Thank you all so much for the positive response to my first chapter.
In response to a review by Hornet07. There will be several OCs but they won't be taking away from what the Dragonborn is doing and in fact he may or may not appear down below.
Hope you enjoy the read.

(spelling errors fixed, alert me if you see any more)

Winterfell, The North, Westeros

It hadn't taken Eadric long to find the inn and to his great relief his Septims not only still worked in Westeros but were also worth more than in Skyrim, it seemed he was now relatively well off by Westerosi standards.

After renting a room he shrugged off his pack and pulled his Chainmail off. Warming his hands on the fire he looked around the room. It was bare bones but comfortable, what everyone expected from their inns and nothing more. The bed was certainly a welcome surprise, looked more like the beds of the nobility back in Skyrim with the cloth covered mattress and thick blanket compared to the simple fur covered straws he was used to. "Maybe this place isn't that bad after all." He muttered before clambering into it and quickly falling asleep.

...

Eadric opened his eyes after what felt like mere seconds, what greeted him wasn't the soft red glow of the fire he'd lit in his room in the inn, all around him was a dark forest covered in mist. Sitting up he caught the scent of something. "The hunting grounds." Eadric muttered, he'd been here several times in his dreams, every second here made him feel like he was at home, in his element.

Standing up he felt his body undergo the transformation that was so familiar to him. His arms lengthened, his nails sharpened into claws. His legs grew and knees bent. He felt his face shifting. Throughout all of it he felt the rush, the thrill of becoming what his blood yearned to be, the Wolf. His knees buckled when the transformation was complete, his knuckles rested on the ground. An urge came into his head and he was all too happy to oblige, lifting his head up he let out a long and loud howl, which was soon greeted by countless others.

His howl complete he stood, sniffing the air. His heightened senses felt a presence coming, it smelt familiar, powerful and at the same time restrained, controlled. Looking in the direction of the scent he watched as a large ethereal white elk walked out of the mist that surrounded him. The werewolf quickly bowed his head. "My Lord Hircine." His Nordic voice came, only in the realm of the Prince of the Hunt could a werewolf speak with his own voice, or during the Bloodmoon.

The Deer approached him, looking majestic in its stride. "Well met hunter." Hircine's voice came from everywhere at once. "It is good you answered the call."

"My soul is yours Hunt Master." Eadric spoke as he stood at his full height, but he was still shorter than the form Hircine had chosen to address him with, the same form he had chosen to address him with during his hunt for Sinding.

The deer that was Hircine nodded slightly. "Indeed it is, my Champion." He said in a friendly voice, those who earned the Prince of the Hunts favour were seldom mistreated, not like the chosen of certain Princes of Oblivion. "My brother Sanguine has surely already told you of why you are in these new lands."

Eadric nodded his wolf head in answer.

"Then you already know why I have summoned you here." As Hircine was speaking another werewolf approached, Eadric instantly recognised the scent. "You are to spread my gift to those you find worthy, you are to spread knowledge of me. And you are to honour me in the hunt." The Daedric prince turned to face the other werewolf, who bowed in the same way Eadric had done. "You are not the only one of my blood to be in Westeros, Eadric Haraldsson." He turned back to the werewolf he addressed. "Those of the wolf blood are never without the pack."

The new arrival lifted his head and approached Eadric. "So shield brother." Came the gravelly voice of Skjor, Member of the Circle and most likely to succeed Kodlak. "You'll do the Hunt Masters work South of the Wall?"

"Yes shield brother, I plan to see the Wall with my own eyes."

Skjor chuckled. "As do I, though I do not think anyone south of the Wall will like it when I do." He looked as though he was going to speak more but Hircine stood between the two.

"Go my Champions. I have kept you both too long, return to the Realm of your birth." Both Eadric and Skjor bowed their wolf heads to the Daedric Prince. Soon Eadric's vision darkened, he was waking.

...

Eadric came to with a start, bolting up into a sitting position and panting. Placing a hand on his chest he looked around, he was still in the inn room he'd rented.

Sighing to himself he pushed himself off of the cheap bed and straitened his tunic before picking up the Chainmail he normally wore over it. Pulling the heavy metal shirt over his head he looked around for his belt. After a few more minutes of getting dressed he buckled his sword and Saex onto his belt and slung his axe into its place on his back. He only housed his axe on his back because it was more comfortable to carry, if he ever expected to fight with it he just rested it on his shoulder as he walked and if he ever tried to quickly get his axe out from its place on his back it invariably took more time than was available, hence the sword he carried. After one last check he walked to the door and opened it, though paused at the entrance to the hallway and returned into his room to pick up his lute and sling it across his back with his axe before making his way downstairs.

