Flashback

The weather outside was unleashing upon the poor people in Winterhold the worst blizzard they had seen in years. The sea itself was frozen solid, the streets were covered in ice just as quickly as they were covered in snow, but the inside of the houses were warm and welcoming. Like the heart of a true child of Skyrim.

The howls of blizzard were the only thing that prevented their neighbors to hear the woman screaming in pain as the wetnurse coaxed her to go on and give birth to her child as the woman's beloved held her hand, worried for his wife, for his child, and his hand.

…

A barely six years old child kept himself low and with his knees pressed against his chest and his hands clutching a knife gifted to him by his mother. In front of him, a wolf eat the slabs of meat the child put on the ground in front of the clearing. If it wasn't for the blood on the end of its snout, the boy would have certainly lost track of this predator.

Slowly taking deep breaths, the child tried to calm himself. This was a simple hunt, or so his mother said. Wolves, especially ones that small, shouldn't be a problem for children like him. His mother had already killed her first bear when she was barely a year older than him. He was a son of Skyrim. He should be brave and strong like his ancestors. Father always said to be cautious, but knew what he was doing.

Taking one last deep breath, the child yelled his rather cute war cry before charging the startled wolf.

…

He was bored, sad and angry as he watched the port of Solitude slowly get more and more distant while the old wound on his cheek hurt more and more. Skyrim was his home, and he was supposed to live and protect it. He couldn't understand why father wanted to move away from the place mother was now buried. He was supposed to stay there and protect her from evil necromancers, but father insisted they move so he could "get more world experience".

It was all a bunch of nonsense to him. He knew father wanted to stay as much as him, but he was sad because mother was dead.

Father was just a coward.

…

He stomped away from the house, still hearing his father yell at him to be back. He sounded pleading, like the coward he was. He couldn't even back up his own decisions.

First selling mother's old adventuring gear to open up a store, then enrolling him to one of those stupid, pompous magic schools of High Rock, and then he has the audacity to remarry to a stupid prostitute that just wanted his money.

He couldn't his streams of tears and rage building up in him, nor could he stop punching the guard that tried to stop him.

Stupid, stupid, stupid, coward, coward, coward…

…

He slumped against the wall and let his body slowly slide down to the ground. The priest of Arkay chanted in the other room. He asked Nilsten if he wanted to be there, for his father's last moments, but he couldn't bear to say yes.

The once jovial man was in the bed, old and pale, awaiting death to come for him too. Despite everything Nilsten has ever done, the man never once stopped to love his son, and he knew it. Nilsten wanted to say how sorry he was, how much he loved his father and how much he wished to stay with him, but he couldn't. His worst emotions always got the better of him and made him say things that hurt both and helped neither.

Now it was too late to go back.

The young man placed his hands against his face as streams of tears as he repeated to himself a string of insults that were always meant for himself

Stupid, stupid, stupid, coward, coward, coward…

…

Nilsten slumped and layed on the shores north of Skyrim, too tired to cry, too tired to get up, too tired to get angry. It was so cold that he could feel his face freezing solid.

His father's remains, now forever lost at sea, as well as everything Nilsten used to have. The only thing he had left were the clothes on him, a few Septims and the sword his mother used to have. He found it by chance and bought it immediately.

Now, he was just there, laying on the ground, tired, freezing, hungry, thirsty. He didn't have the strength to go on. He couldn't-...

No, he was a son of Skyrim, raised by Fjorla Black-Crow and Andre Gamon in the lands of Skyrim and High Rock. He wasn't going to give up that easily because of a ship wreck.

Mustering whatever strength he had left, he turned onto his stomach, put his hands on the ground and slowly pushed himself as hard as he could.

He used to be stupid and a coward, but from then on, he was going to prove himself wrong.

…

Arriving in Winterhold was a weird feeling for him. Everything was so familiar, and yet there were quite a few new faces, just enough to make it all so alien.

