Archive of Our Own ^beta

He was running. Running.

Dimly, he knew it was just a dream. This was how it always went.

Sometimes it was wolves that chased him. Other times it was bandits, his lie come back to haunt him. Sometimes it was the Thalmor, as it had been in real life.

This time it was dragons. Or maybe it was one dragon with multiple heads. He sure wasn't looking for long.

He was dimly aware that it was just a dream, but that didn't stop the fright that came with it.

He was smaller. Younger. He couldn't move as fast. Or maybe he was slow because that's how it always was with nightmares.

He felt the breath on his neck.

"Run!" he heard his mother yell. "Go!"

He was being pulled along now. By a stranger in the dream. Aunt Sigrid in the real world.

She picked him up and tossed him easily over her shoulder. No! Not this again!

He tried to struggle. No no no! If she lifted him, he knew what he would see. Not again!

But this was a nightmare. A memory. And there was nothing that could be done to stop him from seeing it.

His mother, stabbed through the heart. Falling.

He tried to cry out "MAMA!" but a hand was pressed over his mouth.

"Hush!" hissed his Aunt. "Quiet!"

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. He couldn't see.

Someone or something was moving around. He could hear it.

His heart pounded in his ears. Tears ran down his face.

Mama...Mama...

Hadvar woke up in a bed. He wasn't at home.

He shot up and looked around. Around him, other men snored in bunks identical to his.

Right. He was in the Legion barracks. That's why he wasn't at home.

Any tossing and turning from his nightmare didn't seem to have disturbed anyone.

Good. That would have been embarrassing.

Hadvar wiped his wet face and laid back down.

He hated that nightmare.

The Thalmor tried to invade Winterhold, once.

Exactly once.

The Second Great War had just started, and news had barely reached Skyrim when Thalmor ships were spotted in the Sea of Ghosts.

"What are they even here for?" questioned J'zargo, his tail lashing. "What do we have that they want?"

"This isn't about Ancano, right?" asked Brelyna. "I don't think we ever really gave them a straight answer on that, did we?"

Onmund shook his head. His face was calm, but he was clutching the Staff of Magnus so hard his knuckles were white. "We do have a few magical artifacts here. Maybe that's what they're after. I don't suppose it matters."

"It doesn't," Minerva agreed vehemently. "We need to fight them."

Onmund nodded. "Master Tolfdir, can you make sure the students and citizens are down in the Midden?"

Tolfdir nodded. "We'll start rounding them up. But what are we going to do? Reinforcements for the guard could be weeks out!"

Onmund looked at Minerva. Minerva looked back at Onmund, a slow grin creeping across her face.

"I don't think that will be a problem.

The Thalmor, of course, sent an envoy before they actually attacked. It was someone Onmund didn't recognize, but the smug superiority on his face reminded Onmund too much of Ancano.

"So," sneered the Thalmor inquisitor, wearing the trademark black and gold robes. "You're the Archmage."

Onmund nodded. "That I am." He gripped the replica Staff of Magnus tightly. Maybe taking a weapon to a negotiation was dishonorable. But the Thalmor weren't exactly paragons of virtue,  and the weapon was fake anyways, so Onmund could be fine with it.

The Thalmor turned to the man standing next to Onmund. “And you’re one of these…jarls?” He said the word “jarl” like someone would say the word “thief” or “skeever”.

Jarl Kraldar nodded. “I am.”

The Thalmor snorted. “Not exactly high on candidates, were they?”

Onmund winced. He wasn’t sure why he was wincing; he should have expected this. “My name is Archmage Onmund Aurerum.”

“And I am Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold,” finished the jarl. “You have come to this hold with ships of war with the obvious intent to attack. I must ask you to leave.”

The Thalmor rolled his eyes and waved his hand dismissively. “We’ll be leaving this icy plane of Oblivion soon enough. Once we have secured the College and the contents for the Dominion.” He smirked at the two Nord men. “Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

Jarl Kralder sighed. “I assume the easy way is to surrender to you?”

“We will secure our target no matter what. It is only a matter of how long it will take.”

The two Nords looked at each other and nodded. “We’re going to go with the hard way, I think,” said Jarl Kraldar defiantly.

The Thalmor’s smirk widened into an evil grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He turned back toward the ships and waved a signal at them. “On my call!” he yelled in Aldmeris.

