You may remember my old story, Rise of a Dragon, yes? Well, this is a new remake/reboot of that. See, Rise of a Dragon came too close to looking similar to Blood of a Dragon by DragonKnight - Beta 26, so I deleted it. While that story serves as inspiration, I don't want to make a copy and paste of it. I am trying to be better from my past habits.
Edited on 23/12/2024: I've decided to take out the idea of Daemon being a werewolf, since it's unlikely that'll be brought up much or involve a few scenes with a Werewolf Dragonborn. I do want to thank a friend who suggested that idea in the first place, but I think that would fit well with a standard Elder Scrolls fic, depending on if I do one again.
But I have an idea for that rather than going for Saphira's blood mixing with his.
Anyway, I do hope you all enjoy this reboot/remake.
Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim or the Inheritance Cycle.
There was nothing but the sound of crickets in the darkness of the night, the forest surrounding the small town of Falkreath was quiet tonight save for the scuttling of foxes who ran to their homes, birds taking off from one tree branch to go to a higher one. Animals scattered as they sensed the presence of a predator.
Creeping through the foliage was a pale-skinned, dark robed, red-eyed man who's lip curled to reveal two sharp fangs that identified him for what he is; a vampire.
The vampire, whose name was Mikael, was a wanted man with a bounty of 20,000 gold for the murder of twelve men, six women and five children. He wasn't the only one, as his mate was also wanted, although they had split off with a hunter who had come searching for them, but not just any hunter. Any human they could easily handle and drink the blood from.
The one who hunted them installed fear from his name alone, a man who had hunted vampires and was well known for being a member of the Dawnguard.
The vampire paused as he caught a scent, his nose wrinkling when it invaded his nostrils before he crouched down, spotting a patch of blood on the ground. He dipped his finger in and licked the blood, getting a taste before the sound of a twig snapping ahead made his eyes snap to a dark shape near a tree. Mikael grinned as he drew a dagger, slowly approaching.
"You're growing rusty in your skills…" Mikael hissed quietly, the thrill of the hunt making his blood boil with anticipation. "...Dragonborn. Soon, my mate and I shall feast on your flesh… and drink from your bones!"
He darted forward, ready to drive the dagger into his unsuspecting prey. However, he froze and stared with wide eyed upon seeing that what he thought was the one hunting him… was actually his mate, who was struck up on the tree with a thick tree branch through her stomach, her throat slashed open, her expression forever stuck in one of horrifying realization, the last expression she had made before her death.
"C-Carmilla?" Mikael whispered in horror, slowly, shakily, reaching out towards his beloved when a voice behind him stopped him cold.
"Don't worry… you'll be joining her soon."
Mikael hissed and whirled around with a cry. "Murderer-!" He choked as he found a tight grip around his throat, soon lifted off his feet as he looked upon his attacker and the killer of his mate.
A young white-skinned Nord in his mid twenties, around twenty five years old, with shoulder-length black hair that draped over his shoulders and back, cold, dark blue eyes that stared into the vampire's blood-red eyes with such coldness and lack of mercy that it made the vampire tremble with fear. The man was clad in dark armor that Mikael realized was that of a Nightingale.
There was a reason Mikael feared this man, not only because he was a skilled vampire hunter and had slain many vampires who preyed on the innocent, but because this man was the one who slayed Lord Harkon with the help of his treacherous daughter, Serena.
He went by many titles. Harbinger of the Companions, Listener of the Dark Brotherhood, Guild Master of the Thieves Guild, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold, the one who brought an end to the civil war between the Empire and the Stormcloaks, but there was one title that everyone feared and respected, one that identified what he truly was.
Dragonborn.
His name was Daemon… the Last Dragonborn.
Daemon's grip on the vampire was so tight that Mikael dropped the dagger in his hand, trying to pry the tight, strong grip from his throat. Daemon growled, almost like a dragon, as he glared at him. "I have been in your shadow for hours, but you sensed nothing!" He sighed and shook his head with disappointment. "Pathetic for a former member of Harkon's Court."
Despite knowing he was staring at death given physical form, Mikael glared with defiance. "You can go rot in Oblivion, dog! You, along with that treacherous whore, Seren-!"
The sound of a sword being unsheathed and impaling through flesh pierced the air, followed by Mikael's shocked, gurgled gasps as he looked down to see a blade buried in his chest, right where his heart was. He looked up into his killer's eyes as the blood spat from his mouth.
