Acquaintance

Under the hanging red banners with a wolf on a white shield, stood the court nobility of the Queen of Skyrim. Some of them deserved their place, some inherited it, but all of them were influential and far from stupid people in one way or another. Elisif the Beautiful knew about this and was not ashamed to ask for advice in those matters that she doubted.

Now there was an important meeting in the throne room located on the second floor of the Blue Castle. To the left of the queen and the throne stood the court magician Melaran, a high elf, whose knowledge of magic is very deep, some will consider them even dangerous and dark, for a court magician. Despite the above, Melaran is more than loyal to his queen, despite his origin, polite and courteous. But no man, meru or beastman should forget about the talents of Melaran. His velvety voice caressing your ears echoed through the throne room.

- Allow me, gentlemen, I think that now is not the time to discuss this topic. The emperor will arrive soon and we must prepare carefully. Besides, the holiday is coming soon, so why don't we take our minds off these gloomy affairs.

The man standing second to the Queen's left hand with a fiery orange beard agreed with his colleague.

- I think Melaran is right. Emperor Titus Meade II will arrive here in at least less than a month, and in the worst cases, he is about to descend. I don't think the Emperor will like our reception.

Finished Folk Firebeard. This Nord was an ethical and businesslike man, hiding his discontent and true thoughts well, but he was the second most loyal person of Elysif and everyone knew it. Folk does not like "dirty games" and crime, often reproaches Ericur, Tan Solitude for his connections with unscrupulous individuals. Even though he is devoid of Nordic brutality and insubordination, he still enjoys great respect, at least in Solitude and Everyone sees that he does his job with honor and dignity of a true Nord.

- Emperor Titus Meade II, as I am sure, will understand that now is not the time for lavish celebrations. We have just ended the Civil War. We have to do something about the consequences of this war. Skyrim had not yet departed from the last war with the Aldmeri Dominion, when Ulfric's thirst for power overtook us, but even that was not enough for the Daedra, they set dragons on us. As for me, we have good reasons why we should postpone lavish greetings and banquets. Gunhard the Gray-Haired Dog quipped.

Gunhard is one of those in the court nobility who is not afraid to express their opinions and speculations, always speaks directly and frankly. Elisif the Beautiful loves and respects the old man for this, which is why his head is still on his shoulders, since sometimes his tongue spews out not the most cultured words.

- As far as I know, Alduin the World Eater was defeated thanks to the Dragonborn. Melaran said and looked to the right of the queen, where a tall man was resting in the shadow of the flag. His face was decorated with scars and a dark blue combat color, the sun shone in the center of his forehead. A beautiful face, pale skin, a well-groomed beard in length to the base of the neck and curly hair gathered in a ponytail. He also, like Bolgeir Bear Claw, was in armor. They were significantly different from the plate armor of Bolgeir, Huskarla Elysif.

Dark armor with white patterns and a rune on them, on top of which was a fur and a cloak of a white wolf, whose head rested on the warrior's right shoulder. His eyes were not visible under his eyelids, and his presence was not felt. This was the legendary warrior, Ismir the Northern Dragon, Lord of the Dragon, Dragonborn, Dovakin, the strongest warrior of the Empire and Archmage of the College of Magicians of Winterhold, which is now known as the College of Magicians of Skyrim.

The man opened his eyelids, under which cold golden eyes were hidden, which looked at everyone appraisingly, as a butcher evaluates meat. The realization of this gave many goosebumps.

Dovakin noticed the pleading look in Elysif's eyes and grinned and spoke in his deep slightly husky voice: - I can't disagree with Gunhard. Our homeland has experienced too much in a short period of time. But that's exactly what says that people need a break. It should be noted so that the inhabitants of Skyrim will remember this celebration for a long time and forget about the anxiety and troubles of this world for at least a day. - having finished his thought, there were shouts of approval and a certain old man's clucking of disapproval.

- I listened to the advice of this meeting... and came to the conclusion that all the inhabitants of Skyrim should have fun and postpone their business, at least for a week. The celebration will begin when the emperor arrives, and now we need to start preparing for it. - turning to the manager, she said: - Folk Firebeard, you will organize the celebration, all the inhabitants of Skyrim, from babies to the elderly should be invited. Melaran and Ismir will be engaged in entertainment. Fights, performances of magicians and bards. I think Viarmo will be glad to hear about the holiday. Gunhard, you will have the task of ensuring order during the celebration…

- Again, the most annoying assignment goes to me ... - the old man whispered to himself, not knowing that the famous Dovakin had heard everything well.

