The Dragonborn was a very odd person. The name was known throughout Skyrim, and, upon hearing that the Dragonborn was entering the city, children would rush from their homes to catch a glimpse of the dragon slayer. According to the stories that raced through Skyrim, she wore the bones of Alduin himself for her armour and weapons. The helmet was neglected in favour of a very strange looking crown that seemed to glow a sky blue from its gold frame. Her sword hit against her bone armour, sounding her arrival through the city streets. Should one take a closer look, they might see her fingers flex as she subconsciously prepared herself to grab her sword and lunge into another dragon attack.

These qualities were no different from any other mercenary or sellsword that toured Skyrim. To put it bluntly, the Dragonborn was nothing special. In fact, she was a disappointment. She was able to harness such power as to take down the King of Dragons, and yet she showed none of this might and strength and merely huddled in the corner of the local inn drinking wine before bed. And with that dog she had trailing after her that she'd picked up at that dead shack, she constantly reeked of wet fur. Needless to say, when children approached the Dragonborn, they took a step back in disgust.

If the Dragonborn took offence to this, she showed no sign. In fact, she had never once showed sign of emotion at all, so far as anyone could tell. Her eyes were black with fatigue, highlighting the paleness of her skin. Her armour and sword was almost always covered in blood and her dark blue eyes always had the look of an eagle about to attack a mouse.

The dog was quite different, though. Nobody knew its name, as the Dragonborn only referred to the poor thing as 'dog'. Apparently, she had found it moping beside its dead owner. That was probably why it looked so scruffy. If the Dragonborn and her follower were seen outside city walls, this dog would look as evil as the woman herself, willing to sacrifice its own life for the Dragonborn's. However, inside the city walls, the dog would toy with cooked beef, bark with a wagging tail and snore beside a warm fire.

The Dragonborn, it was said, was someone who only accepted a job on the quality of the pay. A child had apparently been taken hostage, and the Dragonborn had bartered for better pay before taking the job. Once, a thief had run around a small town and the Dragonborn, who happened to be passing through, had killed him with a single arrow to his heart. The people of this town were most grateful, until they saw the woman take everything the thief had been able to carry and hadn't even offered any of it back to its rightful owner. 'Payment', she probably considered it to be.

But there came a day when the Dragonborn surprised the people of Markarth. Everybody knew the Dragonborn owned Vlindrel Hall, with her housecarl keeping it tidy for her return. After the Cidhna Mine incident, citizens kept their distance from her and silently wished for her to return home as little as possible. They kept out of her way, and only conversed with her if she approached them first.

So when a group of children ran up to the Dragonborn and asked if she wanted to play tag with them, a few onlookers began to grow cautious and wary. A man nearly let out a burst of laughter as the image of the fierce dragon slayer playing with children was too ridiculous to bear. The Dragonborn refused, instead giving them a gold coin each for a sweet roll. She went to move out of their way until she noticed a meek little girl shuffling behind them.

The other two children laughed as they ran off to the market to spend their new coins. As the lost girl shuffled after them, the Dragonborn suddenly grabbed her arm, stopping her in her tracks.

Those staring at this unravelling scene gasped in shock, unsure if they should intervene. The Dragonborn could conjure a terrible force in her hand and kill this child in an instant. Nobody knew what to do. They were in too much shock and could only look upon the scene helplessly. The Dragonborn bent down to the child's height and their eyes met: pure, innocent eyes meeting cold, aged eyes that had seen many horrors.

The woman spoke quietly and it was only due to the child's slightly louder voice that those close enough could hear what was being said.

'I... I don't want to talk...' The little girl had said, looking away from the woman.

'Well, if you don't want to hear about the dragons...'

The little girl's head shot up at this, her eyes full of wonder and curiosity. 'Dragons? They're real?'

A small smile, one that couldn't exactly count as happiness and most probably forced, came upon the Dragonborn's lips. 'Where are your parents?'

The girl's head lowered again and she shuffled her feet once more, which had probably indicted to the Dragonborn that something had been wrong. 'I... I don't think they'll be coming back.'

'Why is that?'

