Welcome back, everyone. It's me, Darkest Nightmare's Dread. I have traveled far, seen many strange and wondrous things, including Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. That's right. The description may say Pokémon/Skyrim crossover, but this story is, for the most part, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim. There WILL be graphic violence like in the actual Skyrim, so if that's not your thing, I understand, but please do not read this fanfic. Also, no spamming or flaming. You will be blocked. Got it? Good.
In this fanfic, Rayquaza was not always a Pokémon. He was once something much, MUCH more terrifying.
Now, it is time for the start of Redemption…
A bloodthirsty conqueror, a soulless weapon. He was known by many titles: Al-Drun-Dinok [Destroyer-Bringer-Death], Right Wing of Alduin, Wielder of the Dread Thu'um, Faal-Dov [Snow-Dragon], Molag's Nightmare. All these titles were meaningless once the wearer was exiled. Not just to any place. No. He was imprisoned in the forme of that which he once revered, unable to return to his homeland. As the ages went by, he came to realize that all his work … had been for naught. He came to revile that which he had once worshiped. For a long time, he prayed for a chance to make things right again, but there was no reply. Despondent, he began to believe that redemption was a concept only humans could embrace, but as he was soon to find out, he was wrong. This is the story of a former Dragon Priest, his quest to right all his wrongs, and attain that which his former power had denied him. This is a story of … Redemption.
-Chapter 1: The Time Has Come-
(Too long,) he thought. (Too long it has been since I … was not unlike those humans down there.) The ancient green Dragon-type looked down from his perch atop Sky Pillar in the vast Hoenn ocean. Since the time he'd been exiled to this strange land innumerable centuries ago, humanity never ceased to amaze him. They had gone from huts of mud to stone, and now to buildings of metal and glass that seemed to touch the sky itself. (With the spread of their species, the humans had brought with them many things,) the old dragon Rayquaza thought, (among them death, destruction, disease, and the greater courage to stand and fight against these ever-living specters I knew all too well.) All in all, they were not too different from the people he had left behind when he went into exile. Suddenly, he sensed a presence off to his right, interrupting his ruminations. "Who dares to interrupt my ruminations?" He growled.
"The time has come," a human voice said. Rayquaza looked down, and barely four metres away from his coiled body was a man dressed in a brown-and-white robe. He looked young, but Rayquaza knew that this was no mere youth, and no human, either. "The time has come," the figure repeated in a firmer voice.
"Time for what?" Rayquaza asked. "What do you mean, Akatosh?"
"The Aedra have come to a decision," Akatosh began.
Rayquaza was immediately interested. "What is it, and what does it have to do with me?" He asked.
"Your time of exile is at an end," Akatosh replied, "and it has been decided that it is time that your request be granted. Yes, Holondil. It is time that you regained your true forme again."
"As the humans say, is there a catch?" Rayquaza asked cautiously. He knew that the atrocities he had committed could not have been forgotten by the Aedra, otherwise known as the Divines.
"Your former power will not be granted you," Akatosh said, confirming Rayquaza/Holondil's suspicions. "You will not be completely powerless, however. Your ability to grow stronger faster will still be granted to you, as will your mind abilities. They are yours by the right of the blood of your father's people. I must warn you. You will be plunged into a strange world. Tamriel has changed much in your absence. Many things will be very, very different."
"If I am granted the opportunity to atone for my former crimes, so be it. I would fight my former master if that were the only way," Holondil promised, resolute. Suddenly, he realized that Akatosh was now looking him in the eye. "What … what did you do to me?" He asked, surprised. He looked at his hands and gasped. They were no longer green hands with three claws on each one, but pale, almost pure white hands with five slender fingers on each of them. He had legs again, with toes.
"You have been granted your old forme again, Holondil," Akatosh replied. "What you do now is your own decision." A grave look came over the head Aedra's face as he added, "If you revert to your old self, if you repeat your history, there will be no second chance. No exile. You will be slain completely and irrevocably, or worse. There will be no barren moon, no cloistered haven, no crevice where we cannot find you. You think you know pain? You will long for something as sweet as pain."
