Chapter One

The World Will End in Fire

Some say the world will end in fire,

Some say in ice.

From what I've tasted of desire

I hold with those who favour fire.

But if it had to perish twice,

I think I know enough of hate

To say that for destruction ice

Is also great

And would suffice.

- Fire and Ice by Robert Frost.

My head lolled to the motion of a wagon. The tense coil of my spine felt every dip and bump in the road, yet if not for the crisp chill crawling across my skin I might have fallen back asleep again.

But wake I did, fighting a wince as bright sunlight stabbed my eyes and made my pounding headache all the worse, until it was a marching band composed of nothing but drummers. When I tried to touch the lump I knew must be there, I realised that my hands were bound in front of me with rough rope. This, if nothing else, startled me from my daze and I lurched into an upright sitting position, blinking rapidly to try and make sense of it all.

I was in a wagon full of prisoners, most wearing sky blue hues, with a soldier who looked like a Roman legionnaire dressed in well-worn regalia holding the reins of a stocky draft horse. The equine snorted and whinnied softly, its breath visible as its hooves trod the frozen ground, following another wagon in front. Winter-touched pine trees pressed lined the road, their needles the only colour I could see in the bleak expanse as they reached out like knifes toward the prisoners' backs.

It was an achingly familiar scene.

"Hey, you, finally awake?" The man across from me to my left spoke up, "you were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us."

With those words I knew where I was and though not why or how, what little knowledge I had was enough to make me groan and drag my frozen feet up onto the seat, burying my face in my knees as if to block out the world. The imaginary world which I had been forcibly landed in.

"And that thief over there," Ralof continued to talk as if my life wasn't crumbling down about my ears.

"Damn you Stormcloaks!" Lokir spat. "Skyrim was fine until you came along," I wondered if he was talking about more than the border crossing, if he was an Imperial supporter... then I reminded myself that he would be dead soon enough and what was the use pondering on the drives of minor characters? "Empire was nice and lazy, if they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now."

Hammerfell, home of the Redguards, borders Skyrim, High Rock and Cyrodiil. It is a desert land which I knew little about having never played Redguard myself, or read much about the game either. It got terrible reviews.

Was there a reason that Lokir would choose Hammerfell, when there were two other countries bordering Skyrim? Well, if he was trying to avoid Imperial troops I can see why he wouldn't go to the middle province- personally I would have chosen High Rock, because I had played Daggerfall extensively as a child, although my knowledge of current events wasn't fantastic. It was just my luck that I had spent so much time researching the Dawn and Merethic eras only to find myself in the Fourth Era. Ugh.

I never got around to finishing Oblivion either and had spent so long doing side quests in Skyrim, I'd only completed the main quest line once. I hated the bickering of the two major factions and throughout the game had wanted nothing more than to bash the collective craniums of the Imperials and Stormcloaks together until they all saw sense.

Now, naturally, I was stuck in between the two armies and had to choose (I hated this part of starting a new game!) which of the two evils to align myself with so I didn't die facing Alduin.

Why was I worrying about video game factions exactly? I must have a concussion, if that was on my list of worries after being thrown into a video game as violent as Skyim.

Wait a minute- was I the player character? There was only four people in the wagon. Was I the Dragonborn? Oh fuck, fuck, fuck-

"You there." Lokir cut short my panicked strand of thought. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." Ralof's derisive tone on the word 'thief' belied his words. He certainly didn't consider someone like Lokir a 'brother'.

"Shut up back there!" The nasal voice of the Imperial driver snapped out over our heads, but the man went largely ignored. No point toeing the line if you were about to die anyway.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" Lokir asked after a long moment, either unable or unwilling to keep his mouth shut.

Nervousness or defiance, Ralof reprimanded him anyway. "Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" There hadn't been a moot so no, Ralof couldn't claim anyone was High King or not. It was a little silly to jump the gun either way.

