Ascendance
"The will to power is in our blood. You feel it in yourself, do you not?"
Dragonborn/Dovahkiin & Paarthurnax

Full Summary: The Dragonborn is regarded as the ultimate dragon hunter, a mortal born with the soul of a dragon. The dovah are proud beasts, raised on power, the drive to rule and dominate in their blood. Just because the Dragonborn does not possess the body of a dragon does not make her an exception to this rule.

Hello, everyone. This is a plot bunny that ended up stuck in my head and has been for the past month or so; I just never got around to having time to write it. But with the advent of summer, I present what I believe is a newer idea to the Elder Scrolls fandom (I've seen that Sacrilege by xiphus is a bit like it), inspired by the quote in this story's summary. Why does the Dovahkiin in-game have such an easy time controlling their dragon nature? They're dragons in all but appearance, so why shouldn't they have the same difficulty in keeping from domination like most? Even Paarthurnax had to work on it, and even he worked with Alduin for quite some time. So, here I present my idea, a Dovahkiin whose dragon half isn't quite as tame as the game's.

Chapter One

Staadnau

15 Rain's Hand, 4E 201

I was jostled awake by an unwelcome jolt.

My eyes flicked open, a reflex born of several years of camping out in wilderness where any animal - or bandit - could find you and decide you were of more use to them dead. My hand went right to my side as was instinct, and every muscle in my body tensed at once when I realized that one, my hands weren't moving, bound behind my back, and two, there was no familiar weight of my sword at my hip. I scowled. Ragnarök had been a gift from my unofficial Uncle Hjortr, a weapon to allow me to better defend myself from the wolves and bears that freely roamed Solstheim.

The ground jerked again, before I could lift my head, and my skull collided painfully with something cold and hard, drawing my attention to the headache that already burned in my temples. I winced, turning over, planting my knees on the ground and using the movement as leverage to lift my upper body up, all the while taking in my surroundings.

They weren't all that spectacular. I was in a cart.

…What. in. Oblivion.

Of course, I wasn't in the cart alone. I was surrounded by Nords; two blond-haired, one in armor and the other in rather elegant-looking furs - noble gone bad, perhaps? - and a darker-haired one in rags who was looking decidedly nervous, at odds with the rather resigned expression on the others' faces.

The armored Nord's eyes shifted to the side, landing on me. He blinked slightly, the corners of his mouth twitching downwards in a slight frown. It was probably a racial thing; Nords and elves shared no love after all, not after the Great War. "You're finally awake, then, elf?" he asked, shifting in what was probably a futile attempt to get comfortable. "Imperials caught you trying to cross the border," he added, confirming what I already knew.

I shrugged as best I could with arms bound as I wobbled backward ungracefully on my knees. As soon as I'd neared the side of the cart, I shifted my body to swing my legs out from underneath me, stretching them out and easing some of the stiffness as I leaned on the cart, resting my back against the wooden planks. It was uncomfortable, but I was grateful for the support. "Seems that way," I replied once I'd gotten settled, glancing at the snow-laden trees lining the road, a sudden reminder of home. "Crossing the border's a crime now?"

"Not typically," the Nord said, and then eyed me suspiciously. "You're telling me you have no idea what you walked into?"

I grunted noncommittally, a habit I'd picked up from the Nords back in Solstheim. It seemed to be their favorite way of saying 'no'; gods forbid they spend more than a split second on conversation when they had beasts to hunt.

The black-haired Nord hissed out a breath between his teeth, and I turned to regard him curiously. "Damned Stormcloak rebels," he spat, eyes on the two blond Nords as he spoke. "Everything was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If you didn't show up, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!" He glanced at me. "You and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

Normally I would have told him quite bluntly to shut his mouth, but, first off, the Imperial driving the cart did it for me with a sharp bark of "Quiet back there!" and second, my interest was piqued. Living as a nomad was not the best way to get information. I returned my gaze to the armored Nord as his eyes narrowed, a spark of visible contempt stirring within them. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Stormcloaks?" I prompted before they could get into an argument.

"You haven't been in contact with civilization lately, have you?" the armored Nord asked. "The Stormcloaks are the Nords who support the true High King," he inclined his head towards the man in furs, "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The Empire has no business here telling us who not to worship, insulting the rightful King for defeating his predecessor in honorable combat."

I could hear the black-haired Nord catch his breath and whimper quietly. "Jarl Ulfric? The leader of the rebellion? But if they've caught you - oh Gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits," the armored Nord said, his tone completely calm as he glanced back down at the floor of the cart. It was the tone of a man who'd accepted death, realized it would eventually come for him, and was ready. That was something I could respect; it was something I'd done a long time ago.

