Chapter 1

Rumors of Dragons

"No dragon has been seen for centuries.

There are a few known examples of dragon bones fused with the stone and rocks of cliffs and caves. Just enough proof to make the stories undeniable."

-There Be Dragons, by Torhal Bjorik

The day the journey was to begin dawned bright and clear. Magdalyne awoke to the sun streaming in her bedroom window and falling across her face. She cracked one eye open, but then made to go back to sleep. It was, after all, the middle of Last Seed: no planting to be done, at least not until later in the day.

Then, she remembered what day it was. Not a holiday, and not a Loredas, when she would begin the trip to Wayrest for market day on Sundas. No, this was not a day anyone else would consider special, but for her nothing could be more worth celebrating.

This was the day she would begin her trip to Skyrim.

She rolled out of bed, throwing back the layers of fur that serve as her blankets and doing so with such enthusiasm that most of them fell onto the floor on the other side of the bed. She dressed quickly, in a green-and-brown forester's tunic, matching leggings, boots, leather gloves with the fingers cut out, and, over all of that, a hooded fur cloak that she had made from the pelt of a wolf. Late summer in her homeland of High Rock was not particularly cold, but cold enough to require a way of keeping warm on long trips.

And the land to the east was even colder, lacking a coastline except on the frigid Sea of Ghosts.

Her pack was waiting for her by the door. She dug through it one final time, checking that everything was there. Dried fruit and nuts, for on the road. Flint and steel, for starting campfires. Journal, for chronicling the trip, as she did with every journey she took. Quill and ink. A small amount of money. Bedroll. Herbs and potions. Map. And at the very bottom…

She pulled out a simple necklace, bearing a charm similar in shape to the two heads of a battleaxe. A trinket that could easily get her killed if the wrong person found out that she carried it. But she refused to travel without the blessing of her god.

"Talos, guide me," she whispered, and then placed the amulet back in the bottom of her bag.

Talos. The man who became Divine. The founder of an empire in which his worship was now outlawed, punishable by death.

And all because a few High Elves with superiority complexes couldn't tolerate the thought of a filthy human being raised to divinity.

Maggie was one of hundreds of people still bitter over the treaty that ended what had become known as the Great War. Her father, a veteran of that war, said that it wasn't a treaty, so much as a temporary truce, a truce that would come crashing down once enough people got fed up with being told that there were suddenly eight Divines instead of nine.

There had been eight once before, of course, before Tiber Septim had been elevated and become Talos. But the human races loved the Ninth. He represented something to aspire to; once one man achieved it, becoming more than mortal was no longer a vain hope.

Or at least, that was what the author of The Talos Mistake said. That woman was fully in support of the ban, and her book was little more than propaganda. It was the only book Maggie had ever been unable to finish. She'd read two chapters and then burned it in her campfire.

A knock on the door jolted her back to the present.

"Maggie, are you awake?"

She pulled the door open, revealing her father's surprised face on the other side.

"When have you ever known me to sleep in on a day when I get to travel?" she asked him.

"Well, you were up late last night," he countered.

"Preparing for this trip. I haven't seen her in three years, Dad. It's time to fix that."

"Let a father do his job, Maggie. I'm just worried about you. This is the longest trip you've ever taken."

"I'm twenty-one, Dad. Five years older than she was when she made the same trip. Sooner or later, a bird's got to leave the nest."

Her father put his hand on her shoulder. "And that is something no parent ever finds easy."

She smiled. "Fine. One last time."

"Alright. You got everything?"

"Almost. My weapons are in the kitchen. Got food, bedroll—"

"Tent?"

"Crap."

"I think I know where it is. I'll get it."

"Thanks, Dad." She put a hand to her neck, as was a habit of hers, and realized that something that should have been there wasn't.

"Have you seen my amulet?" she called after his retreating back.

"Isn't it in your pack?"

"The other one."

"Look in the kitchen."

Their house was small, only three rooms. Two were bedrooms: the one Maggie had shared with her sister, Lienne, until three years ago, and their father's room. The third performed every other purpose they might need a room for. Cooking food, primarily, which was why they called this room the kitchen. Maggie did most of her reading there. Extremely rarely, her father might entertain company there. It was also used for weapons training when the weather was bad.

