Omake 6 skyrim crossover.

Disclaimer: as always anything you recognise does not belong to me.

Jon woke with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was Olly plunging a blade into his heart, and yet, looking down he was stunned to see no evidence of the multiple stabbing he had received. His black leathers were whole and unstained by blood. Gingerly opening the outer vest, he drew his woollen shirt up. 'This makes no sense,' he thought to himself as his hand traced the scars that had not been there before, each of them an angry red, but healed, a true testament to each dagger that had plunged into him. Shaking off his confused thoughts he gazed around himself in; at first wonder, and then with resignation. "Even in death I'm surrounded by snow," he grumbled as he drew his fur cloak tighter around himself.

It was true. While he didn't recognise anything around himself it was obvious that he was in something resembling the North. Thick snow about a foot deep covered everything he could see. A heavy gale brought not only snow from the skies, but also whirled up loose snow from the ground. Not at all unaccustomed to a snowstorm Jon just started trudging forward in the general direction of 'not here' while doing his best to figure out his current situation. Beside the feeling of betrayal at his own men, and even Olly of all people murdering him, the biggest emotion coursing through him was confusion. While never particularly religious, he still expected. . . more than, whatever this was. For that matter, if he was dead and in the afterlife, why did he feel so damn cold? Sure in normal circumstances anyone would feel cold in the current climate, the altitude also adding to the cold, as from the multitude of mountains wherever he turned his gaze he knew that he wasn't exactly at sea level, but if he was dead, should he feel these things? For that matter, if he was dead, should he even feel hunger or thirst? Because Jon's stomach was quite insistently reminding him of the fact that he required sustenance, and the cold air had long since dried out his lips and face. Also, why was he alone? He, like most people he assumed hoped, or believed that he would be reunited with his loved ones when he died, and yet here he was, all alone, and trudging through heavy snow.

He didn't even know how long he trudged through the snowy wilderness he was in, all he knew was that day had turned to night, that and he was cold and hungry. He had spotted a deer in the distance that bolted long before he could get close to it, and even if he had, what would he use to bring it down? Longclaw was still in his rooms when he was murdered, and he had neither knife nor bow on him either, perhaps he would luck out soon and find something edible, but he doubted it. Looking up at the clearing night sky he received yet another shock. Any doubts he had about being alive and somewhere in Westeros disappeared. There, in the night sky was not one but TWO moons. The larger of the two was red, while the smaller one was grey, much like the moon in Westeros. It was when he was gazing up at the new phenomenon that he encountered others.

A column of riders and carriages, guarded by men in uniform steel and leather armour he had never seen before, most of them wearing red capes or cloaks of some king with golden imagery to ward of the cold. The residents of the carriages meanwhile were dressed in predominantly leather and chain with blue cloth, that and they seemed to be prisoners. Before he could even decide what to do, a pair of riders spotted him and broke out into a gallop towards him. As soon as they got close he spread his arms. "I am Jon-" was all he had time to say before he lost consciousness, thanks to the wooden mallet in the arms of one of the riders.

"Oh my head," he groaned after returning to the land of the living? Like the prisoners in the carts he was also one it seemed. His hands were bond by thick leather cords.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," the man across from him said as he pointed out the emaciated brown haired nervous man beside him.

Jon inspected the man before him. Long dirty blonde hair and beard, a decent amount of muscle. If it hadn't been for his strange accent Jon could easily have thought him to be a northerner. His words however, Border? Imperial ambush? The only Empire Jon knew of was the Valyrian Empire, and that had perished in fire and ash over four centuries before he was even born. Before Jon could try and collect his thoughts the apparent horsethief spoke his mind. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." More words that Jon had no reference to, Skyrim, Stormcloaks and Hammerfell! He was starting to think he had hit his head harder than he thought, or if he was really lucky this was all some horrid dream, the horsethief wasn't done though as he continued to complain. "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The blonde one who had spoken to Jon first let out a contemptuous snort. "We are all brothers and sisters in binds now thief."

"Shut up back there," the driver of the cart snarled over his shoulder before returning his gaze to the road.

"What's wrong with him?" the horsethief asked suddenly as he nodded to the person who sat beside Jon.

The blonde warrior almost spat in fury as his face reddened. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim", he barked at the thief whose eyes widened in apparent panic.

Jon could understand why he claimed the man to be a King. Sharp features, long chestnut brown hair and beard, dark eyes like Jon's own, and that was before Jon took note of the armour that Ulfric was wearing. A suit of dark plate, decorated with bears, leather furs, also from bears if Jon wasn't mistaken, and lastly that same uniform blue cloth that the rest of the prisoners wore. Oh yes, Jon could easily see why men would follow Ulfric, much like his own father, there was a. . . presence to Ulfric, though why he was gagged was beyond Jon.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" the horsethief lubbered.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits", the blonde at least was man enough to accept whatever was in store for him. Jon himself was far too tired, and confused to care. He had faced death on far too many occasions, had lost far too much, and had even been murdered once already. He just didn't care any longer, certainly death at least was nothing to fear, not compared to the pain and hardships he had received all his life.