Luckily, enough people remembered him and his family and mourned with him. Too bad that attitude changed as soon as he expressed his wishes to become a mage at the college. His mother always taught him that magic was not something to fear, but something to embrace. The people in Winterhold, however, held other views.

It was understandable, really, but it became infuriating when they all changed their tune when he revealed his wishes and abilities as a novice of the magic arts.

…

Saarthal was an unusual experience, to say the least. He was lucky to have master Tolfdir and the other students at his side. Granted, they were too panicked at the beginning to do much aside from J'zargo, and the furball flung his spells a little too close, but eventually they all helped under his yelling.

The orb was unusual and bizarre, but it didn't seem much of a threat to anyone in particular.

…

The Psijic order was, apparently, real. He heard stories while in the other school, but he never thought much and chucked them to legend.

…

He heard stories about Labyrinthian, but to visit it and explore its depths? It was something else entirely. He would have probably spent months exploring every nook and cranny, but J'zargo and Brelyna were there to also cool his head. They needed to retrieve whatever was in there, and get out.

…

Is that skeleton of a dragon moving?

…

The death and the appointment of a new archmage was something that usually happened in the span of months, but they all figured that because of the actions of Ancano and the actions of the college towards him were going to cause a political uproar from the Aldmeri Dominion.

Nilsten would have been appointed, but he didn't feel ready yet for the position. Luckily Brelyna accepted his request to become archmage in his stead, much to her own reluctance.

…

Nilsten cursed himself as he dodged another blade from the draugr before stabbing it with his own blade.

If he hadn't been such a horn dog for Aela and hadn't asked Kodlak Whitemane to join the Companions, he would have been enjoying a nice meal at the Bannered Mare and striking some nice conversations with the barmaid Saadia.

Luckily, Farkas was there to help him clear up the place.

…

The smells, the sounds, the lights. It's too much.

The wolves howl and bark around him, but he doesn't understand them.

They try to hurt him, so he hurts them.

The food in yellow tastes good.

…

The blood of the wolf was overwhelming, to say the least. Apparently, if the others didn't intervene, he would have killed half of the city guard alone. The worst transformation they ever had, even more than Skjor's, or so they say.

He should be careful next time he transforms. The taste still weighs heavy on his mind.

…

Kodlak was dead. He mourned him. He was close to the old man, despite talking to him so few times.

His journal broke the dams that have been closed for so long.

…

Freeing the inner circle from Lycanthropy put into perspective his previous views on whether or not this truly was a gift, or a curse.

The options in his mind weigh heavier than the head of the hagraven in his hands. He could free himself now, or never.

Give up on this power, or live never setting foot in Sovngarde.

The blue fire crackles as it awaits his choice.

…

Vilkas was an obvious choice as the next harbinger. Nilsten never made it public that Kodlak wished for him to be next, and perhaps this was for the best. After all, in seniority, he was still barely a pup, even if in power he was at the very top. He couldn't bring himself to be the leader the companions needed in these dire times.

Someone made public the fact that the inner circle was composed of werewolves. Of course, this was no longer the case, mostly, but that did not stop half of the public from believing the rumors.

Someone stronger than him needed to take the Companions and lead them forward.

For Ysgramor's honor, for the companion's honor, for Kodlak's honor.

…

"Dragons! They are back! Helgen is in flames! I must warn the Jarl!"

…

"Halt! The city's closed the dragons about, official business only"

…

"I can't believe it! You're… Dragonborn…"

…

"So… a Dragonborn appears, at this moment at the turning of the age."

…

"They greybeards seem to think you're the Dragonborn. I hope they're right"

Nilsten didn't like her very much already.

…

Thinking the Aldmeri Dominion, or even the Thalmor had anything to do with the resurrection of the dragons? It was absurd and utterly useless use of his time. It was clear that the big black one was responsible, not a bunch of insipid piss waffles.

It was almost as ridiculous as the get up he was in.