Jarl Kraldar looked at Onmund nervously. “Are you sure this will work?”

Onmund looked down at the staff in his hands and sighed. “Sort of. The first part, no. The second part?” He smiled. “Minerva will pull through.”

“Fire!” yelled the Thalmor.

Jets of green fire shot from the boats, heading towards the College.

Onmund held his breath. “Please work, please work…”

The fire exploded harmlessly against the barrier around the college.

Inside the college, J’zargo grinned as he held the Staff of Magnus. “What fun!” he crowed. “Onmund is lucky, getting to wield this all the time!”

“Keep concentrating, J’zargo!” yelled Brelyna.

“Minerva!” yelled Tolfdir. “You’re up!”

Minerva downed some honey and tea to loosen her throat and nodded. She ran for the stairs and started climbing to the top of the tower.

Outside, the Thalmor were staring at the barrier. “What trickery is this?” snapped the leader.

Onmund breathed a sigh of relief. “Our defense. Did you seriously think a magic school wouldn’t have some kind of defense for this situation?”

The Thalmor huffed. “I…you’re not supposed to…Nords can’t do magic!”

Onmund grinned. “Well, there aren’t only Nords here.” He looked behind him, to the top of one of the college’s towers. His grin widened when he saw a small figure moving around. “Not that it matters. Now, we can do this the easy way, or the hard way.”

The Thalmor’s face was as red as a ripe tomato. He turned back to the ships. “Don’t just stand there,” he yelled. “Keep firing!”

The jarl shrugged. “The hard way it is.”

STRUN BA QO!

Suddenly, the sky darkened. It was already cloudy but this was something more. The Thalmor looked up nervously.

Then the lightning came. Bright flashes of yellow and blue descended from the sky, striking each boat one by one. Some were split in half, others merely burned. But the terror was real for all on the boats.

“What is this?” yelled the Thalmor. “What is this?”

Some of the boats started pulling away, seemingly trying to outrun the lightning. “Cowards!” yelled the head Thalmor. “Get back here you-!”

Onmund smacked the Thalmor on the back of the head with his staff, leaving the groaning elf in the snow as one by one, the boats either left or were destroyed.

Soon, all was quiet save for the one Thalmor envoy still laying in the snow, dazed. Jarl Kraldar looked at Onmund. “Your wife is scary. Remind me never to get on her bad side.”

The Thalmor tried to invade Winterhold, once.

Exactly once.

"I'm not actually half Nord." That was what Heidi said when she was summoned to the Blue Palace after what had happened.

The court stared at her as she fidgeted. "So...you're fully High Elf?" asked Falk Firebeard. "Why would you hide that?"

"Er...no..." Heidi sighed. "I...let me explain. You guys know about the dragon war, right? About how the ancient Nords...or Atmorans back then, rebelled against the dragons and all?"

Elisif nodded. "Headmaster Viarmo has been filling us in. What about it?"

Heidi swallowed. "Well...the Dragon War wasn't the first rebellion against the dragons. It was just the...first successful one. There was another one before that, and it failed. It was led by my father."

There was silence. "...that's impossible," said Falk. "That would make you...thousands of years old, at least!"

Heidi shook her head. "I was young when it all happened, so I don't remember too much. But somewhere along the way, things went downhill. And my dad realized they might lose, and I would be in danger. The dragons' reign was brutal, you know?"

"So he...sealed me away. I'm still not sure how he did it. With a Shout, I think. But somehow I got sealed up in crystal...and that's where I stayed until Auntie Meta found me about twelve years ago."

"My father...was different. They said he was special. Important. That he could match the powers of the dragons. I mean, they only said that when nobody was listening but..."

Heidi shook her head. "I knew it was possible I could be the same way. Dragonborn, I mean. I just didn't know for sure until now." She shrugged. "So...now you know. I'm not half Nord. I'm half Atmoran."

He held the amulet aloft, its crimson jewel reflecting the light.

"All this trouble for something so small," he muttered. Something that could easily fit in the palm of his hand had led to so much death and destruction.

"Please, Marty..."

He turned around to face the woman behind him. Her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. "Don't do this, please. There has to be another way...I can-"

He shook his head and smiled at the woman. His friend, who had literally gone through Oblivion and back several times for him. "Everything's been converging on this moment. I've seen it so often...this was unavoidable, really. From the moment Kvatch was invaded and the amulet was taken, this was where things were going."