"I understand, Lord Akatosh," Holondil replied as he lowered his head in respect. "How will I get back to Tamriel, though?"
"This way," Akatosh replied, grabbing Holondil by the collar of his roughspun tunic and bodily throwing him through a portal that abruptly opened in the sky.
Holondil pitched forward through the ethereal space, not knowing what to expect. He had seen many wonders as Rayquaza, but to this interdimensional space was completely foreign to him. He didn't have much time for observation, though. It seemed as if he had only been in the space for a few seconds before the view of deep purple space speckled with white and yellow stars was shattered by the dark green of strong pine and spruce trees that rose to meet him. Holondil smashed into a tall pine head on and hit the ground hard. "What in Oblivion?" He heard a voice ask. Holondil pulled himself to his feet and looked in the direction the voice had come from. He saw a small group of men, 5 in total, standing before him. One was holding a woodcutter's axe, which meant that they had been in the forest to harvest wood for a campfire or for making arrows. They were dressed in armor that looked like it was made out of a combination of fur and leather. "Who in Oblivion are you, Elf?!" The speaker, presumably the head of the group, shouted. His helmet appeared to have horns on the front, which puzzled Holondil. The four soldiers standing behind him drew their swords.
"Put away your swords," Holondil said cautiously, raising his hands, hoping that the soldiers would interpret it as an act of surrender, not aggression. "I am not in the mood to fight, and I would like to avoid bloodshed."
The head soldier laughed. "You want to avoid bloodshed?" He asked, incredulous. "Well, then why did you start the Great War?"
"What war?" Holondil asked. "I do not know what you are talking about."
"Don't lie to a captain, elf," the head soldier interrupted. "The Great War? The Bondage of Skyrim? Outlawing of Talos? The Stormcloak Rebellion? Any of that sound familiar?"
"I am sorry, but I do not know of that which you speak," Holondil admitted.
"Sir, he doesn't look like a Thalmor," one of the other soldiers said. "He's not dressed in Thalmor armor or robes, and he doesn't have their accent, so he can't be an informant for them."
"Are you a Nord or an Elf?" The head soldier demanded before Holondil could ask who the Thalmor were. The one who spoke up said nothing, and the head soldier nodded. "If you're a true son of Skyrim, you will slaughter this elf in the name of the Stormcloak Rebellion, and avenge the deaths of those lost to the Thalmor! Charge!" On his orders, the soldiers charged forward.
Holondil jumped backward and shot Sparks (Editor's Note: Spell names will always be capitalized) from his hands, quickly killing two of the soldiers. "I warned you," the Nord/Snow Elf said gravely. "I will not repeat myself. Leave me be."
"Talos smite you!" The Stormcloak captain shouted, charging forward.
Thinking fast, Holondil reached out for a sword from one of the fallen Stormcloak soldiers. The steel blade flew into his hand, surprising the soldiers. (It would appear that Akatosh was not lying,) Holondil thought. He jumped back, blocking a strike from the captain's greatsword. He knew that trying to pit his strength against a greatsword would potentially be a deadly decision, so he skillfully parried the heavy blade to the side, leaving the captain open. Without hesitation, Holondil cut off the captain's head, knowing that the Aedra wouldn't punish him for this fight. He had literally been thrown headlong into the fight, and now he had to get out of it. One soldier tried to chop him with a battleax, but Holondil dodged to the side and ran the soldier through his side while he was still off balance. He looked at the last soldier, who was slowly and cautiously backing away. "You are not like the others," Holondil said, breathing heavily from the battle. "You were willing and able to see me as other than whatever this 'Thalmor' group is. I have no quarrel with you. Leave in peace." The Stormcloak soldier immediately turned tail and ran.