And there my analytical mind went again, focusing on everything but how to get myself out of this situation. My defence mechanisms were more concerned with my mental health than staying alive, which was just typical really.

"Ulfric... The Jarl of Windhelm." Lokir breathed, looking across to the bound and gagged man before him. "You're the leader of the rebellion- but if they captured you... Oh Gods!" His shock was so palpable that I was almost ready to revise my opinion of Lokir's allegiance but then he spoke again. "Where are they taking us?"

Of course, Lokir was a thief, a True Neutral if ever there was one. Well, I shouldn't judge, it wasn't like I hadn't played thieves and assassins in the past- in fact most of the time I'd added some kind of criminal element. I'd like to think my character creation was a little more complex than Lokir's though. Generic two-dimensional classes were so very dull.

"I don't know where we're going." Ralof sighed, defeated. "But Sovngarde awaits."

"No! This can't be happening, this isn't happening!" An edge of desperation was creeping into Lokir's voice and for good reason, most crimes were prison offences. In Skyrim you could kill random citizens, steal from nobles and set chickens on fire with little rebuke. The most you'd get is a bounty and subsequent time in prison. I suppose the laws might be different given that this wasn't a video game any more (and that in itself was a terrifying prospect) but surely there wasn't usually a death penalty for stealing a horse?

"Hey, what village were you from, Horse-Thief?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

I snorted, the first noise I'd made since waking up. "Home is what most people think about at times like this, there is no racial diversity in that regard."

"Rorikstead." Lokir spoke, his eyes clouded in reminiscence. "I'm from Rorikstead."

"General Tullius, sir!" An Imperial called out, "the headsman is waiting, sir."

My stomach twisted at the thought. No matter what happened today, no matter what path I took in the future, I would witness a public execution in a few short minutes. I had no doubt that it would be the first of many deaths I would see in this world but it would mark the beginning of my changed life.

I prayed, as an Agnostic so seldom does, to any God that might hear me, that this nightmare might end so I could return home. Home to my nice warm bed, to my peaceful country where there were no dragons, or trolls, or anything else with intentions to maul me as soon as I stepped foot out the door. Why couldn't I fall into a fun and safe video game?

The soldier kept talking but by this time I had blocked him out, I felt numb as Lokir starting listing the names of Gods under his breath.

"Look at him, General Tullius, the military Governor!" Ralof spat. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him."

"Oh joy..." I mumbled with great sarcasm into my knees.

Ralof concurred. "Damn elves, I bet they're got something to do with this."

High Elves were my favourite playable race in Skyrim because of the magicka boost and Highborn perk, which were useful no matter what level you reached. If I had been feeling less sorry for myself I might have defended the mer population but really, all the High Elves I'd seen in Skyrim were pretty full of themselves.

"This is Helgen." Ralof spoke and from his look in my direction this seemed to be for my benefit.

"Mnn." I nodded. "Is it strange that an execution would take place here? Because this strikes me as a location of convenience." We rolled into Helgen and I cast my gaze about, knowing that this would be my last chance to see the place before it was a burned-out, bandit-infested hovel.

Rolaf huffed in agreement, "they fear taking Jarl Ulfric to Solitude for a proper trial. Better to end us quickly before our brothers and sisters can mount a rescue, they think."

"And thus, in the mad scramble to get rid of you quickly..." I gestured between Lokir and I. "We get the short end of the stick. Lovely."

"I used to be sweet on a girl here, she lived in a house just across the way." Rolaf unknowingly deviated from his prescribed lines. "I wonder if Veela is still making that mead with juniper berries..."

"I think we could all use a stiff drink right about now." I quipped and Ralof smiled faintly, if only for a moment.

"Who are they, daddy?" A young boy's voice piped up and the sound made my heart clench. How many children would die today?

