Author's note: Okay! This will be the first chapter of a plot line I've had in my head for weeks now. The idea I'd like to believe is solid and decent, but my execution? That is what is really being put to the test. So please, fire away! Cause I have no idea if I'm any good at all!

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content from Game of Thrones or The Elder Scrolls series.

Chapter 1: Pilot

Skyrim. The fatherland, the old kingdom, ancestral homeland of the Nords. Many are the lofty names and titles that describe the mountainous region with many varying climates, regions, and cities. Winterhold was no different in its individuality. The hold being mostly snowy tundra plains, snowcapped mountains, and an ice bound shoreline.

Inhospitable to most other races, yet the nords carried on in the frozen hellscape they called home.

*CLANK*

The loud noise brought him out of his reverie, his ears picking up the loud cheers of the builders down below in the newly rebuilt Winterhold. A wide grin on his face, he raised the tankard of brandy in a silent cheer, taking a hearty swig of the alcoholic beverage.

It was done. The final brick had been placed in the newest structure of the now rebuilt hold. Nearly four years prior, the city had been a mere shadow of its former glory being comprised only of ruined houses, failing shops, and a dwindling populace that held only contempt for anything magical in nature.

But now?

Looking down below, he could see his fellow apprentices, Jzargo and Onmund, seeming jubilant and basking in the crowds praise and celebration. Magic was frowned upon, hated even, by some of the townsfolk in that crowd yet now they embraced it when magic was used for not the selfish tendencies of most mages but instead for a selfless purpose. Like the rebuilding of Winterhold, for example.

Frozen, collapsed huts were not the ideal place for a person to live after all. Even in its prime before the Great Collapse, how a city this far north survived in thin wooden walls and thatch roofs was beyond him. Wood was a scarce resource on this icy tundra, but stone was a much more plentiful resource in the mountains the hold rested against. Plans were made, research on ancient building methods conducted, workers hired with the meager amount of gold left, and the reconstruction of Winterhold in the Atmoran building style began.

The old, dilapidated buildings had to be torn down of course and new shops were placed where they once stood. An apothecary/herbalist for potions and ingredients, a state of the art blacksmith complete with all facilities, a tailor, barber, bakery, butcher, a guard barracks, the docks complete with a fishery and shipyard, rebuilding of the Frozen Hearth tavern and general goods store, and lastly a small bookstore on the edge of the main street. Multiple houses had been built towards and alongside the newly built wall that ringed the icy cliff side, freshly cut stone adorned the pathways and main road that led out the main gate and towards the stables stationed just outside.

In truth, the massive project should have taken at bare minimum a decade to complete, what with near nonexistent funds or incoming trade.

'Magic has almost unlimited usage it seems.' He thought, swirling the liquor in his hand. 'Alteration does, at any rate.' He amended, downing the last bit of brandy in a single gulp. Hearing footsteps approaching, he turned his head around to see his teacher and now Master Wizard, Tolfdir.

"Enjoying the show down below, Archmage?" He asked, a small smile on his weathered face. Frowning slightly, the Archmage sat the empty tankard down on the cool stone railing.

"Come on now, Tolfdir, what have I said about formalities? Just call me by my name." He replied, his voice almost like a whine. The older mage chuckled, but nodded his head.

"My apologies, Darion, but I admit that I do tend to get carried away with titles." Toldir acquiesced.

Leaning back on the cold stone, Darion replied. "Hardly anyone even knows my name anymore. Most just call me by my titles, Archmage, Thuri, Quanaarin, Dragonborn, Stormblade, or the latest one, Snow-touched." Darion complained, pointing towards his head of silvery white hair.

Nords were a fair haired people, true, but very rarely did they have silver hair let alone at nineteen years of age. Aside from the odd hair color, his long hair framed his long, angular face with a set of sea green eyes, and a handsome nose. Aye, he would be a looker for sure, were it not for his smaller stature. He himself standing a head shorter than most Nords but a hair taller than many Bretons, likely due to being a mix of the two. Though having a stockier build somewhat made up for the height he supposed.

