Update 18/11/2023: Alright, so I've changed the chapter, the story and the title. It's now called Rise of a Dragon, which sounds cooler, and also will feature my first idea from my first attempt at this crossover... which was having the Dragonborn banished from Skyrim after being framed by the Thalmor. I find it'll be easier for me to work that way rather than go with the same beginning of having the Dragonborn summoned, told of Alagaesia and Saphira's birth. then sent to protect her and Ergaon and all that stuff.

Hope no one minds the big change.

Disclaimer: I do not own The Inheritance Cycle or The Elder Scrolls.

He grunted as he was forced to his knees, his hands bound behind him, mouth gagged to prevent him from speaking. Today was the day of this... farce. He could hear the crowd in attendance screaming for his head to be removed from his body, while another half, though not much, screamed for his freedom. At least not everyone had blindly believed the lies about him like sheep. His dark blue eyes scanned the crowd before he picked out familiar faces.

His friends. Allies. Those who would stand with him. Those who have stood with him through Oblivion and back. His Housecarl, the Companions, some of the Thieves Guild, the Dawnguard, the College of Winterhold, even some Stormcloaks and Imperials he recognised from the war before he put an end to it. He had been visited by loyal members of the Dark Broterhood who had offered to help him escape... but he refused.

He was being wrongly accused, the last thing he needed was to escape and make it look like he had done what those damn Elves had accused him.

He should've expected this from them. Those damn Elves had been looking for any reason to see him gone or killed, because they feared his power, feared his strength. But with him becoming a hero of the land, it would be hard for them to do anything to remove the greatest threat to their plans in taking over Skyrim... until they decided to plant a false accusation that the people eventually swallowed and ate up, believing it not long after the dragons were stopped, after Alduin was slain.

The Thalmor had accused him of being the one who brought Alduin back, leading to the dragons returning.

And somehow, the people believed this.

It was absurd!

And not even true.

But of course, it took only days for that lie to spread across the land and the people to swallow it and believe it. Now they called for his head. The people he fought hard to protect from Alduin's plans of destruction, the people he did favours for, solved their problems... and they turn on him so easily.

He looked up at the podium, where the ambassador of the Thalmor, Elenwen, stood with a smug smirk on her face. He glared darkly at her, growling almost inhumanly... almost like a dragon.

"Daemon the Dragonborn... you have been accused of being the true mastermind behind the resurrection of the dragons, endangering not only Skyrim but the whole of Tamriel." Elenwen began, the crowd's roars for death dying down as she spoke. "How unbefitting that a man who was nothing would go to such lengths in order to make himself popular amongst the people."

Daemon said nothing, just glared with a rage that could match the dragons.

"For your crimes, you are to be executed today when the sun sets." Elenwen continued, her smirk growing as she made the decision. Now that the people believed their 'hero' was not the hero they thought he was, nobody should cause a ruckus at her deciding he will be killed rather than banished like some people thought. "You will be hung by the neck until dead, then you will be decapitated, followed by your body burning until only ashes remain. Do you have any words to speak?"

Daemon said nothing for a long moment, even as the crowd called for his death again. He glanced around, meeting the eyes of his friends. Lydia, Aela, Farkas, Vilkas, Brynjoff, Karliah in her Nightingale outfit, Ralof, Hadvar. They wanted to help him, to free him, but to do so would make things worse for them rather than him. The Thalmor are counting on them trying to do something. He merely shook his head slightly, telling them not to do anything.

For he already had a plan.

He wasn't dying today.

He looked at Elenwen and merely gave a muffled grunt through his gag. He hasn't been ab;e to speak for the past few days, even while being in a cell. The Thalmor had ensured he wouldn't use the Voice to break out, so they gagged his mouth. It felt so long since he last spoke a word. However, only his dark gaze would speak his words for him... as well as actions.

If he could smirk, he'd be doing it right now as a sound came over the air, causing confusion for everyone. However, that confusions witched to fear when a Thalmor guard,. posted on overwatch, shouted one word that determined what exactly was coming.

"Dragons!"

And then... fire and death.

Eyes snapped open, revealing dark blue, as Daemon sat up in his bed, looking left and right before he exhaled, sighing in silent relief when he saw he was in a woodland area, with only a dwindling campfire as the only source of light in the forest. He laid back down on the ground, staring up at the pitch black sky, the starts twinkling, the moon full and casting the land in it's ethereal light. However, his mind turned back to the dream he had... the memory.

Five years...

Five years since that day. Five years since he was wrongly accused of something he wasn't responsible for, nor could he have been. Then on the day of his trial, where he was to be sentenced to death, his plan came to fruition as he managed to escape and go into hiding. But not in Skyrim... or anywhere in Tamriel actually. His face would be put up on wanted posters, spread throughout all the land. He would be hunted every day and night, especially since the Thalmor put a large price if he's either killed or brought back alive.

