The Dragonborn Comes

Welcome to 'THE DRAGONBORN COMES (IN THEDAS)', the greatest attempt at a crossover since... Alien v Predator? Marvel v Capcom? Anyway, this is a combination of two of my favourite games: The Elder Scrolls: Skyrim and the Dragon Age saga. I'm putting this under the 'Fantasy' category as the story involves dragons, magic and mages, elves, dwarves and other fantastic creatures and events.

Unlike other stories I may have written elsewhere, I can make this series as erotic and as sexualised as possible, so I'm letting my imagination run wild. I hope you enjoy what is to come. Comment and favourite if you do. If you don't, I'll take constructive criticism as I'm always trying to improve my writing.

If you end up adding this as a favourite, fantastic. And I am already planning a prequel, as I'll be dropping hints at times throughout this story. That will be called 'THE DRAGONBORN CAME.'

As usual, all characters from the Elder Scrolls are owned by Bethesda.

All characters from Dragon Age are owned by Bioware / EA. Oh, and the obligatory fuck EA.

Oh, one final thing. The title is meant to be a slight double entendre... (though I'm sure you've probably figured that out!)

****

Waking up face down in the snow isn't the most pleasant of feelings. It's cold, wet and my face felt frozen. Spitting out the mouthful I had, I slowly rose to my knees and looked around to see a barren landscape. I was on a mountain, but looking around, I didn't see the word wall that sat at the top of the Throat of the World. There was also no sign of Paarthurnax. In fact, the entire mountain didn't look familiar at all. I'd climbed the mountain more than once and the one I was on didn't look the same.

Then I scratched my head and tried to remember where I was last. My memories were fuzzy. The last distinct memory I had was of being at Dragonsreach in Whiterun, where we had laid the trap to catch a dragon. I vaguely remembered riding a dragon and then fighting a bunch of draugr, but after that, it was blank. Had I tasted the delights of Sovngarde? Was Alduin dead? I couldn't remember a thing.

Rising to my feet with a groan, I was dressed in a thick fur coat, the cape billowing in the wind. Looking down, my armour felt light but thick, and was a curious design, a mesh of dragon scale, leather and steel. It had been made by Eorlund Gray-Mane. The sword on my hip to the left was currently sheathed, called Dawnbreaker, which had been awarded to me by a daedric prince for clearing out a temple. I also had an ebony dagger on the right side of my body, also sheathed. Jarl Balgruuf had awarded that to me for helping defend Whiterun from a Stormcloak invasion.

Picking up my helmet off the ground, I looked at the dragon symbol that rested in the middle. I also had a small dragon symbol on my chest, above my heart, with further symbols on my thick boots. Placing the helmet on my head, I took the shield from my back and checked that too. It was the shield I had taken from Ysgramor's Tomb. I didn't know much about magic but I knew it was enchanted, and had certainly saved my life more times than I wished to count.

There was only one thing I could do now. Walk down the mountain and see where I was. The snow was thick on the ground, my feet sinking a few inches with each step. The wind was fierce, and I was thankful for the Nord blood that flowed through my veins. I felt the cold but nowhere near as badly as others who lived on Tamriel. The path wound itself around the mountain, and while it remained very cold, the snow became shallower but nothing looked familiar. I remembered the path up the Throat of the World, and this path was not the same. But I still had no idea how I'd ended up on this mountain, wherever it was.

Finding a slightly worn path as the snow started to clear, I kept heading down, the temperature slowly picking up and the wind dying down, though it was still bitterly cold. Patches of grass started to appear, as did trees, but as nothing felt familiar, I looked around but hoped I would soon run into someone. Anyone.

I must have been walking for at least a couple of hours before I noticed smoke ahead. Smoke meant fire. Fire meant warmth. And I'm sure that meant there were houses or cottages somewhere ahead. I picked up my pace as I approached the outskirts of what looked like a village. It didn't look familiar, in fact the houses looked like nothing I'd seen in Skyrim. But there were people, including those who looked like guards. A couple noticed my approach and came towards me. They were curious, even surprised at my appearance, but I could see the caution in their strides.

"A bhfuil an ifreann ort? (

Who the hell are you

?)" one of them asked.

I didn't understand a word he just said. "Cén áit ar tháinig tú as? (

Where did you come from

?)" asked the other.

"Where am I?" I asked. They looked at me blankly. "Do you understand me?"