In the silence, the low pounding of the horses' hooves hammered its way into my ears, aggravating the headache I'd nearly forgotten about. I growled under my breath and closed my eyes, carefully picking out the sounds of the landscape around me. There were the hooves, the crunching of gravel under the cart wheels, the distant roar of the wind and trickle of water, and the quiet breaths of my fellow prisoners. The black-haired Nord was muttering pleas under his breath.

And under all that, there was something else. It wasn't a sound so much as it was a feeling, a subtle tension that I could somehow tell wasn't at all related to my approaching death. It was something primal, some animalistic instinct, almost an excited feeling buried within me, although I wasn't sure what I should be excited about. Described as a noise, it would be the low growl of a feral animal.

"…What village are you from, horse thief?"

I lifted my head at the armored Nord's voice and rested my eyes on the horse thief, who was looking panicked now, an expression I'd seen many times before on startled deer just before the arrow thudded into their ribcage. "Why do you care?" His voice was high with fright.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," the armored Nord stated simply.

The image of my brother - long dead now, infected with Lycanthropy and slain when he'd transformed and attacked the village - popped into my head as the thief answered quietly. "Rorikstead. I'm…I'm from Rorikstead."

"And what of you, elf?"

I tilted my head slightly, gazing at the armored Nord through slightly narrowed eyes. "The Skaal village in Solstheim. Skyrim isn't too different, or what I've seen of it," I shrugged, closing my eyes again. "Though I must say, it has set a record for amount of time I've gone without a wolf trying to make me its next meal."

The Nord chuckled. "Only because of the Imperials. Skyrim has its fair share of dangers not even counting wolves; bears, saber-cats, spriggans, horkers, frostbite spiders…"

"As does Solstheim." I took a look out in front of the cart; the heavy stone walls and towers of what was certainly a city or town was coming into view. I smiled thinly. "The bears and wolves are infected with plague. There are snow versions of them with ice magic in their teeth and claws. There are giant tusked beasts called Grahls, and blue dwarf-creatures we call Rieklings that ride on wild boars. We have spriggans and horkers as well, of course, but they're not nearly as strong. And there are plenty of werewolves."

The walls of the city were right in front of us now, and as I watched an Imperial soldier walked along the ramparts, calling down to a man on a horse waiting below him on the ground. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"

The black-haired Nord sucked in a sharp breath. I flexed my fingers and, ignoring the sudden flutter of nerves in my stomach at his words, pulled one of my knees up to my chest to ease some of the stiffness in my joints as Tullius responded. "Good. Let's get this over with," and with that he wheeled his horse around and it trotted neatly away.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines," the horse thief stammered, almost tripping over his words in his haste, "please help me." His voice turned into a whine at the end, and I glared at him even though I knew he wasn't paying attention to anything but his approaching death.

I looked to the armored Nord as we passed under the stone arch and into the city, but before I could ask him where we were he turned his head, glaring at something to the side. I followed his gaze, eyes landing on Tullius and his horse, currently standing in front of a group of golden-skinned elves who were likewise mounted. I knew who they were, at least. Thalmor.

"Look at him," the armored Nord sneered, his tone mocking. "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."

"Of course they did. They weren't the ones who ordered our - your - capture, though," I said. "If they were, they would be in charge of this whole thing. They're just hangers-on, for now. From what I know of the Thalmor, they'd deal with their real enemies on their own. But anyway, am I right in assuming that you know where we are?"

"…Yes," he said after a brief pause. "This is Helgen." His voice turned wistful. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

I nodded and left him to reminisce, taking in the details of my surroundings. While I wasn't put off by the idea of death, I would rather go down with a fight; with my arms behind my back, my sword gone, and Imperial soldiers crawling everywhere, it didn't look like that was going to be possible. I sighed, returning my attention to the situation at hand and catching the tail end of a conversation, a father ordering his child to return to the house.

The speed of the cart started to slow.

"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief asked, apparently not having figured out what was happening yet or refusing to accept it. The armored Nord looked at him with a mixture of pity and contempt in his eyes; I couldn't muster up the emotion to feel sorry for him, though.

"What do you think?" the Nord asked rhetorically, shaking his head. "It's the end of the line."

The cart came to a slow stop just in front of the wall, the Imperial driver dragging the horse to a halt and leaping out of his seat. I pushed myself to my feet using the power of my legs, joints cracking as they did so from their period of enforced inactivity. The Nord sighed. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No, wait! We're not rebels!" the horse thief protested, but got to his feet, stumbling out of the cart just behind the Nord in furs. I leapt down next to him, followed closely by the armored Nord, who was currently staring ahead of him at the woman and man waiting for us.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," he hissed.

The horse thief was past listening to him, though. "You've got to tell them we weren't with you!" he begged, shooting a glance back at me. "This is a mistake!"

I curled my lip at him. "Leave me out of this, thief."

"Prisoners!" the Imperial woman barked, effectively ending the conversation. "Step towards the block when we call your names. One at a time!" she added, as if we were actually overeager to get our heads separated from our bodies. Honestly.

