I'm Really Not the Dragonborn.

The journey to Dawnstar was uneventful, but as Ibnor approached the city gates, the air crackled with tension. The sounds of raised voices carried on the wind. In the open space before the Jarl's Longhouse, a heated argument was unfolding. A stern-looking Nord woman stood toe-to-toe with a man who could only be Skald the Elder. A hulking Nord in worn Legion armor stood silently behind her, his hand resting on his sword.

"Divines' sake, Skald," Nord woman's voice boomed, "Who do you think we're threatening with our old war wounds? We're not soldiers anymore."

Skald's face was flushed with anger. "Your man Horik is wearing his old Legion armor. What should I make of that?"

"He's proud of his service, Skald," The Nord woman retorted, her voice laced with exasperation. "The Legion taught us loyalty. And we're loyal to Dawnstar."

"This isn't over," Skald snarled. "I catch you sending one letter to General Tullius, I'll have you both executed." Skald turned on his heel and stormed into the Longhouse, his anger palpable.

The Nord woman sighed, running a hand through her hair. She noticed Ibnor standing nearby and offered a weary smile.

"You come to Dawnstar at a bad time. Tempers are… fiery."

"I came at a bad time? What's wrong?" Ibnor asked, his voice calm and measured.

"Not a single man or woman in Dawnstar has gotten a good night's rest in days," The Nord woman explained, her expression troubled. "We keep having the same nightmare, over and over. If people aren't tired, they're angry, and if they aren't angry, they're afraid. It's made keeping order a mess. I hear Mara has sent one of her priests to the inn to try to calm people down, but I don't know how much words will do now." She then offered an apologetic look.

"The Jarl and I have our disagreements. Sorry if you had to overhear one of them." 

"What was that about?" Ibnor inquired.

"Skald supports Ulfric's rebellion, and he doesn't like having a couple of old Legionnaires living in his town," The Nord woman explained, shaking her head. "He's a fool. A dragon has attacked Helgen. Dawnstar needs the Empire now more than ever."

"Is Dawnstar prepared for dragon attacks?" Ibnor asked, his eyes scanning the city's defenses.

"No," The Nord woman admitted grimly. "We're completely exposed. Bows and arrows are in short supply. Every building is made of thatch and wood. I've given standing orders to the guards to prepare water bucket runs to the harbor in case of a fire, but that's all we can do." 

"How's the war going?" Ibnor asked, keeping his tone neutral. 

"The Empire has stretched itself too far," Brina sighed. "This rebellion in Skyrim is one problem, but solving it won't fix everything. But that's the kind of talk an old warhorse shouldn't be making. Don't worry. I have my problems with the Empire, but I'm still a soldier first. We'll keep peace and order in Dawnstar." 

"Don't worry," Ibnor said, a subtle smile playing on his lips. "If a dragon comes, I'll handle it."

Brina looked at him, a mixture of surprise and skepticism in her eyes. "It's good you have the confidence, but don't get too confident. We are talking about a dragon here."

Ibnor's smile widened slightly. "Don't worry," he repeated, a glint in his eye. "They didn't call me the Dragon Rider for nothing."

Brina's eyes widened in shock. "You… you are the Lord of Helgen?"

"Former," Ibnor corrected gently. "You can call me Ibnor."

"Brina Merilis." She introduced herself.

A brief conversation ensued, with Brina's initial shock giving way to genuine curiosity. "The Lord of Helgen… fallen?" she asked, her brow furrowed. "I'd heard rumors, whispers carried on the wind, but nothing concrete."

Ibnor offered a grim smile. "The whispers were closer to the truth than the bards' tales, I assure you. It wasn't a glorious defeat on the battlefield, I'm afraid. No heroic last stand against overwhelming odds. It was… subtler than that." He paused, choosing his words carefully. "It was politics, Brina. The kind that happens in the shadows, behind closed doors, where words are sharper than swords and ink stains deeper than blood."

He recounted the events leading to his downfall briefly and spoke of the decree, signed by Tullius under pressure from other Jarls, and the flimsy pretexts used to justify his removal. He described the accusations of ambition, the fear that his growing influence posed a threat to the established order. He emphasized the irony – he had rebuilt Helgen, brought prosperity to the region, and yet, his success was used against him.

"They saw me as a rising star, a potential rival," Ibnor explained, his voice laced with a hint of bitterness. "They feared what I could become, rather than appreciating what I had become. So, they cut me down, publicly humiliated me, and handed Helgen back to Siddgeir, a man who couldn't manage a stable, let alone a hold."

