Chapter 4
Dovahkiin IV
As the foreign entourage passed under the inner gate to the courtyard led by several riders holding banners Jon felt his heart freeze and his body tense up.
No…
It couldn’t be…
The banners flapped in the air, most prominently was a black stag on a yellow field and there was no doubt that it was the same one he’d been shown so long ago. Accompanying the stag was golden lions, spears and suns, golden roses, silver trouts and a number of others belonging to houses Jon couldn’t remember. The one that had that had Jon frozen however was none of those, it was the snarling wolf upon a field of white.
Trepidation filled him as the riders had all soon entered the yard along with several carriages bearing the same sigil as some of the banners. As he looked across the group he finally found himself staring at a person he had almost given up on ever seeing again, his hair was still the same color of red but his jaw was now covered in a light beard and his face had grown out of the childish fat that all children had.
He was forced back into reality by the foreigners approaching them with a black-haired, blue-eyed man who couldn’t be much older than Jon himself at the head.
“Queen Elisif it is an honor to meet you.” The black-haired man greeted with a flourishing bow, his black doublet had intricate golden embroidery that imitated vines creeping over him whilst his deep green cape gently fluttered around him from the swift movement of its wearer.
“And you must be Lord Renly Baratheon, I had received word that you would be the one to make the journey here and on behalf of Skyrim and her people I welcome you to our land I as Queen welcome you to my home,” The Queen answered with a nod and with a gesture of her hand two servants who’d been standing somewhere out of sight approached with a bowl and a plate respectively, “I also offer you and your companions guest right as I have heard such a thing might ease some of you worries, my lords.”
Some time was spent in silence as the guests took part of the bread and salt and whilst they were doing so Jons mind raced at dizzing speeds, Elisif and everyone else had obviously known the visitors would be westori and Jon knew he was the one to explain to Elisif the importance of guest right in Westeros during some of the earlier days after the war and his time as a thane of Solitude.
“I thank you for your consideration Queen Elisif as I know that it will indeed help ease some of my companions worries,” Lord Renly had half turned to the rest of his group as he continued, “Also allow me to introduce my companions and fellow representatives from our home,”
“This is Garlan and Loras, sons of Mace of House Tyrell the ruler of the Reach and Warden of the South,” two brown haired men bowed as they were introduced and both sent a charming smile towards the Queen, “next is Prince Oberyn of House Martell, the brother of Doran Martell who rules Dorne and his family,” An olived skinned man inclined his head as three women of similar skin tone and dark hair and eyes as the Prince curtsied whilst one of the younger ones dressed in breeched copied the older man and only inclined her head, and Jon couldn’t help but notice the clear fact that at least three of the Dornish were armed with at least one dagger carefully hidden on their bodies except for the Prince himself who openly carried a sword at his waist,
“Kevan Lannister the brother of Tywin Lannister the Lord of the Westerlands and Warden of the West, his nephew Tyrion Lannister and his son Lancel,” a group of golden haired men bowed, and Jon was surprised to not have noticed the much shorter figure among the group, the red-haired man's appearance had shaken him deeply, “Edmure Tully the son of Hoster Tully and heir to the Riverlands,” Jon couldn’t quite make out how he felt at the presence of Catelyn Stark's family as the man bowed with a grin in his red and silver clothes,
“and lastly Robb Stark,” Jon felt his breath hitch as young man took a step forward to present himself, “son and heir of Eddard Stark the Lord Paramount of the North, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, and with him is Theon Greyjoy the future Lord of the Iron Islands.”
Jon greedily roamed his eyes over his now-grown brother and noted that aside from the beard and the more distinguished facial features he had grown broader and taller, making Jons own growth spurt mean nothing as he was now still taller than him, he was dressed in a white doublet with grey embroidered wolves decorated his collar, the sides of the doublet and his cuffs. He carried a longsword at his side and a charming smile was spread across his face in that familiar way that crinkled his eyes and made dimples appear around the corners of his mouth.
