Chapter Text
Steam blasts out of pipes and the entire cave creeks and aches in disuse. Soul Gems of all types are scattered on the floor, the Dragonborn kicks them out of her way, officially pissed off at the Dwemer. She’d been lost in this system for roughly two days, hard to tell when there’s no fucking sunlight!
Perhaps Serana made the correct choice when she decided not to join me. I suppose this experience will make me more empathetic to her dislike of the underground, but it’s hard to compare this experience to the thousand-year nap she took.
The friendship between the Dragonborn and vampire princess was rather new but heavily tested and found true. What can one expect when you help kill your friend’s crazy father and subsequently become ruler of the vampires even after being cured? The actual leading and everyday duties being dealt with by Serana’s mother who finally decided the Soul Cairn wasn’t a good divorcee den.
The soul gems mostly surround a platform with a kind of machine in the middle. She approaches, a ward spell at the ready, a large black soul gem is embedded in the middle. With a quick look around, and no traps spotted, she does what she’s always done in these situations and said, ‘Fuck It’ and she touches the soul gem.
A blinding light bursts out immediately and quickly covers the room…
As the light fades, the Dragonborn feels the warmth of the sun again. She opens her eyes to a land very similar to Skyrim, but… something feels off. Maybe it’s the fauna, or the bugs, or the magic, or-
It’s the magic.
She frantically looks around trying to find the sauce of whatever is disturbing the magic flow. “Is this the doing of a mage? Or a Daedric Prince?! It’s not funny if the mortal doesn’t understand the torture, you know!” She says, nearly spinning as she scans for any sign of movement. The best method the Dragonborn has found when dealing with beings able to distort reality is to bullshit them. What do they know of actual men and mer?
No being moves or speaks, leaving her to take in the surroundings properly. It’s a small forested area enclosed by tall stone walls. One seems to be the side of a building, covered in moss and steam rising from pools of black water. She walks over and crouches down, putting her hand in the water.
Naturally occurring hot springs or artificial ones? Hard to tell. Perhaps natural as I can’t see any Dwemer pipes or soul gems around.
She stands, shaking the water off while trying to pinpoint her location. A face causes her to freeze. It’s carved into a large tree and it seems to be crying blood. She removes her helm, putting it away and begins to take a few hesitant steps towards the tree and gathers some of the material onto her finger- she puts it in her mouth. The Dragonborn grimaces at the taste, smacking her tongue around her mouth, trying to make the taste go away as warmth courses through her body.
Can be used for resist frost, that’s nice. Still nasty, but at least it’s tree sap and not blood.
Small rushed footsteps begin to approach as she equips Molag Bal’s mace and gets ready to fight. A small boy enters the area, sniffing and wiping his face as tears flood from his eyes. He looks up and lets out a shaky gasp as he sees the heavily armoured woman posed, ready for attack. The Dragonborn puts a hand up to try and silence the boy as she attaches the mace back to her hip. The boy snorts up some snot and wipes some that escaped his nose with his tunic’s arm. She tilts her head at him, he mirrors this action.
This feels familiar… like when I first met Paarthurnax… Honestly, similar to any of the times I met Dov. Maybe…
“Drem Yol Lok, Mal Sen.”
Peace Fire Sky, Little Boy
“W-What? I don’t… My apologies, I don’t understand what you’re saying.” The boy croaks out, his voice uncertain and wet from his crying.
Never mind, I was incorrect.
“No need, boy. I didn’t realise you spoke Nordic.” The Dragonborn sits and gestures for him to sit in front of her. He moves closer to her and does as instructed, a bit further away than she would have liked but at least he didn’t run away screaming.
“I don’t speak Nordic, I speak Common… my lady…” The Dragonborn lets out a surprised laugh but quickly recovers and puts on a neutral face. Her reaction both calms and confuses the boy.
“I am no lady, boy. You may call me Ysmir, it is the name I’ve chosen.”
“You may call me… Jon… the name chosen for me.” The boy hesitated in telling his name but at least the tears have stopped, his eyes and nose still red. Ysmir pulls out an apple and hands it to him. Jon accepts it and takes a bite, his eyes lighting up as its taste.
“Why were you crying, Jon?” She asks after he’s taken a few more bites, causing him to halt all movement. He looks up at her, eyes all big and beginning to water up again.
“I’m a Snow, a bastard.” He clutches the apple like a lifeline, seemingly waiting for a negative reaction. Ysmir hums absentmindedly and thinks back to her early days,
“I might be a bastard, too. Hard to tell as my parents are either dead or abandoned me.” Jon hands her back the partially eaten apple,
“Sorry… didn’t mean to bring up bad memories…”
Ysmir rolls the apple around her hands and holds it back out to him, “I don’t want this, you’ve already started eating it. And don’t worry your little head about it, I have no memories of my parents so there aren’t any bad ones to drudge back up.” Jon pushes the fruit towards her, silently shaking his head.
“Apple made me feel better so… it’ll make you feel better. I have no memories of my mother but I still feel sad about her. You don’t need to lie to me, I can keep a secret.” He places his hands in his lap and hangs his head, his face obscured by his thick brown hair.
