Istind Hearthome did not bother to hold back his tongue as the dagger he'd entrusted to his wife, for the purpose of protection, was buried hilt deep into his belly. He'd been asleep in his Whiterun estate of Breezhome, one of the few places in the whole of Skyrim Istind felt he could truly drop his guard. This was the place where his children were raised, where he drank and ate and shared tale with friends and family, where he shared a bed with what he believed to be the most beautiful woman in all of Tamriel…

He knew that this betrayal would be his end, that there was no living through the blade that pierced his gut. Istind had forged the damned dagger himself: an alloy of glass and dragonbone he'd created on a whim, enchanted with the ability to absorb life, the blade coated with a poison that made those that met its edge incapable of healing within the school of Restoration. The poison was a nameless masterpiece he'd stolen from the Dark Brotherhood when his time with them was over.

It was meant to protect her; protect their children, their family. Not to be used against him.

Coughing out a glob of blood, the taste of copper firmly on his tongue, dribbling down his cheek, Istind met the stare of his attacker. Istind knew this man well, he'd taken his sister to wife and fathered three children through her. His dark brown hair was mottled with the crimson of blood, his body shaking back and forth. Laughter bubbled from his throat, a disturbed cackle that would have the bravest of men falter.

Lucan Velarius.

Lucan's eyes held nothing save for madness, their once vibrant green now a sickly orange with thinly slit pupils: the most common indicator of vampirism. Lucan blamed his affliction on Istind, believing that this never would have happened had Camilla not visited Riverwood. As if Istind wanted this to happen. His duty as the Dragonborn forced him away- Miraak and his cultists were rising in Solstheim and Istind had to end their threat.

Before leaving for Solstheim, Istind made sure to give his family all his remaining time. They were to stay in Breezehome, or visit the Companions or Jarl Balgruuf, away from the dangers of the world. Alas, Camilla was a stubborn woman. Her stubbornness was the original reason Istind had been attracted to her in the first place, speaking truly. She wanted to go to Riverwood. It had been almost a year since she'd seen Lucan. It would be good, she said.

The children were left with the Companions, Aela happy to keep the pups in line. They were young yet, and it was best they not travel, not without Istind at least. Odahviing, his ever-loyal friend, was kind enough to bring Camilla to Riverwood, and then brought him to Solstheim immediately after. Unknown to Camilla, Istind had been happy for her decision. He wanted her to be with a loved one, should he not return at all. A shoulder to cry on in times of mourning.

It was during the cover of night, whilst he was gone, that the vampires stuck Riverwood. There were none that could stop their carnage. Perhaps Delphine could have, had the Blade not been stubbornly wasting away in Sky Haven Temple. They pillaged and raped and made thralls of the people, but when they found Camilla Hearthome, a former inhabitant of Riverwood, wife of the well-known Dragonborn, the man that stopped the blackening of the sun…

"They took turns raping her," said Lucan, his voice watery and raw, even through his mad laughter. He slapped that hilt of the dagger, causing Istind to spit out more blood as pain shot through his person. "One after another, all of them took her body. They made thralls of all the men in Riverwood and forced them to do the same. As they did with the dogs, the goats, cows and the horses. It happened for hours. She screamed and screamed, begging for She screamed and screamed, begging for you, you who never came. They made me watch as they did this, made me watch as they defiled my sister in the worst of ways, made me watch as they killed her!"

He took a breath, pausing to contain himself. It did not last. "…At least that was a swift kill, a dagger to the eye. A sort of mercy, I suppose… But they weren't done. Oh no! She was a corpse that was fresh, only her face was ruined, and so they had everybody do the same they did when she was living. Then, once they were bored, they set upon the rest of the town. Those… Those were slow deaths. Even the children. Especially the children! …Finally, they came to me. Kin to dragon, they said. Live as we do. It's all your fault- ALL OF IT! NONE OF THIS WOULD HAVE HAPPENED IF YOU HADN'T ENTERED OUR LIVES!"

Vampirism transferred from lower stock had the tendency to beget madness, especially when the vampire in question was left to their own devices. Istind hadn't truly had the time to grieve for his wife when he came upon the Ruin of Riverwood. Lucan was the only one there, laughing and crying and screaming at the sun as he burned the townsfolk with wood taken from Alvar's home. Istind needed answers and Lucan was unstable, so he knocked his good-brother out and brought him to Whiterun. He'd almost all the ingredients needed to cure vampirism and was ready to perform the procedure in two days.

Lucan, knowing this, knowing he was be free, still chose to attack. Madness.