- Bolgeir, you and General Tullius will take care of security. This concludes the meeting.

The nobility quickly dispersed, as it was unknown when the emperor would arrive and it was necessary to prepare everything in advance. Elysif, on the other hand, came down from a small dais where there was an uncomplicated throne, although I would call it an expensive chair, and approached our war.

"I'd like to talk to you alone." The woman whispered, and after receiving a nod, they moved to the queen's private chambers. Bolgeir followed them with a slight smile and into the garden near the queen's room, so that no one would disturb them, no matter what they were doing.

… Ismir and Elisif were lying in a large double bed completely naked. Two beautiful bodies stuck to each other, there were small drops of sweat on their bodies, sweaty hair and shortness of breath hinted at a stormy time of entertainment.

- I'm pretty tired of all these meetings. Elysif said sadly.

"That's the queen's routine, my sun. Ismir emphasized with a grin.

- I've been thinking a lot and... I want to say that... why don't we get married. I'm sure no one will mind, and marriage will strengthen the position of Skyrim and calm its inhabitants when they see the legendary Dragonborn on the throne. What do you think about it. the last sentence was unusually quiet.

- Yes, I think I agree. The dragon in human form simply replied.

I thought it would be difficult to convince you. I even prepared a speech.

- Well... I can listen to your beliefs, if it's so important to you.

…

After a short rest, Ismir headed home to the High Spire. The tall spire was a small two-story mansion with many rooms. Starting from the Alchemical Laboratory and ending with the nursery, which no one used. Opening the large iron doors, Ismir was greeted by soft music.

"York," the man thought, "He never seems to stop playing the lute."

As soon as the door closed, a militant woman appeared before him, his personal huscarl - Yordis the Maiden of the Sword. To the share of which a large number of his wanderings fell, of course Lydia is also worthy of mention, but this story, some other time.

- Did the meetings go as usual? Huskarl asked, accepting her master's sword and his fur coat, revealing the beautiful ebony armor that Ismir very rarely takes off.

- You know ... - passing into the stone living room and sitting down on one of the armchairs, he continued, enjoying the music of the bard: - Disputes, disputes, disputes ... - he finished sadly.

- And women ... - the Sword Maiden finished with a grin, for which she received an uncomprehending look from her lord. – Your neck, Tan. - pointing to the place of the alleged evidence on his neck.

Dovakin rubbed his hand over his neck to understand that Elysif's lips remained on it.

...

Morning and he dreamed of Winterfell again. The last few months too often. The man got out of bed being Ismir the Northern Dragon, he reminded himself, but still could not completely renounce the name given by his father, Eddart Stark. The children's clothes, the ones in which he escaped from Westeros and Essos, were still kept by him.

John himself did not understand why, but something inside his heart did not allow him to do this. Taking out loose clothes from the wardrobe, he looked at himself in the mirror.

Scars and markings, both Aedra and Daedra, covered his entire body. From head to toe. The sign of Mephala in the form of a spider web from human hands took place on the leg, just below the knee from behind, on the calf. A little lower, but already on the right leg, there was a symbol of Vermina, a staff around which snakes wriggle. On the right back of the palm, the symbol of Boethiya took its place, the most unusual and difficult to describe (just look at the Boethiya stone on Solstheim). The sun and the Lunar moon were on both sides of the neck. The paw print belonged to Clavicus Vile or his dog, who knows. Malakat was one of the closest to John's understanding, a Rogue Prince like his own personification only in Westeros. Equally despised and unloved, he was like an outcast in Lord Stark's own family. The tattoo in the form of a skull was located on the gluteal muscle. The entire left arm from the shoulder to the fingers was marked with Meridians, they were long, intermittent lines that constantly pulsed and shimmered. Only in a state of calm, the light coming from the lines dimmed, and if there were undead nearby, then the hand literally became a weapon against them. The tentacle and in the center of the eye was the trademark mark of the notorious Daedra, John himself accepted his mark, as he was looking for knowledge, had an irresistible thirst for them. The last mark was a butterfly on the lower back from Sheogarat.

The most important and largest was the golden dragon tattoo, starting from the lower back, skirting the right shoulder and stopping on the left chest. This mark was bestowed by Akatosh himself, it shimmered in the sun's rays and gave great power to its owner.