Holondil nodded and turned to the Stormcloak soldiers he had killed. There was no sense in letting the armor go to waste. He removed the armor from one of the Stormcloak soldiers. The captain's armor was stronger, but Holondil didn't want to be mistaken as one of the Stormcloaks' captains. That situation could get very complicated very fast, and he knew he still had much to learn about his homeland before he could do anything. He knew that joining any group would be a poor idea. After all, it was blind devotion that had gotten him exiled in the first place. "Perhaps it would be best for me to find some forme of employment. I need the gold, and I could use my position to learn more about this 'Stormcloak Rebellion' that commanding officer was talking about."
He looted the armor from the rest of the soldiers, tossing their bodies into some nearby bushes, and started picking the mountain flowers near the bushes. He knew that even though much time had passed since he'd last been in Skyrim, the mountain flowers were still useful alchemy ingredients. He'd never practiced it much as his … former self, but he knew from many village sackings that alchemists were incredibly hard foes to defeat. He grabbed a couple passing bees as an afterthought, managing not to get stung. He looked at the map he had swiped from the Stormcloak Captain. "Judging from the position of the river, I'm not far from Whiterun," Holondil muttered, not knowing what Whiterun was. According to the map, there was a meadery nearby, and he was in need of cash. (I should try my luck there,) Holondil thought.
-Two days later-
Two days later, Holondil made his way to a building in the wilderness. Its name was the Honningbrew Meadery. Once again, he thanked Julianos, the Aedra of logic and commerce, for his unique ability to learn written languages quickly. The Nordic written language had changed greatly in the centuries since his exile, so his mother's teaching was next to worthless, unless he was using Ancient Nordic writing as a secret code. He walked into the meadery, and was immediately greeted by a gruff, "What are you doing here? Lost your patrol, have you?"
Holondil looked at the owner. He appeared to be a middle-aged, balding Nord with an unhappy look on his face. "I only took this armor because they attacked me, and I had nothing that was better," he replied. "I'm looking for a job."
"Hmm," the middle-aged Nord grumbled thoughtfully. "Are you afraid to get your hands dirty?" He asked.
Holondil shook his head. "I am not," he said, showing the Nord his already dirty hands.
"Oh, great. A wise guy. And are you willing to work long hours?" The Nord asked.
"Yes," Holondil replied shortly.
The Nord before him pondered this for a moment. "Considering I haven't exactly gotten any other job offers, you're in, Elf," he replied. "My name is Sabjorn. Your starting rate is 50 gold Septims an hour. Be glad. Most employers wouldn't offer that much to someone just starting their job."
"I am definitely glad," Holondil replied. He needed money, preferably money that didn't mean getting into fights frequently, and while Sabjorn was gruff and irritable, he didn't seem like the type to get into a lot of trouble. "When do I start?" He asked.
"Immediately," Sabjorn replied. "Here," he said, giving Holondil some work clothes. "That armor's not proper Meadery clothing." Holondil nodded and went to another room to change into his Honningbrew Meadery clothing, which appeared to have had a previous owner. The sleeves were dirty, and the pants legs appeared to be crusted with dried mead. After changing into his new work clothes, Holondil went to the boilery and began stirring the large vats filled with mead. "Be sure to stir those vats for the next hour or so. I don't want the mead going bad," Sabjorn said. Holondil nodded, grabbed the great wooden plank that was the stirrer, and began stirring the mead. Because the containers were so full, Holondil had mead splashing up on his feet more than once. It troubled him as a Nord that this mead on his clothes could not be consumed, but he knew that there was plenty of mead in the vat that he could purchase from his employer at a later time when he had money to do so.
After a few weeks, an Imperial named Mallus joined Holondil in maintaining the batches. Holondil appreciated the help, but refused to let Mallus do all the work. They were paid on the amount of work they did in addition to their hourly wages, and Holondil still needed the money. There was plenty of work for both of them to do: sweeping the boiler floors, trimming the plants in front of the Meadery, stirring the vats to make sure the mead didn't go sour, and other such menial tasks. "We shouldn't have to do all this," Mallus confided to Holondil during one of their rare breaks. "We're doing all the work, and Sabjorn's getting all the gold."
