*Has this been posted?*
*Or, was that "the last of his kind" fic?*
Latest update:January 31, 2024
Summary:The Dragonborn had been living in seclusion for over 30 years after his friends and family had died of old age. Until one day Akatosh comes to him with an offer. A new world to see, new students to teach, maybe even a new family to build in a world who's fate doesn't rest on his shoulders. It sounds like the perfect cross between retirement and a new adventure. Who could say no?
Link:https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14184640/1/Hearthfire
Word count:225k
Chapters:38
Chapter 1
The sun shone brilliantly in the sky, illuminating the fluffy white clouds below. They swirled lazily around the high mountain top forming a sea of billowing white that obscured the top of the mountain from view or, in one particular case, the view of the ground from the mountain peak. At the highest point on the mountain known to all as the Throat of the World sat two strange structures. One was an crumbling wall inscribed with words in an ancient tongue, unknown to all but a few. The other was a small stone house with a forge attached that seemed out of place on the remote mountain top. Near the house was a winding path that disappeared into the fog as it led down the mountain.
Sitting on the very edge of the peak with his legs dangling over the precipice was the house's sole resident. He appeared to most to be a human in his late forties or early fifties though his true age was more than double that. He was dressed causally in a simple tunic and breeches with fine leather boots, seemingly unbothered by the cold of the snowy mountain top. His shoulder length black hair, greying at the sides, blew softly in the breeze held back only by the stone of the ancient wall against which the man rested. The mans close cropped black beard, also showing flecks of grey, fluttered as the man sighed and closed his eyes.
No matter how majestic any view could ever be, once you'd seen it enough times, it would be as uninteresting as sitting and staring at dirt for hours on end and this man had seen every view the mountain had to offer. He'd sat and watched the weather and the lands below more times than he could count in the thirty years he had lived on the mountain. Though, how routine the view had become it never failed to awaken some memory or other of the times the man had spent wandering the lands of Skyrim that stretched out below him.
He would remember his days tracking down stolen books with his classmates from the College of Winterhold or the weeks he spent tracking bandits and animals through the wild alongside his Shield-brothers and sisters from the Companions. His favorite memories to revisit were the ones of his family and his time spent teaching his children along with hundreds of other students the wonders of magic, combat, and survival. Though these were the memories he remembered most fondly, they were not what the majority of the world remembered him for. The lands of Skyrim and beyond, across every region of Tamriel remembered him best for the years he spent hunting dragons and other creatures that threatened the world. They remembered him for his defeat of Alduin the World Eater, his victory over Harkon the Vampire Lord, and for how he led the armies of the Empire to victory over the Aldemeri Dominion. Few in the world below even remembered his name. The legends and stories told about him simply referred to him by his title. Dragonborn.
The man stirred at that thought. Dragonborn. He'd been called that by so many people that it might as well have been his name. That or the dozens of other titles he'd held over the years. Listener, Guild Master, Harbinger, Archmage, Commander, General, Advisor, Thane, and so many others he could no longer remember. So few had ever used his real name that it had become something special. Now that he thought about it there was only one person who had never called him anything but his name. Muiri, his darling wife, had never failed to greet him the same way every time he returned home to her from some epic adventure.
"Welcome home Torrhen. How was your trip?" She would say, before kissing him lightly and leading him into the house.
Torrhen… yes that was his name. The true name of the Dovahkiin. The name the legendary Last Dragonborn preferred. The name that Tamriel had forgotten, though his legend lived on. It wasn't a huge surprise that the world had forgotten his name considering both the fact that so few had ever used it and how long it had been since he'd truly interacted with the world. It had been over 90 years since the last of his great feats; the destruction of the Thalmor and the Aldemeri Dominon, had occurred. Once the war was won and Tamriel had been united under the banner of the Emire, Torrhen had returned to Skyrim to take up his positions as Archmage of the College of Winterhold and Harbinger of the Companions. He'd held both positions full time for nearly twenty years before leaving the posts to his daughters, Lucia as Harbinger and Sofie as Archmage. It had taken a lot of badgering before he left those posts to take up an advisory position in the Imperial City as the right hand of the Emperor.
He'd served as an Imperial Advisor for another twenty years, and through two emperors, before retiring back to Whiterun to take care of his wife who, in her mid 80's, was well past the expected lifespan of a human in Tamriel. He'd spent three hard but loving years taking care of her until she had finally died at 88. That was 53 years ago now and had marked the beginning of his withdrawal from the world. After Muiri had died Torrhen moved to a remote homestead in the swamps of Hjalmarch, with his only frequent visitors being his daughters. When they had finally died of old age, he had lost his last living connection to the world around him. After burying Lucia, the last of the girls to die, he'd packed his bags and made his way up the Seven Thousand Steps. He stopped briefly at the monastery of High Hrothgar to speak with the newest generation of Greybeards before continuing on to the peak of the Throat of the World.
He had lived on the peak for 30 years now and hadn't had a visitor in nearly 20, though he knew that the Greybeards were still alive. He could hear their Shouts from his home. The only people he spoke to know were himself and the gods above. "Not that they're listening," he muttered to himself. "I must have spoken to the gods a thousand times at shrines, temples, even the middle of the wilds but I've never gotten a response. Not even from Father Akatosh. Not since the day he made me Dovahkiin."