Brina listened intently, her expression shifting from surprise to understanding, then to a simmering anger. She had seen similar things during her time in the Legion – good men sacrificed for political expediency.

"It's a familiar story," she murmured, her voice tight. "The Empire… it forgets its own sometimes." 

Ibnor nodded. "Indeed. But I don't intend to be forgotten, Brina. I merely seek a… change of scenery. A new beginning, perhaps."

Brina's gaze met his, a flicker of respect in her eyes. She saw not a broken man seeking pity, but a determined leader who had been wronged and was now looking to reclaim his place.

"And what does this new beginning entail, Lord… Ibnor?" she asked, a hint of a smile playing on her lips, using his name with a newfound formality.

Ibnor returned the smile, a spark of his old charisma returning. "For now," he said, gesturing towards the city around them, "it involves Dawnstar." He paused, then steered the conversation back to his immediate needs. "Which brings me to my current predicament. I was looking for a drink. Or some work," he said, his tone casual, as if the previous conversation had been nothing more than a brief pleasantry.

"Drowning your troubles in mead? A lot of folks are doing that these days," Brina said, a wry smile touching her lips. "You'll want the Windpeak Inn. As for work, you could try to catch Skald in a good mood, but your best bet would be working in the mines. They're on opposite ends of town."

"Thank you, Brina," Ibnor said, offering a respectful nod. He turned and headed towards the Windpeak Inn, the unsettling atmosphere of Dawnstar settling around him. The shared nightmare, the tension between the Jarl and his citizens, the lack of defenses… it all painted a picture of a city ripe for the taking. He smiled to himself. Dawnstar was indeed a city on the brink. And Ibnor was just the man to push it over the edge.

The Windpeak Inn was a bustling, if somewhat gloomy, establishment. The common room was filled with patrons, their faces etched with weariness and worry. The air was thick with the smell of stale ale and unwashed bodies, a testament to the sleepless nights plaguing the town. As Ibnor entered, he immediately noticed a small group gathered near the hearth, their conversation tense and hushed.

A wiry Nord woman wrung her hands nervously, her eyes wide with fear. "It's a curse! It has to be! I've got to get out of this town."

A more stout woman placed a comforting hand on her arm. "Irgnir, get a hold of yourself. They're just dreams. Please tell her, Erandur."

A man in simple robes, presumably the priest of Mara, Erandur, offered a gentle smile. "Listen to Fruki, Irgnir. They are just dreams, my dear. I assure you that it is quite normal."

"It's the same dream over and over again," Irgnir insisted, her voice trembling. "You think that's normal? It's evil, I tell you!"

Fruki turned to Erandur, her expression pleading. "Erandur, she has a point. You keep telling us no harm will follow these dreams, but they must be an omen." 

A gruff voice from nearby interjected. "Give him a chance to speak. He's trying to help us," said a man nursing a tankard of ale.

Erandur raised his hands slightly, attempting to calm the growing unease. "Everyone, please. I'm doing what I can to end these nightmares. In the meantime all I ask is that you remain strong and put your trust in Lady Mara."

Irgnir took a deep breath, visibly trying to compose herself. "I… I will. Thank you…"

Ibnor observed the scene from the doorway, taking in the palpable fear and the priest's attempts to soothe the troubled townsfolk. The shared nightmare was clearly having a profound effect on the city's morale. It was a weakness, a vulnerability that Ibnor could potentially exploit. He approached the bar, catching the eye of the barkeep, a weary-looking Nord with a thick beard.

"Mead," Ibnor requested, his voice low and even.

The barkeep nodded silently, pouring a tankard and sliding it across the counter. Ibnor took a long pull of the mead, his eyes fixed on the group gathered by the hearth. The priest's words, though well-intentioned, seemed to offer little comfort. The fear in the room was palpable, a heavy blanket stifling the usual jovial atmosphere of an inn. Finishing his drink, Ibnor approached the group, his presence drawing their attention. He offered a polite nod to Erandur. 

"A troubling time for Dawnstar, it seems," he commented, his voice neutral, neither dismissive nor overly concerned. He wanted to gauge their reactions, to understand the depth of their fear.

Turning specifically to Erandur, Ibnor's expression became more serious. "I overheard your conversation," he began, lowering his voice so as not to disturb the other patrons. "This… shared nightmare. I believe I can help."

"Help? You? And how would a traveler like yourself accomplish what the blessings of Mara have not?" Erandur looked at him with suspicion, his brow furrowed. 