Maggie's father had tried to train both her and her sister to use a sword when they were young. Neither had taken to it very well. Lienne had quit at the age of ten to focus on honing her magical abilities. Lini was an amazingly gifted mage. She had started casting spells, often accidently, at the age of seven, primarily Alteration, and had quickly branched out into other schools of magic. By ten, she was running a serious risk of causing major damage to something. Fortunately, this was High Rock, home of the Bretons, a people naturally gifted in spellcasting. Their father had sent her to the nearest town to study under a local mage, where she had made incredible progress. By the time she'd left home, Lini had far outstripped her teacher in every school except Conjuration, which she'd staunchly refused to touch.

Maggie, on the other hand, had very little skill with magic in any form, which had brought her a fair bit of ridicule when she was younger. In most of the human-inhabited provinces of Tamriel, magic-users were met with veiled suspicion at best, open fear at worst. High Rock was the exception. Its people were supposed to be descended from elves, which gave them a natural gift for the arcane arts. Here, not having magical ability was a cause for suspicion.

The bow had always been Maggie's favored weapon. At fifteen, she'd quit sword training in her own right to focus on that. She'd carved her own bow, set up targets in the yard, and started practicing for an hour or two every day. After six years, she'd become just as good with the bow as her sister was with magic.

Her bow was leaning against the wall by the back door, her quiver propped up beside it. And draped over the lip of her quiver was her other amulet.

This one bore a dark purple charm that Maggie had always thought looked like a bird in flight. The center of it, between the bird's wings, was set with a blue-green stone.

Kynareth, goddess of the sky and nature. Not Maggie's preferred Divine, but she had learned over the years that people were less likely to search through her things for evidence of Talos worship if she was already wearing another Divine's amulet. And that people often expected anyone who carried a bow to also carry the amulet of the patroness of hunters.

And Maggie was a hunter. Most of the time, when she went to Wayrest for market day, the only things she had to trade were the skins of any animals she'd shot en route. A couple of Wayrest storeowners would only buy skins from her; her accuracy with the bow meant that she almost always shot her kills through the eye, leaving their skins undamaged.

She had made her bow and quiver by hand, and she still made all her own arrows. The bow had been the first thing she'd ever made by hand, and it was own of her most treasured possessions, not only because she'd used it to provide most of the meat that had crossed their kitchen table in the last eight years. A craftswoman's pride in her work was part of it too.

She put on the amulet, swung the quiver over her shoulder, and picked up the bow. When she stood up, she found herself face-to-face with her father, who offered her the rolled-up tent.

"Thanks, Dad," she said.

"Now, is that everything?"

"Should be. Anything I forgot either isn't necessary, or I can buy or make a new one."

Her father still looked concerned.

"What is it?" she asked him.

"You're not going through the mountains, are you?" he asked.

"It's the fastest way."

"It's also dangerous. There's supposed to be dragons in those mountains."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "There's no such thing as dragons, Dad. Even if there once were, they're long dead."

The dragons that, according to legend, had once ruled all of Tamriel now existed only in books and maybe the occasional carving in an old ruin. Every once in a while someone would come running into a town swearing to have seen one, or a drunken vagrant would be heard babbling about the day they would return to re-conquer their empire. But in every way that mattered, they were effectively gone, disappeared into myth.

"Even if that's true, there are other dangers. Maggie, do your old dad a favor and take the southern route."

The "southern route" involved her heading into Hammerfell, through the cities of Dragonstar and Elinhir, then crossing the border into Skyrim near Falkreath. It was only theoretically safer, since it was so much longer and required two border crossings instead of one.

But if prior experience was any indication, her father wouldn't let her leave unless he approved of her planned route.

So she relented. "Fine, Dad. I'll go south."

4E 201

7th of Last Seed

Tirdas

Location: Rural High Rock

Weather: Clear

I'm off! I've waited three years to make this trip, and now the day is finally here. Maybe I shouldn't be so excited. It's going to take probably nine or ten days to get to Skyrim from here. Oh, why did I let Dad talk me into going through Hammerfell? If I stuck to my original plan and just crossed the mountains, I could probably cut that time in half. Dragons, he said. Dragons in the mountains! There haven't been dragons on Mundus for thousands of years.

