Before we start I should probably note that Jaune is going to be called "Jan" in this fic. That's pronounced as "Yawn." Enjoy!

Of bloody course he got caught at the docks. Of bloody course that Fercon was completely wrong that they were unguarded. Serves Jan right for ever thinking to trust a damned Breton.

Jan White-Steel has spent what felt like hours to him doing nothing but adjusting himself in the chair that the guards forced him in while waiting for someone to walk into the interrogation room. Was it really outside of their skills to make a decent chair? This damned thing is tiny! Nothing meant for the proud young Stormcloak warrior, all five foot ten inches of him. Every time he tries moving his legs he bumps his knees against the table. He'll give these foreigners this though, they can forge some decent metal. Despite using all his strength, the Bone-Breaker couldn't break through the handcuffs.

With a sigh, Jan finally brings himself to reflect on everything that's happened to him the last few moons. Ulfric Stormcloak himself gave him orders to explore this new land before the Imperials or, Talos forbid, the Thalmor do. He remembers dining in the hall of the Palace of Kings when a soldier burst through the doors yelling something about a new continent outside of Tamriel. Supposedly across the sea north of Skyrim, there was an entire new world outside anyone's maps. The very idea caught everyone's attention immediately. Especially Jan's.

Ever since joining the fight for their land at just thirteen, the young man jumped at every opportunity to prove himself to the true High King of Skyrim. And this may be just it. Naturally there were those skeptical of such an idea. The loudest of these critics was Galmar, second in command of the Stormcloaks. He tried to convince Ulfric that such an idea was nothing but a joke. He claimed that dragons returning to Tamriel was more likely than an entire continent being missed by explorers. Jan could only scoff at the comment. If only he knew…

But thinking about the dragons of old turned the young nord's mood sour. Oh how he let his father down. Well, not his birth father. Not that he ever knew him in the first place. The Greybeards told him as a young boy how they found him at the steps of the monastery as a babe. His parents must have truly wanted nothing to do with him if they were willing to climb the seven thousand steps just to be rid of him. Damned cowards.

He could never overstate how grateful he will always be that the monks took him in. Supposedly they didn't know what to do with him in the first place. It wasn't until they took him to the one he calls his true father that they were told to raise the nord child. The monks were great men, truly. But they couldn't compare to who truly raised him.

The greatest dragon to ever live. Paarthunax, the teacher of the Voice.

If Jan ever told his fellow Nords that he was raised by not only the last remaining dragon of Skyrim, but the only one to rebel against his kin to save mankind, he could only assume he'd be declared a madman and kicked out of Windhelm without a second thought. Not that he could blame them. Even Jan could hardly believe it sometimes. And yet he was. And he could not be more thankful for it.

Whenever he wasn't being taught Tamrielic and other such necessities by Arngeir, he was taught the way of the Voice and meditation by Paarthunax. Jan could only assume he was one of the only people throughout Tamriel to be able to speak the common tongue as well as Dovahzul and Nordic. He remembers as a young boy his favorite parts of lessons with the dragon were the stories. Oh Talos the stories.

How he wishes he was there in the Dragon War. The honor it would be to fight alongside his father. To fight with the great heroes of Skyrim and defeat the awful Alduin. From what Paarthunax told of his brother, he was nothing like the one who raised him. How on Nirn could those two have ever fought together?

"Because I allowed my inborn nature to dominate me. It was Alduin's claim that he was on the same plane as the Gods, as our Bormah, when I learned I could not follow him any longer," Jan could remember answering the same question he asked as a young boy.

"Your inborn nature? What does that mean?" the child version of him pressed further with.

"It is our very nature as Dovah to lust for power. It is what we were created by our father Akatosh for. Dov wahlaan fah rel. It is only through sheer effort and meditation that I am able to suppress my desires."

"Do you ever feel tempted to give in?"

His father turned his scaled head to him to respond, "Every day. There has not been a sun nor moon that I feel the hunger to dominate. But I cannot. Remember well, little one, that to give into your temptations is much easier than you may first think. Paar los brit nunon nau luft."

If only Jan stood by the advice his father gave to him that day. It was because he gave into his temptations that he's tied to the world's most uncomfortable chair to ever be forged on this blasted realm. He remembers his thirteenth birthday far too well, as if it were just yesterday. Arngeir had told him that he had a present for him waiting at the Vilemyr Inn down in Ivarstead. It took the newly turned teen hours climbing down the steps safely, but he was justly rewarded for his efforts in the end. He got an axe. Not some woodcutter's axe. It was a war axe. A genuine Skyforge steel axe, forged personally for him by Eorlund Grey-Mane of the Companions. Commissioned by Arngeir of course. It was the same axe that was confiscated from Jan by the Valean dock guards. If he finds even a single scratch on Ysra's runes or patterns, every head of these foreigners will roll…

It was also on his birthday when he finally came across his destiny. Stormcloak soldiers, leaning against the bar, bragging to Wilhelm about their victories against the Imperials they came across along the way to the town. The tales of glory and battle captivated him like a moth to a light. Jan remembers how they answered his endless barrage of questions without any effort. How they taught him the crimes of the Empire, of their cowardice to bend knee to the Thalmor. How they were willing to cut away their heritage as Nords just to please their knife-eared masters. Even four years later the very image still forces a scowl to Jan's face to this day.

