Well this is my first time writing about the elder scrolls series. I have played them all, loved them all.

Over the next few days chapters will be going up quickly, then come Monday or Tuesday it will slow down. This story will have the Companion questline, main questline, and a few other ones. As for the romance I am debating if it will be Jarl Balgruuf or Argis, if you have a suggestion send me a message or leave it in a review. If there is a mission you want to see done again, leave it in a review or message me.

I have changed some of the storyline to suit my needs. Some of this will be AU, though I will try and keep as much following the Elder Scrolls history.

Well I hope you enjoy the chapter, let me know what you think. I would love to hear your thoughts.

The wind blew strong, the snow crunched beneath his feet as he walked through the bush. It had been years since he had been back in Skyrim. He looked up at the clouded sky and smiled. He had missed this place. He relaxed as the scent of the forest surrounded him, calling him home once more.

He wondered what Helgen looked like now, if it had changed over the years he had been gone. He knew it was unlikely. He wondered what his parents were doing, whether they were still owned the tavern his sister used to run. He picked up his pace wanting to make it to Helgen before night, but that was impossible he knew. He needed to camp, walking these lands in the dark was dangerous business and he wasn't a fool.

He slowed his pace when he spotted a camp fire flickering in the distance. He moved silently towards the fire, hoping they were friends. He knew of the war and wasn't going to get involved in it. It was a fools' war, a war that should have never happened. The Stormcloaks wanted freedom, but they forget one thing, the price of freedom would affect the economy. They would lose their trading business with the Imperials. Once that happened, no other province would trade with them, they would be outsider and Skyrim wouldn't be able to support itself. They would have more homeless and the mortality rate would be a lot higher than it was already.

These lands were unforgiving; they would take lives of unsuspecting men. Living on these lands harden the youth into warriors before they became men. The women were as harden as the men, they weren't soft. Those that were soften by easy living, lived in the city under protection of the guards. They were the prey when they left the walls. No, Skyrim wasn't for the weak; there was no place for weak here.

Though he had to agree that Ulfric Stormcloak had a few good points, but he was going about it wrong. Sure the Thalmor were a pain in the ass and had too much freedom, but it was the Imperials they needed. Sad but true. If they could have a Skyrim without the Thalmor breathing down their necks it would be a pleasure. One thing he didn't like about Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak was his thoughts against elves, actually any race that wasn't Nord. He wanted them all gone or so the notes his father's wrote him said.

He may have been gone for years, but that didn't mean he didn't know what was going on. His parents and sister always wrote him, keeping him up to date. The letters had shown him it was time to come home, he had missed these lands.

He stopped at the edge of the camp in the shadows and took in the blue uniforms. It would be safe enough for the night, if they allowed him to stay. He walked into the camp with his blades sheathed.

"Who are you?" Ralof asked, when he saw the strange Nord walk into their camp.

"A traveller, heading home, looking for rest for the night, is all," Jorik answered calmly, even though there were swords pointed at him in warning.

He glanced over the burly man's shoulder and watched as another man with sandy blonde hair, a goatee, made their way towards them. Fur draped across his shoulder, his clothes were well tailored. This man was a noble and held himself as such. Jorik held his eyes, showing that he wasn't going to bow down.

"Sheath your weapons, we will not draw weapons on a son of Skyrim," the man ordered.

"Jarl Ulfric, how do we know he is not a spy?" the burly man asked.

Jorik watched as the famous Jarl moved closer, his crystal blue eyes searching more than just what he wore. It was like the man could read his very soul. Jorik held his gaze without flinching. "Who are you?" The Jarl asked.

"Jorik of Heglen," he answered with a smirk.

"Helgen is Imperial run," Jarl Ulfric stated.

"It is, though I haven't been in home in quite a few years," Jorik answered, not at all worried that he may be cut down. If he was going to die, let it be on Skyrim soil.

"Where have you been?" Ulfric asked quietly. Jorik smirked, the Jarl may have softened his voice, but it wasn't quiet.