"But-! But it's not fair!" His friend began sobbing. "You shouldn't have to do this! You're one of the best people I've ever met! It's not fair!"

He hugged his friend tightly to his chest. "Please...let me do this. And...maybe we'll meet again." He smiled. "You're a resourceful woman. You'll find a way."

The woman clutched the front of his robes, but finally her grip loosened. She wiped her face. "This...you wait for me. Up there. Or I'll kill you." She gigged.

He smiled. "No worries. It's a promise."

He took a deep breath and looked at the amulet again. You can do this. Were those his own thoughts, or was the amulet speaking to him?

It didn't matter. He knew what he had to do. Lord Akatosh, he prayed. Please, let this work. Let Dagon be defeated.

He brought the amulet above his head, then threw it down onto the tile floor. He brought his foot down.

There was a blinding light.

Then power. Then pain. The light and magic and raw energy were tearing his body apart.

It hurt it hurt it hurt.

Then a voice, deep but soft. I'm sorry, it said. Mortal bodies were never meant to handle this sort of power. Not even those with a dragon soul.

He pried his eyes open. He felt himself moving, fighting. He saw a claw (his claw?) and a wing (his wing?) hit Menhures Dagon, sending him stumbling back.

Then a blast of magic. Dagon roared. And then he was gone.

He breathed a sigh of relief, and finally let his eyes close and felt himself drift away...

Luis opened his eyes. He was standing up. And not in his bed. Judging by the size of the room, he'd walked out into the central common area.

He sighed. "Not again..." he grumbled.

"Hey Ma...buddy!"

The voice made Luis jump. He turned to see a white-haired Nord woman sitting on the magicka pool in the center of the tower. She was smirking, one leg hanging jauntily over the side of the rim.

"Skilja," sighed Luis. "Sorry, I just-"

"Sleepwalking?" Skilja stood up. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. No worries. Some of my best friends are sleepwalkers!" She took his hand. "That's what happens when you don't eat enough cheese. Or was it too much cheese, I can never remember..."

Luis shook his head, tuning out his fellow student's ramblings.

She really did look familiar...

"Nightshade," said Meta, holding up the flower.

The blonde child in front of her smiled. "Nightshade," she repeats, grinning. "Koprannpeyt. Nightshade."

Meta nods. "Alright, I think that's enough for today, little one." They've been at this for about two hours now, working their way through common words. Boy, girl, human, elf, god, glass. Wood, ash, ocean, rock.

The girl was quick, writing down some of the words on parchment using a strange runic alphabet Meta had never seen before.

The child must have been trapped in that crystal for a long time. The Skaal seemed to believe so as well. "I told the miners not to go near the temple, but they were so intent on finding a new source of ebony..." That was what the Skaal shaman had said.

But instead of ebony, they'd found stalhrim. And inside the stahlrim was a girl. She looked ten but acted about six. Nobody knew what to make of her. The Skaal were wary of a curse from an ancient enemy. "Miraak" they called him.

When Meta had mentioned the name to the young girl, Heidi was the name she responded to, she had grinned. "Bormah?"

Meta had no idea what that meant. They hadn't gotten to that word yet, whatever it was.

Meta began working to open up shop. It had been almost a year since she'd arrived on Solstheim and become apprenticed to Milore Ienth, the local alchemist.

Back in Cyrodiil, alchemy had been mearly a hobby, something to distract herself from the questions of when she was going to produce an heir.

Well, "questions" were putting it mildly. But that wasn't worth thinking about now.

Meanwhile, Milore came in from the field, carrying bundles of ingredients. She looked to Meta and sighed. "We just got an order for more of that balm in Windhelm. We're going to need more ash hopper jelly."

Meta stifled a groan. She hated touching the jelly. It was slimy and gross and the bugs were way too huge...but it brought the money in, so she nodded. "I'll get on that."

That's when she remembered Heidi, who was looking with curiosity at the ingredients that had been brought in. She held up a trama root. "Root!" she said, grinned.

Milore nodded. "That's right! You've been making progress." She looked to Meta again. "You can probably take her with you. She's more then old enough, I reckon."

Meta sighed. "I'm a bit worried about the language barrier, still. But it would be good to get her off the farm, I suppose." Meta picked up a fur chest plate and pulled it over her dress. It was hot and barely padded, but it was better then nothing.

