Dovah Queen, Dragonborn Rising (Game of Thrones x Skyrim)

[Harper Potts]

Dovah Queen, Dragonborn Rising
Game of Thrones x Skyrim

​

Forward

So ever since the finale of Game of Thrones I've been writing more. I started with some alternate endings, but got the idea for a Daenerys insertion into Skyrim stuck into my head. This premise is simple, Daenerys is the Dovahkiin. How did she get to Skyrim? Read and find out. I will let you know that while there may be similar events as to the plotline in Skyrim, this is not a gamer story. I will be smoothing out the game elements and trying to present Skyrim as a real world. That means things like characters can freeze to death in brutal winters, it takes more than a few hours to walk between cities, and Daenerys won't master skills overnight. There are a ridiculous number of storylines and quests in Skyrim. I can safely say that Daenerys won't do them all. I'll be hitting some of my favorites, but diving into every dungeon would get boring and repetitive quickly. In particular be aware that the main questline won't come down like a ton of bricks.

Cross-posted from Spacebattles.
Kudos to YDdraigGoch94 for being a truly excellent Beta!

Now onto the story.

 

[Harper Potts]

Prologue
Sundas, the 17th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the 4th Era​

Once again Ralof studied the girl across from him. It wasn't like there was much else to do tied up in the back of this cart. Listen to the clip-clop of hoofbeats on cobblestone. Stare at the passing trees and wildlife. Exchange knowing glances with the true High King. Listen to the horsethief whine and complain. Study the girl.

She didn't belong with them. The braiding in her hair alone made that clear. Not that Nord girls didn't braid their hair, but her braids were far too fancy and intricate. She was the daughter of wealth. Perhaps a minor noble or a rich merchant's daughter fleeing an arranged marriage? Yet she was dressed in prisoner's sackcloth and covered from crown to feet in ashes. The soles of her feet were raw and bloody bad enough that her wounds would fester although it was doubtful she'd live long enough for that to happen.

The cart hit a washout and dropped at least a hand.

The girl startled awake. "Skoriot issi īlon?"

"I'm sorry lass. I don't speak that tongue"

"What language is that even?" asked the horsethief.

Ralof glanced at his king. Ulfric shrugged. "Nothing from around here." Ulfric was a learned man. If he didn't know, then what hope did they have?

"Tat yer tiholat Dothraki?" Doth thou wot Westerosi?" babbled the girl.

That sounded like two different languages from the lilt of them. One harsh and angry, one softer.

"What is that jibber gab?" asked the thief.

"How would I know? I'm just a soldier." He had no more idea where she was from than she had of what she'd been swept up in. She looked like a Nord with her pale blonde hair, but no daughter of Skyrim would shiver so much on a warm summer's morning. Plus, her violet eyes and delicate features spoke of mer blood. Maybe a Breton?

She sighed deeply, brought up her bound hands, and tapped her chest. "Daenerys."

He tapped his own chest. "Ralof." It wouldn't change anything, but it was better than thinking about what would happen at the end of the ride.

 

[Harper Potts]

Chapter 1
Morndas, the 22nd of Heart Fire, Year 201 of the 4th Era​

How had her life come to this? Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Uncrowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and now Tavern Wench of the Sleeping Giant Inn.

As far as inns went, it was far from the worst. The walls were solid wood and the thatch roof kept out the rain. The floors were clean, as she knew well from her constant sweeping. There were no rats or those hellspawn skeevers in the walls. No dogs were allowed. Sven, the town's aspiring bard, only knew five songs, but at least he sang those five well. The food was simple, but filling. No one mistook her for a whore. Some of the men had wandering hands, but only to her ass, and a firm no dissuaded most of them. She had slapped Embry, the town drunk, once when he hadn't backed off. Both Orgnar the Barkeep and Alvor the Smith had surged to their feet, marched him outside, and dunked him in the rain barrel. The folk of Riverwood were simple but earnest. Yet, she'd been meant for so much more.

She'd birthed dragons, set slaves free, ruled a city, led armies, fought and won wars… slaughtered tens if not hundreds of thousands of plain smallfolk like those who lived in this sleepy little village in her quest for power. The same smallfolk she swore to protect from tyrants. She deserved much worse. These people laughed and joked. They smiled at her broken Tamrielic and corrected her without malice. They were simple folk, like the ones she'd slaughtered. After weeks of being in Skyrim, she could no longer even fathom why she had destroyed King's Landing.

She remembered feeling trapped, cut-off, alone, and isolated. Gentle, innocent, Missandei had been slaughtered and urged vengeance with her dying breath. Her most trusted advisers turned from her. Varys tried to poison her. Even Jon had pushed her away. She had thought the burning of King's Landing was necessary, but why? Had she gone mad? Surely, there had been other ways. She could have married Jon and ruled as equals, or merely knocked down the Red Keep and left the smallfolk alone. Even if it had been the only way, the cost hadn't been worth it. She had become the wheel, instead of breaking it. Jon had betrayed her, but she could no longer blame him. She had betrayed herself first.

Now she lived with Hod and Gerdur and waited tables when Delphine was out of town, which was often. It wasn't a bad life. She didn't want to go back to being the obsessed mad queen that she'd become. But, she couldn't help but feel as though there was more to her life than cooking, serving, and fending off drunken advances.

Someone, some power, had interfered to bring her here to this foreign land. It couldn't be a coincidence that dragons were just now returning to this world called Tamriel. Strange dragons that spoke words of power, but they were still dragons. One had intervened to spare her, but for the life of her, Daenerys couldn't fathom why. She wasn't a queen or a player in the game of thrones any longer. She was a piece on a different board – a pawn that could be easily sacrificed. This land had a long and convoluted history, she could just grasp the reasons for the latest rebellion, but not the deeper currents. Someone had put her on the board, and it frightened her.

The door opened admitting a stern woman with strawberry blonde hair wearing leather armor, Delphine, the owner of the Sleeping Giant Inn and her employer. Although Delphine tried to hide it when she wore a dress, she had the walk and mien of someone dangerous. She obviously knew how to use a sword and how to fight. The mere fact that she dared the roads of Skyrim alone and survived proved she was far more than she tried to appear to be.

"Delphine, you're back," called Orgnar. The barkeep was as much a master of the obvious as Delphine was a mystery.

Delphine nodded. "I see you managed not to burn the place down while I was gone." She turned to Daenerys. "I'd like to wash the dust of the road off me. Fetch me a fresh bucket from the river."

"Right away." Even after a few weeks, it still grated on Daenerys to be sent off on menial tasks like this, but the woman was her employer. Gerdur claimed that three septims a day and tips was an excellent wage for a tavern wench. Nevertheless, it wasn't the way she wanted to spend the rest of her life. At first, she had just needed to learn the language, but she knew enough to get by now. Yet still, she lingered without real direction.

She approached the river cautiously, keeping a sharp eye out for mudcrabs. The small ones could cut off a toe with their claws. The large ones could take off a foot. There were no mudcrabs by the river today, so she drew a bucket of water, returned, and knocked on the door for admittance.

"Enter," called her employer.

She stepped inside, not letting the door swing too far open. She found her employer stark naked and waiting on her. She passed over the bucket. "Your water."

"Thanks."

Daenerys averted her eyes, not because Delphine's nudity bothered her any, but because it gave her an excuse to look around. Daenerys was certain that this room held a concealed entrance somewhere. As a waitress, one of her jobs was fetching wine and mead from the taproom and food from the larder. Both rooms were located in the basement. There were three rooms in the basement, which ran the length of the inn, but there was a section closed off by walls with no entrance. That closed-off section lay beneath this room. Perhaps it was just a hidden vault, which was an understandable precaution. But there was something about Delphine that reminded her of Varys; she was a woman of secrets within secrets. They were most likely minor secrets that didn't concern her, such as smuggling skoona, whatever that was. Regardless, secrets had power. After all, it was a secret that had pushed her down the road to ruin.

"Anything interesting happen while I was away?" The sounds of water splashing made it clear Delphine was washing.

"No, this is Riverwood. I don't think anything interesting has ever happened here." It was a sentiment most of the smallfolk shared.

Delphine chuckled. "You'd be surprised. I heard an interesting tale in Whiterun. Rumors are circulating about Helgen. Some talk about a blonde girl who walked through dragonfire unharmed."

Daenerys looked up, trying to read Delphine's face. How much did she know? "You already knew I escaped from Helgen. I'm sure I'm far from the only girl who did. Blondes are not exactly uncommon among Nords."

"True enough, but Helgen was an Imperial outpost. There aren't many blonde Imperials. You know, you still haven't said where exactly you are from." She said it casually as she washed, like she was simply curious.

"I prefer not to talk about it." That was the line she had used ever since she had enough words of their tongue to answer. She wasn't sure it would hold up this time.

Delphine caught her gaze. "Daenerys, were you the girl? The one whose clothes burned away and yet survived?"

Daenerys frowned. Delphine had probed her before, but never as bluntly as this. "If I was, it might simply be that I have a talent for fire magic." Which was possible in this world. Magic was more a trade in Tamriel than a mystery. "I certainly don't like these stories floating about. Ulfric was there and someone might investigate these rumors. Imperials aren't exactly known for gentle investigations."

Delphine barked a laugh. "No, they aren't. Perhaps the time has come for you to move on, Daenerys."

She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the approaching winter. She was very much afraid that Delphine was right.

 

[Harper Potts]

Chapter 2
Turdas, the 25th of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era​

There were many things about the village of Riverwood that puzzled Daenerys. One of which was the layout and defenses of the town itself. Stone walls served as gates to the village entrances. While not the most defensible placements, the elevated walkways did offer some cover for archers. However, the town wasn't completely walled in. Someone could easily just walk through the gaps in the walls, or swim across the river to enter the town. In fact, someone had done exactly that and robbed the Riverwood Trader. Thankfully, the thief had only stolen a particularly valuable golden claw instead of slitting the throats of Lucan Valerius and his sister Camilia before leaving with everything he could carry. That this burglar had only been a sneak thief didn't help her rest any easier at night. It was far too easy for anyone to just walk into town.

The town was called Riverwood for a reason. Turning trees into logs and planks was the main source of industry in the town. The lumber mill supported three papermakers, two carpenters, the wagoneers that delivered the lumber, and several lumberjacks who felled the trees and floated them down to the lumber mill. With all that lumber, how hard would it be to put up a wooden palisade and wall the town off completely? With Forsworn and bandits not to mention wolves and bears roaming the woods, wouldn't that make sense?

Of course, if Riverwood had a complete wall, then she wouldn't be able to slip away to her 'training ground' at the foot of the cliffs to the east of town. The rock-strewn niche beneath an overhang wasn't deep enough to be called a cave, but it was at least somewhat hidden. She didn't feel entirely safe out here on her own, but she was close enough that she hoped someone would hear her if she screamed. Although that wasn't certain on days like today when the lumber mill was in full operation. However, she didn't dare practice out in the open, and there was nothing here that could catch fire. All in all, it was as good a place to train as any, and she sorely needed practice.