But they also told him the bravery of their leader Ulfric. They told him the heroics of the High King, taking the fight for Skyrim to the Empire and the Thalmor. All in the name of saving their home. To save Skyrim itself from the filthy claws of outsiders who don't belong.

They also told him that Jan could join them. He wouldn't be able to fight just yet, considering he was only thirteen and probably had little if any training in fighting at all. But he could learn to fight. He could train with his fellow kinsmen in the way of battle. He could be taught tactics and the art of war. He could be taught in the ways of the mighty Talos. He could be a hero of Skyrim.

How could he ever refuse such an offer?

He knew of course that neither the Greybeards or his father would ever allow him to join his kinsmen in their efforts. Even with him coming of age they always treated him like a child. As if he could never fend for himself long after they were gone. Jan is grateful to them and he always will be. But he is the one who controls his life. Not them.

He spent a day's worth packing anything he needed for the trip to Windhelm. Clothes, food he snuck from the kitchen, a lantern, anything he could carry that seemed important. After he had everything he needed, he wrote a letter to the Greybeards and Paarthunax. It would seem unreasonably rude to just up and leave on the ones who raised him since before he could even walk after all. A goodbye seemed the least Jan could do. That doesn't mean it was any easier to do so of course.

'To the Greybeards of High Hrothgar and my father Paarthunax,

If you are reading this letter, then it means I am gone. I have joined the fight for Skyrim with the Stormcloaks. I know that you think I am far too young to do such a thing. That is why I left in the night. It gives me no pleasure to do such a thing but please understand.

These Stormcloaks are my kinsmen. They are Nords, trying to claim back our homeland against any who want to take it and use it for themselves. I cannot stand idly by and allow myself to just sit back while others die for our home. I must help them in any way I can.

I know full well the risks. The possibility of me being imprisoned or even killed in battle. But I have to. And if I do in fact fall in battle, then I will simply travel to Sovngarde and be with the heroes of old. They will cheer in triumph to learn that Paarthunax still lives and even inspires young heroes to this day.

To the Greybeards, thank you for everything. You gave me a home. You gave me food. You taught me everything I may need to know for my life. I pray to Talos that you can find it in your hearts to forgive me for running off without your knowing. May the Nine keep you safe. Perhaps we may meet again.

To my father Paarthunax, I am sorry. I am sorry for betraying you. I am sorry for not following your words of wisdom to not give into temptation. Clearly I did not learn enough from you. But I have already made my decision. I have chosen my path and I must follow it.

Zu'u bo wah dezi Bormah. Bormahu kos naal hi.

Yours and forever,

Jan.'

With his affairs in order, the young Jan snuck off into the night. With only a lantern to light his path he made his way down back to Ivarstead. There he found the Stormcloaks he met at the inn ready for him with a cart. After days of snow and teachings of Talos they finally made it to the great city of Windhelm. The stronghold of the rebellion for a truly free Skyrim. The home of his king, Ulfric Stormcloak.

The first month of his training was rough. Despite being a Nord, Jan's only real interactions with anyone who wasn't a silent monk or an ancient dragon were the people of Ivarstead. And he couldn't exactly call all of them warriors. Not compared to the Stormcloaks of Windhelm at least. He still remembers the bitter feeling of not belonging with them. Some of them shared the feeling, like young Thorin. The red haired brat teased him once that Jan seemed more like a Breton than a Nord and should be cleaning the stables while the rest of them trained to fight.

Thorin now wears a scar over his lips that taught him to keep such words to himself in the future.

The feeling of being a stranger to his kin did not quench his passion to fight though. No. All it did was give him reason to give twice as much effort to the cause. If his fellow Unbloodeds trained for three hours that day, Jan trained for six. If they swung their axes until their arms turned sore, Jan would swing his until it felt like it was going to fall off. If they spent the day at forges until the heat was too much, Jan stayed until the hairs on his arms caught fire.

His efforts didn't go unnoticed after long. Eventually his fellow Nords warmed up to the young boy. He finally felt at home amongst them. A year later, when he was fourteen, Jarl Ulfric killed High King Torygg with the Voice in a duel and set ablaze the fire of war in Skyrim. At fifteen he was finally old enough to fight and die for his home, pledging his life and honor to Ulfric. At sixteen he became one of the youngest of the Stormcloaks to be named a Bone-Breaker after countless feats against the Empire, even at his young age. At seventeen he was ordered to sail across the North to this new land for the war effort, even if Sovngarde decided it was his time to join his forefathers.

After countless ages the door to the room finally opened. Walking in was a tall man with bright white hair, yet he did not seem to be that old. He walks with a cane in one hand and a cup of something in the other. Behind him was a blonde woman about the same age with quite possibly the most huge… tracts of land Jan has ever seen on a maiden. Their clothes shared almost nothing in common with any other cloths back in Skyrim, even on other outsiders.