The armored Nord groaned in exasperation. "Empire loves their damned lists."

I shrugged my shoulder at him as the man took up what the woman had started. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

The man in question walked sedately forward, and the armored Nord bowed his head respectfully. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."

Ulfric showed no signs of hearing him as he continued towards the block and the man announced the next name. "Ralof of Riverwood."

The armored Nord, Ralof, stepped forward, leaving me alone with the horse thief, who luckily didn't get the chance to talk as his name was announced. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

He scrambled frantically forward at the voice, nearly tripping in his haste. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" he pleaded and then, before anyone could say anything, darted past the female Imperial, making a beeline for the trees surrounding the village. "You're not going to kill me!" he called as he ran.

Nobody even had to say anything. One of the Imperial soldiers standing nearby lifted up his bow and fired a single arrow at the retreating figure of the thief. Mid-step, he froze, the projectile burying itself between his shoulder blades with a dull thud, and crumpled to the ground in silence.

The female Imperial, who had turned around to make sure Lokir had been properly disposed of, whirled back to face me, frowning heavily. "Anyone else feel like running?" she demanded, and then seemed to notice I was the only one remaining, the frown becoming a puzzled expression.

"You there," the man, who I could now tell was a Nord, demanded. "Step forward."

With no wish to end up like Lokir, who certainly wasn't going to Sovngarde - I'd heard the tales from my Uncle, about the afterlife brave Nords went to when they died, which seemed a little restrictive (what about other races?) - I obeyed his command, only to get a confused frown in response. "Who are you?"

"Sathyn Eklund," I replied. "Of Solstheim."

It was a well-known fact that after Red Mountain had erupted, many of the Dunmer refugees fled to Solstheim. Only a few families actually remained there, though, and ours only remained because my great-great grandmother and then great grandfather had fallen in love with Nords. After that, the dark elf blood came back, but as a result my skin was a little lighter than most dark elves'; my hair remained the dark auburn typical of females.

After a few moments of scrutiny, he nodded sharply and glanced at the Imperial. "Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."

The 'captain' didn't even hesitate. "Forget the list. She goes to the block."

The Nord nodded. "By your orders, Captain," he replied, turning to me as the Imperial walked off towards the block where the rest of the prisoners were waiting. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "We'll make sure your remains are returned to Solstheim."

That was more consideration than I was expecting. "Thanks," I said, moving to follow the Imperial captain only to stop right next to Ralof and gaze with mild interest at the confrontation taking place. Ulfric and Tullius were facing each other, and while Ulfric had a gag across his mouth so he couldn't speak or defend himself, Tullius was going at it.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he said threateningly, one hand resting on the hilt of the sword at his side. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a herodoesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!"

Ulfric's eyes narrowed; the most he could do was grunt in response, but Tullius wasn't done yet. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!" His voice ended up nearly a yell on the last few words, and with a last contemptuous glance Tullius made to turn around -

- and something roared.

It was a distant noise, barely audible, and it could have just as easily been the thunder of an avalanche as the sound of a beast, but I could tell it wasn't. Something inside me stirred, the instinct I'd felt back in the cart, and I looked up to the sky, feeling excitement return once more to overtake the nervousness I felt.

Everyone else, however, looked quite uneasy. "What was that?" one of the Imperial soldiers muttered, his sword half-out of its sheath. Even Tullius shifted uncomfortably, staring at the clouds, but recovered himself within moments.

"It's nothing. Carry on."

His voice carried the unmistakable ring of authority, but even so, it took a few more seconds for anyone to actually react, and the first person to do so ended up, rather predictably, being the Imperial captain. "Yes, General Tullius!" she shouted, drawing everyone's attention, before she turned to the woman in robes behind her. "Give them their last rites," she ordered.

The priestess lifted her arms reverently. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for -"

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," one of the Nords wearing the same blue armor, Stormcloak armor, demanded, stalking forward with a snarl on his face.

The priestess looked rather affronted, but contented herself with glaring at him for a brief moment before turning her head away officiously. "As you wish."

The Nord came to a halt, standing and staring down at the block defiantly. The Imperial captain glared at his back before stepping forward, placing a hand on his shoulder, and forcing him to his knees, planting her foot on his back and forcing him to lay his head on the block. She stepped back, nodding to the executioner, who brought up his axe and, in one slow swing, chopped his head off.

There was a collective intake of breath around me. The Imperial captain nudged the body carelessly with her toe, pushing it off to the side to make room for the next victim.

"You Imperial bastards!" one of the Stormcloaks, a female by the sound of the voice, shouted.