"We are not supposed to speak with mortals directly, my son. It usually causes more problems than it solves," said a deep voice that startled Torrhen. Though he had only heard it once, it was a voice that Torrhen knew well. Akatosh, the father of the dragons, chief of the Divines, and Torrhen's own father.
He looked to his right to observe the figure that had appeared there. The form Akatosh had taken looked nearly identical to Torrhen himself, though with pure silver hair and dragon scales covering every inch of skin. "Bormahu," he said quietly, "I did not expect to hear your voice again. Especially not after nearly a century of silence. To see you in physical form is even stranger." After a moments pause, he stood and faced the only being he could truly call Father. "Why now? After so many years, why do you appear before me now?"
"I bring an offer to you, my son," Akatosh said, gazing out at the sea of clouds. "I am aware that you secluded yourself here to avoid the people below. To avoid both their awe at your accomplishments and their fear of the power you wield." It was true. Part of why he had retreated from the world was the way the people of Tamriel looked at him. Even his own students sometimes gazed at him with a mix of awe and fear. His daughters were the last people he could remember that had actually treated him like a person. "I offer to take you away from this world. To take you on to another world where you may escape from your reputation. A true retirement. You could even become a teacher again. I am aware of how much you have missed it."
Torrhen stared in silence for a moment before turning to face the clouds once more. "I didn't know that any worlds existed beyond Nirn and the Oblivion Realms," he said. "How did it come to be?"
"You are aware of course of how the Et'Ada created Mundus and eventually became the Aedra, Daedra, and mortal races," Akatosh explained. "What few mortals know, however, is that a great many of the Et'Ada had nothing to do with the creation of Mundus at all and chose to create a world of their own which they call Genkai."
"And you wish to send me to this world?" Torrhen asked. "To Genkai?"
"That is my offer to you, my son." Akatosh smiled. "The gods of that world have descended from the heavenly plane to live among their mortal children. Most have taken mortals into their service in groups they call Familia. The gods do this by granting the mortals a blessing called a Falna, which allows the mortals to grow in strength as well as learn powerful skills and magical abilities." The god turned and continued to speak as he walked around the front of the word wall. "The monsters of Genkai come from a central point called the Dungeon. The best way for blessed mortals to increase their abilities or 'level' is to delve into the dungeon and fight the monsters within. To that end, most of the gods and their Familia have congregated around the entrance to the Dungeon. They call the city they have created Orario."
"If I were to accept, how would I get there?" Torrhen asked. "Would I be able to bring anything with me or would I have to start over?"
"You will be able to keep all that you have collected over the years save for the Aedric and Daedric artifacts you have hidden around the world," Akatosh said as he turned to face Torrhen. "I will have Zenithar convert your gold into Valis, the currency of that world. As for how you will get there," he gestured towards the ancient word wall, "I will create a portal here to transport you to Genkai. Once there, you will never be able to return to Nirn, nor hear from me again."
"And what of my powers? Will I be able to keep them in this new world or must I find a god to serve in that world start over from the beginning?"
"This is meant to be a retirement, my son, not a new quest." Akatosh smiled. "I will give you a temporary Falna using my own divine energy but," he paused, "if you wish to keep your powers you must join the Familia of a god who is native to that world within a year of your arrival. If you do not, your powers will begin to fade."
"Would I be forced to delve into this Dungeon of theirs or could I spend my days teaching the members of the Familia I join all that I am able?"
"That is up to you, my son, and the god you choose to join. The doom of this new world is not yours to bear. It rests on the shoulders of others, though you may involve yourself if you choose to do so."
Torrhen stood in silent thought for a moment. It seemed like a good deal. He had dearly missed both normal interactions with people and the experience of being a teacher. That he could regain both, plus keep the skills and riches he had worked so hard to obtain was a very hard thing to pass up. There was just one thing that stopped him though. A thought he had to voice. "What of Nirn?" He asked, quietly. "Will Nirn be alright if I leave?"
Akatosh smiled, "Eventually this cycle will end, and the next Kalpa will begin. The wheel of time never stops turning and all shall eventually meet its end. To answer your question though, your actions have brought about the beginning of a golden age. Entire generations of men and mer shall live and die without ever knowing the horrors of war thanks to your actions. Though monsters still roam and Daedra still scheme, Nirn will survive in your absence. You've done the hard part. Now it is time to rest."
"In that case," Torrhen grinned, "I accept your offer, Bormahu."
Akatosh smiled again. "Good." He gestured to Torrhen's hosue, "You need not worry about your gear. I will ensure that it and your money are stored within that magical storage bag you created. It shall be beside you when you awaken on the other side of the portal."
"Thank you, Bormahu" Torrhen said gratefully, before turning to face the word wall. "I am ready."
"Good luck, my son," Akatosh said before turning to the word wall. "VUS DAAL NEH" Akatosh shouted as a swirling portal appeared within the word wall.
Torrhen nodded at his father and, with one last look at his house and the swirling clouds around the Throat of the World, he stepped through the portal and into the unknown.
Link:https://m.fanfiction.net/s/14184640/2/Hearthfire