when it became apparent they expected her to say something. Arngeir merely scowled at her.
"Though they are not yet the force they used to be," he continued, "it is undoubtable that they will once again rally to the glory and prestige they once enjoyed in eras past, guided as they are by *your* former associates."
"Er, isn't that a good thing?" Bewilderment filled her as she tried to guess at what Arngeir was getting at. "I know there are dragons still around; I saw several while in Cyrodiil. Isn't it necessary to have a group of experienced fighters to stave off the threat of those that have chosen not to follow Paarthurnax?"
"What good do they do?" Arngeir scoffed. "They are still hunted by the Thalmor and largely remain in hiding. Killing the remaining dragons who continue to be a threat to the people is not their priority."
"If they're in hiding," she asked tentatively, "how do you know so much about them?"
"Because they have not forgotten who our Master is and their grudge causes them to be reckless." The evident bitterness Arngeir held for the Blades, evidenced by his menacing stare and accusatory tone, made her realize the point that Arngeir had been steadily driving at.
"That's…I'm….It's…" Struck speechless at Arngeir's insinuation, Dovrasi was left scrabbling for a defense. She thought it had been bad enough when they had been merely heavy handed at her abandonment of her training but now that there was an indirect accusation of duplicity and well, murder, laid at her feet she felt like the rug had been yanked out from underneath her.
She wanted to prostrate herself before them to beg their forgiveness for her hubris. She wanted their praise, their acceptance and their pride in her accomplishments like they had in her once before. She wished she'd never left, that the floor would swallow up her small, insignificant self so that they would not be bothered by her presence.
On the other hand, she also felt a lot of the rage that had been simmering under the surface since she had been attacked in Kvatch rise up from the pit of her stomach at the proof that she was considered what she had always feared she had become; a mere lackey moved about by the whims and machinations of the various organizations who had always wanted to use her status and powers for their own benefit to the exclusion of everyone else.
She felt very conflicted. She took three deep breaths to calm her mind before settling somewhere in the middle of those two extremes.
"To be clear," she said finally, proud that there was no tremor of either fear or rage in her voice, "are you suggesting that I have come at the behest of the Blades to murder Paarthurnax?"
"One of our visitors indicated that all of their senior officers had been handpicked by the Dragonborn herself," Arngeir replied. "Thus far the storms that lead to the peak where our Master resides have been enough to deter them. It is a logical assumption that after so many failures, the one who helped the Blades rebuild would come back to fulfill what had once been requested of her."
Suddenly all that inner conflict that had her torn disappeared and Dovrasi had no more desire to offer her neck in supplication than she did to pick a fight with a giant over a goat barehanded. All that left her with was the cold cloak of enraged fury; her feet shifted into a wider stance, her back straightened and her head lifted as she tore the hood of her cloak from her head. Red eyes flashed and grey lips thinned into a straight line. She regarded them all with a cool stare.
"Do you think so little of me then?" She asked quietly. "I suppose it bears reminding that I did not come to you for the training you offered to me. You are the ones who called for me."
She held up three fingers. "Three. I brought three new recruits to Delphine and Esbern to be initiated into the Blades. Warriors who had fought by my side and whom I knew would be an asset in training others in killing dragons. Furthermore, I wasn't *requested* to kill Paarthurnax, I was ordered too. Delphine told me I was not welcome back until he was dead."
She took a deep breath. "I am going to tell you the same thing I told her."
"I don't take orders from the Blades. I don't take orders from you, from the Empire, from the Deadra or the Aedra. I am the only person to whom I must be held accountable and I am sick unto death of everyone acting as if I owe them."
"I've killed your World-Eater. I've ended the Civil War. I have done everything that has been asked of me and more. I no longer care what you want from me. I'm not just the Dragonborn, and maybe it's about damn time you remember that."
She turned on her heel and walked out the doors with her head held high and kept it that way until she was the apex of the mountain. At her approach, the old Dragon, as ever perched on his Word Wall, swung his massive head around to regard her thoughtfully.
"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin," he greeted in his raspy age worn voice. "It has been many years since you have come."
Paarthrunax said this the same way as if he were commenting that the sky was blue that day, or the snow was cold; the absolute lack of reproof in his comment blew out her rage like it was no more than a flame on a candle. She dropped to one knee, bowing her head in a sincere gesture of humility.
"Master," she greeted. "I find myself in a crisis and have come to you for instruction."