“Sweet Boy, was that why you were crying?” Ysmir questions quietly, placing the apple in his hands. He shrugs, finally reclaiming the apple and taking another bite.
They sit cross-legged and silently watch each other. Jon’s thoughts focusing on the apple and the strange warrior woman that seems to have come right out of a legend. While Ysmir’s,
The connection is still there. Similar to the one I felt with Miraak, but weaker? It’s unheard of there being two dovahkiin being born so close in age. This boy seems to be younger than ten and I’m… oh, I’ve lost count. I must be younger than fifty and yet I’ve noticed no greying of my hair or wrinkles… a problem for future me, I suppose. This boy is like me, somehow. But everyone, even Alduin, agrees that I’m the last Dragonborn. Should the day come and Alduin returns, the world will just have to accept its end. Then why does this boy feel like… kin?
“You say, you’ve no memories of your mother, can I infer that is not the case for your Father?” Ysmir asks, breaking the quiet between them as they examine each other.
Jon nods his head once, easing up slightly, clearly more comfortable talking about his father than the mystery that is his mother, “My father is Lord Eddard Stark, you are in his Godswood.”
She glances around with a better understanding, “This doesn’t seem to be a religious place. None I’ve seen, at least.”
He takes a sharp breath in, “You don’t know the Old Gods?”
“All gods are old, which ones do you speak of?”
“We don’t know the names of the Old Gods, they’ve been forgotten. They are the gods of streams, forests and stones,” Jon points to the creepy crying tree,” That’s a weirwood, a Heart Tree, it’s how they watch us.”
Ysmir turns, disturbed, slowly to look at said tree. After a good few seconds of contemplating, anger takes over. She stands and rushes over to the face, pointing a finger at it, “You brought me here! Not smart sending me right to your place of worship, now I know who you are! Where have you sent me? What is it you want?! You are not the first gods to fuck with me! Tell me what I need to do to return home!” She pants and waits for an answer, but none comes.
There’s the sound of movement as Jon stands, “The Gods don’t speak like we do, they won’t respond how you want… Even if they’ve… kidnapped you?”
Ysmir pivots to stare at him, her anger cooled to a calm displeasure, a common emotion she experiences when dealing with Aedra and Daedra. She takes a few steady steps towards the boy and puts her hands on his shoulders, “I’ve seen a deity split part of themselves into a dog, is that what you are? Are you part of this? Is that why I feel this way… Perhaps Akatosh? Did the Divine split part of his power and make you?”
The boy shakes his head, his lip quivering, “I know no Akatosh. Ysmir, please believe me.” It’s moments like this where the Dragonborn forgets how intimidating she can be. She’s tall, wearing black, spiked Daedric armour. Even with no helmet on, her eyes can still unnerve or frighten people as they are gold and when using magic, they glow like a vampire’s.
Ysmir releases the boy and takes a step back, shame flooding her body, “My apologies, Jon Snow. I did not mean to frighten you. The children I’ve met have all heard of me and as such, don’t fear me. I see that is not the case for you.”
The boy clenches his fists, swallows down his cowardice and puts on his bravest face, “All in the past, Ysmir. You’re right, I don’t know you and Winterfell must be far from your home. I have nothing to do with your kidnapping, but I will do what I can to help you.”
The Dragonborn snorts and tussles his hair, “I appreciate that, lad. But worry not, I am a grown woman, I can find my way home without the help of children,” Ysmir looks to the entrance of the Godswood with furrowed brows, “I may require the help of your father, the lord, you said? That’s like a Jarl, is it not?”
“What’s a Jarl?” The eagerness and curiosity of the young finally begin to shine in the boy.
“A person in charge of a hold, passed from parent to eldest child, usually,” Ysmir explains, trying to not overwhelm him.
Jon pauses for a few seconds to think before responding, “That sounds like a lord, but lordship is passed from father to eldest son. Does that mean there are lady jarls? Are you a Jarl?”
“I am not. I am, however, a Thane of all nine holds of Skyrim,” she raises her chin and smirks arrogantly. Jon just tilts his head in confusion, Ysmir’s proud look falls, “A Thane is a person of great importance to a hold, given the title by the Jarl. Most of the time I got named Thane after I helped a bunch of people with their problems.”
“Skyrim?” He asks, eyes going all big and full of wonder in a way only a child can do, “Is that in Essos? Are you from Essos?”
“I have never heard of such a place, Skyrim is located in the continent of Tamriel. It seems I have been taken farther than I expected, the trip home will be quite strenuous. Perhaps Odahviing would be willing to help…” She gazes up at the sky, lost in her own thoughts.
“How would …Otahvee be able to help?”
“It’s Odahviing and he’s a dovah so he can… what’s the word?… I’ve forgotten the word in Nordic… Bo… Bo… What’s Bo in Nordic?”, Jon stares at the Dragonborn in complete and utter confusion,” Bo… in the sky. Birds Bo in the sky… Fly! It’s fly! Odahviing can fly me home.”
Fly… Fly…
Fly
Fly…
Fly
“Odahviing is a bird?” Now both the boy and Dragonborn stare at each other with perplexed expressions.
After a few seconds, Ysmir is able to answer, “No? He’s dovah, a dragon.”
“A DRAGON!?”