"The… young… uns?" It was a struggle to speak, each word bringing forth more blood, choking him. He could feel his vision fading.

"Hmm? I suppose they're family… Yes! I know! I'll turn them! We'll be a clan all our own, their loving uncle and their dragons' blood… We'll stop the other clans together, so that there will never be another Camilla. Vampires cannot become thralls, so we'll just have to turn the whole of Tamriel. A world of peace, under one banner. A paradise."

Paradise, he says. That would not lead to paradise, that would lead to the end of all things. Should such a thing happen, Tamriel would fall to Molag Bal. The Daedric Prince of Rape and Domination would meld Coldharbor to Nirn, and ten thousand years of darkness would follow.

Heart hardened and mind focused, Istind knew he had to end Lucas with what little time he had left. If not for Tamriel, then for his children. Astrid, his firstborn – the five-year-old girl with honey colored hair and bright green eyes that shined in the wild. Emer, his three-year-old girl, coal black hair and sapphire eyed, his little mage. Bolvar, his only son, a one-year-old boy with brown hair and green eyes, too young to truly understand who his parents even were… He would not allow his children to be prey to their uncle's madness.

With his last breath, Istind thought hard on the flames of the world, the inferno of his rage, the glory of the sun, and his Thu'um took shape from these thoughts.

"Yol… Toor-!"

He could not speak the last word of the shout, could not say Shul. The Thu'um was hard on the throat all its own, and the circumstance of his death made such difficulty far worse. Still, the two-worded shout did what was needed. Lucan screamed as the flames latched onto his body, screamed as they burned him, screamed as Breezehome became both of their funeral pyres.

Through Lucan's screams, Istind's eyelids grew too heavy to combat, his consciousness fading with their closing. It was in this moment that Istind Hearthome, Dragonborn, Thane of Whiterun, Harbinger of the Companions, Archmage of the College of Winterhold and Champion of the Daedric Princes Nocturnal, Meridia and Azura, passed on from Nirn.

She did not contain her elation. Shadows held no need for such decorum, certainly not when Nocturnal felt the soul of her Champion enter her realm. As per their pact, his was hers to do with as she wished, such was the contract of the Nightingale. True, he'd others that claimed his soul, but she'd made the claim first and she was… lucky, enough to have grabbed his soul from the aether before her kin could.

She willed it to appear before her, a translucent sphere of pale-yellow mist. With a wave of her wrist, the mist shifted, an infant of energy taking its place. Nocturnal smiled maternally at Istind's wide-eyed stare and loosened her shawl. Her breasts were open for all of Oblivion to see, and she brought her conquest's face toward her tit. He did nothing, so she forced his mouth to her flesh, a silent demand for him to suckle from her nipple. Her Champion was like her child, and what mother did not permit their child their breast?

Nocturnal remembered clearly on the circumstances of his entering her service. He was a newly established assassin of the Dark Brotherhood, skilled in way that none of their members could claim. They were the shadow on the wall, he was the sledge that destroyed the wall. A blunt instrument that was smart enough to pick and choose when to use his prowess effectively.

He was… rapture.

Karliah, her last loyal Nightingale of the time, had exhausted her resources. Mercer Frey was a cunning man and far more ruthless than she, and the Dark Elf felt she had no other choice but to let go of her pride. She contacted the Dark Brotherhood and contracted Istind to kill Mercer Frey for the crimes of murdering his fellow Nightingale, who also happened to have been her lover, and for the theft of the Skeleton Key. Istind accepted, and Karliah gave him all of the traitor's habits, hoping for a clean kill.

It was not. Clean, that is. However, the sheer deviousness and unapologetic cruelty that it exemplified had Nocturnal shivering in delight. The Daedric Prince knew then that she wanted Istind as her own, before others of her kind could sink their teeth and claws and tentacles into him.

Istind began the job stealthily. He stole potions of invisibility and raw fire salts from the apothecary in Riften. While invisible, he sealed off all the hidden entryways and exits in Mercery Frey's manse. All but the front door, of course. He spilled the fire salts all over the wood floor then, over the cloth of the bed and the paper of the books… And Istind waited for his prey to arrive.

Mercer did not appear for another two weeks, having been on a heist of some difficulty in the Pale. Upon returning home, Istind locked the front door and let go of his subtlety. At this point in time, Istind knew magic enough to get by, though was certainly not at the level of mastery he'd attained later in life, and so threw a fireball through Mercers window. He'd poured all of his magicka into that ball, which had the flame burn hotter and grow larger and become more explosive, which coupled with the fire salts… The manse exploded, a conflagration so great it reached the heavens. Mercer died in one of the most painful ways possible, just as Nocturnal wished. Upon his death, she took his soul to her chambers, where she offered him to her servants to rape and torture for all eternity. Such was the price for defying his contract and stealing from the patron of thieves.

