Chapter Text
The first thing she could sense was the salt of the ocean. It was warm, far warmer than any waters she had known since crossing the border near Riften. The gentle roar of the ocean filled her ears as she cracked her eyes open. Above her was a pale blue sky and for a brief moment, relief flooded through her at the absence of the sickly green color she last remembered. Slowly sitting up she took stock. Well worn leather armor still in place, uncomfortably waterlogged. Quiver and bow were missing from their place at her back, but a swift look around revealed her pack as well as the glass bow and a quiver of arrows lying not far from where she was laying. Dagger at her hip, as well as the smaller blade tucked into her boot. She struggled to her feet in the sand and moved to survey her pack. Coin purse still in place with a healthy amount of gold, a surprising number of gems found in her recent delves through Solstheim as well as Apocrypha. She would never have pegged Hermeaus Mora as one to hoard precious gems but she had collected a surprising number of them as she entered the Deadra’s realm. No food but several potions, healing and mana both. Tucked in a side pouch were several seed packets. She remembered planning to try and grow a few things in the garden beds of the new home she had planned out near Falkreath. A few soul gems and scrolls, a couple of changes of clothing, and even some of the more interesting books she had found in her search for Miraak. Satisfied everything in her pack was alright, she settled her pack, quiver, and bow into their places and looked around. The beach was fairly empty, but the ground rose up to a mountain, smoke rising lazily from the top. For a moment she thought it might be Red Mountain, but there was no ash in the air or on the ground. She wondered how far south she had been tossed in her last desperate escape from Apocrypha, her memory failing to recall any other volcanos on Tamriel. At the far edge of the beach she could see what looked like the edge of a wall, so she began to walk along the beach toward the stonework. As she walked she tried to plan her next steps. Depending on how far she had been tossed, she might have difficulty getting back to Skyrim. Worse, if the territory she was currently in was controlled by the Thalmor she would be in even more danger. A familiar roar sounded overhead, and she looked up sharply to spot a dragon gliding down to land in the sand in front of her. The beast was massive, bigger than any she had encountered, save Alduin. But there was something different about this dragon. It was almost glaring at her, the scales far spikier than she had ever seen. The dragon hissed in her direction and began to open its mouth, and she panicked.
“GOL HAH DOV!” The Shout tore from her lips, cracking across the sky and slamming into the dragon, who roared in displeasure as it was forced to submit. Guilt stabbed through her at the sight. She had sworn not to force another Dov to submit after the events of Apocrypha and now she had used the Shout in her panic. Willing the magic surging in her blood to calm, she began to whisper to the dragon in Dovah. It was staring at her as she slowly moved closer, cautiously laying one hand on the scales near its eye.
“I apologize Great One. A Dov should never be forced to submit in such a fashion. The influence will fade soon and you will be free to take to the sky once more. I have never seen one as great as you. Even the World Eater would look a hatchling in comparison.” A little flattery couldn't go amiss in this situation, though she imagined Parthunax scolding her for the attempt. Slowly, the influence faded the connection between herself and the dragon and it slowly rose up on its wings. She moved back a few steps, body tense in anticipation. The dragon turned away and moved down the beach for a few lumbering steps before launching into the air. She let out a sigh of relief as the dragon flew away, and turned back toward the nearby wall and froze at the sight of a number of figures in robes staring at her. She watched them for a moment, trying to determine anything that may help her narrow down just where she had ended up when one of the men stepped forward and spoke in a language she didn't understand. He repeated himself, then when she continued to stare blankly, he switched languages.
“Where did that noise come from?” This time she understood his words.
“There was a dragon. It flew off that way,” she pointed behind her, neatly sidestepping the question. Hopefully they would assume the Shout had come from the dragon, at least until she was sure the Thalmor did not hold sway here.
“Where did you come from?” the man asked and she grimaced.
“Solstheim, by way of Apocrypha. Barely escaped the damned Daedra. I don't suppose you could tell me where I've ended up?” she admitted. The men looked confused, but the leader shook his head.