"Perhaps," Holondil replied, "but obviously, if we start complaining about our work, Sabjorn could throw us out and hire someone he believes will not complain so much."
"What are you doing, just standing around?" Sabjorn asked gruffly. "I'm not paying you to not work. Either work, or I'm throwing you both out! Understand?"
"Yes, Sabjorn," Holondil replied politely. Mallus grumbled an objection, but nodded yes.
"Good," Sabjorn said. "I'm gonna need you two to do some night work. I've tasted the mead, and it's not acceptable. It needs more time in the boiler." Mallus and Holondil didn't object, but Holondil was less than pleased. He had worked hours on that mead recipe, and he knew that it was among the best meads in Skyrim, rivaling even Black-Briar Mead in taste. "Well, hop to it, then!" Sabjorn snapped. Holondil immediately began running toward the boilery. "At least he's good for something," Sabjorn remarked to Mallus, who immediately began his own run toward the boilery.
"I am beginning to see what you mean," Holondil said to Mallus.
"What do you mean?" Mallus asked.
"You know I worked for hours trying to figure out this new mead recipe, and it's still not good enough for him. Does he want to lose the business edge to Black-Briar Mead?" Holondil asked, visibly displeased with his circumstances.
Mallus nodded in agreement. "I know," he replied. "I've tasted that mead you made, and it was the best mead I've ever had. Well, best get back to work. After all, we're not getting paid for sitting on our butts and discussing taste like we're judges at a mead judging contest. What I wouldn't do for that opportunity…"
Holondil nodded and began stirring his vat while Mallus began stirring his. Little did they know that Sabjorn had been secretly listening to them. (I'd best keep an eye on both of them,) the Nord thought. (It looks like Holondil's not as good as I think. There's been mead missing from the batches. It's probably him, though I should also keep an eye on that lazy Imperial Mallus. It could be him, or both of them.)
As the weeks turned into months, Holondil became more and more gruff toward what he believed to be an increasingly ungrateful and exploitative Sabjorn. One day, exactly 93 days since Holondil had started working at the meadery, a Stormcloak captain and his soldiers stopped by for a drink. Sabjorn obliged them, and Holondil eavesdropped on them, trying to learn more about the war between this Empire and the Stormcloak Rebellion. "This is good mead," the Stormcloak captain remarked. "Who made it?"
"The recipe's something one of my workers came up with and I improved on," Sabjorn boasted. Holondil was very unhappy. Not only had he spent hours creating the recipe, and many days perfecting the brew, but he was not being given credit for it. The only thing dulling his unhappiness was that the Stormcloaks were thoroughly enjoying the mead. The Stormcloaks enjoyed the mead for another hour before stumbling out of the Meadery. They had said nothing about the war, making Holondil even more curious. Barely an hour later, Sabjorn shouted, "HOLONDIL, GET YOUR THIEVING ASS IN HERE!" Angered by the accusation, Holondil sprinted to the room he shared with Mallus, where he found a furious Sabjorn and what appeared to be several cases of Black-Briar Mead stacked on top of his bed. "What's this? Drinking my competitor's mead?" Sabjorn asked angrily.
"I would not do such a thing, not unless I was comparing it to the brand you make Mallus and myself make," Holondil replied bluntly.
"Well, from the look of things, you did a lot of 'comparing'," Sabjorn rebutted. "I want you out of here by this time tomorrow, or I'm calling the Whiterun Guard on you."
Holondil glared at Sabjorn. "I will take my leave," he growled, "but there will come a day when you will regret firing me."
Sabjorn glared back. "Is that a threat?" He asked, getting in Holondil's face.
"No. It was a promise," Holondil replied, towering over the Meadery owner by a head.
For a moment, neither of them moved a muscle. Sabjorn tried to stare down the Nord/Elf before him, but found the angry glow in his eyes to be too much. "On second thought, you've got until tonight to get out of here!" Sabjorn snapped, trying to get some control back.
"Good," Holondil replied bluntly. "I am glad we came to an understanding."