If only someone would listen when I told them to evacuate... Ha, yeah right, like anyone would listen to me in a million years. I wasn't just a prisoner but a woman of indistinguishable race, with a funny accent and strange clothes. That being said, I was thankful that I wasn't wearing the rags that new characters were allocated, even if my t-shirt, jeans and light boots were useless for Skyrim's colder climes.

"Get inside the house, now." The father ushered his son away and I realised that I had once again zoned out. I hoped it wasn't a symptom of my head injury.

"Yes, papa."

"Get these prisoners out of the cart!"

"Why are we stopping?"

"Why do you think?"

Everything was moving so fast, I couldn't focus long enough to observe and I wasn't sure if it was fear or a concussion or a combination thereof. By the time Ralof spoke his iconic line, my stomach was a writhing pit and I was clutching my knees like a child would a teddy bear in the dark of night.

"End of the line. Let's go." Ralof looked across from me and I nodded even though my head swam. I really needed to pull myself together, if I could just trick myself into thinking this was a game- no, it was too realistic for that. Every scent, sight and sound was tangible and impossible to ignore. There was nothing resembling a game in all of this.

...If not a game, then why not a play? I had been very involved in dramatical pursuits before I went to university and while I was hardly a fantastic actress I wasn't terrible either. I had always enjoyed coming up with reasons for characters acting the way they did, had delighted in delivering ambiguous lines multiple times in a wide range of emotions. One script could be read a thousand different ways and that had been one of the things I loved about the Elder Scrolls game series.

Who said my fate was set in stone? There was no divine hand guiding my actions, no programmed code or assigned script to restrict me. Like hell I would take this lying down!

I stood up as the order went out amidst Lokir's desperate cries and although I swayed a little I convinced myself it was because I'd gone numb from sitting still so long. Just like in the game, the player character trailed out last and I alighted solid ground just as the only other non-Stormcloak tried to convince Ralof to speak in our defence. The fact he said 'we' was a little touching and I revised my 'True Neutral' assessment.

"Whatever you do," I decided to speak up, "don't try to run. Bleeding out from an arrow in your back is a slower death than beheading."

Lokir whimpered and I replayed the opening sequence in my mind, silently calculating how long Lokir's escape attempt had taken and if he didn't run... shit, I really should have thought that move through. I was going to go to the block second, the Stormcloak in front of me would jump the gun and if I followed as I was meant to then I'd get my head chopped off before Alduin showed up.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Maybe there was something to be said for infallible computer code after all.

"Empire loves their damn lists..." Ralof said, jerking me from my thoughts once again, I really needed to keep my head in the game.

"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, of Windhelm." Was the first name called out and the Nord beside me bowed his head.

"It was an honour to serve with you, Jarl Ulfric."

"Ralof of Riverwood." I remembered that Hadvar and Ralof were both from the same town, I wondered how well they knew one another, if they had played together as children and how many people this war had torn apart. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

Lokir whimpered, stumbling forward and hesitating between the lines of prisoners and the road to freedom. After a long moment he bowed his head and fell into line.

Well, shit.

"Wait, you there, step forward."

My moment to shine. I walked forward as slowly as I dared, light-headedness threatening to make me faint but no- I was playing a role, what kind of role I didn't know but fainting (or pretending to) would be a last resort. Evidently I was taking too long because I was called again. "You... Breton, forward!"

Breton? Huh. I suppose that made sense. I was short, dark haired and pale. I wondered if I had the abilities of a Breton or whether this was still my old body in every sense of the word. It would be interesting to see if I had new racial abilities, if I lived that long.

Now, what did I know about Bretons and High Rock? The land used to be divided into hundreds of cities, now there was only a handful, Daggerfall and Wayrest among them. The Lilac Bay surrounded the oldest structure in Tamriel, a tower reputedly built by the Divines themselves at the beginning of the world. The Mages Guild is a strong establishment (or did that change after Oblivion?) and children are tested at a young age for spell casting ability. The Forsworn have Gaelic names but most Bretons have those of French origin. What else? Oh, the populous is split into three factions: the ruling nobles who apparently have very complicated politics, a merchant class, and the peasantry. Not very different from how it used to be on Earth in some countries.