“You are on Dragonstone, seat of House Targaryen. Come, we will see about getting your dried off and cleaned up.” The man turned and said something to one of the others, who hurried off ahead of the group. She followed them along the path and toward a massive keep covered on stone depictions of dragons in a style she did not recognize. Of course, she had never heard of a place called Dragonstone or a House Targaryen either. The men led her into the keep and handed her off to a servant girl who helped her out of her armor and into a bath. She sighed in relief at the hot water and ducked under to begin scrubbing properly for the first time in a while. After what felt like hours and washing half of Apocrypha from her skin, she stepped from the tub and dried off. Pulling a clean tunic from her pack she pulled it over her head before repeating the process with trousers and settling before the fire and pulling her armor into her lap to go over the joins and buckles to ensure they had not suffered from the brief dip into the ocean. Outside the door of the room she had been shown to she could hear voices raising and falling as people moved about but she kept her focus on her work, methodically cleaning the armor and then turning her attention to her weapons to give them the same care. Time slipped past as she focused on her task, setting aside the worry of trying to make it back to Skyrim. Even so, a tiny part of her mind wondered if she even wanted to go back. Between the Thalmor, the Civil War, and the damned Blades demanding she murder Parthunax despite his siding with mortals against his own kin, she was tired. The people here didn't seem to be worried about the dragon nearby, perhaps dragons weren't as gone as the people of Skyrim had assumed before the World Eater had appeared.
Voices outside rose in alarm and she snatched up her bow and quiver, darting to the door. Outside her room several people were dashing down the corridor. She spotted the maid who had helped her into the bath.
“What's going on?” she asked. The maid looked fairly terrified.
“The dragon keepers are saying one of the Dragons is at the walls! They never come this close to the castle!” the girl cried. With a curse, she dashed down the corridor toward the door she had been led through earlier. Several of the robed men were gathered nearby and beyond them she saw the dragon from the beach crouched very close to the wall. At her arrival, the dragon lifted its massive head and pressed its snout at her belly. She stared in shock at the dragon currently attempting to nuzzle her like a dog. She hesitantly placed one hand on the scales pressed to her and felt the rumble rising from its throat.
“You are scaring these people, Great One. I will not control you again, you have my word. I swear by Akatosh I will not use the Shout on you again,” she soothed. With a gentle push the dragon pulled away and lumbered off down the beach. She watched it go, feeling unnerved. The dragon had not tried to speak with her, or even Shout. It had acted more like an animal than a Dov. She turned back to see the men staring at her in wonder.
“You claimed Vermithor?” one of the men asked in shock. She swiftly shook her head.
“I have never seen a dragon act like that. You called him Vermithor?”
“Vermithor was last ridden by King Jaeharys I Targaryan. None have claimed him since the king’s death. And now he seems to have accepted you, but you do not have Valyrian blood.” one of the men explained.
“He is not my dragon. I am connected to dragons but he is very different to the dragons I know. I've never seen one as large as him.” She turned back to see the great beast launch into the air with a roar. The men spoke amongst themselves in the strange tongue and one dashed into the castle.
“This is unprecedented. We must consult with those who may have answers. It will take a short time for Prince Daemon to arrive. Please, come inside. We will provide you food and a place to rest.” the leader of the men said. She gave a nod and followed the men back to the room where her things still waited for her. The maid from before brought food and she settled in to eat and think.
Wherever this place was, she was almost positive it was far from Tamriel. That meant it was likely she was far from the Thalmor’s reach. Dragons were different here than the Dovah she knew. Idly she wondered what would happen if she called for Odhaviing. After eating her fill, she turned to the bed nearby. It was a plain thing but well stuffed and with good quality linens. With a shrug, she shucked her trousers off and crawled into the bed in just her tunic. To her surprise the mattress was very comfortable, stuffed with feathers rather than straw. As she drifted to sleep, she wondered at how wealthy these people must be if a room that rarely saw use was outfitted with such a fine bed.
She was woken by a maid shaking her shoulder. She jerked back, hand flailing for her dagger, before realizing where she was. The maid had flung herself backwards and landed on the stone floor.
“I'm sorry. Are you alright?” she asked, sliding out of the bed and offering her hand to the girl. Hesitantly the maid accepted the hand, wincing as she stood.