So, he truly took on the exiled life, banishing himself from the land of Skyrim. He went far across the Sea of Ghosts, across the Padomaic Ocean, until he found himself in the land of Alagaësia, Tamriel's sister land.

Once, there had been trade between the two lands, but that had been hundreds of years ago, and knowledge of Alagaësia was low due to lack of history books about the land. Daemon didn't know why there hadn't been much contact, but figured people were too lazy to go days across the sea just to get to Alagaësia... or maybe it was something else.

Regardless, Daemon came to Alagaësia five years ago from the north, finding himself in a small village named Carvahall. The village was the only settlement in the valley aside from Therinsford and was rarely visited by anyone except for merchants and trappers. Most of the village was made up of stout log houses with low roofs and wide porches on their fronts for talking and conducting business.

It was Carvahall that Daemon settled down in, after the villagers got over their wariness of him seeing as he was an unfamilliar face. He didn't talk much about where he was from, only saying he was from across the sea and had no desire to return home. This is where the life of the exiled and banished Dragonborn began. No longer was he a hero, no longer did he take adventures... save for his hunts into the Spine, now he was just living an ordinary life like anybody else.

Daemon sighed as he remained laying on the ground, staring up at the sky before he sat up and stood, kicking dirt onto the fire to extinguish it. He grabbed a scabbard, containing his sword, and tied it to his waist. He then grabbed a bow and quiver of arrows, slinging them around his body, then set out to continue his hunt.

He had been tracking a deer, a buck, for the past few days, and he was evasive, but Daemon was not the type to give up on a hunt.

The hunt had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaësia. Strange tales and men often came from those mountains, usually boding ill. Despite the tales, Daemon did not fear the place. He had gone into underground dungeons, ruins and mountains, faced off against hordes of nightmarish creatures, and he did it without a sense of fear in his being. A woodland area wasn't going to scare him.

The hunt for the deer was irritating the Dragonborn. He needed this for the coming winter, it's how he's always survived the past five winters; hunting until he found enough prey to keep him going. Some of it, he'd trade with the butcher for gold so he could buy other pieces of food.

His boots trampled the grass underneath as he walked, before he paused as he noticed something in the dirt. Crouching to a knee, Daemon narrowed his eyes as he examined the tracks he had found. They were a footprint of a creature with a paw... not a hoof like a deer should have. He knew these tracks very well though; wolves.

He also noticed there had been a struggle, as he saw deer prints in the ground as well, along with splotches of blood staining the green grass with it's red colouring. A wolf pack must've also been on the hunt, and the deer was their prey, but it managed to get away though not without suffering a bite. The deer had fled... and the wolves had pursued. If Daemon was lucky, he'll be able to take home a deer and wolves.

Hope Eragon's having his fun hunting that doe. Daemon thought with a small smile as he continued on, following the tracks.

The tracks led him to the edge into a clearing, and he crouched low when he saw a pack of six wolves tearing into the corpse of a deer. Looks like the deer hadn't been able to outrun the wolves and the predators descended on their prey. Unfortunately, the wolves were now the target of a different predator.

QUietly, Daemon gripped the bow while taking an arrow out of the quiver, nocked it on the bowstring and aimed, his eyes narrowing as he aimed directly for the alpha wolf that stood on the corpse, watching his pack get their fill. That is... until an arrow struck him in the side, causing the wolf to yelp in pain and fall off the deer's corpse. The wolves startled at the surprise attack, but Daemon was quick as he nocked another arrow and fired, taking down a second wolf. The wind shifted slightly, and the wolves caught his scent.

"Shit." Daemon cursed as the remaining four wolves snarled and ran for his position. Sling his bow over his shoulder, Daemon unsheathed his sword, a smooth, silver, reflective blade. The sword had a black guard with a dragon head pommel at the top.(AN: For better description, think of Zar'roc from the Eragon movie but the blade is silver like any other sword, and the ruby is replaced by a dragon head)

The four wolves came right for him, one poucing with the intent to dig its teeth into his throat but the wolf was stabbed through the mouth and out the back of it's head, it's blood staining it's fur and the grass, as well as the blade before Daemon kicked the corpse off. Another wolf lunged, but Daemon backhanded it with agrunt then rolled as the third lunged. WHile rolling underneath it, Daemon quickly thrusted his blade into the wolf's stomach, causing it to yelp in pain before it died. Daemon lowered the body, then focused on the remaining two wolves as they circled him.

Then together, they lunged. But Daemon was ready.

As they came close, Daemon swung his sword and slashed one wolf, then spun his sword and slashed the second. Their bodies hit the ground soon after and Daemon sighed before he crouched down to clean the blood off his sword using the grass. Once that was done, he sheathed the weapon. He then proceeded to gather the six wolf bodies and sling them over his right shoulder, holding them there with one hand before he began making his way back the way he came.

It'll take him a while to reach Caravahall from here...