I didn't know how much of an Imperial or Aldmeri presence there was in High Rock right now, for all I know it could be a conquered land. Knowing so little of current events I would have to bullshit like never before.

"You. Who are you?"

That's my cue. I stepped forward, keeping my head held high as I hoped that it didn't look ridiculous that someone as short as I was staring down someone over six foot tall.

"I am Lyra Aragon of Daggerfall," I projected as I had been taught, my tone hiding the fear and trepidation I felt. 'Aragon' is a French surname and 'Lyra' was the only thing I could think of which sounded even vaguely Breton (even canon names had deserted me now). Normally when creating a new character, I look up lists of names previously used and either copied one or jumbled common suffixes and prefixes. I hadn't played a Breton since Oblivion and I couldn't remember what I called her. "I am the daughter of Arathorn Aragon and I demand to know of what crime I am being accused of!"

Hadvar blinked, evidently not expecting my response. "You're from Daggerfall, Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue I imagine."

"My name," I swallowed the heart in my throat, "is 'Lyra' and you may address me as 'Lady Aragon'. There shall be no intrigue at court, only an outcry when news reaches my father's ears of the abhorrent treatment I have received at Imperial hands this day! I will ask again, of what crime am I being accused of?" I arched a brow, tilting my chin up all the higher and refusing to let my gaze drop.

Hadvar scanned up and down his sheet as if it would hold answers. "I... I don't know. Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list..."

"Forget the list, she goes to the block."

"Excuse me?" I tried to sound less terrified and more justifiably insulted. "Is it a common practice to summarily execute innocent bystanders, least of all those whose deaths will spark an international incident? I demand that you identify which crime I am being accused of and then try me before a court of law!"

"You can demand all you want, princess," The captain snarled, grabbing the collar of my shirt and pulling my face close, "but we don't need a court to kill rebels."

"By all means," I threw my bound hands up in exasperation with an accompanying roll of my eyes, "kindly showcase for all assembled here how swiftly your beloved Imperial order falls apart- when you cannot subdue via your precious laws and regulations you resort to physical violence! Anyone with eyes can see that myself and that man over there," I flicked my hands in Lokir's direction, "are no more Stormcloak rebels than you are!"

"This one dies first." My heart stopped in my chest but I dug my feet in as she attempted to drag me into line. Perhaps it wouldn't be a bad time to faint now? No, I had to keep this up, Alduin would come soon, I just had to stall...

"Are you willing to risk your career over this altercation, Captain?" I stumbled past the line of Stormcloaks and one would-be horse thief. "My life is on the line but I always can die tomorrow, if you make a mistake of this calibre, all for the sake of a clerical error, the kindest fate open to you will be a dishonourable discharge when my father hears of my fate."

The captain drew short. I could see the dried blood on the headman's block from here, a fresh basket was already laid out in anticipation and I swallowed bile. "Death is irreversible Captain, and some mistakes are unforgivable."

"General Tullius," the Captain did not loosen her grip as she addressed her commanding officer, "what are your orders?"

The man looked considering for a moment, but it was the sort of expression one would don when choosing between chicken or beef for dinner, not whether or not to sentence a young woman to death. "The line of Aragon sounds familiar to me, but I never claimed to understand the intricacies of Breton politics. What say you, Elenwen?"

The Altmer looked me up and down before telling the captain to "check her hands." I blinked as the Captain did so, resisting the urge to snatch them back as she ran calloused fingers over my palms.

"Soft," she declared, "this one hasn't worked a day in her life."

I bristled at that, I'd like to see her slog through the twelve-hour shifts I had pulled in the university library, staring at itty-bitty text until I thought my eyes might bleed out their sockets. I'd like her to write the first draft of a dissertation in under four days after months of jumbled research, on a topic so obscure that none of my professors even knew how to mark it when I finally completed it.