Eventually the carriage approached a walled town, its rough architecture bringing a feeling of peace and familiarity to Jon. While he was uncertain of what lay ahead, the stout walls reminded him of Winterfell. "General Tullius Sir, the headsman is waiting." A soldier on the walls shouted as the gate opened.

So they were to die after all. Jon didn't want to die, though with everything that had happened he could appreciate the irony of dying from a beheading for a crime he didn't commit, just like his father had.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this," the blonde said as they stared at the man who must be General Tullius who sat on his horse and spoke to a woman. . . A tall woman, with golden skin and pointed ears. Sharp angular features. Jon pinched his thigh hard to try and wake himself up to no avail. He was actually looking at something that wasn't human, there was no doubt about it, and while the word elf was unfamiliar it seemed like seeing someone like that was hardly a novel experience for the rest of the men he shared a carriage with.

Finally the carriage stopped and they were all herded out of it, whereupon one of the soldiers took out a list and started reading up names. The first was Ulfric, second was the blonde man who Jon learnt was named Ralof of Riverwood. The horsethief tried to make a futile run for it, but was swiftly brought down by archers, the soldier with the lists then turned to Jon. "Who are you?" he asked.

Jon breathed out once before stepping forward. "Jon Snow," he said simply.

A pair of the soldiers exchanged glances, "Another Nord," one of them said, "A name like that, no way he isn't one."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim kinsman," the soldier said before turning to the woman in charge, and wasn't that a surprise? Jon had grown somewhat used to women fighting during the time he spent with the Free Folk, but for the rest of the Seven Kingdoms, the idea of women not only fighting, but holding senior positions of rank in organized armies was unheard of. "Captain what should we do? He's not on the list," he said.

The captain stared at Jon with narrow eyes. "He goes to the block."

The soldier sighed sadly. "I'm sorry kinsman," he said sadly. "At least you get to die here, in your homeland."

"Its not my home," Jon muttered as he was led over to where the rest of the Stormcloaks were standing, all of them watching as Jarl Ulfric was trying to stare down General Tullius.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Tullius said as he stepped closer to Ulfric. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne. You started this damn war and now the Empire is going to put you down."

Ulfric glared at Tullius as best he could while a robed woman stepped up and started a prayer or benevolence of some kind, that is until one of the Stormcloaks had enough and strode bravely up to the block, telling the woman to 'shut up and get it over with.'

The captain at least had no reservetions at granting the Stormcloak his wish and forced his head down on the block, keeping a leg pressed down on his back. "MY ANCESTORS ARE SMILING AT ME IMPERIALS, CAN YOU SAY THE SAME?" he shouted, and then his head was severed by the giant axe of the headsman.

"Next, the Nord in the rags," the Captain shouted as she pointed at Jon.

"To the block kinsman, nice and easy," the soldier said as he gestured for Jon to step up.

Steeling himself, Jon straightened his posture and walked towards the block with a strong steady gait, wondering at the loud roar that echoed through the skies as he did so. Kneeling before the block the Captain pressed her leg down on his back, and as he turned his gaze to glare at the headsman his heart skipped a beat as a second roar came, and this time Jon knew what it was. Mere seconds after spotting the large shape flying through the air the dragon slammed down on top of a nearby tower.

"DRAGON!" someone shouted, just before a tremendous roar that clapped like thunder erupted from the dragon. Immediately the sky turned orange as clouds started twirling. Soon after blasts of fire rained from the sky, causing absolute pandemonium as houses, towers and carriages alike were smashed asunder.

The giant dragon looked straight at Jon with malevolent intelligent eyes and a second shout erupted 'FUS-RO-DAH!' again the roar or was it voice? Clapped like thunder, but this time a blast of pure kinetic force erupted from the dragon and smashed Jon, and everyone else around him aside like ragdolls.

"Come kinsman, the Gods won't give us another chance," Ralof shouted as he dragged Jon to his feet and ran for a nearby tower.

AN: This was actually my first draft to 'From the Ashes', but eventually as I mulled on it all I eventually went in a different direction instead. As it is I have another...19 pieces of this, which are basically various moments in the game, that together would form a rough storyline for Jon as the Dragonborn, culminating in his eventual return to Westeros. Anyway, I'll prob have something in the account of 30-50k words of Jon in Skyrim when I finish polishing up the various bits and pieces, so is this something that you my readers would want? as in that case it would be uploaded in a story of its own. When it comes pairings I am unsure, though at the moment I am stuck between Lydia and Aela.

As for my other fics I AM working on them, but at the same time, it is hard to do writing when plot bunnies are allowed to run free. I am sorry that it takes time, but thats the way things work I'm afraid, some time my muse just don't want to work like it should.

As always read and review

Daemon Belaerys.