I know my readers are probably a bit put out with me. I'm a bit pissed off with myself. Here's the major changes in Becoming a Legend that are confirmed and are very unlikely to change:

I've changed the prologue I based the story around. It's no longer the Draugr-themed prologue, it's a combination of the Dragon-themed prologues I'm using with a bit of Prisoner thrown in for flavor.

Secondly, I've based the main storyline around the descendent of Arthur Lost-Saint and the currently unnamed Dragonborn. I won't appear for a few chapters to say the least.

Next, the 'story' in this chapter is a children's story… It's not supposed to be that great.

Last up, the MQ and Side Q's will differ a good deal from the game. I'm traveling in a dimension that the game was based on, not within the game itself. The characters will be out of character.


Becoming a Legend


Jauffre calls out, his voice lost in the crowd…

I smile at him as the axe descends…

I feel a sharp pain…

It all goes black…


Chapter 1 RE – Can't take the sky from me…


A fire crackles within its hearth as a rocking chair creaks with each sway; the storm outside howls loudly, rattling the windows with each gust. A little girl wearing a ragged nightgown leaped onto her mother's lap, thrusting a tattered and bent book into the woman's arms.

"Mama, you said you'd finish this one! You promised!"

The woman chuckled, smiling kindly as she takes the book and settles her daughter into her lap. Wrapping one arm around the snuggling child, she palms the book open. Upon the first page lies a story oft forgotten, one told only to those who still remember the stranger in white who saved an empire…

"Aye, I remember love. Remember where we left off? 'The Legend of the White Rider...'"


"…the city had fallen into chaos; demons feasted upon the people as the defenders slowly fell to the dark armies. The Maroon Dragon watched from atop the White Tower, summoning more of his devils with a mighty roar. The band of heroes rode through the city, cleaving many a devil in two as they fought the monsters with all their might. The Great Temple awaited their arrival; the Altar of Eternal Fire waiting to be lit by the uncrowned heir.

"The hero in white; he slew every devil that dared stand before his white steed. One and two, through and through; his blade struck true. With a swish and stab he slew many and never fell back. Forward he led the heir and his mounted guard, the scholarly Septimus and the Vanguards. The demons fell to their blades; a path of corpses followed their charges' wake. The dark demon god, the Maroon Dragon roared as it destroyed more of the White City as it chased after the hero and his horse-mounted band.

"Into the Temple Septimus and the Champion strode, swords dripping with the ichor of their foes. With a mighty crash the Maroon Dragon ripped open the Temple's roof, turning his burning gaze to the two within. With a great leap, Septimus stood upon the unlit pedestal, raising his ring to the sky. The heir was bathed in ethereal light as he took a new form, becoming the avatar of the god-king Aralot. The golden titan roared in defiance and struck the Maroon Dragon with his golden blade.

"With that single blow the Maroon Dragon was defeated and sent hurtling back beyond the Veil, never to return. The skies cleared and the people cried out with glee; the soldiers cheered for their victorious king. Yet young Septimus would never take his crown, for the magicks he wielded were never meant for mortal shells.

"The heir was lifted into the sky; a pillar of light carried him into the godly realm. The White City both celebrated their victory and mourned their loss; the White Champion left the City, never to be seen again."

"Upon his white steed he rode,

Never looking back and his head held high.

Up in the clouds he stared,

The endless evening sky."

"Legend tells of the White Rider,

Amongst the mists and clouds he shall wait.

For a new purpose and new destiny,

A fight for the Empire's fate."

"So remember the White Rider,

Remember young one.

Of our hero so bold,

He who rode into the Setting Sun."


"It was a night just like this…"

A scarred soldier turned and saw his captain, a fierce woman with blazing red hair and a strange wistful expression on her face. Curiously he glanced around and concluded she must have been talking to him.

"What happened on what night ma'am?"

The captain, almost frighteningly out of character for she was usually very strict to the soldiers on duty, half-smiled at him.