Sabjorn left the room, and Mallus looked impressed. "I didn't think you had it in you," he commented.
"While I was employed, I had to be on my best behavior around Sabjorn, but now that I am fired from my job, I do not need to hold back what I truly think of that idiot," Holondil replied bitterly, Mallus nodding in agreement. (What a [mey], a fool,) Holondil thought about Sabjorn.
By midafternoon, Holondil had changed back into his Stormcloak gear and left the Honningbrew Meadery behind. He knew that he could not afford to be unemployed for a long time. There was the strong possibility that there was an inn nearby that was looking for a worker, and Holondil was hardly in the mood to say 'no' to a job opportunity. According to his map, not a few days away was an inn in Helgen. (I lose nothing if my offer is rejected, but if I do not attempt, I will not win,) Holondil thought. He knew that the night was coming fast, and so he began to make preparations for his journey to Helgen. He consulted the map he had stolen from the Stormcloak Captain. According to the map, there was a possible bandit camp in the way, and he knew that he still had to learn how to fight like a member of the Fourth Age. There was also Darkwater Crossing, which was labeled as a mining camp. Holondil smiled. He didn't know why, but he had always enjoyed mines. True, they were dangerous, but there was so much ore to mine, and if there was something Holondil definitely wanted to learn how to do, it was smithing Daedric Armour. Rolling up his map, Holondil changed his course and began making his way south toward Darkwater Crossing.
After three days' travel, Holondil had made his way to Darkwater Crossing. The town seemed deserted. Too quiet, and Holondil knew that silence brought trouble. He was right. He heard a shouting off to the west, and went to investigate. He saw a person wearing Stormcloak soldier armour and a man wearing fancy robes fighting soldiers dressed in steel armour that differed greatly from whatever the Stormcloak soldier was wearing. The fancy-robed man said "[Fus Ro Dah!]"
Holondil's eyes widened in surprise. (He knows the Thu'um, the Storm-Voice?) He wondered. He was about to make his exit, but felt a sharp point on his back. "I always knew I hated this armour for a reason," he remarked.
"You're coming with us, spy," the steel armour-wearing female officer said. "Don't make any sudden moves, and we'll get along marvelously."
"I have no reason to run. I have nowhere to go in this strange land," Holondil replied, rising slowly as the soldier directed him.
"Well, now. Where are you from?" The soldier who had captured the Stormcloak and well-dressed man asked.
Holondil noticed that the man with the Stormcloak had a gag on. "You would not believe me if I told you," he replied.
"You have plenty of time to lie when the wagons set off toward Helgen," the woman officer rebutted.
"Watch your tongue, Imperial," the Stormcloak soldier warned.
"Wait, wait! I'm not a rebel!" A voice protested. Holondil and the others looked over to see who it was. It was a skinny-looking Nord man, and he looked very nervous. "Why won't you listen?! Just let me go!" The man pleaded.
"Oh, for the love of Akatosh, could you give THIS man a gag, too?!" Holondil said, already exasperated.
"I'm afraid he's not important enough for that," the Imperial woman replied, although Holondil could tell that she had seriously thought about it. "Now, put on some cloths more befitting prisoners," she added, handing the group some roughspun clothes. Holondil changed into his clothing faster than you could say "Cheese for everyone!" The whining Nord complained the whole way, but changed into his prisoner clothes. The gagged man made no objections, although Holondil saw the glare of defiance in his eyes. After the final prisoner had changed, the prisoners had their hands bound in the front to avoid any incidents involving the freeing of their hands.
"If I can make a simple request…" Holondil began.
"What is it?" The Imperial woman asked, sounding bored, "Is it about gagging that Lokir guy?"
"Actually, no," Holondil admitted. "I would appreciate it if you put my Daedra Heart to good use," he said. "Those things are exceptionally rare."
The Imperial captain pondered the request. "I think I can promise that," she decided.