In two days' time, she would be leaving with Delphine for Whiterun. Daenerys wasn't enthused about traveling with the mysterious woman as her protector, but with rumors circulating about her being at Helgen, it was clearly time to leave. Delphine seemed the best option. Oh, she could have hitched a ride with some of the wagoneers and left any time. However, they were rough men. She didn't feel at all safe alone with them. Maybe they wouldn't rape her, rob her, then strangle her, and leave her corpse lying somewhere in the wood to rot, but maybe they would. All things considered, she felt safer with Delphine despite the woman's secrets.

Not that she truly felt safe leaving. Even with Delphine to protect her, it would be dangerous. One of the other things that puzzled her about Skyrim was the wildness of it. On the way from Helgen to Riverwood, Ralof had warned her to be alert as they passed by the Embershard Mine because it was a known bandit hideout. It was half a day's walk from Riverwood! Why was that tolerated? Why didn't Jarl Balgruuf send troops out to clear it out? Gerdur said the jarl had a bounty out – that was obviously doing nothing. It was as if laws simply ceased to exist as soon as you stepped outside the walls of a settlement.

Bandits weren't even the worst of it. Apparently, entire fortresses were owned by Daedra worshipping Forsaken, and if you were caught by them it was a tossup if they would rape, kill, sacrifice, or eat you first. She might have been skeptical of tales of trolls, hagravens, vampires, and spriggans, but after being attacked by giant spiders and bitten by one the size of a dog while escaping Helgen, she was willing to believe that monsters and worse really were lurking in the wilderness. Not that mundane threats like bears, wolves, and bandits couldn't be just as deadly.

Thankfully, she wasn't entirely helpless. One of the few bright spots in this insane world was that she had magic of her own now. When the dragon had saved her at Helgen, she heard a word that reverberated within her body, perhaps even her very soul, a word that even now strained to be released.

"Yol," she uttered, after a deep breath. With the word came a burst of fire from her mouth.

Her exhalation of fire wasn't narrow and focused like true dragon fire. Instead, it fanned out in a wide arc in front of her. In a way the cone of flame was better than true dragonfire because her Shout covered an area in front of her. Faced with a single target up close, she was almost certain to hit them. Her flame also hit hard. Under Helgen she had knocked back armored men and left them dead or dying. Unfortunately, her fire breath barely went out two arm-lengths. Her range was pitiful when compared to the fire of a dragon.

As the fire left her, she felt an emptiness grow inside her. The emptiness was similar to feeling short of breath, but more like the dimming of her flame. Her magicka, Gerdur had called it. Until it refilled she simply couldn't breathe fire again.

She had learned that the proper term for casting magic with words was Shouting, and it was a very rare gift. Nords distrusted almost all magic. However, they viewed Shouting with almost religious awe. Ulfric could Shout, and that had a great deal to do with status among Nords. She wasn't eager to embrace the fame that would come if people knew she could Shout.

To the best of her knowledge, only three people alive knew she could Shout: Ralof, Gerdur, and Hod. She hoped to keep that secret for some time to come. She was far too weak to handle the fame and attention that being able to Shout would bring her. She had killed under Helgen, but she'd come far too close to dying several times. Against one foe, her Shout was deadly, but combat was chaotic. Multiple attackers could easily kill her. In truth, if not for Ralof and the miracle called healing potions, she would have died.

Fortunately, Shouting was no longer her only trick. She concentrated on the word Yol. It meant fire, but it was more than a word. Yol was primal. It resonated with the world and within her being. When she kept the word Yol in her head she touched the very concept of fire. She stretched out her hand and a jet of fire came forth searing the rock. She kept the fire going as long as she could, but her own fire, her magicka, ran out and the fire died.

She leaned against the cliff and breathed heavily. She was hoping that doing this repeatedly was growing her magicka. It worked with swinging a sword and muscles. She wasn't sure if her magicka was growing or not. If it was growing, it was slow, but men didn't build muscles overnight. Perhaps magic was the same. At least she was getting better at calling fire from her hands. Gerdur called it the Flames spell, and claimed it was one of the easiest spells. Apparently, quite a few people had enough magic to call flames, do some healing, or other simple spells. They were called hedge mages and were the lowest tier of magic users.

She still wasn't sure what that made her. She could only cast a single spell, but she could Shout. More than once she had thought about seeking out the College of Magic she heard was far to the north in the town of Winterhold. Was the similarity of name to Winterfell and the fact that both were located in the extreme north an omen? Or was it merely coincidence? Omen or not, she still couldn't read or write the local language.

Gerdur had taught her the Tamrielic alphabet, and she could at least sign her name. Unfortunately, knowing the alphabet didn't help her much in learning to read. The sounds of words didn't match their letters very well. There were all sorts of confusing rules where combinations of letters made different sounds than what a letter by itself should. She suspected that their drunken god, Sanguine, must have been responsible. The written language simply didn't make sense.

Gathering her magic she projected fire again. Her Flames spell might not be as deadly as her Shout, but even with Delphine's protection, she intended to be as prepared as she could be to face the roads of Skyrim. She'd seen mages shooting fire at the dragon at Helgen. While they had been foolish in the extreme to try to hurt a dragon with fire, she knew throwing fire was possible. She just couldn't work out how it was done. That wouldn't stop her from practicing and trying. She continued to cast her magic as the sun past its peak and began sinking down in the sky. It was well into late afternoon when she heard the jingle of metal and turned to find three armored men staring at her.

They were all three dressed the same: a scaled vest with chain sleeves, a quilted yellow cloth hung over it, and helms that hid their faces. Not being able to see their faces, made them quite intimidating to behold, especially with their swords out and shields ready.

"Mage, are you the one they call Daenerys of Helgen?"

Daenerys' thoughts raced. Obviously, they had seen her throwing fire. Their hostility might just be the usual Nord distrust of magic, but they had also been seeking her out and she didn't know why. It occurred to her that all three of them were standing right in front of her and if she Shouted Yol, she would probably kill all three of them before they could react. However, she felt too drained to Shout…

"Nobody around here calls me that. Sometimes they'll call me wench. Other times they just call for more mead." The words felt odd in her mouth, tinged by fear. This was a ploy Tyrion might have tried, stalling for time by talking. Yet, it was three large and armored men against her, and she was too drained to Shout yet. Talking was all she had. She doubted anyone had sent three armed men after her for a good reason.

"Do you think you're funny?" asked their leader. "I knew a man who thought he was funny. He didn't know when to stop talking. Sniel, you remember him, the pickpocket who tried to run? We caught him by the Gildergreen."

The one on the right, presumably Sniel, laughed. "I thought he was funny, after you broke his jaw. He made little whimpering sounds whenever he tried to eat."

Her magicka was slowly returning to her, but it was taking too long and guards weren't known for their patience. Worse, she was trapped with a literal cliff at her back. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. "My name is Daenerys." Mother of dragons and helpless before three men in armor with swords. "I've never gone by Daenerys of Helgen, but I was in Helgen when the dragon came."

Their leader nodded. "Then you're the girl we're seeking. By order of Jarl Balgruuf you are ordered to appear before him and give witness to what you saw at Helgen."

This wasn't good. Gerdur and Hod spoke well of Jarl Balgruuf and claimed he was a good jarl. However, she'd noticed that didn't stop the jarl from claiming all the profits from the lumber mill. Gerdur operated it for him and was headwoman for Riverwood. Yet she lived in a one room building like the other smallfolk in town. Plus, the jarl put out bounties on bandits instead of dispatching his troops. It smelled like poor governance to her, but she simply didn't know all the reasons. What she did know was that this wasn't a request.

She felt her magicka. She thought she finally had enough to Shout. This was her chance, but if she did, then she would be branded an outlaw and murderer. She doubted she'd survive a month in the wild even if they didn't track her down. "Then I will go with you to see Jarl Balgruuf. Do we leave immediately? Or do I have time to pack?"

"You can pack. It's too late to reach Whiterun tonight. We'll stay at the inn and leave at dawn."

"Thank you." At least it was Balgruuf's men instead of Imperials. She just had to hope that he really was a good Jarl like Gerdur and Hod claimed and she wouldn't be judged merely for being in Helgen when a dragon attacked.

 

[Harper Potts]

I know that Shouts are on a timer and don't cost magicka in Skyrim. That was just too much of a game mechanic to have two different magic systems one running on a timer and one on a magic pool. I simply folded Shouts into the magicka system. That will also make it easier describing combat from Daenerys' point of view throughout the story. I understand that some readers may be disappointed that I'm not following the Skyrim game mechanics, but I feel the need to simplify within a narrative. I am still trying to remain true to the lore of Elder Scrolls. Shouts are a deeper more primal magic and Daenerys was able to figure out Flames just in a few weeks because of her knowledge of Yol. I am not throwing the lore out, I'm just simplifying the mechanics.

In canon Gerdur makes a statement that she does not run Riverwood. While Riverwood isn't a city, it's still portrayed as an important settlement and should have more than a dozen or so inhabitants. A town of that size would have a leader. Rather than invent a NPC, I made it Gerdur. I also made it the jarl's lumber mill and Gerdur just runs it. She and Hod should be a lot better off financially if they owned a lumber mill. As I flesh out a more lore-based story, some minor changes like this may happen because I'm presenting things with a greater level of realism than in the game.

 

[Harper Potts]

Chapter 3
Fredas, the 26th of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era​

Daenerys slept restlessly. In her dreams she was being hunted by the dead through dimly lit stone corridors. She didn't fight alone. Her comrades were a mix of past and present: Jon, Tyrion, Brienne of Tarth, and Nords dressed in the armor of Whiterun. She fought with hand axe and Flames, but the dead kept coming. One reached out and grabbed her…

"Wake up lass." Gerdur shook her gently. "It's almost dawn. The jarl's men will want to leave soon."

"I'm awake!" She took a deep breath and shuddered. More calmly she repeated, "I'm awake."

Her nightmare had been unusually vivid and disturbing, but she had enough to worry about today without dwelling on dreams. Gerdur was right, she needed to get ready. She doubted the jarl's men would be patient. A glance around the room showed that Hod was already gone, so she reached for the fur armor she'd laid out last night.

In terms of defense, the fur armor she'd purchased from Alvor the smith wasn't even as good as the leathers that Delphine wore. That was fine. She'd bought it to protect her from the cold, not to protect her in battle. The Nords of Riverwood didn't seem at all bothered by the weather turning colder, but there was already frost on the ground more mornings than not. She wasn't venturing away from the comfort and safety of Riverwood without having warm clothing. Winter in Skyrim promised to be at least as cold as winter in the North had been. They could laugh, but winter could kill as surely as bandits and beasts.

"Come here and eat up," Gerdur called as she placed a bowl of porridge on the table. "You have a long day's walk ahead of you."

"Thank you, not just for breakfast today, but also for taking me in and helping me get back on my feet." She sat down on the table. Porridge was simple fare, but Gerdur had flavored it with nuts a drop of honey.

"Nonsense. You helped my brother escape Helgen. He may have the brains of an ox and the manners of a pig, but he's still my only brother." She brought out a package wrapped in cloth. "I packed you a meal for the road."

