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Chapter Text

Timothy Drake wasn't sure what it was that woke him up with a gasp. 

Could it have been the sudden crack of thunder that was so loud it rattled all the wooden planks of the cabin he was taking shelter in?

Perhaps it was the pain of the angry, nearly raw burn scars that stretched across his entire back and left shoulder?

Maybe it was the nightmare of the last few hours of his life replaying itself in his head after sheer exhaustion had dragged him into an unwanted slumber?

It didn't really matter.

Tim shifted carefully into a sitting position, biting back the groan of pain that wanted to escape. Instead, a sharp inhale through his teeth was all he allowed as he clutched at the small portion of unburnt flesh on his left shoulder closest to his neck. 

Once his eyes had adjusted to the dim light of the dying embers of the nearby fireplace, he scanned the area and zeroed in on a metal mug that was sitting on a top of the dresser next to the bed. Earlier, when he'd been offered the drink he'd declined. Now, he cursed his earlier stubborness. With a sigh, he gingerly reached over and brought it to his lips. Though the dark liquid was now tepid where earlier it had been warmed, Tim could still smell the strong aroma of medicinal herbs steeped in honey mead. Slowly, he drained the mug. 

Within several minutes as Tim savored the warmth caused by the alcohol spreading internally he could feel the pain from his burns begin to fade to a dull throbbing ache. It still hurt, but at least now it was tolerable. He took a deep breath and released it slowly.

"Would you like another mug?"

Tim jerked in surprise at the voice and immediately hissed in pain as he clutched his shoulder. When the voice spoke again from the dark, it was apologetic.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to startle you."

Tim swallowed hard and got his bearings. He looked at the blond Nord who was leaning up on his elbow from the cot on the other side of the room, studying him with concern. "No. It's alright Ralof. Sorry if I woke you."

He could hear Ralof get off the cot with a creak and pad across the room on bare feet. He paused by the fireplace to add another log and to poke the dying embers back to a semblance of life. "Nah. Wasn't really asleep." 

Now that there was more light from the fireplace, Tim could see Ralof pouring steaming hot liquid from a kettle into another mug. Unlike earlier when he'd refused the medicinal mead from the Nord's elder sister Gerdur when she was trying to treat his wounds, Tim accepted the offered mug without hesitation or complaint. "It's better when it's hot," Ralof said knowingly. 

Tim cupped the mug between his hands and breathed in the vapors rising from the mug before taking another long draught. 

"Is it helping?" Ralof asked, then smiled when Tim nodded. "I'm glad. I wish I'd caught on to how badly you were hurt back in Helgen. Maybe if I'd looked harder at the keep for more poti--"

"Don't," Tim interrupted as he stared into his mug. Then he shook his head. "There's nothing more you could've done in the moment." He lifted his haunted gaze to meet Ralof's. "I'm alive... We're alive... That's all that matters." Quickly, he drained the remainder of the mead, coughing slightly as the alcohol burned on the way down.  "I think I should be able to get back to sleep now."

"Aye," Ralof said as he drained his own mug of mead. "We both should rest. I need to make my way back to Jarl Ulfric, and you need to make your way to Whiterun." He smiled reassuringly. "I'll show you the way to the city before I head to Windhelm." 

Tim nodded as he gingerly laid back down on the bed, easing onto his right side. 

The moment his blue eyes closed, the nightmares returned, though they seemed muted by the alcohol he'd finally indulged in.

***

Riding in a wooden cart, bound with other prisoners of a rebellion he had no part in...

***

Kicked to a headsman's wooden block, still sticky and warm with blood from its previous victim, denied even a chance to argue his innocence to the merciless Imperial soldiers in scarlet armor...

***

Staring at massive black dragon with burning crimson eyes, unable to move. He could see the dragon's mouth move, as if it was speaking, but he could hear no words...

***

Screams of terror and cries of battle filled his ears while the stench of burning wood and charred flesh suffocated him as he tried to move to safety...

***

Searing pain as he felt unforgiving flames devouring his flesh...

***

Being saved by a blonde Stormcloak soldier clad in a blue cloak. Words of reassurance were barely intelligble as the stranger, his savior, forced a bittersweet red liquid from a small vial down his throat. Only then did the pain begin to finally subside...

***

Though the rest of his slumber was fitful, Tim did not wake again until the sun had risen over the horizon over the small village of Riverwood.

(in-game screenshots)

(extra: Tim Drake appearance in-game)

Chapter Text

---Last Seed, 18th, 4E 201---

Januray 23, 20XX (I think?)

Not exactly sure what day it would be back in Gotham. Not sure how long I was out for before I woke up in that rickety wooden cart. 

No. I need to back up. Trying to get my thoughts in orders. Need to keep a record of all this if I'm ever going to figure out how to get back home.

Yesterday, estimating about 24 hrs ago (does this world run on a 24 hr day?), I woke up with my hands bound riding a cart with other prisoners in a medieval-ish world. Both the people who captured us and others in the cart with me seemed to be dressed in metal and leather armor, and horses were pulling the carts and being rode by some of the guards. 

My own gear and armor were stripped from me while I was unconscious. No idea where any of it is now. I think I put up a fight when I was first ambushed? My memory before waking up in the cart is really fuzzy.

Anyways... apparently got dragged into the middle of some civil war conflict between a faction called the "Stormcloaks" (fellow prisoners) and the "Imperials" (ones who captured us). 

Just my bad luck. I think the Imperials set up the ambush for the Stormcloaks and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I tried to explain to those Imperials that I wasn't with them. The other Stormcloaks tried to tell them that too. Bastards didn't listen.

Apparently, their whole plan was to drag us to some little village named Helgen and execute everyone they captured without any trial or due process...

By chopping off their heads...

I couldn't save the first one they murdered. Too many guards and not enough time to slip the ropes around my wrists.

Then I was next one put on the god-damned chopping block...

Fucking hell, I'm going to have nightmares for weeks.

Obviously, I got to keep my head. Not out of any show of mercy from the Imperials. Nope. Just my luck a real live black dragon decides to crash the party and start slaughtering everyone in sight.

I tried to help some of the townspeople get to safety, but everything was chaos. The dragon was too fast and everything was on fire. I couldn't save anyone.

Couldn't even save myself.

Got tagged by the dragon. I haven't been able to find a mirror, but I'm sure my back and left shoulder are burned to hell. 2nd and 3rd degree damage at least. Probably be a lot worse if it wasn't for one of the Stormcloaks, a man named Ralof. He helped me get to safety along with his commander (Ulfric). Gave me some red vials of medicine that dulled the pain and I think healed some of my burns right there on the spot (liquid magic?).  Not all of it, though. Apparently the "potions" Ralof found were pretty weak? He apologized for that. 

Still. It was enough to get me back on my feet and functional enough to help him and Ulfric escape through some underground tunnels.

We ran into some Imperials along the way. Even if I was in any condition to try and save them, Ralof and Ulfric were too fast. They killed any Imperial soldier they came across. Ulfric seemed to have some sort of meta/magic power that no one could avoid.

At least their deaths were quick...

Still I couldn't save them... 

Did I even want to save them?

Eventually we made our way out to daylight and away from Helgen. (BTW they also have giant venmous spiders the size of Great Danes in addition to fire breathing dragons in this world. Pure nightmare fuel). Not sure where Ulfric ended up, as we got separated in the caves, but Ralof took me to a nearby village called Riverwood, where he has family who took us in for the night. 

His sister Gerdur (who happens to be like a mayor for this village?) asked me to go to another town named Whiterun to tell someone named Jarl Balgruuf about the dragon and to request guards for Riverwood to protect the village.

I really need to figure out where I am and how to get back to Gotham, but I can at least do this. Fortunately the dragon didn't follow us, but it is still in the area. It's the least I can do since I owe Ralof my life.

Chapter Text

---Last Seed, 19th, 4E 201---

January 24, 20XX (morning)

Heading out of Riverwood a few hours after sunrise. I would've been gone sooner, but Gerdur was insistant in making sure I had some decent gear and weapons before I left the village. I couldn't go walking the roads around here in Stormcloak armor. Got some leather armor and a wooden quarterstaff from a blacksmith named Alvor and general goods from a shopkeeper named Lucen. I still have a bow, a quiver of arrows, and a pair of daggers from Helgen as well. 

Thought about selling the bow and arrows, but with my back and shoulder still pretty messed up, I think I need to keep a long-range option for self defense.

Though Gerdur was generous with her money to help me, it does remind me that in this place I have no bank accounts or credit. The economy seems to run on either direct trade of goods between people or a unit of currency called "septims", which seem to consist of basic gold coins. As I walk to Whiterun, I'll need to think about how I'm going to make enough money to survive.

When it comes to my burn, Gerdur recommended I visit an apothecary she knows in Whiterun. I suppose they're a source of medicine for the area. She said the shopkeeper there might have a salve or some potions that could help me with the pain and healing. I guess we'll see... 

I guess I'd better head out. Can't afford to burn any more daylight.

Chapter Text

Tim couldn't remember the last time he'd had to walk so much in one day. It turned out the city of Whiterun was several miles away from Riverwood, so the entire journey took nearly the entire day. He'd started out about an hour or so after sunrise, and he didn't find himself passing through Whiterun's gates until it was so late in the afternoon the sun was flirting with the horizon.

He probably would've been there a lot sooner if he'd chosen to jog part of the distance and take his journey off the cobblestone path and through the wilderness in a more straight line fashion, especially when he was finally able to see the city in the distance. However, the pain from his back was still bothering him. It was hard enough just tolerating the jostling of the backpack full of hiking gear and weapons (a new quarterstaff along with his bow, arrows, and a couple of daggers from Helgen) Gerdur helped him get before he left Riverwood. The idea of indulging in any kind of parkour over the rocky terrain to cut down on his travel time in his current state was ludicrous. Still, despite the pain, Tim couldn't help but indulge in a climb up to a small ledge only slightly off the beaten path that gave him his first real view of the city he was traveling to.

Whiterun was the model of a stereotypical small medieval city. It was nestled on a flat plain that was dotted with various farms full of crops and livestock. In the city proper, a large wall surrounded a collection of rustic wooden rooftops, above which towered a massive keep. Tim had to shake his head. When he was a younger, far geekier kid, this was the kind of setting he always imagined when he used to play Wizards and Warlocks with his old friend Ives back in middle school.

When he entered the keep known as Dragonsreach, Tim had to pause to take in the sight. It was just like something out of a fantasy novel. The throne room was right there up a small flight of stairs past the main doors. A large firepit blazed right in front of the throne where who he assumed was the Jarl sat, seemingly tied up in a heated conversation with another person. 

"If the news from Helgen is true... Well there's no telling what it means," a balding man in expensive looking clothing said to the Jarl with a fair amount of concern. "I only counsel caution. We cannot afford to act rashly in times like these."

When Jarl Balgruuf responded it caused Tim to pause. His voice spoke with authority and carried quite well in the vast room. "What would you have me do, then? Nothing?"

For a moment, Tim wondered if this really was the best way to approach the Jarl. He hadn't been stopped by any of the guards upon entering the town or the castle. A part of him wondered idly at the lack of security surrounding this apparent ruler.

Suddenly, the sound of a sword being immediately unsheathed as footsteps quickly approached him made him reverse that thought immediately. Tim kept his eyes on the gleaming blade held by a gray skinned, armored woman with sharp narrow features, red eyes, and pointed ears.

"What's the meaning of this interruption," the woman demanded sternly. "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."

Tim took a breath to compose himself. Was this an "elf" of some sort? Then he answered the Jarl's guard. "I have news from Helgen about the dragon attack," he said. "I was also sent with a message from Gerdur to Jarl Balgruff. Riverwood is in danger."

The woman refused to lower her blade or or defensive stance. But her eyes widened in surprise. "You know about Helgen?" She glanced between Tim and the Jarl before finally relaxing her stance and sheathed her blade. "The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach."

Marginally, Tim relaxed as well now. With a respectful nod to the guard, climbed the last few stairs up to the Jarl's throne. He glanced at the dragon skull mounted over the throne before letting his eyes fall on the man beneath it. Jarl Balgruuf was a blond regal man, dressed in furs and fine clothing. Upon his head he wore a gold crown with several gems inlaid upon it. The way he sat upon the throne, it reminded Tim of a male lion lounging on the savannah, completely secure in his superiority. With a sigh, Tim bowed in what he hoped was a respectful gesture to the man before him.

"So," Jarl Balgruuf started. "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"

Tim nodded. "Yes. The dragon destroyed Helgen." He was careful to leave out the reason why he was in Helgen in the first place. Gerdur had told him the Jarl had not chosen a side in this country's civil war, but he wasn't going to take any chances. "Last I saw, the beast flew off toward the mountains in this direction."

"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" Balgruuf exclaimed. Then he turned to the man on his right. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

Before the man Tim now knew as Proventus could respond, the Jarl's guard cut in. "My lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains..."

Proventus then interrupted her, earning a sharp glare from the elf. "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're prepping to join Ulfric's side and attack him."

Tim winced as Balgruff bellowed. "Enough!" The word echoed off the walls. First, he fixed a glare on Proventus. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" Then he turned to his guard. "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once." 

Irileth, the grey-skinned elf nodded. "Yes, my Jarl," she said crisply before turning to leave the throne room. Soon after, Proventus left as well, muttering something about other duties as he decended down the stairs. Then Tim was left alone with the Jarl, who studied him for a long moment before speaking. "Well done," Balgruuf praised. "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. May I know your name?" 

Tim inclined his head in a slight bow once more. "It's Timothy, sir, and thank you, Jarl Balgruuf. I'm sure Gerdur and Riverwood will feel a lot safer once your guards arrive. But I should go now. I've taken up enough of your time." he said politely. As Tim started to turn to descend the stairs himself, starting to wonder on his next steps on how to get back home, the Jarl spoke up once more, his tone thoughtful.

"There is another thing you could do for me."

Tim paused, eyeing the Jarl suspiciously as the man rose from his throne.

"Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

As Balgruuf led the way to a side room next to the throne room, Tim felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach. He needed to start searching for a way back home, and he'd gotten more than his fill of dragons at Helgen. Running errands for this Jarl would just get in his way... but he couldn't say no right now. Last thing he needed was to insult this land's ruler and get thrown into a dungeon... or worse if nearly losing his head at Helgen before the dragon attach was any indication. With a defeated sigh, Tim followed obediently.

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill him in on all the details." Tim heard Balgruuf say as he entered the room of the Jarl's court wizard. There was an odd scent in the air that reminded Tim of certain incenses his old friend Raven used to use back at Titans Tower. Across nearly every flat surface in the room was some sort of book, scrolls, potion, or gemstone in haphazard disarray. Then he turned his full attention on the robed man that the Jarl was speaking with, who was now studying him back in return.

"So the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?"

Tim shrugged. "I'll try to be as useful as I can, though I can't do anything with magic if it involves that."

Farengar smirked. "That shouldn't be a problem. I just need someone to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not be there."

It took every ounce of self control Tim had not to roll his eyes. Great, he was being sent to chase wild geese in some ancient, decrepit ruin that was probably booby trapped to hell and back. "And what does this have to do with dragons?" Tim asked, unable to completely mask the annoyed skepticism in his voice.

"Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar?" Farengar observed with renewed interest in Tim. Apparently this seemed to elevate Tim's standing in the wizard's eyes. Farengar then proceeded to give Tim a brief explanation about how until the event at Helgen, stories of dragons were dismissed as fantasies and impossibilities. "One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible."

Tim thought about that for a moment, then shrugged with a nod in agreement. He'd had more than enough experiences like that in his life.

Farengar continued, explaining how he had been researching information about dragons before finally reaching his point. "I, uh, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," said to contain a map of dragon burial sites." He pointed to a location on a large map in his room. "Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

"Simplicity itself, huh," Tim echoed before shaking his head and pulling out a map of the region he'd gotten earlier at the general store in Riverwood. He marked the location of the barrow on it before re-folding it carefully. "Anything else you can tell me about this place?" Tim asked.

"It's an old tomb, built by the ancient Nords, perhaps dating back to the Dragon War itself."

Tim nodded as if he knew what Farengar was talking about, though he was mostly clueless. "Nords? Dragon War?" he thought silently. Suddenly, he missed the internet and its nearly infinite amount of wikis. He was suddenly struck with how hard it was going to be to do any kind of in depth research in this place. Did this city even have a library?

The mage must have caught some hint of a confused expression on Tim's face and misinterpreted it. "Ah. Maybe you just want to know how to get there. It's near Riverwood, a miserable little village a few miles south of here."

"So how do you know this 'Dragonstone' is in there?" Tim asked.

"Well, must preserve some professional secrets, mustn't we?" Fargengar replied cryptically. "I have my sources... reliable sources." 

Jarl Balgruuf, who had remained during this conversation, must have read the skeptical look on Tim's face. "This is a priority now. Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

Tim sighed. "I understand," he said with resignation. "I'll head back out to Riverwood first thing in the morning and make my way to the barrows."

Balgruuf clapped a firm hand on Tim's shoulder. Thankfully, it was his uninjured one. "Thank you, Timothy. Succeed at this, and you'll be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt."

Tim brightened a little at that. If the reward was gold, or something that could be exchanged for gold, that could help his dire financial straits. Also, having someone like the Jarl and perhaps even this mage in his debt might help him get home.

Still... Despite Farengar's insistance that this job would be "simplicity itself", Tim knew that it likely wouldn't be anything close to that. His luck just wasn't that good.

Chapter Text

January 24, 20XX (evening)

It took nearly the entire day, but I did make it to Whiterun. This place is definitely larger and more populated than Riverwood. Still very medieval, tho.

Spoke with Jarl Balgruuf in a palace the locals call "Dragonsreach" and told him about the dragon at Helgen and threat to Riverwood. He promised to send some soldiers there to guard the town, which is one less worry off my back.

However, before I could leave, he roped me into helping his court mage with a search-and-retreive assignment. The mage wants me to head into a place called "Bleak Falls Barrows" and find an item called a "Dragonstone" that (in his own words) "may or may not be there."

I feel like I'm getting sent on a wild goose chase.

BUT...

Perhaps if I get this Dragonstone for the mage, he can owe me a favor, which I can use to get him to help me find a way back home. 

I also saw on a public notice board outside the inn that someone is looking to hire a person to clear out the Barrows of some undead creatures. Maybe this way I can at least make some gold on this assignment if it turns out it IS a wild goose chase.

Chapter Text

The next morning, after spending the evening at the Bannered Mare Inn in Whiterun and visiting the apothecary to pick up some salve for his burns, Tim reversed his journey back to Riverwood. As he walked, he thought about something the woman in the apothecary shop said as he made his purchase that morning.

***

"A severe lingering wound like that really needs to be looked at by someone with skills in healing arts. The damage is deep and basic healing potions aren't going to be strong enough to heal it completely. Perhaps if I had some stronger ingredients I could brew up a potion powerful enough to fix this, but I don't have any in stock," the elderly alchemist Arcadia said with concern. "There's a temple of Kynareth up the steps in the Cloud District.  It would take a few days, but my friend Danica and her apprentice could heal that completely for you."

Tim had sighed and shaken his head. "I wish I could, but the Jarl's given me an assignment that needs to be completed as soon as possible. I don't have a few days to spare." At the even more concerned look Arcadia gave him, one that was very similar to the kind Alfred used to give him when he'd overwork himself, Tim relented. "When I complete the Jarl's task and return to Whiterun, I promise I'll visit the temple."

***

The salve Arcadia gave him would ease some of the pain and prevent the burn from becoming infected, but it wouldn't heal the wound outright, and she was insistent he visit the temple as soon as he returned to Whiterun. Tim wished he could have taken some time to do this, but Balgruuf was right. With that dragon on the loose, the Jarl and his wizard needed as much information as they could get to protect the people of the hold.

Besides... He was used to working while injured. It almost felt... normal.

What wasn't normal was how little money he now had. The medicine, though necessary, had eaten up nearly all the Septims he had leftover after his night the Bannered Mare Inn. With a deepening sense of dread, Tim realized he couldn't remember ever being so broke before. It was an unsettling anxious feeling that he really didn't like. Is this what it was like for people who had to live paycheck to paycheck, just one medical disaster away from financial ruin? Is this what it felt like to be forced to work on a job not just out of a sense of duty or responsibility, but because if you didn't you'd have to potentially starve or be homeless?

***

"Ah! Good to see you again!" a friendly voice shook Tim from his thoughts. Apparently, while lost in his thoughts on his journey to Riverwood, he'd entered a sort of autopilot and hadn't been aware of how far he'd travelled. He glanced up, startled, to see he was already on the bridge entering Riverwood. He glanced at the sky, noting the color of twilight and the few stars starting to peak out across the expanse. Then he turned to the voice, which belonged to Gerdur. 

"Oh. Hello," Tim said.

The blonde Nord woman smiled. "I see that your meeting with Balgruuf went well," she said as she walked over to meet Tim at the gate leading into the town. "The guards from Whiterun just arrived a few hours ago and set up camp on the other end of town. They're already patrolling the area between here and Helgen. Thank you so much for seeing the Jarl for us."

Tim smiled as well. "If it makes Riverwood safer, I'm glad to have been able to help."

Gerdur inclined her head toward the Sleeping Giant Inn. "Come on, let me treat you to a meal and some mead.  I'm meeting my husband Hod there, and we would love to hear about how things went with the Jarl over a pint or two."

By reflex, Tim almost declined. But he swiftly remember his current financial state and, of course, he didn't want to be rude to Gerdur. "A meal and some mead sounds wonderful. Lead the way."

***

Because Riverwood was such a small town, news apparently travelled like wildfire among the townsfolks. As Tim settled in at the Sleeping Giant Inn, he had folks coming by every few minutes to thank him for speaking with Jarl Balgruff and sending the guards. So many people were offering to buy him drinks he just couldn't physically consume that the owner of the Inn, a woman named Delphine, actually set up a tab for him that she allowed the citizens of Riverwood to pay into. In the end, as long as he was in Riverwood, Tim would't have to worry about food or drink for a good week at least. 

"So the Jarl's mage wants you to fetch something from Bleak Falls Barrow?" Hod, Gurder's husband, asked curiously. 

Tim nodded. "Something called a Dragonstone. Have you or anyone else heard of it?"

Gerdur shook her head. "I've lived beneath the shadow of the Barrow nearly my entire life and I've never heard of such a thing."

"What is the Barrow anyways?" Tim asked.

"I forget you're not from Skyrim," Gerdur started. "Back in ancient times, during the Merethic Era, when there was a cult who worshipped dragons instead of the Nine Divine, Bleak Falls Barrow used to be both a temple for them to worship and a place to bury their dead. Of course, now there is no Dragon Cult, and the Barrow are ruins. However, a dark magic lingers in that place, and rumor has it that the halls of the Barrow are still walked by the restless dead, forced to serve their ancient dragon cult masters even now."

"So dragons, magic, and zombies... great..." Tim muttered sullenly into his mug of ale before draining the last bit of it. 

Hod regarded Tim with concern. "Are you sure you want to go to the Barrow? Last we saw you, you weren't in the best of shape after Helgen."

Tim force a reassuring smile. "I'm fine now. I visited Arcadia in Whiterun and she gave me some medicine. Nothing to worry about."

Hod breathed a small sigh of relief. "That's good. Even a healthy warrior visiting the Barrow would find exploring that accursed place a challenge." 

***

Gerdur and her husband lingered a bit longer at the inn with Tim. But as the hour grew late, they rose to leave. Being woodcutters, their day started early. "Make sure you come to our home after you're done here," Gerdur insisted. "Don't go wasting your coin on the inn for the night."

"Of course. I won't be much longer. Just want to finish this pint."

By now most of the patrons of the inn had gone, and once Hod and Gerdur left, there were just one or two left. Tim's smile faded as he stared into mug.

"What am I going to do?" he whispered to himself.

"Excuse me, sir. I don't normally do this, but... erm... have you got a moment to talk?"

Tim barely heard the footsteps approaching him, but he did notice when a stranger took a seat on the bench next to him where Hod had been just a short time before. Tim glanced at the man. He clearly wasn't a Nord. The accent was more... British, and he wore clothing that clearly spoke of someone with money. It confused Tim and immediately put him on guard. "I might," Tim responded cooly before feigning taking a sip from his mug.

The stranger smiled. "Marvelous. My name is Lucien Flavius. I'm a scientist, philosopher, amateur wizard, and something of a musician, though I supposed that's more of a hobby..."

Tim narrowed his brows as he stared hard at Lucien, silently willing him to please get to the point. 

Lucien appeared to get the hint. "Ah- I couldn't help overhearing that you are going to be making a trip up to the Bleak Falls Barrows in the morning."

"I might... What is it to you?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, I'm here in Skyrim on an expedition - academic mainly. I'm currently employed as a researcher for a new museum based out of Solitude. I was sent to this region on a few errands, and one of them is investigating those same Barrows. I'm to investigate the ruins and determine if they're of enough significant archaeological importance to fund a fully manned excavation into it.

"Alas, when I got here, I found out that in addition to the Barrow being crawling with Draugr, the outer area around the ruins has become the infested with bandits. 

"Trouble is, I'm really not much of a fighter. I know a few spells and can just about swing a sword, but beyond that I'm pretty useless in combat. Skyrim's no place for a... 'milk drinker' like me - not on my own anyway. So I'm looking for someone to travel with. 

"My original plan was to make my way to Whiterun in the morning and hire a mercenary to escort me through the Barrow, but since you're already heading that way, perhaps I could tag along with you instead? It would save me a couple of days of travel between here and Whiterun."

Tim began to shake his head. "It wouldn't be safe--"

"I will, of course, compensate you most handsomely for putting up with me."

"Really, Lucien, I don't think--"

"Would three hundred Septims up front be enough?"

Tim was so startled by the amount he couldn't mask his wide eyed look of surprise and his protest against Lucien seemed to be cut off at the knees. Sensing a crack in the young man's resolve, the scholar pushed forward, sweetening the pot even further as he pulled out a bag bulging with coin and set it on the table between them.

"Here. You can have this now. After that, I'll top you up every time we come across something useful to my research. This is all at your discretion, of course. No obligations, save that you take me with you, and assist in keeping me alive wherever possible."

He wanted to say no. Tim wanted to push the bag of coins away and encourage the scholar to go to Whiterun and hire a proper mercenary to keep him safe. It would be better for him that way. However...

"I suppose we have a deal," Tim finally relented with a sigh as he picked up the bag of coins and weighed it thoughtfully in his hand.

Lucien's face lit up. "Oh, splendid! This is going to be quite the adventure!"

Chapter Text

Ok, so I'm not heading into the Barrows alone.

A guy named Lucien Flavius overheard some folks in the Sleeping Giant Inn talking about my assignment and sought me out. Apparently he's some sort of scholar working for a museum in a city called Solitude, and one of his errands is to investigate the ruins to see if it's worth sending a full blown expedition to excavate. 

However, the place is apparently crawling with bandits in addition to the rumored walking dead, so he needs a bodyguard to escort him there.

I really don't think I should be doing this. With my back still giving me grief, I'm going to have a hard enough time keeping myself alive, let alone someone else with practically no combat skills to speak of.

But he offered 300 septims to hire me on up front, and a promise of more if he's able to collect any important artifacts for the museum.

I really hope I don't regret this.

Chapter Text

About an hour before sunrise. Tim left Gerdur's home without waking its occupants and went to wait for Lucien on the bridge that lead out of town towards the mountains. He nibbled on some bread and cheese as he listened to the sound of the water rushing over the rocks underneath him. It was a calming sound that soothed his jangled nerves somewhat, and also helped distract him just a little from the fact that he had no access to coffee.