As more greetings were exchanged Jon prayed no one would recognize him, which was highly unlikely as he only really knew two people from the group and the rest hadn’t ever laid their eyes on him before from what he could remember.
The meeting came to a close as the guests were escorted into the Palace whilst servants rushed to take care of their horses and carriages and Jon found himself following the rest of Solitudes court to the throne room in a daze as he tried to think of how people from Westeros ended up here.
A feeling of foreboding filled him as he made up an excuse to retire to his home, he needed time to process all this and as the Queen gave him permission with a concerned look that he waved of with a tight smile he began to dread the days to come, nothing good would come of this, he could tell and the only question was how badly whatever was going to happen would be.
*******
Robb IV
The soft mattress felt like heaven as he flopped down on it in a most unlordly manner. This place was so confusing, it was so far away from Westeros and this could likely be the first meeting between them, there were so many similarities but equally as many differences he’d seen in his very brief time in this land.
For example it seemed as if they both spoke the common tongue but sometimes he’d hear some completely alien phrase or word and sometimes he’d hear an accent so similar to his own northern one but even then it seemed slightly different.
He lifted his head from the beds pillows to spare a glance at his direwolf companion resting on a pile of furs near the room's hearth before closing his eyes and letting his head flop back into the soft pillows.
They’d been told that since they’d arrived so late in the day the formal introduction would wait for tomorrow, which gave them a chance to get some rest in a bed that wasn’t constantly swaying like the ones from the ship had.
Rest sounded like a grand idea to Robb and after getting up to undress for bed he buried himself under the covers and let himself drift off with only a slight twinge of nervousness for the next day.
That night he dreamt of a wolf trapped in a translucent net struggling to free himself as faceless beings that surrounded it laughed, their joyous laughter grew deafing as the wolf seemingly gave up and laid in the net in defeat.
*******
Dovahkiin V
After arriving at Proudspire Manor Jon had immediately had a meal made and the bath prepared so he could deal with today's surprises in a more relaxed setting and repressed any thought of the arrivals until he was neck deep in steaming hot water and had some good food in his belly.
Only now, in the comfort of his own home did he let panic consume his thought entirely.
How could this happen?! It was ridiculous, the odds of people from Westeros showing up in Tamriel were impossible or so he had thought at least. And for Robb to be among them was certainly some sadistic god’s idea of a joke.
He counted himself lucky that neither Robb, Theon or any of the guards and servants that had belonged to the northern party had recognized, it was unlikely considering they wouldn’t really be looking for a long gone runaway bastard among a foreign monarchs court and he had changed quite a bit from how he’d looked back then, obviously.
He dragged a wet hand through his hair as he took a deep breath, thinking about it he had also never worn his hair this short in his homeland. It wasn’t that short of course but it only reached a little past his ears now and he had it swept back most of the time which was far shorter then how it had ever been in the North.
His body had also changed in his time in Tamriel. There were scars from all manner of things along with a small rose tattoo on his neck from a certain Daedric Prince that now decorated his body. It was far more muscled now than the greenboy he had been, though he still had a leaner body shape than many other warriors. Whether that was through his position as dragonborn or from the multitude of magic he’d been exposed to, or if it was just how his body worked naturally, he wasn’t any weaker than those more solidly built. He was even in a lot of cases stronger than them, and even if he came across a stronger opponent his speed made up for it.
He spent the next hour soaking in the water and thinking of how much had changed since the day he’d packed as many of his things in a satchel along with all the coin he’d saved up over the years and stolen a horse from Winterfell's stables to go out in the world to try and find his place or if he didn’t have one carve one out for himself on his own. Also dominating his thought was concern over how the near future would play out.
Some time later
After deciding he wouldn’t get any sleep that night Jon found himself sitting in a chair inside of a large room that seemed like nothing more than an ordinary trophy room for hunting trophies and displays of weapons and armor that cost more then some villages were sold for, such rooms could be found across the homes of many nobles or other wealthy people across Skyrim.