'Mama died when I was a baby,' the little girl said, a lump rising to her throat as she recalled the events that had turned her life. 'And papa... he... when the Forsworn escaped from Cidhna Mine...'

The Dragonborn's expression suddenly grew dark, and had the little girl seen this, she would have probably taken a step back in horror as many of the onlookers did.

But the Dragonborn's expression wasn't an evil threat. There had been rumours and doubts that she had been involved in the Cidhna Mine incident, although she had been quite careful to keep her head down and to leave the situation as fast as she could. People had caught a glimpse of her and had spread the word that she had been involved, but nobody could be sure.

'And you have no other family here?'

The little girl looked up at the woman in horror, suddenly desperate to remove herself from her grip which she still hadn't released. 'Oh please miss, don't take me to that terrible orphanage! I couldn't stand it in there! I'm doing quite well, selling firewood and other things that I find and the stones aren't that bad to sleep on. Please -!'

Had the Dragonborn let go of her before, the little girl would have probably made a run for it. But as her gloved hand was still around her small arm, she could make no such move. She was at the Dragonborn's mercy.

'Would you like to come and live with me?'

The child was stunned. Nobody could believe their ears; the little girl certainly couldn't. The thought of living with the Dragonborn... the whole house probably stunk of dog and blood, and who knew what terrible artefacts she collected.

The surprise on the little girl's face with her glistening eyes was enough to convince the Dragonborn that she could stand up and the child wouldn't make a run for it. The Dragonborn turned to leave Markarth, and the little girl had nothing else to do but follow meekly, shock holding her excitement down. As they were leaving through the city gates, even the guards were staring after them as the Dragonborn lifted the girl onto her demon horse and pulled its reigns, leading it around the corner and out of sight.

'What is your name?' The Dragonborn inquired, keeping her eyes fixed before her, quickly looking from the road to her sides in case of attack.

'My name is Runa,' the girl replied. 'Can I call you mama?'

With the Dragonborn slightly in front of Runa, she was unable to see her cringe slightly. 'Sure.'

'What's your dog called?'

'Meeko.'

Meeko barked as if on cue, knowing that he was being discussed. Why the Dragonborn preferred to call him 'dog' instead of his real name was odd.

'Where are we going?' Runa asked. 'Why aren't we staying in Markarth? I heard you had a house in Markarth.'

There were so many questions. The Dragonborn looked up to the sky to tell the time, grateful that it was becoming late. Perhaps the child would sleep on the way and she could continue through the night in silence.

'Markarth is no place for a child,' the woman replied. 'I only have a house there due to convenience. How would you feel about living in Solitude?'

Runa was surprised. Out of all the cities she could have picked, Solitude was by far the best. She had heard so many stories of the dazzling Blue Palace, the immense talent that beamed from the Bard's College and the haunting horror stories of the mad ghosts.

'Thank you...' Was all Runa could say.

'My husband lives in Proudspire Manor,' the Dragonborn explained. As she spoke, she reached back into a bag hanging from her horse's saddle and pulled out half a sweet roll wrapped in parchment. She gave it to Runa, hoping she would be too busy eating to speak. 'My housecarl has her quarters in the basement. You will have your own room and I will arrange for you to have a tutor -'

The Dragonborn looked around to see if Runa was paying attention, as she had been a little too silent. She was leaning forward against Shadowmere, using his neck to balance her as she slept. The sweet roll she had only taken a few bites of lay abandoned on the road behind them, giving dinner to a mountain fox. At least there was silence.

The Dragonborn was looking forward to seeing her husband. Their marriage was not based on love, as it perhaps should have been, but the understanding that they could help one another. She had met Onmund at the College of Winderhold, not too long ago. She had been wearing the Amulet of Mara to attract a man into marriage, but she had refused many suitors before Onmund. She was looking for somebody in specific: somebody who wouldn't leave her home on their own adventure. She needed somebody reliable, and Onmund had the qualifications.

On their first meeting, Onmund had revealed that he had left his family to study at the College of Winterhold. During the Dragonborn's own study there, they grew to be on good terms, with Onmund occasionally showing his strength as he accompanied her on jobs. The Dragonborn soon became Arch-Mage, and she felt that she had more to offer Onmund and that he was more likely to accept her offer of marriage as a result. In return for his loyalty as a husband, she would allow him to use her materials to help him complete his sorcery studies in her home. He knew she had a wealth of knowledge that would be more valuable to him than any other teacher and so they travelled to Riften to wed.