"Thank you, again." She knew there was no way to refuse the gift of food, and she needed to eat. Yet, the simple kindness of the smallfolk of Riverwood still pained her. It reminded her of King's Landing and how she had justified the deaths of so many as necessary.

"Don't thank me yet, I'm not done. Hod's already at work, but he carved you a walking staff. It will help you on your journey and is probably a better weapon for you than an axe. If you do get attacked on the road, it will help you keep your distance until the jarl's men can do the killing." Gerdur paused and rubbed some sleep from her eyes. Then she took a breath and continued. "One more thing, those furs of yours are too new, particularly the boots. They aren't broken in yet. Even if your feet are killing you, don't take them off until you have time to soak your feet. Your feet will swell up and you'll never get them back in your boots."

"Yes, Gerdur." Was this what being mothered felt like? She knew how to break in a pair of boots. "I won't take them off. Thank you again." There had been a time when she could have showered gold and gifts on Gerdur and Hod. Now all she had was her thanks, and it just didn't feel like enough.

.oOo.​

Jarl Balgruuf's guards were still as ill-tempered as they'd been the previous day. They barely spoke to her, but she did catch their names. The leader was called Halvard the Red. He led the way with Sniel at his side. The third guard, Jesper, followed behind - probably to make sure she didn't make a break for it. Despite her worries about bandits and worse along the roads, their journey was peaceful and even relaxing. Once, she was motioned into silence because they had heard something in the woods, but it turned out to be only an elk. Her feet were already sore and hurting before they broke for lunch at midday. She counted herself fortunate they'd stopped close enough to the river that she could soak her feet while they ate.

While she was comfortable in her furs, her guards were apparently hot in their armor. All three of them waded into the river, doffed their helmets, and poured water over themselves. It was the first time she'd seen their faces, and it made them a lot more human. Halvard had probably earned his cognomen of 'the Red' because of his hair although his red mane was shot through with silver. He reminded her a little of Jorah; an old warrior, experienced and tough as leather. Sniel's face was even more intimidating without the helmet. An angry scar disfigured his face running from his forehead to his right cheek and he was obviously blind in his right eye. He watched her distrustfully constantly with his one good eye.

Jesper turned out to be little more than a lad. His blond hair was long, but he was still trying to grow a full Nord beard. He surprised her by trying to strike up a conversation with her. "You must really hate the Imperials to come all the way to Skyrim to join the Stormcloaks."

She had never considered that Nords might think that of her. No one in Riverwood had accused her of being a Stormcloak. "I didn't come to Skyrim because I hate the Imperials." That had come later.

"Then why-"

Halvard interrupted him. "Stop trying to get friendly with the mage. I know you've been watching her ass all morning, but this isn't a tavern. The jarl wants to speak to her. Our job is to get her there, no more, no less."

"Yes, sir!" agreed Jesper promptly. He blushed and looked away.

That was the end of the conversation. She gave Jesper a shrug. If he had been trying to flirt with her, it had been poorly done. She certainly didn't find it surprising or embarrassing that he might have been staring at her ass. After coupling in front of the entire Khalasar and having her handmaidens compliment and critique her technique, it took a lot more than a ribald comment or a gaze to embarrass her. Her feet weren't happy to return to walking after their break, but she'd survived a walk through the Red Waste. She wouldn't complain about a mere journey of a day, even if the trail did wander up and down more than forward.

In the late afternoon, they met a party coming from the other direction. Three imperials led a man shackled and bound by a simple rope. He was dressed in a prisoner's garb of simple sackcloth. She kept her mouth shut and her eyes averted as the leader of the Imperials exchanged words with Halvard. She didn't want any of them to see the hate in her eyes. It had been Imperials like these that had found her when she first arrived in Skyrim, betrayed and confused at still being alive, lost and naked. They had dressed her in sackcloth, bound her, and forced her to walk barefoot for leagues until they put her on a cart and sent her off to die. She couldn't meet the eyes of the Stormcloak prisoner for a different reason. She couldn't help him. Even if she used Yol, she couldn't fight six soldiers. All she could do was to remain silent and watch as they led their prisoner away to be executed.

She spent much of the rest of her journey in thought. This civil war was really no business of hers. From what she could tell there was blame on both sides. The Imperials had no choice in signing the White Gold Concordat. The Nords were justly angry at not being allowed to worship Talos as they pleased. What didn't make sense was why the Empire wasn't treating the rebellion more seriously. Did they really believe it was possible to reach a peaceful resolution? Instead of a full-out war, both sides seemed to be more engaged in political maneuvers.

While she had good reasons to hate the Imperials, the rebellion was a problem for the Nords. She had no intention of joining the Stormcloaks. However, a part of her couldn't help but wonder what she might accomplish if she did join a side. She might just be able to swing the war one way or the other. It was a small and simple thing on Planetos, but it could change war on Tamriel forever. Soldiers in Tamriel fought on foot. Most wore light armor because they had to march on foot. A few wore heavy armor and trained to it, but not many. None on horseback. There were no knights or horse archers because saddles on Tamriel had no stirrups. She was far from an expert on war, but whether it was Westerosi knights or the Dothraki horde, horsemen routinely destroyed men on foot. Both sides seemed to be evenly matched. If she explained the impact of the stirrup on war, and one side was to train up cavalry in secret – they could be devasting on the battlefield.

Yet, weren't those dreams of her past life? Dreams of conquest? Here she was nobody. She would have to convince them to first entrust her with hundreds of men and horses. Second, to let her train them for months in secret. Only then might they be employed to make a difference on the battlefield, and even then only on the right kind of battlefield. Cavalry wasn't much use in forests, hills, or in sieges. The value of stirrups would be obvious as soon as it was demonstrated. So much so that whomever she would show would put them straight into service without the proper training required to make them truly effective. She wasn't even sure how much training would be needed. Despite her time with the Dothraki horde, she had no special knowledge of how to train men to fight on horseback. No, it was a foolish dream. The kind of foolishness that led her to burn King's Landing. No, she should focus on Shouting and magic, skills she had, and not dream of leading charging horsemen.

By the time the sun was setting Daenerys was leaning heavily on the walking staff that Hob had made. Her feet had long passed sore and were now numb, but she kept walking and didn't complain. Whiterun was supposedly a summer day's walk from Riverwood. Meaning that the journey could be achieved in a single day in summer but took two or more in winter. Even leaving before dawn, she was afraid they would still be walking far into the night. However, the sky was turning pink when the path opened up and a large vista spread out below.

At first, she took the land ahead to be a valley, but the broad plain was far too vast to be called a valley, even if mountains were visible far in the distance. The fortress city of Whiterun was very visible atop of what was either a very large hill or a small mountain. All around the city laid leagues of crops. What was being grown was hard to tell from the distance, but the growth was far too regular to be anything but tended fields. A few windmills were visible as well, turning in the breeze.

"Stop lollygagging, mage," sneered Halvard the Red. "We still have two leagues to go. You'll have time to gawk and rest when we get there."

"I'm walking." She forced herself to keep going. Maybe the jarl's men wouldn't whip her to keep her moving as the Imperials had done, but then maybe they would. She wondered if they would have been this rude if they hadn't caught her casting Flames. They simply didn't like her. Well, perhaps Jesper liked her, but she thought Halvard was probably correct that he was more interested in her body than anything else. Maybe it wasn't because of her magic. Maybe they hadn't liked her detouring a few paces to soak her boots when the road passed close to the White River. Maybe they distrusted anyone who wasn't a Nord on principle. Regardless of the reason, it reminded her very much of her reception at Winterfell.

As they approached the city, she was afforded a better view of the fields. The two primary crops were wheat and potatoes. There were other crops that she couldn't identify in the twilight. The fields varied greatly in size. Some seemed to be single-family holdings, others were much larger. They encountered no other traffic on the road proving most people had the sense to retire once the sun had set. Lights glowed through the windows of many of the cottages they passed along the way.

The road steepened as they approached the city. While the slope made her hike even worse, she had to appreciate the placement of the city as a military fortress. Any enemy would be hard-pressed to lay siege to Whiterun when the defenders could simply roll boulders down upon them. She was also puzzled by the streams they passed. A great deal of water was clearly flowing from Whiterun. That ran counter to her experience. Water formed pools, streams, and rivers in valleys. It didn't flow from hilltops. Whiterun must be built upon a huge spring, another powerful advantage in warfare. If they kept enough food in reserve, this city could probably withstand a siege for months at least.

Near the walls they passed some outlying buildings. They went through two outlying walls and one drawbridge before arriving at the main gates. Her escort exchanged a few words with the two guards stationed outside the gate and they were admitted to the city itself.

Whiterun was no King's Landing and far smaller than Meereen, but it was a proper city and not just a fortress like Winterfell. Without viewing it from above, she found it difficult to gauge the size of the city, but it surely had to be less than one hundred thousand. They entered what must have been the trade district, passing a smithy and shops set one next to the other. They stuck to the main road until they reached what was probably a bustling marketplace during the day. From there they turned north up some stairs. Freshwater ran in channels down either side of the stairs. The presence of running water right in the heart of the city probably had a great deal to do with the cleanliness of Whiterun. It lacked the stench of most large cities.

At the top of the stairs, they reached landmarks that she had heard of from Gildur and Hod: the Gildergreen tree and the upside-down boat that marked the Hall of the Companions.

The Companions seemed to occupy a strange niche in Nord society. Despite working for pay, they were honored as heroes. They certainly were not like the mercenaries she had known from Essos. They mostly killed monsters and bandits when paid enough, but were hired as individuals, not as military troops. You could also hire them to beat someone up with their fists – and this was an accepted way of settling disputes! Maybe it was because she was an outsider, but many Nord customs seemed to lack common sense.

As they continued their upward climb through the city, they passed what she would guess were manors, homes set apart with their own yards and clearly larger and better constructed than the others. Probably these were the homes of the nobles of the jarl's court and the wealthier merchants.

Finally, they reached the castle of Dragonsreach. It was a fortress within a fortress, like the Red Keep in King's Landing. Even if invaders breached the walls and took the city, they'd still have to fight to reclaim this fortress. They passed several guards and were challenged twice before they were finally admitted to Dragonsreach. Then they waited.

She wasn't surprised to have to wait. She knew that monarchs didn't just sit around all the time on their thrones holding audience. While she had tried to administer justice for all in Meereen, she knew that some had waited days to have their petitions heard. After a long time waiting, a guard brought the message that Jarl Balgruuf would see her in the morning. The guards had a short debate among themselves about what to do with her. They eventually decided that since she wasn't a prisoner, she must be a guest. They led her to the servant's wing where she was assigned a room and provided with water and food before being locked in for the night.

The first thing she did was remove her boots and wash her feet. She wasn't surprised to find them bloodied and blistered. It was an unpleasant reminder of her arrival in Skyrim. They were treating her more fairly than the Imperials had done, but even the Dothraki hadn't been this cruel to her. Of course, she had also been the bride of Khal Drogo. Now she was no one. She opened her pack and debated taking one of her two remaining healing potions. While she dreaded trying to walk tomorrow, they were simply too precious to waste on mere blisters. Instead, she ate the food and drank the wine they'd provided and fell asleep in the fur-covered cot. No one came to fetch her the next morning, so she ate what was left of the food Gurdur packed her, brushed and braided her hair, and waited.