“Prince Daemon arrived this morning and invites you to break your fast with him.” the girl reported. She looked around for her trousers and scooped them up and stepped into them swiftly before scraping her fingers through her hair to put it some semblance of order. Her boots had been drying by the fire all night and were ready for her.
“Best to not keep a prince waiting. Lead the way,” she said. The maid led her through the corridors as she was still braiding her hair back. She had just enough time to tie off the end of the braid before she was stepping into a dining hall where a man stood by the table.
He was tall and well muscled, a man clearly used to fighting if the blade he rested one hand on was any indication. Silver hair and pale skin had her on edge, but there was no point to his ears and the look in his purple eyes was curious and assessing, but not arrogant in the way of the Altmer. She awkwardly offered a bow and the prince before her smirked.
“You are the woman who washed ashore and tried to Claim one of my House’s dragons?” he asked. She quickly shook her head even as she noted his words.
“I do not have any claim on any dragon. Did you say your House’s dragons?” she asked with a furrowed brow. The prince lifted a silver brow.
“Even across the Narrow Sea they know of House Targaryen and our dragons. Are you claiming you have never heard of us?” he seemed intrigued at the idea. She shook her head, even as her mind raced. A niggling suspicion was forming, but she would need more proof.
“I have no idea where I am, much less anything about your House. But considering where I was before, I suspect a certain Daedra was pissed I was able to evade him,” she replied. When in doubt, blame Hermeaus Mora. That was going to become her go to conclusion she suspected. The prince barked a laugh and gestured to the table. She stepped forward and took a seat as he did as well, the both of them filling their plates.
“Well, I am Prince Daemon Targaryen, heir to the Iron Throne. We are currently on Dragonstone, which is my seat until either I inherit the throne from my brother or he has a son to take my place as heir. House Targaryen has ruled Dragonstone since we escaped the Doom, and Aegon I conquered the Seven Kingdoms with his queens Visenya and Rhaena. As far as we were aware only the blood of Valyria can claim a dragon. So how is it that the dragon keepers tell me you were able to control my grandfather's dragon?” Daemon's voice was even, but she could feel the thread of danger in that last question. She took a moment to savor the fresh bread in front of her, after spending so long enduring with whatever she could hunt or scavenge.
“I have never heard any of those names, nor have I heard of the Seven Kingdoms. I'm beginning to think you will not recognize the names I will give you, but I will tell you what I know. I am Lissandra, called Dovahkiin. I come from a continent called Tamriel, most recently a land called Skyrim. Dragons had been extinct for centuries, until about a year or so ago. When they returned, it was a time of great strife in Skyrim and I was stuck in the middle of it. Then I ran afoul of a Daedric prince. Hermeaus Mora likes to collect rare things. Books, knowledge, treasures. And it turned out he had another like me in his realm. Miraak was his name, and he was clever. He was plotting his escape from Mora's clutches and nearly succeeded. Damned Daedra pitted us against each other. I won the fight but I refused to serve the Daedra. When I fled, instead of returning to Skyrim, I found myself here. So you're right, I am not of Valyrian blood. In Skyrim they call me Dragonborn. The stories say it's a person born with the soul of a dragon. It means I can speak with dragons in their own tongue, or at least I could with the dragons in Skyrim.”
Daemon cut her off. “Dragons cannot speak. They will heed us when we speak Valyrian to them, but they are not capable of speech.”
“I did notice that when I encountered that dragon, Vermithor, they called him. Dragons in Skyrim are not that big. Even the World Eater was not so large.”
“World Eater? A lofty name.”
“Alduin, the first of dragons. His story was a long one, but it ended when I faced him before Shor’s Hall and defeated him.”
“You fought a dragon?” Now he sounded disbelieving. She shuddered at the memory of her battle with the World Eater. She swallowed thickly at the memory of using Dragonrend against him, the way her own mind felt like it would tear itself apart each time she used it.
“I did.”she answered simply. The prince stared at her as she simply turned her attention to her meal, savoring the taste of the rich but strange food.