Only a very small number of close friends had been invited to the wedding but word soon got around about the Dragonborn's new love. She often ignored any rumour that swam around, but this one made her cringe. Her marriage was more of a business deal, something of which both party gained from. There was no love. It was a good understanding between two friends that involved commitment and loyalty, and nothing more.

As the Dragonborn reached her home in Solitude, the same routine followed as her husband discovered her arrival. He would share his profits from his small shop that he ran to stock up food and other supplies. He would make the bed fresh, ensuring the Dragonborn gained as much comfort as possible during her stay. Whilst she slept, he would make a fresh pie, leaving it to cool before the Dragonborn would leave for her travels again in the morning.

The housecarl, Jordis, would greet the Dragonborn and ask her about her health and work, constantly stating her loyalty to her. The Dragonborn didn't exactly like the idea of having a person of the court constantly living in her home, but to argue would cause drama with the Jarl, which she couldn't be bothered to deal with.

When the Dragonborn began to wonder what Onmund did in his free time, her thoughts went directly to Jordis. It would not surprise her if Onmund felt a little dissatisfied with his relationship – or lack, thereof – with his wife, and would seek company elsewhere. This company would most likely be Jordis, the woman who shared his house and whom he saw every morning and every evening.

The Dragonborn would not be able to blame him, if this was the case. She gave no indication that their marriage would be taken to a level above what they were already at. Onmund knew this. Everybody knew this. The Dragonborn was not like any normal person. She had no reason to seek male company.

However, the thought of her husband and her housecarl playing games in her home whilst she was away on important work irked her, and although she didn't mind what they did in their free time, she wanted to ensure that her authority was never ignored. Her tenants were to know that she could snap her fingers at any moment, and they would be completely at her mercy.

That was the reason why Runa was riding on her horse as she travelled up the steep path towards the gates of Solitude. To have a child in the house would give them extra responsibility. They wouldn't be able to play their silly games if Runa was there, and if they did, she would most likely cause them to feel guilty about it. The Dragonborn never committed a good act unless there was something in it for her. Even throwing a coin to the beggar on the street corner put her in some onlooker's good books.

It was early morning as they neared Solitude. The Dragonborn took off her gauntlets and held them underneath her arm against her waist. She gently lifted the sleeping Runa off her horse and commanded Shadowmere to wait in the nearby stables, which he seemed to understand well enough to obey. Meeko gave a quiet whimper, to which the Dragonborn replied with a knowing stare, promising a good piece of meat to her companion. Together, they both moved through the dark city, making their way to Proudspire Manor, where the Dragonborn was craving a good few bottles of wine.

'Welcome home, my love.' Onmund was still up, even at such a late hour. He was reading a book as he sat in the lounge. Jordis was sitting at the table nearby. 'I hope you are doing well.'

Onmund's voice had a gentle quality to it that the Dragonborn struggled to find anywhere else in Skyrim. Other people had a gruff voice that showed their resentment or struggles through life. Onmund was innocent and happy.

She walked past them without speaking a word and went upstairs to place Runa in her new bed in the spare room. The girl was still fast asleep, and the Dragonborn was grateful she could leave without having to speak to her. She went into the neighbouring room that held a double bed, a family safe and a small set of table and chairs, with a bottle of wine waiting for somebody to crack it open.

Throwing her gauntlets down onto the bed, the Dragonborn slumped into the wooden chair and opened the bottle of wine, drinking it straight from the bottle. She needed at least a bottle to feel relaxed after a difficult day, but as days were getting increasingly difficult, she felt she might be turning into an alcoholic. Of course, the dragons hardly made that possible, but if the Dragonborn was to retire and have nothing left to do with her time...

There was a small knock on the open door. The Dragonborn ignored it: although she was glad to see her husband and her house in good shape, that did not mean she wanted to make conversation.