Anyway, my name is Magdalyne, Maggie to my friends. I'm keeping this journal…well, basically, this is a just-in-case sort of thing. Just in case something amazing happens on my trip. I keep these for every trip I take, even when I'm just going to Wayrest to trade goods. And I would say that if ever one of these pays off, it will be on this trip. The history of Skyrim is so rich, as rich as that of any province in Tamriel…

I'm getting ahead of myself. I'm not going just to explore. In fact, that's secondary. I'm going to see my sister.

Maggie looked back at the farmhouse as she crested the first hill. She realized she had no idea how long it would be until she saw it again. This was the place where she had grown up. Twenty-one years here had produced a lot of irreplaceable memories, and, as much as she enjoyed traveling, this was most definitely bittersweet.

There was her herb garden tucked close to the house. Even from this distance she could see that many of the plants she had planted were flourishing. Beyond that stretched the fields, a patchwork of green and brown, soon to be harvested. Thinking about how much work her father would have to do when the time came almost made her turn around. Head back and wait until after the harvest.

Then her wanderlust kicked back in. She had waited so long for this. She refused to wait another day, much less another month, especially since traveling would only be more dangerous once the first snows came.

Skyrim awaited her: the land of dragons, Dwemer, and plenty of mysteries. The land that had enthralled her since she was a girl, more so after her sister had left to go there herself.

Not to mention that half the land was currently in open rebellion against the Empire, fighting to bring back the worship of Talos.

4E 201

8th of Last Seed

Middas

Location: Rural High Rock

Weather: Partly cloudy

I stopped for the night in a small grove of trees, which provided just enough cover that I decided to risk a campfire. There are always dangers on the road, especially at night. And in High Rock it's not just bandits. Once there was the threat of orc raiding parties, streaming out of their homeland of Orsinium in the Dragontooth Mountains to pillage as they pleased.

Not a problem anymore, but bandits can be just as relentless. I may be more than capable of defending myself, but I don't look like it. And bandits can always find a use for a young woman…

I had that dream again last night, the same one I've been having for years. A dream about flying. Even just in a dream, that feeling is amazing. It feels almost like I was born to fly, but that's impossible. Right?

Maggie saw the deer around midday. Just one, and it seemed to be walking unsteadily. Likely, this one, a young male no more than a few seasons old, judging by the size of its antlers, had been injured and then left behind as the herd moved on.

She unslung her bow and notched an arrow. She pulled back on the string, carefully judging the distance, as well as the wind speed and direction. On a still day, Maggie could draw, aim, and fire in the space of a couple of seconds and still usually hit her mark. This was not a still day, however, and even the slightest breeze could affect longer-range shots.

This was not a particularly long range shot for her. She could shoot accurately from a longer distance than most other archers she'd met, because she had better eyesight than most. She hadn't realized just how good it was for a long time. But then some of the city guardsmen of Wayrest caught wind of how good she was and decided to see for themselves with a friendly competition. She'd won easily, nailing the bull's-eye of a target that the second place finisher said he couldn't even see clearly.

So this shot was easy.

She fired, her arrow piercing the deer's eye and going into its brain. It crumpled to the ground and was probably dead before it hit.

There was no shortage of deer on the plains of High Rock, but finding one alone wasn't particularly common. Plains deer traveled in small herds of about a dozen members. And they were surprisingly intelligent. Maggie had noticed several times that the way the herds grouped together—while intended as way to protect themselves against predators of a more natural variety—also tended to discourage human hunters. It was impossible to discern individual deer from long range. At medium range, it was still sometimes difficult, even with Maggie's preternaturally good eyesight. And at short range…well, only fools think being herbivores means that deer aren't dangerous.

She sliced off the antlers first. Ground antler was an alchemical ingredient, but Maggie didn't have the means to grind them and wouldn't until she made it to Dragonstar. Next came skinning it. The hide would sell for a fair bit in the city, she knew. Even if the demand for furs wasn't as great in Hammerfell as in High Rock due to the warmer climate, it could still be tanned and turned into leather, which was needed everywhere.

Last was to butcher and cook the meat. It would be nice to have some venison for the trip, for when she inevitably got tired of fruit and nuts. But when she opened her pack, she realized that there wasn't room enough for the skin and the meat. And, as much as she hated to admit it, the meat wasn't necessary since she had other food. On the other hand, the money she would get from selling the skin was.