“When you have finished your meal we will go to the dragons and we shall see if you can truly speak to them. If you cannot, well.” he declared. She stifled a smile and glanced over at the hearth across the hall where firewood had been laid in preparation. She took in a sharp breath.
“YOL,” she aimed at the hearth. The Shout echoed in the hall and flames rushed to strike the wood. Daemon jumped from his chair, wide eyed and gripping at his sword. She pressed her lips together and offered a flat smile, hands pressed flat to the table.
“That sound. We heard it in King's Landing. Thunder with not a cloud in the sky. Or so we thought.”
“It's startling, when heard the first time. There are monks who spend their whole lives studying the Thu’um, the Voice as they call it. Eventually they are unable to speak at all without Shouting and so live in silence in their monastery most of the way up the tallest mountain in Skyrim. Dragons, and apparently Dragonborn, are able to channel the Power naturally, needing no such training. This also means I will never be forced to silence.” she explained. Daemon was still staring at her, unnervingly still. She waited calmly, wondering if these Valyrians had similar opinions about magic as Nords did. She recalled she had not seen any of them use so much as a candlelight spell. After several moments, Daemon marched back to the table and poured a goblet of wine before draining it swiftly. He eyed her carefully for another long moment before sitting back down and applying himself to his meal. She turned her attention to her own meal once more. She recognized many of the ingredients, eggs, cheese, bread, various meats, but they were prepared in unfamiliar ways, and she enjoyed the novelty while it lasted. The prince did not offer to share his wine, but there was a pitcher of water with slices of a tart fruit in it that gave it an odd but satisfying taste. She focused on her best table manners as the meal continued in silence. When they had both finished their meals, Daemon stood, watching her closely as she rose to her feet as well and then he turned and led her out the door and through the corridors of the keep. They took random seeming turns until the walls became more natural stone, and the ambient air seemed to grow warmer.
“These caves are where the dragons rest, largely those unclaimed. My Ceraxes has his own den on the island, and there are some wild dragons who nest on the other side of the Dragonmount,” Daemon declared as they stepped into a much more open area, and among the shadows she could see dragons moving about. Daemon turned to look at her expectantly, and she cautiously stepped forward. The cavern was dark and it was hard to spot the dragons, so she focused her thoughts and sucked in a breath.
Unlike other Shouts, this one came in a whisper. “LAAS YA NIR!” Instantly the cavern filled with hazy images of large figures to her eyes, and she gulped at the sight of at least three dragons, all staring down at her on the raised floor where she stood. The now familiar head of Vermithor emerged from the darkness and came level with her body. A rumble echoed from his throat and she reached up to scratch at a spot below his eye.
“The prince seems to think I have stolen you from his family. I do not know how to convince him I have not, especially when you purr worse than a Khajiit high on moonsugar.” she grumbled, not bothering to keep her voice low. Vermithor let out a low noise and his head shifted around to the side, allowing another dragon head to edge closer. This dragon was much paler, it's scales smoother than Vermithor’s and silvery blue eyes. The new dragon crooned at her and she choked on a laugh. Daemon came up on the far side from Vermithor to watch the dragons as they seemed to beg for her attention.
“I've never seen the dragons react so favorably to any but my family. Even then a dragon that is not claimed will not tolerate another so easily,” he remarked.
“In Skyrim, dragons did not nest in caves. They roosted high on mountains where most mortals would not dare travel. For the most part they left people alone, but occasionally they would go looking for food and may attack a holding. But it was rare enough that most would ignore them from day to day. I have only encountered one dragon that would deign to take a rider, and he only did that because I outsmarted him, and so earned his loyalty. There was another, but the manner in which I was able to ride him was not enjoyable, and I will not force a dragon like that again.” Her voice was firm. Daemon watched her as she ran her fingers along the silver dragon's scales, cooing to her in Dovah about her beautiful eyes and scales. Finally she stepped back slightly and offered the two dragons a bow. Both dragons eyed her carefully and then moved away from the raised platform where the two humans stood.
“What do you plan to do now?” he asked. She shrugged, turning to follow the prince as he made his way out of the cavern.
“I don't know. I have no way of reaching my home and so all I have is what I was carrying when I fled Apocrypha. I suppose I'll have to find work somewhere. I'll manage, I suppose.”