Onmund stepped inside, peering around the door to see his wife slumped in a chair with half a bottle of wine. He wore the same robes he always wore – one might wonder if he ever changed out of them – and an odd expression on his face that appeared happy and content, but deep down, Onmund was filled with serious thoughts about his practice and studies.

'Here are your share of the profits, love,' Onmund said, placing a large cloth bag on the table. The gold coins inside knocked against each other. 'How have you been lately? Staying safe, I hope.'

The Dragonborn took off her crown and carelessly placed it onto the table as though it were made of iron. She glared at her husband, her tiredness clearly showing.

She translated his question into an inquiry about the child she had brought home, as he was most probably curious about her and wanted to know more without asking directly. 'Her name is Runa,' the Dragonborn replied. 'Keep my share -' she nudged the bag of coins towards him and dug a second, larger bag from her pocket, '-and spend it on her. New clothes, more food, some education, anything. Have Jordis teach her to use a sword and a bow. You will teach her how to use healing spell and how to create a healing potion. Spoil her.'

Although Onmund didn't appreciate being given orders by his better half, he knew that what the Dragonborn had in mind for this child was probably best. By being able to use a sword and a bow and arrow, she could defend herself in a tricky situation, or hunt to feed herself. A healing spell and healing potion would always come in handy as one could never be too careful these days. The Dragonborn would allow Runa to choose whatever path she wanted, but these basic lessons would be of value to anybody.

Onmund nodded to confirm that he understood the instructions. He jumped back as Meeko barked playfully at him – or at least, that's what it seemed like. It could have been a polite request for him to leave. Whatever the case, Onmund quietly closed the door behind him, leaving his wife alone in their bedroom.

Sometimes they would share a bed. These occasions might be that Onmund was in bed already, and the Dragonborn might arrive home and crash into bed beside him. Sometimes, the Dragonborn would be staying in Solitude for more than one night, and Onmund wouldn't feel that she needed to be alone and would join her. But on nights like this, Onmund would spend the rest of the night studying in the basement, leaving her to get a full night's sleep without his company.

Of course, on the rare occasion they did share a bed, nothing more would happen than mere sleeping. The Dragonborn didn't even own nightwear, and would wear a simple day dress and cloth boots to bed. With her being in such heavy armour on this night, she would remove the bone and sleep in the leather and fur undergarment, always making sure to keep a bone dagger beside her bed, just in case.

The next morning arrived and the Dragonborn was awake at five o'clock, ready to get back onto the road. She made her way down to the basement, grabbing a slice of cheese from the dining table as she went and stocked up on potions and sharpened her weapons. She threw a slice of cooked beef down at Meeko, who was already awake and at her feet, and went about preparing herself for the day ahead.

She was out of the door as fast as possible with Meeko at her heels. She pulled the rest of her bone armour over her gloves, tapped her sword to double check it was there, and strode toward the city gates. The tired men still standing guard opened it for her and she walked past without a word. The only sound she did make was a whistle to call Shadowmere, who galloped up the hill to her side immediately. How he had even heard it from such a distance, none of the guards knew. The Dragonborn mounted the horse and reached into her pocket to retrieve a small ball of cheese she had kept from earlier. She threw it at such an amazing distance that the tiny morsel of food disappeared completely from view, but that didn't stop Meeko from chasing after it as fast as he could. Spurring Shadowmere, the Dragonborn chased after Meeko as he sought his treat, and the three were off, back to travelling Skyrim.

Despite having no human companion aside from the rare occasion where she had no choice, the Dragonborn felt no yearning for a human friend. Shadowmere was a loyal servant, who would rush to her side in battle and fight against the enemy with his demon strength. Meeko, on the other hand, she could count as a true friend. Her husband was just a business partner, her housecarls were appointed servants, and her colleagues in the various factions she had joined were hardly friends, as they often doubted her strength and loyalty and some even went so far as to insult her when she met them again.

She was unusually patient, and, despite many people choosing not to believe it, she could be quite merciful. Should somebody question her authority, the Dragonborn would grit her teeth and walk away, allowing the ignorant peasant to continue with their pathetic life. It was only when somebody went out of their way to cause trouble for her, usually by attacking her, did she kill them without hesitation.