"Cyrodiil," Jorik answered, he wasn't going to go into detail of what he was doing there. It was no one business, but his own.

Jarl Ulfric searched the man's emerald green eye and saw nothing that would put him on alert. He took a step back, his gut yelled at him that there was more to this man than what meets the eyes. His Nord instincts were saying this man brings change with him, he will change everything. He knew then that fates were playing a part here, something important was going to happen soon and he was to be a witness to it.

Ulfric gave a sharp nod to the man and stepped back allowing him access to the camp for rest. He moved over to the fire and watched as the man walk took a mug of mead offered to him. Ulfric made the decision to have this man help him fight for his cause. He moved with lithe grace, of one who has seen many battles and lived to tell the tale. His long jet black hair was pulled back from his face by two braids, a traditional Nord style. He was darker skin than most Nord, someone who was outside more than indoors. Ulfric had noticed that he only one good green eyes, the other was dead, already lost its color. That told him the injury happened awhile back.

Ulfric knew something big was coming, but what, he wasn't sure. His instincts kept tell him this over the past few nights. They were near the border of Cyrodiil, a safe enough place for now. Tomorrow they would march to Helgen and take out the Imperial there, bring it under Stormcloak banner. Then it would be to Riverwood, maybe, but first they needed more men before taking that place since it was so close to Whiterun.

Jorik looked up at the darkened sky, stars started dotted the blackness as the clouds moved away. He wasn't sure if he wanted to fall asleep with all these people here. Not with the dreams he had been having lately, they were odd, strange dreams that made no sense. The same dreams that sent him back to these lands. Well one of the reasons, the other reason was the last letter he received from his sister.

He spotted the Jarl sitting alone. He wondered how many of the rumors were true and false. He moved over to the Jarl taking a seat on a log nearby. "I heard a rumor and was wondering if you can clarify," Jorik began, looking at the Jarl expectantly.

"What's that?" Ulfric asked. He withheld his glare, he wasn't used to people just walking up to him and asking questions.

"You're Dragonborn is what I heard, is it true?" Jorik asked quietly.

"No, but I know how to use the voice. It took years to learn," Ulfric answered, he wondered if this man was about to ask him why he killed the king and why he used to voice on the king.

Jorik nodded mutely, so the rumors had been true. He thought about asking about the murder of the king, but decided not to. He gave the Jarl one final glance before walking away. When he stood alone he lay his bedroll down and covered himself in fur to ward off the cold while he slept. No one tried to make conversation with him, nor would they go near him, which was fine with him.

Sleep finally claimed him, he didn't know how long it took, but his eyes finally became heavy.

A burly man walked through the mist with confidence. I stand there frozen in place, not able to move other than watching this stranger. He walks up to me, his voice deep, smooth with a strong Nord accent.

"Ahrk fin Kel lost prodah, do ved viing ko fin krah, (And the scrolls have foretold, of black wings in the cold)

Tol fod zeymah win kein meyz fundein! (That when brothers wage war come unfurled)

Alduin, feyn do jun, kruziik vokun staadnau, (Ulduin, Bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,)

Voth aan bshlok wah diivon fin lein!" (With a hunger to swallow the world)

The man stared at him intently, slowly fading as the words echoed through his whole being. It was like those words called to something deep within him. He was used to that feeling now, it happened every time with this dream. Countless times he had this dream and still had no inkling as to what it meant.

Ulfric and a few others stood near Jorik as he slept, they listen to the words he spoke. "Dragon tongue," Ulfric whispered.

"What does it mean?" Rolaf asked nervously.

"I don't know. No one other than the Greybeards has been able to speak the dragon language," Ulfric murmured thoughtfully as he stared down at the man he didn't even know. Some of the words he was familiar with. He wasn't exactly sure what was said, but it was a song of some type.

Jorik sat up abruptly, the words still ringing in his mind. Every night for the past few months was the same thing over and over again, the same dream, the same words. He didn't need to be a sleep to know the words anymore, he knew them in his waking hours, but the meaning was illusive to him. The only word he recognized from those verse were Alduin, every Nord knew that name from legends.