Holondil nodded and got on the wagon pointed out to him. As the Stormcloak soldier, named Ralof, got on the cart, he said, "I'm impressed. You may be an Elf, but you certainly know how to admit defeat."
"I am not just Elf," Holondil replied. "I am also part Nord." The gagged man, identified as Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, made a muffled laughing noise through his gag, rolling his eyes. "I warned you," Holondil said in an 'I told you so' voice. "I warned that no one would believe me."
"It hardly matters," the Imperial Soldier driving the wagon replied as the caravan got moving. "Just don't make things too difficult for yourself. No one seems to know who you are, but that could be a good thing. Just keep quiet when we get to Helgen, and you'll probably be freed. I can make no promises, though."
"That is alright," Holondil replied. "I believe I have already used up all my promises asking your captain to put my Daedra Heart to good use."
The Imperial Soldier let out a low, long whistle. "You could bet your place in Sovngarde that a Daedra Heart would be put to good use," he remarked.
"I don't like you joking about the honored deads' reward," Ralof replied, "but I will agree with you, Imperial."
As the wagons trekked slowly to their destination, the cowardly thief Lokir finally shut up as he fell asleep. "A great mercy," Holondil noted about the sleeping Nord.
"On that, we agree," Ralof replied. "Why were you wearing Stormcloak armour anyways, Elf?" He asked bluntly.
"Stormcloaks attacked me, so I killed them," Holondil replied back in matching bluntness, "except for that one guy who did not attack me. I allowed him to leave."
"Why?" Ralof asked, curious.
"It is quite simple, actually," Holondil replied. "He did not attack me."
"Shut up back there and get some sleep," the Imperial Soldier driving their wagon said. Holondil nodded and quickly fell asleep.
Ralof didn't get a wink of sleep the two days it took them to get to Helgen. A couple of times, the prisoner wagons had to stop until the soldiers were absolutely certain that there were no vampires before them. When they finally got within view of Helgen, Ralof asked Lokir, "Hey, what village are you from, horse-thief?"
"Why do you care?" Lokir replied, managing to sound bitter.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof replied.
"R-Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead," Lokir replied. He looked over at the gagged man. "What's wrong with him?"
"Watch your tongue," Ralof snapped. "You're talking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the TRUE High King of Skyrim!"
"Ulfric?" Lokir said, surprised. "You're … You're the leader of the rebellion! But that means … Oh, gods. Where are they taking us?" He asked, reverting to his normal worrying self.
"I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits," Ralof replied.
"Shut up back there!" The Imperial soldier said.
"Yes. Shut up, Rorikstead thief. I would appreciate that," Holondil spat out, glaring at the bound coward.
As they entered the gates of Helgen, another Imperial soldier called out, "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"
"Good. Let's get this over with," General Tullius replied.
As they went further into Helgen, Ralof scoffed. "General Tullius, military governor of Skyrim," he said mockingly, "and he's got the Thalmor with him, too. Damn Elves. Should've known they'd have something to do with this."
"Not all Elves want you dead," Holondil rebutted, pointing at himself. "I just want that Lokir guy to shut up."
Ralof nodded. "That would truly be a godsend," he remarked. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in…"
The wagons reached their destination in the town square, and there they stopped. "Get into line when we read off your name," the Imperial captain said, looking briefly at an Imperial soldier holding a piece of parchment.
"Empire loves their damn lists," Ralof replied as they disembarked from the wagon.
"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm," the Imperial soldier with the list said.
Ulfric walked to his place in line, and Ralof said, "It has been an honor serving you, Jarl Ulfric."
"Ralof of Riverwood," the Imperial soldier read. Ralof walked to his spot in the line of people to be beheaded. "Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No, I'm not a rebel!" Lokir objected, making a run for it. He was shot by archers before he got too far.
"As cowardly in death as he was in life," Holondil remarked.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The Imperial captain asked.
"Wait," the Imperial soldier with the list said. He turned to Holondil. "Who are you?" He asked.
"My name is Holondil," Holondil replied. "I am a Nord/Snow Elf. I believe that I am innocent, but I also know that running will not prove that."
