Hey everyone, like many of you out there, i am a HUGE fan of Skyrim. After playing countless hours of it, i decided to check out some of the fan fiction that people have written. I was quickly inspired to write my own piece of fiction, which you will get to shortly.

This will be a full story, encompassing the College of Winterhold questline, but with some tweaks of my own design (for the most part). I wanted to keep the basic feel that Besthesda created intact, while still making it my own. Hope you all enjoy, and please leave any feedback, good bad or otherwise. I greatly appreciate it.

Legal Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. It was created by Bethesda Game Studios and published by Bethesda Softworks, subsidiary of ZeniMax Media. I am merely documenting my personal experiences and how i envision the game being improved in my head.

UPDATE: I've heard from a couple of people that they don't like how I didn't separate the conversations in the story. It was an oversight on my part due to my inexperience as a writer. I will go back soon and fix what i can, but in the meantime, please do not judge the story on that alone. I have fixed most of these issues in the newer chapters.

Winterhold's Finest

Chapter 1: A Promise to Keep

"All out for Whiterun, last stop!" the carriage driver shouted. Sitting not far behind the driver, Revan Midley began gathering his belongings to disembark. Finally made it, he thought as he looked around; Skyrim. As the carriage slowly came to a stop, the driver said, "Here we are folks, Whiterun. Head up the path there to get to the main gate." Revan stepped out of the carriage, and as he did tossed the driver a small bag of septims. "Thank you sir." the driver said, as he got the carriage moving again, "Safe travels!"

Revan surveyed the surrounding scenery with mild awe. "You can see for miles," he said to himself; "What a view the Jarl must have up in his palace." Revan then turned and began walking up the path to the gate. As he walked, he tried to remember some of the things he had read about Skyrim, and Whiterun in particular. He remembered reading that Whiterun was originally discovered by Ysgramor and his Five Hundred Companions, who eventually made it their home. It certainly looks like it's been around that long, Revan thought. The walls, ancient and crumbling, had certainly seen better days. But all in all, the city still looked very impressive, with the Jarl's palace perched on top of the hill that the city had been built on.

As Revan reached the main gate, one of the guards posted in front of it walked up to him. "Name?" he asked in a bored tone of voice. "Revan Midley, sir." "And what brings you to Whiterun, Mister Midley; You another refugee?" Revan tensed up a bit at the guard's thinly veiled insulting tone; he knew he was talking about the Red Year and the Eruption of the Red Mountain, covering much of Morrowind in ash and smoke. With much of the land now uninhabitable, many Dunmer had fled to other provinces. "No sir, I'm not a refugee. I'm just stopping for the night on my way to the College of Winterhold."

Even though he had a helmet on, Revan could imagine the guard rolling his eyes. "Oh, another of you lot," he said with a sneer. "Well, you keep your magics to yourself, or there'll be trouble. Understand?" "Perfectly sir." Revan replied. The guard just grunted, and then turned to open the gate. "Enjoy your stay, Elf." Revan walked into the city, trying to pretend he hadn't heard the not-so-subtle insult.

Not sure of where to go next, Revan glanced around and saw another guard posted not far inside the city. Hope this one is a little friendlier, Revan thought. He approached the guard, a bit cautiously, and when he was close enough, he said, "Excuse me; it's my first time here in Whiterun." "Ah, well, welcome then, sir Elf. What are you looking for?" the guard said in a pleasant tone. "I was hoping to find a place to get something to eat, and to rest tonight." Revan replied. "If that's so," said the guard, "you'll want the Bannered Mare, up the street here, past the market stalls. Can't miss it."

"Thank you sir," Revan replied; "You were much more helpful than the guard outside the gate." The guard shook his head slowly. "I'm afraid you'll find that's pretty normal here in Skyrim. A lot of people either fought in the Great War, or lost friends and family because of it. Most Nords these days look down on Elves in general, Altmer or not. Myself, I try to have an open mind as much as possible." Revan made that a mental note; "I'll definitely bear that in mind. Thanks again." The guard nodded, and Revan turned to head up the street.

By now, night was setting in, and with it a distinct chill to the air. Shivering slightly, Revan walked briskly up the steps of the Bannered Mare and pushed the door open. Instantly, a wave of heat washed over him, and he quickly rushed inside, closing the door behind him. "Welcome friend," said the woman behind the counter, "Just stoked the fire. Take a seat and warm up. I'll send someone over in a minute."

Revan took a seat at one of the tables along the wall. Shortly after, a pretty Redguard woman came up to him. "What can I get you, handsome?" she asked. "An ale and some of that stew I smell please, and I'd like a room for the night if you have one." The woman nodded. "We do have one available; it's yours for the night. Once you've finished your meal, I can take you to it."

Revan ate in silence, savoring the warmth of the stew. Across the room, a fight seemed to be brewing between 2 Nords, and sure enough as Revan looked on, a brawl started. After a couple of minutes, a heavily armored Nord woman emerged victorious. Revan chuckled to himself about the foolishness of the whole thing, but made a point to avoid eye contact with the woman afterwards.

Revan finished his stew and took a last swig of ale. By now, his eyelids were quite heavy, and the thought of sleeping for several hours was very inviting. The Redguard woman, noticing he was finished, came over to collect his empty bowl and bottle. "Feel better? If you follow me, I'll show you to your room." Revan got up and followed behind the woman. She lead him upstairs to his room, and left to allow him privacy.

Revan opened the wardrobe, took off his rucksack, and placed inside. After closing the door, he removed his quiver and leaned it against the wardrobe along with his bow. He then unbuckled his sword belt, and as he did so, his gaze met the hilt of the sword. It had been a gift from his father on his 18th birthday. They had spent many days out in the back area behind his father's shop, practicing with sword and bow. His father had shown Revan everything he knew, and once he could teach no more, he even hired a trainer to continue the lessons.

Revan's mind wandered back to a particular session of archery training, and they were having a friendly competition, the goal being to shoot an apple off the top of a target. "Remember son, patience is the key to an accurate shot." His father used to say, as he hit the apple for the umpteenth time.

Thinking back to those times brought a small lump to Revan's throat, and he felt his eyes growing moist. Miss you Dad. Wiping his eyes, Revan quickly disrobed and crawled into the bed. This time tomorrow, I'll be in Winterhold. I'll make you proud Dad, I promise.