The Dragonborn didn't speak most of the time. She would occasionally exchange words with her husband but even that was to gain information. She rarely conversed with somebody just for a friendly chat. Of course, if money was to be gained, she would draw out all the information she needed from somebody, throwing question after question at them. But should the Dragonborn desire an in-depth conversation for social reasons, she found the dragons to be the best candidate for this.

One dragon in particular, was her favourite to speak to. She would often call Odahviing or summon Durnehviir as their aid was greatly appreciated in battles, but once they had done their job, they would leave, with neither party interested in conversing with each other. But should the Dragonborn ever have the desire to climb the seven-thousand steps or call Odahviing for a ride to the Throat of the World, she could spend hours sitting beside the word wall, her teacher staring down at her.

Paarthurnax had many words of wisdom to exchange with the Dragonborn. Together, they would meditate on words of power, and Paarthurnax would inform the Dragonborn on stories from ages ago.

When the Blades had ordered the Dragonborn to kill Paarthurnax, she could not believe her ears. With no intention of carrying out their order, she had journeyed to Paarthurnax and had told him what she had been asked to do.

'The Blades are wise not to trust me,' Paarthurnax had replied. 'What is better: to be born good, or to overcome your evil nature through great effort?'

'I have no intentions of killing you,' the Dragonborn growled. 'You are no different to any other in this world.'

Whilst Paarthurnax offered a wealth of information and wisdom to the Dragonborn, she felt that killing him would serve as a sort of betrayal. In short, she respected him. She almost enjoyed spending the little time she spent meditating on words of power, with the entire world beneath their feet.

The Dragonborn often wondered if she was truly human. Her childhood had been bizarre, to say the least. In the eyes of others, she'd had a good upbringing. Her home was modest, and was kept well by her parents and siblings. Her parents had originally come from Skyrim, but had travelled to Cyrodiil due to her father's work. After hearing so much about their home in Skyrim, the Dragonborn had often wished to travel there to discover its wonders by herself.

But there was a reason why the Dragonborn was so good at fighting and sneaking around like the rat she was, picking up loot and claiming it to be hers, shooting an arrow into the back of someone's skull without them noticing until it was too late. She hadn't been the ideal child her parents had wished for. Indeed, her dragon origins had coursed through her blood since she was born, and she naturally blamed this for her ruthless and somewhat cruel actions. During her stay in prison, the Dragonborn had been asked when the first time she had experienced prison was. 'I've always been known to get into trouble', was her simple reply, and all she would say about her childhood. She was no different now than she was when she was a child.

The only difference was that, as a child, she had no means of accomplishing anything with her lack of skills. She was confined to the small town she lived in, due to the fear of a wolf attack should she stray too far from home. A thief had been spotted around the town during the night, and her family locked their house down, forbidding anybody from leaving in case anything dangerous should happen. During the day, even when things seemed peaceful, a handful of guards were out on patrol and still, her parents were cautious. She wasn't stealthy enough to sneak out and explore beyond the town. She definitely couldn't take on a wolf as a child.

Thus, she had found the right – or wrong – people to teach her these skills she would need. She only required to know the basics, and once she knew how to hold a weapon and the best ways of sneaking around, she was set to travel into Skyrim. Then, the dragon came and her need to master her skills became apparent. She hadn't bargained on fighting dragons and dragon priests. Needless to say, this was far more fun than petty thievery and deer hunting.

But the fact that she was Dragonborn never left her. She had her name but she rarely disclosed it to anybody. Of course, some people knew it. She would often be given letters addressed to her, or find a letter ordering her execution, defining her by her name. But she was rarely referred to by her name, and was mostly referred to as Dragonborn, or in the case of her factions, the title she had earned whilst working there. As a child, she had used the name her parents had given her. A name that was common, a name that other children had. Yet, she had earned various titles herself. There was only one Listener, one Arch-Mage, and only one Dragonborn.

Her power was a gift, and her story would be written, preserved in books that one day, some adventurer might find in a crypt and read, wondering what it was like to converse and fight with dragons. Although it was a difficult life that she led, she would not have it any other way. The pros outweighed the cons.

But the question remained: was she just as cruel as any other dragon, or did some humanity lurk somewhere deep inside her?