She ended up only slicing off the flank of the deer. That would be enough for one day. Scavengers would take care of the rest.

Roasting the meat over a fire took the better part of an hour, but still less time than roasting the entire deer would have.

The flank ended up being nearly too much food. She could certainly make it another day before needing a full meal again.

All that day and into the next, Maggie walked west, planning to skirt the mountains as she turned south toward Hammerfell. It was a beautiful day, typical for late summer in the north of Tamriel. Birds were singing. Deer were grazing. Wolves watched from hills in the distance but left her alone. It was a perfect day to travel.

And she wasn't the only one on the road that day. Young men on horseback, older men riding in carts with their families, Maggie saw several of both. Several of them offered her rides, despite the fact that they were mostly headed in the other direction. For that reason, and only that reason, she turned them all down. Had they been going the right way, she would have welcomed the chance to take some stress off her aching feet.

That was the only thing getting in the way of the sheer bliss of being on the road: aching feet. If her feet were hurting already, that raised the question of what kind of shape she would be in by the time she made it to Skyrim.

Finally night came, and with it, an excuse to rest. Her campsite that night was rather out in the open, and she debated long and hard as to whether or not lighting a fire was a good idea. It would keep wild animals away but probably attract people. And anyone wandering the grasslands after dark was likely up to no good.

Finally she decided to risk not having one, a decision her father probably would have called idiotic. But it was late summer, not a time when animals would be desperate for food. Most predators were only dangerous to people when they got desperate—or if someone was stupid enough to get too close to their young. Neither of those applied to the current situation, so Maggie wasn't particularly worried.

And it turned out she was mostly right. When she packed up the next morning, she found that something had rummaged through her stuff at some point in the night. She guessed it was probably an animal, judging solely by the amount of mess it had left behind. There was nothing edible in her pack, except maybe the deerskin, which was still there, although not entirely undamaged. She cursed under her breath when she saw the punctures in the skin. They looked like they'd been made by a wolf's teeth. Nothing was missing, but that wolf had effectively robbed her of a few septims by damaging the skin. She wouldn't get as much in return for it now.

Once she had everything packed up, she started on her way again. The temperature dropped slightly as she got close to the mountains. As she approached, she toyed with the idea of going back on her word to her father and going through the mountains anyway. She stood there for several minutes staring at the slopes, debating with herself. Something inside her rebelled at the idea of betraying his trust, even if he would never know. Finally, she decided to stick to the route she had told him she would follow and turned south.

The weather started to get a little strange as she continued walking. The cold wind blowing down from the mountains met the warm air blowing north from the Alik'r Desert, creating a phenomenon that made it feel like the air didn't know whether to get warmer or colder.

Maggie almost made it to the border that day. When she stopped for the night she could just make out a tan line on the horizon, the beginning of the desert that covered most of Hammerfell.

She set up camp again, making sure to light a fire this time. As the sun sank behind the mountains, she heard something roar.

She immediately pulled out her bow and strung an arrow, wondering what could have made a sound like that. There were plenty of dangerous animals in high Rock. Bears. Wolves. Nothing made noises like that. That was the loudest roar she'd ever heard. She found herself thinking back to the horror stories she'd heard as a girl about wereboars, which supposedly hunted the grasslands.

Maggie pushed that thought out of her head. That was just a story. There were no such things. She slipped the arrow back into her quiver and put her bow away. And as she did, she just happened to look up.

In the last light of the setting sun, she thought she saw a great, leathery wing silhouetted against the side of a mountain.

AN: Well, my Skyrim story is finally on its way. As you can see, I'm starting before Helgen. That's intentional, because (let's face it) that sequence gets awfully repetitive when you've seen it or read it a few times, and I wanted you to get to know Maggie as a character before we get there.

A couple notes on format. First, each chapter will open with a quote, either a line from an in-game book or occasionally a line of in-game dialogue. This is intended to reflect Maggie's love of reading. Second, each chapter will be sprinkled with Maggie's journal entries. I'm using them primarily as a vehicle to show the passage of time, but the journal is also Maggie's way of recording her trip for posterity, which is why some of the entries might seem redundant.

Unlike with my Pokemon stories, author's notes for this story will be relatively short, because I'm trying to write it in a way that someone who's never heard of the Elder Scrolls franchise will be able to understand.