Now that several days had passed since first waking up on that road to Helgen, his body had acclimated enough to remind him, at that god-awful pre-dawn hour, oh by-the-way aren't we addicted to caffeine and why haven't you gotten your fix yet?! Unfortunately, far as he could find from both the inns in Riverwood and in Whiterun, coffee just didn't exist in Skyrim. Apparently Nords just woke up and powered through mornings like Kryptonians.

On top of the growing headache behind his eyes that always signaled the first miserable sign of caffiene withdrawl, Tim was also coping with the lingering pain from his burns. Though he'd used the balm and re-wrapped his torso, upper left arm, and shoulder in linen bandages, the ache of the burn had made it nearly impossible to sleep, especially since he couldn't reach the entire burn area on his back. There were areas he just couldn't get to on his own, and he hadn't wanted to ask for help from anyone else.

So he was sore, tired, and feeling irritable at hell. If it weren't for the weight of the three hundred gold coins resting in pouch at his waist, he would've seriously considered leaving Lucien behind to spare him the pain of dealing with his foul mood. The poor museum man just didn't deserve that.

"I'm going to step out on a limb and guess you are not typically a morning person."

Tim glanced toward the voice and scanned Lucien carefully. While the man had professed not to be much of a fighter, at least he had the sense to know how to dress for the climate they were about to travel into. He appeared to be wearing multiple, sensible layers of clothing meant to keep him warm underneath a long robe that was trimmed with intricate embroidery and had a hood that was already drawn over his head. Above that he wore long fur cloak that settled upon his shoulders and down his back. The man also had a backpack that was probably filled with his research gear, a small oil lantern that was clipped to one side of his belt, and a sheathed sword strapped to the other side.

Tim smiled wryly. "I've always been more of a night owl," he said, hoping belatedly that owls were actually a bird that existed in this place.

Apparently they were as Lucien gave him a sympathetic look. "I understand completely. Used to be the same way when I entered university a few years back. Here." The scholar reached into his bag and pulled out what looked like a leather waterskin. 

Tim took the waterskin and noticed it felt warm. He gave Lucien a quizzical look.

"It's a blend of tea I concocted to help with these kinds of mornings. Brewed some up and made enough for both of us. I figured it was the least I could do for surprising you last night with 'extra baggage' for your trip to the Barrows." Lucien urged Tim to try it.

Curiously, Tim did take sip. It definitely wasn't coffee, but as far as teas went it wasn't that bad. There was definitely a strong herbal quality to it, though Tim couldn't even begin to identify what it could be from. There was also a slight smokiness to the flavor as well, as if there was some sort of roasted grain mixed in. But most important of all, whatever was in it was taking the edge off his caffeine withdrawl symptoms. 

"Thanks Lucien. I really needed that," he said after a moment. 

"Wonderful! Shall we be off then?"

***

When the pair of them left Riverwood, though the sun hadn't risen yet the sky was clear. Unfortunately, the further up the mountain they went towards the Barrows, the worse the weather got. First there was fog. Then there was snow. Tim had shrugged his own fur cloak into a better position to cover more of his body. A glance backward confirmed Lucien had done the same. It was clear neither of them were acclimated to this kind of weather, not like the local Nords.

"How long do you think it will take to reach the Barrow?" Lucien asked as he paused to warm his hands over his small oil lantern. 

Tim made a mental note to purchase a lantern the next time he saw one at a general store. "Gerdur said that once we reach the abandoned tower, we should be about halfway there." 

They continued their trek up the barely there path for about an hour. The snow and the fog made it hard to see more than a few yards far in front of them. For awhile there, Tim wondered if perhaps they had missed seeing the abandoned tower at all.

As their path began to level off where the mountain began to naturally plateau Tim could finally see it. There was an old stone watchtower set right at the edge of a steep cliff overlooking the valley below.

"Finally," Lucien said as he caught sight of the tower as well. "Let's stop there for a bit of a rest before going up the rest of the way."

Tim almost agreed with him, but then he noticed movement around the base of the tower. "Wait!" he said as he reached out to snag Lucien by the cloak and dragged him behind a large pile of rocks.

"What's wron--" Lucien started to ask, but was startled by the expression on his companion's face. Tim's face was a mask of deadly serious focus as he stared at the tower from behind the cover of the rocks.

"There are people at the tower. At least two."

Lucien peeked over the top of the rocks, eyes squinting as he tried to see through the fog and snow. "They must be the bandits that have taken root in this area. But are you sure about the number? I can barely see the outline of the tower through all this mist, let alone any people." When he didn't get an answer, Lucien glanced to his side. "Timothy?"

Much to his surprise, he was all alone except for Tim's footprints winding around the rocks in the snow.

***

Tim stealthily moved closer to the tower by slinking from cover to cover. He hoped Lucien would take the unspoken hint and stay behind until he was done. 

This... felt good. Hiding in shadows. Keeping a civilian safe. Creeping up on goons/bandits while he plotted their inevitable takedown. Finally, for the first time since arriving in Skyrim, Tim felt like himself.

From where he sat, he could see that there was just a change in the guard. One who had been standing at a post a few yards from the tower entrance was swapped by another who'd walked out from it. Tim counted his lucky stars. It was this movement that had caught his attention earlier. Due to the weather, if it had just been the guard standing there, he might not have caught sight of him until it was too late.

Once the other guard disappeared into the tower, leaving his partner alone, Tim made his move.

The solid THUNK of the steel dagger embedding itself in the trunk of the tree he'd been leaning on immediately caught the attention of the bandit guard, startling him from his attempt to stay warm at his post.  

"What the--?!" he exclaimed as he whipped his head to the left and saw the dagger vibrating mere inches from his nose. Then the sound of rustling in a nearby set of bushes, and the sight of the snow-laden branches jostling around immediately caught his eye. It looked as if there was a shadow hunched behind it. With a growl, the guard immediately drew his sword and rushed the bushes, prepared to slice open whoever had thrown the dagger. However, he ended up choking on his warcry as he saw that there was nothing but a backpack sitting in the snow. "Huh?"

Tim smirked as he crept out from behind a large boulder, his quarterstaff a comfortable weight in his hands as he prepared to swing it at his unsuspecting target.

***

The sound of a body falling to the ground with a muffled groan after a series of suspicious thudding noises caught the attention of the original guard as she poked her head out of the tower's entrance. This one drew her bow and nocked an arrow immediately upon seeing that their compatriot was not where he was supposed to be. Cautiously, she walked across the bridge that led to the mountainside. Then she saw the body of the other guard. 

"Skialg!" she called out with alarm. Caution thrown to the wind, she rushed forward to check on him, though, she never saw the staff that jutted out in front of her feet, tripping her into the snow. 

The moment the bow was out of her hands, Tim stepped out and kicked it well out of reach. The female Nord bandit looked up to find a wooden staff pointed ominously at her face. Her eyes widened in horror. 

"You've got two choices," Tim said with a dark smirk and a low tone. "You can either jog down the mountain and never come back, or you can end up like your friend there, taking a nap in the snow. Which would you prefer?"

Tim was ready for a counterattack, and was mildly surprised when it never came. He was expecting anger and retaliation. Instead, there appeared to be genuine terror on the woman's face as she nervously scrambled to her feet and booked it down the mountain path, racing past Lucien without a second though even though she could clearly see him. 

As soon as she was out of sight, Tim relaxed and rested his staff on his shoulder. "Well that was disappointing," he said as Lucien walked up to him. Though the sky was still overcast, somewhere beyond the clouds the sun had risen and had lightened up their surroundings considerably. "Are bandits around here always so skittish?"

"Well how would you feel if you had a mage's staff aimed at your face?" Lucien said with a disapproving frown. "Honestly, Timothy! A Fire Blast or Sparks or Frostbite at point-blank range like that would have been completely excessive and resulted in backlash on you as well as your target. Who taught you how to use a staff with such bad form anyways?"

"Mage's staff?" Tim looked at Lucien with confusion.

Lucien noticed the odd look Tim gave him, then motioned for TIm to give him the staff. Without protest, Tim handed it over. After a moment, it was the scholar's turn to look confused. "Wait... Is this... Just a stick?"

"Actually, it's a quarterstaff."

"But... Wait, so you don't use magic at all?" 

"No."

"But you carry staff."

"Yes."

"That has no magic whatsoever."

"I guess not? Wasn't expecting it to when I bought it."

"But... What do you do with this, if not to cast spells?"

Tim blinked at him, then rubbed the back of his neck. "I just... well... hit people with it?"

Lucien gaped at him. "And, that works?"

Tim pointed at the other bandit that was still unconscious.

"Mara's mercy! Did you actually kill that bandit with a stick?!" Lucien went over and poked the bandit with Tim's quarterstaff experimentally

Tim sighed. "No, he's not dead. Just unconscious. He'll be out for hours, and we'll be long gone by then."

Lucien straightened up with a contemplative expression on his face. "So... your entire plan to get us past the bandits on our way to the Barrow was to sneak up on your own, with just a stick, to bludgeon a pair of bandits into Oblivion, but not really because you had no intention of actually killing them?"

"Yeah. Pretty much," Tim remarked as he went back to the original guard's tree. He tugged the dagger out of its bark and then went to retrieve his backpack from where he'd thrown it earlier. "Maybe it doesn't make sense to you, but even if they're bandits and on the wrong side of the law, they're still people with lives and possibly even families. To end their lives so casually, as if they were worth nothing at all..." He sighed as he closed up his pack. "It's just... not the way I was raised. Ending another human life should never be an option if there are other solutions available."

When Tim looked at Lucien again, he found the scholar studying him in a way that made him feel a little uncomfortable, like he was a puzzle needing to be solved. "That's a very noble sentiment. Truly in the spirit of Stendarr himself," Lucien finally said as he handed the quarterstaff back to Tim. "Hopefully it won't get you killed one day. Tamriel could use more people who thought like you do, though I doubt the bandits on the road will show us the same mercy."

Tim gave Lucien a weak smile. "Hopefully," he echoed. Then he motioned for Lucien to wait as he took a few minutes to drag the still unconscious bandit back into the tower. When Tim came back out to continue his journey with Lucien to the Barrows, he shrugged his shoulders at the odd look the scholar gave him. "What? It wouldn't be much better if I left him out in the open to die of exposure or to be eaten by a wolf."

Lucien laughed as he walked alongside Tim once more up the mountainside. "Somewhere up in the shrubbery there's a starving wolf that's sure to be cursing your name right now."

"Well lucky for me, I've got a big stick."

Chapter Text

It took another solid two hours of of hiking along the snow covered mountain path before Tim and Lucien finally caught their first up close sight of the exterior of the Bleak Falls Barrows resting at the base of the mountain peak. 

Though the stonework was worn down by weather and age, the decorative stone archways that led the way to the Barrow entrance were still an impressive sight to behold. It was both magnificent and ominous at the same time.

"Wow," Tim breathed out. 

He could hear the smile in Lucien's voice behind him. "Oh this is wonderful!" he exclaimed as he reached into his backpack and pulled out a leatherbound journal and what appeared to be a type of pencil made of a thin stick of graphite held in a simple, but effective, carved wooden holder. "I couldn't be certain when I saw the Barrow from a distance back on the road between Helgen and Riverwood, but up this close there's no doubt that this place used to be a temple of the Dragon Cult!" 

"Dragon Cult?" Tim glanced back at Lucien

"It was a cult of dragon worshipers who were at their height during the Merethic Era about four thousand years ago," Lucien murmured as was sketching and jotting down notes. "They had a huge presence in Skyrim during that time before the Nords rose up and overthrew their dragon overlords." 

"Could they be the reason that a dragon attacked Helgen?"

Lucien paused in his note-taking and looked at Tim. "I... don't think so. The Dragon Cult was destroyed midway through the First Era, which came after the Merethic, again several thousand years back, and nearly all dragons were killed with them during the Dragon War. The dragon at Helgen... Well... I think that might be the first sighting of an actual dragon in these lands since that Era."

Tim shrugged. "Ah well." Then he looked back at the Barrow. "Why don't you stay here to finish your notes. I'm going to scout ahead. See if there are any bandits about."

***

Turns out there were bandits patrolling the exterior of the Barrow. Tim watched the movement of three of them as they paced back and forth beneath the massive stone arches as he hid behind a wall at the base of the stairs. Tim frowned. This was going to be a challenge. Not only did those bandits have the high ground, putting him at a distinct disadvantage, but all three also had bows, which meant if they saw him they could pick him off at a distance. 

But Tim had a bow of his own. 

Reluctantly, he pulled it off his back and nocked an arrow to the string. Doubt began to creep into his thoughts. He was trained as a Bat, not an Arrow. Though he knew how to use a bow, it wasn't something he ever used extensively like his bo staff. He also didn't have the knowledge yet on how to alter the arrows to make them non-lethal but still precise and functional. Did he even have the skill and precision to shoot one of the bandits from a distance and not kill them?

As one of the bandits paused in their patrol and stood in one place for a moment, Tim brought up the bow and drew the arrow so that the fletching just barely brushed his cheek as he aimed at the bandit. For the first time in forever, he said a brief silent mental prayer for forgiveness if his aim was off before letting the arrow fly.

Unfortunately for the bandit, Tim's aim was off. He had been aiming for the bandit's  shoulder, hoping to make it so the man couldn't wield either his bow or the war ax hanging off his waist. But he misjudged the distance and arch the arrow would travel

Instead, the arrow flew far too low and pierced the bandit through his knee, straight through his kneecap. Tim winced at the scream of pain before the bandit lost his balanced, tumbled down the stairs, and knocked himself out along the way. Reflexively, Tim rushed out to check the man to make sure he was still breathing. However, the scream had drawn the bandit's other two compatriots who saw him immediately.

Before he could get to the fallen bandit, Tim saw an arrow just whiz past his face, and he was forced to dive for cover behind a pile of stones. Unable to reach him with their arrows, the other two bandits drew their axes and swords and began to rush down the stairs. 

While he was behind cover, Tim swapped his bow for his quarterstaff. As soon as the second bandit was within range, they found themselves with doubled over in pain as the wooden staff swung out and caught them across their stomach. As quickly as he could, Tim followed up by moving out from behind his cover and swept the legs out from under the bandit, causing them to fall to the frozen hard earth with a solid thud. 

Before he could follow up and land a blow that was certain to knock the bandit out, the third masked bandit lashed out at Tim with a giant war ax. The world-displaced vigilante tried to block the blow with his staff, but there was too much force behind the heavy metal blade! As soon as it connected with the quarterstaff, the weapon split into two pieces with an explosion of splinters and Tim was knocked backwards to the ground! 

Tim could hear a gravelly chuckling from the bandit as he approached to finish the job. The young man looked up to see his attacker raising his axe above his head to land the killing blow. Something shifted in Tim's perception. The image of the bandit was suddenly overlayed by an image of the headsman from Helgen. An icy shard of fear and desperation spiked through Tim as the axe began to fall.

"No!"

Suddenly, there was a moment of blackness in Tim's vision.

Everything was suddenly cold and still.

Slowly, Tim's vision began to clear. He was breathing in ragged gasps. Then he registered that his hands were full of something, and there was a weight bearing down upon his arms. He looked up in in growing horror as he saw an iron sword in his hands, the blade of which was now stained in fresh crimson blood. His eyes followed the trail of blood up the length of the blade until it abruptly ended in the chest of the final bandit. 

As the masked bandit fell onto the ground, Tim dropped the sword. 

"Oh no... No... No no no no no..." Tim dropped to his knees at the side of the fallen bandit. Frantically, he searched the pouches at his waist and found the one that held several red bottles of healing potion. Then, as quickly as his shaking hands would allow, reached out to remove the bandit's mask from his face. 

Tim nearly dropped the potion.

"Croc?!" he gasped as he stared in shock at the unconscious man's reptilian face. 

Tim froze for a moment. Thoughts raced through his mind. Killer Croc couldn't be there, could he? How would he get from Gotham to here? Was he hallucinating? Had he finally cracked and lost his mind? 

Then he noticed something. He shoved his more panicked thoughts as far down as he could and leaned hard into his more analytical mind.

"His scales are the wrong color," he murmured under his breath. "Croc's are green, and these are brown." Tim took another breath. "Croc is taller, bigger, bulkier... This one's only about as tall as me. This is not Croc." Finally Tim felt the panic begin to subside. 

 Quickly, he uncorked the bottle and poured the liquid into the reptilian man's mouth. "Please... Please let this work," he whispered as he watched the bandit's throat shift as he swallowed. 

The man's shallow breathing began to even out and get a little stronger. When Tim checked the wound through the hole in the bandit's armor, he was somewhat amazed to watch as the awful gaping injury began to mend itself right before his eyes. It appeared he might be alright now.

"Timothy?" 

Tim glanced up to see Lucien standing nearby, a very concerned look on his face. "Are you alright?"

Tim set down the bandit's head as gently as he could on cold hard ground. "I think so. Just... caught a little off guard." Slowly he rose to his feet, feeling a little weak in the knees and light-headed. His back and left arm were also throbbing with pain adding to his disorientation. He stumbled a bit as he tried to catch his balance.

Lucien came up and helped to steady Tim. "I should say so," the scholar remarked. "You act as if you've never seen an Argonian before."

"Argonian?"

Lucien nodded. "Yes... They're a race of reptilian beastmen who originate from from the lands of Black Marsh, but they can be found all across Tamriel. Have you never encountered one before?"

Tim looked down at the Argonian as the man began to cough and groan. "Back home I know someone who looked a lot like him," he admitted uneasily. "He... wasn't a good person."

The scholar tilted his head curiously, giving Tim the same appraising look that he had earlier at the earlier bandit's watchtower.  "That reminds me. I've been meaning to ask..." Lucien tried to look Tim in the eyes. "Where is home for you anyways? You look like you could be a Breton or an Imperial, but I can't place your accent."

Tim bristled visibly. "I'm no Imperial," he said coldly. Before Lucien could ask any more questions, he distracted himself with the fact that the Argonian was waking up and trying to sit up on his elbows.

"Y-you saved my life," the reptilian man said in a gravelly voice that, thankfully to Tim, sounded nothing like Killer Croc. Though Tim couldn't be sure, the tone of Argonian's voice sounded confused as his gold eyes, with slits for pupils, focused on Tim. "Why?"

Tim's expression softened. "I didn't want you or your people dead," he said simply. 

"But I... but we attacked you?"

"I'm no executioner," Tim said. "And I don't know why you and the others turned to crime to survive in this place. Perhaps your reasons are justified, perhaps not? I'm in no place to judge."

The Argonian's pupils went from slits to fully round in an expression Tim assumed could be surprise? 

Then Tim motioned his head toward the ruins. "My friend and I are going into the Barrow. Are other bandits inside?"

The Argonian nodded.

"I may not want anyone dead," Tim continued before turning the tone of his own voice lower and foreboding and kneeling so he was nearly nose to nose with the reptilian bandit. "But know that I am not above crippling anyone in order to defend myself and the people under my care." Tim's expression turned cold and menacing, his blue eyes like blades of unmelting ice. "My advise to you and your friends out here... Don't follow us. Just walk away. If I find you in my way again, I will make you regret every life choice you've made up to that point, and I may not have any mercy potions left to spare. Do I make myself clear?"

Once the Argonian nodded again, pupils still blown wide, Tim stood up and looked to the massive doors leading into the Barrow. Then he looked at Lucien, who had been watching the entire exchange with more that same contemplative expression. Whatever questions he had, though, Lucien decided to hold them for a different time as Tim addressed him. 

"Did you get enough information for your journal?" Tim asked.

Lucien shrugged. "Sure. I got enough notes about the exterior. Let's move onto the interior."

As they walked away from the bandits, Tim paused to look at the remains of his quarterstaff where it had fallen in pieces. He sighed and walked over them.

"Do you need to borrow my sword?" Lucien offered as he saw the state of Tim's destroyed weapon as they moved up the stairs.

Tim shook his head. "I'll make due."

Then they pushed open the doors to the Bleak Falls Barrows and stepped inside.

Chapter Text

Inside the Barrow, Tim kept good on his promise to the Argonian. He found the other bandits the reptilian man mentioned, and Tim was good to his word. He didn't kill any of the men guarding the entrance into the tunnels, but he certainly beat them down in a way that they wouldn't soon forget.

...Once they all came to, of course.

"Goodness," Lucien said as he toed one of the unconscious bandits by the firepit the criminals had set up for themselves, confirming they were well and truly out. "I don't think I've seen anyone fight like you do with your bare hands... or feet for that matter." He looked to where Tim was busy working the lock of a nearby chest the bandits had set up. "How did you learn to fight with punches and kicks like that?"

Tim didn't respond to Lucien until the lock was successfully cracked and the chest was swung wide open. There wasn't much there, much to Tim's disappointment. Only a couple of gems which he offered to Lucien, a handful of Septims which he pocketed for himself, and an old piece of iron armor that Lucien assured him was fairly worthless, so he left it in the box. "Years of training," he said as if that explained everything, which of course it didn't for Lucien. 

"Training where?" the scholar asked as he examined the gems in the firelight.

"Home."

"And where is home?"

Tim sighed. "I thought you were supposed to be investigating the Barrow, not me."

Lucien had enough grace to look sheepish. "I'm sorry, but it turns out you're a very intriguing fellow."

Tim rolled his eyes and grabbed a nearby torch, lighting it with the bandit campfire. "C'mon Lucien. Clearly this is not the inner sanctum of the Barrow. Let's keep moving." He led the way down the tunnels that seemed to go deeper and lower into the mountain itself. 

***

Because the tunnels themselves were round, Tim could hear nearly everything moving around ahead of them, most of which ended up being small packs of monstrously large and hostile rats the size of labrador retrievers. 

"Good grief... Even the rats are huge," Tim muttered under his breath as he fired an arrow at one of the creatures as it tried to scramble up a circular stairwell to savage his ankles. He felt a twinge of satisfaction as the one he shot ended up tumbling into another that had been trying to run up behind it, causing both to fall off the stairwell entirely to the floor below. 

"You mean the skeevers?" Lucien remarked as he examined an old Nordic pendant he found on a nearby table. "Do they not have them where you're from?"

"We just have rats, and they're maybe a fifth of the size of these things," Tim said as nocked one more arrow and shot the final skeever as soon as it came within his sight. At least, despite how repulsive and persistent these rodents were, they were allowing him a lot of target practice with his bow. 

Lucien chuckled. "You're homeland is lucky. These vermin are a menace. Careful not to let those bastards bite you. You're liable to get a disease if you're unlucky."

Tim sighed. "And I would be that unlucky." He paused a moment and listened, but heard no more skeevers.

***

It actually took a bit of wandering, but Lucien and Tim finally came across another bandit.  Tim had been watching the bandit from the shadows of the corridor leading into the large open room before a barred and apparently locked doorway. 

Tim waited there for a moment with Lucien right behind him, as he was planning how to ambush the bandit and knock him out as quickly as possible.

However, the Barrow had other ideas.

The bandit had figured that a large lever in the middle of the room was the key to opening the way into the next room, so he pulled it with barely any hesitation. Unfortunately for him, and much to Tim's horror, the lever did not open anything, but it did release a shower of wicked darts from nearly all sides into the unsuspecting man. The bandit was collapsed to the floor before the trap had finished skewering him. 

"Damn it!" Tim cursed as he finally deemed it safe for Lucien and himself to enter the room once the darts had stopped firing.

"Well, at least we know not to pull that lever," Lucien said as he went over to the bandit while Tim surveyed the room. Tim frowned as he quickly identified all the holes the darts had come out of. Everything was aimed squarely at the lever. Such an obvious trap.

"Is there anything we can do for him?" Tim asked Lucien as the scholar picked up one of the darts that had hit the stone floor instead of the bandit. 

"No. He's quite dead. I'm certain he was done in well before he even hit the floor." Lucien sniffed the dart cautiously. "I think I catch a whiff of Frostbite Spider venom on these darts as well. If it was just one or two, he might've been able to survive it with a quick dose of anti-venom. Twenty or thirty in one go, though... I think this trap would've felled a giant if they could fit through these tunnels."

Tim sighed and began to examine the barred door. "Well there's got to be a way to move forward." He looked at the way the bars were set up. It was clear these bars were set up in a way to move upward out of the way. However, the mechanism to lift the bars was completely hidden from their vantage point.

"I'll check the upper floor," Lucien said as he pointed to a stairwell that led up to a walkway above the door. "Perhaps there's a switch up there?"

"Maybe," Tim mused as he stepped back to take in the entire bottom level of the room again. Aside from the lever and dead bandit, there wasn't much else about the room except for some carved decorative statues and rubble. Then he paused as he watched Lucien examine some animal carvings on the upper level. "Wait..."

Tim noted the snake carving and the whale on the upper level, and noticed how a third carving, that of another snake, had fallen to the lower floor due to age. Then he looked at three animal carving statues on the immediate left side of the room consisting of two eagles and a whale between them. He went over and started examining the eagle closest to him. 

Much to his surprise, the moment he touched the eagle carving, the entire pillar it was resting on shifted. Tim's eyes lit up. "Is it really that simple?" he asked himself under his breath as he put down his bow so he could use both hands to push the pillar on one side. As he anticipated, the entire stone pillar began to turn clockwise, stopping only when the image of another animal, a whale, was now facing forward.

"Did you figure it out?" Lucien called down as he heard the sound of stone scraping against stone and notice what Tim was doing. By the time Lucien came down the stairs, Tim was already moving the third pillar so that the pattern of the pillars matched the pattern that was supposed to have been on the second level. 

Snake... Snake... Whale...

"We'll find out in just a moment," Tim said as he went to the lever and pulled it without hesitation.

Chapter Text

As Tim led the way further into the depths of Bleak Falls Barrow, his mind began to wander as he examined the ruins and artifacts he found with Lucien. 

"I wonder what my parents would have thought of exploring a place like this," he thought to himself as he picked up a book from a nearby table and swept a thick layer of dust from the cover. Idly, but carefully, he opened the book and turned a few pages before closing it again and offering it to Lucien. The scholar cooed over it with delight and began rambling about the tome's age, history, and how well preserved it was. 

Tim smiled sadly as his inner thoughts lingered on his memories of his biological mother and father, Janet and Jack Drake. "Mom and Dad always seemed happier when they were on archeological digs than they ever were at home in Gotham." The young man moved on a little further down the hall, zeroing in on some new carvings that were hidden behind a curtain of spider webs. "Even with the bandits and the death traps, this has been interesting and kinda fun. I wonder... If I could've spent time with them on digs like this... Could we have been a better family?"

His thoughts were interrupted when a new voice echoed from deeper down the hall. 

"Is... is someone coming? Is that you Harknir? Bjorn? Soling?"

"Did you hear that?" Lucien asked as he put the book into his backpack.

Tim nodded as he nocked another arrow to his bow and began to follow the sound of the new voice down the hall. Once he got to the end of the hall, the serious expression on his face deepened. 

"Well, shit..."

Lucien nodded in agreement. "I suppose the ancient Nords who built that trap earlier had to get their spider venom from somewhere."

The entrance into the next large room was covered in curtains of spider webs from floor to ceiling. As Tim tried to peer deeper into the room beyond the curtains, while he couldn't see any giant Frostbite Spiders, he could see lots of web covered skeever and human sized victims littering the walls and floors along with lots of large round pods that Tim reasoned looked like giant spider egg-sacs. He felt a shiver race up his spine.

"Spiders... Why is it always spiders?"

He turned to Lucien and told him to wait there while he went to investigate. Cautiously, Tim crept into the room, cutting a small piece of webbing so he could try to slip in without alerting the creator of the web.