It was on their way to find the ash hoppers when Meta learned something new. There was a herd of netches roaming past as Meta and Heidi left town.

Heidi pointed at one of them. "Mother?" she asked. She'd learned that word when they'd been making pregnancy medicines.

Meta looked, then shook her head. "No, that's a boy," she said. "Not a girl, a boy. A father." It was too big to be a mother, a betty netch as they were called.

Heidi's brow furrowed, but then she nodded in understanding. "Niid monah..." She smiled. "Bormah! Father!"

Meta nodded. "Right. Father."

Then she felt the blood drain from her face.

Miraak.

Bormah.

Father.

The ancient enemy of the Skaal was Heidi's father.

Meta watched the blonde wave to the netches. They can never know, she decided. Heidi's just a kid. It's not her fault.

Heidi continued to wave, seemingly unaware of the implications of what she had just said.

J’zargo did not like prophecies.

One such prophecy had uprooted him from his home in Elsweyr after he was caught pawning a trinket. How was he to know that the book of spells he’d found once belonged to the King of Worms?

J’zargo reflected on this incident as the dragon roared again. “We have to defend the town!” Faralda yelled, running to help.

“Why?” questioned Arniel Gane. “They’d never do the same for us!”

While J’zargo privately admitted Gane had a point, he wasn’t going to say it aloud. Gane was a stuck up bastard, somewhat like someone else J’zargo had met in the past.

I’ve been expecting you. We have business, you and I.

So said the god who had let the Dunmer raid and enslave his people for centuries. J’zargo shook his head to clear his thoughts. Now was not the time to be angry at someone long gone. Now was the time for action and killing dragons.

If dragons could even be killed.

J’zargo fingered the ring around his neck as he grabbed some of his scrolls. Azurah, please protect my new friends.

J’zargo was not an incredibly spiritual Khajiit. But it was hard not to instinctively pray to a god you had met in person.

Well, most of the time anyways.

Spells were already flying by the time J’zargo reached the center of town. Well, considering the “town” was about twenty houses, most places counted as the center.

And the dragon was taking up most of those places, breathing frost at anything that moved.

J’zargo grinned. What beats frost? Fire. “Eat this Improved Firestorm, dragon!”

He unfurled the scroll and was immediately blasted backwards by the force of the explosion. He slammed into a post and slid to the ground, ears ringing.

J’zargo rubbed his head. As the ringing subsided, he heard yelling. “Leave us be, mages!” Ah, that was probably the Jarl.

“We’re trying to help!” yelled Brelyna. J’zargo wasn’t prepared to meet a Telvanni who was friendly, but here he was.

“Oh, sure! I bet you summoned this beast in the first place!”

“Must you blame us for everything?” snapped Tolfdir. “Just fight this thing!”

The dragon, meanwhile, had recovered from J’zargo’s scroll and had turned to find a new victim.

And who should be in the dragon’s sights but Onmund.

J’zargo hissed and stumbled to his feet. Onmund might be his rival, as all the students were, but J’zargo couldn’t help but feel a camaraderie with them. Both of them forced out of their homes by circumstance. While Onmund had left by choice, J’zargo couldn’t blame him, from what little Onmund had said about his home life.

Onmund charged up a lightning spell and shocked the dragon in the face. Strangely, it actually reeled back from that while ignoring the other spells and weapons being thrown at it.

Had Onmund gotten that strong with lightning? J’zargo would have to challenge him later…but not now!

J’zargo ran to give Onmund aid. Or see the dragon more closely. Both, he decided. Both is good.

But as J’zargo ran, the dragon’s head suddenly shot forward. And when it came back, Onmund was in its jaws.

“Onmund!” screamed Breylna.

The dragon hadn’t bitten down yet. It was having fun, wagging it’s head back and forth with Onmund gripped in its jaws.

But its fun ended quickly. Electricity zapped down its scales and wings. Squiting, J’zargo could see Onmund holding onto the inside of the dragon’s mouth.

The dragon has saliva…and lightning is more powerful in water! If Onmund’s lightning spell hurt it before…

The dragon let out a hellish screech as its jaw flapped open and shut. Onmund fell out, luckily landing on a roof. Onmund rolled down the roof and fell into the snow, laying still.