Down in the common room of the inn there was the typical bar setup in one corner and several long tables with chairs around them. In the corner opposite the stairs and to the left of the bar was a more private table setup with wooden partitions to separate it from the rest of the room. When Eadric stepped off the final stair the innkeeper looked up and nodded in his direction. "Have a good night, ser?" He asked as he wiped down the bar.

"better than most beds from where I come from." The Nord stated, which gained him a slight grin from the middle-aged man behind the counter. "Most we have are some skins over straw, here you have actual cloth."

"If you think what we have up here is good you'll love it down South, they don't get Summer snows down there." The barkeep said before nodding to another patron coming down the stairs who simply nodded back before leaving. "You want anything?"

Eadric nodded slightly as he sat down on one of the stools at the counter. "Got any food?"

"Oh aye, got some stew left over from last night. Left it outside to let it freeze so I can get yer some to heat up."

"I'll take some of that then, and a mug of ale once it's heated up." Eadric unslung the lute. "You mind if I play for a bit?"

The innkeeper shook his head slightly. "Go ahead, not busy so you shouldn't annoy anyone." He turned to walk through the door behind the counter and into another room.

Smiling to himself, Eadric lifted up the instrument and began tuning it. After a minute or so getting the cords right he began strumming before lowly singing his favourite song. "Alduin's wings, they did darken the sky. His roar fury's fire, and his scales sharpened scythes. Men ran and they cowered, and they fought and they died. They burned and they bled as they issued their cries. We need saviours to free us, from Alduin's rage. Heroes on the field, of this new war to wage. And if Alduin wins, man is gone from this world. Lost in the shadow of black wings unfurled. But then came the tongues, on that terrible day. Steadfast as winter, they enter the fray. And all heard the music, of Alduin's doom. The sweet song of Skyrim, sky-shattering thu'um! And so the tongues freed us, from Alduin's rage. gave the gift of the voice, ushered in a new age. If Alduin's eternal, then eternity's done. For his story is over, and the Dragon's are gone."The Nord stopped singing and strummed the last few tunes.

When he stopped someone clapped in the room. "Bravo." Eadric turned to see Tyrion standing in the open door to the inn. "Didn't take you for much of a singer when I first saw you, and I pride myself on being able to read people."

Eadric looked over the small man. "And I didn't expect to see a Lord in the local inn."

"What can I say? I'm a man of the people." The dwarf walked over to the counter and pulled himself onto one of the stools. "And I will admit I wanted to speak to you."

Eadric sighed and set his lute down on the counter. "About what?"

Before Tyrion could reply the barkeep returned, carrying a bowl of stew and a mug of ale. He saw Tyrion but didn't seem surprised and in fact a small smirk was visible as he set down the bowl and mug in front of Eadric. "One gold." He held out a hand for Eadric to place the coin into, which he did. The barkeep then turned to Tyrion. "M'lord, Ros can be with you in 'round half an hour, she's a nightmare to wake sometimes."

"I'm not here for some time with Ros." Tyrion replied before giving a smirk of his own. "At least not at the moment I am." After a chuckle from the barkeep Tyrion returned his view to the Nord. "As I was saying, I wanted to know a bit about Skyrim, the only books I've read are from Cyrodil and they seem to be... Oversimplifying things to say the least."

Eadric chuckled. "That's Imperials for you, they love painting Nords as rough barbarians." The Nord ate a spoonful of the stew and washed it down with some of the Ale. "Well to start off, what do you know about Skyrim?"

"That it's the homeland of the Nords and the oldest kingdom of men on the continent. Besides that it's all about the raids and wars the Nords fought in Cyrodil." Tyrion replied as he tried to remember the descriptions of Skyrim.

Eadric grunted slightly. "You only know so much." He took another few mouthfuls of the stew, it was good if a bit salty. "Most of the histories of the Nords is told in song or carved onto the walls of our forefathers tombs. Even then we've long lost the words written on those ancient halls so only the songs remain to us. I spent time in the Bards College of Solitude, capital of Skyrim, so I can recite many of them."

Tyrion nodded slightly. "You wouldn't be opposed to reciting one here?"

"No, I wouldn't." Eadric gulped down the last of the ale before setting the mug back down. Taking a deep breath he focused his mind on the song he wanted and after a minute it was clear in his head. Lowly he began to sing again, though unlike the one before this one was an old poem, truly ancient.