The older man looked down nervously, pulling an sealed letter from his sleeve. "And it would seem that your abundance of titles has caught up with you yet again, Darion." Handing the letter over.

Eyes widening, Darion reached out to take the letter. Looking it over, he spied in blue wax a snarling bear sigil. Brow furrowing, he broke the seal and pulled out the letter.

To: Darion, Jarl of Winterhold, Stormblade, and Last Dragonborn

You are hereby ordered by his grace, High King Ulfric Stormcloak, first of his name, the Bear of Eastmarch, Protector of Skyrim, to embark on a mission at his Grace's behest. You are to fund and accompany an expedition to our frozen homeland, Atmora of old.

The purpose of this expedition is to begin re-colonization and repopulation of the continent. His majesty felt that given your particular expertise in the Thu'um and magical forces would be able to better facilitate the colonization efforts of our lost homeland.

Additionally, you are to conduct research on the ruins surrounding Atmora's landscape and search for anything that may help in our preparations for war against the Thalmor or an Imperial reclamation effort.

Since you will be funding this expedition, you are free to bring whomever you see fit, however you will also be expected to provide transportation for the expedition, as well as supplies. Both of which are needed more immediately in our preparations, this includes Stormcloak soldiers of course.

His majesty expects re-colonization to begin within the year, and for a total of three thriving colonies to be established on the continent. Succeed, and you will be richly rewarded, fail however, then you yourself shall be heralded as a traitor to Skyrim, all lands, holdings, monetary revenue, shall be seized and claimed by the crown.

You have but one week to prepare to disembark.

Talos guide you.

Jorlieff, Civilian advisor and acting scribe to High King Ulfric Stormcloak

He blinked. Looked up to Tolfdir, who was waiting with bated breath, then back to the paper. He hadn't misread it. Eyes alight with rage and teeth clenched, he folded the royal missive and put it back into the envelope.

"Gather the council and send them to my chambers, immediately." Darion ground out, trying to keep a lid on his boiling anger. Tolfdir nodded quickly.

"At once, Archmage." He said in a curt manner already hurrying away. Darion winced at the reaction, in the back of his mind he knew he shouldn't have let his anger get the better of him or take it out onto his teacher, however briefly.

Sighing heavily, he stood and turned back to gaze upon his city again, snow already starting to fall down softly and blanket the new city wall.

"Hasn't even been a year yet, yet I have to leave it all behind."

It was only a few hours later when his chamber door opened. Darion's eyes opened slowly at hearing the old oaken door groan as it swung open.

"You call in a council meeting yet sleep when we come?" A lone voice spoke out in a questioning tone.

"Your getting lazy, young man." The feminine voice chided. He still couldn't see clearly to know whom it was but then again he didn't need to, the commanding voice was enough.

"And just what else am I supposed to do Rikke? Not my fault you take so long in the training yard." He retorted.

"One, you could do some planning ahead of time of the meeting, and second, your mages are some of the worst swordsmen I have ever seen." She deadpanned, reaching for one of the six empty chairs surrounding the table.

Darion laughed at her words. "Aye, they are terrible at it, why do you think I saddled you with the job of training the guards, mages, and citizen militia?"

She did have a rough go of it, he knew. Training soldiers with a disposition towards being of service to home and country? Piece of cake. Training citizenry in self defense and guerrilla tactics? Challenging, but doable. Trying to train a group of people that either didn't like to be hit, preferred ranged combat, or thought themselves above fighting in the muck and grime? Borderline impossible.

He himself had found that out the hard way years ago when he had tried to host swordsmanship lessons here at the College. After failing miserably, Darion began searching for someone with the grit, patience, and discipline to handle the mages. That led him back to Rikke, whom he had knocked out at Castle Dour and had slapped in irons until she changed her slightly suicidal mind. She never did.

But the promise of living for something more than being a prisoner in a lavish cell in the Palace of the Kings was irresistible. Not having to take orders from Ulfric himself being a nice touch of course.

"Did you just bring me here to laugh at my failures?" She huffed. Grinning widely, Darion replied.