Unfortunately, even those small precise movements were not enough to go completely undetected. Tim froze in the shadow of a nearby pillar as a gigantic Frostbite Spider lowered itself ominously from the ceiling by a single slender web. The beast was far larger than what he'd experienced in the caves beneath Helgen. The body of the spider was easily comparable to that of a large horse, and the addition of the eight long spiny legs seemed to double, even triple its visual volume and height as it moved about the room, looking for the intruder upon its nest.

Fortunately for Tim, it was about that time that owner of the voice who's led him here started screaming bloody murder and getting the spider's attention.

"Hey you! You've got to get me outta here!" an elf trapped in a wall of webbing shouted at the top of his lungs. "Kill the damned thing before it eats us both!"

As soon as the spider turned its full attention to the elf, Tim immediately pulled the arrow back and let it fly at the spider's now exposed abdomen. Though the arachnid was clearly armored with a thick exoskeleton, from the back Tim's arrow was able to slip between the layers of the abdominal plates.

The spider gave off a horrible screech and raised up on six of its legs as it spun around to turn its full attention on Tim.  However, it got another arrow in one of the fleshy parts of its mandibles before Tim dashed off to the side. Tim knew he needed to keep his distance from the spider if he was to have any chance of killing the beast.

Suddenly, he stumbled and hit the floor hard on his left side. Tim bit back a cry as pain raced up his burned left arm. A quick look at his feet revealed a fresh glob of sticky webbing that effectively glued him in place as the wounded spider stalked toward him. Tim struggled to free himself, but it was no use! The webbing was too sticky and stretchy. He'd never free himself in time.

The spider was practically on top of him now, rising up and exposing its fangs when out of nowhere a stream of icy shards slammed against the spider from the back. The spider rose up again in pain and screeched. The momentary distraction was what Tim needed. Quickly, he pulled out one of his daggers with his good right arm and lunged upward, stabbing it into the spider's exposed sternum, burying the blade into the creature up to its hilt.

Screeching, the spider scrambled backward both away from Tim and the the constant shower of icy shards. But it was too late for it. Within moments, the giant beast fell down dead to the Barrow floor.

Tim stared at the dead spider as he struggled to catch his breath and calm his racing heart. 

"That was too close."

Tim moved his gaze and looked at Lucien. His eyes were drawn to the scholar's hands, which were covered in a sheen of frost. "That ice... was you?"

Lucien nodded as he rubbed his hands together and breathed into them to warm them. "I told you I knew a few spells. Unfortunately, I haven't had much practice using them in actual combat." As of to explain further, Lucien aimed a hand at the spider corpse and seemed to try and fire another blast of cold at it. However, whatever spell he was trying to cast seemed to sputter out at his fingertips. Lucien winced, as if he had a headache. "I'm really quite useless as a mage." Then he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a vial of blue liquid.

"You saved my life," Tim said as he pulled out his second dagger and used it to cut away the webbing at his feet. "I wouldn't call that useless." Tim tilted his head at the liquid Lucien was now drinking. "What's that?"

Lucien paused. "You don't know what a mana potion is?"

Tim suddenly became more focused on the blade as he freed his feet. "I'm guess it's a mage thing?"

"Yes," Lucien said tentative. "I forget you have no experience with magic. It helps me regenerate the energy I use to cast spells more quickly. Kind of like healing potions, but for mages. Speaking of which," Lucien pulled out another vial, this time filled with a now familiar red liquid. "Do you need this?"

Tim almost said no. However, as he rose to his feet, he felt a sharp pain shoot through his left elbow straight up to his shoulder. With a murmur of thanks, Tim took the vial and drank its contents as Lucien went forward to speak with the trapped elf in the webs. It was still a strange sensation to him, feeling the healing liquid work its magic to mend his injuries....

Or at least attempt to mend them. 

While the pain had been dulled, there was still a deep ache in the muscles of his upper arm. Tim tested his left hand grip on the blade of the dagger he tried to retrieve from dead spider. With a grimace and a sense of trepidation, Tim noticed that he just didn't have the strength to pull the dagger free, not without a solid spike of pain that forced him to release the blade before he could hurt himself further. Then he switched his hand and found he could easily remove the dagger with his right.

"Hey! Get back here!" 

Tim turned to Lucien, who now stood before an empty doorway where the trapped elf once hung. 

"What happened?" Tim asked as he sheathed his dagger and picked up his bow.

"That Bosmer bandit ran off!" Lucien said in an offended tone. "Apparently he's got some artifact that's a key to the secrets of this Barrow. Something about a claw and a door in a place called the 'Hall of Stories'. He said he'd show us what it all meant if I cut him down."

"So you cut him down."

"So, like an idiot, I cut him down, and he took off almost as soon as his feet hit the ground." 

Tim smiled reassuringly at Lucien and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "Don't worry... We'll catch up to--"

Suddenly, they heard a blood curdling scream reverberate through the halls from the direction the elven bandit had run. 

"I think something has already caught up to him," Lucien remarked uneasily. 

Chapter Text

"It smells of death down here."

Tim couldn't disagree with Lucien as they slowly made their way into what was clearly the crypt portion of the Barrow. The scholar had said earlier that these places were often where the ancient Nords of the Dragon Cult buried their dead. There was a strong miasma of decay and rot in the air, overlaid with an aroma of some kind of pungent piney incense that made his head hurt. He wondered if there was something mixed in with whatever was burning in cauldrons that illuminated the crypt. Tim didn't think he smelled anything like it in the halls before reaching this place.

Then Tim caught sight of the nearest body on one of the stone slabs of the crypt and froze as he took in their sight. 

"Lucien?" Tim asked. "How old are these bodies supposed to be?"

"Well, considering they've likely been entombed since at least the First Era, probably two to three thousand years old. Why?"

Tim looked at one that was wrapped tightly in linen cloth, with only their head exposed. Their skin was grey, leathery, and seemed to be stretched tightly around the mostly desiccated muscles and bones of the corpse. "It's just... Clearly there's some sort of mummification process that was used to preserve the bodies. But..." He looked to the next couple of nearby slabs. One upper slab held nothing but a skeleton. Any flesh that had been on the body had long since decayed away to dust. On the other lower slab, though, was a completely exposed and perfectly preserved mummified corpse. Any clothing had deteriorated away to nothing, but the rest of the body was left behind. A little further down, Tim noted that some corpses appeared to have been preserved with both their bodies and ancient armor intact. "...There's so much inconsistency with their states of preservation and decay. And shouldn't exposure to the air have caused the rates of decay to increase in all exposed bodies, not just random ones?"

For a moment, there was no response from the normally chatty scholar. Tim lifted his gaze from the corpse he'd been studying to find that Lucien was studying him again. The younger dark haired man suddenly felt very self-conscious. "Wh-what?"

"You're.... familiar with mummification processes and their intended results?"

Tim felt his ears begin to burn and his face felt warmer. He turned away from Lucien's curious gaze. "I... uh... That is, my parents were archaeologists," he admitted hesitantly. 

That piqued Lucien's interest immediately. "Really? With which university or museum were they tenured?"

Tim shook his head. "Not important. Let's keep moving." 

Lucien frowned and stood his ground. "No. I'd like to know. Where do your parents work. Perhaps my family knows them? The Flavius's are quite well-known to the archaeological circles throughout Cyrodiil. "

Silently Tim cursed his luck as he tried to move further into the crypt. "No. They wouldn't."

"Why not?" 

"Because they're dead!"

Tim hadn't meant to shout, and he winced as his words seemed to be amplified in the cavernous stone room.

Lucien stared at him with wide-eyed surprise before casting his gaze off to the side guiltily. "I- I'm sorry."

Tim took a deep breath and closed his eyes to steady his nerves. He raked his fingers through his hair. "They died a long time ago," he said in a more quiet tone.  Then he slowly opened his eyes. "Now can we drop this please and keep moving forwa--" There was a movement behind Lucien that immediately drew his gaze, and Tim felt his heart leap to his throat. Immediately he drew up his bow with a nocked arrow and shouted, "Lucien! Get down!" 

"What?!" Instead of getting out of the way like Tim had ordered, Lucien reflexively jerked his head around to see what had alarmed his bodyguard so much and froze in fear. While the pair had been bickering, one of the preserved corpses clad in armor had moved themselves off of their stone slab and had risen up behind the scholar, a large ancient broadsword in hand. From the sockets of where the corpse's eyes had been were two glowing blue lights. 

"Damnit Lucien! Move!" Tim cursed as he changed his tactic immediately upon seeing Lucien freeze. He rushed forward and put himself between the man and the corpse, shouldering Lucien out of the way while using the wooden length of his bow to try and block the blow from the sword. 

Fortunately, while the sword bit into the bow, the wood held firm and did not break. Tim noticed how the sword was now stuck in his bow, so he used this to his advantage. He twisted his bow hard to the right and managed to twist the sword right out of the hand of the undead monster. As the creature was disoriented, Tim swept its legs out from under it with a low spinning kick that sent it crashing to the floor. Then he pulled out one of his steel daggers and plunged it into the zombie's skull. Tim watched as the blue glow from the corpse's eyes faded back into darkness.

Before Tim could even consider his victory over the creature, he heard Lucien give out a cry of warning. The young man shifted his gaze just in time to see another zombie swinging a spiked mace at him. The weapon caught him on his left side and flung him across the room. Tim screamed in pain as he clutched his injured left upper arm, blood pouring profusely through his fingers. Pain also raked across his back from where it had collided with a stone pillar. 

Tim could hear the zombie shuffling towards him with a growl, but he could barely move. He struggled to push himself up with his good arm, but his hand kept slipping in his own blood and his torso just didn't want to bear his weight. His vision was also blurring in and out. 

"Lucien, run!" he cried out as he tried to drag himself in a direction that would give Lucien a clear opportunity to escape the way they'd come in.  He turned his head to face the zombie, so he make sure the creature had its undead eyes on him only. 

Suddenly, flames flew across Tim's vision. His blue eyes widened in terror as he felt the heat of the fire warming his face and the zombie seemed to ignite right in front of him. The way the flames climbed across the body of the zombie... The smell of burning flesh... 

In that moment, Tim was transported back to Helgen. Screams of townspeople and soldiers running in terror... A black dragon scorching everything in sight... The feeling of greedy flames scorching his own flesh...

As the zombie's body fell, lifeless and burning, Tim barely registered the sight of Lucien stepping into view, tendrils of residual flames dancing around his fingers and dissipating into the air.

"Timothy! Are you alright?!" Lucien was right in front of him and calling out to him, but to Tim it was as the scholar's voice was very far away. "Timothy!"

Tim's vision blurred again, and this time all sight faded as he felt himself fall into a blissful quiet darkness.

***

Pain was the first thing Tim felt as he came back to consciousness. He felt he was lying on his back, head supported by something soft, but everything from his waist up seemed to be throbbing with pain. Tim groaned softly as he tried to open his eyes, but couldn't.

"Oh thank the Eight," Lucien said from somewhere nearby at his side. Tim felt himself being gently propped up. He felt a small glass tube being pressed to his lips. "Drink this, slowly." Lucien instructed. 

Tim tried to do his best to comply, though he felt some of the liquid escape the corner of his lips, most of it did make its way down his throat. He coughed a little and the tube was pulled back. "Easy, easy... It's ok... We're safe. There aren't any more draugr here. Just rest and let the potion do its work."

He felt himself being laid back down again. Tim let his head turn to the side where he heard Lucien's voice, and he felt fur beneath his cheek. Silently, he guessed his own fur cloak had been turned into a makeshift pillow. Slowly, Tim attempted to open his eyes. It took a bit, but his blurry vision cleared and he could see Lucien sitting next to him, a deeply worried look on his face as the scholar was watching something on his upper left arm.

It was only then that Tim realized that his upper body was bare. His leather jerkin, his gloves, and the undershirt he wore beneath them had all been removed and set into a pile beside him.  Slowly, Tim realized that Lucien was studying the way the new wound from the spiked mace's blow on his left arm was healing. Based on the way the scholar was frowning, Tim guessed it wasn't healing well.

"Mara's mercy," Lucien murmured with a sad shake of his head. "These burns are terrible. The potion is trying to heal the new mace wound, but it's so sluggish. The already damaged flesh just doesn't want to mend." Lucien's gaze traveled up to Tim's face, his expression full of concern. "You shouldn't even be here. You should be in a healing temple. Fighting with these kinds of injuries... you could cripple yourself or worse."

Tim felt awful at the look Lucien was giving him. He closed his eyes and turned away slightly. "I know. I'm sorry."

"I just want to understand why," Lucien said gently. "Why would you take a risk on such a mission to a place like this? Why did you agree to be my bodyguard knowing you were hurt?

"I... I have nothing left," Tim choked out. "I lost everything I had at... at...."

Comprehension dawned on Lucien. "You were at Helgen," he whispered. "These burns were from that dragon, weren't they?"

Tim nodded. 

Lucien sighed. After a long moment, he spoke up again. "There's more to your story than just surviving Helgen, isn't there?"

"There is..." Tim revealed reluctantly. He opened his eyes but didn't look at Lucien. "But you won't believe me."

Lucien's curiosity rose up again. "You're so sure about that?"

"Mostly. For people here, I think my story might be impossible to believe."

"Hmm... I don't know... I tend to believe in some rather impossible sounding things."

Tim's lip quirked a little. "Like what?"

"Like... I believe an entire race of people disappeared without a trace one day, leaving behind underground cities and settlements full of metal automatons that still run to this day thousands of years later."

Tim stiffened and blinked in surprise as Lucien continued.

"I also believe that there exists powerful mystical scrolls that are simultaneously archives of both past and future events, but that reading such scrolls can cost a person both their sight and possibly their sanity."

Slowly, Tim turned his head back towards Lucien as the scholar continued.

"And, I also believe that at some point between the end of the Second Era and the beginning of the Third that there was a period where time itself 'broke' into multiple paths and all contained different parallel realities where similar events had different conclusions... or didn't happen at all... before converging back upon itself to form the current timeline we are existing in now."

Tim finally looked at Lucien with a confused, intrigued, uncertain look upon his face. 

Lucien smiled at him reassuringly. "If you'd like me to go on, as a scholar of Tamrielic history I can tell you this world is honestly no stranger to impossible sounding things. While I do admit most of the general population can be rather closed minded to anything that might disturb their day-to-day world-views, as a scholar I can promise you that I will listen to your tale with an open mind. That way, if there is something that is greatly troubling you, as I have been suspecting since we started this journey together, I'll do my best to help find you a solution you can live with."

Tim felt his eyes whell up with unshed tears, but rubbed them away with the heel of his good hand. "I think... I might take you up on that offer," he finally relented, his voice a touch thick with emotion. "But not until we get out of this place. If I start down my rabbit hole now, we're liable to have another draugr ambush us."

"Fair enough... But really Timothy, how can we continue forward? You're hurt very badly. Perhaps we should just go back the way we came?"

Tim gingerly began to sit up, using his right arm for support. Lucien helped steady him as he shook his head. "No. I can't leave here without that Dragonstone Jarl Balgruuf's wizard send me to fetch. It could be a key to figuring out why that dragon attacked Helgen and maybe how to stop it."

"I see."

Tim motioned for his bag. When Lucien pulled it within reach, he reached inside and fished out the jar of ointment and some linen wraps. "If you can help me with this, it numbs the pain from the burn and keeps it from getting worse. If I can just avoid direct hand-to-hand combat as much as I can through the rest of this place, I think I'll be ok."

"I'll help with my magic as much as I can as well," Lucien added. 

While Lucien helped him with the ointment application, Tim grabbed another healing potion and drained the vial. While the healing of the mace wound was slow, it was better than nothing. They both also took some time to eat and drink. Once they'd finished their meal and Tim had his armor back in place over the thick layer of ointment Lucien had applied, Tim felt worlds better.

"Alright," Tim said has he grasped his bow and stood before Lucien. "Let's track down that elf and find that 'Hall of Stories' he was talking about."

Chapter Text

Fortunately for Tim and Lucien, their initial disastrous encounter with the draugr ambush was something they learned from and adapted to immediately. They observed from a distance how the undead creatures would only "wake up" if either someone was extremely close to them, or if there was a loud noise that drew their attention. Tim, much to his relief, learned that he could fire off arrows to make noises that would lure any draugr in the area to that spot. Once lured to a spot, usually clear on the farthest side of the room they were in, Tim would pick off the draugr with relatively little trouble.

Turns out, though ferocious in combat once engaged, while they were searching for intruders the draugr were pretty slow and not very intelligent, often giving up the search and returning to their slabs if they weren't able to find anyone within a minute or two. 

Tim also made it a point to fire off arrows at any "sleeping" draugr laying on the slabs.... Just to be on the safe side. 

Using those techniques, Tim and Lucien didn't have to worry too much about the undead threat as they moved deeper into the Barrow.

***

"Well, looks like our Bosmer bandit made it quite a ways before the draugr finally got a hold of him," Lucien remarked as he saw the body of the now dead dark elf lying on the cold stone floor at the bottom of a flight of stairs. 

Tim knelt down beside the body and searched the bandit's pockets. His eyes widened when he pulled out what looked like a solid gold claw.

"Wow... It's beautiful," Tim exclaimed as he turned the artifact over in his hand. Lucien was quite excited by the find.

"Look at that! What exquisite craftsmanship!" he cooed. "And look.. There are carvings of Nordic animals, just like that death trap puzzle."

Tim took a closer look at the carvings. Just like the deathtrap puzzle, there were three animals icons in a row on the claw. However, this time the animals were a bear, a moth, and an owl.

As Tim looked at the claw, Lucien had found a journal on the bandit and had thumbed over to the last page with any writing. "Hmmm... It appears this bandit stole this claw from someone named Lucan Valerius."

"I know that guy," Tim remarked, turning his attention back to the scholar. "He owns the general store in Riverwood. I think I overheard him the other day complaining about someone who'd broken into this shop. I guess this is what they stole."

"Well listen to this," Lucien said. "This is what the bandit wrote, 'Now I just need to get to the Hall of Stories and unlock the door. The legend says there is a test that the Nords put in place to keep the unworthy away, but that when you have the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of of your hands.'"

Tim smirked as he looked at the claw. "I guess whatever door we're needing to get through is locked, and this claw is the key."

"Undoubtedly! Goodness this is so exciting!"

***

Unfortunately, it took another several hours of exploring before they got to anything that looked remotely like a puzzle door. They killed more draugr and also circumvented a few more deathtraps, though these were more straightforward attempts to kill them, consisting of things like spiked walls that were triggered by a floor plate or multiple swinging axes lining a narrow corridor.

Also, while they did finally get past the crypts and into more hallways, Tim had a thought as they crossed into what appeared to be a large main hall and stairs that led up to a second level. "It's kind of weird," he remarked as he shot another draugr.

"What is?"

"Well, all things considered, aside from those few bandits and ourselves, it doesn't appear that any other living people have actually come this way in years, right?"

"Not as far as I can see," Lucien agreed. "If bandits had made it further through the Barrows, I think they would've made off with more of the artifacts we keep coming across."

Tim nodded. "Well... if that's the case, then why are there so many candles and cauldrons actively burning in this place?"

Lucien paused and looked at the nearest trio of burning candles. "You're right. That is rather odd." He pulled out his journal and jotted down a few notes. "Perhaps that's part of the draugrs' function in this Barrow? Some kind of maintenance?" He tapped his pencil against his chin.

"Or maybe it's something they just do, like a restless ghost repeating tasks they used to do in life?"

Lucien looked to Tim and smiled. "If it wasn't for the fact they are full of murderous intent toward the living, it would make an interesting research project if we were able to observe these draugr in an undisturbed environment."

Immediately Tim's thoughts went to tracking bugs, remote controlled drones, and hidden wireless cameras. He sighed as he pushed open a set of large wooden double doors. He was really missing technology.

Then he froze.

"Lucien! This room..."

"Goodness! Could this be the Hall of Stories?!"

The doors had opened into a space that was completely different from all the other halls and rooms they'd passed thus far. It was a long hallway that was lined with carvings of ornate scenes on both sides.  Tim went up to the first one on his left and lightly traced the carving of a woman surrounded by moths with his fingertips.

"What is all this about?" he wondered aloud.

Lucien had pulled out a scroll of paper and a stick of charcoal. "If I recall correctly, in addition to dragons, ancient Nords of the Merethic Era also worshiped a variety of animal spirits." He took a rubbing of the carving and mused over the desigh. "This appears to be a moth priestess presiding over some sort of funeral procession of some high ranking figures."

He moved down to the next set of carvings. "Hm... Similar funeral procession figures, but the priest is different. Animal appears to be a bear in this one."

Tim examined the following carvings. "This priest looks to be for owls."

Both men came up and examined the final set of carvings. Tim felt a slight uneasy chill course through his body as he noted what animal this priest seemed to represent. 

"Clearly, this a relief of a dragon priest," Lucien remarked.

Tim left Lucien to get the rest of his rubbings and moved towards the odd door that now barred their path. there were three large circular rings with animal emblem on them, and there was a clear spot for the golden claw to be placed. He pulled out the claw and examined the pattern once more. Then, he matched the animals on the rings.

Bear... Moth... Owl...

Then, Tim lined up the gold claw with the center keyhole.

"Here goes nothing," Tim said as he pushed the claw into the keyhole. Once locked in place, he turned the center circle. 

Suddenly, all the rings reset themselves, spinning around until there was a solid line of owls facing him. Then the door began to sink into the floor. Tim pulled the claw away before it could clatter to the floor and both he and Lucien watched as a new set of stairs was revealed.

***

Past the stairs was a long hallway cut into the mountain.

Past the hallway was something that took Tim's breath away.

"Look at that," Lucien whispered in awe. "The inner sanctum of the Barrow is inside a natural cavern!"

Tim stood there and just took the entire site in. A colony of bats, startled by their intrusion, flew past them just overhead with achingingly familiar chirps and leathery wingflaps. The cavern itself was huge and spacious. He could hear all the same usual cave noises that he practically grew up with for nearly half his life. The sound of water dripping from unseen corners of the cave. The sounds of wind  rushing through tunnels just off the main cavern. A natural stream wove around the main altar area, fed by several small waterfalls, adding to the nostalgia, and moonlight from a hole in the ceiling somewhere in the mountainside illuminated the majestic stone carvings resting behind the altar.

It was all so different than The Cave back home in Gotham, but just similar enough that it made his heart ache from a sudden wave of homesickness.

"Timothy?" Lucien said gently as he noticed his travelling companion had gone quiet again. "Are you alright?"

Tim cleared his throat and wiped his eyes. "Yeah. I'm fine, Lucien. It's just..." He glanced around himself before sighing wistfully. "It just reminds me of home." 

Though he didn't see any draugr anywhere near or on the altar, Tim still kept his bow at the ready with an arrow nocked and ready to fly as he went up the stairs. However, as he came upon the landing of the altar area, Tim paused. 

"Do you hear that?"

Lucien followed closely behind Tim. "Hear what? The waterfall?"

Tim shook his head as he looked around warily. "No... It sounds like... chanting?" He tried to follow the source of the sound, and found himself being turned toward a giant stone wall full of what looked like a foreign language carved into it, similar to cuneiform. 

It was... odd... Those letters looked almost, familiar?

Slowly, almost as if in a trance, Tim walked toward the wall, and the chanting seemed to get louder in his head. 

"Timothy? Is something there?" Lucien asked, though his voice sounded very far away to Tim as he lowered his bow and put his arrow back in its quiver to free up one hand. 

"This... This word," Tim murmured as his gaze focused completely on three strange jagged letters. "I think... I know this word..." The letters seemed to glow invitingly on the stone wall as he traced the jagged marks with his fingertips. "Fff... Uuu...Sss... Fus?" Tim drew his back as the chanting suddenly stopped, and there was nothing but the sound of the cave around him. He glanced around himself and at the rest of the writing on the wall, but none of the other letters made any sense to him.

"I didn't know you could read dragon language script." Lucien said curiously.

Tim looked back at him, clearly confused. "I... I can't. I mean... I've never see this language before in my life."

Lucien took a closer look at the three-letter word Tim had been drawn to on the wall. "But you read this one?"

"The word is 'Fus,'" Tim admitted. "I think... it means 'Force'?" He pinched the bridge of his nose, as if he had a sudden headache. "But I don't know how I know that." 

Lucien looked between the word wall and Tim and then back again. "Don't worry about it right now. I'll take some notes and try to write down all these glyphs in my journal before we leave. I think the library in the museum may have a book or two on how to translate dragon language text. We can study this at our leisure once we're done exploring the Barrow. Why don't you look around for that Dragonstone you came here for? This may take me awhile."

As Lucien pulled out his journal and pencil again, Tim turned to the altar itself. There were a couple of tables, pottery, and a large chest. He began to fish around for his lockpicks. If the Dragonstone was anywhere, it was probably in that chest.

Suddenly, the top of what he thought was a table exploded upward and off the altar. It wasn't a table at all, but a coffin! The lockpicks were instantly forgotten and Tim grabbed an arrow instead. "Lucien! Draugr!" he yelled as he fired an arrow at the undead creature as he tried to backpedal away from it.

Tim fired a couple more arrows at the draugr, but this one seemed stronger than the others they'd fought earlier. Lucien tried cast a fire spell on the draugr, but suddenly the creature opened its mouth and...

"FUS.. RO... DA!" it shouted at Lucien and Tim. An invisible but strong pulse slammed into them both. Lucien was knocked off his feet and Tim just barely held his ground. 

In the end, the lack of intelligence the draugr seemed to possess was how they won the day. Rather than focus on Tim, who was still armed and partially upright, the draugr turns its full attention on Lucien, who was still recovering from being knocked back to the ground. Before the creature could get to Lucien, Tim lined up one more arrow on the monster and sent it flying. The projectile struck the draugr straight in the middle of its chest and down it finally went, the light fading from its eyes.

"Lucien! Are you alright?" Tim rushed over to check on the scholar.

"Go on an expedition to Skyrim, they said." Lucien grumbled sarcastically as he held his head while getting to his feet. "It'll be fun, they said." He pulled out a healing potion and drained it like a shot. "There won't be any horrible Ancient Nordic zombies, they said." Lucien leaned heavily against the wall with a sigh.

Tim looked at him for a moment in silence, then started laughing. 

Lucien looked at him like he'd gone completely off his rocker. "Are you... laughing at me?"

Tim shook his head as he calmed down and wiped some tears that had escaped his eyes with his hand. "No. No. It's just..." He snickered as he tried to get a hold of himself. "Things have been so bad lately, and I honestly wasn't sure we were going to make it, but we're still alive." Tim sat down on the ground next to Lucien and leaned against the wall. "I'm just so relieved."

Lucien sighed went over the examine the draugr more closely. "True. that was quite the battle. Slightly terrifying. Glad we didn't die. Oh! And look," The scholar found something attached to the draugr's armor. He pried it off and offered it to Tim. "Now you have a fancy rock!"

Tim took the stone and examined it curiously. On one side was what looked like a map of Skyrim with specific locations marked off with stars. On the other side was text in that same dragon script as on the wall, though this time Tim couldn't read any of it. "I guess this is the Dragonstone..."

***

The pair rested for a bit before finally moving onward. Lucien finished taking several pages of notes about the draugr, altar, and word wall. He also made a couple of rubbings of the Dragonstone for his own research. Tim in the meantime picked the lock of the chest and found it quite full of treasure. Septims, jewels, armor, and even an enchanted weapon. Once their bags were loaded up with all that they could carry without injuring themselves, they followed a stairwell and a path that eventually, finally led them out of the Bleak Falls Barrow and back into the wilds of Skyrim without any trouble at all.