However if one were to take a closer look one would find that nothing about the rooms contents could ever be described as ordinary by any sane man save for the stands and cases that were used to display them which were made of ordinary wood and glass and some with stuffed cushions on the inside.
Jon himself was currently slumped next to a crackling hearth with a goblet of wine in his left hand which dangled of the arm of his chair, the chair itself was carved from a dark wood and had padded cushions of purple silk on its base, back and most of its armrests that was carved to imitate snarling wolves at the end while its legs were made to resemble a wolves legs and paws.
The only clothed part of him was his lower body which was clad in a pair of black breeches meanwhile his upper body was naked save for an intricately embroidered red blanket that hung around his shoulders, the fire of the hearth revealed a muscled torso and stomach littered with scar both small and large, some of whom seemed fatal. His head, hair still wet from the bath, rested on the chairs padded headrest which widened as it stretched upwards, the chair was actually so large that it seemed to dwarf Jon and if one were to look at it from behind the only part of him showing would be his legs which were lazily stretched outwards and his limp naked feet.
His gaze swept across the room which was lit up only by the light from the crackling fire where he sat in his chair that was turned so its back was pointed towards the right corner of the room.
Some time passed where the only movement in the room was its lone occupants arm periodically being lifted to his lips so he could sip his goblets contents, but soon he lifted his other arm to hold the item that until now had been cloaked by the dark of the room up to his face and when exposed to the light of the fireplace it was revealed to be a sword but it wasn’t whole, instead only a length the size of Jons forearm was left. The part where it had been broken off was jagged and when he shifted it to turn the other side to face upwards the partial dark outline of a hand could be seen.
“For the darkness has passed and the legend yet grows...” Jons voice was a whisper as he continued to stare at the broken blade in his hands. “Two sides of the same coin you called us,” this time his voice seemed to verberate in his head, after a moment in the still quiet of the room a load yell tore itself from his throat as he suddenly stood up and threw the blade through the air where it embedded itself in the chest of the only wooden mannequin not wearing armor in the room.
He stood still for a moment before leaning his head back and finishing the last of his drink. Just as suddenly as the feelings of rage had filled him did they disappear as he collapsed in the throne-like chair, the goblet slipping from his hand and hitting the carpeted floor with a muted thud, and closing his eyes as he clenched and unclenched his hands on the wolven armrests.
“How amusing you all must find this,” the room remained silent as his voice echoed across it and the many remnants and mementos of past foes and friends that it contained, a sardonic smile spread across his face as his voice took on a mocking tone “the great Dragonborn undone by a man who probably hadn’t spared him any thought in the past years,” his face took on an almost pained expression as his closed eyes screwed up, “you’re all probably laughing at me from whatever hell you’re currently rotting,” the light from the fire glinted off of the metal of a strange mask where it sat on the head of a bust that was on a pedestal in the center of the room, his voice rose to a yell as he stood up once more and began to stumble towards the rooms door, “Well you can all laugh all you want but it won’t change that I’m the one still alive while you’re all nothing but ash and memories!” As he neared the door he stumbled on the cloth that hung from his shoulders into a pedestal knocking a crown shaped like a pair of wolves holding a sapphire in their mouths to the ground, he ignored the crown and righted himself before continuing towards the door and as he gripped the handle he whispered to himself,
“I’m alive, I won, I defeated all of you, you’re all gone.” He ripped the door open and slammed it shut and as he stumbled through the hallways the sound from door slamming shut echoed through the manor, and in the mind of the Dovahkiin filled with shadows and foggy from drink it sounded akin to countless haunting voices laughing with malice and joy at seeing Skyrims famed hero stumble drunkenly through his home after he had tried to relieve himself of the feelings of dread and conflicted he felt at the thought of the next day.
Jon had made it to the stairs leading to his bedroom but as he neared the top the cloth covering him got snagged under his foot causing him to fall down with a pained yell. He laid still on the stone floor making no attempt to rise up, a defeated look crossed his face before he slipped away from the waking word.