"Would it upset you if I said yes?" He asked innocently.

"YES!" She shouted indignantly, face twisting into one of mild annoyance. Before their banter could continue, another voice chimed in.

"If you two are done squabbling perhaps we could get ready for the council meeting?" Eyes glancing up to see a scowling dark elf woman. Karliah. Another addition to his council, not Darion's first choice per se, but she did her job well enough.

That job being more or less keeping and maintaining a spy ring across Skyrim, black market deals via the Thieves Guild, and the rare assassination. The Thieves Guild tended to have a no-killing rule on any of their contracts, usually preferring to leave that sort of thing to the now eradicated Dark Brotherhood. But as part of the deal Darion had made with the new guild master, Brynjolf, the Thieves Guild would do open trading with the College of Winterhold and vice versa, provide a network of informants, have the option to carry out the occasional hit (in exchange for an exorbitant amount of money of course), and in return Darion would provide the Thieves Guild with a second base of operations, and turn a blind eye to any and all crimes committed by the Thieves Guild just outside of the city's walls.

Not the most favorable deal, true, but Brynjolf owed him one for helping to return the Skeleton Key and uncovering Mercer's treachery. The excess gold coming into the hold from the mines helped the offer seem better, but more than anything, it was Maven Black Briar herself that pushed Brynjolf into it. Since the fall of the Dark Brotherhood and the whole fiasco with the emperor, Maven had been running the thieves ragged now that the brotherhood was dead to make a show of her still being untouchable to her rivals, said rivals knowing of her connections to both organizations of course.

'It didn't help that she started paying less for the normal contracts and offering even less for her hits.' Darion mused. Single eyebrow raised, he addressed the dark elf.

"Now, now, Karliah you know we have to wait for the others to get here. Besides, if your that starved for attention you could have just said something." Darion teased, her only response a slight narrowing of her dark eyes as she too grabbed a seat.

"He is right you know, you tend to sit quietly unless there's some score to be had or new gossip to be told." Rikke pointed out, it didn't help Karliah's position since she always sat the farthest away from everyone.

"At least I have something important to say instead of moaning about how you hate training the mages." Karliah bit back, frown deepening. Now scowling Rikke made to retort.

'Okay, time to end this before it gets out of hand.'

Clearing his throat loudly, Darion looked between them both. "So any idea where in the gods names Gelebor and Miraak are?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

"Knight-Paladin Gelebor is out on an expedition to the Forgotten Vale with Brelyna and a few other mages." Tolfdir announced, striding towards his seat briskly.

"And Miraak is currently hunting down that dragon that attacked the mines last week." Another voice said, Kraldar, closing the chamber doors and locking the bolt in place.

Knight-Paladin Gelebor, last of the snow elves, former ruling race native to Skyrim. Normally the elf would never dream of leaving the Chantry of Auriel unguarded what with all his vows and oaths and whatnot, but he was but one lonely elf faced with a near infinite legion of his corrupted kinsman, the falmer. Like with Karliah a deal was struck, in return for Gelebor granting access to the Forgotten Vale to the mages of Winterhold and allowing the research of his peoples culture, architecture, and magics, the College would in turn safeguard the Forgotten Vale and provide assistance to any expeditions of Gelebor's in his efforts to find any other remaining snow elves.

In all honesty, that had slipped his mind entirely that Gelebor had run off on his trip with Brelyna in tow. But Miraak? How he wasn't back already was a mystery to Darion. The first Dragonborn had left out on his hunt just shortly after the dragon attack.

'I may need to send word to Paarthurnax and the Greybeards so they can reign him in if need be' Darion thought worryingly. Unlike the rest of his council that joined through deals, favors or loyalty, Miraak had to have his will bent to Darion's own. Literally.

In all reality he probably should have went along with Hermaeus Mora's plan of killing Miraak, but that would have ended with himself being Miraak's replacement. And even with all of the terrible things Miraak had done, enslaving an islands populace to construct large monolithic temples, torturing and killing people in the depths of said temple, for example. He still rose up against the dragons in the end, for whatever reason, and mostly just wanted freedom from Apocrypha and Hermaeus' schemes.