"Justice!" an Imperial bellowed in response, followed quickly by a call of 'death to the Stormcloaks'. I narrowed my eyes calculatingly, disgusted by their actions. This wasn't the type of execution we'd sometimes had in Solstheim, where you gained honor by admitting your crimes and dying honorably by the wolves. Then again, there was a lot of bad blood between the two factions; I could tell that much.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof murmured at my side, inclining his head in respect for his fallen comrade. I copied his actions, lifting my head in time to catch the cold gaze the Imperial captain sent me.

"Next, the dark elf!" she called, but just before I stepped forward I heard it again; the roar, louder this time, slightly muffled, a noise that rose excitement and rage in equal measure. Alduin, something within me said, and I glared hard at the sky. Uncle Hjortr had told me the tales of Alduin, Alduin the first-born of Akatosh, the World-Eater who would someday return. I'd learned to trust my instincts, but certainly there was no conceivable way Alduin had anything to do with this. But there was no denying the noise was a roar, and there certainly wasn't anything loud enough to make that sort of noise besides a dragon.

Even the Imperial captain glanced up this time. "Did you hear that?" one of the Imperials murmured nervously.

"I said, next prisoner!"

My eyes remained on the sky for a second more before the Nord who'd been calling our names earlier interrupted me. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

I tore my gaze away from the clouds and stepped forwards, slightly reluctant, turning to stand in front of the block just as the Nord before me had. The Imperial captain pushed me down to my knees, forcing my neck to rest in the splatter of blood the last victim had left. My head was turned to face the figure of the executioner.

The man lifted his axe, and just as the blade of the weapon and a massive black figure soared over the tops of the mountains with a vicious, blood-curdling roar.

I jerked my head away from the block, rolling onto my side, ignoring the executioner's demand to get back. He was the only one who hadn't noticed the beast emerging from the sky behind him; Tullus had, though, and wasted no time in alerting the rest of us. I twisted, pushing myself to my feet, as the Imperial general howled, "What in Oblivion is that?"

It landed on the tower in front of me in an explosion of dust, bending its head to glare down at me. A tremor ran through the ground, and the executioner stumbled and fell, hitting the earth hard. The ring of drawn swords echoed in my ears, as the dragon's crimson eyes locked with my own. Just as the executioner struggled back to his feet, the dragon opened its jaws and screamed, and a thunderclap drowned out all other noises as the sky turned cloudy, pale grey and red.

It was pure instinct that had me opening my mouth and roaring back defiantly. One of the Imperial soldiers darted forward, lifting his sword in defiance as the dragon looked at me again, bared its teeth, and then shouted out a pulse of power that slammed into me and the soldier, knocking us backward. My vision blurred; I hit the ground hard.

"Mey joorre!" Alduin roared, loud in my ears. "Zu'u Alduin! Zok sahrot do naan ko Lein!"

The words certainly weren't in any language I knew; I'd never heard them before, but somehow they managed to twist themselves into Tamrielic as they reached me. Fool mortals! I am Alduin! Most mighty of any in the world!

"Nid," I snarled, ignoring Ralof's frantic shouts, attempts to pull me to safety. It wasn't so much me in control of what I was saying as something else entirely, something ancient and angry, tired of silence. Alduin gazed down at me as I spoke. "Hi nok. Fin Dovahkiin fen aln hi, ol fin zoore iin."

His eyes glittered with anger. "You joorre are arrogant fools. You dare defy me, when I hold the power of the Thu'um, when your own briinah and zeymah have bound your hands, sentenced you to die like a common rat? MEY!" he roared, lifting his head back.

Ralof's fingers locked around my wrist, yanking me backward as Alduin arched his neck. "YOL TOOR SHUL!" he roared, and searing flames roared from his maw, blackening the ground on which I'd just stood. I just managed to keep my footing, whirling to snarl at the Nord only to end up staring into his face, which was pale with fear.

The reality that what I had just been yelling at was a dragon, more particularly the dragon prophesied to consume the very world, sunk into me, and for whatever reason no fear came with it. The very core of my being said we were equal, that we both held power that could transform the world; it was a race to see which one would be able to do so first.

My instincts for survival overrode the demand to fight, though, as I felt the residual heat of the fire Alduin had ignited on my back. I had no weapon; my hands were tied. There was no point in attacking yet.

"Come on, dark elf," Ralof hissed, turning, releasing my arm now that he saw I was paying attention. "The gods won't give us another chance!"

Helpful Translations
Nid - no
Briinah - sisters
Zeymah - brothers
"Hi nok…" - You lie. The Dragonborn will destroy you, as the legends say.

Now, for a bit of explaining/review. Our main character here, Sathyn, is from Solstheim. According to UESP, after Red Mountain erupted, many of the Dunmer retreated to Solstheim. Sathyn's however many great-relatives remained there, and thus she was raised on Solstheim. As mentioned, she is part Nord waaay back in her ancestry, but this won't have too much of an effect on the story.

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed. Please feel free to comment on what you think could have been done better; this is my first real story on here. Thanks!