"Don't be so quick to judge," Ibnor countered, a hint of steel entering his voice. "We all have our secrets, Erandur. Some more buried than others." He met the priest's gaze, a knowing glint in his eyes. "I suspect you understand that better than most."

Erandur's eyes narrowed, a flicker of recognition, or perhaps unease, crossing his face. He hesitated for a moment before asking, "What is your intention? Why offer your assistance?"

"I will help you resolve the issue with the Nightcaller Temple," Ibnor said, referring to the source of the nightmares, "if you help me first."

"Help you with what?" Erandur asked, his suspicion still evident, his eyes narrowed as if trying to discern Ibnor's true motives.

Ibnor leaned in slightly, lowering his voice to a near whisper, ensuring their conversation remained private amidst the din of the inn. 

"Dawnstar is vulnerable, Erandur. The people are suffering, their spirits broken by these… intrusions. Skald, bless his well-meaning heart, is ill-equipped to handle this crisis, let alone the larger issues facing this hold." He paused, letting his words sink in before continuing, his tone becoming more persuasive. "This city needs strong leadership, a steady hand to guide it through these troubled times. I can provide that."

He began to outline his plan, painting a picture of a revitalized Dawnstar. He spoke of its strategic location on the northern coast, its potential as a trading hub, connecting Skyrim to the northern islands and beyond. He described how improved trade routes would bring prosperity to the city, filling its coffers and providing opportunities for its citizens. He spoke of strengthening the city's defenses, ensuring its safety from both bandits and external threats, including the very real possibility of dragon attacks. And finally, he touched upon the spiritual aspect, promising to work with Erandur and the temple to ensure the nightmares were banished for good, restoring peace and tranquility to the troubled minds of Dawnstar's inhabitants.

"With my leadership," Ibnor concluded, his voice low and intense, "Dawnstar will not only survive this crisis, but thrive. It will become a beacon of strength and prosperity in the north, a testament to the resilience of its people."

Erandur listened in stunned silence, his eyes widening as the scope of Ibnor's ambition became clear. He had come to Dawnstar to offer solace, to ease the suffering of its people, but Ibnor was offering something far more ambitious: a complete transformation of the city's political and social landscape. The priest took a step back, his face pale, a mixture of awe and apprehension in his eyes.

"You… you intend to… usurp the Jarl?" he finally managed to stammer, the words barely audible.

Ibnor nodded, his expression firm but not unkind. "Not usurp, Erandur. Lead. Skald means well, but he is ineffectual. He does nothing to address the root causes of the people's suffering. He offers no solutions, only platitudes. These nightmares are merely a symptom of a deeper malaise, a lack of direction, a lack of hope. I offer them a future, a purpose." He paused, his gaze meeting Erandur's directly.

"And I offer you the opportunity to be a part of it. Think about it, Erandur. You are a priest of Mara, a bringer of peace and comfort. Yet, your words fall on deaf ears. The people are consumed by fear, and your blessings offer little respite. But with my influence, with my authority, we can truly heal this city, both in body and in spirit."

He continued, his voice softer now, more conciliatory. "Consider the Nightcaller Temple. It is a place of great power, a place that has been corrupted and misused. With my support, we can cleanse it, restore it to its former glory, and use its power for good, to protect Dawnstar from future spiritual threats. You would have the resources, the authority, to truly serve Mara and her people." 

Ibnor then played on Erandur's own doubts and frustrations. "Have you not felt the futility of your current efforts? Have you not seen the despair in the eyes of these people, even after your blessings? They need more than just prayers, Erandur. They need action. They need leadership. They need hope. And I can provide that. But I cannot do it alone. I need your help, your influence, your spiritual guidance." He paused, offering a sincere look. "Help me, Erandur, and together, we can truly bring peace to Dawnstar."

"I intend to give Dawnstar the leadership it deserves," Ibnor continued firmly, preempting any further protest. "Leadership that will address the real problems plaguing this city, not just these… nightmares."

A tense silence hung in the air, punctuated only by the low murmurs of the other patrons. Erandur, his face etched with conflict, finally relented. He was desperate to end the nightmares, and Ibnor's offer, however unsettling the implications, seemed like the only viable solution.

Ibnor wasted no time. He moved through the inn, his voice rising, addressing the weary townsfolk. He clapped his hands sharply, silencing the low hum of conversation.

"Have you had enough?" he boomed, his voice resonating with an authority that commanded attention. Heads turned, weary eyes focusing on him. "Have you had enough of these sleepless nights? Of this constant fear that clings to you like the northern fog? The Jarl sits in his longhouse, doing nothing! While you suffer, he remains idle!"