Daemon released the vampire's throat, his sword keeping the vampire pinned to the tree. He stared at the undead bloodsucker for a short moment, then grasped the sword, ripped it out and slashed the air.
A second later, Mikael's head fell to the ground, expression forever etched into one of horror.
Daemon sighed and flicked the blood off his sword and looked it over. It was made to be as strong as even the likes of Elven, Daedric and Ebony metals. The sword had a black guard with a dragon head pommel at the top. Along the blade were a series of words in the Dovahzul, the language of the dragons, the words being 'Dovah do Dinok' which means 'Dragon of Death'. It had been a blade he had forged not long before his final battle with Alduin, strong enough to damage a dragon's hide and go up against the strongest armours in the world. (AN: The design and appearance of the sword is similar to Dark Sister from House of the Dragon, just with the changes described above)
Upon pulling the sword halfway out, he stared at the smooth, silver, reflective blade, staring at his own reflection before he sheathed the sword.
Daemon sheathed his blade, bending down to pick up the head which he gave a dismissive look while walking over to the female vampire's corpse. Hunting them had been easy, seeing as they took up residence in a small hut just outside of Falkreath, preying on the townspeople. It got so bad the Jarl of Falkreach put up a twenty thousand bounty on their heads, and Daemon had learned of this thanks to Vilkas telling him when he returned from a job for the Companions.
The Dragonborn had been very busy since he slayed Harkon, and had made it his personal mission to kill those who were members of Harkon's Court, and thanks to Serena he knew their descriptions well. A shame his hunt was over because Mikael had been the last of Harkon's Court… until Daemon had gotten to him.
At least they won't trouble anyone any further. Daemon thought, taking out his sword again before he swung it and cut off the female vampire's head, which he collected and began walking back to Falkreath, which wouldn't take him very long.
If Daemon had to be honest, he was getting tired.
Tired of dealing with everyone's problems for them. Tired of them thinking he was to handle everything just because he was their 'hero' and saved the world from Alduin five years ago.
Don't get him wrong, he enjoyed the life he leads. He enjoyed the bounty hunting, killing bandits, vampires, werewolves, anything that has a price on it's head and getting paid for it in the end. But he wasn't content with just that, nor did he like how everyone was simply viewing him as some kind of tool to fix their issues and problems for them. Even if they paid him in the end for it, it was starting to become tiresome. Once, Daemon hadn't been bothered by t, but over the past five years that had started to change and he knew why.
Because of each Word Wall he finds, each Word of Power, each dragon soul that he absorbs, it was causing his dragon side to become much more stronger. His senses were greatly enhanced, but he could feel a change. It felt like he was becoming more complete.
It was safe to say that Daemon was more dragon than human at this point, he just didn't have a dragon form to change into. And he didn't even know if there was a Thu'um that allowed one to change into a dragon.
Something to talk with Paarthurnax, I guess. Daemon thought before sighing as his mind turned to a decision he had been thinking lately. Maybe...maybe it's time I seek adventure elsewhere in the world. There's nothing for me left to do in Skyrim. I've explored every dungeon, every ruin, every temple, every cave in Skyrim. And I'm fed up with everyone wanting me to do everything for them. They can't solve their own problems? No. I'm no puppet or some slave to do anyone's bidding. My body may be that of a man, but in blood and soul, I am a dragon. And a dragon is slave to no one.
With that in mind, Daemon made his way towards Falkreath, to finish his last bounty hunting job in Skyrim. And then, he would pay a visit to the Throat of the World. There was only two that he trusted to keep things in order while he was away.
"Drem Yol Lok, Dovahkiin." Paarthurnax rumbled a greeting as Daemon came to the Throat of the World. The elder, dulled grey-scaled dragon resting on his perch that was the Word Wall in which Daemon once learned the second word of 'Fire Breath' from when he first came here five years ago.
"It's good to see you too, Paarthurnax." Daemon said with a small smile then looked at a red dragon nearby. "You as well, Odahviing."
"Zu'u honah hi los maankir voth grotiin komaan. (I sense you are resolved with a heavy decision.)" Odahviing stated more than asked. He shuffled on his forelegs, his interest piqued. "What has been troubling you, old friend?"
Daemon sighed and crossed his arms over his chest as he looked out at the land below from the edge of the mountain. He stared at it. At the land he had saved five years ago from Alduin the World-Eater. It was strange to think it had happened fie years ago, when it felt like yesterday when he woke up in that cart on the way to Helgen and beheld Alduin for the first time when the firstborn of Akatosh destroyed the small town, inadvertently saving Daemon from the headsman's block.