Chapter Text

Several hours after completing their excursion into Bleak Falls Barrow, Lucien Flavius was sitting by a crackling fire within an abandoned stone shelter that he and Timothy had found tucked away at the base of the mountain the Barrow rested atop of. It was a fortunate thing they had found the shelter as, when they emerged from the ruins, the sun had mostly dipped below the horizon and the skies were threatening to release a downpour. There wasn't enough time to return to Riverwood before the coming storm, and while Timothy had the sense to carry camping supplies to set up a tent for the night, it was questionable if they'd be able to get it set up before the rain really started coming down. Spotting the stone shelter was stroke of luck and allowed the pair of them just enough time to gather enough wood to start a campfire so they could keep warm through the night. 

Lucien had most of the contents of his backpack spread out before him as he was completing a catalog in his journal of all the artifacts he had been able to collect. Though it was fairly late in the evening, he was no stranger to late night research, and he really wanted to take stock of all he had learned over the course of this adventurous day while everything was still fresh on his mind. 

But then, the scholar paused as his eyes flitted over to where Timothy laid fast asleep on his bedroll beneath his fur cloak for a blanket. "Timothy Drake-Wayne," Lucien said to himself as he studied Tim's face in the fire light. He watched the younger man as he slept and thought about everything that had spoken about earlier that evening. 

***

The fire had finally roared to full life with a careful application of a well aimed fire spell, and while Lucien was grateful for its warmth and light, he could tell Timothy seemed uneasy with it. His gaze seemed haunted as he stared at the flames eagerly consuming the logs of woods. Lucien was confused for a moment, but then he remembered the young man's awful wounds.

"He was burned by the same dragon that destroyed Helgen," Lucien mused silently as he watched Tim shake himself out of his thoughts and began to  pull out some dried meat and fruit. "What must it have been like to be in that place while that creature was burning it to the ground around him? Why was he even in Helgen in the first place? He's clearly not a Nord... Still don't know where he's from."

Tim was in the process of offering Lucien some of his food to share when the young man paused and gave him an odd look.

"Hm?" Lucien asked.

"You're doing it again."

"Doing what again?"

Tim frowned. "Looking at me like I'm a puzzle you're trying to solve."

Lucien gave him a small guilty smile. "I suppose I am." He reached into is own bag and pulled out a few items of food as well, some bread and cheese, and offered a portion to Tim as well.

Tim sighed as he took just a piece of bread and just stared at it for a long moment. 

"Timothy," Lucien started. "In the Barrow I promised you I would listen to your story with an open mind, and I know you said you would tell me after getting out of that place. However, if you're not ready to speak of it yet, I understand." He tried to give the young man a reassuring expression. "I'm going to theorize surviving Helgen was quite an ordeal, especially with the injuries you suffered. If you need more time to process everything before you can share anything with me... Well... While I admit I am quite curious about you, I do know the value of being patient." Lucien smiled kindly. "And if it helps, perhaps you would like to know more about me first? After all, I'm a perfect stranger to you as well. It's only fair, right?"

That seemed to put Tim a little more at ease. A tension that had been in his expression relaxed and he released a breath that he had been holding with a small nod. "I'd like that."

***

So while they ate another small meal, Lucien told Timothy a little more about himself. He described where he was from in Cyrodiil and told him about both his mother and father. He explained how he came to Skyrim in the first place, at the invitation of an old family friend who'd started a museum up in the capitol city of Solitude, and about all the things he was looking forward to investigating and exploring Skyrim, from more Nordic ruins to Dwemer architecture as well as hunting down several rare historic artifacts that were rumored to be hidden region.

Tim listened to it all with great interest, though at points it was clear he seemed to not quite understand some of what was said, and that the lack of his own knowledge seemed to frustrate him. Finally, he seemed to reach some breaking point within himself. 

"Lucien... Do you have a map of the world?"

"The world?" Lucien was a little confused. He reached into his bag though. "I have a map of Tamriel." He pulled it out and spread it out on the floor of their shelter, using a few stones to hold the corners of the map to keep it from folding back in on itself. 

Tim leaned in and studied the map curiously. Lucien watched, intrigued, as the younger man reached out and traced parts of the map with his fingertips. There was something odd about his companion's expression as he looked at the map. Something about the way the man's blue eyes roamed the entire span of the document, as if searching for something he just couldn't find...

Then a flash of insight struck Lucien. 

"Timothy?" he started cautiously. "Does nothing on that map look familiar to you?"

Tim didn't answer immediately. His expression was guarded as he kept his eyes on the map, refusing to raise them to Lucien. Then he closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

Despite the heat from the roaring campfire, Lucien felt an chill run through him. "Then... Where on Nirn do you come from, if not from Tamriel?" The scholar's mind was racing with possibilities. Tim was so fair-skinned the native homeland of the dark-skinned Redguards, Yokuda, was not a likely option. Atmora, once the northern homeland of the ancient Nords, was a frozen and barren wasteland now. Nothing and no one lived there in recent memory as far as Lucien could recall. Pyandonea seemed unlikely as they were home mostly to elves, not human beings. Perhaps he was from Akavir, though rumor says only serpent men live there now? 

All of Lucien's theories came to a screeching halt in his mind as Tim finally looked at him, a confused expression on his face. "Nirn? Is that another continent, or is that the name of the entire world?"

Chapter Text

Tim had been feeling uneasy since he asked Lucien if he had a copy of a world map. While listening to the scholar's story and history, he became curious about this land called Cyrodiil. From what he could gather, it was somewhere beyond Skyrim, but the further Lucien went into his stories, the more frustrated he became.

Having no frame of reference for any of the locations was bothering him.

Knowing so little in general about this world he was trapped in made him feel extremely uneasy.

So... He asked, "Do you have a map of the world?"

The map Lucien spread out across that stone floor was a functional work of art. As Tim studied the map of Tamriel, a part of him was awed that someone had created such a beautiful detailed thing by hand with just pen and ink on parchment. He felt similarly about the parchment map of Skyrim he had sitting folded neatly in his own bag.

It was beautiful.

But it wasn't a map of any country on Earth. 

A part of Tim had been harboring a small hope that perhaps he was dealing with some sort of Multiverse-shenanigans. Perhaps he was on an alternate Earth where sword and sorcery were king instead of science and technology? Or maybe there was time travel high jinks in play? This world was clearly set on some sort of medieval timeline. Magic and dragons loomed large in old legends in Europe, so perhaps there was a kernel of truth to the fairy tales?

But as Tim studied the map, trying to find any familiar shape among the coastlines, lakes, and mountain ranges, he felt his heart sink.

His face must have been reflecting the encroaching despair that had been chasing him ever since Helgen as Lucien's voice disturbed the silence. "Does nothing on that map look familiar to you?" Then, a bit later, Lucien asked "Then... Where on Nirn do you come from, if not from Tamriel?"

In that moment, Tim decided to take a chance. He looked at Lucien and asked, genuinely, "Nirn? Is that another continent, or is that the name of the entire world?"

As Lucien stared at him in disbelieve, jaw working to form a response but no words escaping him, Tim felt a wave of regret wash over him. He chuckled humorlessly and shook his head. "Shit. Shouldn't have opened my big mouth. You probably think I'm crazy or stupid."

Finally Lucien found his voice. "No. Of course not!"

Tim gave him a deadpan, "don't try and bullshit me" stare.

Lucien sighed. "Well... Perhaps a touch of madness is on the table as a possibility, but certainly not stupidity! The expression of your intelligence in the Barrows was quite indisputable." The scholar took a measured breath and tee-peed his fingers in front of his face, tapping his lips with the apex of his joined fingertips. "Honestly, I was leaning more heavily towards some type of memory loss triggered by the trauma you experienced at Helgen." He looked at Tim over his fingertips.

Tim smiled wearily. "That might make a nice plausible cover-story later on, if anyone asks about my past," he mused. 

"But that's not it..."

"No. That's not it." Tim looked over Lucien appraisingly, trying to mentally gauge how much he should and shouldn't tell the scholar. Then he got an idea. He pulled out his own journal as well as a quill and a bottle of ink. Then he set to work carefully sketching the basic forms of all the known continents of his Earth from memory. Once the shapes of the large land masses were set, he added more details, such as borders between major countries and the locations of major cities along with their names. Lucien watched him work with great curiosity. 

Once he was done, Tim took a steadying breath before he offered Lucien the drawing. "This is a map of the continents of the place I come from," he admitted solemnly. Tim pointed to the dot on the North American continent he had labeled "Gotham City". "And this city is my home." He looked to Lucien. "In your studies, have you ever seen any land masses or maps that are similar to any of these places?"

Carefully, Lucien took the journal and held it a little closer to the light from the campfire. As he studied the rough drawing, his brow furrowed and absent-mindedly he stroked his mustache and goatee as his expression became more thoughtful and inward. After a few quiet moments, the scholar shook his head slight. "I'm sorry. I have studied a fair number of historic maps over the years, but I've never seen any that resemble the land masses displayed here." Lucien set the open journal down next to his own map of Tamriel, so he could look at both at the same time, arms crossed across his chest as he still let his eyes wander from one map to the other.

The silence between the two of them was agonizing to Tim. He could feel a coil of anxiety tightening in his chest, though he tried to keep it suppressed and his expression neutral. "What are you thinking Lucien?" He finally worked up the nerve to ask.

Lucien closed his eyes. "I... don't know yet," he admitted. "I don't have enough information." He finally looked up at Tim. "If you are comfortable with it, can I ask you a few questions?"

Tim nodded, even as he drew his cloak a little closer around himself, as if he was cold even despite the roaring fire in front of him, looking more guarded than forthcoming.

Lucien pulled out his own journal and flipped to a clean page. Then he began to voice a few questions, keeping them with a simple yes/no format. 

"I'm going to give you a list of names. Let me know if any of them are familiar to you. Yes or no answers will suffice."

Tim nodded. 

"Azura?" 

"No."

"Boethia?" 

"No."

"Clavicus Vile?" '

Tim tilted his head. "I know the word 'vile".

Lucien paused in his notes. "But as the name of a being?" 

Tim shook his head.

"Hm... " Lucien murmured thoughtfully. He went down the rest of the list of Tamriel's known Daedric Princes.

Hermaeus Mora. 

Hircine. 

Malacath.

Mehrunes Dagon. 

Mephala.

Meridia. 

Molag Bal. 

Namira. 

Nocturnal. 

Peryite. 

Sanguine. 

Sheogorath. 

Varemina.

To each name, aside from recognizing "nocturnal" and "sanguine" as common words, but not necessarily proper nouns, Tim responded in the negative. He clearly had no knowledge of the Daedra Lords of Oblivion. 

Lucien then moved on. He offered Tim another list of names. It was going to be shorter this time, just the list of the Eight Divines.

"Let's start off with Akatosh--"

"Akatosh..." Tim echoed as memory shards darted through his mind. 

                  ... an ancient temple?
                                          ... "A-ka-tosh?"
                                                            ..."Dude?! You can read that?"
                                               ... "Detective?! What are you--"
                                "DOVAHKIIN!!!"...
                                            ... "MEYZ NU YSMIR, DOVAHSEBROM!...
                                                                                 ..."ROB!"...
                                                                           ... "TIM!!!"
                                                                                    ... FALLING!!!..

"Timothy?! Timothy can you hear me?!"

Tim felt hands on his shoulders, shaking him... Until he realized he was the one trembling, and Lucien's hands were trying to hold him steady. Lucien's eyes were wide with concern.

"Lucien?" 

The scholar breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank goodness. You went catatonic the moment I mentioned Akatosh. Are you alright?"

Tim buried his face in his hands. The shaking was settling, but not completely gone. "I... don't know," he admitted. "That name... it's familiar, but my memories." He groaned as he felt the spike of a migraine building behind his eyes the harder he tried to remember. "I can't sort them out. Like they've been ripped to pieces. Hurts..."

Lucien pressed a hand to Tim's forehead and noticed he seemed to be far warmer than normal. He frowned. "Here now. I think that's enough for tonight. You are still injured and you need to rest." He helped to lay out Tim's bedroll, despite the weak protests from the younger man. "We'll start off in the morning to Whiterun and as soon as we finish dropping off that Dragonstone with the Jarl's wizard, you're going straight to the temple for proper healing. I think your luck's run out regarding that burn not becoming infected."

Tim tried to protest, but he felt so physically, mentally, and emotionally wrung out. Gingerly, he laid himself down and drew his cloak around himself to stay warm. "Lucien?" 

"Yes?" Lucien had taken a length of linen wrap from Tim's bag and soaked it with water from the rain still falling outside their shelter. He knelt beside Tim and placed the cool compress on his forehead.

"Do you think I'm crazy?"

The scholar gave him a reassuring smile. "I think... I don't believe you're crazy, but I do think you have experienced something that neither of us can quite explain. Don't worry... Once we've completed your task and once you are healed, I will help you find your truth."

That seemed to reassure Tim enough that he finally relaxed to a point where he could let exhaustion drag him under into unconsciousness.

***

Once Lucien was assured that Timothy was fast asleep, he went back to the maps on the ground, and also to both their journals. After a quick glance to make sure his companion was still resting, Lucien picked up Tim's journal and flipped back to the start of the book and read over the few earlier entries that existed. His brow furrowed at some of the contents he read.

"January 23, 20XX... 24 hour days? Is he's on a different measure of time?"

"Gotham... That's name of his home city, but where is that from? His map of his world is so strange? Could it be a land from a plane of Oblivion? But which one, and how? Could it be there's an active Oblivion Gate somewhere in Skyrim? Terrifying thought...."

"Also... Is it possible he is from Nirn, but crossed paths with a Daedric Lord and just didn't realize it? Sheogorath's touch perhaps? But those who are touched by the mad god are usually completely manic or violently insane. Timothy, by comparison, seems quite in control of his mental faculties, if a bit confused at most."

"Medieval? What does that word mean?"

"Oy... no wonder he bristled at the mention of the Imperial Legion... Better be careful when we make our way back to Solitude. He might react poorly if we're approached by anyone that looks like a soldier."

"Clearly no understanding of potions or magic. Maybe they don't exist where he comes from? Hm... Seems the same way regarding Septims as well. Likely different monetary units in his homeland."

After reading the only four entries in the book, Lucien felt marginally guilty about reading Tim's private thoughts, but now he had a little bit more information about his travelling companion.

Too bad he ended up with more questions than answers.

"Who is this young man, and where is his homeland located?"

"How did he get to Skyrim, and for what reason was he brought?"

"Why did he react so unusually to the mention of Akatosh?"

"Is it possible a Divine or a Daedric Lord is involved somehow?"

"How can we get him home?"

Timothy Drake-Wayne was certainly an intriguing puzzle he really, really wanted to solve.

Chapter Text

January 28(?), 20XX (morning)

Survived the Barrows, collected the Dragonstone, and kept Lucien alive to tell the tale. I suppose that can be counted as a success.

Had too many close calls in that place, though. 

If it hadn't been for Lucien and his magic...

Ok. I need to come to grips with reality. No more denial.

I'm hurt, bad. If I was back in Gotham I'd probably be in the hospital, or stuck in the infirmary at the Cave. Based on the description Lucien gave me of how things looked, especially on my back, I'm flirting with 4th degree burns... maybe permanent damage... 

Alfred would be so disappointed with me.

I shouldn't have taken this mission. I probably made things worse with some of the blows I took in the Barrow from the spider and the Draugr. Lucien says I shouldn't worry about anything permanent until until after I get seen at the Temple. Apparently healing magic here is pretty powerful stuff.

Silver lining? I told Lucien some of the truth about me, or about as much as I'm willing to share right now. He figured something was off about me early on, but after he helped save my life a couple of times, I promised to explain what I could. I shared a map of Earth's continents and showed him where I come from, which, incidently, looks nothing like this world, or at least nothing resembles the continent of Tamriel or the country of Skyrim at all.

He... took it better than I expected. Apparently this world has some really bizarre history as well (multiple parallel timelines all taken as valid truth? an entire race vanishing at the same time?) Not sure if he believes everything I told him about Gotham and Earth, but I think he's serious about helping me find a way home.  

He's working for a museum, which is in the process of amassing knowledge and artifacts about the history, magic, and mysteries of Skyrim. I suppose I can't find a better starting point for finding a way home than there. 

I'm glad Lucien forced me to get some sleep last night. I feel a bit better this morning, but I think my burns are finally infected, and I'm not sure how much longer I can go dodging sepsis... we're making our way back to Whiterun today to deliver the Dragonstone. I just need to keep myself in one piece until we get done with that so I can go to that temple. 

Chapter Text

"I'm sorry. What did you say?"

At the annoyed look Jarl gave him, Tim realized his "Timothy Wayne" mask must have slipped a bit. He slipped his "mask" back on and gave the Jarl an apologetic look. "Forgive me, Jarl Balgruuf," he said, speaking up a little louder than before and motioning vaguely toward the right side of his head. "I took pretty nasty blow back at the Barrow and I'm still can't hear well out of this ear. Can you repeat what you said?"

Balgruuf sighed. He looked at Tim and repeated his last statement, a little louder this time so Tim could "hear". "I want you to go with Irileth and help her fight this dragon!"

***

At first, everything went along as both Tim and Lucien had expected once they left the camp they'd rested in after leaving Bleak Falls Barrow. They spent nearly the entire day walking back to Whiterun, with a brief stop by Riverwood to drop off the Golden Dragon Claw with its original owner. Of course it was well past sunset by the time they entered Dragonsreach, but not so late that the people they needed to speak to were asleep. 

Once inside Dragonsreach, they immediately delivered the Dragonstone to a very pleased court wizard Farengar, who had been speaking with a strange hooded woman before their arrival.

Tim only halfway paid attention to Farengar and his guest. He barely stifled a yawn as he felt a touch on his good arm.

"Finally," Lucien whispered behind Tim with what sounded like a great amount of relief as Farengar was distracted speaking with the woman. "I know it's late, but let's get out of here and to the Temple. If we're lucky, a priest or priestess will still be awake and can take a look at your injuries."

Tim nodded wearily. This most recent journey to Whiterun felt longer and more taxing than his previous travels to and from the city. He knew his body was close to his limit, and he could feel the fever from the night before creeping up again.

Unfortunately, Tim had no luck to speak of that evening as Jarl Balgruuf's guard Irileth stormed into the wizard's room, announcing that a dragon had been sighted nearby.

***

Tim bowed his head to the Jarl, shaking his head slightly. He didn't even bother masking the apologetic disbelief in his tone. "I... I would love to help. I really would. But--"

Jarl pointed at Tim. "You survived Helgen, so you have more experience with dragons than anyone else here."

"More experience? Is that what we're calling it now?" Tim echoed under his breath as he found himself unwillingly reliving memories of the disaster at Helgen and his first-hand trauma due to the flames of that black dragon. He wanted to snap at the Jarl, to tell him that he was an idiot and he was not going to go anywhere near any more dragons. He wanted to storm out of Dragonsreach and put as much distance between himself and this castle as he could. 

Instead...

"I... I'll do what I can, Jarl Balgruuf," Tim muttered in a defeated, obedient tone with his gaze lowered before turning on his heel and walking down the stairs as quickly and politely as he could towards the doors that would take him back into the city of Whiterun proper. 

***

"Timothy! Wait! Tim! Stop!" 

Once outside Dragonsreach, Tim didn't stop walking until finally, at the base of the large tree in the courtyard of the upper district of Whiterun. Lucien caught up with him and forced himself directly between Tim and the path leading down another flight of stairs to the marketplace. Lucien seemed a bit winded, as he'd had to dash to catch up to the young man before he got completely out of reach. 

"What do you think you're doing?!" Lucien demanded after he caught his breath enough to speak. 

"Please Lucien... Just get out of the way. I have to catch up with Irileth."

"Why?! You are in no condition to face down a rabid skeever, let alone a full blow fire-breathing dragon!"

"The Jarl asked--"

"The Jarl is an idiot!" 

Tim looked at Lucien with a startled expression. 

Lucien appeared absolutely beside himself with frustration as he continued on his rant. "Just because you survived the dragon at Helgen doesn't mean you have anything significant to contribute to a fight against it now that's reared its ugly face again. Clearly you are not fire-proof, and you are in no way armed or armored enough to face down a monster of that magnitude, ESPECIALLY after everything you went through in Helgen and in the Barrow and after an entire day's travel on foot from the wilds of the hold all the way to the city! 

"Besides, anyone with eyes can see you're not well! Even Irileth gave you a look before she went out to gather the rest of her soldiers after the Jarl made his ludicrous demand!" Lucien took a moment to pause and catch his breath again. When he spoke, it was with a more even tone. "If the Jarl wants extra bodies and blades to throw against that beast, he's got a whole boatload of Companions waiting right there who would be more than happy to add dragon-slaying to their list of accomplishments." Lucien threw an arm at the nearby mead hall of the Companions' guild made from what looked like an overturned viking longboat. "All he has to do is walk down the damned hill or send a messenger if he's too lazy for even that."

Lucien gave him a pleading look. "Timothy... You're not even a citizen of his Hold. You're just... passing through... and you owe Balgruuf no allegience."

Tim wavered. If he was healthy, if he wasn't sick, if he had his Red Robin gear, he knew he could help the soldiers of Whiterun fight this dragon and win. It was what he did as a Titan. It was how he was raised as a Bat. But he was sick and injured and if he tried to fight in this state, he could very well find himself dead, or responsible for the death of others.

Lucien could see the conflict warring on Tim's face. It confused him. Why would anyone suffering as much as he was right now with illness and injury want to continue fighting when the should be resting and healing? 

"You don't have to follow the Jarl's orders," Lucien said gently. "It's not like you're a soldier and he's your comman--"

The scholar's eyes widened as he had a flash of insight. He immediately thought of Tim's skillful fighting style both with his quarterstaff and bare hands as they went through the Barrow. He remembered the young man's strategizing as they came upon bandits and traps and draugr. He recalled in his mind's eye not just the burns on his arm and back, but also an odd collection of other far older battle scars peppered across his torso and limbs. He gazed at Tim as if seeing another part of him for the first time. 

"Wait. You ARE a soldier... of some sort... aren't you?"

Tim nodded reluctantly. "In my homeland, I-- well my entire adopted family really-- we're..." He trailed off a bit as he tried to figure out the best words to give to Lucien. "... peacekeepers for our city. For Gotham." He raked his hand through his hair. "It was our mission to protect the citizens from threats both inside the city and beyond. The mission... always comes first."

Lucien sighed. "Well that explains a bit," he murmured with a small groan. "The way I see it, Timothy, you have two choices before you right now. One... You can disregard the Jarl's order entirely. You're not his citizen or his soldier. You've gone above and beyond already getting that Dragonstone for him. He technically owes you a favor, not the other way around. We can either go right now to the Temple over there so you can start the healing process, or we can just leave Whiterun altogether. I'll pay the carriage driver whatever he wants to leave tonight for Solitude. It may take a couple of days, but at least this way there's no risk of being dragged into any more of the Jarl's nonsense. We'll either find another priest in another town along the way, or we can go straight to the Temple of the Divines in Solitude once we get there."

"And the other choice?"

"The other choice is..." And Lucien returned his pleading look to Tim as he continued reluctantly "... you continue after Irileth and complete the Jarl's ridiculous unreasonable request. You do your best to assist against the dragon, but knowing you're likely to get yourself hurt even worse or killed in the process."

Tim stood for a long moment in silence. He looked to the doors of the Temple of Kynareth with a longing expression, and for a moment Lucien was hopeful that the young man would choose the path of self-preservation. 

Then Tim bowed his head solemnly.

"I'm sorry, Lucien," he whispered as he turned away from the Temple and walked around the scholar to go down the stairs leading toward the marketplace and the path leading out of Whiterun. "If there's some way for me to help Irileth and the soldiers, I have to at least try. If I don't at least try, I don't think I could live with myself." 

He did pause and looked up at Lucien from the bottom of the stairs with sad, apologetic smile that frankly broke the poor scholar's heart. "Thank you for worrying about me, though, and taking care of me the past couple of days.  I... really appreciate all you've done. You're a good man, Lucien Flavius. I'm lucky to have met you." Then Tim gave him a half-hearted farewell wave and continued on the path to catch up with Irileth and her soldiers, leaving Lucien behind.

Chapter Text

It didn't take long for Tim to catch up with Irileth and her handful of city guards near the stables just outside of Whiterun's walls. The dark elf had given Tim a odd look when he arrived, but said nothing except to stay close and to keep his eyes open for any signs of dragon in the night sky.

As Tim walked along the road towards the watchtower that had been attacked, all traces of weariness had bled away to be replaced by growing sense of dread and anxiety. The hour was late, and Tim honestly wasn't sure he'd be able to spot the black dragon from Helgen against the dark night sky. Adding to his unease was the smell of smoke wafting towards them even before they saw the light from the fires burning in and around the destroyed watchtower. He immediately recognized the smell of burning wood and charred flesh, and he felt his stomach churn.

Still, he kept pushing forward along with Irileth and her guards without a word about his discomfort.

They stopped by a pile of large stones a short way from the watchtower. The soldiers and Irileth were stunned by the amount of damage. The stone structure had a jagged scar cutting through the top half of the structure, the wound illuminated by fires burning within it. Rubble from the tower and bodies of soldiers both burning and simply dead lay scattered around the grounds of the tower. However, despite all the visible carnage, there was no sight of the dragon anywhere, and no sounds except for the crackling flames and cold wind blowing through the grass. 

The silence was unsettling. Tim had been around long enough to know that out in this land, even at night there ought to have other noises. Wolves... Owls... Foxes... Deer... Insects... The sounds of Skyrim's nocturnal creatures were just not there. 

"No signs of any dragon right now, but it sure looks like he's been here," Irileth said as she scanned the watchtower and the skies. Then she looked to her men and Tim. "I know it looks bad, but we've got to figure out what happened, and if that dragon is still skulking around somewhere." She made a motion that her men immediately recognized as a "move out" command. "Spread out and look for survivors. We need to know what we're dealing with." 

When Irileth's eyes fell on Tim, he nodded as a good soldier would. Before she turned to follow her men, the dark elf's red eyes drifted to a point over Tim's shoulder and behind him, and she inclined her head in a "look over there" gesture. Curious, Tim glanced behind him and his own blue eyes widened in surprise.

"Lucien? What are you doing here?" he asked the scholar in surprise as the other man jogged up and finally stopped to catch his breath. 

"What does it look like?" Lucien gasped out between breaths. 

"You didn't have to come."

"Yes I did." Lucien looked at Tim square in the eyes with a determined expression. "We Flaviuses have a reputation to always keep our promises, and I will be damned if some idiot Jarl, a bloodthirsty dragon, and your obvious lack of self-preservation sense makes a liar out of me before I can get you home!"

Tim felt a small part of the anxious knot in his chest unwind, just a little, as he smiled at Lucien gratefully. "Thank you," he said softly. Then he turned to the watchtower while arming himself with his bow and a nocked arrow. "The dragon doesn't seem to be around at the moment. Irileth wants us to look for survivors."

Lucien nodded and appeared to ready a frost spell in his hands, a cold mist swirling around his fingers. "Lead the way, then."

***

The pair of them moved towards the bridge leading into the body of the damaged watchtower. Tim could see Irileth's soldiers checking on the survivors and fallen on the outer grounds, so he directed Lucien to join him at the tower itself. As they got closer, he could hear one of the watchtower guards trying desperately to warn Irileth away.

"No! Get back! It's still here somewhere!" 

Tim froze.

"Hroki and Tor just got grabbed when they tried to make a run for it!"

Tim felt his heartbeat thudding in his ears. As Lucien went to the guardsman to check on his injuries, Tim immediately began scanning the skies. Suddenly, the guard gasped and his words sent a chill down Tim's spine. 