Only three in the entire existence of Nirn have received such a mark.

After admiring his body enough, John moved to the bathroom, which turned out to be next to his room.

After finishing the water treatments, getting dressed and having breakfast, John went to the basement to the iron door. Taking a dagger on a pedestal at the side of the door, he cut his hand and touched the steel handle. A small vibration ran through my hand and the door gave way.

Only after opening it was possible to understand the massiveness of the door. The thickness was one man's thigh, in addition, it was made of high-quality steel and covered with a layer of ebony dust. The walls were made of bricks and were made of the same materials. The stones were enchanted, which added protection and secrecy to this place.

The entrance to his hideout was not hidden in any way, but John did not care, since he was confident in the protection erected by him and other famous enchanters, as well as blacksmiths. John wouldn't be a legendary Dragonborn and Archmage if that was the end of it. In each of his houses and estates there is a similar door and they are all connected to one single place.

The shelter was one-level, there were: a forge, an alchemical laboratory, a room for enchantment, a huge library, a bathroom, a bedroom, a kitchen and a whole warehouse with such a variety that even the Eastern Imperial Company would envy.

A lot of effort, money and time were spent on the creation of this shelter. This place had the function of storage and protection. Over the years of wandering and adventures, John has accumulated a huge amount of prophetic, one or the other. Some were useful, some were dangerous, and using some was out of the question.

Walking through the shelter, John tried to remember what all this was built for.

A house, his own. Where you can not be afraid of anything and do anything.

When he entered the vault, he recalled with nostalgia the adventures in those difficult, and sometimes hellish times. Boethii's blade is an artifact that he did not acquire of his own free will and the ghosts of those days still haunt him, along with the rest. Molag Bala Mace, Namira Ring, Wabbajek, Azura Star, Clavicus Mask, Merunes Razor, Oghma Infinium, The Radiance of Dawn. There were other artifacts worth mentioning, but it was these Daedric artifacts that John used very rarely and with extreme caution. Because of their power and curses, they were sealed here. Many Daedra were unhappy, but they could not do anything.

John never understood why they chose him and occasionally, but helped. The truth is not only to him. There were two other dovakins.

The Dark Elf, Antares Black. John met him in Helgen and since then their relationship has only become closer. Now they are called brothers. He respected the elf, his wisdom and knowledge. But he was afraid of the dark side of his brother, but as he learned later, this is common to almost all dark elves.

His brother owned as many other artifacts, if not more. Antares became known as the richest being in Tamriel.

The third and last dovakin is the Word Nightingale, yes, a strange name and certainly not real, but very famous. They met Garhom on the way to Riften, and there they turned their illegal affairs.

Despite his profession and preferences, Garhom became the best friend for John and Antares. They've been through a lot, but... now it's time to settle down, sit down and think. 18 years flew by for him like the wind at the Throat of the World, also rapidly and furiously, sometimes he did not believe that this was his life, thinking that he should return back ... home to Winterfell.

One day, Antares, Kodlak, Greybeards and Garhom, gave important advice. The council that changed John and gave birth to Ismir.

Then everything was just beginning, John, Antares and Garhom had been learning the Voice Path from the Greybeards for six months. Antares was the first to notice a change in the behavior of the named brother. Unfocused gaze, tense posture, thoughtful face. The elf realized that something was bothering him, something that was preventing John from studying.

John and Antares met in the dead of night, the latter was the organizer of that meeting. Standing on the ledge next to the training ground, he said those important words.

"-Skyrim is a merciless and cruel land. She does not tolerate confusion and indecision. - John didn't understand what his brother was driving at.

"I see in you... a contradiction, my brother. - as soon as he opened his mouth, the elf interrupted him immediately: - I'm not going to get into your soul, when the time comes, you'll tell me yourself if you see fit.

I know that your life before arriving in Skyrim was not the sweetest... and I know that you still cling to the old traditions and customs, for what has never been and will never be here. The blood-red eyes met the gray ones.

- If you want to start a new life, get rid of the old one. Accept a new name, make it your own, make sure that you are remembered not as John Cloudy, but as a hero, a person whom you need to look up to! The old life must be left behind so that the new one can flourish ... - holding out his hand: -Ismir, the Northern Dragon! – he suggested.