It must have been mid-morning when a guard finally opened the door. "Follow me. The jarl will see you now."

"Very well." She wished she had better clothes to wear. Perhaps she should have bought something at the Riverwood Trader just to appear before the jarl. At least the wait had given her time to braid her hair properly. It wasn't as nice as her handmaidens would do for her, but she went to more effort than most Nord women bothered.

​

Jarl Balgruff slouched on a wooden throne atop a dais overlooking a large dining hall. Several logs blazed in a large stone firepit, far more than was needed to heat the room, but it did have a certain barbaric appeal. The jarl was a blonde man still in his prime with a warrior's build but draped in finery. She was a little offended by his indolent air. Whenever she had sat upon a throne, she had been very much aware of the solemn responsibilities of ruling. He seemed far too relaxed.

Two guards and two courtiers flanked him. One of the courtiers wore finery, yet had a two-handed sword strapped across his back. Although she still had trouble telling the peoples of this world apart, he had a shaven face and ruddy complexion that made her believe him an Imperial. The red-haired, dark-skinned woman with pointed ears and wearing leather armor was easier to place. She had never met one before, but she was clearly a Dunmer.

The Imperial announced her with the smooth polished tones of a courtier. "My lord, Daenerys of Helgen appearing as you requested."

A part of her bridled that her appearance was described as a 'request' when she had been accosted at sword point, forced to march to Whiterun, and then locked into a room. However, she pushed that down. She didn't rule here, this man could order her killed, and she had no idea what he wanted from her. So, she dipped her head and curtsied trying to act meek.

"Ah yes, the girl from Helgen, you were there when the dragon attacked?" Jarl Balgruuf spoke with an unhurried manner.

"I was." She would keep it short and volunteer nothing.

"It's said that you survived dragonfire. I would very much like to know how you did that."

"I'm simply a hedge mage with an affinity for fire magics, my lord." Calling herself a hedge mage was a bit of an exaggeration considering she knew one spell, and she wasn't about to Shout. However, there was a blazing fire just behind her. "If I might demonstrate with your fire?"

"Let's not go tossing around magicks in here, especially fire magicks," said the Dunmer soldier. She spoke and moved like a dangerous beast stalking its prey.

"Does this demonstration involve throwing fire?" asked the Imperial more politely.

"Not at all," assured Daenerys. "I'm simply going to plunge my hand in your fire."

The jarl shifted to lean on an arm and glanced at the Dunmer. "Irileth, I see no harm in this." His gaze returned to her and he waved in approval. "Carry on, lass."

She took off the fur mantle and her right glove. A gift from the gods that had allowed her to birth dragons and made her Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea reduced to a parlor trick. She thrust her hand into the fire and let the flames play about her. "I only know fire magic, but fire cannot harm me."

"By the gods," said Jarl Balgruuf clearly impressed.

"I've seen Nords swim across frozen lakes, shake themselves off and fight," dismissed Irileth. "And many Dunmer have a resistance to fire."

"Be that as it may," said the Imperial. "It's ultimately of little consequence. A personal immunity to flames rather than a spell or potion that can be used by many doesn't help us with our dragon problem."

Daenerys took that as her cue to remove her hand and step back from the flames.

The jarl nodded. "You are correct, Proventus. Although… lass, you named yourself a hedge mage. Can you wield fire as well as resist it?"

She didn't know where he was going with this, but as his men had already seen her casting Flames, there was no point in denying it. "I can."

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

"Of course, my lord." As if there was any possibility of saying no. When the jarl stood, she followed behind him.

"Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I'm not sure he ever sleeps." His tone was more jocular and less judgemental now that he wasn't sitting on his throne.

Farengar's lab proved to only be a short walk away. She saw an alchemy table and another similar table that must be for enchanting. The wizard's work area was cluttered with herbs and crystals, but a large map dominated his workspace.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill my new friend in with all the details."

She blinked at that description. When exactly had she become a friend?

Farengar wore a dark blue robe trimmed in yellow with the hood up. It shadowed his face enough that she couldn't tell his race. "So, the jarl thinks you can be of use to me? He must be referring to my research into the dragon problem. The jarl is putting together an expedition to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there." He paused to peer at her. "You don't look like the usual sword-toting brute and you carry a staff. Are you a mage?"

"I have a gift with fire, yes."

"Destruction, useful. You're trained properly at the College of Winterhold, I hope?"

She shook her head. "I would like to, but Tamrielic isn't my native tongue. I'm afraid I can't read the language."

"Oh, you're just a hedge mage then," he scoffed.

She wanted to defend herself, but to what end? She didn't want to talk herself into taking part in this 'expedition'. "Yes, just a hedge mage."

Jarl Balgruuf rejoined the conversation. "But with a gift for fire. Which would be damn useful against draugr. You wouldn't be going alone. I'm sending four of my men to Bleak Falls Barrow in the morning. You would have their protection, and your fire magic would aid them. I'd send Farengar, but he is needed here."

She hesitated. This sounded like another 'request' which was actually a demand. She remembered the nightmare she'd had of fighting the dead in the tunnels of a crypt. Her dreams often foretold the future, but were just as often nonsense, and rarely of any help.

"Succeed in this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt."

Farengar cleared his throat. "More specifically, half the loot goes to the jarl. The other half will be split equally amongst the five of you."

And still, this sounded like she couldn't say no. She'd seen enough of the dead to last a lifetime. She was not at all eager to face them again. "Can you also write to Winterhold and get the College to accept me without being able to read Tamrelic?"

Farengar nodded. "I could. They charge no tuition to study magic assuming you have enough talent for acceptance, but you will likely have to pay someone to tutor you in reading."

Was she really thinking of doing this? Four soldiers to accompany her and the alternative was going back to being a tavern wench. "I accept. I'll accompany the expedition to Bleak Falls Barrow."

"Good," said Jarl Balgruuf. "You'll leave in the morning."

 

[Harper Potts]

Once again I made some small tweaks to setting to reflect lore instead of game mechanics. Bethesda simplifies all settlements to only having space for critical NPCs and maybe a few extra for color. In a medieval city middle and lower class homes would not be individual dwellings as presented in Skyrim. They would have been built right next to each other sharing walls. I also dramatically increased the size of the city. Note that Daenerys admits to being an unreliable narrator when she guesses less than 100,000 based on a walk down a few streets at night.

Stirrups do exist on saddles in Skyrim. I felt the complete lack of any kind of cavalry in any of the Elder Scrolls games required explanation. I know there are people called knights, but they fight on foot. Historically on Earth the stirrup was developed surprisingly late for such a simple technological advance. I simply applied that same late development to Tamriel to partially explain the reason fighting consists of foot soldiers, bowmen and siege weapons. There are probably other factors involved in the lack of cavalry. Terrain, monsters and such making wild horses rare, etc. Not least of which is that Daenerys is drastically underestimating how long it takes to train someone to be a knight (or cavlaryman). It takes many years, and in that time you could instead be training a battlemage.

I did steal a lot of dialog from the game this chapter. Don't expect that to be a regular occurrence. I did feel it ironic that Jarl Balgruuf's comment about the Dragonborn's particular talents actually makes sense in my story. In game all the jarl knows is that the main character delivered a message. How does that make the MC a qualified dungeon diver?

 

[Harper Potts]

Chapter 4
Loredas, the 27th​ of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era​

Daenerys watched in dismay as Jarl Balgruuf left. Her feet were a mass of bloody blisters from her forced march, and now she would have to leave for Bleak Falls Barrow tomorrow. The same Bleak Falls Barrow which cast its shadow over Riverwood – right back where she had started from. Not like she had a choice. Jarl Balgruuf had volunteered her for this mission and she was in no position to tell him no. She had survived far worse and at least there was a prize to be won – not the promised loot. With half to Jarl Balgruuf and the rest split five ways, she would only receive one share in ten of the loot. No, the letter of introduction to the College of Winterhold was the real prize. She had no claim on a throne in this world, but she refused to remain a mere tavern wench. That letter would get her in the door. She would master this power inside her and make something of herself.

Her resolution firmed she faced Farengar. "If I am going to do this, I would like to know more details. I am sure there are many stones in Bleak Falls Barrow. How do I recognize this stone? And what does a stone have to do with dragons?"

Farengar nodded in approval. "Good, even if you're just a hedge mage, at least you've got one of the most important traits of a true mage – curiosity. You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons - where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"

This wizard certainly liked to listen to himself talk. "And that has to do with a stone, how?"

"Oh, I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow, a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. You just need to go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

Simplicity he said. As if Nord barrows weren't known to be haunted by the dead. He'd also avoided her question. "And knowing where dragons are buried will help you somehow?"

"Yes, while there haven't been any attacks on any major settlements yet, we believe more than one dragon has returned. I have a… source. She believes dragons aren't just returning to Tamriel, they're returning to life and the Dragonstone can help us prove that theory."

Maybe the Nords weren't wrong about mages. He seemed swept up in his quest for knowledge. Could this Dragonstone hurt or ward off dragons? It sounded like a lot of work for a theory. Most likely, he was holding back on how it would actually help.

"I see." Although she actually didn't. "On a more practical note, how big is this stone tablet? Is it something one man can lift easily? Or is it the size of a table? Should we bring a horse and cart to transport it back?"

"That…" Farengar raised a finger in the air and then paused. "…that is a good question. You should probably take a horse and cart with you just in case. One of the Jarl's housecarls is leading the expedition. Follow me and I will introduce you. You can ask her to arrange a cart."

Farengar made a gesture and his hand started glowing white, a trail of what looked like blue smoke extended out from his glowing hand. Unlike real smoke, it didn't dissipate. Instead, it extended out until it resembled a blue braided rope hovering in midair. He headed off in the direction the smoky rope lead, and then glanced back. "Well, come along. What are you waiting for? I have many more important things to do today."

Danerys hurried after him ignoring the pain from her blistered feet. "What are you doing?"

"Clairvoyance spell. Basic Illusion magic, very much worth learning even if you don't bother with any other magic from the School of Illusion." They'd reached the end of the blue smoke. Farengar merely gestured again and a new rope of blue smoke extended from his hand. "I can sell you a book that goes over the principles in detail."

Did Farengar already forget that she couldn't read Tamrielic? She bit off a snippy answer and followed after him. Servants hastily moved out of the way of the blue smoke trail. Guards muttered in disapproval.

"So, what does the spell do exactly?" asked Daenerys.

"Ah, now that is an interesting question. Most illusion spells work by affecting the minds of others, but with Clairvoyance you target your own mind and focus on a clear destination. The spell reacts to guide you to your desires – at least within certain hard to define limits. You see…"

Daenerys tried to keep up with Farengar's long-winded discussion without much success. While she felt she had a good grasp on basic Tamrielic, she only understood about half the words Farengar used in his 'explanation'. She got the gist. Clairvoyance guided the caster to a destination. Her understanding proved to be correct when Farengar opened a door and the path of blue smoke ended at a scowling woman standing over a paper-strewn table.