"Wise words indeed," the Imperial soldier with the list remarked. He looked at the list, and a confused look appeared on his face. He looked at the parchment for a good few minutes before turning to the captain and said, "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."
"Forget the list. He goes to the block," the captain replied.
"By your orders, captain," the other soldier said reluctantly. He turned to Holondil and said, "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your ashes get to … Where are you from, anyways?"
"What is now known as Markarth," Holondil replied, "but don't bury me there. I don't want my grave desecrated." He took his spot in the group. He got a look at General Tullius. The Imperial General appeared to be around the same age as Sabjorn, but he had a more dignified air about him. (If I wasn't about to be killed, I would've considered working for him. Can't be any worse than Sabjorn,) Holondil thought.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion," General Tullius began. "Some in Skyrim call you a king, but a king doesn't use the Voice to murder his king and usurp the throne. You have caused enough trouble, but you will be put down today, and balance will be restored in Skyrim."
There was a roar in the distance, one that made Holondil's skin crawl. "What was that?" The Imperial captain asked.
"It's nothing," General Tullius replied. "Continue."
"Yes, General Tullius," the Imperial Captain said, turning to the priestess of Arkay. "Give them their last rites."
The priestess of Arkay said, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt of Nirn-"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" A Stormcloak soldier interrupted, walking to the executioner's block.
"As you wish," the priestess of Arkay replied, unhappy that she had been so rudely interrupted.
"Come on. I haven't got all morning," the Stormcloak soldier said. As he was forced to kneel by the Imperial captain, he said, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperial. Can you say the same?"
"My ancestors wish you would shut up," Holondil rebutted as the headsman's axe descended.
As the Imperial captain pushed the now headless Stormcloak to the side, people began crying out. "You Imperial bastards!"
"Death to the Stormcloaks!"
"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof remarked to Holondil.
"Next, the Nord-Elf!" The captain said.
There was another roar in the distance, but this one was much closer. "Did you hear that?" Ralof wondered.
"How I wish I did not," Holondil replied, an imperceptible twinge of fear in his voice.
"I said, next prisoner!" The Imperial captain snapped.
"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy," the Imperial soldier with the list said.
"You do not need to worry about that," Holondil said as he walked forward to the block. "Unlike some people, I know how to be dignified in my final moments. Better to go to Sovngarde with bravery to endure rather than running in fear."
He knelt, and his head was pushed down, forcing him to look at the headsman. He gasped, seeing an all too familiar figure emerging from the clouds. "What in Oblivion is that?!" General Tullius shouted.
The large black dragon landed heavily on the tower behind the headsman, causing him to slice the front of Holondil's throat. Since the axe swing had also severed his bonds, Holondil used the Healing spell to repair his throat. He stood up, feeling dazed as fire seemed to rain down around him. "Still alive, prisoner?!" A voice asked. "Stay close to me if you want to stay that way!"
Holondil tried to stay with the soldier, but ended running into a nearby tower, where he found an ungagged Ulfric Stormcloak and Ralof. "Ulfric! Can the legends be true?" Ralof asked.
"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied. "We have to move, now!"
Without a pause, Holondil ran up the stairs of the tower alongside a Stormcloak soldier. Suddenly, Holondil jumped back, pulling the Stormcloak soldier back as the wall imploded, revealing the face of the dragon attacking the village. "[Yol Toor Shul!]" The dragon Shouted as a stream of flames shot from his mouth.
Once the dragon flew away, Holondil jumped through the hole, landing in the attic portion of the inn. He quickly exited the burning building, the fire burning off what hair he had. "Follow me, prisoner!" The Imperial solider from earlier said. This time, Holondil followed. The two ran through Helgen, making sure to avoid getting the dragons attention. Just as they were about to enter the Keep, though, they were confronted by an armed Ralof and other Stormcloak soldiers. "Damnit, Ralof! Get out of my way!" The Imperial soldier demanded.
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You can't stop us this time!" Ralof proclaimed.