"Kynareth save us, here he comes again!"

The statement was punctuated by a familiar terrifying roar and the sound of wind rushing past wings. Tim's eyes zeroed in on a dark shadow sailing past the blood red moon and into a bank of gray clouds in the sky. Despite himself, Tim's hands trembled on his bow.

Irileth's commanding voice cut through the night. "Here he comes! Find cover and make every arrow count!" 

Suddenly a dark shadow and an unnatural rush of wind nearly knocked Tim and the others off the watchtower bridge. Tim immediately moved to shove Lucien into nearby cover with a group of other guards, who were firing arrows into the sky. Tim was about to find his own cover and join them when something massive landed heavily on the ground, causing an earthquake like tremor that knocked Tim off the bridge and to the ground below. 

Pain shot through his body at the impact of the fall, and his head spun. Despite this, Tim managed to keep a grip on his bow and he forced himself to get to his feet as quickly as he could. Adrenaline coursed through his veins and screamed at him to move.

Then he froze as he turned to see face of the enormous menacing dragon staring straight at him just a yard from where he stood.

The massive beast's eyes narrowed as he stared at Tim. Though he was terrified, Tim immediately brought up his bow and fired at the dragon point blank. The dragon jerked his head up to avoid the projectile even as other arrows began to rain down on him from the other guards. Then, to the young man's shock, the dragon opened his mouth and words spilled out.

"I had forgotten what fine sport you mortals can provide!"

Tim's eyes widened. "You can talk?!"

Instead of an answer, the dragon pulled back his head with an obvious inhale. "YOL... " Tim immediately recognized the word from Helgen.

"Get back!" he yelled at the guards and Lucien in alarm as he himself ran for cover. "Fire! Fire!"

"TOOR SHUL!!" 

Tim just barely dove for cover behind a pile of stone rubble as a blast of intense fire scorched the earth and air around him. He couldn't restrain the scream of terror as he huddled behind the rocks as much as he could to avoid the flames. Suddenly the flames stopped and there was a rush of air against the ground, putting out some of the grass fires around him, as the dragon took off into the sky again.

"Timothy!" A blast of cold mist washed over the area around Tim as the young man gasped for air. Suddenly Lucien was in front of him, his frosted over hands cradling Tim's face. The shock of cold against his skin startled Tim out of the fear-induced daze he'd fallen into.

"Lucien?!" Tim gasped as he became aware of his surrounding. 

"We need to move! Back to the bridge!" Lucien tried to help him to his feet. 

Still gripping his bow, Tim moved as quickly as he could to cover with Lucien underneath the bridge. He forced himself to nock arrow after arrow at the dragon as he flew circles around them, sending fire blasts at various targets. It was only because of Lucien that he was able to keep moving from cover to cover. Whenever the dragon roared or a blast of fire hit too close, Tim would flinch hard or even freeze in place. Rather than using his magic to attack the dragon itself, Lucien chose instead to use his ice spells to put out the various fires on the ground, which allowed Tim and the other soldiers move more safely without getting burned. The cold of the icy mist Lucien used seemed to break through Tim's fear and kept him moving.

"Look!" Lucien cried out and pointed as they felt the ground rumble from the dragon's landing again. "I think... he's almost dead!"

Tim's gaze followed Lucien's hand and stared grounded dragon. Dozens of arrows were embedded in its thick hide and blood poured from the wounds on its body and head. The membrane of one of his wings was in tattered and made it so that the beast could no longer take to the air. That didn't stop it from trying to snap at nearby soldiers daring to take up swords against it, or sending blasts of fire when it could do so with those same three words as before. 

Swallowing hard, Tim lifted his bow and continued firing arrows at the dragon along with the other soldiers. Each arrow felt heavier than the last though, as despite his fear of the beast he couldn't get out of his head that this monster had spoken to him. Despite the fact that this dragon was trying to kill all of then, it was a sentient, intelligent creature, and Tim's hand was one of many working to end its life! 

As Tim nocked one more arrow to his bow and drew it back, he felt his hands tremble. Time seemed to slow around him and the dragon. The beast had just finished firing a blast of fire at a soldier on the ground and had turned to glare at Tim just as his fingers released their grip on the arrow. As the arrow flew, something shifted in the dragon's expression, as if realizing something important in that one moment about the young mortal man standing before him.

Tim's arrow struck true, piercing the dragon in the throat, and seemed to be the final blow needed to fell the beast. The dragon reared its head back. "Dovahkiin? No!!" it roared in agony before collapsing to the ground.

Tim felt his eyes whell up with tears and they spilled out down his cheeks as the soldiers around him cheered wildly in victory.

"I'm sorry..." Tim whispered as his bow fell from numb fingers. From somewhere far away, he could hear Lucien calling out to him with concern, but all Tim could do was stare as the life faded from the dragon's eyes. He walked forward slowly towards the dragon's body, guilt wracking his conscience.

"Wait! Look at that!" a guard exclaimed with alarm. 

Tim and everyone who had been moving towards the dragon froze as the body of the beast began to ignite and dissolve right before their eyes. 

"What's happening?!" Lucien cried out.

"Everyone get back!" Irileth shouted, and nearly everyone scrambled to pull away from the dragon.

Everyone but Tim. 

Tim was frozen in place. He barely even registered the chaos around him as he stared at the dragon as its very scales and flesh ignited in a cascading spontaneous combustion, leaving behind nothing but clean white bone. Then, the bones themselves began to glow with a bright blinding light as a sudden gust of swirling wind carried that light straight for him. 

Reflexively, Tim pulled up his arms to shield his face and closed his eyes, but after a moment he realized that the wind was not inflicting any more pain on his body. Slowly he opened his eyes and watched with confused awe as the tendrils of light on the wind swirled around and into his body. As the winds died down and the light faded, Tim raised a hand and pressed it to his chest. Something was... different... But he couldn't quite articulate what that was. What was it that dragon had said as it died? What was that word?  

"Dovahkiin?" he whispered to himself.

The sound of armored soldiers rushing to his position immediately set him on edge. For a brief moment, he thought that perhaps they were rushing to attack him, that whatever had just happened had made him a new threat in their eyes. Tim turned to them, hands upraised to show he was unarmed.

But there were no swords or bows drawn against him.

Instead, all the soldiers there were staring at him in awe and... reverence?

"I can't believe it!" one of the guards closest to him said. "You're... Dragonborn..."

"Dragon... born?" Tim echoed with clear confusion. "What do you mean?"

The Nord soldier explained. "In the very oldest tales, back from when there were still dragons in Skyrim, the Dragonborn would slay dragons and steal their power. That's what you did, isn't it? Absorbed the dragon's power?"

Tim felt a coil of fear and dread tighten in his chest. He could feel himself shake his head in reflexive denial. "I... I don't know," he stammered uneasily as he turned to stare at the dragon bones again. "I don't know what happened to me."

As the guards began to murmur amongst themselves about the stories they heard as children of the Dragonborn, Tim felt like his brain was short circuiting. He wanted to deny everything that was being said around him, but he just couldn't seem to find his voice.

"That's right! My grandfather used to tell stories about the Dragonborn..."

"...born with the Dragon Blood in 'em..."

"...Like old Tiber Septim himself..."

"...You must be one!"

One of the guards finally addressed Irileth. "What do you say, Irileth? You're being awfully quiet." 

Tim turned his gaze to the dark elf and was startled to find that her red eyes had been focused on him this entire time. She averted her gaze when he caught her and turned to her guards.

"Hmph. Some of you would be better off keeping quiet than flapping your gums on matters you don't know anything about."

Somehow, hearing that made Tim feel marginally better. A little more grounded anyway. He watched as Irileth went over to the dragon's bones and nudged them with her sword. 

"Here's a dead dragon, and that's something I can definitely understand."

Tim felt a touch on his arm again, and he turned to look at Lucien, who appeared to be as dazed as he felt. Still the scholar tried to put on reassuring smile. "Now Whiterun should be safe, yes? The dragon that burned you and Helgen is dead now. That's a relief, isn't it?"

Tim froze. "No... That's not right..." he murmured.

Irileth caught their conversation and turned to Tim and Lucien. "What do you mean by that? The dragon is dead at our feet."

Shaking his head, Tim searched the ground for a moment before finding what he was looking for. He knelt down and picked up a scale that had not combusted with the rest. "The dragon that attacked Helgen was black," he said solemnly as he brushed away the soot that had been on the scale. From where he knelt, he offered the scale to Irileth. "This one was grey." Even as the words left his lips, Tim felt that coil of fear and dread tighten even more. "This was a different dragon."

The elf's face became grim as she took the scale and examined it closely. "That was the hairiest fight I've ever been in, and I've been in more than a few. If dragons are coming back... If the black one from Helgen was only the first for many... Then we need to prepare. At least now we know they can be killed."

Tim bowed his head and slowly rose to his feet. The thought of another dragon dying at his hands made him feel sick to his stomach. However, the moment he stood up fully, his sense of balance pitched, and he nearly fell back down again. The only reason he stayed even partially upright was because Lucien caught him. Even then, though, Lucien was not strong enough to keep him on his feet for long. He was forced to ease Tim down to the ground gently as he could manage without hurting him further.

"L-Lucien," Tim gasped as his vision began to blur and darken around the edges. 

"Damn it!" Lucien cursed as he pressed his hand to Tim's forehead. "You're burning up! You've pushed yourself too far!"

"Sorry," Tim whispered as he closed his eyes, suddenly feeling so dizzy and tired. "Should've listened to you."

Irileth knelt down as well. Her eyes narrowed. "What's wrong with him?"

"He's sick!" Lucien snapped angrily. "He was burned at Helgen and the wounds were never healed properly. They're infected!"

As Tim's consciousness faded into blackness, he could hear the alarm in Irileth's voice as she immedately started barking orders for her men to fetch a horse and cart as fast as they could. "We need to get him to the Temple NOW!"

Chapter Text

"...Dovahkiin..."

"...Dragonborn..."

"...Motaad sizaan sil..."

"...Tremble lost soul..."

"...Thuri du hin sil ko Sovngarde..."

"...My overlord will devour your soul in Sovngarde..."

"...Draal fah dinok..."

"...Pray for death..."

***

Tim's eyes snapped open as he woke with a gasp to escape the nightmare of draconic voices whispering horrible things to him from the darkness. As his sleep blurred vision began to clear and the echos of his nightmare drifted out of reach, he became aware of several things one after the other.

First, he was no longer on the battlefield. Instead, he was in some sort of building, laying on his right side on a moderately comfortable bed. 

Next, the pain that had been wracking his body from his burns all week long were significantly dulled. There was a deep ache in certain areas, but overall things were far better than they had been earlier. 

Finally, while he was still very tired, suffering from what felt like a bone-deep exhaustion, he was also very thirsty. His gaze wandered around the small bedroom he was resting in and fell upon a nearby end-table with a ceramic pitcher and cup just out of reach.

Gingerly, Tim began to sit up, groaning softly with the effort. He almost didn't hear the soft footsteps approach the room and the quiet knock upon the doorway. He looked over to see an old Nord woman in a hooded robe standing there, a bowl and some linens in her arms. She smiled at him kindly. "You're finally awake," she said as she entered the room. "That's good. We've been concerned you might not wake up anytime soon." She immediately went to Tim's side and placed a cool hand against his forehead. Tim flinched a little, but didn't pull away completely. "Still a bit too warm, but at least your fever is headed in the right direction. Another day of rest and it should be broken completely."

"I'm sorry, but who are you, and where am I?" Tim asked.

"My name is Danica," she replied as she moved to the end table with the pitcher. "And you are in the Temple of Kynareth here in Whiterun. I'm the head priestess here." She poured out a cup of water and handed it to Timothy. "Drink slowly," she instructed before turning back to pour the rest of the water into the bowl she'd brought over.

As Tim brought the cup to his lips, he paused. He could smell something medicinal in the liquid, and the color was not quite right for just water. Still, he was extremely thirsty and he took small, careful sips until the cup was drained. As he drank, he watched as Danica placed one of the smaller linen towels into the bowl and soaked it before wringing it out and folding it into a compress. She then turned her full attention back on Tim and tried to gently encourage him to lay back down. 

The idea of laying back down and going back to sleep was tempting, and he was so tired, but still...

"I can't stay too long," he murmured as he tried to maneuver his legs off the bed.. "I need to speak with the Jarl about that dragon and--"

"No you don't," a familiar voice said firmly. Tim looked at the doorway to see Lucien standing there. He had a firm, determined expression on his face. "You are under strict orders by the Jarl himself not to set one foot out of this Temple until you are cleared to leave by Sister Danica herself." He stepped fully into the room and Tim could see he had a basket in one hand. Though covered with a cloth, Tim could see part of a loaf of bread and some fruit peaking out. 

A corner of Tim's lip quirked upward despite himself. "Oh really? So we're listening to the Jarl's orders now?"

"We do when the Jarl's housecarl Irileth herself has decided to fold you under her wings as a fellow 'soldier-in-arms' and has made your recovery one of her top priorities." Lucien remarked as he set his basket down on a nearby dresser. "Apparently she has a reputation of being a strong advocate for the soldiers under her command, despite her stern demeanor, as well as a reputation of speaking her mind with the Jarl when something troubles her. This..." Lucien made a vague circular motion with his hand that seemed to indicate Tim's whole physical state. "...troubled her greatly." He shrugged. "Apparently when Irileth speaks, Jarl Balgruuf actually listens. Imagine that... A Nord actually taking the words of a Dunmer to heart. Will wonders never cease?" 

Then Lucien's expression turned more serious. "So long story short, the Jarl has instructed that you be given all the time you need to recover from your illness and injury. The Temple itself is not to be disturbed by anyone unless they are approved by Irileth or if they are in serious need of healing themselves. So please, Timothy. Will you please just sit back and rest? This is the first time you've woken and been coherent in three days."

"Three days?" Tim echoed with slight disbelief. 

Lucien nodded and took a seat at the foot of Tim's bed as Danica added a pillow so Tim could recline comfortably, but be upright enough to eat. He pulled out an apple from the basket and began to peel it with a small pocketknife. "You were deathly ill when Irileth had her men brought you to the temple after the battle with the dragon. Your burns were deeply infected and all the stress of that battle exasperated your condition." Once peeled, he cut a slice and offered it to Tim.

Reluctantly, Tim laid back down on the pillows, a soft sigh escaping him when Danica pressed her compress against his forehead. The cool cloth felt good, and the medicinal aroma from the liquid wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was rather soothing. Tim had a suspicion that the herbs had some sort of soporific effect, but he wasn't really in any position to complain against it. Still, for the moment hunger beat out the immediate need for sleep, so he took the offered apple slice and took a small bite.

While he ate, Danica took a chair next to the bed. Then, she gently took Tim's left burned arm. The young man startled at the touch, but Lucien reassured him. "It's alright. Just let her work."

Curiously, Tim watched as Danica focused on his arm, holding it with her left hand. She murmured what sounded like a soft chant under her breath and held her free right hand over the area that was scarred by the burn. A warm golden aura radiated from her hand and eventually travelled to his injury. Tim watched with awe as the lingering ache in his arm began to fade even more, and the wound itself began to look far better. Rather than an infected angry red wound, it now looked more like an aged silvery scar that was a few shades lighter than his normal skin tone. After a few minutes, Danica finished her chant and she returned Tim's arm to him. 

"That's... amazing," Tim whispered as he tentatively touched the scar. 

"How does that feel? Is there any lingering pain anywhere in the arm?" Danica asked.

Tim moved his arm experimentally, testing the range of motion he now had. When his face reflected a twinge of pain around his elbow, though he didn't complain about it, Danica used her magic to heal the area with a more precise touch. 

As Danica worked, Lucien watched with a content expression as he continued to cut fruit, bread, and cheese and feed them to Tim. Eventually the priestess was finally satisfied with the state of Tim's arm and shifted her focus to his back. This part of his body, it seemed, was still in a worst state than his arm. Even after several passes of healing magic, there was still quite a bit of pain left deep in the muscles and bone and it showed on Tim's face, though he didn't complain verbally about it.

"I think that is enough for now," Danica announced after a final pass. She gently stroked some of Tim's hair from his face, She could feel the heat of his lingering fever radiating off of him, and carefully repositioned the pillows so he could lay back down completely. "The burn and infection on your back went far deeper than what your arm endured. Because of your fever, you'll need to rest before we can proceed with more healing."

Tim, for his part, was exhausted. Though he didn't do anything except eat and sip water while he was being healed, he felt as if he'd just run a marathon. He closed his eyes as the compress was placed on his forehead again, and he relished how good it felt against his overheated skin.

Danica didn't leave immediately, though. She studied Tim for a moment. "Just wondering, young man, but were you sickly as a child?"

Tim cracked open his eyes. "Sickly?"

"When you were a child, were you prone to illness and took a long time to recover?" 

He shook his head. "Not as a child, but last year I received a... permanent injury that I've been told might make me more prone to illness." Tim wasn't about to try and explain how he'd lost his spleen and its function. He was unsure how much knowledge of human anatomy and the function of individual organs was known here. He hoped the vague explanation would be enough. 

Danica sighed. "The costs of war..." she murmured with a shake of her head. Clearly she was assuming his injury had been from the current Civil War strife plaguing Skyrim. She then went over to the nearby dresser and pulled open the top drawer. From it, she removed an amulet and tied it around Tim's neck. 

Curiously, Tim lifted it from his chest to get a closer look at it. The amulet was strung on a leather thong, appeared to be forged from iron and some other pale metal he couldn't identify, and was shaped to look like a bird in flight. In the middle of the bird was a sky blue gemstone. It was a lovely piece of jewelry, but that was not the most remarkable part of it.

"It's warm?" he mused. Tim wasn't sure, but it almost felt like the warmth was pulsing like a heartbeat.

"It's an amulet of Kynareth," Danica explained. "She is our patron Divine here at the temple. Through Kynareth's blessing, the amulet improves one's stamina when you wear it. This should help with improving the speed of your recovery while in the temple." She gathered some of the dishes and spent linens. "Now get some rest. I'll check on you in a few hours.

Once Danica was gone, Tim turned to Lucien. "So... who is Kynareth?"

"She's one of the Eight Divines," Lucien explained. "A nature goddess of the sky, air, and wind, and the patron of travelers who traverse both land and sea." He smiled a bit. "When you're feeling better, before you leave the Temple you ought to take a moment and pray for a blessing at the shrine here. It wouldn't hurt to seek Kynareth's guidance as we try to find your way home."

Tim gave Lucien a strange look, and the scholar's smile faded. "Is the worship of gods different in your homeland?"

"Well... There are different religions throughout my world. Some believe in many gods. Others believe in just one." Tim sighed. "And still others don't believe in any at all." He glanced away from Lucien. "And back home... I fall into that latter category."

Lucien's jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. "You... You don't believe in any divinity?! How does that even work?" 

Tim shook his head with a shrug. "I believe in science and in things I can see with my own eyes. I believe in real mortal people who live their lives and make their choices. I believe in the existence of powerful beings who have abilities that far outstrip those of normal human beings. There are plenty of those on my home world. But I don't believe them to be gods and I don't believe in any necessity to worship them."

"Have you always believed like this?"

The younger man's expression became clouded and distant. "No... not always..."

"What happened? What changed?"

Tim sighed. "I... really don't want to talk about it."

Lucien regarded Timothy quietly. It seemed that the scars visible on the young man's skin were not the only ones he carried. Never in his own life could Lucius even fathom the existence of a spiritual injury that could mortally wound a person's faith itself. 

It was a disquieting thought.

"Timothy... I..." Lucien started to say after a long moment of silence, but paused. He noticed that Tim had curled up onto his side and his eyes were now closed in slumber. Lucien's gaze softened as he rose and pulled the blankets over Tim's shoulder. "You may not believe in our Divines here, but I'll pray that they watch over you regardless," he whispered before blowing out the candles and leaving the room. 

There, in the dark of the room as Tim slumbered, the blue gem set in the amulet of Kynareth seemed to glow faintly. 

As he slept, the voice of the dragon that had plagued his nightmares before did not trouble him again.

Chapter Text

January 31, 20XX (time of day?)

                        Where do I even start?

Chapter Text

February 1, 20XX (morning, I think?)

Dear future self: NEVER let a future wound get that bad ever again! Healing magic in this world is a strange and wonderful thing, but the lack of pain meds that would dull the sensation of that magic "removing and rebuilding" damaged bone, muscle and other assorted tissues...

God, what I wouldn't give for some oxycodone right now...Hell, even some Motrin or Tylenol would be welcomed.

So you know that whole plan Luci and I had about dropping off the Dragonstone and then setting out for a city called Solitude?

Yeah.

It kinda blew up in my face in a huge way.

How did that timeline go again?

- Drop off Dragonstone
- Fucking dragon attacks a tower outside Whiterun
- Jarl Balgruuf "asks" me to help fight the fucking dragon
- I (a fucking dumbass) agree to his idiotic request
- Lucien (too fucking good for me - don't deserve his friendship) offers an option out so that we put half a country and a few mountain ranges between us and Whiterun instead
- I (an even bigger fucking dumbass) don't take him up on his offer (and now I know I'm going to probably regret it for the rest of my life)
- I go to fight the dragon with the Jarl's guards because I'm an idiot with obvious lack-of-self-preservation issues
- Lucien follows because damnit he's decided he's invested in me and fuck... I need to drive him away somehow. I'm going to get this poor guy killed...He doesn't deserve to get caught up in my shit.
- So we fight a dragon
- Oh, btw, dragons are sentient and intelligent and can talk and not even a fucking week in this world and I've already broken the ONE GODDAMNED RULE!

......I can't do this right now.

Chapter Text

February 2, 20XX'

The dragon is dead.

I wasn't the only one who was responsible for that. Irileth was there along with all her soldiers. They fought it too

Logically, it was either it dies or we all die. 

It... doesn't matter if the dragon was sentient or not.

It doesn't matter.

Lucien is alive.

Irileth and her men are alive.

The citizens of Whiterun never even knew they were in danger.

This was the best outcome... I think.

Unfortunately something weird happened when the dragon died. Between reliving Helgen PTSD and sepsis kicking in and having been in motion and exhausted for hours even before being dragged into a full on battle with a flying fire-breathing nightmare lizard... 

I don't trust my memories of that night.

Lucien says that after the dragon died, its body spontaneously combusted. It burst into flames and all that was left were the bones. He also said that something glowing left the dragon's bones and went... into me? Apparently there was a lot of light and wind and stuff.

I don't remember.

Lucien says that the Irileth's men, the Nordic ones anyways, started calling me "Dragonborn".

I tried to ask Lucien what that means. He says... Well.. he says he's not sure. Apparently he's not certain if what he knows as "Dragonborn" as defined by Cyrodiil's scholars is the same as how the term is defined by the Nords. While I've been sequestered in the Temple of Kynareth to recover from my infection and injuries, he's apparently been spending a lot of time with the Jarl's court wizard to try and glean information from him.

Although... He refuses to tell me anything about the Dragonborn, even the things he does know from Cyrodiil. 

Granted, I haven't been pressing him very hard for that information. The burn on my shoulder is healed now, but the one on my back was significantly worse. Danica, the head priestess here, says the infection from that burn managed to reach my spine and that is making the healing process take longer.

Even just sitting upright to write this today is exhausting.

I should just get some sleep now. Or maybe read a book. Lucien left a couple for me.

Chapter Text

February 3, 20XX

Has the family noticed I'm missing yet?

Still don't remember how I got here. Don't know if I was with Bats or Titans or on a solo mission. I tried remembering today, but all I got was a headache for my troubles. 

Was anyone there when was taken from Earth and brought here? Is anyone looking for me? Or... 

No don't go there Tim... Too early to start spiralling.

Just go back to sleep.

Chapter Text

February 4, 20XX

Good news. The pain in my back is nearly gone. Danica says after tomorrow I should be fully healed. I'm always going to have the scars from the burn, but better than being dead or crippled permanently.

The Jarl's steward Proventus came to speak with me today. He said the Jarl was requesting an audience with me once I'm cleared to leave the Temple.

I told him I'd think about it.

He wasn't happy with that answer.

Oh well. 

Irileth came by a few hours later. She asked me the same thing. At least she assured me that if I did accept the Jarl's "invitation" she would side on my behalf and discourage Balgruuf from asking me for any more "favors". 

Much to Lucien's disappointment, I agreed to see the Jarl. Once she left the Temple, I told Lucien why I agreed.

I'm pretty sure Irileth is actually not happy with the fact that Balgruuf actually owes me two "favors" due to his own impulsive requests, one for the Dragonstone and one for helping at the Watchtower battle. She strikes me as the type that doesn't want to be in debt to anyone, and she sees this audience with the Jarl as an opportunity to "balance the books" before I leave the city.

I can respect that.

While having a high-ranking official in my debt is usually a nice thing to have, I'd rather just make a clean break of any illusion of being owed anything by that damned man.

Chapter Text

In the end, it took a little over a week for Tim to be recovered enough for Danica's very high, almost Alfred-like, standards. Granted, most of that time was spent sleeping, but as the priestess of Kynareth had predicted, his fever broke completely on the fourth day. The remainder of his days and nights at the Temple consisted of mainly of lengthy sessions where Danica and her fellow priests took turns using healing spells to mend the damage to Tim's back in multiple sessions per day.

Despite the fact that the recovery from this extensive injury was taking place far quicker than if he'd been left to his own devices, or if he'd even ended up at a modern state-of-the-art hospital back home on Earth, the sessions were not painless. Though each session only lasted an hour at most, Tim was left feeling extremely sore and completely drained of any energy for hours afterwards, which he often slept away.

In the middle of a particularly rough session that was focused mainly on healing the burn and infection around his lower spine, Tim swore to himself, to Lucien, and to Danica, that he would never let himself get into such a state ever again. As explained to him by the priestess, healing magic works by repairing the damaged flesh and mending it back to where it was. For clean cuts or simple injuries like sprained/broken bones, it was a simple matter for a restorative spell to fix. It was just putting everything back into its proper place and magically stitching things together. However, in the cases of catastrophic damage like burns, infections, or other injuries that couldn't be cleanly mended, it meant the hours if not days of gradual healing because the healing magic needed to simultaneously remove the damaged/diseased tissues and replace them with healthy ones. That process was far more taxing on the body both energy-wise and pain-wise.

When Tim wasn't enduring a healing session or sleeping off the after effects, he spent a lot of time reading and studying with Lucien, so he wasn't so completely clueless about Tamriel and Nirn in general. The "selective amnesia" card only worked so well in specific instances. There was a lot of information to absorb, but Tim didn't mind.

Absorbing new information meant his mind was kept busy.

If his mind was kept busy, then it had no time to drag out the other traumatic shit that had been neatly boxed up and shoved into the furthest reaches of his memory banks.

If the traumatic shit was kept under distant lock and key, then he could sleep at night without too many nightmares waking him up every few hours.

***

Finally, five days after he first woke up in Danica's temple, the kind old priestess finished healing him and declared that he was free to leave. 

"Thank you for all your help," Tim said with genuine gratitude as he stood and and stretched leisurely, for the first time in an extremely long time, without any pain whatsoever. He marveled for a moment at the sensation of his muscles and bones moving effortlessly and without protest. If he were being truly honest with himself, it had been several months since he'd last been able to move about without any sort of lingering pain somewhere, not just the two weeks or so he'd been in Skyrim.

Healing magic was such a wonder! Why weren't there magic users in the Justice League or Titans that specialized in this field? 

Danica looked over him with a fondness that reminded him of both Alfred and Dr. Leslie Thompkins at the same time. Apparently he'd grown on her over the past week. 

"No," she said kindly as Tim was starting to take off the amulet of Kynareth to return to her. "Keep it."