​

She wore the mixed leather and steel armor many Nords favored with a steel breastplate and other steel plates attached to her gauntlets and leggings – a compromise between mobility and protection with fur lining for warmth. Her dark brown hair was rough cut and unadorned save for a single braid to the left of her face. She had none of the war paint so popular among Nord warriors, but she was clearly a warrior. Not that female warriors were a rarity. The Nords of Skyrim had a long and honored tradition of warrior maids, even more than the Northerners of Westeros.

"Farengar," grumbled the woman in a tone like the warning growl of a disturbed bear. "We both serve the same jarl, but I will tell you this but once. Keep your magicks off me unless I've given you permission."

"It was nothing but a simple Clairvoyance spell…" Farengar sighed deeply in a put-upon manner. "…but as you wish. Jarl Balgruuf just recruited this hedge mage to go along with your expedition to Bleak Falls Barrow. Also, upon reflection, I am not certain as to the size of the tablet you are seeking. It might be heavier than can be easily carried. I suggest you procure a cart in case it proves to be bulky."

"That would have been nice to know before now." Her tone made it clear that she wasn't pleased with the news. "I'll make arrangements. Thank you, for your suggestion, Farengar."

"Good. I will be going then. I have important duties to attend to." He turned and left without another word.

Daenerys was amazed at Farengar's rudeness both in his departure and failing to introduce her. She put upon a polite smile and introduced herself. "I'm Daenerys, some of started calling me Daenerys of Helgen, but I prefer to be called just by my name."

"And I'm Lydia. Some call me Lydia the Housecarl, but like you I prefer to be called by my name as well. So, you're a hedge mage and you wish to come with us to Bleak Falls Barrow. Have you ever been inside a barrow before?" There was a challenge in her tone and her gaze.

Daenerys locked gazes with the housecarl as they took each other's measure. "No, but I've fought and killed the dead before. Have you?"

Lydia nodded grimly. "I have. Hopefully, this expedition will fare better than that one. I intend for this expedition to be better prepared. The cart is a good idea. Not just for the stone, but any loot we find. Now, tell me what else you bring to the table."

.oOo.​

While the entire city of Whiterun beckoned to be explored, Daenerys decided not to even explore Dragonreach. Her feet were still sore and blistered. She talked to the maids and they provided her with some ointment and footwraps. Not as good as a healing potion, but they helped. Even better, they gave her enough for several days. She resolved herself to spend the day resting and confined herself to her assigned room. To combat her boredom, she slogged her way through the books for children that Gerdur had gifted her. Trying to master reading in Tamrielic was a frustrating way to pass the time.

A knock on her door came as welcome distraction. "Yes? You may enter."

Jesper stood in her doorway. He still wore his Whiterun guard's armor, but he held his helmet in the crook of his left arm so that his face was visible. "So, I heard you're coming to Bleak Falls Barrow with us tomorrow."

Us? "I'm going with Jarl Balgruuf's expedition tomorrow. By us do you mean you've joined the expedition as well?"

"Well yes, Halvard, uncle Sniel, and I were all born in Riverwood. We usually get assigned when the Jarl wants to send someone that way since we know the lay of the land."

"I see." She wasn't sure if this was good news or not. Those three soldiers were at least known quantities. Jesper's visit felt like infatuation than anything, but that was better than the open distrust of Halvard and Sniel. She forced a laugh she didn't feel. "Well, it's a shame we didn't know our destination yesterday. We could have stopped at Bleak Falls Barrow first and then gone to Whiterun."

Jesper laughed far too much at her weak attempt at humor. "You've obviously never been a soldier. March here, march back. March there, march back. Marching back and forth is most of the job." He paused for a bit. "So… Halvard was right about a march not being a tavern, but we're not on a march now. Would you like me to buy you a drink at the Bannered Mare later? I'm free once the sun goes down."

"I think not." She was half-tempted to take him up on the offer out of sheer boredom. However, there was something about his offer that was uncomfortable. Jesper might be a soldier and was probably about her years, but he just felt much too young for her and below her… but a soldier in service to the Jarl was admittedly of higher station than a tavern wench or a hedge mage. She shook her head and gestured down at her feet. "My boots were brand new and not broken in yet. My feet are still suffering from the journey here. Tomorrow we walk back and the next day I will have to fight. Better for me to stay in and rest."

Jesper frowned. "You should have told us that your boots were new. We would have taken it easier on you."

"I have a hard time believing that." Halvard had made his displeasure at her pace clear more than once.

"Well, maybe you're right, but we should have taken it into account. At the very least you should ride in the cart tomorrow. As you said, you will have to fight the following day."

"I might some, but I think your uncle and Halvard already distrust me enough for being a mage. I won't have them thinking I'm a milk drinker as well."

Jesper laughed again and this time it didn't sound at all forced. "You are a mystery, Daenerys of Helgen, but I doubt anyone has ever thought you were a milk drinker. I'm still on duty. I'll leave you to your rest now."

.oOo.​

The return journey to Riverwood was less eventful than the trip from Riverwood to Whiterun had been. She had started the journey walking. However, by midmorning Lydia had noticed her limping and forced her to ride in the cart. Halvard and Sniel still didn't like her, but they were a lot less scornful. They even teased Jesper about bringing up the rear because it had a better view. They only eventful thing on the journey was having to pass a cart burdened with lumber bound for Whiterun. The cart bearing the lumber had to back up quite a distance before they could pass.

Daenerys spent the night in Riverwood with Gerdur and Hod. They were both pleased she'd joined the jarl's service and she had to explain it was only for this one expedition. Neither of them was happy to hear that she was bound for Bleak Falls Barrow. Gerdur scolded her like a child for the condition of her feet and forced a healing draught upon her.

Other than a baying of wolves in the distance, their journey to Bleak Falls Barrow was unremarkable until they passed the tree line. As they approached a crumbling tower an arrow suddenly struck the wagon.

"Bandits!" yelled Lydia. "Charge!" She immediately took off running with Halvard, Sniel, and Jesper charging after her.

Daenerys jumped down off the cart placing it between herself and the tower, but there was nothing close except snow and boulders. Their horse was bucking and rearing, clearly upset by the sudden screaming and yelling. She didn't think it would be wise to run off and leave the horse untethered. Moving as fast as she could she removed the blocks from the rear of the cart and placed them at the wheels. That would probably keep the horse from wandering off. That done she hurried to the tower only to find all the bandits dead.

"What took you so long, mage?" asked Halvard with menace in his voice.

"You left me with the horse. I blocked the wheels before I followed. Horses have a tendency to run away when scared. Should I simply have abandoned the cart?"

"Peace, Halvard." Lydia's voice was loud and firm. "She has the right of it. Someone should have stayed with the cart. In fact, Daenerys, go back and fetch it now while we loot the tower."

"Yes, Housecarl." She fumed on the way back to the cart. She'd thought she had earned a little bit of respect, but either she had been mistaken or it had vanished in an instant. She had done the smart thing. She had considered the bigger picture instead of charging into the 'glorious' battle.

"Bleak Falls Barrow is just up ahead," said Lydia stating the obvious. "We leave the cart here until we're sure there are no more bandits in the ruins."

"Yes, Housecarl," everyone agreed.

Only the possibility of bandits kept the lid on the simmering pot of tension as they made their way up the windswept path to Bleak Falls Barrow. They all moved with quiet alertness, all too aware that the ruins of the barrow might hold a handful of bandits, an army, or nothing but the dead. The weather conspired against them as the wind picked up. The icy breeze swept up flurries of snow, limiting how far they could see. They were almost to the stairs when a movement up ahead brought them all to a halt.

"I see one bandit," said Sniel hushed and low. "He's armed with a bow strapped over his back. Doubt he's heard us yet.

Daenerys couldn't help thinking that it would help if they had archers of their own, or if she knew how to cast a bolt of fire. As things stood, she would have to be in sword range to hurt anyone.

"We're going to use Bait and Anvil. Daenerys, you will be the bait. I want you to back up until you can just barely make out the stairs through the flurries. Keep a count as you go. When you get to 500, let out a long burst of Flames and then hide. They won't see you through the snow, but they'll see the fire and they'll surely come out to investigate. Halvard and Sniel, I want you hiding to the left of the stairs. Jesper and I will hide on the right. When they come out to investigate, we hit them from both sides. No war cries until they spot us, then scream your heads off. Does everyone understand the plan?"

Daenerys thought it over. She was no tactician, but it sounded a lot better than charge. She had never heard it called Bait and Anvil, but getting an enemy to overextend was a solid tactic. "Just one question. Do I stay out after blasting Flames?"

"Count to 1000. If you don't hear battle cries, give another long blast of Flames after that. Count to 1000 again and then come in. Got it?"

"Yes."

"Then everyone get into position."

Daenerys took off alone heading along the slope of the mountain away from Bleak Falls Barrow counting in her head as she went. She ran out of space on the mountain before she got far enough away that she couldn't make out the stairs. Fortunately, she also found boulder big enough to hide behind, which was good enough for her. She kept counting and when she reached 500 she let loose with a long blast of Flames and then started counting again. She had just counted 113 when she heard battle cries and started running to the battle.

The wind and snow cut down on visibility even in daylight, but from what she could tell at least one of the soldiers of Whiterun was down with an arrow. The other three were still fighting, but they were outnumbered by the bandits. She sprinted as fast as she could, her breath coming fast. She slipped once on a patch of ice, but managed to avoid falling. She spotted an archer aiming into the melee trying to get a clean shot. He apparently hadn't seen her, nor was he looking in her direction. She kept sprinting praying that he didn't hear her. He did spot her, but it was too late, she was already on top of him. She stretched out a hand and cast Flames.

Fire roared from her hands. The archer screamed as he and his bow caught fire. He threw down his bow and reached for a sword, dropped it, then tried to run, but he fell down, a smoking corpse that burned upon the white snowy ground.

She scanned about to find the battle had turned in their favor. Only two bandits remained. Lydia and one of the guards were trading blows and the bandit was clearly outmatched. A bandit and one of her comrades fought a more balanced fight. She approached that fight and when an opportunity presented itself cast Flames at the bandit.

The bandit screamed and flinched. It was all the opening the Whiterun guard needed. He ran the bandit through. After that, it was over.

The guard she'd helped took off his helmet, revealing himself to be Halvard. "Not bad for a mage."

Daenerys nodded, still winded from sprinting. "Not bad. Yourself."

Jesper had been the one who had fallen before she arrived, but he hadn't bled to death and two healing potions got him back on his feet. He was even joking about it. "At least they just shot me in the chest. It could have been an arrow to the knee."

Everyone else laughed at that like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. She wasn't sure if she was just missing the context, or if all Nords were just a little crazy. Probably both, but oddly she found herself laughing along.