"Fine!" Hadvar snapped. "I hope that dragon takes you ALL to Sovngarde!" Holondil and Hadvar entered the hold, and Hadvar said, "There's a chest around here somewhere with Imperial armour in it, and there should be some potions around here, too."
Holondil quickly found and donned the Imperial soldier armour. "I prefer this over the Stormcloak armour," he said in a gravelly voice.
Hadvar turned around in surprise. "What happened to your voice?" He asked. Holondil pointed to where the headsman's failed execution chop had landed. "I see," Hadvar replied. "I'm not a healer, but it looks to me like your throat will heal on its own. Did you heal yourself right after the headsman's axe hit?" He asked. Holondil nodded, and Hadvar said, "Let's see if we can find some Health potions."
The two snuck through the underground passages of the keep, trying to keep quiet. "We have to get moving," they heard a voice further up the cave say.
"Just give me a moment to rest," another voice, a female one, said.
"Let's go. We can take them by surprise," Hadvar whispered. Holondil nodded, and placed a hand on the hilt of his Imperial Sword, not trusting his partially disabled voice to remain quiet. Hadvar waited until the door had been opened, and charged in, shouting, "Death to the Stormcloaks!" Holondil charged in behind him, using the edge of his sword to quickly take down the female Stormcloak soldier. Hearing that Hadvar was having trouble with his own soldier, Holondil turned around, using the flat of his sword to smack the Stormcloak soldier over the head, stunning him long enough for Hadvar to run him through. "Well done," Hadvar complimented Holondil. "I have to say, I've never seen someone use a sword like that, before. Where'd you learn to do that?"
"I learned it a long time ago, when I was young," Holondil whispered.
Hadvar nodded, and began running down the other passage leading out of the room, Holondil following close behind.
-Aetherius-
Meanwhile, in Aetherius, the Aedra were watching Holondil charge forward and followed Hadvar in fighting their way out of the keep. "He certainly is unusual," Dibella remarked to the man in simple brown robes. "I'm still not sure why we waited so long to give him his chance at redemption."
"I was all for giving him the chance a few thousand years ago," a man dressed in fine clothes remarked to the same man. "Why exactly did you wait so long, Akatosh? As far as I know, he did nothing to blaspheme you."
"He did not," Akatosh replied, "but it was not the right time."
"I don't know. The Oblivion Crisis seemed like a damned good time to have him here with us," the well-dressed man replied.
"There's always another level to Akatosh's reasoning, Julianos," a woman dressed in simple blue robes said to the well-dressed man. "Am I right?"
"You are correct, Mara," Akatosh replied, and the Aedra turned to the portal through which they were viewing Holondil.
"What is it?" A woman dressed in light blue robes asked. "Why now? I have to agree with Julianos. The Hero of Kvatch could have definitely used the help fighting the forces of Oblivion."
Akatosh looked a bit surprised. "Why exactly are you favoring him, Kynareth? I thought of all Aedra, you'd be the one hating him the most," he noted, the others agreeing with him.
"I know when a person's truly penitent, and I have not seen a more truly sorry soul than Holondil," Kynareth said. "He said something once that I found interesting. He once said, 'I would fight my former master if that were the only way.' We shall soon find out if that's real intent, or just mere bluster."
"On that, we agree," a middle-aged looking being by the name of Arkay said.
"We most definitely agree," Akatosh added, voicing the consensus of the Aedra. "Soon, he will rise, and when he does, the world shall know that we have not abandoned them. Let the flames be rekindled, for our champion will soon appear…"
And so ends the first chapter of my Skyrim fanfic. I will be keeping my author's notes as short as they can be so that the reader isn't distracted from the content of the chapter.
Yes, this is a story of many ancient wrongs being righted by Holondil. Now, concerning the poll I once had open on my profile, I'll be opening it back up until 5/22/16. That way, you can vote on what side Holondil takes in the Civil War in Skyrim. Imperial, or Stormcloak? You decide. Until next time, take care!