Author's note:
This is my first (serious) attempt at fanfiction. All suggestions, comments, and criticisms are welcome.
Also note, that when I update this fic - I will UPDATE the ENTIRE FIC (*05/17/2013* hopefully not that much). I will almost never simply just add a single chapter.. The entire fic is a work-in-progress.. Before I post a new chapter, I will read through the whole thing to make sure that every thing I add fits into what I have already written, and to see if maybe there is something that can be improved upon or fleshed out. This fic will be in a perpetual beta even after I have labelled it complete. So please, If any of you have any suggestions, feel free to PM me. If I like it and I feel it fits with my vision, I will change what is written and credit you with the idea. This especially applies to names.. help me.. please.. (LOL).. One of the hardest things that I struggle with is coming up with names that fit with TES lore, so if you have any ideas - PM me.
*05/17/2013* I have now realized why a lot of authors here in usually update in 1-2 week increments.. I can actually write a chapter in less than two days.. but for the next 3-4 days, I keep having ideas to add to or change what I have already written.. This leads to my first two chapters changing so many times that more often than not, what you've read one day will be different two days after.
So now I have decided to adopt the weekly chapter update model, maybe sometimes skipping a week if I can't make it in time. This will hopefully reduce the number of overhauls that I make to any chapter that I upload. That said, what I've previously said regarding this fic being in a state of 'permanent beta' still applies.. if I think of something (or someone else suggests it) to improve the quality of the fic or to make it more canon-compliant, I will make changes.. Oh, and updates will be on Sundays.
An Introduction
This story is one of many stories we have that detail the adventures of the Dragonborn. This one in particular will explore the idea presented to us by Paarthurnax that having a dragon's soul means having a dragon's instincts - a craving for power, insatiable pride, so on and so forth. As a human, our protagonist is very much the 'average joe' - his name is Knut, for crying out loud.. you don't get anymore average than that. However, as dragonborn, he also has the soul of a dragon.. what that means, well, that's what the story is about. This being a fanfic, there will be inevitable changes to canon, but I aim to stick as close to it as much as I possibly can.
The story itself will be divided into an as-of-yet unnamed series of at least four fics focusing on the Companions questline and the Main Vanilla story. This first fic 'A Sleeping Dragon' will detail Knut's entry into Skyrim, his journey to Whiterun, and his attempts at joining the Companions which he will do by doing the Bleak Falls Barrows quest for Farengar. Amongst other changes I will make to canon, Mirmulnir will not attack immediately after completion of Farengar's quest. The rest of the fic, if there is any after that, will focus on Knut settling down in his new life in Whiterun. To be honest, there won't be much dragon-slaying in this first fic. But I'm hoping you'll enjoy it nonetheless. Oh, and for those of you who care - this will be an eventual Lydia pairing.
"The story writes itself." I believe this. I have all this plans in my head as to how this story will progress. Some of them will happen, some won't. I am totally convinced that this story will find itself going in directions I have yet to conceive.. It will be in a consistent beta state, and I only have a slight advantage in regards to knowing what the final product will eventually be like. I had initially decided to play the game as I was writing the corresponding chapters - I have since then realized that this is a stupid decision. I will finish the game and use the internet for further research - this will result in slower-than-planned updates but will hopefully deliver a better quality story for all readers to enjoy.
Lastly, I am a big fan of the Discworld series of novels by Sir Terry Pratchett- this is something I highly recommend to any avid reader. Reading those novels have been a major inspiration and is hugely responsible for my decision to try my hand at writing something. Obviously, my writing style is also heavily influenced by said novels.
A Sleeping Dragon
Chapter One - The Prologue
History was being made. At least it would have been if someone were writing these things down - surely everyone knows history isn't history until it takes the form of ink on paper, until then it was merely things that were happening and things that have happened.
Things were happening, as it were.. And this was before the men of Nirn had it in their heads to write them down. This was, therefore, not the realm of history. This was before history - pre-history, one could say. Of course, one could also say that this was the realm of legend.
The men of Nirn - of Atmora and of Tamriel, at least - have long offered veneration and worship to those whom they believed to be the avatars of the gods who watched over the world - the hawk, the wolf, the snake, the moth, the owl, the whale, the bear, the fox, and - last and chief among them - the dragon. It is unknown what most of this strange pantheon thought about the situation and in the case of the moth and the whale, if they were even aware of their special place of honor. The dragons, however, were far more intelligent and appreciative of the situation.
The dragons actively encouraged the worship of men. It was only natural, after all, for inferior beings to worship the powerful. They then appointed representatives, dragon priests, to take care of the mundane tasks of being god-kings so that they could focus on what was truly important - basking in the glory of their subjects' worship. It didn't take long for this relationship to become oppresive - and the dragon priests, given a fraction of their masters' power, began to rule their fellow men with iron fists.
Which leads us to today..