…

It was a miracle that he came out of the embassy alive and with the documents he needed at hand.

He didn't know which direction he needed to go first. To Delphine to stick her head to a pike or to Solitude to inform Elisif and General Tulius of the fact that Ulfric was a thalmor sleeper agent.

For as much as he wanted to stick a sword up Delphine's ass, he needed to inform the General and the Jarl of the info he's just gotten.

…

General Tulius did not know about the extent of which the Thalmor were involved in this civil war, but he suspected that they had their sickly yellow fingers in them.

He thanked Nilsten for the info and offered him to join the imperial legion, to which Nilsten immediately said yes.

His mother was a captain in the legion, but she died during the siege of the capital against the Thalmor. Discovering that the Stormcloaks were nothing more than puppets to the Thalmor made him sick to his very core and solidified his position as a pro imperialist.

Sure, the Empire wasn't the greatest, but compared to the Thalmor, he would rather be labeled an imperial dog than be labeled as a traitor.

…

They were able to take back Dawnstar from the Stormcloaks before Nilsten decided to go back to Delphine.

Her letters were starting to pile up too much and he wanted a new punching bag.

…

During the siege of Riften, Nilsten used this opportunity to sneak in the sewers to retrieve Esbern. Apparently he was going to be his best shot at actually stopping the dragon threat.

He would have been elated to find the old man, if it wasn't for the fact that Delphine "forgot" to mention that the Thalmor were after Esbern too.

After he deals with the dragons, he was going to kill Delphine with his bare hands and he was going to enjoy every second of it.

…

"Drem Yol Lok. Greetings, wunduniik. I am Paarthurnax"

He should have expected the leader of the Greybeards to be a dragon. Everything was dragon themed these days.

…

An Elder Scroll was in his possession. An actual Elder Scroll. One of the most powerful objects in the world, said to be specs of Akatosh's essence itself. The power of time itself in his hands…

And he was using it to beat an dwemmer construct to death…

Sometimes he wonders what went wrong in his life.

…

He was lucky that Brelyna was so willing to help him so much, especially after throwing her under the bus like that and especially with guarding an Elder Scroll, for now.

He needed to deal with something else first.

Something called Delphine.

…

"You there. The Dawnguard are looking for anyone willing to fight against the growing vampire menace. What do you say?"

…

Dimhollow crypt. He expected to be in and out, five minutes. It wasn't his first cave diving.

It certainly did take less than five minutes, but what he found inside stunned him beyond what he thought possible.

An absolutely beautiful woman who didn't know about the existence of the Empire and was carrying an Elder Scroll.

He thought those things were once in a million lifetime things to even hear, let alone see or even touch… Or use it as a club.

It was a surprisingly good club.

…

Even though Serana wished to see her father, it was only reluctantly so. He wasn't surprised to find out that she was going to run away from him.

What was surprising was finding her in a den full of vampire killers.

…

He wasn't going to say to Serana's face, but he thought her mother was kind of a manipulative bitch, not too dissimilar from her father, she was just better at hiding her true motives.

The only good things of the trip in that nightmarish place was making friends with a chill dragon called Durnehviir and having a new, immortal, horse.

Also, third Elder Scroll? Now he was seriously reconsidering whether or not they were truly that rare. He could probably turn a few rocks down the stream and find yet another one.

…

Serana may say that she was fine, but he knew she wasn't. Despite his manipulative nature, despite his assholery and despite his final wishes, he was still her father. The weight of the happy memories were never going to outweigh the truly gruesome ones.

Nilsten offered her to stay with him, until she figured out what she wanted to do with her life.

Perhaps they could even find a way to reverse the effects of that vampiric curse. Maybe Dawnstar could be a good place to look.

…

His old scar felt itchy under his new mask. Serana said that it looked good on him while laughing at his uncomfortable situation, but he was starting to get more inclined to believe that she was just messing with him.