"Are you sure?"

Danica nodded. "Your body still retains the permanent injury from before that makes you weak against infection and illness." Her gentle old hands readjusted the amulet and she pressed it against his chest. "Keep Divine Kynareth's blessing with you always, if not around your neck then on your person." She smiled at Tim. "Her eyes are on you, always."

Despite Tim's feelings on faith and gods, he simply smiled gratefully and nodded. "Thank you, Sister Danica." And he left the amulet alone. It wouldn't hurt to just wear it for now. The pulses of warmth from it were... comforting.

***

"Well, you're quite a different sort of figure now that you're not, y'know, flirting with death on the daily and all that," Lucien quipped with a smirk as he watched Tim walk out into the main hall of the temple. He was leaning against a pillar casually as he waited for Tim. "I daresay you could pass for an actual living, breathing human being right now."

To Lucien's obvious delight, Tim laughed with genuine amusement. "Yeah, don't get used to it," Tim chuckled. "I promise you this will last two, maybe three days at most."

"Not if I have anything to say about it," Lucien said after he took a moment to nod to Danica respectfully before addressing Tim again. "The moment we are in a carriage on the road to Solitude I'm teaching you at least two different healing spells and a several wards so we don't have a repeat of this situation ever again."

Tim's joking expression turned into something more surprised. "Wait... you can teach me actual magic?"

"What? Like it's hard? It's just a few novice Restoration spel-- OH!" Lucien cut himself off with wide eyes as he realized why Tim asked him the question he did. "Where you come from... Not everyone can learn magic?"

Tim shook his head, still processing what Lucien had said. "No... The 'mages' where I'm from are usually born with that abili-- So everyone here can learn magic? Actual magic?!"

Lucien nodded. "Well... Yes. Granted most dyed in the wool Nords are very suspicious and distrustful of magic so most don't make the attempts. However technically everyone has the capacity to learn. Men, mer, beastmen... Doesn't matter your race. Like down in Cyrodiil where I'm from... Most citizens in the major cities there learn at least a couple of basic spells to help them out with day-to-day life, though of course there are those who devote their whole lives to it and usually go to university or college to expand their horizons." He tilted his head quizzically at Tim. "Are you interested in learning?"

Staring at Lucien wide-eyed, it took a moment for Tim to recompose himself enough to respond. "If I could learn how to heal like Danica can...." he said softly as he gazed at his own empty hands. "I could help so many people... I could save lives..."

Lucien smiled at Tim. "Then before we leave Whiterun, we'll purchase a few more spell books from Farengar. Definitely in the Restoration school, and perhaps a one or two in Alteration as well. I can't teach you anything advanced, but at least I can help walk you through all the useful novice level ones."

***

The moment Tim and Lucien stepped outside the temple and into the bright sunlight, Tim was momentarily blinded. His eyes had been so used to the soft lights within the temple that daylight was almost too much for him. Once his eyes adjusted, he could see that it was a very lovely day in Whiterun, sometime in the mid-afternoon he would guess by the position of the sun in the sky. He could hear the sounds of the marketplace wafting up from the lower district, and he couldn't help but smile as several children dashed around the courtyard laughing as they were caught up in a game of tag. 

It was so nice and peaceful.

It couldn't last.

The pair was making their way past the large tree in the middle of the courtyard toward the stairs to Dragonsreach when what sounded like a crack of thunder with a word just under the deafening rumble boomed through the air. 

"DOVAHKIIN!!!"

Everything and everyone one seemed to freeze in place. The thunderous word had been so loud and so strong that it felt like a small earthquake had just rippled through the land. Nothing was damaged and no one was hurt, but everyone had frozen in place in shock and either knelt to the ground or leaned hard against whatever was nearby to keep from being topple. Tim managed to hold his balance without support while Lucien stumbled into the tree and held his position there until the echoes of the rumbling died away. 

"Goodness!" Lucien exclaimed once things had settled. Like everyone else in the courtyard, his eyes were turned upward, looking for the source of that sound.

Tim's eyes were skyward too, but his expression was not so much confusion, but concern. "There's that word again."

"Word?"

"Yeah. Under the thunder there was a word," Tim said as he moved quickly up the stairs to Dragonsreach in order to get a better view of the land and sky around Whiterun. From the top landing of the stairs, he moved just off the path to what remained of a weathered stone wall and climbed it with ease. Once at the highest point he could reach in the moment, he scanned the horizon in all directions. 

However, he could see nothing out of the ordinary. The sky was still clear without a cloud in sight, and there was no obvious dragon or any other threat that he could see. 

A minute or so later, Lucien had finally joined him at the top, though he didn't dare attempt a climb up the wall in his robes. "What word are you talking about?" Lucien asked after he caught his breath.

Tim's brow furrowed. "Doh-vah-kiin," he said carefully, "I'm sure that's the word that was in the thunder. I've... I also heard the word in my dreams while at the Temple." He crossed his arms over his chest and tilted his head thoughtfully. "At least, I thought they were dreams?"

"I... I've heard that word too."

Tim looked down to Lucien. "When?"

Lucien drew a breath, as if bracing himself for a potential bad reaction from Tim. "The night at the Watchtower," he admitted. "The dragon said it right before it fell."

The younger man's eyes widened. He felt a tightness in his chest. Carefully, Tim made his way off the wall and leaned against it for support next to Lucien, taking measured breaths. Once he felt more steady, he looked at his friend. "Do you know what that word means?

Lucien shook his head. "No. I'd never heard of it before that night. While you were at the temple, I went through Farengar's library at the castle here looking for any trace of what that word could mean in relation to the history of dragons. Unfortunately, while Farengar has a great deal of information regarding dragons, that word wasn't in anything he had on hand, at least not that I could see. 

"It's possible it's a word in the Dragon language itself. However, though there are several books shared within archeological circles dedicated to translating Dragon script, the spoken language itself has been dead for thousands of years. We can identify letters of the script and their rough translations, but likely not the correct pronunciations." 

Tim sighed. "Yeah... I understand. Back home there are several ancient languages like that too." He raked his fingers through his hair. 

Lucien glanced at the door to Dragonsreach. "You look a little shaky. Do you still want to see the Jarl?" 

Reluctantly, Tim nodded. "Yes. No point in putting this meeting off any longer. The sooner we can get this done, the sooner we can leave Whiterun in our rearview mirror."

"Rear view mirror?"

Tim glanced at Lucien's puzzled expression and chuckled softly with a shake of his head. "Ah, it's a common saying from back home. It means, we can put this place behind us, like looking in a mirror pointing backwards over our shoulder."

"Ah!" Lucien thought about it a moment and smiled back. "That's rather clever! Well, in that case, let's get this over with then," he said as he motioned for Tim to lead the way to Dragonsreach.

Chapter Text

When Tim and Lucien made their way into Dragonsreach's throne room, they could hear, even from the front doors, that Jarl Balgruuf was already in a loud, animated discussion between his steward Proventus and a different guard. This one was male and had very striking facepaint. Tim frowned. Irileth was nowhere in sight. 

Swell.

"Good. You're finally here." Proventus said. "The Jarl's been waiting for you."

The new armed guard on the Jarl's left hand agreed. "We were just talking about you. My brother needs a word with you."

A quick glance back confirmed Lucien had decided to hang back by a couple of yards, but his own hooded face was lined with a subtle scowl since he didn't see Irileth either. Then Tim paused at the foot of the stairs leading to the throne and bowed respectfully to the Jarl. 

Jarl Balgruuf looked at Tim appraisingly. It made Tim uneasy. "Irileth informed me of the dragon's death at the Watchtower, but she mentioned something... strange that happened there." The Nordic ruler narrowed his eyes at the younger man. "I'd like to hear your perspective on the events."

Tim slipped on his best Wayne mask, the one he normally reserved for dealing with Lex Luthor company executives whenever any decided to visit Gotham and Wayne Enterprises. He was nothing but professional as he spoke. "I wish I could give you my perspective, my Jarl," he said politely. "Unfortunately due to my illness and injuries, I wasn't in the right state of mind to remember much of that night. I do know that there are accounts from others who were there when the dragon died that I appeared to absorb 'something' from it." He shook his head. "What that 'something' was, I couldn't even fathom how to describe it with any accuracy from second-hand accounts. The most I can offer is that I've heard the word 'Dragonborn' used in conjunction with the events. I am sorry I can't offer more clarity than that."

Balgruuf stroked his beard thoughtfully. "If Irileth's men, honest Nords to a man, who were there that night and witnessed the miracle, are calling you 'Dragonborn', then it makes sense that the Greybeards have sent out a summons for you now. You must be Dragonborn."

Tim felt a lump rise to his throat, but he swallowed it down and clung to his "mask" like a second skin. "Who are these Greybeards, and why would they want to summon me?"

"They are masters of the Way of the Voice," Balgruuf started as one of his servants brought him a drink. He took one silver goblet and waved the rest away. "They live in seclusion high on the slopes of the Throat of the Word." He took a long draught before continuing. "The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the Voice - the ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um, or a Shout. If you really are Dragonborn, they can teach you how to use your gift."

The servant girl offered Tim a drink, but he waved her away politely as he kept his focus on Balgruuf even as the left-hand guard began to address him.

"Didn't you hear the thundering sound as you came to Dragonsreach?! That was the voice of the Greybeards," the man in the dark armor said with absolute self-certainty. "Summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in... centuries, at least. Not since Tiber Septim himself was summoned when he was still Talos of Atmora!"

If the guard was going to say anything else, he was cut off by Proventus "Hrongar, calm yourself. What does any of this Nord nonsense have to do with our friend here?"

As Proventus triggered a heated argument with who Tim now knew as Hrongar, the Jarl's brother, he took the moment to take a breath and absorb what had just been said. He swallowed the desire to include his own frustrated voice to the squabbling between Proventus and Hrongar, but held his tongue. Instead, he let Balgruuf finally break the argument up before speaking up again.

"What do these Greybeards want with me?" Tim asked.

Balgruuf shook his head. "That's the Greybeards' business not ours," he said with almost an apologetic tone. "Whatever happened when that dragon was killed, it revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it." The Jarl met and held Tim's gaze solemnly. "If they think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue?" Then he broke off the gaze and sighed. "You'd better get up to High Hrothgar as soon as possible. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards. It's a tremendous honor."

As the Jarl mused wistfully, something about envying Tim about his upcoming 'pilgrimage' and waxing nostalgic about the peacefulness of the Graybeard's high altitude monastery, inwardly Tim was trying and failing to wrap his head around this entire situation. How had things escalated so damned fast and in such a completely insane direction?! He wasn't whatever they thought this "Dragonborn" was! He couldn't be! He was just a human vigilante from Gotham. He wasn't a metahuman. He wasn't descended from magic or an alien from Mars or Krypton. He was just a rich kid from Jersey for Christ's sake!

There was a subtle shift in the Jarl's voice and Tim's attention jerked back to the man on the throne. "You've done a great service for me and my city, Dragonborn."

"Oh crap!" Tim thought silently with a faint edge of alarm, though his face betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. "He's referring to me as 'Dragonborn" like it's replaced my name. This can't be good."

"By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun. It's the greatest honor that's within my power to grant."

"Wait-- What?!" Tim's mask slipped as he blinked in surprise and stared at the Jarl with blatant bewilderment.  He was momentarily distracted by the fact that Proventus had walked up to him bearing a large parcel that was wrapped with what looked like a cloak bearing the crest of Whiterun, an image of a horse's head in profile. "Oh, no, no, nonono..." Unconsciously Tim took a step away from Proventus.

Despite the young man's obvious confusion, Balgruuf pressed onward, not caring in the least about Tim's visible discomfort. "I also assign you Lydia as a personal Housecarl, and this weapon from my armory to serve as your badge of office."

"Now one moment--" Tim tried to interrupt, even as the Jarl's brother Hrongar was attempting to offer him what looked like a very ornate greatsword that was nearly as long as Tim was tall. He tried to wave the sword and the parcel away, but thankfully Lucien came up and accepted both on Tim's behalf, looking about as startled as his friend was feeling. Lucien shrugged his shoulders apologetically at Tim. He had no clue what was going on either in that moment. 

Tim held both hands up as if surrendering to Balgruuf, if only to just make him stop talking for the moment. "I... appreciate all of this. You have shown me a great deal of generosity, Jarl Balgruuf, and I thank you from the bottom of my heart... but..." Then Tim caught sight, out of the corner of his eyes, a heavily armed woman with a sword and shield coming into view. He focused on that for the moment. "I don't even have a house in the area to have a 'housecarl' in," he argued. "You don't need to give me one of your soldiers."

"That's easy enough to fix."

Tim felt the blood drain from his face. "Oh sweet fucking Jesus," he thought to himself with dismay.

"Proventus," Balgruuf said. "Didn't you mention that there is a house that is currently vacant in the Plains District the other day?"

Tim tried to open his mouth to protest again in a vain attempt to derail the Jarl's obvious train of thought. However, thankfully, another strong voice spoke up loud and clear.

"That won't be necessary, my Jarl!" 

Tim almost sagged in relief as the main doors to Dragonsreach flew open and Irileth marched herself into the great hall with calm unwavering authority. 

"My apologies for being late," she said as she bowed respectfully to the Jarl. "But there was a disturbance being caused at the city gates by a couple of Redguard men I needed to attend to." Then she glanced at Tim and Lucien, taking a moment to look over the things that had been handed to Lucien with a subtle frown, before turning her full attention back to the Jarl. "And there won't be a need for your new Thane to purchase a home within the city walls. Timothy and I spoke the other day at the Temple about his favorite areas in the Hold..."

Tim glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, repressing his new confusion as best he could. They never spoke about any "favorite areas" the other day when she visited him at the Temple. She just asked him to come to this meeting with the Jarl and left when he agreed. Then, as she continued her "suggestion", he realized what she was doing.

"...He mentioned having a fondness for Riverwood. The people there were kind to him after surviving Helgen, and he spoke with me at length about how much he was looking forward to taking in some of the hunting in that area once he leaves the city. I believe Gerdur's husband mentioned that they have an old house that's been vacant for years in the village during his most recent delivery of lumber." She gave Tim a knowing look. "It would take a number of weeks to bring it up to livable conditions, but considering our Thane is going to make a pilgrimage to High Hrothgar upon leaving the city, his new housecarl will have plenty time to make that happen.

Balgruuf regarded Irileth thoughtfully, then he smiled at Tim. "Yes, I can see why Riverwood would be such an appealing place for a young man such as yourself. In my youth, when my father was still Jarl, I remember relishing the freedom to roam those forests during hunts with my old friends Kodlak, Olfrid, and Eorlund. It's not a luxury I can afford myself these days, but I cherish the memories." He turned to Irileth. "Please send a missive to Gerdur. Let her know that our new Thane has chosen her village as his home whenever he is in the Hold, and send Lydia to see about starting preparations to make the vacant house ready for use by the time he returns. 

Irileth nodded respectfully. "Yes my Jarl."

Tim marveled at how smoothly the dark elf routed the Jarl. She couldn't stop him from offering Tim a piece of property in Whiterun, but at least she was able to put a solid day's travel distance between that potential "home" and Dragonsreach, as well as make it expected that it would be weeks, at least, before he would be able to spend any significant time there.

Balgruuf then regarded Timothy. "We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn. May the Divines watch over your journey to High Hrothgar." Then he turned to his steward. "Back to business Proventus. We still have a city to defend."

***

Once dismissed from the court, Tim and Lucien were led out of Dragonsreach by Irileth, under the excuse that she was going to help prepare him for his journey to High Hrothgar, since neither he nor Lucien had ever been to that part of Skyrim. 

As soon as the heavy wooden doors to Dragonsreach were slammed shut behind them, and the trio had put decent amount of distance between themselves and any nearby guards, Tim turned to look at Lucien and Irileth. "Ok... Can someone please explain to me what the hell just happened in there?!"

Chapter Text

It was almost funny. 

Even when he was constantly suffering from his burns shortly after Helgen, Tim had been reluctant to indulge in any of the local meads, ales, or wines offered at the taverns both in Riverwood and Whiterun. He knew he was just barely eighteen and not the legal age of consumption back home. When he drank any of the alcoholic beverages, it was due to the fact that the taverns had practically nothing else to drink and he honestly questioned the quality of some of the water he was offered. 

Now, about two weeks since Helgen and after that "meeting" with the Jarl, there was no hesitation as Tim took the first goblet of wine the waitress Saadia offered when he, Lucien, and Irileth entered The Bannered Mare. He snagged the goblet and accompanying bottle so smoothly that Saadia almost didn't notice it was gone until the clink of Septims replaced their spots on her metal serving tray. By the time she'd realized the exchange had been made, Tim was already halfway across the room, had poured out his first glass, and was tipping it to his mouth.. 

"Hey--" the dark skinned Redguard woman started to protest, but Lucien stepped in her way and offered a pained smile. 

"Sorry about my friend," he said as he took the other two empty goblets and dropped a few more coins on her tray. "But we really need that bottle right now." 

"Hulda," Irileth addressed the woman behind the bar. "I'm renting the room upstairs for them tonight. Any more food and drink they consume can go on my personal tab. We're not to be disturbed."

Hulda, the tavern's owner, nodded respectfully. "As you wish, Housecarl."

Irileth motioned for Timothy and Lucien to head up the stairs ahead of her before following behind. Once they were in the room, the Dunmer woman sighed with exasperation. "Well that all happened."

Tim had just finished filling Lucien's goblet and offered to pour one for Irileth. She looked like she wanted to decline initially, but then relented and accepted. 

Lucien swirled the dark red liquid in his goblet. "So... I suppose a toast to our new Thane is in order," he said sardonically as he raised the goblet in Tim's general direction. 

Tim rolled his eyes. "Don't you start," he complained irritably. "I still don't know what that means."

"It means the Jarl of Whiterun has given you, a perfect stranger and rumored mythical figure, a honorary noble title, along with all the power and influence behind it, with the same amount of impulse and foresight as those earlier assignments that nearly took your life," Irileth grumbled.

"The amounts of which were entirely too much of the former and not enough of the latter?" Lucien added with a sarcastic lilt to this voice

Irileth sighed at the scholar, but didn't dispute his claims.

"Why did Jarl Balgruuf give me this title in the first place?" Tim asked wearily. "I didn't do anything to deserve a reward this valuable. I feel like it's put me in the Jarl's debt!"

Irileth took a sip from her goblet and sighed. "He made you Thane not because of what you did, but who you are. Rest assured you are not in debt to him or Whiterun."

She leaned against the wall and continued her explanation. "The Jarl, Proventus, and I had spoken at length about appropriate compensation for your work and the pain and suffering you endured because of what you had been asked to do while you were healing at the Temple." She pointed at the cloak-wrapped bundle. "That along with a generous purse of Septims and a choice of a new weapon from the finest pieces Warmaiden's has to offer was to be the original compensation." 

Curiously, Tim set down his goblet so he could unwrap the parcel. His eyes lit up at the new full suit of leather armor folded neatly in front of him. He unfolded just the jacket and studied it appreciatively, leaving the pants, boots, and gloves on the table. The leather was dark brown, high quality from the feel of it, and was reinforced in strategic areas both for added protection and warmth without sacrificing range of movement. It sported a high double-folded collar that would better protect his neck and metal spaulders that would do the same for his upper arms and shoulder joints. 

"This, with the gold and the new weapon, would've been just fine with me," Tim agreed as he set the jacket down on the back of the nearby chair. "Why did the Jarl change everything at the last minute?"

"Is it because of the Greybeards and their 'summons' today?" Lucien asked.

The Dunmer nodded. "Place yourselves on the Jarl's throne. The first Dragonborn acknowledged and summoned by the Greybeards since Tiber Septim during the Second Era is witnessed in Whiterun Hold. This should have been an event of great distinction for the Jarl and his city. Unfortunately. because of his impulsive decisions earlier, that first new Dragonborn to be acknowledged in over one thousand years nearly died before he could fulfill whatever destiny the gods have in store for him." 

Tim didn't know who this Tiber Septim was, but based on the way Irileth spoke of him and the way Lucien seemed to sit up and take notice made it seem like he had another important historic figure to research as soon as he could. 

Irileth looked at Tim. "After the Watchtower battle and you were sequestered at the Temple for healing, the rumors of you being Dragonborn spread like wildfire throughout the city. Some believed immediately while others were quite skeptical. However, I was in the Plains District today when the Greybeards sent their summons." She shook her head. "As soon as that summons went out, those Nords who had been skeptical turned to believers.

"So" Lucien murmured. "Basically this whole overblown escalation of Timothy's compensation by the Jarl was essentially damage control because his actions nearly killed this Era's potential new Dragonborn. Balgruuf felt the need to immediately acknowledge and elevate Timothy's standing to show his appreciation, both to stay in good favor with his citizens and with the Divines."

"I think I can understand the need to appease his citizens, but why the Divines?" Tim asked curiously.

Lucien continued. "Well, the only way a new Dragonborn can exist in this Era at all at this point is if they were chosen and blessed by the Divines themselves. The Septim Dragonborn dynasty was extinguished in the Third Era. Some might interpret this to mean the Dragonborn themselves is a rare gift from the Divines to the world. To even inadvertently cause grave injury to the Dragonborn without adequate recompense could be seen as rejecting their gift and insulting the Gods."

Tim sighed. The more he heard about this title "Dragonborn" in connection to him, the more it felt like a heavy albatross slung around his neck. The idea that some "god" had kidnapped him from Earth just to be a "divine gift" for an alien world made his skin crawl. 

It made him feel less than human.

He shook his head to shove those thoughts back into a dark corner of his mind to be nightmare fuel for another night. "Well, what's done is done," Tim muttered.  "I don't know if I'm this Dragonborn thing everyone says I am. However, I do know I'm now a Thane, for whatever it's worth, and I've been 'summoned' by someone powerful enough to trigger small earthquakes by yelling for me, so I probably shouldn't keep them waiting." In an effort to turn the page on this day's events, he went to his backpack and pulled out his map of Skyrim before looking to Irileth. "Since I don't seem to have much of a choice in the matter, can you show us the best way to High Hrothgar?"

After getting all the information they can to prepare from Irileth, the Dunmer returns to Dragonsreach. Lucien leaves to start purchasing supplies, and Tim changes into his new gifted armor from the Jarl before heading down into the tavern for food and to write in his journal.

Chapter Text

February 5, 20XX

Well... shit.

Apparently I'm the "chosen one" in a Tolkien-hell fantasy isekai story.

Steph and/or Jason would be laughing their ass off if they could see me now. Actually, add Cassie, Kon, and Bart to that list too.

Ok. So the natives around here believe that I have the ability to absorb the souls of dragons. They are calling me "Dragonborn" and it seems to be an extremely big deal around here. They say I ought to be able to "Shout" or use something called the "Thoom"(sp?)... It's some form of magic that only dragons, Dragonborns, and certain people who are trained in the skill can do.

I'm not sure abut this Shouting thing. I don't think I did anything of the sort while I was at the watchtower battle? Then again my memories are still really fuzzy about that night. Lucien didn't mention it, though.

Anyways... Jarl Balgruuf says I've been summoned by the Greybeards. They're monks who live in some monastery up on the top of a mountain that's called The Throat of the World. 

On the one hand, it's at least several days travel on foot away from Whiterun, not counting the trek up the mountain itself, which I've been told consists of at least 7000 steps. (UGH!)

On the other hand... while it's really tempting to just ignore this "summons" and go to Solitude with Lucien, I don't like the idea of something "changed" within me that I can't comprehend. 

> What is Shouting?

> Why did I absorb a dragon's soul (if that's what really happened)?

> Are there any other side-effects I need to worry about? 

> If I am "Dragonborn", does this make me a meta-human now?

I hate this.

All I want to do is find a way back home, but it feels like every step I'm taking is leading me further and further away from Gotham. It's already been at least two weeks now. 

Why is this happening to me?

Chapter Text

The sun was just cresting over the horizon as Tim and Lucien made their way past the outer walls of Whiterun. Despite himself, Tim paused as they reached the stables to look back at the city, trying to commit what he saw to memory. Who knew when, if ever, he'd return to this place? He may not be very fond of the leadership of this place, but the citizens he'd interacted with seemed to be good, generous, hardworking people. If it wasn't for them, especially Irileth and Danica, he'd probably be dead.

"What do you mean, you can't take us to Iverstead?"

Tim turned his attention to the conversation taking place between Lucien and the carriage driver.

"Is something wrong?" he asked as he walked up to the pair.

Lucien sighed. "Apparently this carriage has already been commandeered by Honningbrew Meadery to take a large shipment of mead up to Windhelm, so we can't hire him to take us to Ivarstead."

"I'm sorry," the Nordic man said regretfully. "If I were to take you Ivarstead, it would delay my shipment to Windhelm by a couple of days, and transporting this quantity of mead is riskier the longer I'm on the road due to the bandits."

"Hmmm," Tim murmured as he pulled out his map and studied the space between Whiterun, Ivarstead, and Windhelm. "Well, could you at least take us halfway?" he asked as he showed the map to the carriage man and Lucien. "Just take us to where the road forks off here." He shrugged at Lucien. "We'll have to make the rest of the trip to Ivarstead on foot, but at least we're not walking the entire way."

"That shouldn't be a problem," the Nord said with an agreeable nod. "and I'll only charge you half the usual fee since I'm only taking you halfway."

Lucien sighed again. "I suppose it can't be helped. At least we can follow the river to the town from there and don't have to worry about getting lost in the wilderness." He regarded the map critically. "We may have to camp for a couple of nights though. Do we have the supplies for that?"

Tim nodded. "Hope for the best, prepare for the worst," he replied. "I got enough supplies I think we'll be ok for a straight week of camping. Especially if we follow the river, we won't have to worry about water, and we can hunt or fish for food if rations get low."

"Salmon are starting to make their migration runs to their spawning grounds this time of year," the carriage man offered. He inclined his head toward Tim's bow. "If you've got decent aim with that, catching fish with it won't be a problem along the Darkwater River. You will have to be careful of bears, though. Also, make sure you have a strong line tied to the arrow shaft when fishing. Because of the spring melt off from the mountains, the rivers are running deeper and faster and will send your catch downriver before you can blink."

"Alright," Tim said with as he folded his map back up. "We've got a plan. How soon can we leave?" 

"As soon as you fellas hop into the cart, we can be off."

The carriage driver's name is Bjorlam, and for the first part of the morning the ride is pleasant enough. Riding on the cart is definitely faster than walking the path on foot, but still slower than Tim is used to back on Earth, which is frustrating. He wished they could afford to purchase horses so they could travel at a faster pace. However, the stables back at Whiterun wouldn't sell for anything less than one thousand Septims apiece. So for the first hour that morning, Tim sat brooding as he watched the landscape pass by.

At least until Lucien pulls out a book and taps Tim's knee with it.

"What's this?" Tim asks as he takes the thin book and examines the cover. The leather is dyed yellow and has what appears to a bird symbol stitched on the front.

"It's a book on novice Restoration spells," Lucien explained.

Tim looked at Lucien with surprise. "You want to start teaching me magic now?"

"Why not? Didn't I say back in Whiterun that I was going to teach you? Besides, we've got scads of time to kill."

Tim's heartbeat quickened a bit and any boredom and frustration he had been entertaining was immediately forgotten. He listened intently as Lucien started to explain basic spell theory and Magicka.