Bite me, I'm an academic and proud of it.

And also inordinately happy that I sometimes moisturised my hands. Holy crap, my lacklustre beauty regime had actually saved my life. I was never going to preach on the uselessness of appearances ever again.

"Well, there you have it," Elenwen shrugged, "she is someone of importance. Perhaps a ransom would be of more aid to the war effort than another rebel's death."

"What should I do with her?" Hadvar asked as the captain finally let me go.

"We have enough cells, take her down there after we are finished here." The Captain looked to Tullius for confirmation and he (thankfully) nodded.

I felt as if a great weight had been lifted off my shoulders. I wasn't going to the block. I was going to live, if only for a little while longer.

From the distance, I heard Alduin's first cry.

Everyone glanced around but a moment later all continued as expected, Ulfric was reviled in front of the crowd, his crimes listed as his first comrade was called forward. The priestess of Arkay began to invoke the 'eight' Divines and the Stormcloak naturally took offence- whether you believed Talos was a God or not, it was a low blow to rub your own non-belief in someone else's face right before they died. Religious sensitivity, anyone?

The man walked to the block without fear and I winced as he was pushed to his knees by the Imperial Captain whom I was really starting to hate.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

Another cry rang out and a dark shape crested overhead. "What in Oblivion was that?"

"Deux ex machina." I grinned and someone on my left looked sharply in my direction. I didn't look around to see who it was because I was too busy craning my head to catch another glimpse of Alduin, but I felt their gaze on me all the while.

The headman raised his axe but was rocked off his feet a moment later as -sure enough- Alduin landed atop the tower in all his deathly glory.

"DRAGON!" I shouted as everyone stood about flabbergasted, "RUN FOR YOUR LIVES!"

Because really, who hasn't wanted to scream that once in their lives?

Alduin roared his first Thu'um and I thanked my lucky stars that the prisoners weren't where he was aiming for.

Wait, there was one thing that I'd wanted to do in the game and hadn't been able to...

I ran to Ulfric, fumbling with my bound hands for his gag. "You blew apart a king, think you can take on a dragon?" I asked as I pulled back the gag and removed the waded cloth from between his teeth.

Ulfric looked at me with pale eyes which seemed to gaze right through me then called with a voice of command which did not require the volume I had just employed. "Stormcloaks, to the keep!" Then he drew a breath and, knowing what was coming, I ducked out of the way. "FIIK LO SAH," Ulfric called, closely followed by "IISS SLEN NUS!"

I recognised the first Thu'um used as the one that the Greybeards used to summon spiritual practice dummies. What I hadn't realised was that these constructs could Shout. Sure enough, the clone was able to spit ice the same as Ulfric, even if it was a far weaker effect than the original.

Even better- there wasn't the same Shouting time limit as in the game!

That was possibly the first piece of good news I'd heard since I landed here...

"VUN!" Alduin rumbled from overhead and I squeaked in fright, realising I was right next to the man who Alduin was aiming for...

I ran like hell, not even looking back to see if anyone made it out of the blast zone. I smelled scorched hair and flesh so I knew someone had been hit. I hoped it wasn't a necessary character- I wanted to keep the game on course a little bit!

The tower was empty when I got there and I smacked my forehead in frustration- of course it was! I'd left everyone out there with a pissed off dragon. If things went as they had in Bethesda's creation then Alduin would smash through the tower wall at some point. With that in mind I wedged myself against the wall of the staircase. There wasn't really anywhere to hide but I was short enough that I didn't think I'd be seen... or roasted if Alduin broke through.

I set to work on my binds, grimacing as I tried to work out the tight knot, but it was in an awkward position and was near impossible to grip with my teeth.

The door burst open at that moment to admit Rolaf, closely followed by Ulfric and three other Stormcloaks.