Sometimes he wondered if turning her human was really worth her annoying presence, but upon seeing her smile, he couldn't help but smile himself.

It was. Every single time.

…

Something weird was happening in Raven Rock. He noticed immediately upon waking up not in the surprisingly comfortable bed of the Retching Netch. He was mining some kind of temple. Luckily, a nord by the name of Frea was nearby to explain the situation.

…

He swears upon the nine divines that he was never going to step in another daedric realm, if he could help it. Apocrypha was a skooma trip in on itself and never wished to experience it again.

…

Let's go destroy some temples, she said. It'll be fun, she said.

Next time, he was going to make Serana go first.

Removing all that gunk from the armor was not fun. He guessed removing it from her hair wasn't a stroll either.

Although, hearing her swear like a sailor did put his mind at ease.

…

Hearing Frea cry over the corpse of her father reminded him that all his actions had consequences.

Hermaeus Mora was going to pay for this. One way or another.

…

Seems like Hermaeus Mora had a thing for stabbing people with tentacles.

At least Miraak's threat is now dealt with. However, one loose end still remains.

How does one kill a daedric prince?

…

Met a werewolf pack in Solstheim.

Note to self. Werewolves aren't fun to fight when they're in a pack.

…

Fuck Frost Trolls. Especially multi eye ones.

…

Going back to Skyrim made him almost nostalgic and made him wish he could take a break.

Especially when the Stormcloaks mounted an attack against the imperial forces in Dawnstar.

…

Liberating Winterhold from Stormcloak dominance wasn't as easy as in other holds.

After so much work to gain back the trust of his hometown, it was now back to square one.

At times like these, Serana's shoulders seemed so inviting.

…

Windhelm wasn't the easiest city to take, especially when the Stormcloaks disguised themselves as civilians and ambushed us at almost every opportunity. Or maybe they were civilians and they simply thrown at us in the hopes of stalling for time.

He never killed a child before amd he never wished to do it again.

He wa sure the cries of the mother will haunt him until the end of time.

…

He heard stories of how heroes were supposed to feel after wars.

The glory, the relaxation, the celebrations…

Right now, all he could feel was exhaustion and emptiness.

He was lucky to have Serana. He wasn't sure what he would have become without her.

…

Aventus Arentino asked me to deal with Grelod the Kind.

When has he stopping caring about the deaths behind his blade? He didn't know.

Maybe it was his gaze that made him do it. He wasn't sure. She only became one more body among hundreds.

Aventus deserved that and a hoise to call his own.

…

He burned the dark brotherhood. From what little he could recover from the notes, it seemed like they were the last remnants of this old assassination cult.

Only one crazed jester and the night-mother remained.

…

He didn't know what had gotten into him, adopting orphans and using the keep given to him by Jarl Balgruf as a school for them.

Serana certainly seemed worried, mostly about our finances.

She didn't need to worry about it. He could turn irom into gold after all.

Transmutation magic sure was convenient.

…

The Markarth situation would have been a complex and turbulent one, if it wasn't for the fact that he was a Legate of the Imperial legion and he had the ear of not just General Tulius, but also High Queen Elisif.

Finding not one, but two daedric princes' exerting their influence in one city was just the icing on the cake.

He was sure that old rusty mace would like fine in some display.

…

Potema, a powerful, crazy, old queen of Solitude met her final end. Sybile Stentor has fallen into a deep sleep and hasn't woken up since.

He wondered what was tabt all about.

…

Saadia may be beautiful, but sometimes can be pretty idiotic. There is a reason the Alik'r warriors are on the Thalmor shit list.

…

Despite being a somewhat short Redguard woman, the Ebony Warrior was a true Challenge to beat. Perhaps, more so than the Frost Giant.

That was one of the reasons why he recruited her.

…

Since when did he have a museum dedicated to him in Solitude?

He wasn't going to complain, but he wished he knew about it earlier.

Now he knew where to put the daedric artifacts he found.

…

"Kasia. I'm sorry."

