Okay, I have a new fic for you. Something that has been an idea in my head for quite some time. I'm also posting this on AO3 and I'm gonna import the summary I typed there. There's no need to have two separate ones. Here you go: What would happen, if, at the end of Oblivion, Akatosh decided to intervene, and instead of Martin becoming the Dragon God, Akatosh sends him into the future? Specifically into Skyrim?
I know I don't normally post stories unless they are finished, but I'm really excited about this one and I want to share it with you as soon as possible. I might condense it into fewer chapters when it is finished, but for now, I'll just post chapters whenever I have enough written. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion is owned by Bethesda, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim is also owned by Bethesda. Riku is mine, don't take him from me, please. Though feel free to use the name, I borrowed that from Kingdom Hearts. Only the name and hair color though, everything else about him is mine.
He did it, he finally did something emperor like. He managed to stop Dagon from fully crossing over and destroying all of Tamriel. And let’s face it, being a giant-ass of a dragon was pretty cool! Even if it meant his death. Which, yeah, since he was dead, how was he thinking? Weird. Also, what was with this black and purple void?
“Simple,” he heard a voice call seemingly out of nowhere.
“Who is it?” Martin asked.
“I think you already know the answer to that question. Don’t you?” the voice chuckled.
“Akatosh?” Martin whispered.
“Yep, and frankly, your journey is just beginning,” the dragon god honest to god giggled and then the void vanished and was replaced by the cold of winter.
“Good luck,” Martin heard before the presence of Akatosh left him.
“Ah, you’re finally awake,” Martin heard a voice from in front of him.
“Wuh…” he slurred, still not fully awake.
“You were trying to cross the border, right?” the voice asked.
Maritn blinked to clear his vision and finally registered what was going on around him. He was in a cart with a few other people. His hands were bound and the voice that just spoke to him belonged to a young fair-haired Nord man sitting on the bench opposite him. Next to him was another Nord, this one in rags and very nervous. Next to Martin was a teen that at closer inspection looked maybe sixteen and had misleading hair of pure silver. And the last person in the cart was a Nord that was gagged. Martin wondered about that but did not voice anything.
Instead, he turned to the guy that spoke to him, intending to find out what was going on, but as he turned his head a little too fast, he felt something against his neck. He tried to look down and managed to spot something gold and red peeking from beneath his clothing.
And then the voice of Akatosh was back in his head.
“A little gift,” the god whispered. “All the drawbacks of using it are gone, but it will only work for you. And I’ve given you one more gift, but you will have to discover what it is on your own, goodbye for now.”
Then he was gone and Martin was left staring at what was the Dragon Amulet.
“Hey, are you even listening to me?” The fair Nord grew impatient.
“Oh, sorry,” Martin finally turned to him.
“So, were you trying to cross the border?” the Nord asked again.
“Where are we?” Martin asked instead.
“Skyrim…” the Nord answered, confused.
“Figures,” Martin huffed. “And no, I wasn’t trying to cross the border.”
“But you were caught in the ambush,” the Nord said. “Also, my name is Ralof.”
“Well, Ralof, I don’t know what to tell you, other than that I blame Akatosh for this mess. Oh, and I’m Martin.”
Ralof was about to say something, but one of the guards riding next to the carriage decided to butt in.
“Quiet,” he barked. “No talking!”
Martin raised an eyebrow at that but decided not to test his luck just yet.
The wagons slowly made their way down the road and soon reached a town of some sort.
“Helgen,” Ralof whispered, probably for Martin’s sake.
Martin looked around and could spot an Imperial dressed in some fancy uniform talking to a bunch of Altmer. He couldn’t hear them, but he started to have his suspicion about Akatosh not just flinging him back to life, but sending him to a different time. Even if this was Skyrim, it didn’t seem like a crisis has just taken a place in Cyrodiil. And Akatosh was the god of Time…
The wagons came to a stop and the soldiers motioned for everybody to step off in a single-file line. As the others started to get off, Martin noticed that the teen next to him was still out of it. He nudged him and he jerked awake, wildly looking around.
“Come on,” Martin motioned with his head to where everybody was exiting the wagons and one by one being ticked off on a list one of the fancier dressed soldiers was holding.
The teen hopped out of the carriage and Martin followed after him. It was obvious now that this was an execution. He could even see the executioner for Akatosh’s sake.
One by one the prisoners were ticked off on the list until there were just three left. Him, the kid and the Nord in rags, who tried to run and was shot by the archers. The kid in front of him flinched and he moved closer to him on instinct. The legate refocused on her list and then frowned.
“You two,” she pointed at Martin and the kid, “you’re not on the list, who are you?”
But before either of them could answer, she shook her head and continued.
“Well, it doesn’t matter, to the block you go,” and she pointed to where all the other prisoners were gathered and guarded in a square in front of a tower.