The two guards shared a glance. "Cén teanga é sin, strainséir? (

What language is that, stranger?

)" Their eyes were now all over me, taking into account my armour, the weapons at my hip, the fact I was a large, rather imposing man. Adding to the fact they couldn't understand me, I could almost sense their concern, even their fear growing.

I pointed down. "Where am I?" I asked very slowly. I didn't think they'd understand but perhaps would understand the gesture, "Is this Skyrim? Am I on Tamriel?"

"Tam... riel?" one of them asked, "Is é seo an Haven, strainséir. (

This is Haven, stranger.)

"

"Haven?" They both nodded. That concerned me greatly. I'd never heard of a village called Haven before. Certainly not in Skyrim. I didn't know the geography of all of Tamriel. Maybe I was in one of the other Imperial provinces? Considering they weren't elves, I figured I wasn't anywhere where the Thalmor prowled the streets.

Since asking for any help would be pointless as I couldn't understand them, I nodded my head in their direction and kept walking. They turned and followed me at a distance, and I simply looked for a signpost that would tell me something. Finding one at the other end of the village, I couldn't read the writing, but considering all signs pointed east, that was probably the best way to go.

Continuing to descend from the mountain, the temperature continued to rise the further I walked. The sun was still high in the sky, and it was soon warming my face. I was started to feel rather hungry by now, but I had no provisions with me, so could only hope I'd come across some sort of inn or tavern and try my best to communicate. At least I had a coin pouch in a pocket, pulling that out and counting a few gold coins.

Light was beginning to fade by the time I made it to what I assumed was sea level. Looking back, I could just about see the mountain I think I'd been on through the clouds. There was a signpost on what looked like a main road, though there was no sign of any traffic. No approaching horses or men on foot. The signpost was just like the other one.

With no idea which way to go, I simply chose left and set about trying to find civilisation, still wondering where I was. It definitely wasn't Skyrim. It had to be either High Rock or Cyrodiil. But the fact I couldn't understand the language was a concern. Everyone in Tamriel spoke the common tongue. I'm sure there were probably communities that spoke older tongues, but everyone generally spoke the same language.

I eventually gave up once it was so dark I could barely see ten feet ahead. Surrounded by the forest, I wandered a few metres in and perched myself against a tree. I could have summoned magic and at least started a fire, but it actually wasn't that cold. Wrapped in my fur coat, I was warm enough, and all the walking had tired me out. I actually feel asleep quite easily.

Ravenous the next morning, I woke at dawn and immediately set out the same way, hoping that I would finally find something that sold food. It was actually rather painful how hungry I was, as just walking alone took energy. I had no idea of the time either, simply judging by the way the sun moved above. But at least I was warm, feeling a slight sweat form on my back, taking off my helmet to wipe my brow every so often. With no water either, I was feeling rather thirsty too.

I'd been walking for a few hours when I saw horses approach in the distance. While I should have felt a sense of relief, they were a dozen heavily armoured warriors. On their chests and shields, a symbol I didn't recognise. I stopped and stood to the side to let them pass. But one of them took a keen interest in me, bringing their line to a halt. Turning his horse towards me, he looked me up and down in silence.

"Cá bhfuil tú i gceannas, strainséir? (

Where are you headed, stranger?

)"

I shrugged. "I don't understand you. Like you probably don't understand me."

Immediately suspicious, I also sensed movement in the column. "Níl sé sin Orlesian. Tá tú ag Vint? (

That's not Orlesian. You a Vint?

)"

I shrugged and sighed. "Look, I'm hungry and thirsty, plus I don't really want a fight either." I might be Dragonborn, but even I couldn't beat twelve heavily armed men alone. Their chainmail looked thick. At least four of them carried great-swords. Their shields looked thick and formidable. Their mounts wore armour and would kill just by crashing into me.

And they were suspicious. All of them. It didn't bode well. The one talking to me met my eyes and I don't think he liked what he saw. He gestured to the column and, soon enough, six of them were in a semi-circle in front of me. None of them had a weapon in hand, not yet, but it wasn't looking good. "Sin armúr fíorúil a bhfuil tú ag caitheamh. Cá bhfaighidh tú é? (

That is exquisite armour you're wearing. Where did you get it?)"

I didn't bother answering. What was the point. I already knew this was going to go one way. Wrong. Badly wrong. Just my luck. "Ar mharbh tú fear air? (

Did you kill a man for it?

