Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim, the Elder Scrolls, or any of the relevant content created by Bethesda.
When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world
When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped
When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles
When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls
When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding
The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.
-As depicted by Prior Emelene Madrine in Book of the Dragonborn, Order of Talos, Weynon Priory. 3E360
It sat across the desk from her, and she stared warily back at it like it was a serpent preparing to bite. It seemed an innocent enough thing for an inanimate object; elaborate parchment held together in a gilded roll, fancy etched markings on either end with a small handle finished by a simple knob not terribly unlike you would find on a door. Pulled open as easily as a book by grabbing one end of the scroll and pulling downward revealed what appeared to be constellations with lines drawn between them in no obvious pattern.
Sidonie shivered and smoothed the goosebumps from her upper arms with her hands. She knew better, having opened the Kel, the Elder Scroll and having seen it for herself. During her journey to find the damned thing; a thing of blasphemy as Arngeir had called it, a book written by a man dedicated to the Kelle had revealed that those that knew better yet had not been trained on how to read the mysterious artifacts that told legend and prophecy alike would go irrevocably blind in addition to madness. Despite knowing this, she had to open it, to see for herself that it was everything the legends had told.
Eventually her sight had returned in full, but not without a measure of fright stumbling through the dark, deserted Dwemer ruins over scattered Animunculi and the dead, also blind, Falmer she had slew before making her way through.
Sidonie returned her eyes to the book she had been reading, setting it on the desk beside the Kel. She was on the last page of the small black book with a single stylized symbol embossed in silver on the cover. The prophecy of the last Dragonborn. A prophecy that supposedly was her. Even as she shook her head in disbelief, she knew it was true. She knew it to her core, even if she did not believe yet. The signs were there, the proof was there. The prophecy had unerringly fulfilled itself without her aid to the very last line. Even the damned civil war currently underway was written away in her mind to herald her to her calling.
Just as so, the voices of dragons whose souls she had absorbed in combat, consumed even, called out to her in her mind. They did not speak to her, as a voice would. They simply were a part of her, she just knew what they knew. She didn't have to think or digest them. The memories laid out before her were there as if they were her own.
But they weren't.
The prophecy did not say how the story, her story, would end. And if one was already mad, how much more damage could reading a Kel do anyway?
Sidonie found herself pacing, something she found herself doing a lot lately as she retreated to her personal fortress to think, to research and discover more about her fate, the fate of the world. At first she searched for anything, a sign that the prophecy was wrong or mistaken but all she found was more answers she didn't want to see. Catching herself mid-pace, she sighed heavily to the thick granite walls that surrounded her. The fire in the hearth flickered as it slowly died as she had not tended to it in some time. A small measure of light was beginning to creep through the thick glass diamond shaped panes that served as the room's windows. For a moment she felt tired exhausted even.
She didn't hear the faint click of a key unlocking her door or the similiarly quiet creak of wood as the same heavy door. The Nord woman found her hand at the grip of her sword and drawing it from her scabbard. She turned on the balls of her feet and her blade was placed at a man's throat. He was familiar, she knew him. His face bore no expression except about his vibrant green eyes. A small measure of amusement at her hasty action perhaps. He looked tired though, maybe as tired as she.
Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. She lived in his palace as a matter of courtesy on his part, and her blade was at his throat.
"You know I don't like it when you sneak up on me." Sidonie growled rather ill-temperedly. The man showed no sign of being fazed as ever.
"Apologies, Dragonborn." Ulfric responded with a nod. A gesture between equals. She didn't like that. She never thought she would miss the air of arrogance about the man that had come before she was revealed as the would-be savior of Tamriel. He had called her Ysmir once, as the Greybeards had done and she had all but blown up at him. His court was aghast but unsure of the new change in her social standing. The man was Jarl, king of his castle, his rule undisputed.
"You know I don't like it when you call me that." Sidonie frowned, sheathing her sword at her right hip. She turned away from him to regard the mess that her desk was. Papers haphazardly placed where there was room, tucked between piles of books, some read, some not. Several with bookmarks for later reading.
"I honestly didn't mean to come unannounced and bearing such offenses," Ulfric said in a light drawl with the faintest suggestion of sarcasm. "but Sifnar informs me that you had returned some three or four days ago and have yet to answer your door."
Sidonie blinked, her eyes moving in thought as she digested that information, surprised at the passage of time. Her hand moved to her face to message the sudden gritty feeling of exhaustion from her eyes. "It only felt like a few hours. I've been reading."
"It must have been enthralling for you to remain holed up here in your room." Ulfric replied, stepping to the desk and taking note of the books there, several of them sitting on each other in ill-kept stacks. His voice trailed off and a solitary finger tapped each book in turn as he read off the name. "Book of the Dragonborn, Ruminations of the Elder Scroll, The Warp in the West, The Oblivion Crisis, On the Great Collapse, Decree of Monument... This is no light reading, woman."