In Skyrim, the northenmost lands of Tamriel - where the dragon priests have become most abusive and uninhibited, the Nords, men of Skyrim rose up against the priests. The dragons - seeing this as a challenge to their authority, respoded immediately. And so the worshippers rose up against their gods, slaves rose up against their masters, and men rose up against the dragons.
The Nords have long since adapted to the somewhat chilly climate of their new home. They are relatively more impervious to the cold compared to their Breton cousins who had chosen to populate a more temparate region of the continent. But even they cannot hope to outlast their reptilian masters - nay, foes.. With their thicker skin and greater overall physical and magical power, the dragons were poised to win the war. Thousands died.
But today, those fighting in battle have hope.. for they know that victory is within their grasp at last.
And so, they look towards the Throat of the World.
It was high noon and the sky was dark. The clouds leave no space for the sun to shine its light through.. What little light there was came from the reflection of fire and magic from the numerous battles happening below and the occasional flash of lightning as the storms continued their assault on the combatants.
High above the Throat of the World, above the highest peak of the highest mountain, there flew a great shadow. The Great Dragon -nay, the God - known as the World-Eater watched. He watched as the foolish mortals – those mutinous humans – fought desperately, trying to hold on to their illusions of power, of freedom.. From above this highest mountain, he saw them for the ants that they truly are, biting and scratching, not knowing that all their effort – all their hardships and blood – will all be for naught.
"Your hope withers, you treacherous slaves!" he bellowed, his voice heard all across the land. "I am your Doom!"
He stretches out his wings and prepares to join the battle.
"I AM –"
Mortal. You are about to die.
'What? No!..' - "I AM –"
Finite. Your existence is at an end.
There was no pain.. no physical pain, at least. And yet black wings folded as if cut from a puppeteer's strings. Reptilian eyes shut in confusion. If dragons could vomit, he certainly would have. And a great shadow fell from the sky.
'I am –'
Temporary. You shall be forgotten.
The words lash out at his very soul.. And a mind that has seen eternity was forcefully contained into mortal senses.. An existence that has always been, forced to comprehend non-existence.. The Great Dragon –the God – known as the World-Eater crashed onto the peak of the Throat of the World.
He opened his eyes and saw them. Humans. Three, there were - at the forefront at least, with at least a dozen archers and mages further away.. The leaders of this insurrection no doubt – this futile rebellion. Around them, he was vaguely aware of the bodies of four of his kin.
'These insects have actually managed to defeat my brethren!? How?.. No matter, they shall rise again!'
Then He heard them shout.
JOOR. ZAH. FRUUL.
Mortal. Finite. Temporary.
They say words have power. This is especially true about the words of the ancient laguage of the dragons, said to be given them by the Divine Akatosh Himself. Gain understanding of what a word truly means, and you gain power over the thing itself. Dragons who are and have always been, are gifted with the great understanding of a multitude of things.. and using this understanding and their Words of Power, they Shout. And reality obeys. The Dragons call it Thu'um - the power of The Voice.
Once again, overwhelming confusion reigned over the great dragon's senses.. 'Thu'um!? How can these mortals use the Voice!?' was the only conscious thought he could manage as his mind was, yet again, forced to embrace mortality.
He could feel their axes and swords and arrows as they try to pierce his skin, their magic and spells as they try shatter and burn through his scales.
"Foolish Mortals! What are these twisted Words you have created!"
There was only one person, nay, one dragon who could have thought them the art of the Voice.
"Traitorous Paarthurnax! WHERE ARE YOU!? My teeth in your neck!" he roared, daring his former lieutenant to show his face. He lunged and grabbed the nearest human with his jaws. Her axe dropped to the ground as He threw her corpse off the side of the mountain.
"Foolish Slaves! Die in terror! Your weak voices cannot hope to defeat me!"
The haze of mortality was lifting. His Voice was stronger than what these slaves can ever hope to achieve. He will show them how to use Thu'um.
YOL. TOOR. SHUL.
Flame. Inferno. Sun.
A torrent of flame engulfed the remaining humans.. the fires of the inferno, hotter than the sun itself. Their magic manages to spare them.. barely. He can feel their hope diminish.
One of the warriors – for that was what they were, he recognizes that now – was on his knees, his sword digging into the ground. They were growing tired. The limits of their mortal bodies finally showing the inevitability of their defeat.
"I commend your bravery, humans. But it is futile. Go to your deaths.. and await your fate in Sovngarde!"
He lunged –
JOOR. ZAH. FRUUL.
Confusion. The dragon roared.. There was another human, he remembered. But there was hardly enough power to this shout - the human was getting tired, still, it was enough to make the dragon stagger for a few seconds. Enough time for that one human to get away.
He raised his head as the confusion clears. This battle has gone on for long enough.
'Enough of this.. I will burn them to oblivion!'
He opened his eyes.
YOL. TOO-
And he saw eternity.
"The Elder Scroll?.."
They say words have power. This is especially true with regarding over that which they record. History is undecided until it is written - usually by the winners, and even then, simply change the words - and you can change history itself. The Elder Scrolls record the whole of eternity itself. Mortals - both men and mer - who weren't meant to read them either go blind or insane after just one glance, unable to fathom the secrets the scrolls contain within their words.