 

[Harper Potts]

Chapter 5
Tirdas, the 30th​ of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era

​

Daenerys had expected Bleak Falls Barrow to be like the catacombs under Whiterun, tight narrow alcove riddled corridors filled with the dead. She had also expected the dead to attack as soon as they entered the barrow. Instead, the barrow felt more like a large cave. It was a man-made structure, but the first chamber had partially collapsed resulting in an irregular natural shape. The barrow did smell of death – recent death. Two dead bandits and a dozen skeever corpses littered the floor. She held her magicka ready as they searched the room. It looked like the bandits had cleaned out the skeever nest, but with skeevers it was hard to be sure. Skeevers, like their lesser cousins rats and mice, could squeeze themselves through openings smaller than they were.

"We will camp here tonight and explore further in the morning," declared Lydia. "Hjvatar and Sniel, go back to the tower where we left the horse. Bring the horse and cart back to the foot of the stairs. Leave the cart there, then coax the horse up the stairs. It will be safer in here with us than outside in that storm. Jesper, stack all the bodies up outside. You can put the bandits in the same pile as the skeevers. Daenerys, come with me. We're going to walk every inch of these walls, and I want you to send a blast of fire into every corner. If there are any more skeevers, we will flush them out."

"Yes ma'am." She had no problem with Lydia's precautions. She hated skeevers. They were sneaky, vicious, and surprisingly brave. Hardly a week went by in Riverwood when dogs hadn't sniffed some out within the village boundaries. However, her blasts of fire in the corners revealed no hidden skeevers or their tunnels. There were only two exits: the main door and a large passageway wide enough for two to walk abreast sloping down into the bowels of the barrow.

Despite having only one shift of guard duty, Daenerys didn't feel well-rested the next day. The hard stone floor, the fight with the bandits, the threat of skeevers, and the promise of facing the dead in the morning combined to make her sleep troubled and restless. From what she could tell her companions shared her apprehension as there was little talking.

The tunnel leading into the barrow ended after a short descent with a strange room. Their way forward was blocked by a portcullis. Three rotating pillars stood to one side carved with various figures.

"What is this place?"

"Puzzle room," said Halvard.

"We have to line up the rotating pillars with the carvings on the wall in order to unlock the portcullis."

"What?" Daenerys looked around confused. The answers to the puzzle was literally carved in stone on the walls. "What's the point of a puzzle lock if you're going to give away the answer?"

"You're missing the point," explained Lydia. "Puzzle rooms and puzzle doors aren't meant to keep out the living. They're mean to keep in the dead. Draugr have a vicious cunning about them and hate for the living, but they lack the smarts to solve even simple puzzles."

"Ah, that makes some sense then." If you wanted the dead to come to life, but not get out. "And, the draugr were bound here by the Dragon Priests back when the Nords served the dragons?"

All four Nords looked uneasy. Surprisingly, it was Sniel who answered. "So the old songs and stories say."

She decided not to press for answers, sensing this was a sore subject. Still, she wondered what dragons returning meant for the draugr. Were the dragons the equivalent of the Night King? She hadn't heard any tales of draugr leaving their crypts and stalking the countryside. There were stories of monsters, but the creatures mentioned were trolls, vampires and Falmer.

The puzzle room proved to be as easy to open as they'd said, and they continued their way deeper into the barrow. Footprints in dust showed something humanoid had walked the corridors recently. They were all on edge and ready for a fight. As they continued their way deeper into the barrow the cobwebs increased in number until the walls were coated in webbing. She didn't need to be told what this meant. She had seen this before under Helgen and knew what it meant – frostbite spiders. The damn things were creepy as hell. She'd been bitten and the bite felt like icy water sinking into her veins.

"Daenerys, take the lead. Sear the webs with flame. Flush the spiders out."

"Right." She wasn't eager to take point, but it was just commonsense that fire would be more useful against webbing than swords and axes. She had faced worse than spiders. She led the way using Flames in short bursts so as not to drain her magicka too much. The webbing caught fire easily and shriveled away, but just revealed stone walls. After what seemed like forever they reached an archway filled with cobwebs, but beyond was obviously a much larger room. This was familiar from Helgen, too. She could barely make out the shape of what must be egg sacks past the webbing.

She turned to Lydia right behind her. "Get ready, I think there is a nest beyond."

She used one large blast of Flames to take down the webbing in the archway and then hurried into the room looking left, right and all about. Several boulder-sized egg sacks crowded the walls. Something had to lay the eggs. However, she didn't see any dog-sized creatures with too many legs. Instead she saw a human-sized figure trapped in webbing at the other end of the nest.

"Help me! Help!" cried a male voice. "Get me out of here!"

A flash of movement drew her eyes upward and she saw a spider larger than horse descending almost silently from the ceiling of the room. It landed and advanced towards her rapidly, its horrible fangs chittered as it skittered toward her.

She reacted instinctively. She drew in a breath and Shouted, "Yol." The word burst from her mouth and a wave of fire smashed into the creature just as it was about to bite her. The flames threw the impossibly large spider backward tumbling end over burning end. Spider silk shriveled and burned at the touch of fire and smoke filled the room. Daenerys called fire to her hand and rushed forward, but the thing had already curled up into a scorched ball and was obviously dead.

"You Shouted," whispered Sniel from behind her in an awed voice. "That was Shouting."

Daenerys turned and looked found that her companions had all followed her into the nest. They just stood there, weapons lowered and staring at her. Lydia, Halvard, Sniel and Jesper, all wore a similar look - like they were ready to kneel and worship her. She knew that look. She had seen it before when she hatched her dragons, when she'd freed slaves, and even in Ralof's eyes under Helgen. She had deliberately tried to keep her ability to Shout a secret…

"Hey!" interrupted the figure trapped in the web. "Now that you're done tossing around fire; someone cut me down from here!"

Lydia ignored the interruption and stepped forward. "You told me that you were just a hedge mage. You never mentioned Shouting." Her accusation was tempered by the awe in her voice.

Daenerys felt like she was playing Cyvasse blindfolded. She was expected to set up her side of the board while her opponent could see her place her armies, but this was even worse. She didn't even know the rules of the game she was being forced to play. Yet, now there was no more staying hidden and trying to learn the rules. She'd just outed herself. Or had she? "I can. It's a gift. It came to me at Helgen, but I'm not ready for the attention it will bring. I wanted to understand it first. That's why I've been trying to master my magic."

Sniel laughed. "That's not how – "

"Hey! Still trapped over here!"

Sniel growled and looked at Lydia. She nodded and drew a finger across her throat. Sniel marched across the room.

"No! Wait!" The bandit struggled and grew panicked. "I know the secrets of this place. The claw! The door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together!"

Sniel drew his sword.

"Wait," commanded Lydia. "What about a claw?"

"Yes, the claw. I have it on me! I know how it works."

"So do I," scoffed Lydia. "Kill him."

Sniel stabbed the Dunmer in the throat. The bandit struggled weakly for a few moments and made a horrible gurgling noise as he died.

"Thank you," said Lydia.

Daenerys found herself agreeing. There were many things about Nord culture she didn't understand, but she completely agreed that bandits deserved swift justice. She was more curious about the claw. "I think that is likely the golden claw that was stolen from the Riverwood Trader a few days ago. Do you think it's a key of some sort?"

"I'm sure it is," replied Lydia. "But, I know already know how to use the claw. Now, what Sniel was trying to explain before the thief interrupted, is that magic and Shouting are two different things. Magic is of this world, of Mundus. Shouting is… from before. It's how the world was made. You're not going to learn more about Shouting by studying magic."

"She's right," agreed Halvard. "The only ones who could teach you about Shouting are the Greybeards."

Daenerys nodded in agreement, but privately she wasn't sure that was entirely true. Yes, Shouts were deeper, more primal, but it was Yol that led her to understand Flames. While she didn't understand the details, she'd learned enough to know that magic was almost a trade. Mages were scholars and magic followed rules. The Greybeards, on the other hand, were basically a religious order and a monastic one at that. "I'm afraid I'm not cut out to spend the rest of my life in quiet contemplation on a mountaintop…" and now she'd just insulted Nord customs. "… I'm still learning the language. I want to steer my own life, and not live under the shadow of this gift. Could you keep this secret for me?"

Lydia frowned. "I am sworn to Jarl Balgruuf. I will tell no other before I speak with him, but I keep no secrets from my jarl." She glanced at the Jarl's soldiers. "And that's an order for you three. You are to tell no one unless the Jarl says otherwise. This is his choice to make. Am I clear?"

"Yes, Housecarl!" they all agreed.

"Thank you, Housecarl." Daenerys was polite about it, but she doubted that her ability to Shout would remain a secret for long. It was probably already too late. Ralof told Gerdur and Hod that she knew, and he likely told Ulfric Stormcloak. She knew all to well that secrets spread… Jon Snow. Lover. Betrayer. As always when her thoughts turned to him, bitterness spread within her like a poison. She quashed those feelings refusing to give into them. "Regardless, this isn't the time or place to be having a discussion. Shouldn't we recover this Dragonstone first?"

"Aye," agreed Lydia with a chuckle. "We should. We've got a job to do. Let's get back to it." Lydia led the way deeper into the barrow.

The next room held the dead. The fight happened quickly. Two draugr staggered forward to attack and Jarl Balgruuf's men rushed them and cut them to pieces.

"That's it?" Daenerys was having difficulty reconciling her experience in Westeros to what she'd just witnessed. The fight happened so fast. She had still been trying to get a clear line of fire to use Flames and it was already over. "I thought draugr were dangerous." Those were… slow.

"You told me you'd fought draugr before," accused Lydia.

"No, I said that I fought the dead before. The dead that I fought were fast, dangerous, and relentless. They looked much the same. They smelled just as bad, but they moved as fast as a striking snake. They would shrug off injury and keep fighting. They were dangerous, even to skilled warriors." She took a deep breath. "Not to insult any of your fighting prowess."

"I understand," said Lydia. "Not all draugr are this slow or die this easily." She shrugged. "Maybe the magic that animates them is failing. They're still strong enough to be dangerous, and it takes more than one good wound to put them down. Don't underestimate them."

"I won't," promised Daenerys

As they continued deeper into the barrow, the corridor expanded into the kind of catacomb tunnel she'd expected – alcoves carved on all sides filled with corpses. Most of the corpses were just dead, but some of them would stagger to life and shamble to attack. Despite her promise to be careful, Daenerys found herself relaxing. These Draugr were dangerous: unnatural, immensely strong, and difficult to kill, but in combat speed and numbers mattered a lot. The draugr kept attacking one or two at a time, which made it easy for their party of five to surround them and take them down. While she didn't have her dragons, she had fire magic. She wasn't just surviving either, she was pulling her weight.

"Why are you casting Flames instead of Shouting?" asked Jesper during a lull in the fighting.

"The Shout is too powerful. I'd catch some of you in the fire. However, if we get several at once, I may need to Shout. If I yell at everyone to step back, give me a clear path. Then I'll use my Shout."

"Sensible," agreed Lydia. "And you lunks better move if she calls for it, or if I call for you to clear her a path."