It seemed that all thoughts, worries and worries had disappeared. Appreciating his dark elf brother, John... no Ismir shook his brother's hand."

Ismir stood in front of the weapons and armor that they all forged together. There were three sets of armor and three weapons in total. There were different types of weapons, but their lethality was already legendary.

Ismir clearly remembers everything about this majestic work of art, in which the skill of the blacksmith, the power of the enchanter and the wisdom of magic merged.

From the first, cursory glance, one could tell that this was standard Ebony armor, which was not far from the truth.

As a basis, they took a well-known piece of blacksmithing craft.

Three sets were created from different materials.

In Ismir, ebonite was fused with etherium, stalgrim, tempered with steel, bones, skin and dragon blood.

Antares, ebonite, etherium, stalgrim and iron-orichalcum nugget, as well as the heart of the Daedra.

Garhom went the same way, ebonite, etherium, stalgrim, malachite with mercury ore in a diamond shell.

The kits had incredible characteristics, but were distinguishable from each other in color and not only.

Ismir's armor was jet black, Antares had a mixture of black and red, and Garhom had something between dark green and black.

After careful testing, they enchanted their armor to increase vitality, restore it, protect against magic and other smaller charms.

The three friends did not stop there and with the help of Tu'um were able to pull off a clever trick. Having imbued the kits with a huge magical power with the help of Magnus's Eye in the College, they sealed it with their voice, not letting it dissipate, which gave a huge jump for the armor.

In these kits, the three of them are like a tank... although no... better, deadlier and more dangerous.

The weapon was no less frightening. A bastard for Ismir, a halberd for Antares and a bow for Garhom.

Ismir moved closer to the armor and touched the left part of the armor in the chest area.

Once there was a huge hole made by Alduin. Yes, their training, armor, weapons, magic, knowledge and screams were not enough to defeat the dragon, the firstborn of the Dragon God. Then Akatosh himself came to the rescue, giving his last gift. A tattoo and the ability to transform into a dragon.

The ability was very useful, but after the application, all three lay unconscious for a couple of years in Sovngard and the hellish pain drowned them when they woke up.

Since then, they have transformed only once. They wanted to find out the limits of this gift, but the pain and punishment for using it are too high. No one wanted to go through the painful process of transformation.

None of the trio remembered the battle itself in the form of dragons, but the fact remained. They killed Alduin. The enemy who had driven them to despair was lying right in front of them. The body, woven as if from ebony, slowly smoldered, dissolving into the air of Sovngard. The energy of the defeated monarch's legs shimmered with all the colors in the world, slowly soaking into the bodies and intertwining with the souls of the warriors. The sensations of absorption were different than when defeating ordinary dragons.

Yes, the stronger the dragon, the stronger his soul, even if the process itself did not change, but the sensations varied from dragon to dragon. A chilling energy filling the whole body or a fiery pleasure running through the whole body.

At that moment, one of the last conversations with Kodlak White Mane surfaced in his head.

...

Two men were sitting at a carved wooden table. The table was overflowing with honey and food, but none of them touched the food.

"Are you still troubled by dreams about the past, son?" a heavy grainy voice asked.

The answer did not come immediately. The man in question was sitting rubbing the hilt of his sword.

"I can't understand what's bothering me, Father. Dreams, Alduin, Dominion, Blades, Words of Power, Collegium, Vampires or... our curse. Even though I have never regretted my departure from Winterfell, sometimes still... I am thinking about who I would be, what I would become, there. - Ismir finished quietly.

- * Sigh*. You've been through so much, my boy. If only I could help you, but... even though I've seen so much that some guards' spine will be covered with a crust of ice from fear, but I can't help you with that. This is a test, you have to overcome yourself. One day, my predecessor gave me good advice.

"Face difficulties without fear! Leave gossip and servility to slum rats who do not know how to stand up for themselves. Remember, you are a warrior, a master of battle, you are like a grandmaster, dancing in a life-and-death battle, just as well as he plays on the board. As soon as you kneel, you will no longer be able to embark on the path of a true Comrade-in-arms, and until then, you can share any doubts and worries with your brothers and sisters in arms and craft, we will always help you, my son." - Ismir smiled and a quiet laugh escaped from his lips.

- Where exactly did your predecessor's instruction end?

Ismir didn

't move a step away from the armor while muttering something:

- Never kneel, you say ... - a look of complete determination froze in his golden eyes. "So be it, Father.