"When at last the rightful claim of Saarthal had been retaken, driving the murderous elves back to their lofty cities, did great Ysgramor turn and let loose the fearsome war cry that echoed across all the oceans. The Five Hundred who yet stood joined in the ovation for the victory and the lament for their fallen peers. It was said to be heard on the distant and chilling green shores of Atmora and the ancestors knew their time had come to cross the seas.

As the reverberations echoed out and drowned to silence, all looked to Ysgramor, who bore the blessed Wuuthrad, for his next commandment. With his lungs that bellow forth the fury of humanity, he bade them to continue their march, that the devious Mer might know the terror they had brought on themselves with their trickery.

"Go forth," he roared. "Into the belly of this new land. Drive the wretched from their palaces of idleness." Oblige them to squalor and foil, that they would see their betrayals as the all-sin against our kind. Give no quarter. Show no kindness. For they would not give nor show you the same." (Our great forebear gave this order as he did not yet understand the prophecy of the Twin Snakes, that he would be fated to die before seeing the true destiny of his line.)

Hearing this, the Circle of Captains gathered each their crews unto themselves. From here, they decreed, we will go forth. Let each ship's band make its own way, seeking their fates to the open sun. A night spent in feasting, the Oath of the Companions was sworn anew, with each of the Five Hundred (so they still names their count, in honour of the shields that were broken at Saarthal) swearing to act as Shield-brother and Shield-sister to any of the Atmoran line were their fates to ever again entwine." He stopped, it was only a portion of the poem but he thought it was enough to appease to dwarf.

Tyrion has sat throughout the rendition of a portion of the lengthy 'Songs of Return' and when the Nord stopped he raised an eyebrow. "It's good, but it does sound like a myth."

Eadric looked at him. "Jon Stark said the same when I told him about the Second Great War, you people don't believe Elves exist."

"I believe what I see, and I've yet to see an Elf." Tyrion replied simply. "Would you mind explaining the different parts of that poem?"

"The first bit will take some explaining. According to our oldest legends Saarthal was the first city of men in Skyrim, or all of Tamriel. Ysgramor ruled as King and for a time there was peace with the Snow Elves who were natives of Skyrim. For years we traded and lived alongside each other, then came the Night of Tears." Eadric sighed slightly. "The Elves came in the night and razed the City, butchering every man, woman and child they could find. Only Ysgramor and his two sons could escape. When they returned to Atmora, the ancient and long since lost home of men, they told the Atmorans of the treachery of the Elves and the slaughter of their kin. In outrage at the treachery and dishonour of the Elves five hundred warriors followed Ysgramor and returned to Skyrim, to exact our vengeance. They crushed the Elves at the landing by where the city of Windhelm would eventually be built."

Tyrion nodded slowly. "Sounds somewhat similar to the legends of how the Andals invaded Westeros."

Before he could elaborate bells sounded from outside causing everyone in the inn to look up instantly. Without a word Eadric stood and sprinted out of the door, they sounded just like the bells to warn of a Dragon attack. Exiting the inn he looked around, everyone just seemed to be looking up at the castle but no one looked scared, worried maybe but not scared. All around there were villagers asking some form of 'what's going on'.

Tyrion soon joined the Nord, also looking confused. "Warning bells?"

As the two looked up at the castle the gates opened and a single rider came charging down the hill, yelling at the top of his lungs. "Lord Brandon Stark has fallen from the tower! Lord Brandon Stark has fallen from the tower!" He was at full gallop and didn't stop as he rode through the village, heading off in the direction of the forest.

"Seems this trip might be interesting after all." Was all Tyrion could say on the matter before looking back up at the castle, eyeing the tall dilapidated tower.

Dragonsreach, Whiterun, Skyrim

Proventus Avenicci sat down on the long table on the Dragonsreach porch, rubbing his hands at the multitude of meats and breads on offer for his lunch. Picking up the bowel of pheasant breasts he spooned a few onto his plate and broke off a piece of the large loaf of bread just in front of him. Gods he missed the food of Cyrodil but this was the closest he'd get outside of Soltitude. He picked up the knife and fork next to his plate and began cutting one of the breasts and was just about to eat the first mouthful when a Gyrfalcon landed on the top of the chair next to him.

"Shoo, I'm busy." He tried to wave the bird off an got it to lift off but as soon as he stopped his protests it landed again and cocked its head at him. "By the Nine what do you want?" He asked the bird in frustration who only cocked its head in the other direction. Sighing, he decided to ignore it and return to his meal.

At that moment, and to Proventus's immense annoyance, Hrongar approached. "Imperial, figured I'd find you here." He stopped just beside Avenicci and looked at the Gyrfalcon for a few seconds before offering his armoured arm to it.