Martin frowned at that. This was wrong, the Empire was not supposed to execute people just like that. If this was the future, it was obvious that the Empire screwed up somewhere along the way. Still, there was nothing he could do at this point so he gently steered the kid toward the other prisoners, casting a glance at the legate along the way. She didn’t see him, though, as she was, again, frowning at her list.
A speech was made and a priestess attempted to give everyone their last rites, but one of the captured soldiers, for that is what they were, Stormcloaks, if he heard right, decided that he would rather get on with it and walked bravely to the chopping block. He was made to kneel down and put his head on the block. And then the ax came swinging and the head rolled away.
A quiet sniffle came from the kid, but there was nothing Martin could do. That was made even more obvious when he was the next to be called to the chopping block. As he slowly made his way forward, he thought he heard something in the distance. Apparently, he wasn’t the only one.
“Did you hear that?” one of the empire soldiers asked.
“Sentries, what do you see?” The leader of the soldiers asked in a brisk voice.
“Nothing,” was the answer Martin heard as he made it to the block and was made to kneel down.
He was about to put his head on the block when he heard a faint roar. It sounded vaguely familiar, but he just couldn’t place it.
“There it is again!” a different empire soldier than before yelled.
“What is it?” barked the general.
“It’s in the clouds!” was the answer as Martin placed his head on the block.
The executioner lifted his giant ax and was about to swing it when the ground shook and something black landed on top of the tower. A scream of “Dragon!” was heard and then a roar and everything shook again. Rocks began raining down and Martin was thrown a few meters away from the block.
Shakily he stood up and looked around. The fair-haired Nord – Ralof – was beckoning him to a partially ruined tower across the square. But Martin ignored him in favor of searching for the kid. He spotted him trying to get to his feet a few meters away. Running over, he pulled him up and then dragged him to the tower Ralof was beckoned him to. It would offer at least some safety from the huge dragon creating hell outside.
When they made it to the tower, the gagged prisoner – Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloaks – was there, now gag-less. Ralof was also there.
“Sir, could the legends be true?” he asked.
“Legends don’t burn down villages,” Ulfric answered.
“This one does,” Martin butted in. “So maybe we could stop debating whether it is real and starting to come up with a way out?”
“He has a point,” one of the other Stormcloaks in the tower answered. “Maybe we could find a way out upstairs?”
He then went up the stairs to see what was there.
His optimism was short-lived though. The way to the upper-most floor was blocked by rocks and before he could even suggest clearing those, the wall burst and a huge dragon head poked in.
“Yol… Toor… Shul!” Martin faintly heard in the dragon’s roar as fire spewed out of its mouth, killing the soldier instantly. The dragon lingered a little, but then pulled out and moved somewhere else in the town.
Martin climbed the stairs, the kid sticking as close to him as he could, and looked out of the hole the dragon made. There was a partly burned down building near the tower, the upper loft visible through the destroyed roof.
“Maybe you could jump across,” suggested Ralof who climbed the stairs after them.
Martin judged the distance. It looked doable… He looked at the kid clinging to him.
“We’re jumping across,” he told him. And before the kid could protest, he grabbed his forearm and hauled them both across to the ruined building. The landing was far from smooth, but they were both in one piece at least.
“Come on,” he told the kid, making a mental note to ask him his name as soon as they were safe.
They moved to a hole in the boards and jumped down to ground level. Peaking out of the ruined building, they could see that the coast was relatively clear and Martin beckoned the kid to follow him, making his way across to another ruined building for a bit of cover.
Crouching in the shadow, they watched as the dragon landed in front of the building they just vacated and blasted fire at it. They moved again and after taking a turn, they were at a different square. There were two doorways leading inside the keep but before they could go through either of them, Ralof and the soldier that admonished them on the way to the town to be quiet made their way there. One from each side.
Seeing an argument coming, Martin dragged the kid to the door closest to them. They made it inside and in a few short moments were joined by Ralof who was smirking. Martin raised an eyebrow at that but didn’t ask. Instead, he made his way to a table that had a dagger stuck into it. He took it and used it to cut the bonds on his wrists. Then he turned to the kid to do the same.
“What’s your name?” he asked as he freed his hands.
“Riku,” the kid said softly.
“Well, Riku, I’m Martin.” The building shook. “And we should probably start to look for an escape route…” he added.
“Damn, it’s looked!” Ralof kicked a door on one end of the room they were in.
“Maybe I can help,” Martin said and made his way over.
“How?” Ralof asked. “You got lockpicks or something?”
“Or something,” Martin smirked and placed his hand on the lock. Then muttered the correct words for the unlocking spells and smirked when the lock made a satisfactory click.
“Come on, Riku,” Martin called as he opened the door and made his way inside. Riku hot on his heels. They both ignored the disgusted look Ralof sported at the display of magic. Martin may have not known that much about the province of Skyrim, but he knew that the Nords that inhabited it were not very fond of magic other than restoration spells. And even those were better left to the priests and priestesses.
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