Istind looted the wreckage of the manse as best he could and found the Skeleton Key eventually. It could not be broken, else it would have been turned to slag. He returned it to Karliah, and in that moment Nocturnal came to him. It had been over a century since she'd been so entertained, and she wanted more. She named him her Champion, and offered him her gift. Being the Champion of Nocturnal allowed minor access to her realms of influence: Stealth, Subterfuge, Strife. He chose Stealth, and so the magic of Shadowstalk was bestowed upon him; the ability to remain unseen for a few minuets a day.

"Istind, my dearest Champion. I bid you welcome to Evergloam." Nocturnal purred, her attempt at a warm smile seeming more like a sinister smirk. Istind kept his attention on her tit, unable to move or be bothered by her words. "Yes, I supposed you are busy, aren't you? I will speak then, and you will listen." She willed her breast to produce milk, and her lips curled as it began to seep into her Champions mouth.

"As you well know, Nirn is the culmination of the Aedra. Once they were Daedra, but they each gave parts of their person into the very creation of Nirn, and so lost such title. It is because Nirn has the essence of the Aedra that we Princes are so drawn to it. Our realms of influence are magnified there, more than any other realm of Oblivion aside our own."

She paused, considering her next words, curling her fingers through misty wisps of her Champions hair.

"We learned that our realms of influence were so strong on Nirn due to the mortals that inhabited the land. And we'd a thought. If the Aedra could create a place like this, surely we could do the same, surely we could do better."

Istind stopped suckling, an action Nocturnal took to be akin to shock. Ever the loving mother, she patted his scalp and forced him to keep taking her milk as she continued her tale.

"Surprising, isn't it? That we Princes desired to be like the Aerda at one point. But we were not fools like them, we would not give up our essence in order to craft a new world. That would cripple us, would bind us to our project and would cut our access from Nirn. No, we chose a different route. Opposed to using our essence as we were, we instead chose to put pieces of our influence, our realms of Oblivion, into our creation. A pact was made, a pocket of Oblivion that no Prince could solely claim, and our work began."

Nocturnal hummed. "The first to being was Mehrunes Dagon, surprisingly. He willed a portion of the Deadlands towards our project, larger that the landmass of Tamriel itself, and renamed this new continent Essos. After, Sheogorath gave the land Valyria, an island nation of mountainous volcanos, and offered oceans and seas taken directly from his Shivering Isles. Hircine crafted the lands of Ashai and the continent of Westeros, and others added from there. Malakath distorted the southern reaches of Westeros, turning its lush fields into harsh deserts, and called it Dorne. Molag Bal did the same to the North, creating the aptly named Lands of Always Winter."

Noting that his attention was not fully on her words, as it should be, Nocturnal removed Istind from her breast. Shuffling her shawl back into place, she put him over her shoulder and began to burp him, relishing in his shame.

"I myself, along with Azura and Meridia, your other patrons, created the cycle of Night and Day, of Summer and Winter. Meridia formed the sun and stars, I crafted the moon and the space the stars called home, and Azura created their cycle. Hercine chose to add creatures to our land, mammoths and shadowcats and direwolves and more. Peryite, wishing to be of use for once, did so too. He gave plants of poison to our world, vile basilisks, and went so far as to create a new species of daedra in his image, calling them dragons in spite towards Akatosh. Molag Bal, seeing that daedra were not forbidden, populated his area with his Soul Shriven, who were later renamed as Others. Hermaeus Mora then saw a problem and offered a solution. Our realm was not connected to the Aetherius, and thus magic was thought impossible. He'd come across magics of obscurity over the years and offered their knowledge to the world, for those bold enough to claim it."

She finished burping her Champion at this point and moved him once more. Now cradled in her arms, Nocturnal peered down at his form.

"At this point, we needed inhabitants. It was decided that this would not be a land of daedra. No, this would be one for mortals. But mortals were... difficult, to create. Luckily, Nirn was still open to us, and they had plenty, so we stole from their stock. Many samples from each race were placed in different parts of our world, some going extinct while some thrived. It was when mortals were added to the mix that the other Princes became involved. Boethiah gave them murder and deceit and Sanguine added on from there, their morals much looser. To combat these two, Jyggalag instilled a system of honor and order unto the mortals. Then came religion. Namira and Clavicus Vile and Vaermina all took on the titles of gods, be they the Mancy Faced, the Old, the Seven… they became patron to these people."