Still didn't hurt to keep a collar on him with Bend Will though. He would probably never trust the other Dragonborn further than he could shout him.

The sixth chair finally filled, Kraldar leaned forward on the long table with a sigh, looking exhausted as usual.

Kraldar's role on the council was about as simple as Tolfdir's. Tolfdir would manage the income and expenses of the College, promote, hire, and fire instructors. While Kraldar would do the same thing, just on a larger scale. That scale being the entirety of Winterhold hold. Income from the mines, imports and exports of goods from the docks, tax collection on all properties on the hold, and managing the workforce of the Jarl's private businesses such as mines and ships.

Crunching numbers was exhausting to most men it seemed. Good thing Kraldar was loyal and competent enough at the job. Also good at keeping secrets. Like why Winterhold was suddenly booming again.

"Well, now that everyone is here we can begin this council meeting." Darion announced, gathering the other four's attention immediately. His eyes glancing around momentarily in approval, Darion reached into his robe to pull out the royal missive.

"Read it and pass it around." He ordered.

Placing it on the table, he pushed the envelope to Tolfdir first, who opened the letter with trepidation. His aged face recoiling in shock, shaking his head, Tolfdir passed it on to Kraldar whose reaction was much the same. Even in his drowsy state.

Karliah's eyes narrowed briefly, but she passed it on wordlessly, Rikke, however, was outraged.

"That arrogant piece of sload shit!" She shouted, hands tightening around the paper, nearly ripping it. Her brown eyes alight with fury, she turned towards Darion's solemn form.

"You can't seriously be planning on going through with this?" Rikke asked, questioning. Eyes closing, Darion nodded solemnly. He was no fool. There was no possible way to complete this order he had been given.

"I must, unfortunately." He admitted. Breathing in deeply, his eyes opened, sea green eyes hardened. Looking to Rikke, he continued.

"Or at least, I must make a show of following it at least." He said. "I'm no fool. Re-colonization of a frozen continent that's inhospitable even to nords? That's a tall order, even with a decade or two. But a single year to establish three separate colonies? Impossible. And Ulfric knows it too." He stated, practically spitting his Kings name.

Brow furrowed, Tolfdir leaned forward. "I don't understand. Why would the High King give out an order that he knows you couldn't complete?" The old wizard asked, perplexed.

"Because he wants to get rid of his only rival for the throne." Karliah stated calmly, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed. Looking towards Tolfdir, she continued. "Think. When Ulfric started a rebellion but was captured, what happened that let him escape?" She asked rhetorically.

He knew the answer all too well.

"The Dragon Crisis and Alduin's return. Under Alduin, the dragons ranged all across Skyrim burning men and women alike, destroying villages, forts, outposts, and both the Imperial army and Stormcloaks were torn apart trying to stop them."

She turned to Darion, staring him in the eyes. "And one man did what his entire army could not. Slay Alduin and bring the dragons to heel."

Nodding with her assessment, Darion spoke up. "Even when I joined up after the Dragon Crisis it didn't seem to help my situation. If anything, I think I only stoked the fire and Ulfric took it as a slight." He explained. "And then after taking Solitude we were to wait for the moot to meet and a new High King to be crowned." Darion told them, everyone's eyes focused back on him again.

"They did meet a few months later. Jarls loyal to Ulfric cast their votes for him of course, they owed their new positions to him, and Elisif was practically held at sword point to cast her vote in favor of him. It looked like he was going to get a landslide victory in the moot, like everyone had come to expect." He paused, sighing slightly.

"All except for Jarl Dengir. The stubborn old fool. He was the one who nominated me for the position of High King, and the first to cast their vote for me. After a short speech by himself, the Jarls of Riften and Hjaalmarch soon followed and recast their votes."

Darion laughed lowly, a bitter hollow sound. "Oh, Ulfric was absolutely livid. He merely stood there, locked in place, watching as one by one the Jarls turned away from his 'rightcheous' cause. I can still see him standing there, his head looking like an overripe grape just ready to pop." His laughter ceased, eyes downcast, looking at the table he continued.