The bird quickly jumped on. "Hrongar, what are you doing?" Proventus asked.

"Gyrfalcons are the messenger birds of the Blue Palace, idiot." The Nord replied in his usual gruff tone as he raise the Gyrfalcon in question to see where the message on it would be kept. "Ah, there we go." He took the small cylinder attached to the birds leg and held it out to Proventus, who took it with a scowl.

"Just as I was sitting down for lunch." The Imperial mumbled as he opened the cylinder and began unravelling it. "What does Falk want this time? More grain? The Companions?" When he finally got the annoyingly small scroll unravelled he read it silently. Without a word he stood, ignoring his meal and walking back towards the keep.

"What is it Avenicci?" Hrongar asked as he followed the Imperial.

Proventus opened the large door and walked in. "The Empress is in need of someone." Was all he said.

Sempronius Estate, Whiterun Hold, Skyrim

"Keep your shields up! Don't bother trying to defend the legs, your enemy won't expose themselves so carelessly!" Erik boomed from his position in the courtyard of the Estate. Before him were eight new recruits to Severus Sempronius' retinue, and they were in dire need of instruction. The fact that he of all people was now training new fighters as only six years ago he'd didn't own any armour, let alone killed a man, wasn't lost on him. "Keep your shield in front of you! Theatrics in battle will just get you killed!" The men in front of him murmured something before all trying to keep the shields in their hands in front of them and not move it to the side to attack.

"How are they Erik?" The familiar voice of Severus came from just behind him and sure enough, the Imperial soon came into view.

Erik shrugged. "They could be better. By the Nine some of them are worse than I was at first." The comment drew a chuckle from Severus. Six years before Erik was just another farmhand in Rorikstead, no one important. Then Severus rode into town, his Ebony scale armour and golden cloak fluttering in the wind. It had taken most of the evening to work up the courage to talk to him at his father's inn and when he did he was elated that he had. That very week his father took him to Whiterun to get some armour fitted using the money Severus had gave them. After that Erik had been 'hired' by Severus as his first mercenary job, not that Erik ever took any jobs from anyone else. "I'd hate to see how they ride, or use a spear."

"I'm sure they'll shape up with you teaching them." The Imperial patted Erik on the shoulder. "Trust you more than anyone to do this."

The Nord smirked. "Oh I'm sure you could have convinced Lydia to do this as well." He nudged Severus slightly and the two shared a laugh.

"Better believe it." Severus grinned. He'd married his Housecarl before he set off to join the Empire in the Second War with the Dominion, in case he never got back, which he did, as did Erik.

As the two talked, another of Severus' retinue walked up to them, carrying a piece of parchment in his hand. When he reached the two he gave the Nord greeting of a fist on the right of the chest and held out the parchment. "From Whiterun, Ysmir. Arrived by courier moments ago."

Severus took it and began reading it aloud. "To Severus Sempronius, Thane of Whiterun and Dragon of the North." He sighed slightly as he read out his honorific. "You are hereby summoned by Balgruuf the Greater, Jarl of Whiterun and Hammer of the Elves, for an audience with the Jarl. Bring your riders and enough supplies for a two weeks journey at the least. Signed, Proventus Avenicci, Steward of Whiterun Hold."

Erik smirked. "Looks like we're needed somewhere in the Empire."

"Aye, it does." Severus agreed as he lowered the parchment and turned to member of his retinue who had delivered the message. "Gather the men and supplies. Tomorrow we ride for the City."

"At once Ysmir." The man put his fist to his chest again and began jogging off to the largest building of the estate, the barracks.

Severus sighed slightly. "You're coming with me Erik, the recruits are coming as well so be sure they know how to ride by tomorrow."

"It's a big ask, Sev. I'll try my best but they'll be learning on the way by the looks of it." Erik replied before lifting a hand to his chin to stroke his beard. "Do you know what they want?"

The Imperial shrugged. "No idea." With a nod to Erik, who returned the gesture, Severus walked in the direction of his personal manor, leaving Erik with the recruits who had stopped to look in their direction.

"You heard him! Get to the stables and get your horses, we begin in ten minutes!" Erik yelled and the recruits quickly began doing as they were told. Whatever the Jarl wanted it was important. The last time the Sempronius retinue had ridden as one was the War with the Dominion when Severus answered Jarl Balgruufs call for war. gazing up at the Mountain on the other end of the Hold, the Throat of the World, he hoped this wasn't another War they were being dragged into.

So that's the second chapter done, hope you liked it.
Again, all reviews welcome.
Also I'm going to try updating this every week or so but don't hold me to that as College has just started again.