Jorik raised his head and met the eyes of the on lookers. He could feel their penetrating stare; feel the question heavy on the air that no one voiced. He didn't flinch when he saw fear in some eyes, nor did he cower as a freak when he met the eyes of Jarl of Windhelm. The Jarl's ice cold blue eyes were devoid of emotion, his chiseled face set in stone, no emotion showed. He knew that most here thought him a freak, he could see it in their eyes of most, but one - the Jarl.

"Do you know what it means?" Ulfric asked, his eyes narrowing slightly. He could see the admission that Jorik knew that he had spoken out loud.

"No," Jorik answered sharply. His voice clearly stated that he didn't wish to discuss this matter further.

Ulfric stared down at the man before walking away. A sense of foreboding crept down his spine telling him things were going to happen faster than he could have perceived. His mind kept lingering on the stranger Jorik, it was odd that he was speaking the dragon language. He wasn't sure what to make of it, but he had to move quickly to have this man fight for them. In the morning he would approach Jorik and persuade him to fight for their cause.

~ooooooooooooooooooooooo~

Morning came faster than Jorik would have liked. He took a clean deep breath of the crisp morning air. The scent of pine and burning wood from the camp fire filled his nostrils. He glanced around the camp to find very few up, yet those that were awake, were patrolling the area. The sky was still dark, but mornings first light was just starting to peak through. Soon dawn's first light would brighten the sky enough for him to leave, all he needed to do now was wait.

He watched as those few men who were awake patrolled the camp, weapon at ready. He gazed at the large tent where Jarl of Windhelm was resting. He knew he had to leave and soon, but not till there was light. An itch started on his back, a warning. He closed his eyes, and a voice deep within him yelled to leave, but his gut said there was danger nearby, he had to stay. His dreams told him his destiny would be starting soon. Those dreams were becoming stronger, harder to ignore. He didn't know what to do, whether to stay or leave.

Silently he asked the nine divines what to do. His instincts had served him well over the years, but it was that other voice that bothered him. He didn't expect the divines to answer, he would be amused and grateful if they did favor him with an answer.

He looked up at the sky once more and grin, soon the light would be bright enough. He repacked his bag, making sure he had everything he would need. He grabbed his quivers of arrows and slung them over his back. His long sword he strapped around his waist, with his bow hanging over one shoulder. He was ready; as soon as the first ray of light broke through the night he would be off. He decided to ignore the other voice.

He bowed his head, giving a quick prayer to the Divines and smiled when he felt the heat of the first ray of light. It was time. He slung his pack over his shoulder and started heading out of camp. He glanced at the patrols as he passed them. "Jarl Ulfric wished to see you before you leave," one of them announced.

"Is he awake?" Jorik asked, annoyed at being stopped.

"No, but he will be soon," the man answered.

"Then I will see Jarl Ufric in Windhelm once I see my family," Jorik answered and started for the trail he saw. He scowled as the man stepped in his way, blocking his way from exiting the camp and the uneasy feeling he had grew.

"You'll wait," The man ordered coldly. Jorik knew he could take the man easily, but that was the last thing he wanted to do. There were too many and if the guards sounded the alarm there would be no way to fight them all. Jorik shrugged and took a seat on a stump once more. The uneasy feeling growing as dawn's light brightened.

His shoulders twitched as he heard a twig snapping. The uneasiness grew even more. He knew whatever was going to happen, it was happening now. He closed his eyes once more, saying a quick prayer to the Divines. They had served him well over the years, it was his way of thanking them and this could be the last time.

More twigs snapped, muffled voices could be heard nearby. Jorik rose to his feet as the camp erupted into chaos. Imperials swarmed the camp as Stormcloaks fought back. Jorik stayed off to the side, waiting for a clear place where he could run. This wasn't his fight, he didn't belong here.

He saw his chance and was about to make a break for it…

Pain shot through his head, his vision blackened and he felt himself falling. He caught himself before landing face first into the snow. Another blow to the back of the head finished what the first hadn't. Blackness enveloped him, holding him in its cold embrace.