Meanwhile, the dragon was still spasaming and flapping its wings wildly. It let out one last screech, then fell over, crushing a larger house beneath its body. “The longhouse!” someone yelled.

The dragon was still. And it smelled faintly of burned rubber.

There was complete silence. Then J’zargo noticed Onmund still wasn’t moving.

J’zargo sprinted through the snow towards him, and out of the corner of his eye he saw Brelyna and Colette Maurice doing the same.

J’zargo got there first, though, and rolled Onmund over onto his back. Onmund groaned, and J’zargo breathed a sigh of relief. He was alive, at least.

But he was bleeding through his robes, and had a few burns on his face and hands. “Move, move!” yelled Collette, opening Onmund’s robes. “I need to see his wounds!”

The wounds were bad. Teeth wounds that were incredibly deep and bleeding profusely.

“Is he…?” squeaked Brelyna.

“Not yet,” said Colette, gritting her teeth. “By some miracle it didn’t anything vital but-“

“By the gods, get back!”

J’zargo looked to the screams, and his jaw dropped. The dragon was glowing. And burning. “What in Azurah’s name-!”

And then it happened. Ghostly energy shot out of the dragon’s body. The trail shot up, making an arc, and then came back down directly on top of Onmund.

The force of the incoming energy threw all three mages back. “What in the name of the Reclamations is happening?” yelled Brelyna.

The energy poured into Onmund, and the Nord mage’s back arched and his eyes flew open. His teeth gritted and he seemed to float slightly.

Then it stopped. The energy disappeared into Onmund. Onmund’s body went limp again.

Colette crawled back over to look. She gasped. “What…?”

J’zargo leaned over to look. The teeth marks were gone. Well, no, not quite gone. But the gouges they had made were. It was scarred over now, like it had been healed for weeks.

J’zargo looked back over at the dragon.

It was nothing but bone.

The whole rest of the day consisted of the townspeople whispering “Dragonborn” in awe. Even the Jarl didn’t complain as he followed the mages back across to bridge to put Onmund back in his room to rest. His breathing was regular now.

But J’zargo couldn’t bring himself to be jealous of the awe the townspeople now seemed to have for Onmund.

The dragons returning, Onmund being able to kill them…this seemed like something tied to a prophecy.

And J’zargo did not like prophecies.

It was early morning in Solitude, with a chill in the autumn air. The priest of Mara bathed a child in water and wrapped him in a wolf pelt as the crowd looked on.

Everyone important to Skyrim was there. Jarls from all over had come for the child’s Naming Day. Jarl Idgrod of Morthal, Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm, and the newly-crowned Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun were among them.

The priest handed the swaddled infant to High King Istlod. He was getting on in years, and his wife had died soon after the child’s birth. Many in the crowd wondered if the babe would even come of age before his father expired.

Istlod smiled as he received his son in his arms. He took a deep breath and held the baby up for all to see. “His name is Torygg!”

The crowd cheered. Torygg was a family name, used by Istlod’s father and his grandfather both.

The child squirmed a bit in his father’s arms, and Istlod hastily lowered the child before he could start fussing too much.

After the official naming was a celebration. The people in Skyrim hadn’t had much to celebrate since the Great War wrapped up and the ban on Talos worship was announced, so a little levity was welcome.

The young, newly named Torygg rested in an intricately carved cradle with depictions of wolves and hawks circling it.

Jarl Idgrod leaned over the child. “So small, and yet so much responsibility yet to come,” she murmured. “A shame about his mother…” She looked to Istlod. “Have you arraigned for a nanny yet? I can’t imagine you’ll do all the work yourself.”

The king nodded. “Sybelle Stentor has volunteered to take him under her wing.”

Ulfric, who was taking a swig of mead at the time, coughed and sputtered in shock. Istlod pounded him on the back. “I know you lot in Windhelm aren’t the biggest fans of mages, but Sybelle’s been a part of the court since my father took the throne. I trust her.”

Ulfric shook his head. “That’s quite a long time. How has she been around so long?”

Istlod shrugged. “Magic extends your life the more you use it. It makes sense a court mage would live a long time.”

As Istlod turned away to talk to other guests, Ulfric rolled his eyes. He walked over to the crib as well and leaned over. “You grow up to be strong like your father, you hear me, Torygg? Skyrim needs a strong leader. One that will fight for her.”

Torygg didn’t respond. He snoozed in his crib without a care in the world as the party went on.