His words struck a chord with the already agitated crowd. Their fatigue, both emotional and physical, had eroded their ability to think clearly. They were desperate for a solution, any solution, a promise of respite from the relentless nightmares. Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room, growing louder with each passing second.

"He cares nothing for your suffering!" Ibnor continued, his voice rising in intensity, his gaze sweeping across the faces in the room, making eye contact with as many as he could. "He feasts in his hall while you toss and turn, haunted by the same terrible visions! He hides behind his guards while you are tormented by these nightmares! I say it is time for a change! It is time for a leader who will act!"

The murmurs grew louder, turning into shouts of anger and frustration. 

"He's right!" someone yelled from the back of the room. 

"Skald's done nothing!" another voice echoed. 

The atmosphere in the inn shifted dramatically, the air thick with tension. People began to push and shove, their pent-up frustration threatening to erupt into violence. Tankards were slammed on tables, chairs scraped across the wooden floor, and the low growl of discontent grew into a roar.

Ibnor, sensing the shift, the precise moment when frustration tipped into action, raised his hand, not to silence them, but to direct their energy.

"Then let us show him!" he shouted, his voice ringing with conviction. "Let us show him that we will not be ignored! Let us show him that we demand action!" He turned towards the door, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. "To the Longhouse!"

The crowd surged forward, a wave of angry townsfolk spilling out of the Windpeak Inn and into the streets of Dawnstar. The quiet, fearful city was suddenly transformed into a scene of chaos. People ran through the streets, shouting and yelling, their voices echoing off the wooden buildings. The steady tramp of many feet grew louder as the mob marched toward the Jarl's Longhouse.

Outside the Longhouse, the crowd swelled, their shouts echoing through the city. Torches were lit, casting long, flickering shadows across the faces of the rioters. 

"We want sleep!" they chanted, their voices hoarse with exhaustion and anger. 

"We want a leader who cares! We want Ibnor!" Some even began to chant, 

"Down with Skald!" as the mob grew in size and intensity. 

The few guards stationed outside the Longhouse looked on nervously, clearly outnumbered and unsure how to handle the situation. The riot had begun, and it was quickly spiraling out of control.

Ibnor stood at the front of the mob, his voice cutting through the din like a honed blade. He raised his arms, silencing the immediate area around him, then bellowed, projecting his voice across the square. 

"Skald!" he roared, his voice echoing off the walls of the Longhouse and the surrounding buildings. "I invoke the ancient rights! By the old Nord customs! I challenge you for the right to lead Dawnstar!"

The Jarl's housecarl, a burly Nord with a grim expression, emerged from the Longhouse, his hand instinctively going to the hilt of his sword. He surveyed the chaotic scene, his eyes narrowing at the sight of the angry mob, focusing finally on Ibnor at its forefront. 

"Who dares challenge the Jarl?" he demanded, his voice laced with anger and a hint of fear.

"I do!" Ibnor replied, his voice ringing with authority and unwavering confidence. "I am Ibnor, former Lord of Helgen, and I say your Jarl has failed this city!"

A collective gasp rippled through the crowd as Ibnor's identity was revealed. The whispers began, spreading like wildfire through the throng of people. 

"The Lord of Helgen… here?" 

"Ibnor? The Dragon Rider?" 

The name, though associated with a fallen hold, still carried weight, a reminder of past strength and leadership.

The commotion reached the Jarl inside. Skald himself emerged from the Longhouse, his face flushed with a mixture of anger and disbelief. He looked at Ibnor, then at the agitated crowd, then back at Ibnor, his expression a mask of incredulity. 

"You? You dare to challenge me?"

Ibnor ignored Skald's incredulous tone, focusing instead on the crowd. He raised his voice again, addressing the people directly. 

"People of Dawnstar!" he shouted, his voice resonating with power. "I hear your cries! I see your suffering! And I promise you this, if you grant me the leadership of this hold, I will solve the problem of these nightmares! I will bring peace and rest back to Dawnstar!" He gestured towards the Longhouse with a dismissive wave.

"Skald has had his chance, and he has done nothing! I offer you action, I offer you solutions, I offer you sleep!" The crowd roared in response, their exhaustion and desperation fueling their support for Ibnor's bold claim.

Erandur, seeing the crowd's growing support for Ibnor, stepped forward, using his influence as a priest of Mara to amplify the message. He raised his hands, silencing a small section of the crowd nearest him, then spoke in a clear, resonant voice that carried across the square. 