Nocturnal grinned at Istind's wide-eyed stare, wiggling her finger at his stomach, forcing a laugh from his milk addled mouth. The shame was just addictive.

"To name a realm of Oblivion was to claim it, and so this world was let nameless, and we let things lie. On occasion, we would look down at what we made and influence it to our liking. Molag Bal marched his Others south at one point, hoping to add a host of undead thralls to his armies. In retaliation, Meridia gave Dawnbreaker to a man that later became known at the Last Hero, the greatest champion of our world who fought tooth and nail against the very dead itself. When Jyggalag separated from Sheogorath in full, he destroyed the continent of Valyria, his wrath known as the Doom. Peryite had grown to love his dragons, and so blanketed the remains of Valyria in miasma, keeping whatever remained of his daedra safe. Sheogorath has recently been throwing a small fit, a mortal king called Aerys was slain and the Prince of Madness was quite fond of that one."

Bored of playing the role of a mother, Nocturnal dropped Istind, his spirit losing the form of an infant, returning to the ball of mist he arrived as. She willed him to float in front of her.

"You might ask, Mistress, why are you telling me this? and my answer, my dearest Champion, is boredom. I have never given our world much interest, the only peoples that hold my eye are the Faceless Men that worship Clavicus Vile. But they are few, and Nirn has many more people of note. Such as yourself. And you are no longer of Nirn."

The space around them changed in that moment. What was once an open plain of grey grass and purple skies we now a pale stone tower in the middle of a red desert. The sound of a screaming woman echoed through the halls of the keep. In front of the tower stood three armored men, clothed in heavy silver platemail with long white capes, the symbol of a three-headed dragon proudly emblazoned on their chests.

Nocturnal leisurely walked past them. They could not see her, none could see her, for she was their shadow. She made way of the tower stair, further and further towards the sound of creaming. Finally, she entered the room, a dimly lit space with curtains covering the windows, a single bed of heavy furs sat in its middle. A black haired woman with grey eyes was lain on that furred bed, her legs spread wide as the crown of a head made its way out of her cunt. Another woman clothed like a servant was beside her, speaking calming words of support.

"Because you are no longer of Nirn," said Nocturnal, casually ignored the further intensified screams. "You might bring this world the entertainment I crave. Do as you will, I care not. Be a saint, be a demon. Slaughter millions, father thousands. Become an emperor or cobble shoes till you are grey. This is your sandbox. Do me the favor of making something interesting."

With that final statement, the black-haired woman gave one last scream and Nocturnal made her move. Instind's soul was sent spiraling towards the baby that was freshly born, merging into its blood-coated form, and he let out a loud, pitiful scream.

The servant grabbed the newly born babe and cleaned him as best she could.

"It's a boy! Milady, you've born a healthy little boy."

"No… I was meanth to birth a girl. A Visenya. That's what he said…"

"Gods be good you'll have another babe, that time a girl, and many more boys and girls after. But this is not that girl, I'm afraid. What will you name him, milady?"

As Lyanna Stark held her son, her eyes tired and her body weak, she offered only one word before sleep took her.

"Aegon."

Found a Skyrim: Special Edition in a garage sale for $7. Cracked it open, played for a while, decided to revisit my old story. This is a rewrite of King of Qarth. Some major changes occurred, and I'd like to go over one of them real quick. In this version, Lucan was the one to kill Istind, as opposed to Camilla doing the deed. I felt that it made more sense that way and had a more realistic turn.

Also, I didn't make up a character this time, like I did for Jaeherys Blackfyre. Istind is now in the body of Jon Snow. From the finale of Season 6, we can guarantee that Jon is the son of Lyanna Stark, meaning he is also the son of Rhaegar Targaryen. It's poetic in my mind that the Dragonborn from Skyrim becomes the son of a North-bred lady and a dragon prince. I'll be going over small segments of Jon's childhood before we get into the canon of GoT, and hopefully I'll do this justice.

I will say right now that while this is a GoT crossover, I'll be taking heavy influence from the books. The scenes from Dorne are so different from book to show that it can't really be explained, and there's a lot more explanation of character and scenery to be found in the books. The big reason I'm sticking with a GoT crossover is because the series starts with Jon being 17, and because I don't want to butcher GRRM's writing style too much. Just note that there'll be a bit of back and forth between book and show.

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