)" That last question carried the tone of accusation. So I did the only thing I could think of.

I tried to walk away.

The reaction was as I expected. Six weapons unsheathed, horses circling me closely. I could have used my Thu'um, but I didn't use it again men, only dragons. I had given my word to the Greybeards, and I would die keeping my honour intact. If I unsheathed my sword, they'd cut me down easily. I wasn't invincible. I had the scars to prove it. So I held up my hands as the one who had done all the talking pointed his sword at my eyes. "Níl a fhios agam cé atá tú, ach níl rud éigin ceart anseo. Mar sin, tá tú ag teacht le linn. B'fhéidir go bhfreagróidh tú ceisteanna ár tiarna. (

I don't know who you are, but something isn't right here. So you're coming with us. Maybe you'll answer the questions of our lord.

)"

Finding myself flanked by a pair of them, their leader gestured with his sword in the direction they had come, and I started walking. Their leader was on point, flanked by two others. A horse was to either side of me. The rest were behind. I thought about running, but the forests had been left behind. There was only rolling land around me. They'd run me down within a couple of minutes.

I walked with them for a couple of hours before a castle appeared in the distance. I assumed that was where we were heading, and I was proven right, as we turned off the road, straight for the castle. Crossing a drawbridge, the gates were opened and we entered a large courtyard. I could see curious glances in my direction as the twelve warriors dismounted. Grabbing by two of them, I was marched through the castle towards a large hall. Tapestries lined the walls, as did small statues of a woman. I saw nothing familiar, certainly nothing of the Nine Divines. Further evidence, not that I needed any, that I was not on Tamriel.

The one who had done all the talking approached a man wearing some sort of gold band on his head. It wasn't a crown. I don't think this man was a king, so perhaps he was some sort of noble. Maybe even a Jarl. The two spoke quietly before approaching me. My two guards kept a tight hold of me, perhaps thinking I'd attack. I'm not that stupid, and simply let him look me up and down.

"Níl an fear seo ar bith ná ar bhratach, Ser Gilmore. Ní hionann ceann de mhuinín den sórt sin nuair a cúisítear ... go maith, fiú níl mé cinnte fós. (

This man is no thief or bandit, Ser Gilmore. One does not stand with such confidence when accused of... well, even I'm not sure yet.

)"

"Ní thuigeann sé linn, tiarna. Agus labhraíonn sé teanga aisteach. Níl sé Orléiseach. Mar sin, bhí mé ag smaoineamh ar Vint? Fiú amháin de na qunari hornless a chloisteann tú faoi. (

He doesn't understand us, lord. And he speaks a strange language. It's not Orlesian. So I was thinking a Vint? Even one of those hornless qunari you hear about.

)

He pointed at me. "Do ainm? (

Your name?)

"

"Ragnar." I took a guess that he'd asked my name.

"Agus cén fáth a bhfuil tú i mo thailte, Ragnar? (

And why are you in my lands, Ragnar?)"

I shrugged for the umpteenth time that day. "I'm sorry. I don't understand you."

The man who I assumed was the Jarl issued an instruction to one of the warriors behind me, and we were joined a few minutes later by what looked like a scholar. He didn't look like a mage. Perhaps he was a priest or something. He was old, though. Very old. The Jarl and the scholar spoke quietly for a few minutes, gesturing to me a couple of times. I was relaxed. They might throw me in a cell, but I hadn't done anything wrong.

The scholar approached me. "Cé atá tú, Ragnar? Cá bhfuil tú as? Cad é a thugann tú go Highever? (

Who are you, Ragnar? Where are you from? What brings you to Highever?

)"

I recognised my name. And I think he said I was in Highever. That was only a guess, but it sounded like a place name. Like Haven, I'd never heard of it before. It wasn't a village or town in Skyrim. And I knew of most places in Cyrodiil. I was just ever more confused. I could only shrug again. "I don't understand you." I paused before saying quietly, "But I know I'm definitely not on Tamriel anymore."

The Jarl and the scholar talked among themselves before an order was apparently issues and I was led away, albeit a little gentler than before. But I was led to a cell, where my weapons and shield were finally taken from me. I didn't bother arguing. The one who had done all the talking originally stood at the doorway and I think tried explaining my situation, but I could only stare at him blankly before shrugging when he was done. I took a seat, ready to wait it out, but was pleased that food and water was sent around half an hour later. I thanked them profusely for that, which I think they understood.