"My brothers and sisters," he began, his tone filled with compassion, "we are all weary. We have all suffered these sleepless nights, these terrifying visions that plague our minds. Lady Mara, the goddess of love and compassion, sees our suffering and weeps for us." He paused, his gaze sweeping across the faces of the crowd, his words finding purchase in their exhausted hearts. 

"But prayers alone are not enough. We need action. We need a leader who will stand against this darkness, who will bring us the peace and rest we so desperately crave." He gestured towards Ibnor. "This man… he offers us hope. He offers us a solution. He offers us sleep."

His words, combined with Ibnor's powerful presence and the raw emotion of the crowd, swayed them further. The initial spark of rebellion ignited by Ibnor was now fanned into a roaring flame by Erandur's spiritual authority.

Brina stood nearby, watching the scene unfold with a growing sense of unease. Her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword, a reflex from her years in the Legion. She wanted to support Skald, her duty and oath bound her to him, but she couldn't deny the Jarl's inaction. He had done nothing to address the nightmares, nothing to quell the growing fear that gripped the city. The people were suffering, and Skald's inaction was only exacerbating their distress. Ibnor, though a relative stranger, had a reputation for strong leadership, a reputation that preceded him, even to this remote corner of Skyrim. A few in the crowd reached out to touch Ibnor's arm as he passed, their eyes filled with a desperate plea. They saw in Ibnor a potential savior, a beacon of light in their current darkness.

The crowd's chanting intensified, their voices a unified roar that shook the very foundations of the Longhouse. 

"Accept the challenge, Skald! Accept the challenge! We want sleep! We want Ibnor!" The chants became more aggressive, more demanding. 

"Skald is weak! Ibnor will save us!"

Skald, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear, looked at the surging crowd. Their faces, illuminated by torches and the dying light of the day, were contorted with desperation, a raw hunger for relief etched into every line and wrinkle. He saw not just anger, but a profound weariness, a collective exhaustion that threatened to consume them all. He looked at Ibnor, who stood firm and resolute, his eyes filled with a steely resolve that mirrored the determination in the mob's faces. Ibnor's posture radiated confidence, a stark contrast to Skald's own crumbling facade. He then turned his gaze, almost pleadingly, to Brina. But even before their eyes met, Skald knew what he would see. He had always distrusted her, always suspected her lingering sympathies for the Empire. He had accused her countless times of harboring secret loyalties to Tullius, of undermining his authority.

He saw the conflict in her eyes, the way her gaze flickered between him and the crowd, then back to Ibnor. But there was something else there too, something that chilled him to the bone: a flicker of… agreement. He saw the subtle tightening of her jaw, the barely perceptible shake of her head, not in denial, but in resignation. It was then, in that fleeting moment, that Skald's worst fears were confirmed. Brina's loyalty to Dawnstar, to the people she had sworn to protect, had finally eclipsed her strained, tenuous loyalty to him. She recognized the desperation in the crowd, the genuine belief they had in Ibnor, and she knew that opposing them would only lead to further unrest, perhaps even bloodshed. And perhaps, a bitter voice whispered in the back of his mind, she believed Ibnor was the better leader, the stronger hand that Dawnstar so desperately needed.

A wave of bitterness washed over Skald. He had always valued Brina's counsel, even while distrusting her motives. He had tolerated her presence, even while suspecting her secret allegiances. But now, in his moment of greatest need, she was not just failing to support him; she was actively, if silently, siding with his challenger. The realization stung, a sharp, painful blow to his pride and his already fragile authority. He felt a surge of resentment, a desire to lash out, to accuse her of the very treachery he had always suspected. But he knew, deep down, that such an outburst would be futile. It would only further alienate him from the people and solidify their support for Ibnor.

He looked back at the crowd, their chanting growing louder, more insistent. 

"Accept the challenge!" 

"Accept the challenge!" 

"Ibnor! Ibnor! Ibnor!" 

The name echoed through the square, a constant reminder of his own inadequacy and Brina's tacit endorsement of his rival. He knew he had no choice. The people, driven to the brink by exhaustion and fear, would not be denied. Their desperation had reached a fever pitch, and he was the target of their collective frustration. He was trapped between the will of his people, the silent betrayal of his most trusted advisor, and the ambition of a man who had suddenly appeared to seize control. Before Skald could utter the words of acceptance, the housecarl stepped forward, his face grim. 

"Hold!" he commanded, his voice booming across the square. He turned to Ibnor, his hand still resting near his sword. "You challenge Jarl Skald for leadership of Dawnstar? By what right do you make this demand? You are no Nord."