The Elder Scrolls have power even over the eternal themselves.
"-cowards… I shall return to this land.. This will only delay your destruction! Are you forgetting who I am!? I AM -"
And the Great Dragon - the God - the World-Eater, was gone.
Almost a thousand years pass. Empires rise and fall - and rise yet again. What once was a land dominated by dragons, and then mer - the races of elves, is now ruled by the had of men.
The city of Kvatch lies on the western highlands of Cyrodil, capital region of the empire. Destroyed during the Oblivion Crisis centuries past, it has been rebuilt and now boasts a significant agricultural production and contribute heavily to the provision of rations for the ongoing military campaign to the north. That is, they grow food for the soldiers fighting up there in the cold..
For miles and miles you can see the gold of wheat in one direction, and the green of fruit trees in another.. maybe a few miles or so of the pure brown of good soil, just waiting for the seeds to bear fruit.
At a certain time in the morning you can smell the very wholesome scent of fresh cow dung. At another, the scent of horse dung. At times, it is a mixture of both. That is the smell of good farmland, that is.
In a small farmhouse south of the city, old missus Isa was giving one last goodbye the former owner of the farm. It belonged to the lad's parents, you see.. and now it belongs to old Amiel and Isa Hodge.
"Now dear, do remember that you will always have somewhere to return to.. Amiel and I will be more than willing to sell you back the farm, or you can work for it if you find yourself out of gold. And of course, you are always welcome to spend the night."
"Yes missus Hodge. But I don't think I'll be coming back anytime soon.."
Isa sighed. Of all the lads she had watched grow up, she never thought this one would ever leave.. He had so much promise too! And Gwynabyth's daughter, the young lass Morganna was nearly of marriable age! Such a waste.
"Now Knut, I know you're very anxious to leave.. but wouldn't it be smarter to wait till the winter is over?" she advised. 'or the war even, maybe?'
It was the middle of the month of Hearthfire.. Winter doesn't officially begin for at least two more months. But young Knut was headed for Skyrim, where they say winter starts on Last Seed and lasts all the way up to Second Seed.
"It'll be fine missus Hodge! I have all this gold you've given me.. more than a fair price for the farm, I thank you for that.. and if needed, I can always go with the supply caravans."
There was no stopping him, she knew.. His parents had been filling his head with stories of the homeland for years. They were good people too.. Shame.
A few hours later, after she watched Knut leave on his journey, Isa ate lunch with her husband Amiel and went to visit her friend Neminda.. Her son Casimir was growing up to be a fine young man - easy on the eyes and a good hand for farmwork. And they say that old Gwynabyth's daughter Morganna was nearing marriageable age now.. well, wasn't that nice.
A few more weeks pass. Anthills rise - they get crumbled, stepped on, and generally get smashed - and still they rise again.
It was high noon. The autumn sky above the province of Skyrim was clear, the sun spreading what warmth it could spare before winter arrives.. So unlike what it was during that fateful night a thousand years past.
Then there was a disturbance, a wound in time.. and the Great Dragon - the God - the World-Eater was there, just as he has always been.
For a thousand years, the dragon Paarthurnax kept his vigil atop the Throat of the World. Watching and waiting - preparing for what he knew was to come. The World-Eater would return.. in the same place that he was banished, a thousand years in the past. And now, he was here.
He was weak.. It was both an instant and an eternity since he was banished to wander through time. Even those which are eternal cannot escape the power of the Elder Scrolls unscathed. It would be so easy to destroy him now.. but it wouldn't be right. It wouldn't do for a tyrant - a pretend god - to be killed, only to be replaced by another. It was not his destiny to defeat his former master, this he knew. He concealed the presence of his soul, this was not the time to be noticed.
And so, he watched.. and remained silent.
The World-eater stretched out his senses as far as he possibly could. He could feel the thousands of human souls spread throughout the horizon.. But that was not what he was looking for.
'There'
All across Skyrim, he can sense the presence of his kin. The souls of the ancient dragons of old.. resting. He can almost feel their anticipation, for surely they know that their master would return to return them into bodies to finally crush the rebellious humans.
'But not yet'
He was weak.. He did not yet have the strength required to revive all his fallen kin. The humans can wait. He must first go to Sovngarde, the land of fallen brave souls, and feast.
And then he sensed it, there was a dragon in a living body nearby.. A young dragon, by the feel of his soul. There hasn't been any young dragons since the beginning of the world. Perhaps he can investigate this before heading to Sovngarde.
Black wings spread open, and a great shadow moved across the sky.
'Your time has come humans.. I will not let your insult go unpunished!'
'I am immortal!'
'I am infinite!'
'I am eternal!'
'I am ALDUIN!'
Down below, in a cave atop the Throat of the World, Paarthurnax watched Alduin fly away.. and remained silent.
end Chapter One
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