"Good evening. My name is Ozpin, headmaster of Beacon Academy. Though I'm going to assume you've never heard of it, mister…" the man began with, pointing at Jan with his cup towards the end.

"White-Steel," Jan huffed out. "Jan White-Steel. And no, I have not heard of this 'academy' you speak of. If it's anything like the College of Winterhold though, I can tell you I have no interest in your offers, mage."

Ozpin was about to bring his cup to his lips but stopped abruptly at the end of his sentence. His eyes widened for a split second before turning back to the mask he put on earlier. Even the woman behind him who was standing near the door seemed to grow tense. A strange reaction. Perhaps something he could use against them.

"Mage? You say that word as if such a thing is commonplace wherever you're from, Mister White-Steel," Ozpin finally replies as he sits himself down at the chair across from Jan. "That is actually why I wish to speak with you. After getting a report that a young man who resembled nothing like anyone on Remnant tried to fight off every single guard at the docks of Vale after being caught on an equally alien boat, I must admit I became quite curious."

"Remnant? Vale? Is that what this world is called?"

Setting his cup down, Ozpin pushes his glasses to his face with a finger. He looks over to the other woman in the room. They seemed to be having a conversation inside their heads, assuming they had that ability of course. Mages, thought Jan to himself with a roll of his eyes. The man eventually turns his head back to him

"Your words interest me, Mister White-Steel. You act as if you've never so much as stepped foot on Remnant before today. Do you mean to tell me that is the case?"

"If 'Remnant' is what you call this land then no. I have not, mage," Jan spat out as he leaned his body towards the other man.

Once again, he becomes tense for a second before covering it with the same mask he wore when he walked in. Strange. It seems as if magic is not common in this land. Good, I don't have to put up with weaklings who can't pick up a sword it seems. With a cough in his hand, Ozpin brings Jan out of his thoughts.

"'Remnant' is what we call the world in these parts. The name I mentioned before, 'Vale,' refers to the nation we are currently in. Though now I can only assume that 'continent' is more accurate instead of 'world,' correct?"

Jan pauses for a moment. After a few seconds of deciding whether or not to trust this strange foreigner, he gives in.

"I hail from the nation of Skyrim, of the continent of Tamriel. I am a Bone-Breaker of the Stormcloak rebellion. One of us heard rumors of an entire world unknown to us just north of the sea. I was the one ordered to scout this world. Does that satisfy your curiosity?"

Silence overpowers the room. Jan does not stop staring at the man in front of him. Neither does Ozpin. Even the blonde maiden seems silent as she darts her eyes between the two. After what feels like an eternity, it is Ozpin who breaks the silence.

"I must admit," he sighs out, "that none of those names you gave me are remotely familiar to me."

"Then you have an idea of what I felt when you and that lass there walked in here," Jan chuckles out while throwing a wink her way.

"Her name is Glynda Goodwitch. But more importantly, you fascinate me, Mister White-Steel."

Jan jerks his head back to look at Ozpin. "How so?" he asks.

"I saw the footage of you fighting the docks. To put it simply, you have incredible talent as a fighter. You have skill that could rival some experienced huntsmen"

While he may not know exactly what a "huntsman" is, Jan can't help but preen a little at the compliment. Ozpin continues further, lacing the fingers of his hands together as he leans to the young man.

"I offer you a deal: I wish to know more about this nation you call Skyrim. Even more so of this Stormcloak rebellion. If your cause seems just then I will see if I can't send over fighters to aid your fellow soldiers. In exchange for this help, you will become a student at Beacon Academy. You will undergo classes and training under my watch. You will join a team of three others your age and fight alongside them in missions. You will also be briefed on all manners of technology, weapons, and anything else that may seem alien to you in this world. What do you say?"

After a long pause, Ozpin thinks he's going to be shut down. Instead he is met with the loudest and heartiest laughter he has ever heard in his life. It startles both him and Glynda. Pretty sure not even Port is this loud, Ozpin thinks to himself. Eventually the laughter dies down and Jan looks towards him.

"I accept. It gives me great pleasure to teach others the righteousness of our cause. I also must admit this offer of being a fighter intrigues me. Is there anything else you wish to know?" Jan says with a toothy grin on his face.

"There is actually. Tell me, Jan," Ozpin answers with a small smirk. "What is your favorite fairy tale?"

"I've always loved the one of the young boy asking the dragon how he can fly with such small wings!" Jan replies with the same grin on his face.

With that. Ozpin's smirk finally falls.

"I… do not know that one."

Translations for Dovahzul below

Bormah: Father/Creator

Dov wahlaan fah rel: Dragons were made to dominate

Paar los brit nunon nau luft: Desire is beautiful only on the outside (roughly)

Zu'u bo wah dezi Bormah: I fly to my destiny father.

Bormahu kos naal hi: Akatosh be with you.

If I screwed up the language a little feel free to yell at me in the reviews about it.