"Understandable then, why I would fail to answer the door." Sidonie said with the lightest of wry smiles.
Ulfric pondered that, while staring at the contents of her desk. He was obviously trying to piece together the significance of what would draw all these books together. He had a marked interest in the world, or at least this piece of it. He patently expected her to explain herself to him without a word. She did not blame him, the dragons were becoming a serious problem in his war strategy. Dragons apparently thought men were tasty.
Sidonie sighed again, knowing that he once he had his mind on something, he was unlikely to let it go until she made it uninteresting to him. Or something else would catch his interest. Unfortunately, he found anything involving the Thu'um to be facinating since he had once studied with the Greybeards himself as a boy.
"I'm researching the prophecy that depicts the coming of the end days." Sidonie said in a droll, bland voice, crossing her arms over her chest. "I imagine you are familiar with it."
"Did you find what you were looking for?" He asked, running a finger on the long metal case of the Elder Scroll leaning at the far end of the desk, against the cold stone wall.
"Just more questions." Sidonie replied bitterly before catching the Jarl's forearm in her hand. She looked to the man with a stern expression. "Do not damage that Kel, I need it."
"This is an Elder Scroll?" Ulfric asked in surprise, an eyebrow raising as if in disbelief.
"Aye." Sidonie replied. "I'm to take it to the Throat of the World to learn how to defeat Alduin with it."
"Is that all?" He said with a chuckle, though the laugh did not meet with his eyes. "I used to think that I had a weight on my shoulders, but then I am reminded that you must save the world. I just have to save Skyrim."
Sidonie laughed lightly at that. "Pahlok fahdoni."
Ulfric's smile turned to a frown with the barest hint of what was possibly sadness? "It's amazing how quickly you have learned their speech. Before when I shouted, it had amazed you, and in the little time since then you have surpassed me immeasurably."
"It feels like I've always known, and had just forgotten how to. I'm glad you understand some of it at least. I hate the strange looks people give me when I forget. I hate that I even forget."
"Kod prem, krinkendov."
"Housecarl!"
Sidonie turned her head to see who called. She was sitting astride a horse getting ready to depart the city, heading slowly through the wall of refugees from both Morrowind and war stricken Skyrim's mid lands as well. Her eyes scanned the crowd before her, searching for the voice that had called out to her, but only one man was looking directly at her. His face was familiar. Ralof. A tall blond man from Riverwood. One of hers, even.
"Hail, Ralof. What can I do for you this fine day?" She asked the man genuinely glad to see him. She had been in charge of his unit's training, and they had turned out to be a highly successful group of new recruits, but that was a while ago. It was a fine day, the sky was clear and while she wouldn't call it warm, it was crispy and airy at the least. The wind had ceased in the morning, some of the snow that had fallen the night before was at least considering melting.
"I'm told you're leaving for Ivarstead." He said, pausing just before naming the small village at the base of the mountain it was famous for sitting beneath. His eyes slid from her face to the giant elaborate scroll nestled behind a quiver and bow strung across her back.
"Yes... yes I am." She told him, regarding him with a friendly smile. Her eyes began to twinkle with a hint of mischief. It was not long ago that he had been promoted to command his own unit of men. He was rather nervous at the idea of being in charge, or so he said. He didn't look nervous. "Do you want me to whisper a prayer to the gods for your travels and future conquests while I'm there?"
"No... just take care of yourself Dragonborn." Ralof started with a pause, not meeting her gaze for a time before his eyes shifted back to her, full of some emotion she couldn't place her finger on.
She summarily frowned at him. He grimaced in return.
"I know you don't like being called that, but all the same. You mean a lot to us." Ralof finished, his expression turning to the usual stubborn one he wore when he thought he was right. She sighed at him, for what felt like a long line of constant sighing.
Us. The Stormcloak rebellion. She had no idea why, she wasn't a Stormcloak; just the rebel leader's bodyguard, his housecarl, and not even a good one at that, as often as she was gone these days. She knew about the assassination attempts. It's not as if they would politely cease because she was busy trying to discover how to end the dragon threat against Skyrim.
"I'll keep that in mind. But know that those you revere as holy men, the Greybeards call me doom-driven. It may not be my fate to be cared for, even if by myself."
Ralof flashed his familiar grin and Sidonie felt lighter, even if it was just by a little. He started at once, his voice full of pride that she wish she felt in herself these days. "Ulfric would be hard pressed to find a better housecarl."
"You mean like one that is actually around instead of off chasing dragons?" Sidonie asked with a light laugh, her fair eyebrow raised in question. She knew the sly questions that were asked in her absence. An unprotected Jarl; that was how she had returned to Windhelm in the first place. Nords were not a particularly subtle people, after all.