…

One more thing to add to Nilsten's ever growing shit list. Time loops.

And time paradoxes.

And time manipulation.

And convergent timelines.

In fact, add everything related to time. He may be a mage of the college of Winterhold, but anything related to time made his head hurt.

Especially when had to battle the eater of worlds shortly after.

…

He put it off for too long. It was time to ask Jarl Balgruuf if he could let us use his castle to capture a dragon.

His disbelief was shared by Nilsten. After all, how is one meant to capture a dragon with a flimsy wooden contraption?

…

Nilsten learns new things everyday.

One of these things: apparently, dragons are dumber than skeevers sometimes.

…

Here it was. The final stretch.

Skuldafn temple.

Serana begged to come. A first time for everything, he supposed. Serana never asks for anything.

He had to harden his heart and tell her that he had to do it alone. It was his mission as the Last Dragonborn.

She cried and asked him what would happen if he failed. Or worse, died succeeding.

He couldn't bear it to answer her, but he did promise her that he would be back. No mater what. He was going to be fine.

They had yet to get married after all.

It was only after they shared a kiss and Odahviing and he were soaring through the skies that he remembered something very important about Serana.

She hated liars.

…

Sovngarde. He never imagined that he would have stepped in this place so soon.

Maybe sooner, but never recently.

While walking to the Hall of Valor, he found her, in her imperial uniform.

His mother.

He didn't know dead people needed to breath, or that he could almost crush their bones.

He cried, like he never did before. No matter how long it had been, the pain was still there. He visited her grave whenever he could.

She was so glad to see him too, and so proud to see how he, a small child that cried from a wolf's love tap, had become the legendary Dragonborn.

He told her everything, for almost two hours, his struggles, his successes, his failures… His loved one.

At the end of all of it, he expect her to yell at him, to mock him for being so weak as to cry when he saw his own mother, to let doubt seep into his mind.

Instead, she simply hugged him, and whispered to him that everything was ok and that she was so proud of him. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't a coward, he wasn't worthless.

He was irreplaceable, he was intelligent, and most of all… He was brave.

He couldn't help but cry, to let out everything he had been holding on. All of his emotions, all his anger, all his sadness, all his loss.

He couldn't help but admit that those were the words he wish to hear the most, from the person he loved the most.

…

In the end, when he had recovered and recompensed himself, his mother sent him away, to fulfill his destiny and to complete his mission as The Last Dragonborn.

Tsun was a challenge, but not as much as he had expected.

Stepping in clearing one more while accompanied by the heroes that tried to defeat Alduin a long time ago, he felt the air vibrate in excitement, his throat burn with eagerness to shout words that could change the very fabric of reality, his fingers twitched with the readiness to cast spells worthy of Archmage, his armor ready and pressing him down to remind his to keep his focus.

A roar of defiance rang through Sovngarde as the ominous Eater of Worlds soared through the skies.

His blazing red eyes locked with the mortals and the pretender ready to defy him.

His mighty roar resounded one more, as the pretender roared back.

…

"Your task is not yet done, Dreamer. Travel beyond to Nirn, with this rich boon from Shor, my lord: a Shout to bring a hero from Sovngarde in your hour of need"

…

A young man stood in front of him, his gaze hesitant and guilty over a crime that never was there amd that never committed.

Nilsten couldn't blame him though. Finding out that he had toyed with life of a man he thought all but imaginary must have been shocking.

He never expected the young man to see through the facade and understand that he was real, and that his life had happened. He expected the young mam to simply take his body, his life and experience to entertain whatever dark entity brought him and the others there.

What he also didn't expect, however, was for the man to turn the tables and share with him his own life. His memories, his knowledge, his past.

Looking deeper, he understood that the young man, no, Malcolm, did not understand what he was doing. Truth be told, neither did Nilsten, but that did not matter.

In the end, he made his own choice.

The right choice.

…

His body jerked up, awakening from his dream.