"I see you survived, friend!" Ralof looked positively cheerful even as he supported one of his brothers-in-arms who was wounded, his armour scorched at the shoulder and his face pale. "Then again, with the speed that you ran, I'd be surprised it you didn't!"

Abandoning the knots, I glowered at the blond. "In case you hadn't noticed- there's a dragon outside." I wondered how much to say but thought 'why not', if I established myself a scholar, people would be less suspicious when I let something slip. "And not just any dragon, that's Alduin the World Eater! There's no way I'm tangling with him!"

"Alduin?" Ulfric queried, holding still while the only female Stormcloak of their company untied his hands.

"Yes, Alduin! There's only one black dragon in lore- well, only one in the lore that I know of." I tried to remember the section of prophetic verse that I had memorised during that long period of starting new characters every time I died. Yeah, my hardcore stint had died after about five random cliff falls, but the opening loading screen had stuck with me. "The Song of the Dragonborn heralds the dragons' return. How does it go again..." As soon as I remembered the first line the rest of the verse flowed like water.

"And the Scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold,

That when brothers wage war come unfurled,

Alduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,

With a hunger to swallow the world."

I nodded, quite pleased with myself for getting the whole verse. During my rendition, the Stormcloaks had managed to work their bindings loose and none looked particularly impressed.

"Grave tidings indeed." Ulfric rumbled. "But what does a Breton noble know of Nordic myth?"

I laughed and it was a ghastly sound, too tight and desperate and I choked it down. "Oh, I'm not a noble," or a Breton, "I'm a scholar, I was bluffing back there. A dragon attack wouldn't have been my first guess for a rescue but-"

Alduin roared his fury, blasting a hole in the wall above the size of a small car. I screamed as the flames passed over my head, a searing heat which made my skin prickle with sweat and all the hairs on the back of my neck stand to attention. It passed after what seemed like an eternity and when it was over I had to check myself to see if I was still intact. Nothing on fire. No pain. I was safe.

"-ra, Lyra!" Someone was shaking me and I looked up to see Ralof leaning over me. "Pull yourself together, lass. We need to get moving."

"What?" I squeaked.

"There are too many Imperials outside, we can use the break in the wall to escape." He pulled me to my feet and dragged me to the hole in the tower. The drop to the ground below looked a lot further than it did in the game...

"Nope. No way. I'll stay here and-"

Ralof pushed me. I screamed, barely missing one of the thatch support beams as I fell to the floor below. My feet ached and I was probably gasping like a fish out of water, but the fall didn't hurt as much as it should have- hell, at that distance I should have broken both of my legs. The female Stormcloak and her uninjured male companion were already at ground level and they laughed at my expression.

"RALOF YOU BASTARD!" I screamed up at the blond head of hair peeking over the opening. "NEXT TIME I'M GOING TO PUSH YOU OFF THE TOWER AND SEE HOW YOU LIKE IT!"

The sound of Ralof's laughter echoed down to me below, but the jovial atmosphere evaporated when I turned to see that the Stormcloaks ahead of me had vanished. I could wait for Ralof to jump down with Ulfric, but he might go another way. With the broken roof and flimsy walls, I felt intensely exposed here.

So I kept going.

A.N.: Okay, so a few minor changes from The Drawing Board version: grammar, word choice, structure- particularly in the first half of the chapter, generally cleaner and slightly less purple prose.

I'm not sure where it's going to fall in the update schedule but will likely be lower priority than my three existing stories.

I am using thuum dot org for all my dragon translation needs. It's a great site and I highly recommend it. I debated whether putting in the dragon word translations, either in the story itself of as end notes. Decided not to because I want to reflect Lyra's understanding of the language and at this point in time she only knows a couple of words, recognising most Shouts but not necessarily remembering the individual word meanings.

Since I have plans for the major guild and dragon questlines, what minor quests did you guys particularly enjoy in Skyrim, and what ones would you like to see me touch on here? You can include the Daedric quests, but I'd love suggestions for the more obscure ones too.