"I've done everything... that there is for someone like me to do." Daemon said softly, his mind turning to the memories of his various adventures. "I'm the Harbinger of the Companions. I ended the civil war without killing Ulfric or Tullius and peace has reigned since. I'm the Listener of the Dark Brotherhood. The Master Thief and Guild Master of the Thieves Guild, the Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold. I've slayed various creatures and men with bounties on their ends, put many dragons in their place when they'd fall back into the old ways but I'd never kill them unless they gave me no other choice. I stopped the Vampire problem and killed Harkon. I killed Miraak the First Dragonborn. And no matter what I've done... the people still see me as their tool to fix and solve their issues for them."
Odahviing growled in disdain. "The mortals always see fit to think they can control something powerful. To give them ease and relief. They should remember that a dragon is slave to no one."
Daemon hummed in agreement. "It's beginning to weigh me down, my friends. I'm sick and tired of it. The dragon within me, once dormant but now awoken from all the Word Walls that I've found and learned more of the Dovahzul from, is not happy with it. Like I said, I've done everything that there is for me to do in Skyrim and now here I stand... with no idea what I must do next." He chuckled as he said these words.
Paarthurnax stared at his youngest student, well aware of a conflicting decision within him. And the old dragon knew him well enough to determine what he was thinking of doing. What he was resolved to do. "You are leaving." He stated.
Daemon turned and looked at him, giving a small nod. "I am. I'm not content here anymore. I can't go about the rest of my life, feeling like some tool or weapon fro the people of Skyrim to think they can call upon or summon like some mongrel pup. The dragon within doesn't accept it. And since I've been awakening it more and more, I'm more of a dragon than I am a man." He snorted. "It's ironic, considering my body is that of a man, but being Dragonborn makes my blood and soul that of a dragon's. I wager that if I could change into a dragon. I'd feel complete."
Paarthurnax hummed. "Ahstiid, mu kent bo nau wundaak wah nahkiv faan. (Sometimes, we must go on a journey to discover our calling.) But where will you go?"
Daemon shrugged. "I don't know. There is much out there to discover. Various lands far beyond what we know. All it takes is to find it."
"Very true, my son."
Daemon and the dragons turned just as there was a blinding, brilliant white light that appeared in the centre of the mountain peak. From it a figure appeared, in the form of a golden dragon who glowed so brightly it could rival the sun.
The Dragonborn and dragons knew at once who this was: Akatosh, the Chief Deity of the Nine Divines, father of Alduin, and creator of the dragon race.
In an instant, Daemon went to a knee and bowed his head, as Paarthurnax and Odahviing bowed as well in a sign of reverence and servitude.
Akatosh raised a foreleg. "Rise, my children."
Akatosh's voice was soft, yet commanding. A level of authority held within it. As fitting for the being that was the leader of the Divines, and the one who created the dragons.
"Hi zin mii voth hin nuvah, bormah. (You honor us with your presence, father.)" Paarthurnax rumbled in respect. "But why are you here, if I may ask?"
Akatosh nodded. "You may, Paarthurnax. And I will tell you." The golden dragon turned his head to regard Daemon. "Daemon. My champion. You have not squandered the gift I bestowed upon you by making you Dragonborn. You live up to your legend and the title of Dragonborn very well. I cannot say the same for some of those who have come before you. Especially Miraak." A sigh escaped the golden dragon at the mention of the First Dragonborn. Even now, that was something he wished he had stepped in to deal with a long time ago. "I am aware of your growing displeasure with the people of Skyrim. I can feel your dragon's discomfort with it. It is not satisfied nor happy with the premise of 'settling down' as I believe the mortals call it. Nor is your nor do I think it is time for you to give up your life of an adventurer. There is much for you to do... but not here in Skyrim."
Daemon tilted his head a little. "What do you mean?" He asked curiously, but with respect.
Akatosh rumbled as he looked out into the distance. Whatever he was thinking neither Daemon nor the two dragons knew. Nobody knew Akatosh more than Akatosh himself, or perhaps Mara the Goddess of Love and Akatosh's wife.
"It is not your fate to settle down in Skyrim." Akatosh began, looking at Daemon. "No, there is still much for you to do. But now, your fate does not lie here in Skyrim. It lies elsewhere. But you will have to find that for yourself. I know where your path from here goes, but to tell you is to ensure that it never happens which is why I shall keep silent on the matter. Your time in Skyrim has come to an end. You must leave Tamriel and venture far, find your next calling in life."