“You will come with me to King's Landing. Are you any good with that blade?” Daemon gestured to the dagger hanging off her hip.
“I'm alive so I would say I'm fair enough. I also have a bow with my things so I'm not likely to go hungry.”
“What did you do in Skyrim, when you were not facing dragons that could speak?”
“All sorts of things. I feel like I spent most of my time fetching things from caves or barrows for other people, or avoiding the local nobility who wanted to use me to increase their power.”
“Not one for politics? I cannot say I blame you. Most days I try to avoid court, but my options are the Court where my family is, or the Vale where my Bronze Bitch lives and despises me.” Daemon had led her to a training area and unbuckled his sword, leaving it to one side of the room and picking up another blade.
He tossed it at her and she caught it swiftly, barely having time to adjust her grip before the prince had another blade in hand and striking at her. She managed to block the blow and kicked out at his middle to try and get some space and he danced back, watching her movements carefully. She carefully shifted her grip on her sword, unused to the weight of the steel. Daemon darted forward and she danced away, spinning swiftly and lashing out with her sword, but Daemon was ready and blocked her hit. She realized he was testing her skill, watching how she placed her feet and how she moved. The spar continued for a while, Daemon clearly an experienced fighter, but she was more likely to use every dirty trick in her arsenal, which helped keep her away from his blade. Her arms screamed with the effort of blocking his strikes, and when he finally knocked her blade from her hands she reacted on instinct.
“ZUN HAL VIIK!” Daemon's blade was ripped from his hand and he froze, staring at the blade that lay on the ground even as she scrambled to where her own sword had landed.
“What else can that power do?” he asked. She hesitated. Any time she had been asked that question by a jarl, or even General Tullius the one time she had spoken with the man, there had been avarice on their faces. It was obvious they were thinking how to use her to advance themselves. It was why she had begun to avoid the majority holds, and when Miraak’s cultists had attacked her she had jumped at the chance to leave Skyrim and its civil war behind. Daemon’s look was not avarice, it was the look of a strategist.
“Various things. Most are useless in a city or keep. Why do you ask?” she was still nervous at the look on his face. He was planning something, and she wasn’t sure if she would like it.
“When we arrive in King’s Landing, I will bring you to the king. He fancies himself a scholar of Old Valyria and will find you fascinating. If all are agreeable, you will take up a position as my niece’s sworn shield. She is of an age where she will need a personal guard, and someone who understands dragons and our connection to them will be better than any other option we may have,” Daemon declared. She blinked at him in absolute shock.
“You want me to be a guard for your niece?” she repeated, tone disbelieving.
“Are you saying you would not wish to serve the Royal family?”
“Did you miss that I ran from politics at every opportunity? I have no sense for it and will likely piss off some noble lady and be forced to flee or lose my head,”
“We shall see. And if you will not take a position with my niece, mayhaps you would suit my goodsister the queen. And if not, then I will help you find a position that will keep you from any grasping nobles. Get cleaned up, we leave within the hour.” Daemon turned and strode out of the room. Stunned at the sudden command, she turned and stormed down another hall. Moments later she realized she was hopelessly lost and turned blindly through a door that deposited her on an outer wall.
In fruitless rage, and a dim sort of hope, she Shouted.
“OHDAHVIING!” The Shout cracked across the sky, and she stared at the sky even as she knew the dragon would not suddenly appear as he had when she stood on the balcony of Dragonsreach. She spitefully considered Shouting down a storm before dismissing the thought. Dragons do not care what the weather is like when they fly, and she doubted that was any different here. Behind her, she heard the door opening even as she fought the tears welling up in her eyes. A gentle hand upon her shoulder drew her attention to the maid who had woken her that morning. The girl offered a small smile.
“The castle can be a bit of a maze for those who have never been here. Would you like me to show you to your room?” she offered.
“Thank you. What is your name?”
“Taena, milady. This way.” Taena led the way swiftly to the little room where her things were waiting for her, including the clothes that had been swept away by the maid the day before. She swiftly packed her things and carefully donned her armor and set each of her weapons into their place before stepping from the room one final time.