It was a few hours past sunrise and while Tim had no problem absorbing the more technical explanations of spellcasting that came from the book and Lucien's own clarifications, actually tapping into Tim's own pool of Magicka in order to bring the basic healing spell into existence had been a far greater challenge. Lucien was starting to be concerned that perhaps Tim just didn't have access to Magicka, being from another world and all. It had been frustrating for the both of them. For Lucien, accessing Magicka was something innate and natural, like breathing or blinking. He never had to try and explain "how" to tap into it to someone who was completely unaware of its existence until recently. Mentally, the scholar likened it to trying to teach a fish how to drink water while they were swimming in a pond.

Then, the young man had suggested something that Lucien had never heard of before.

"What is 'meditation'?"

Tim had shifted to sit on the floor of the cart, so he could adjust his posture into a cross-legged seated position that Lucien found curious. "It's a little hard to explain," he said with a slight frown. "It's a kind of mental training... Limiting distractions... Focusing inward... Maybe... If I can just clear my mind and adjust my awareness I can find this Magicka pool you say I should have?"

So Lucien watched as Tim adjusted his hands into very specific poses before resting them on his knees, closed his eyes, and breathed in and out with slow measured breaths. He watched as Tim's face relaxed into an expression of quiet concentration. After a bit, Lucien wondered if perhaps Tim had fallen asleep, but the fact that the young man kept his posture intact, even to the precise position of the tips of his thumbs resting against the tips of his ring and pinky fingers while his other two fingers were extended reassured the scholar that more than just slumber was taking place.

For about an hour, it was quiet and peaceful in the cart. While Tim meditated, Lucien had pulled out a different Restoration spellbook to study, this one containing Apprentice level healing spells. Healing Hands was a slightly more complex spell since it was used to heal other people, not just the caster, but it was not beyond Lucien's grasp as a mage. However, out of the corner of his eyes, a movement broke his own concentration. 

Timothy's posture had changed. While his left hand was still resting on his knee, his right hand was slowly rising upward and towards his chest, fingers still held in the same position though his first two fingers were now pointing upward. His eyes were still closed, though his brows were furrowed slightly. Then his right hand shifted. His ring and pinky fingers stretched to join their brothers, and then his hand went through a motion as if scooping something gently from the air in front of him, curling his fingers around something intangible. Lucien's eyes widened as slender tendrils of light began to swirl around Tim's hand. Then, when Tim opened his hand, those tendrils coalesced into a small glowing sphere of golden light.

"Oh my..." Lucien whispered as a smile formed on his lips. "You did it!"

Slowly, Tim's eyes opened. His gaze seemed distant at first, but soon he focused wide-eyed at the golden spell cradled in his right hand.

"Wow," Tim breathed out in awe. "It's like holding a star." He brought his other hand up and brushed his fingertips along the outer edges of the spell, watching as small embers of light broke off from the main sphere to chase after them.

"So, you can access your Magicka now?"

Tim nodded. "I think so. It's... different. Definitely not intuitive like you describe it. It's kinda like flexing a muscle I never knew I had. I have to make a conscious effort to tap this... energy." 

He furrowed his brow in concentration again and actively channeled energy into the spell. Larger golden tendrils of light swirled around him for a few seconds, and he could feel a comforting warmth coursing through his veins. But before too long those tendrils disappeared and the light of the spell in Tim's hand winked out suddenly. He winced as a slight headache twinged behind his eyes.

"Ow..."

Lucien watched this with great curiosity, wincing along with him in sympathy as he immediately recognized the sign of Tim expending all the Magicka at his disposal. "Interesting... It appears your Magicka pool might be quite small at this point even compared to novice mages just starting out." He fidgeted thoughtfully with his beard. "I wonder if the reason your pool is smaller than normal is because you aren't from this world to begin with?"

"That might make sense," Tim said as he tried to massage away the remains of the headache. "Theoretically, if Magicka is something heavily present in the environment here, like in the air you breathe or the food and water you eat, native people would be passively absorbing Magicka since the day they were born. Since I'm not from here, I've only been taking in Magicka for a few weeks at most, so I'm starting at a disadvantage." Tim couldn't help the edge of disappointment to his voice.

Lucien smiled reassuringly at him, though. "Well, fortunately with time and practice, that shouldn't be the case for long. It's a known phenomenon that the more spells a mage learns and practices the larger their natural pool of Magicka grows. There are also potions and enchantments that can be used to artificially boost a mage's mana pool as well."

Tim smiled a little. "So it is like exercising a muscle. That's good to know." 

"Indeed," Lucien agreed with a nod. "Let's have you rest for a bit, and then you can check your Magicka pool to see if there's enough to practice with later."

The sun was halfway across the sky when unexpectedly their carriage came to a halt.

"Damn it," the carriage driver cursed.

"What's going on, Bjorlam?" Lucien asked.

The Nord shook his head. "The damned bandits are still occupying the Valtheim Towers," he spat out in frustration as he pointed to the two stone towers coming up ahead with a bridge that spanned the river. "Last time I came by here, the bandits demanded a one hundred Septim 'toll' for me to pass without getting mugged. I'd hoped by now Whiterun's guards would've run these bastards off, but I guess they haven't made it this far east yet. The moment those thieves see all the mead I have, they'll demand that along with the Septims." Bjorlam sighed. "I'm sorry fellas, but I think I might not have a choice but to turn back to Whiterun to fetch the guards or hire one or two of the Companions."

"What?" Lucien squawked. "No! We can't go back now! It took half a day just to get this far!"

As Lucien argued with Bjorlam, Tim was peering at the towers and bridge between them. "One... Four... Six..." He squinted "Maybe seven?"

At that, Lucien and Bjorlam had stopped arguing and had turned their attention onto him, the carriage driver with confusion and the scholar with a frown. 

"Seven what?" Lucien asked Tim suspiciously.

"Bandits, of course," Tim replied as he checked to make sure he had some potions in his belt pouches and added a few metal throwing stars he'd had the blacksmith in Whiterun make for him before they left the city to a simple leather holster that was strapped to his right thigh.

"Wait... You're not going to--"

Tim had grabbed his new metal quarterstaff and hopped off the back of the cart. "I needed to stretch my legs anyways. Might as well clear out the garbage while I'm at it." He looked to other two men. "Why don't you both stay here? I'll wave you over once I've cleared them out."

Bjorlam looked at him like he was crazy, and Lucien's expression was laced with concern. "Are you sure, Tim? I can come along to help."

Tim shook his head. "I feel better than I have in months and honestly I need to figure out where my baseline is now that I'm healthy. This is the perfect chance."

"Your baseline?"

Tim's smiled in a coy way before he started making his way to the Towers on foot. 

Ten minutes later, Lucien and Bjorlam were watching with amazement as commotion erupted at the Tower. Tim had quickly taken out the three bandits that had been guarding the first tower and was now making his way across the bridge towards the second. Though some of the bandits in the other tower tried to snipe him with arrows from the other side, Tim managed to either deflect those arrows with spins from his quarterstaff or dodged them with effortless grace even as he attacked the two bandits that were in the middle of the bridge. The bandits on the bridge seemed utterly outclassed, and frankly Tim seemed to be toying with them before he sent them flying down to the waters of the river below with a few well placed blows and kicks. The moment he was close enough to the second tower, the young man sent two of his new throwing stars flying at the remaining bandits. One bandit got tagged by the sharp metal star on the back of his hand and howled in pain before he could send another arrow flying. The other had the string to his bow sliced through, rendering it absolutely useless. They both stared at Tim warily.

"Okay fellas! This is going to end one of two ways!" Tim yelled at them warningly. "Either you two take a dive--" he pointed to the river with his staff. "--Or I am coming over there to beat you down and throw you in! Either way, you're both going for swims. Which is it going to be?!"

One of the bandits decided to take his chances. They pulled a sword out and tried to rush Tim while he was still on the bridge. Unfortunately for then, Tim could see the attack coming a mile away and the smile that lit up his face was practically feral. "The fun way it is then," he muttered as he held his staff in a ready position.

He let the bandit get close enough to try and get a swing on him. Unfortunately for the bandit, Tim's reach and momentum with the metal staff was far greater than the sword. Tim met the bandit's sword with a downward swing of his staff. The sword was immediately parried with enough force to disarm the attacker completely and the unfortunate bandit found the end of Tim's staff was aimed squarely at his face. A quick thrust forward was all it took for Tim to knock the man off balance, and a flashy flying tornado kick sent the bandit completely off the bridge before he even realized what was going on. 

Once that bandit was in the river, Tim looked pointedly at the last one standing. Wisely, the final bandit decided to take the dive himself.

As soon as Tim was certain the towers were cleared, he stood there on the bridge in a bit of a daze. That fight was child's play compared to what he used to deal with back in Gotham. The bandits were clearly not skilled fighters, firearms were not a threat he had to worry about in this place, and bad luck for them he was completely healthy to boot. All in all it was a pretty fun exercise for him. 

But still... something about that fight and its aftermath felt odd to him, like something more was out of place or forgotten. He didn't realize it until he lifted a hand to wipe the sweat from his brow. Then the thought struck him out of the blue, and he froze. 

He wasn't wearing a mask.

Here he was in this strange world. He was fighting with all the skills and strengths he had developed as a child soldier of Gotham, first as Robin, then Red Robin. 

However, Timothy Drake-Wayne wasn't supposed to be a fighter. He name and face was that of a teenager from a wealthy set of families. A child of privilege and influence. Tapped to lead the family business, even ahead of his older adopted siblings and the younger biological son of his father. His civilian identity was supposed to be a separate person from his vigilante one. Never were the two supposed to intersect.

And yet, at an intersection is where he found himself. Tim's civilian name and face had collided with his vigilante identity, strengths and skills. Even if he had a mask to wear, there was no real reason to do so here. But he still had to fight, both to survive and to safeguard those under his protection in the moment, he realized as he watched the carriage with Lucien approach the towers.

And on top of that he was now learning magic as well as trying to find answers to this whole Dragonborn mystery that was swirling around him. 

Who was he now?

"That was amazing to behold!" the carriage man said as Tim emerged from the first tower, a satchel full of recovered valuables from the bandits stash slung over his shoulder. "The way you took out all those bandits, just on your own! I've never seen anyone fight like that before!" 

The Nord's smile grew even wider as Tim handed him a bag of Septims. "There's probably a bit more than a hundred Septims here, but you don't mind, right?" Tim smiled and graciously accepted Bjorlam's profuse thanks.

"Are you alright?" Lucien asked Tim made his way to the back of the cart.

Tim nodded. "Yeah. I think so." He hopped in and settled in before Bjorlam set the cart in motion again.

"While it was amazing to see you fighting in peak condition, I couldn't help but notice you seem a little troubled after it was all said and done," Lucien observed. "Did something happen at the towers we weren't able to see?"

"No," Tim said with a dismissive shrug. "Just thought of a question I don't have any answers to yet."

"Anything I can help with?"

Tim smiled and deflected. "Actually, I think I banged up my knuckles a bit on those bandits. Might be the perfect chance to practice that healing spell. Can you show me again how to cast it?"

Lucien shook his head with a sigh. "Sure. Let's take it from top."

Chapter Text

After taking care of the bandits at the two towers, the rest of the ride to the crossroads went fairly smoothly. Lucien taught Tim a couple more useful novice spells, including a lesser ward for protection against enemy magic spells and a wild healing spell that would heal both himself another nearby person. Unfortunately he didn't have enough Magicka to learn how to use the healing hands spell yet, but with enough practice and time Tim knew he would.

By the time the afternoon had grown quite late, their carriage had reached the crossroads and it was time to disembark. 

"Thanks again for the help with the bandits and getting my money back from them," Bjorlam said from the carriage as Tim and Lucien disembarked. "I really wish I could take you directly to Ivarstead. Next time we cross paths, if you need a lift, I'll take you wherever you want free of charge." Then, with a wave, the horse and carriage were heading up the northbound path.

"So," Lucien started as he glanced at the signpost in front of them and zeroed in on the one pointing the direction of Ivarstead. "Shall we put in an hour or two of walking before setting up camp for the night?"

Tim studied the sky. Now that they had replaced wide open fields for more heavily wooded mountainous terrain it was harder to gauge the time and to see how close the sun was to the horizon. "I don't think so," he mused aloud. "I think it's actually pretty late in the afternoon, and we should use what's left of the daylight to find a safe spot to set up camp before it gets dark."

The pair of them ultimately set up camp just a little ways off the main road closer to the river's edge. By the time the sun had set, their tent was set up, a stew made of dried meats and vegetables was simmering in a pot by the fire, and both Tim and Lucien were reading and discussing a book that the Court Wizard Farengar had gifted to Tim before they left Whiterun.

The black leather-bound tome was called "The Book of the Dragonborn" and had been written sometime in the Third Era. It had a fair bit of information about the term "Dragonborn" and it's history both with the Emperors of Cyrodiil as well as with the Nords of Skyrim.

"So once upon a time all the Emperors of your homeland used to be Dragonborn?" Tim asked curiously as he gave the pot one final stir.

"That was always thought to be one of the hard requirements to be a true legitimate emperor of Cyrodiil," Lucien replied as he watched Tim place some of stew into a bowl. "St. Alessia's descendants were the first Dragonborn Dynasty. Once her line died off, then a new Dragonborn named Reman Cyrodiil rose up, became Emperor, and started his own Reman Dynasty. After that, during the Third Era, it was Tiber Septim, known as Talos Stormcrown by the Nords, who was identified as Dragonborn and started the Septim Dynasty, before that line too died off during the Oblivion Crisis. There hasn't been a Dragonborn identified since then... well... not until possibly you." He took the bowl Tim offered with a grin. "Who knows, I could be here dining under the stars with the next future Emperor of Cyrodiil?"

Tim had just grasped his own bowl, but froze the moment those words left Lucien's mouth. He stared at the scholar wide-eyed before shaking his head slightly. "Don't even joke about something like that," he said uneasily. "I can't be... No... Just no." After taking a seat next to Lucien, Tim glanced at open book that had been resting on a flat stone between them and flipped a few pages over until he was past the portions about Cyrodilic Emperors. The very thought of something like that happening made Tim's skin crawl.

Thankfully, Lucien didn't press the subject and instead started eating. As he ate, he read over the page Tim had flipped to and raised his eyebrows curiously. "Hm. That's interesting."

"What is?"

"There appears to be mention of some sort of prophecy regarding someone referred to as the 'Last Dragonborn'." Lucien pointed with his spoon at the passage that caught his eyes. 

Tim placed his own bowl down and picked up the book to angle it better to read in the firelight. He read the passage out loud.

"When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world

"When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped

"When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles

"When the Dragonborn ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls

"When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding

"The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn."

Tim looked up to Lucien. "Does any of that make any sense to you?"

"Maybe?" Lucien said hesitantly. "If we were at the museum I could probably figure out most of those references. However, the fourth line about the Dragonborn ruler losing their throne has to be about the end of the Septim line in the third era. And the bit about the White Tower falling... That's obvious enough to me because it's talking about the end of the Great War that happened in Cyrodiil about twenty-five years ago. The Imperial City was sacked by armies from the Aldmeri Dominion, which is led by an Elven Supremacist faction called the Thalmor. The White Tower must be referring to the White-Gold Tower, which served as the royal palace and was damaged during the war." At the mention of the Thalmor, Lucien grimaced. 

"What are the Thalmor?"

"They're a faction of elves, primarily Altmer from the Summerset Isles, who believe that the races of Mer have supremacy over the races of Men. The faction had been expanding their influence through invasion of other lands for years. The Great War is when they attempted to do the same with Cyrodiil and the Empire." 

Then Lucien sighed. "The Great War only ended with what is called the White-Gold Concordat. It was a 'peace treaty' that allowed the Empire to continue overall rule and ended the war, but essentially ceded a great deal of money, land, and influence over the government to the Thalmor and the Aldmeri Dominion."

Tim absorbed all this with a grim expression. "We had something like this happen in my own world's history," he admitted. "Two world wars that took place in the last century, instigated by racial supremacists." He shook his head. 

"Were they victorious or were they defeated?" Lucien asked curiously.

"Oh they were defeated, but the costs of the wars, especially the second one, were very, very high."

The pair were quiet for a long moment. Then Lucien broke the silence. "Timothy... I know you are a good young man and hate to see any injustice. But please promise me that you won't throw yourself into any conflicts with the Thalmor."

When Tim looked like he wanted to argue, Lucien raised his hand. "The Thalmor's forces are not like bandits. They're not like the soldiers of the Legion or the Stormcloaks either. Even their lowest ranked foot soldiers are made of elves who wield powerful spells as well as blades, and you have no defense against magic. If you fight them, in your current state, they will kill you or worse."

Tim opened his mouth as if to say something, but closed it without uttering a word for a moment. Then he sighed with a resigned expression. "So what should i look out for? What do they look like so I know who to avoid?"

"Their rank and file soldiers wear a light armor made of a gold colored metal. Their more powerful higher ranked wizards wear black hooded robes with silver or gold trim."

Tim nodded. Then he looked at Lucien. "Y'know, while we're on the topic, who are the other races of men and 'mer' I should know about?"

Lucien smiled a little, obviously happier to leave the topic of the Thalmor behind them. "Well, let's start off with one I know you haven't met yet called the Khajiit. They are quite a fascinating people..."

Chapter Text

February 8, 20XX (late night/early am?)

It took a few days to prepare, but Lucien and I finally left Whiterun yesterday to make our way to Ivarstead, which is the town at the base of the mountain called The Throat of the World. Original plan was to hire a carriage to take us the entire way, but a complication came up and we had to disembark halfway. Now we're heading the rest of the way on foot.

Still, I can't complain too much about the carriage ride we took. Lucien managed to teach me how to cast actual magic today (a self-healing spell and what he called a lesser ward for blocking attacking spells). I will need a lot of practice to make this a viable skill, but I know it will be worth it!

I also got to take down some bandits along the way as well. Now that I'm healthy, taking on seven of them was no problem. It was even fun. I haven't felt that good during a fight in ages. My quarterstaff has far better reach than most swords and axes, and avoiding/deflecting arrows is so much easier than dodging bullets. Afterwards, what few bruises and scratches I had I was able to practice healing, so bonus, I guess.

We stopped for the night to camp by the river. Wanted to make sure we rested before starting our journey in the morning. 

One problem...

I can't sleep. 

I thought I heard something that woke me up, but there's nothing outside the tent I can see. Maybe it was a nightm--

Chapter Text

"What?!"

Tim's head jerked up from the page he was writing in his journal. Though it was from a distance and muffled, Tim knew immediately that it was the sound of someone screaming in pain. Quickly, he rose to his feet and moved a few yards away from the tent in the direction of the sound. Then, he just stood and listened. 

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of the river to his left and the forest at night everywhere else. Tim closed his eyes and focused all his attention on his hearing. This had to have been the sound that woke him up earlier.

Then there was another scream, and Tim's eyes snapped open. He peered into the darkness and zeroed in on the sight of what looked like some stone ruins cut into the mountainside next to the river on the opposite shore from where he stood. Perhaps once upon a time it had been part of a large structure that had been eroded away by the river. 

Tim quickly moved back to camp and picked up his nearly forgotten quill. He dipped it into the bottle of ink and began to write:

Lucien,

Heard something suspicious coming from the tower just downstream. Sounds like someone being hurt.

Didn't want to wake you, so went to investigate on my own. I'll be back by morning.

Tim

He tore out the page and laid it on his bedroll in the tent after a quick rueful glance at Lucien's peacefully sleeping form. Tim sighed. "Lucien is gonna chew my ass out in the morning," he thought to himself before he snagged his gear and his staff. "Well you know what they say, Tim. Better to ask forgiveness than permission."

---

As Tim made his way down the hill following the river's edge, he felt a familiar rush of adrenaline that had his blood singing as he was clearly hunting for trouble. The only thing that would have made it better would be if he had his grappling gun and could swing between the trees and the cliffs. 

This wasn't the urban jungle of Gotham City, but Tim mused it sure would've been nice to fly even a little bit out here.

Once he got to a spot where the river turned into a waterfall, Tim easily leapt from rock to rock to get to the other side. He paused midway on one of the slick wet boulders as he heard another muffled scream coming from the ruins, though it was definitely louder now.

Carefully and quietly, Tim walked down towards a wooden door he spotted jutting out of the stone walls and slipped inside.

---

The first thing that Tim noticed when he entered the structure was the smell. Much of the stonework in the rotunda he found himself in was covered in thick damp moss. It filled the room with a moist, earthy odor that reminded him of whenever he was forced to investigate one of Poison Ivy's strongholds back home whenever she was out of Arkham. The smell was always so distinct to Tim because nothing as lush and green as Ivy's toxic jungle ever grew in Gotham City naturally. However, just like in Gotham when Ivy was on the prowl, cutting through and spoiling the plants' naturally pleasant aroma was faint, but distinct, metallic tang of freshly spilled blood.

It set Tim's teeth on edge. "Just like home," the thought flickered through his mind before he crept silently around the stairs of the rotunda to make it to the lower floor where light from an open door was pouring through. As he maneuvered through the room, trying to stay close to the darkest parts of the shadows he could find, he paused every now and again. Since entering the building he hadn't heard any more screams. Oddly, he didn't see any signs of any other people either.

"What if it's ghosts? Are ghosts even a thing out here?" he thought suddenly. "Or what about those draugr zombies?" Tim swallowed hard. He had both his bow and his staff with him, but as he approached the open door, he wasn't sure which weapon he should arm himself it. As he heard distinct footsteps and the sound of someone yawning coming from the open door, he quietly pulled the metal quarterstaff from his back.

Once Tim was in the stairwell, he silently maneuvered past the well lit upper portion down to a landing where there were no wall sconces lit with candles. Though he relaxed marginally once he was bathed in shadows again, as Tim watched a living humanoid figure step into view at the far end of the room this stairwell fed into, every fiber of his being tensed.

"Are you shitting me?!" Tim cursed silently in his head as his eyes caught the light from the room below clearly illuminating the shine of gold colored armor. "Of all the god-damned, mother-fucking, rotten-assed luck!" 

Tim grimaced as Lucien's voice from earlier that night echoed in his head. "...promise me that you won't throw yourself into any conflicts with the Thalmor... you have no defense against magic. If you fight them... they will kill you or worse."

"Fuck my life," Tim thought wearily. His staff held at the ready, 

Tim stayed still and silent in the shadows as he watched the armored Thalmor guard sit at the table. It appeared he was eating a meal, though occasionally the activity was interrupted by a distinct yawn. Eventually, Tim's patience was rewarded as the elf finally moved to a different chair that was in a slightly more shadowy side of the table, so he could kick his feet up and appeared to settle in to catch a quick nap.

 As quiet as a whisper, Tim crept down the rest of the stairs and into the room. He was mindful with every step he took closer and closer to the Thalmor guard, until he was right behind his unsuspecting target. The poor elf didn't even realize he was in danger when Tim took his metal quarterstaff and swung it expertly at his head, knocking him clean out of the chair and completely unconscious.

Tim had winced as the guard's metal armor and weapons scraped and clattered against the stone floor and immediately turned his attention to the only other entrance into the room, waiting for the sound to draw reinforcements. After a minute of his heart pounding in his ears, he realized no one was coming and relaxed marginally. "Is there really only one guard here?" Tim thought to himself in confusion. "What's going on?"

Cautiously, Tim glanced around and noticed a small barred sideroom with an open door. Checking it only revealed some old Imperial armor and weapons along with a desk that had a note revealing that this place used to be a prison for the Imperial Legion. Tim crumpled the note in his hand and tossed it back on the table. Then, with his staff in hand, he made his way down to where the prison cells actually were.

---

After descending a few sets of stairs, Tim paused at the entrance to the prison cell area. The smell of freshly spilled blood hung in the air, and he could hear the sound of someone breathing harshly a little further down. There were no signs of any guards that he could see or hear, but the area was fairly well lit, which made him wary. Cautiously, he crept from cover to cover, glancing over each otherwise empty cell until two cells in particular caught his eye and he froze. 

Shackled to a wall on the last prison cell to Tim's left was a human man. He was hanging limply by his wrists, head bowed, and even from a distance, Tim could see deep bloody gashes on his arms and chest as well as the dark bloodstains on both the wall behind him and on the stone floor beneath him. Tim felt his breath catch in his throat. He knew the sight of someone who'd been tortured recently. 

As quickly and quietly as he could, he pulled out his lockpicks and made short work of the cell door. Once inside, he made a beeline straight for the wounded prisoner. "Hey," he whispered once he was close enough. "Can you hear me?" For a moment, Tim thought perhaps he was unconscious from his injuries. But then, the dark haired man with what appeared to be Asian features slowly lifted his head, though his eyes were still closed, grimacing with pain from the motion.

"When I get out of here, I'll kill you all myself..." the prisoner growled venomously. Tim blinked at him owlishly. Though the man appeared Asian, his accent was clearly Nordic. 

"Easy now," Tim whispered reassuringly. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm here to help." He reached into his pouch for another lockpick and immediately started working on the first shackle digging into the wrist of the prisoner.

Seemingly startled by Tim's voice and sudden close proximity, the prisoner finally opened his eyes to look at his rescuer. "What? Who are you?" he asked, the hostility bleeding away in favor of confusion.

Tim's fingers paused in their work as his gaze was captured by the prisoner's. "I'm a friend," he assured him before turning his own blue eyes back to the lock he was picking. "The name's Tim."

"You're not with the Thalmor, are you?" The prisoner's tone quickly became more urgent. "Quick! Get me free from here before more come!"

"Working on it," Tim said as he furrowed his brows at the shackle, biting back a curse as one of his picks snapped. Some of the pins in the lock felt like they were stuck, probably due to rust with how damp this place was. "Who are you anyways?" he asked as he rummaged in his pocket for another pick and started the process over.

"Kaidan," the prisoner said wearily. "My name is Kaidan."

Tim swore aloud this time as his second pick snapped. It was a good thing he restocked on picks back in Whiterun. He considered just giving up on lock picking and just bashing the heck out of the thing with his staff, but if there were other Thalmor soldiers around, he didn't want to draw their attention. With an inarticulate grumble, flicked the broken pick off to the side and he fished out another. "So... Kaidan... what's a guy like you doing in a place like this?" 

"The Thalmor invited me to high tea, what do you think?" Kaidan snapped irritably before even that bled away to what appeared to be a bone-deep weariness in his tone. "I dunno. Some Justicars ambushed me outside of Falkreath."

Thankfully, he felt the rusted pin that had been chewing up his picks finally give way. "I'll have you free in just a moment. I've almost got this."

"You're a life saver," Kaidan whispered, his tone radiating relief and gratitude. 

As soon as the lock was cracked, the shackles popped open, dumping their prisoner abruptly. Tim suddenly found himself catching Kaidan before he could hit the unforgiving cell floor. He heard Kaidan gasp in pain, and a quick glance at Kaidan's back had Tim sucking in a quick breath of his own through his teeth. 

The poor man's back had been clearly lashed to pieces. The painful looking gashes crisscrossed Kaidan's back, and while some were scabbed over, the movement from the fall had re-opened others and were oozing blood again. Even in the dim light, he could see a faint dusting of a white granular substance on his skin. Tim lightly brushed his fingertips from one hand through the grainy powder. Against the dark brown leather of his glove, Tim could tell the substance was likely salt. Tim felt a sympathy ache from his own scarred back beneath his leather armor. But at least, from what he could tell, the wounds were fresh and not yet infected.

Tim wished he could just use magic to heal Kaidan, but he just didn't have enough Magicka yet to be able to cast a healing spell on another person. He fished around in his bag and located the largest, strongest healing potion he could find. "Here. Take this. If it doesn't work all the way, I've got a some weaker healing potions too."

As Kaidan knelt there and drank the potion, Tim watched with a fair bit of wonder as the magic in the healing liquid immediately began mending the damage to Kaidan's back, leaving behind nothing but scars. 

