The boy's heart quickened. He had heard rumors of the Dragonborn's return, but to think that this man, strange though he appeared, could be everything that he had heard seemed nigh impossible. This man, in simple gray robes, Harbinger of the Companions? Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold? There were whispers that the Dragonborn was the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Master of the Thieves Guild, and a member of the Dawnguard to boot. Some said he was a werewolf, others, a servant of Molag-Bal. How could a single man be all of these things? How could he be any of them? The boy's mind was boggled, and it was in a haze of confusion that he found himself boarding a carriage outside the city gate. Soon, they were rumbling across the tundra of Skyrim. His captor, as the boy had started to think of him, was watching him closely.

"W...where are you taking me?" he croaked, finding his voice.

"My home. Lakeview Manor," the man said. What was it that Ahtar had called him? Valerian? Seeming to read the look of confusion on the boy's face, the elf began to tell his story. "My name is Sílevon Valerian. I am the Dovahkiin, better known as the Dragonborn. It is likely that most, if not all of the rumors you have heard about me are true." A sort of fierce pride showed on the man's face.

The robes now made sense. A symbol of office, most likely, and, more significantly, the sign of a magic user. The boy let Valerian's soothing baritone fill his ears, as he began to study him. The name was one he had heard before. A master sorcerer. As good with a blade as with a spell. Equal parts thief and assassin, when it suited. However, the elfling had never connected the tales of this adventurer with the escapades of the Dragonborn.

"And what is your name, lad?" the mage asked, his calculating gaze meeting the boy's. He appeared genuinely interested in the boy's answer. The lad thought for a moment. This was a chance to change his past. He could effectively become anyone, and, if he survived whatever this man had in store for him, could make a fresh start. With a heavy heart, however, the boy knew there was no denying who he was. There were too many memories, too many regrets for one so young, and, knowing he couldn't escape his past, the boy resigned himself to his present.

"Valmir," he said. "My name is Valmir Graywatch." The Dragonborn nodded gravely, clearly understanding the gravity of the boy's heritage.

"Well met, Valmir. I think we will have much to discuss when we reach Lakeview. For now, rest. We have a long journey ahead of us," he gestured to the bottom of the carriage, where a sort of nest had been made out of blankets and pillows. Clearly, the man was accustomed to long journeys, and had prepared himself.

Reluctantly, Valmir wrapped himself in the blankets. The rumbling of the carriage slowly faded, becoming a murmur at the edge of his hearing. He let the rocking motion carry him away, and, ever so slowly, Valmir drifted into Vaermina's realm.

He was in a courtyard. A fountain bubbled mirthfully at its center. Sitting at the edge, gazing at the lotus flowers floating within, sat his mother. He called out to her, and her gaze lifted. A smile blossomed on her face. She beckoned to him, laughing. The sound filled the courtyard, clear and sweet. He ran to her, and she pulled him close. She began to sing softly, as she always did. He joined her, and, trading verses, they told the tale of a brave young elf, who rose from nothing to become a powerful warrior, and a paragon to his people. As the last, sweet note faded from the air, a cry reached the courtyard. It filled Valmir's ears, deafening, rattling across his mind. All sound faded. Valmir saw his father stagger into the courtyard. He readied himself, thinking it was a test. But… no… his father's eyes were wrong. Glassy. Staring at nothing. He fell. It was then that Valmir saw the axe buried between his shoulder blades. His mother rose, a soundless cry of anguish escaping her lips. She was pushing him towards the exit. Away from his father. Away from her. That word. That cry from earlier. Her lips formed it now. Pushing him. Why was she pushing him? He had to help father. Father was hurt. Why? Why was she doing this? Men were streaming into the courtyard. Men with weapons. Weapons with blood. His mother threw up a ward in front of them, still pushing him. The wall of magic seemed to shudder once, before disappearing. It was then that sound seemed to come roaring back into the world, deafening. A high pitched whine. An arrow sprouted from his mother's shoulder. She seemed not to feel it, a look of rage turning her soft features to stone. Lightning arced, blinding, the smell of ozone filling the air. The men crumpled, writhing, turning to ash. But then, another arrow. His mother staggered. She looked confused. Another arrow buzzed across the courtyard. It struck her, and she was flung around. Her eyes, unseeing, but her lips forming that word. She seemed to fall. Too slowly. The world wasn't right. The waters of the fountain parted, enveloping her. Red. The waters were red. He turned. That word. He had to obey. It filled him, drawing him away, into darkness. Into solitude.

"Run."

He wasn't fast enough.

He awoke, gasping. Valerian sat above him, looking down, eyes filled with pity. His hand seemed to glow.

"Sleep," he said. Valmir sat back, his eyes heavy, and, once more, he fell into a deep slumber. His dreams troubled him no more.

When he next woke, it was to the soft light of dawn, peeking between his eyelids. The sounds of birds surrounded him as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes, and shook the troubling dreams from his thoughts.

"Look, boy," said Valerian, pointing. "There, at the edge of the lake." A large manor rose from the mists. Three towers peeked over the tree tops, braziers flickering at their open peaks. Smoke rose from a large central chimney and another, smaller one on the right wing of the house. The central hall stood prominently, two stories high, with single story wings on its left, right, and back sides. These had flat roofs, on which were tables and chairs where one could enjoy the views of the lake and surrounding countryside. To the side of the house, the simple livestock milling in their pens did not seem to mesh properly with the vision of wealth and power that this homestead offered. Valmir's mouth hung wide, shocked. This was a residence fit for a Jarl. The High King himself would have been impressed, he thought to himself.

"Welcome to Lakeview Manor," said Valerian, as the carriage ground to a halt. "Come. Your punishment awaits you."

The boy gulped. Filled with trepidation, and held firmly in the clutches of imagined tortures, Valmir climbed down from the carriage. Feet dragging, he followed the Dragonborn, ready to face his fate.

A/N: So! If you've made it this far, you finally know what our main character's name is! Don't worry, names will be more forthcoming in the future! We also see a little of Valmir's troubled past. His dreams will play a large part of this story (if it goes the way it's laid out in my head). I am still in search of a beta! Please, apply! Also, don't forget to comment and review! Thanks all!