However, their next obstacle wasn't more of the dead. Instead, the corridor narrowed. Giant blades scythed back and forth blocking their way forward.

Lydia sighed, "Axe trap. There should be a lever to shut it off on the other side. One of us has to time their leaps to get past it." She stared at Daenerys. "You're wearing less armor than the rest of us. You should be the fastest. Are you up to it?"

Daenerys eyed the corridor. The blades were huge and moved quickly, but they were moving with a consistent rhythm. It would be possible to time her jumps and get past them. However, a mistake would likely prove instantly fatal. She glanced from Lydia to the others. They had been treating her differently now that they knew she could Shout, like a member of the party and not a burden. Lydia probably wouldn't have even asked her to take this chance before. In a way it was a mark of respect. If she dared the axes, it would prove her bravery as well. If she refused, she would likely lose the respect she'd gained. She watched the swish, swish, swish of the axes. She thought she could do it, but a mistake would mean death. It wasn't worth it, not really. Why did she care about the respect of four Nords already sworn to Jarl Balgruuf?

Unfortunately, no matter how little sense it made, she did care. She was tired of being Daenerys the Tavern Wench. It didn't matter that these men would never swear to her. She had earned some respect because she could Shout. She would show that respect was merited and prove her bravery.

"I'll do it." She slipped off her pack and laid down her staff. She took a moment to stretch and then slowly stepped forward to the trapped corridor to where the blades scythed back and forth with mechanical precision. Carefully she timed the first blade and jumped.

She made it through. Now in the middle of the trap, the blades sounded louder as if they were angry that they were denied their prey. She pushed that aside and focused only on the blade in front of her. She jumped.

She survived. Two down. One to go. Her heart beat wildly in her breast. One more dance with death. She had the timing down. Swish. Swish. Swish. Now.

She leapt forward and rolled coming out the other side to a small dirty ill-lit room with a large level. Shaking with relief she stood and pulled the lever. The giant axes stopped frozen. The corridor was safe.

"Come on through!" That was one of the most foolish things she had ever done, but she didn't regret it. When Halvard, Jesper and even Sniel praised her bravery, she found her heart soaring like it hadn't in a long time. "Oh come on, why are we lollygagging? Don't we have a tablet to find?"

.oOo.​

The draugr got stronger and faster the deeper they went, but they had come together as a team, working as one. Twice she called for them to step back, and the others quickly disengaged so she could Shout before rejoining the fray.

Finally, they reached a corridor lined with carvings of dragons that ended at a puzzle door. Three concentric circles of stone marked with symbols surrounded a central hub with three small holes in it.

"This is the final door, and this is where we need the claw." Lydia extracted the golden claw they'd recovered from the bandit. "We turn the tumblers to line up with the symbols on the claw: Bear. Moth. Owl. Then we insert the claw." Lydia lined the claw up with the holes, inserted it into place and turned.

With a shudder and a scattering of dust, the entire door rumbled and receded. Beyond lay the main chamber. It was huge, easily big enough to house a dragon. Stairs led up to what looked like a tomb. Beyond that stood a large wall inscribed with writing – hopefully the entire wall wasn't the Dragonstone.

​

Daenerys was about to ask Lydia what they would have done if they hadn't recovered the claw from the thief when she heard something. "What's that sound?"

"What sound?" asked Lydia.

"I don't hear anything," added Halvard.

Jesper and Sniel just shrugged.

"It sounds like… chanting." And it was growing louder. Daenerys couldn't believe the others couldn't hear it.

"Move in, carefully," said Lydia. "And I fully expect there to be another draugr in that tomb. Probably a tough son of a bitch. We clear the rest of the room first. Then surround it."

Daenerys moved slowly, but the chanting was distracting. The chant reminded her of Yol, but the words were unclear. She couldn't quite catch their meaning. It felt like they were calling to her. At first, she thought that the tomb at the top of the stairs that was the source, but as they cleared the room and climbed the stairs, she realized the chanting wasn't coming from the tomb.

"It's coming from the wall." She moved closer. She could almost make out the meaning…

Fus​

She felt like she was a bell that had just been rung. The word vibrated in her being. Fus was almost too much to bear. Its meaning was perfectly clear. Force. Yet, none of the tongues she spoke captured the true meaning. Fus was the true meaning, written on the bones of creation. The word strained at her very being. She needed to speak it and claim it. Tears of pain blurred her vision, but the chanting was fading.

There was a fight going on. Her companions were fighting a draugr, but one more imposing and powerful than any seen before. It radiated a presence that reminded her of the Night King.

As she watched the creature Shouted. "Fus! rh… da…"

The draugr had Shouted more than just Fus, but that word rang so much in her soul, that she couldn't catch the rest. There wasn't time for that now. The fight was going badly. Hjvatar had been knocked back by the thing's Shout. Lydia and Jesper were barely holding their own. She forced herself to her feet and staggered up behind it. She spoke the word that was burning within her, "Fus!" Instead of fire she called forth a raw wave of pure force.

Her Shout connected with the draugr and sent it tumbling down the stairs – a bad place to be because Lydia and Halvard were both in striking range. Before the creature could recover both had pounced. They rained blows down upon it and Jesper quickly joined them. None of them stopped hacking at it until they were sure it was dead.

Daenerys looked about and noticed that Sniel wasn't missing. His corpse lay a few feet away with his guts splayed all over the floor. He had probably been the guard who trusted her least, but they were on the same side, and his death hurt.

Yet her remorse was overshadowed by the power inside her… being? Her soul? The word Fus had settled down and taken its place beside Yol. The word no longer fought her. It merely waited to be called upon again.

 

[Harper Potts]

Chapter 6
Middas, the 1st​ of Frostfall, Year 201 of the 4th Era​

If not for the loss of Sniel, the expedition would have been a huge success. They found the Dragonstone which was merely a heavy burden, not something that needed a cart. The carvings on it looked somewhat like a map, but they were not easy to interpret. They also found a great deal of loot: from the bandits, from the draugr, and from several chests that they had to bash open. Lydia had muttered under her breath about bringing a thief along if she ever did this again after the third chest. Some of the weapons were even enchanted. They also collected a few oddities that Jesper claimed were alchemical ingredients: glowing mushrooms, skeever tails, spider eggs and such. He denied being an alchemist, he just knew some of the more common ingredients alchemists would pay gold to acquire.

However, lugging the corpse of Sniel wrapped in a burial shroud tarnished their victory. After a brief discussion, Lydia decided that they would transport the corpse to Sniel's sister (and Jesper's mother) in Riverwood for a proper Nord funeral pyre.

Daenerys found the somber mood a blessing in a way. None of the Nords were inclined to question her about her collapse at the chanting wall, nor how she had learned another Word. Fus, force, still dwelled inside her alongside Yol. She wanted to Shout it out and let it free, to feel its power again, to master it. Could she use Fus to make a spell, the same way she'd learned Flames from Yol? Perhaps a spell to push things? If she could, that would be huge. Becoming a mage was like becoming a maester in Westeros. It took years of practice and study as an apprentice before one learned enough to be considered a competent mage. Further study still to become an expert. From what little she knew about the Greybeards, they spent their entire lives in isolation and contemplation to master Shouting. If there was one chanting wall in Deep Falls Barrow, then other barrows likely held walls as well. If she could learn more Words from them, then she might be able to master magic faster than studying for decades at either at the College of Winterhold or under the Greybeards.

However, Sniel's corpse was a grim reminder that Nord barrows were not safe places to explore. Four warriors and a mage hadn't been enough. Plus, Lydia had a point about the locked chests. Also, she could have easily died dancing between the swinging axes. It would have been nice to have someone along who knew how to pick locks and disarm traps. Unfortunately, the only people who cultivated such skills were thieves or assassins and couldn't be trusted. Maybe, if she had enough gold, she could finance her own expeditions. Even a thief could be trusted if she brought enough warriors along. A sound plan on the surface, but she was far from rich. Her share of the loot would likely set her up better than weeks of working as a tavern wench. However, it wouldn't be enough to hire mercenaries.

She also wondered about what it meant that she had heard the chanting while none of the others had. She had a gift, a talent for Shouting, but it felt like more than that. It felt like a sign. She had set her sights on learning magic because it was a path to a better life, but surely she had been brought to Tamriel for a reason. This was her first real glimpse at what that reason might be. Could she learn more Words by venturing into other barrows and finding other chanting walls?

Or was she reading signs where there were none? She had been so certain that the Red Comet was a sign and set her course by it through the Red Waste. That had led her to Qarth which had been a complete disaster. She had been so certain that she was meant to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It was that certainty that had led her to burn King's Landing. Jon Snow had stabbed her in the heart just moments after she first sat on the Iron Throne. When she thought about seeking out other chanting walls, she felt that same call to greatness. Was it the Targaryen madness? Yet, someone, some thing, some power had interfered to bring her to Tamriel, but why?

Daenerys kept these thoughts to herself while turning them over and over inside her head during the cold and somber journey back to Riverwood. She tried to stick to what she knew. Fact – she had a rare gift. She could learn words of power. She'd learned one from the dragon of Helgen. She'd learned another from the chanting wall. Fact – she refused to remain a tavern wench. She may never be a queen, but she would make something of herself. Fact – she lacked the allies and resources to explore barrows, at least for now.

So, was the College of Winterhold still the best path for her? Probably in the short term. She might not learn more about Shouting there, but she would learn magic. Even a little magic like Flames was highly useful. If she was going to explore barrows in the future, she needed to be able to better defend herself. Plus, they had a huge library. She might find records of others who had a gift for Shouting. Yes, for now it was her best path. Perhaps, someday she would be in a better position to explore a barrow.

When they reached Riverwood, Lydia dismissed Halvard and Jesper to attend to Sniel's funeral arrangements. They still had to return to Whiterun, but they would remain in Riverwood for one day to rest and for Sniel's funeral pyre. That left her to accompany Lydia as she sold most of their loot to Alvor the Smith and Lucan Valerius at the Riverwood Trader. Lydia wasn't a good trader. She started to accept the first price they offered. Daenerys jumped in and haggled the offers upward. She also reminded Lucan of the reward money he'd promised for the return of the claw.

The next day she spent with Gerdur and Hod resting up. The mill wasn't in operation, so she didn't dare try practicing Shouting. Instead, she asked some questions about how bounties and mercenaries worked in Skyrim. From what she could gather the whole thing was completely disorganized. In Skyrim there was no mercenary guild. The closest thing was the Companions in Whiterun. There were mercenary troops, but most of them had been snapped up by the Stormcloaks or Imperials. There were always individuals who styled themselves mercenaries, bounty hunters, tomb raiders, or adventurers, but mostly they took care of smaller threats. Gerdur clearly saw through her sudden interest in mercenaries.

"The bards sing of the glories and riches of the adventuring life. What they don't sing about is that most would-be adventurers end up dead in a ditch somewhere. You can Shout, Daenerys, but you are no warrior maid. If it is gold you want, your idea of going to the College in Winterhold is a better one. Magecraft pays well."

"I know that I'm no warrior," assured Daenerys. "I'm still planning to go to Winterhold." That much was true for now, but in the future things might be different.