"Thank you. I feel much better now." Kaidan said as he gave an experimental stretch. Tim sighed with relief as it became immediately clear that the man didn't seem to be in pain anymore

"Good to hear. Now let's get you out of here." He offered his hand to Kaidan to help him stand.

 Kaidan took the hand and rose to his full height. Tim's eyes widened now that he had had to angle his head slightly upward to meet his gaze. The man seemed to stand at least six feet tall, maybe a bit more, which was about as tall as Tim's adopted father Bruce Wayne. Once up on his feet, Kaidan's intense gaze turned toward a hole in the cell wall that seemed to lead into another part of the prison. Now that he was on his feet, Tim noticed with surprise that Kaidan's eyes were not brown or any other natural color he was used to seeing on normal human people. His irises were red, and they appeared to glow faintly in the darkness. "Wait, there's one more thing. One of the Thalmor got his hands on my sword. I know I've got no right to ask, but I could use your help getting it back."

"Your sword? I guess it's important?"

"This isn't me being sentimental," Kaidan clarified, red eyes seeming to flash with his rising emotion. "They kept asking about it. If it's important to the Thalmor, they shouldn't have it!"

Tim got the feeling that even if he didn't help, Kaidan was going to get that sword back one way or another. He sighed. "Ok. I'll help, but don't do anything rash. Let me see what I can find. Just wait here."

Cautiously, Tim stepped through the hole in the wall and crept deeper into the prison. After making sure the cells on this side of the wall were cleared and there were no guards in sight, Tim moved onward, though he paused at the sight of the stairs. He swallowed hard. The stairwell was narrow and wouldn't allow much room for movement to swing his staff or dodge any attacks if he got cornered there. Silently, he made his way up, and peered around the corner.

Tim almost wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. There was only one black robed Thalmor elf in sight and he appeared to be fast asleep on the bed in that room. Additionally, what looked like an extremely long katana with ornate letters etched onto the blade sat on the desk near the wall he was peering around. It was just within reach, but sat next to a lantern that illuminated everything on the table and chased away the shadows Tim was trying to meld into.

Silent as the grave, Tim slipped around the corner and tried to keep as much of the desk between him and the sleeping Thalmor. Once he was at the desk, he reached over and carefully wrapped his fingers around the sword's grip. 

"Shit!" he silently swore in his head. This sword was heavier than he expected, certainly heavier than any normal katana he's ever held, probably a good four or five pounds minimum. Also, now that Tim had his hand on it, the thing was far longer than he'd originally thought. If he was estimating correctly now, this sword was as long, if not a bit longer, than he was tall. With a grimace and a cold sweat breaking on his brow, Tim realized he wasn't going to be able to move the blade with any silence from a crouched position. He needed leverage and both hands to lift it with any stealth, and for that he needed to stand up and expose himself to more light.

Tim took a breath to steady his nerves. Slowly, his eyes never leaving the sleeping Thalmor, he rose to his full height. He stood there, every muscle tense, for a solid thirty seconds, before he finally made a move to the sword.

He moved slowly, eyes darting between the sword and the Thalmor, as he lowered his hands. His right hand settled on the grip of the sword, and his left hand slid under the blade itself a little further down the length. After licking his lips nervously, Tim turned his entire focus to the sword as he started lifting it upward off the desk. 

Suddenly, there was a motion out of the corner of his eyes from the bed as the Thalmor shifted in his sleep, and Tim froze.

Or at least, he tried to freeze.

The sword was too long and cumbersome for him. The moment he stopped lifting, the heavier end of the blade wanted to dip down naturally due to its weight, threatening to land back onto the wooden table. Tim tried valiantly to compensate the balance with more force on the grip, but he ended up altering the angle of the blade at the same time. To his horror, the tip of the blade caught the hem of a small bag of Septims that had been resting on the opposite end of the table and shifted it to the very edge. With both hands on the sword, he could watch helplessly as the bag slid slowly off the desk and fell to the floor with a solid, coin-filled thud.

The golden eyes of the Thalmor agent on the bed snapped open and captured Tim's startled gaze. Then they narrowed as the air began to crackle around the elf's hands, a smell of ozone rising in the air. 

"Stop right there!" the Thalmor growled as he raised a hand that was crawling with electricity.

Of course Tim moved!

All pretenses of stealth were dropped as he tightened his grip on the sword, hefted it around the corner, and flung it down the stairs where it landed with a clatter before skidding to a stop, crashing against the bars of the prison cell leading to where Kaidan had been held prisoner. Both hands free, Tim leapt down to the prison floor, not bothering with the stairs, and rolled to a crouch. His hand went straight for his quarterstaff, but froze when he saw the massive lightning spell scorching the top of the stairwell where he had been just a moment before. Tendrils of blue-white lightning crawled along the stonework before dissipating. 

It suddenly occurred to Tim that his steel quarterstaff, while useful against most physical combatants, turned him into a walking lightning rod in the face of someone like this Thalmor wizard.

Immediately, he pulled his staff off his back and as soon as the black robed elf came into sight at the top of the stairs, both hands still crackling and eyes lit up with rage, Tim launched it at the elf like a javelin. Not expecting the projectile and with nowhere to dodge in the narrow stairwell, the Thalmor just barely released the lightning spell at Tim before the quarterstaff caught him squarely in the stomach, making him stumble on the stairs.

Tim tried to dodge the spell, but wasn't fast enough to escape the lightning completely. The spell went over his head, but connected with the iron bars of the prison cells behind him. The ball of lightning immediately exploded outward and blue white fingers of electricity arced quickly between the bars and other nearby conductive items within the area, including Tim. Though it was a smaller tendril of electricity that tagged him, it was more than enough to drop him with a sharp cry of pain. 

Every instinct screamed at Tim to move, but he just couldn't. His muscles were seizing and twitching due to the electricity and wouldn't respond to him except to let him know he was in pain. He could see the Thalmor trying to get to his feet, and for a stark moment Tim knew he was done for.

"Lucien was right," he thought to himself with a grimace as he felt his consciousness fading. "I have no defense against a threat like this." As his eyes slid closed, a final thought ran through his mind. "I hope Kaidan got away safely." 

Before he completely lost consciousness, Tim almost swore he heard the sound of a war cry and caught sight of a large shadow rushing in front of him toward the Thalmor, light gleaming off a long silver blade swinging in a wide deadly arc.

---

Tim woke to the taste of a healing potion pooling on his tongue before sliding down his throat. He coughed as the liquid first down the wrong way, choking him slightly. 

"Easy now. Drink slow," a vaguely familiar deep voice said. 

A little more aware now, Tim realized as he was coming to that he was sitting propped against a wall of the prison while Kaidan had a half empty vial of healing potion in one hand. It took a moment as Tim's blurry vision cleared, but he suddenly realized that the man looked very different. Instead of being bare chested, he was now wearing a full suit of ornately crafted steel armor. His reclaimed sword was also resting on his back, as if it always belonged there.

Tim also noticed that there was a heavy smell of blood hanging in the air. 

"What happened?" he asked weakly, even though he had a pretty good idea forming in his head.

Kaidan's expression grew dark. "Son of a bitch had it coming," was all the newly armored man said. Then the angry look in his red eyes softened. He offered Tim the potion vial.

Tim tried not to think about what happened to the Thalmor as he took the vial and drained it slowly, tried not to imagine in vivid detail what Kaidan's ridiculously long sword could do to a man's body in a fit of rage and bloodlust. 

Kaidan was alive.

He was alive.

...At least until he saw Lucien again and he found out what happened.

Lucien might kill him... might lecture him to death when he got back to camp.

All things considered, that wouldn't be a bad way to go, comparatively speaking.

Tim tried to focus on that.

"Thanks for the save," Tim said as he savored the feeling of the potion mending the electrical burns he could feel but not see.

"It's me who ought to thank you. I know you didn't have to help me, and still you put your life at risk facing down that Thalmor as you did."

Kaidan bowed his head and sighed before he continued. "Listen, I owe you my life, and--."

Tim frowned. "Hey now. You don't owe me anythi--"

Kaidan lifted his gaze and caught Tim's firmly. "I'm not a man who's comfortable being in debt." he said with conviction. "And if it weren't for you I'd still be hanging off that wall waiting for the end. If you ever have need of me, I'd be glad to fight alongside you until that debt is repaid."

Tim sat there in silence as he absorbed Kaidan's words. As much as he believed the swordsman owed him nothing, clearly nothing he said would dissuade Kaidan from his own beliefs regarding this "life debt" he now owed him. There was also the fact that, practically speaking, with all the threats out there in the wilds of Skyrim, it probably wasn't a bad thing to have a very well armed and armored tank of a warrior on their side as he and Lucien travelled to High Hrothgar. Finally, he nodded.

"I'd be glad to have you travel with me," Tim said as he offered Kaidan his hand. "Now let's get the fuck out of here."

Chapter Text

"I CANNOT BELIEVE YOU! OF ALL THE IRRESPONSIBLE THINGS YOU COULD'VE DONE LAST NIGHT!"

Tim winced as Lucien snapped at him with as fierce a glare as he'd ever seen on the face of the usually even-tempered scholar.

"I'm honestly not sure what I'm more angry about. The fact that you ended up picking a fight with the Thalmor after you promised me you wouldn't, or that you went traipsing off looking for trouble in the middle of the night without telling me!"

Tim dared to meet Lucien's gaze with a glower of his own. "I heard someone in trouble! Kaidan was being tortured by those Thalmor bastards! I couldn't just leave him in that prison to rot! And I left you a note--"

At the mention of the note, which was crumpled in the scholar's fist, Lucien's glare sharpened. The paper ignited in his hand, startling Tim.

"--And I promise I won't do 'that' to you ever again," Tim quickly added, holding his hands up in surrender. "Next time I decide to go 'traipsing off looking for trouble in the middle of the night' I'll wake you up properly so you can yell at me first." The younger man sighed and raked his fingers through his hair before finally looking at Lucien apologetically. "I'm really sorry I worried you, Lucien. That wasn't my intention."

The scholar held his glare over Tim for a moment, before breaking it to turn his eyes skyward with an exasperated sigh as he release his fistful of ashes. "Timothy... I know you mean well, and compulsively helping others in trouble is something that you can't seem to stop yourself from doing, but seriously you need to be more careful with your own life!" 

Tim opened his mouth to say something, but Lucien held up a hand to stop him. "No, you listen! You... Well... Oh damn it all! How can I put this!" Lucien crossed his arms and tapped his foot as he gathered his thoughts. Finally, he looked up at Tim and locked gazes with him.

"There's a storm brewing here in Skyrim," he finally said, a dead serious tone to his voice. "Clouds are gathering, signs of change are on the wind, and for some reason which neither of us can fathom you--" he reached out with one finger and poked Tim's chest. "--are being dragged into the center of this potential hurricane, whether you like it or not.  Dragons have returned for the first time in ages, and you've been publicly summoned by the Greybeards as a Dragonborn."

"I never wanted-- I don't want to be this Dragonborn! I just want to find a way back home!" Tim argued back with frustration.

"I know, Timothy," Lucien said sympathetically. "But I don't think the Gods are giving you a choice on the matter." At the stricken look Tim suddenly gave the scholar, Lucien added quickly. "At least, not until we figure out why you were brought here from your homeland in the first place. Someone or something brought you here for a reason. If we can figure out what that is, perhaps once your 'task' is completed we'll be able to get you back home."

Tim rolled his eyes. "Great... Not only am I stuck in Tolkien hell, but apparently I'm on a journey to see the wizard now too," he muttered sullenly. "All I'm missing is a dog, a lion, and a yellow brick road. What I wouldn't give for a pair of ruby slippers right now..."

Lucien sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, not having a clue about what Tim was talking about. "Hopefully the Greybeards will have some insight into why you're here. But this means we need to keep you alive and in one piece until we get to them. Dead men don't learn anything, no matter if you're man or mer."

"You're Dragonborn?"

Lucien and Tim looked over at Kaidan, who had volunteered to help pack up their camp while the two of them were sorting out their conflict. Tim wilted visibly under the wide-eyed, almost awestruck gaze of the newest member of their travelling party.

"Not by choice," he replied, not even bothering to mask the bitterness in his voice.

Kaidan watched as Tim gathered up his own gear. "So a few days back... when that voice like thunder shook everythin' like an earthquake... That was the Greybeards summonin' you?"

"You heard it?"

"Aye. Was loud enough it shook that prison the Thalmor were holdin' me in and sent them scurryin' like roaches to figure out what it was. Afforded me a nice break from their 'hospitality' that day." Kaidan then looked to Lucien. "So sounds like you need some help keepin' this one alive?"

"Divines yes," Lucien muttered. "It's growing increasingly clear to me that Timothy is notoriously bad at self-preservation."

"Hey! I resent that remark!"

"Why? On the grounds that it's too accurate?!"

Tim winced. "Ow! Harsh!"

"Yes... Harsh," Lucien said as he hoisted his own bag onto his back before glaring at Tim. "But not inaccurate!" He started off towards the main road.

Kaidan couldn't help the smirk playing on his lips as he followed after the scholar. "By the way, the name's Kaidan."

Lucien managed a small smile at the swordsman and nodded. "Pleasure to meet you Kaidan. My name is Lucien Flavius. So glad to have you aboard. Another set of eyes to keep this one out of trouble will be most welcome."

Kaidan chuckled. "Well I kinda owe him my life. Only fair I help preserve his."

"Excellent! I think we'll get along just fine then!"

Tim watched the two banter back and forth as they walked ahead of him. Then he sighed and followed after. This was going to be a long trip.

Chapter Text

February 9, 20XX

So there's good news and bad news:

Good news - I picked up a new travelling companion. His name is Kaidan, he's heavily armed and armored, and due to me saving his life has agreed to protect me and Lucien as we travel to High Hrothgar. He's pretty strong and has seems pretty skilled with his sword. I honestly do feel safer knowing if we get ambushed by giant spiders or heaven forbid another dragon that he's on our side.

Bad news - The people who had captured and tortured him were, in fact, the fucking Thalmor bastards that Lucien warned me not to get involved with. There were only two of them at the ruined prison Kaidan was being held in, but he heard more were on their way. Despite the fact that it's raining, we're breaking down camp and getting as far away from this area as we can. We can't risk being here when the Thalmor's reinforcements arrive.

Yeah, Lucien was not happy with me when we got back to camp. I think it wasn't so much that I stumbled upon the Thalmor as much as I'd left him with a note at camp while he slept. Still, he was pretty concerned that there were Thalmor skulking around in this part of Skyrim kidnapping people.

I hope the rain lets up before nightfall. It'll be a bitch to start a campfire later tonight if the wood around us is soaked.

Chapter Text

Despite how rocky things started off that morning, as Tim and his companions continued along the road leading towards Ivarstead, things mellowed out somewhat. 

The most obvious quality of life improvement with Kaidan now travelling with them was that weaker threats like skeevers, small wolves, and the occasional small group of bandits that would've tried to take a chunk out of him or Lucien previously were content to keep their distance. Dressed in heavy steel armor with that giant sword longer than most men strapped to his back, Tim was honestly glad for the obvious visual threat deterrence Kaidan provided. After his argument with Lucien, and after spending half the night rescuing their new friend from the Thalmor, Tim was not in a mood to finish any fights started by the wildlife or wandering criminal population of Skyrim. 

While Lucien focused on conversing with Kaidan for most of the morning, Tim enjoyed the newfound peace and quiet of this leg of the journey and having a few hours to observe his surroundings alone with his own thoughts. The further they went, the more mountainous and wooded the terrain became, and the more enamored he became with his surroundings

The young man took note of the types of trees and plants that grew in abundance around him. Idly he wondered which were useful, potentially edible plants and which were toxic. He also made it a point to be mindful of movements of the animals that wandered amongst the trees. If he was going to have to survive out here, he needed to learn know how to identify, at a glance, the harmless creatures from the more dangerous ones that would immediately see him and his companions as a quick meal. 

"I should buy another journal, just for field notes, and pencils for sketching," Tim thought to himself. "I wish cameras were a thing here." There was so much... too much... to see and learn.

 
"Word is, the waters here are good for you." 

The sun was starting to get affectionate with the horizon and Tim glanced backward to notice that Kaidan had paused to look at something just off the cobblestone path. He followed the swordsman's gaze to an interesting looking location on the other side of the river they'd been following towards their destination.

"What is that?" he asked

"Hot springs," Kaidan explained as he went to a better ledge overlooking the river and the pools beyond. "I've passed by every now and again over the years, but never indulged myself. The locals believe the water has healin' properties, and somehow they stay warm all year round."

"We have to camp here tonight!"

Kaidan and Lucien both looked at Tim curiously, who was staring at the hot springs with an expression of obvious longing.

"We 'have' to?" Lucien asked.

Tim whipped his head to his two travelling companions. "Yes! We 'have' to!" he insisted. Then, without even waiting for the other two to agree or disagree, Tim started making is way off the beaten path towards an obvious set of large stones that could easily serve as a makeshift bridge to across the river. After sharing a confused glance and a shrug of shoulders, Kaidan and Lucien both followed after him.

It didn't take Tim long to reach the outer edges of the hot springs ahead of his companions. The air was unfamiliarly warm and humid and there was a distinct medicinal aroma in the air. Tim took it all in with relish. As he got to the waters' edge, he tugged off one of his gloves and tested the temperature of both the sands on the shoreline as well as the water with his hand. He didn't even bother trying to mask the murmur of approval that escaped his lips.

"Are you seriously considering indulging in these springs, Timothy?"

Tim nodded at Lucien as he rose to his feet and tugged his glove back on. "I am not passing up this opportunity," he said as he glanced at the clearing just a dozen or so yards away from the water's edge. There was more than enough room to comfortably set up camp, and Tim was quick to set down his pack and pull out the things needed to set up their tent. 

"Opportunity?" Kaidan echoed with with confusion, which was rewarded with an exasperated grumble.

"It has been literal weeks since I've been able to take a decent bath since I woke up in Skyrim," Tim told Kaidan as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Not to mention it's cold all the damned time out here, especially at night! Every day the choice is either be clean and flirting with frostbite or stay decently warm but filthy." He glanced at Lucien, who was observing him with a fair amount of growing amusement.

"I think you're exaggerating a bit regarding how cold it is out here," the scholar chuckled.

"I probably am, but I don't care," Tim said matter-of-factly as he started setting up the tent as quickly and efficiently as he could. "You want me to not look for trouble tonight? Then this is your best chance for it, because short of a fucking dragon attack I am not squandering the chance for a hot bath and a decent night's sleep in a place that's actually radiating warmth instead of sucking it out of me."

While Kaidan regarded Tim with a fair amount of undisguised concern before borrowing an axe to collect firewood, Lucien just continued to snicker under his breath as he pulled out the cooking gear and ingredients from his own bag. It was his turn to cook, after all.

"I am never taking hot baths for granted ever again," Tim thought to himself with a content sigh once he finally sank chest deep into the springs after finding a spot where there was a natural stone ledge next to the water's edge that allowed him to lounge comfortably while submerged. After camp had been set up, the sun had set, and Lucien had just started cooking, Tim was adamant about enjoying the springs as early and as long as he possibly could. After assuring Lucien and Kaidan he'd only be a few yards away, Tim made his way to the nearest deep pool he could find, stripped off his gear and clothing, and stepped into the deliciously hot waters.  After taking several minutes to actually clean his skin and hair, the young man finally settled into a mostly tranquil state as he stared up at the starry night sky with its twin moons. It was so warm and peaceful out there. One could almost forget that Skyrim was a wild mostly-untamed land full of a wide variety of things that wanted him dead.

Almost...

The subtle sound of something skulking in the shadows of some nearby trees behind him caught his ear. Without moving his head, Tim's eyes glanced towards the trees and recognized the outline of a man among the evergreens. Casually, Tim moved from where he was sitting and made his way back to the shore where his clothes were folded. He rummaged through his bag and pulled out a length of linen cloth he was planning on using as a towel. 

A feint. 

From beneath the cover of the linen cloth, Tim slipped several throwing stars into his hand. Then, as quickly as he could, he threw the stars at the evergreens right where the shadows looked most man-shaped. They whistled through the air and embedded themselves in the trunks of the trees with solid "THUNKS".

"What the fu--?!" the man in the darkness shouted as he quickly stumbled away from where the wickedly sharp metal stars had nearly clipped him. Unfortunately for that poor soul, the stars themselves had been another feint. 

While the stranger was distracted, Tim had wrapped the linen cloth around his waist and recovered his metal quarterstaff. On the silence of bare feet and without the weight of his own armor slowing him down, the vigilante rushed his distracted stalker and struck him with a headshot and a couple of body blows from his staff before finally taking him completely off his feet, where he crashed to the sandy shore with a clatter of metal.

Wait... Metal?

"What in the world is going on?" Lucien called out as he rushed to where Tim stood with a lantern in hand. As soon as the light was close enough to chase the shadows away, it was clear who Tim's unfortunate victim was.

"Kaidan?!"

Their new swordsman, flat on his back on the sand, groaned as he brought a hand up to his head. "What the Oblivion was that?"

Tim relaxed his defensive stance. "Were you... spying on me?!"

"Guardin'," Kaidan muttered as he gingerly eased himself up into a seated position. "Least, that was the plan. To keep watch your back while you were... vulnerable." He glanced at Lucien. "I thought you said he was bad at self-preservation?"

"I did, but I meant that in the way that he frequently throws himself into dangerous situations without any concern for his own health and wellbeing." Lucien shook his head, set down the lantern, and cast a quick healing spell over their swordsman. "When it comes to actual combat, Timothy's really quite skilled."

Tim leaned against his staff as he watched Lucien finish his healing. "Y'know Kaidan, you could've just told me you were worried about my safety before I went into the water."

"You wanted to bathe. I figured you'd tell me to sod off for privacy."

"I would've said, 'Do what you want. I don't give a fuck.' I can watch my own back just fine though." After taking a moment to retrieve his throwing stars from the nearby tree, Tim turned back to the pool. "Now if you guys don't mind, I'm going back to finish my bath."

Now that Kaidan was upright and he could see Tim more clearly in the lantern light, the swordsman took a moment to get a good look at the lines of the young man's body that had previously been hidden beneath layers of leather armor. Though he'd originally assumed he was a noble or scholar based on how Tim spoke and carried himself, as well as how he interacted with Lucien, Tim's body told a different story. His muscles were lean and well defined, looking like they'd been built over years of training for speed and finesse, rather than raw power and brute strength. His pale skin was also a map of scars scattered across both his torso and his limbs.

As Tim walked off, Kaidan noticed something that made his breath catch in his throat. It was the sight of Tim's burn scars consuming nearly the entirety of the young man's back and part of his left upper arm.

Chapter Text

February 10, 20XX

Yesterday went ok.

So initially we did get a break from the rain about noonish. Skies had cleared and the sun was well overhead. It was nice. Lucien had finally started talking to me again. 

We even came across a hot springs!

God, I can't remember the last time I had a proper hot bath. Felt so good! I'm never taking baths for granted ever again... up there with proper beds, motor vehicles, and grocery stores.

Even though Kaidan spoiled the mood by being a bit "overzealous" with his bodyguarding duties...

At least now he knows I'm no useless spoiled noble brat who can't fight their way out of a paper bag. 

Chapter Text

February 11, 20XX

What the ever loving fuck?!

The day started off ok. Better than ok. Had a good meal the night before. Still clean. Woke up not freezing my ass off. Both Kaidan and Lucien were snarky with their banter, but at each other and not me, so it was entertaining to listen to.

(Though you'd think a scholar would pick up on how bad an idea it is to insult the intelligence of the man carrying around a sword longer than he is tall.)

So... initially things were ok.  

Then a goddamned dragon showed up out of nowhere!

TWO HOURS the damned lizard circled the area, screeching its fucking head off. The guys and I managed to take shelter under a bridge to stay out of sight. Fortunately, the beast stayed airborne, so it never caught sight of us. 

Still... two hours...

Was it just our bad luck we crossed paths with it, or...?

Anyways, so even though the dragon finally flew off, our luck didn't get much better. The rain came back and didn't stop. We finally had no choice but to pitch camp. With Lucien's magic, we were able to start a small campfire to keep warm and dry off our clothes.

Got to know Kaidan a little better over dinner. Apparently the Thalmor grabbed him because of his sword? Wonder if the fact that it's a long katana means something here? Tried asking him about his background, but he didn't want to talk about it. 

Can't blame him. I'm having to be cagey with my own background as well now.

Well, it's a maybe an hour or two till sunrise and the damned rain is still pouring outside the tent. I'll let Luci and Kai sleep a bit longer before waking them so we can move on. I wonder how much longer it will take to get to Ivarstead?

Chapter Text

February 11, 20XX  (evening)

Finally made it to Ivarstead. Even though it rained the entire time and we had a run in with a few hostile creatures, we still managed to get to the town just before sunset. I think we're going to rest up here for a few days before making the trek up the mountain to High Hrothgar.

So, on the way up the town we crossed paths with two new things that have been added to my list of creatures I never want to run into alone in the middle of the night.

The first was a creature the locals call a "sabrecat", but is really just a real life version of the sabretooth tigers that we can only find fossils of back on earth. 

I wonder... Are sabrecats native to Tamriel and somehow migrated to Earth in the past, or was it the reverse? They also have wooly mammoths here too, which is another ice age creature back on Earth.

I just don't know.

The second creature we ran into was definitely not anything I've ever seen on Earth. Kaidan said it was a troll. Imagine whatever you think a Bigfoot/Sasquatch might look like, add an extra eye to the middle of their forehead, and make them known people killers, and that is a "troll". 

I'm so glad Kaidan was with us for the fights against those two things. If it was just me and Lucien, I am not sure we could've walked away from them in one piece. He's an incredible fighter and far more protected in direct combat than either of us in that suit of steel armor.

It's tempting to consider adding more metal to my own gear, but would the extra protection be worth being slowed down by the extra weight. Steel... or any metal I've seen so far... is significantly heavier than leather or Kevlar.

We'll... backburner this idea for now.

Anyways, time to get some food and rest. It'll be nice to spend a few nights in an actual building on an actual bed before we have to go trekking up 7000 steps up the mountain.

Chapter Text

Good evening from C.R. Scott,

It's been a few years since I've written anything, and even longer for this specific story. However, I'm in a better place now and since late June 2025, I've pulled this particular concept out of mothballs and I'm actively working on "A Reluctant Dragonborn" as a serial following Tim's unexpected adventures in "The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim" as the Dragonborn. 

What I've been working on is a restart of this story as a serial. Major arcs of The Last Dragonborn story will be collected into their own individual "books" and shared here on AO3 as a serial. For instance, I have already completed the initial drafts of Book 1, which is made up of 14 chapters and 3 journal entries, and I'm already halfway through Book 2, which is currently sitting at 8 chapters and 2 journal entries, and I've got Book 3 outlined and waiting in the wings.

My plan is to post the first chapter sometime within the next 4 weeks, and starting there I will post a new chapter every week going forward. My hope is that since I've got a solid buffer of chapters already written and a plan for future chapters, it will help me avoid the writer's burnout/block that had killed my drive for writing during this most recent creative hiatus. 

If you want to receive an alert when I start posting the new chapters, please subscribe to the series here: A Reluctant Dragonborn: A DCU Elder Scrolls Saga

When you subscribe to this series, it will alert you when any updates are made to any story added to you. You can also bookmark the series from here too.

I'm really looking forward to reviving this tale and sharing this story with you. While I am keeping a portion of what I wrote during the original 2021 version of this story, I am making it a point to enhance those old drafts and add more new scenes and details. 

If you have any questions or comments, please feel free to reply to this update.

Looking forward to tell you a story that I hope you will enjoy!