Daemon nodded. It was the thing eh had been thinking heavily about in his venture up to the mountain. He wasn't content being everyone's hero, their tool, their weapon, to fix their problems. Maybe once, but now when he thought about it, it displeased him. There was nothing left for him to do in Skyrim. And he didn't know about the rest of Tamriel.
"But, in order to go far across the seas... you will need wings." Akatosh said with a small smile growing on his muzzle. "Step forward, my son."
Daemon did so, confused on what the Dragon God of Time wanted. His answer came when Akatosh bowed his head to be at eye-level with him, then gently pressed his golden snout into Daemon's chest. The Dragonborn grunted as he felt something happening within as Akatosh took a single step back and watched patiently. As soon as it came, the feeling went away and Daemon panted.
"W-What was that?" He asked.
"I have granted you full awakening of your dragon side. You will now be able to transform into a dragon. To do so, you must focus on it and then the change will begin." Akatosh said. "You will now be able to take the skies as is your birthright. No other Dragonborn has been granted this gift from me. But you are more worthy of it than the ones before you."
"Thank you." Daemon said, grateful to the God of Time for this.
Akatosh simply inclined his head before his form glowed and he soon disappeared.
"You should prepare for the journey, Dovahkiin." Paarthurnax advised.
Daemon nodded and after an exchange of farewells with the two dragons who promised to make sure everything was kept in order in his absence, Daemon began his descent down the mountain. He could try and change into his dragon form, but he decided to wait until he could find somewhere to remove his clothing and do the transformation without worrying about ripping his current attire apart.
Right. Do I have everything? Extra clothing... water skins... coin purse... weapons? Got my Daedric dagger with me just in case along with my sword. I'm all set. Daemon thought as he was crouched to a knee in the woods far from Whiterun, having stopped by his home to gather what he felt he'd need with him on his journey. After that, he let those that were his allies be aware of his departure, placing Aela in charge of the Companions. He didn't know when he'll return, but it might not be for a while.
Satisfied with what he's brought, Daemon stood up and began to take his Nightingale outfit off his body, stripping until he was only in his pants. He hoped that, because of how tight they were on his skin, the transformation will gloss over them and leave them intact. He closed his eyes and concentrated.. and then the transformation began.
The first change was his skin. It quickly went from its usual pink to a black coloration. Next, scales appeared shortly after, and ran down his body from head to toe and (thankfully) over his pants. He felt his internal organs shift around and new layers of muscle flow over his limbs. He opened his eyes and watched as fingers and toes grew wicked claws and thickened into the talons of a dragon. Two lumps appeared on his back and he felt the skin stretch as his bones changed into the shoulder and wing bones. He thought they would break through the skin, but then realized he had started growing. His chest inflated and his torso lengthened out, along with his neck. His spine stretched down and his tail began to grow out of his backside. Spikes erupted down his backbone and around his face, as horns grew out above his rapidly shrinking ears. He fell onto all fours as his wings emerged fully from his back, and he felt his face begin to push outwards. His muzzle grew out and an itching sensation in his mouth alerted him to his teeth getting longer and sharper, and multiplying into his deadly fangs. He continued to grow and change. The last thing to change was his eyes; the pupils went from round dots to slits.
When the transformation was finished, a black dragon stood in place of a man. The dragon's scales were black as the night sky, with a dark grey underbelly and wing membrane. Four legs as a sign of higher status, given that the lesser dragons only had two hind legs and had to use their wings to crawl along compared to those of higher standing like Alduin, Paarthurnax and Odahviing, who had four legs. The neck was long and Daemon shuffled his body to get rid of any kinks in his muscles.
"This will take some getting used to." He said, his voice a bit deeper and featuring a rumble as he spoke. He spread his wings out and gave a couple of experimental flights to get the feel of them first, then moved his tail side to side until he felt comfortable with the movements. Once he was satisfied, he picked his backup up in a claw, holding it tightly,and then spread his wings out.
With a huge flap of his wings, he propelled himself into the air, but because he wasn't used to it his flight went out of balance and he descended back towards the ground again until he gave another flap of his wings to keep himself up.
"The other dragons make this look so easy." He growled in agitation as he flapped his wings while moving. He didn't know where the next path in his life was, but it was beyond Skyrim, beyond Tamriel.
It was the start of a new beginning...
And so concludes the first chapter of this new story. Let me know what you think in the reviews, and yes Daemon can speak out loud in dragon form and yes he can still use the Dovahzul.