"No more than the Stone-Fist chases Imperials across the plains of Skyrim." Ralof retorted.
"Fair enough."
Sidonie found herself in the peaceful hamlet of Ivarstead. The war had been raging for years now, yet somehow the village had remained practically untouched. The guards here wore the purple tartan of Riften. While the government of the Rift was Stormcloak leaning, the Imperials arriving through Falkreath hold have yet to give the small town any trouble. It sat in the shade of the Throat of the World, the largest mountain in Tamriel aside from the ruined Red Mountain of Vvardenfell. Perhaps it was because if an Imperial came to the village, the people there merely thought it to be another pilgrim or traveller passing through.
She eased her mount into a light gait, it was early yet when she rose from the inn in town, having arrived late in the afternoon the day before. The trek to the top of the mountain was no small feat, but having made it several times, she was confident that she could make it mounted now, as long as there were no bears or giant cats along the route. If there were, she would merely shout them off the side of the cliff.
Life had changed since her first journey up the mountain, a frightened young woman merely following events as they unfolded. First Helgen to Hofkahsejun to the deep barrows of a long dilondovaar lord, back up again to face a newly resurrected Dovah in battle. Being summoned to High Hrothgar. Finding an ancient horn and being named Ysmir by the Greybeards. Bears and sabrecats seemed a worry of yesterday the same way a stranger causes worries a young child. She had found being housecarl to the leader of the rebellion in a civil war more than daunting. Assassins? Bears? Pah.
To be fair, bears weren't exactly a worry before. The woman had been trained in sword and steel since a young girl, but they were bears. Giant killing machines that would maul and eat you if you weren't careful. The assassins were not generally of the Dark Brotherhood fare, but rather Imperial soldiers that seemed to take to sneaking more than the rest of them. Or so she imagined. Who sends fourteen assassins in a single night all at once? It had been a bloodbath, but one definitively in her favor.
The climb itself was fairly uneventful, the view of the midlands of Skyrim no longer quite as breathtaking or exciting in their beauty. It wasn't Skyrim, it was her. Her thoughts drew futher on to what was in store for her. Reading the Kel, travelling back in time to learn a shout that Arngeir had said would render anyone else mad and blind, the shout itself being a thing of evil. Being made by Joor to defeat dragons based on hatred and anger.
The only shout made by man. She counted herself among men and still was not eager to learn it. Using the thu'um was projecting one's self, ones essence into whatever you were saying and throwing it at your target whether it be a foe in a fight or a simple whisper to yourself. You took the word into yourself and understood it. To understand such anger, such fury, to take it into one's soul...
She wasn't quite sure what else her soul could bear. It was just a few months ago that she had learned that while she was born a man, her soul was dovah. It opened so many questions, many of which she still did not have the answers to. But it also explained a lot.
She felt selfish. A nord should always awaken in the morning and think of her home instead of whatever doom awaited. Fight well or die well, and all that.
"Greetings, Dovahkiin." Arngeir said, politely as always, bowing his head to her. She inclined her head and stepped past him heading to the courtyard without saying much else.
"You have the Kel." He said quietly, his voice almost masked by the drawn up hood he wore; it was not a question. The last time Sidonie had spoken to him on the matter some time ago before she had gone ruin diving, he had called the ancient device's existance a blasphemy to creation. The Greybeards seemed to take their measure in what was or will be, but not in prophecy. Almost seemed ironic, given the circumstances of the last Dragonborn of legend; Talos.
"Aye." Sidonie said and turned to face him, her face guarded and carefully neutral. "And I make my way to Paarthurnax."
"He has decided to help you in this, we stand by his decision." Arngeir said with another bow. His voice was slightly strained, but seemed considerably more accepting of her actions than the last time they spoke. At his words, Sidonie relaxed and nodded making her way out to the other side of the hallowed building of peace maintained by the Greybeards, continuing her trek up the mountain.
A/N: I know it's not classy to mention, or relevant to the fic itself, but I like to write when I'm drunk, and I drink randomly and sporatically. Just a forewarning to those who like to check back for updates! As a result, I'll keep my notes at the bottom, if any. This is going to be the longest one, promise.
I have pairings in mind (and subject to change on a whim!, okay, maybe not a whim) for those of you that are interested (or search for them), but... spoilerths. It's been a while and I'm rusty, so bear with me. I may update the summary to reflect them once they occur, maybe not. I may never write another chapter! Hahaha!
Sequence of events will likely not match those that occur in the game via questing, because I can. Lets face it, we've all played the game, we already know what happened there. No need to visit it again necessarily. This is fanfiction, I'm making this shit up as I go along! The fun part is keeping it mostly canon... mostly...