"The war for Skyrim's independence had been won. Won by a man who thought himself King, yet his Jarls were already looking for another that they thought a safer option. The civil war had been costly, and very, very bloody, and if I was crowned King then that war would be back on again." His tone somber, Darion took in the others expressions briefly.

"So I knelt. Pledged the same oath of fealty that all Stormcloaks swear upon joining. The reciting of that oath ended all talks of my rise to the throne. I was tired of the fighting, and the bloodshed, and only wanted to find some peace and quiet. I found Winterhold." He said morosely, sea green eyes looking towards his mentor.

"And Dengir was found dead in his bed a week later."

Everyone seemed to be at loss for words, not even Karliah had a word of input for the tale. It was Kraldar that broke the silence.

"Darion . . . . you couldn't have known. Dragonborn or not, a boy of fifteen would never have known the consequences." The middle aged man reassured.

"Wouldn't have known? Or didn't care?" Darion bit back harshly.

"My boy, the fact that this bothers you so, means that in the end, you did care. You cared enough to try to avoid another war at least." Tolfdir said truthfully, his words seemed to have some affect, as Darion's posture straightened and eyes focused again

"I suppose your right, as usual, mentor." He acknowledged with sigh, rubbing his eyes slightly. Reaching to the shelf behind his chair, Darion pulled out a large rolled map. Spreading it across the table he spoke.

"I tried to avert war back then, but that war will be here in one years time." Eyes darting from the map of Winterhold to his council he continued.

"The war will be here whether we want it or not, and no amount of diplomacy will stop it from coming. Rikke." He said, looking towards his military commander. "Begin conscription and training of anyone able to shoot a bow or lift a sword and begin work on defenses in and around Winterhold. Make them bleed for even thinking about a siege." He commanded.

"Yes, my Jarl." Rikke said with pride. Darion nodded in response, good he thought. "And while your at it, take and garrison Fort Kastav. That'll prevent Ulfric from sending troops northward from Windhelm." He added, his eyes now looking towards Karliah.

"I want you to have your people keep their ears to the ground, anything changes we need to be the first to know. And have your thieves locate Gelebor and Miraak and retrieve them as quickly as possible. Understand?" He said, as seriously as possible. The dark elf nodded once. "Got it."

"Something a bit more delicate as well. Get in contact with the Jarls of Riften and Hjaalmarch. See if they'll still support my claim and fight with us, but do it as discreetly as possible, we don't need to be tipping Ulfric off to anything." She nodded again in response.

Next up was Tolfdir, whom was leaning forward almost eagerly. "Keep the mages training harder than ever, I want them ready to throw fireballs with ease. And continue research on Shalidor's preserving enchantments and apply them to the whole city and cliffside. We don't need them causing another Great Collapse."

The old man nodded his agreement eagerly. "Yes, Archmage." Head cocking to the side slightly, Darion continued.

"And Tolfdir?"

"Yes, Archmage?" He asked.

"You'll be in charge of Winterhold while I'm gone. Try not to burn it down." He said with a wry smile. The older man merely chuckled lightheartedly. Finally, it was Kraldar's turn.

"And what about me, my Jarl?" He asked curiously.

"Start trade with outside provinces such as Solstheim and the rest of Morrowind. They won't fight with us, but they'll likely trade with us. House Redoran owes me a debt after all. And continue work on that greenhouse project you and Tolfdir were working on. If it comes to a siege, we don't need to be starved out."

Kraldar also nodded his accent. Looking around at the gathered faces, Darion exhaled quietly. "And I suppose if we are to continue with this charade we'll need some able bodied men for the journey."

"Kraldar."

"Yes, my Jarl?"

"Send a courier to Whiterun, I'd like to discuss a contract with their Harbinger."

Aaaaaaanndd done. Well, let know what you think if you feel like reviewing. Due keep in mind though, that if anything in my writing seems a bit wonky then that maybe because I'm only relying on auto correct and self proofreading due to the lack of a beta. Anywho, I'll try to get the next one out soon!