I was left alone until the next morning, where I was given another meal before the one who had done all the talking came to collect me. Wandering through the castle, I had a good look around and understood this castle was like none I'd seen in Skyrim. I truly was somewhere else. Led to the same hall as the day before, the Jarl was again present, flanked by more warriors. Beside him stood a younger version of himself, who I assumed was his son, the woman to his left I assumed his daughter. Both children, though both were clearly adults, wore armour the same as the warriors I'd met before.

Again they spoke in the language I didn't understand, so I tuned out a little. I was obviously the topic of conversation though, with plenty of gestures towards me. But they must have agreed on something, as my sword and shield were handed towards me, nearly everyone moving backwards to form a square. Only the man who I assumed was the Jarl's son remained in the square with me. He unsheathed a sword, shield in his left hand. He met my eyes and nodded. "Fergus."

"Ragnar."

He glanced left towards the Jarl, I did the same. He raised a hand before lowering it. "An comhrac! (

Fight!

)"

Now this was a surprise, but a welcome one. I'd fought with the Fighter's Guild in Cyrodiil. I'd fought with the Companions of Whiterun. I'd fought dragons across the length and breadth of Skyrim. I'd protected Whiterun from the Stormcloaks and started a secret war against the Thalmor. I was confident to take this lone warrior.

He was good. I'll give him credit. And I knew I wasn't going for the kill. Disarming him would do. People think it's all in simple sword and shield, the power in your arm. No, a lot is to do with balance and footwork. You fight with your entire body. Never present a still target, always be in the move. Keep your opponent distracted, then strike as soon as you see an opening. My opponent was well-trained, but he was formulaic in his approach. So I toyed with him for a few minutes, though never let him believe he had the upper hand. And, as soon as he made the smallest mistake, I disarmed him, tip of my sword at his throat. He nodded. "Tá tú ag troid go maith. (

You fight well.)

"

It sounded like a compliment, so I thanked him.

As he joined the square of men around us, his daughter then stepped into the middle with me. I'd fought plenty of women before, remembering many of my times with Aela fondly, as we fought together and eventually established a physical relationship. A bloody good one, at that. She had a wild streak that I could only just match. His daughter was much smaller than me, with dark raven hair but a pair of beautiful blue eyes. A scar down her cheek suggested she'd been in the mix before, the armour covering her body not showing her figure.

"Cerys," she said, pointing to herself.

"Ragnar."

Getting into position, the Jarl once again lowered his hand, and we fought.

She was better than her brother. She lacked the power but made up for it in speed and skill, and her small size actually made it harder for me. I was used to fighting big brutes such as myself. But a good hard swing was enough to stagger her. If she thought I was going to take it easy on her, she was mistaken, as I had her disarmed and on her arse quickly enough. Offering my hand, I was polite enough to help her up.

Whatever the Jarl wanted to see, I think he'd seen enough. Sheathing my sword, he gestured for me to follow him. We ended up in what looked like a library, the scholar in the middle of instructing some children. The Jarl and the scholar talked quietly again. The scholar nodded and gestured for me to follow, where he led me to a nearby wall. On it was a map I didn't recognise. He pointed to the continent and said, "Thedas." Pointing down, he said, "Highever."

I shook my head. "No. I'm from Tamriel." I knew what Tamriel looked like, and there was nothing like it on the map.

Gesturing again, he led me to one of the statues I'd seen dotted around the please. "Andraste." He pointed up and said, "The Maker."

I took the necklace I had kept hidden, showing him the amulet. Obviously curious, he grasped it gently as I said, "Talos. One of the Nine Divines."

He didn't understand, as much as I couldn't understand them. But the Jarl appeared interested in me at least, continuing to follow me around as the scholar continued to explain certain things. I was eventually led to a long table, where I took a seat, the scholar disappearing for a while before he approached, carrying a stack of books. He tried explaining what he wanted me to do, and I took a guess he wanted me to read.

There was nothing else I could do. I was not on Tamriel. I was far away from home. I had no idea how I'd ended up on this Thedas, having never heard of such a continent before, but I had a feeling I was stuck here for the time being. And, for whatever reason, this Jarl and the people around him seemed willing to help. Maybe he saw me as a warrior and wanted my help? I'd already proved I had a modicum of talent. Maybe he simply felt sympathy? At least he didn't think I was dangerous. All I could do was play it by ear and hope for the best.