"It was a night just like this when my mother told me of a legend; a story of the Hero of Cyrodiil, 'The Legend of the White Rider'."

"The White Rider eh… I remember that story as well ma'am."

The soldier then looked out over the battlements and across the gorge where the rebels were just lying in wait. The rebel troops had pushed the Legion back and settled out in the open; wooden palisades and rebel flags visible just across the bridge. The soldier scowled at the banners bearing the roaring bear of Windhelm and the dragon skulls adorning the enemy fort. The flags were bad enough, each symbol shouting 'Hail Ulfric!' at him. But the skulls just showed how futile their cause was; how the rebels had a bloody hero to rally under.

The Imperial Legion and Imperial rule would soon be cast out of Skyrim and those bleedin' Thalmor would call their armies to overtake the Fatherland. The soldier sighed.

"Could use a man like him right now… Those damn Stormcloaks are wearing us down; whittling away at us and calling even more of our own men to their cause and false king. We've been pushed back at every battlefront ever since the Dragonborn sided with Ulfric."

With a small chuckle the captain leant with her back against on the worn palisade wall. She stared not towards the opposing fort but towards the setting sun, remembering the hero who rode into its dying blaze.

"The Dragonborn have always been heroes of Skyrim. How could we not falter at the Nords' greatest hero rides against us in a tide of fire and steel?"

"But what about those elves, the Aldmeri Dominion… They're just waiting in their warships off the coast of Solitude, ready to swoop in when Ulfric gets that crown. What will we do when our homeland falls to those pointy eared bastards?"

The soldier turned to his captain with a solemn expression but was confused by how…happy she seemed. The captain looked right into his eyes and said,

"Hope for a miracle…"

The soldier took a step back at her near-crazed expression.

"Hope for a miracle; we hope for a bloody miracle?!"

The woman just laughed loudly and stared at the setting sun. The evening rays glimmered on the snowy fort and bright stars filled the sky.

"What else can we do? With that bloody bitch leading Ulfric's forces, those flying lizards swooping about and the Thalmor breathing down our necks; we've not a chance in the world. A miracle's all we can hope for at this point." With a rueful smile the captain glanced at the dying sun. "Wonder what he must've been like; the White Rider…"

The soldier huffed. He wondered if the captain finally went off the deep end. The Empire was about to be driven out of Skyrim and she suddenly had a fascination with the bloody Rider. He shrugged noncommittally.

"Doesn't matter now… Why'd you bring him up in the first place captain? 'Specially at a time like this…"

She too shrugged; her rueful half-smile still in place.

"You forget who I am soldier? How can I not wonder at a time like this…"

"Not sure what you mean by that ma'am…"

The captain sighed and pulled her sword from her belt, holding the naked blade out to him. The soldier took it carefully, wondering what was so special about her strange sword. He had seen it from afar many times; the gleaming sword almost laughably thin compared to the cold iron and steel used by both the Legion and Stormcloaks. Yet it had easily stood up to the hammering blows of many a warhammer and battleaxe, despite its slimness. Raising it to the light, he nearly dropped it in shock. The captain easily caught the sword as it slipped from his numb fingers. She sheathed and walked away, singing quietly.

"Take my love, take my land

Take me where I cannot stand.

I don't care, I'm still free

You can't take the sky from me."

The soldier shakily reached out and downed his previously forgotten ale. He couldn't believe he had been serving under her for so long, not realizing who she was. The blade was a true treasure of Tamriel; a legendary artifact almost two hundred years old. Despite many attempted thefts and assassinations, the Flame of the West had never left the Lost Saint line. Even when the family name had all but died out, a new unknown member would appear with the fabled blade in their hands. Not many remembered his descendents; but no one would forget the blade of the hero-turned-traitor, and then later revealed as a hero once more, the Champion of Cyrodiil…the White Rider.

"Burn the land and pour the sea,

You can't take the sky from me…

You can't take the sky from me."