It was with an eye to that future that she went to Sniel's funeral pyre. She hadn't liked Sniel much in life, but he had fought beside her. She wanted to keep the respect of Halvard, Jesper, and Lydia. Having contacts with the guards of Whiterun couldn't hurt. She kept her mixed feelings to herself. The funeral was followed by heavy drinking and drunk Nords exchanging stories of Sniel. Halvard spoke the most. He shared many stories of fighting beside Sniel in the Imperial army during the war with the Aldmeri Dominion. From his description battlemages were almost as terrifying to face in combat as one of her dragons.

Lydia was impatient on their return journey. While she had authorized the extra day to rest and for Sniel's funeral, she clearly wanted to get the Dragonstone back to Whiterun. Unfortunately, the weather continued to be uncooperative. It rained on and off all day long, and even when the rain let up, the sun stayed hidden behind the clouds. It was cold miserable weather. Most would stay home warm and dry. Unfortunately, they had no choice. Apparently, the mudcrabs loved the weather. The beasts normally stayed hidden near the river, but twice they had to fight off mudcrabs that had wandered onto the road. Between the rain and the mud, they made slow progress. Lydia eventually called it a night and they made camp. The clouds passed in the night and the morning was chilly but clear. They made better time and arrived in Whiterun before noon. Lydia dismissed everyone, sending the guards to their barracks and settling Daenerys into a room in the servant's wing.

.oOo.​

It was midafternoon when Daenerys was finally summoned to meet Jarl Balgruuf. Lydia came to fetch and lead her to the Jarl's council chambers rather than his throne room. She felt more comfortable with this audience. This time she had at least knew the names of all the players before she arrived. The dour and distrusting Dunmer was Jarl Balgruuf's personal housecarl, Irileth. The balding imperial adviser was Proventus Avenicci. Farengar lurked near the shadows being all mysterious with his hood pulled down. Lydia escorted her inside, and Jarl Balgruff sat in a chair in front of a table covered in maps and paperwork.

Jarl Balgruff beckoned her forward. "Daenerys of Helgen, you've done me a service." He lifted a hand and wagged a finger at her. "You also held out on me. You are more than a mere hedge mage. You can Shout."

"I can," agreed Daenerys with a forced smile. Lydia had said she would tell the Jarl and now far too many people knew. She knew good and well that there was no use in complaining about it. Her secret was out, but at least the Jarl seemed pleased with her. He could have easily taken offense at her keeping secrets from him.

"You'll understand that I won't ask for a demonstration." He chuckled at his own joke. "It appears that I owe you a few septims for your help. You may also have one of the enchanted items that was recovered as well as that letter of recommendation that you wanted. Are you still set on joining the College of Winterhold?"

"That was my plan." She kept her tone respectful. She had a feeling that the jarl might be about to volunteer her for another dangerous assignment.

"Would you consider joining my service? Farengar has his own duties. I could use a mage to support the Whiterun guards. Lydia has advised me that you are capable, brave, and showed good judgment in Bleak Falls Barrow."

Daerneyrs took a moment to consider just what the Jarl was offering. Joining the Jarl's service would certainly be several steps up the social ladder from being a tavern wench, and even better than being a hedge mage. It would mean a steady income and a roof over her head most of the time. Since her magic was all offensive, it probably also meant dealing with bandits or other problems facing Whiterun. However, it would also mean bending the knee to the Jarl, and a part of her rebelled at the idea of swearing to any noble. She had curtsied out of respect to his position, and been pressured into joining his expedition, but this would be different. She would be subject to his orders. She didn't like it. On the other hand, if she could learn magic and get paid for it, she might swallow her pride. "Would Farengar be able to teach me magic? Or someone else in Whiterun?"

Farengar shook his head beneath his cowl. "Well, I'm afraid that I'm not much good with teaching, and as the jarl said, I'm very busy with this dragon business. I could loan you some books, but that's about all. Technically speaking, I'm the only wizard in Whiterun. The city is also home to a priest, priestess, an alchemist, and I'm sure others with minor talents."

"I see," and she did. This wasn't a good deal for her. This was a dead-end for her. She'd gain status and a steady income, but she would stay a hedge mage. While that was better than a tavern wench, she had other options. "While I do appreciate the offer, I wish to study magic at the College of Winterfell."

"Winterhold," corrected the Jarl. His jocular tone had faded and turned brusque. "Very well. If you change your mind, speak with Irileth. I thank you for your service. May the gods watch over your journey. Lydia, show her to the armory, pay her, and give her a pick of the spoils."

She knew a dismissal when she heard one. She gave a quick curtsey and followed Lydia out into the hallways.

"This way." Lydia led the way through the hallways walking quickly.

After many hallways and two sets of stairs, they arrived at the armory in the basement. It was located beneath the barracks and adjacent to the jail cells. Guards bustled about, some on duty and some not. The armory itself was full of weapons from daggers to claymores and armor from leathers to full steel plate. Upon a table sat a mace, a circlet, and some scrolls.

"Take your pick. Halvard and Jesper already claimed a weapon each. I imagine you will want the Scroll of Fireball."

Daenerys was loosely familiar with the concept of scrolls as a way of storing spells. "Unfortunately, a small child can read Tamrielic better than I. What are the other two items?"

"The mace absorbs souls. Useful if you want to take up Enchanting, I suppose. The other is a Circlet of Alchemy."

Daenerys frowned. Items to boost two skills she had no intention of learning. She had too much to do already. The mace was far too heavy for her and she had no skill with such a weapon. The circlet at least looked lighter. Maybe she would study alchemy someday. "I'll take the circlet." If nothing else, she could sell it for a few septims.

Lydia nodded. "Your choice. Your share of the loot is in this chest over here, 232 septims."

That was about what she had been expecting from helping Lydia sell their loot. It was a lot more than she would earn in weeks as a tavern wench. Enough money to support herself for quite a while. While she wouldn't be hiring any mercenaries, it would hopefully be enough to get her to Winterhold and pay for someone to tutor her in reading.

"Thank you, Lydia." She wasn't certain if Lydia disapproved of her declining the Jarl's offer or if she was just being a Nord and focused on duty.

"You're welcome, and good luck Daenerys."

.oOo.​

Daenerys left Dragonreach with determination in every step. In her pack she had a letter of recommendation and enough coin to survive on for many months. She was not beholden to anyone, free to chart her own course, and a destination firmly in mind. She even had her next step planned. Wagoneers routinely traveled in caravans between the major holds. There was safety in numbers on the roads of Skyrim. For a fee she could join a caravan heading north. Hopefully, she could find a caravan leaving for Winterhold, but Windhelm would do as well. From Windhelm she could take passage on a ship and likely arrive even sooner. Sooner might be better. Winter was fast approaching and very little travel happened in Skyrim during the winter months. As cold as it would be to spend the winter in a place called Winterhold, it would still be better than being snowed in somewhere else until spring.

Whiterun was an easy city to navigate as long as you kept to the main streets. Daenerys went down the stairs toward the dead Gildergreen. Traffic was light in the late afternoon and she found herself delightfully anonymous. Most of the people passing were Nords. With her pale hair and furs, she blended right in. It wasn't until she reached the stairs to the lower city that anyone even tried to talk to her.

​

A young girl dressed in a worn and repaired dress stepped up to her. The girl positioned herself carefully, just close enough to be obvious, not blocking her path, and far enough away that she could dart away to avoid a kick. The girl's face didn't have any of the roundness that a well-fed child of her years would have. "Could you spare a coin?"

Daenerys paused and nodded in agreement. "Yes, child, I can." While her stash of coins wouldn't last forever, she remembered living on the streets of Pentos. She moved over to one of the nearby benches and removed her pack. "Tell me your name."

"Lucia, ma'am." She fidgeted from one foot to the other.

"Why are you begging on the streets?" Daenerys couldn't resist asking as she carefully reached into her pack for coin. She had no intention of flashing her purse.

"It's... it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one that's been nice to me since... since mama...Since she died. My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything. I wound up here, but... I… I don't know what to do. I miss her so much..."

Despite knowing that her stash of coin might have to last her some time, Daenerys counted out not one but three coins. It wasn't enough, but she pressed the coins into Lucia's hand. "These are for you, little one."

"Oooh, thank you, Lady!" The girl ran off, skipping as she went.

Daenerys got back up with a heavy sigh. She couldn't feed every urchin in Whiterun. Nor was she a noble who could order others to feed them. She wondered if Lucia even had a warm place to sleep. If not, she likely wouldn't survive the winter. The wheel turned here on Tamriel just as it had in Essos and Westeros. The smallfolk suffered as always. A memory of the screams from King's Landing drifted up, haunting her, a reminder that she'd probably killed more smallfolk in one day than lived in the entire city of Whiterun.

.oOo.​

The sun glowed low in the sky by the time she reached the stables just outside Whiterun where the wagoneers gathered. The place bustled with people and wagons. Winter was fast approaching and what fields weren't harvested already were in the process of being harvested. While most of the crops would undoubtedly be stored and eaten locally, a small percentage would be shipped all over Skyrim. Merchants, wagoneers, and farmers bustled about busily, buying and selling. There was a greater mix of races present than usual. She saw what had to be Khajiit for the first time. She had thought the feline humanoids would look like lions, but the ones she saw were lean of frames and reminded her more of the feral cats that roamed the alleys of Pentos. After repeatedly asking directions and being ignored half the time, she was finally directed to someone who might help.

Wagon Master Bjorlam was a blond and healthy Nord in his prime years. He was solidly built and had a confident air to him. "Aye, I'll be heading to Winterhold in the morning. It will take us two or three weeks depending on the weather, and we'll pass by Fort Kastav – the Stormcloaks have claimed it now. They'll likely stop and search us. Don't really know why. Not like any Imperial spies would admit it. Cost is 50 septims if you're walking alongside. 100 septims to ride in a wagon. Payable upfront."

That was a bit more than she'd expected to pay, but she knew that was just the opening price. "And what protection do you have? How many guards will be traveling with us?"

"I've hired three of my own, Sagyval is bringing two along, and we have a score of armed men traveling with us. You'll be safe, lass. Bandits are cowards. They hit small parties."

Daenerys smiled. "That wasn't my point." She held up her hand and allowed just a trickle of fire to dance in her palm. "I'm a mage heading to the College. I can help with the protecting. Let's call it 20 septims to walk alongside."

"Mage, hrmph. Can you show me something other than fire? Because fire and wooden wagons don't mix very well."

"No, just fire." She wasn't about to use Fus just to impress a Wagon Master, and she hadn't yet figured out if she could make a spell based on the principles of force.

"So, you're a hedge mage then. 40 septims."

"30."

"35, my final offer."

"Agreed. 20 now and 15 when we arrive."

"Agreed. We leave tomorrow at dawn. You can sleep here tonight. You're responsible for your own bedroll, tent, and feeding yourself along the way."

Daenerys took out her pack so she could get the coins. She had a bedroll, but she didn't fancy sleeping in the rain. "And do you know where I can buy a tent?"