AUTHOR'S NOTE: This was a little musing I had about my Skyrim character, Isabel. As those of you who have played the game know, the story begins with our hero being captured along with Ulfric and his band of merry men, but with no explanation as to how, what for, and why you were even there in the first place, besides maybe you just like a little bit of drama in your life. I imagined, in my own somewhat random mind, that the story behind this capture could be a whole new tale for the Dovakhiin, and maybe was even the reason their powers came to the forefront, as it were. And thus Isabel's story was born, one that I am making up pretty much on the wing and one I hope you enjoy reading almost as much as I enjoy writing it. Writing is, after all, as my good man Terry Pratchett once said, the most fun any one person can have by themselves. (And with their clothes on.)
As ever, reviews are extremely appreciated, as is constructive criticism and general misbehaviour. Much love,
Seraphiim.
PROLOGUE.
ONE YEAR BEFORE THE RETURN OF ALDUIN, BRINGER OF THE END TIMES.
Summer was a coy thing, in the land of Skyrim. It would flirt and play with the best of intentions, on some days treating the rocks and hills of the hard terrain to a smothering of blistering light and heat, and then, on others, it would sulk behind heavy clouds and refuse to give up so much as a kiss. On this day, the day when our tale truly begins, it was one of the latter, and an unremarkable one at that. The sun, newly risen yet somewhat reticent, lurked behind a gray sky and the wind that swept through the pitiful houses of Rorikstead carried with it an edge that had been cultivated to a sharp chill in the snow of the nearby mountains.
Isabel Denadae pulled the warm folds of her wolf-skin cloak tighter around her shoulders and tried to ignore the bite of the wind as she filled up the horses' hay-nets, muttering to herself all the while about how a decent summer sun would at least have the courtesy to do more than tease. One of the horses, a massive dark bay beast built with muscles that made him look like the unspoken-of offspring of an elephant and a rhino, eyeballed her with one large eye and huffed, as though giving his entire opinion on the subject, then politely but firmly nosed past her to tug at the breakfast offering. The other, a slightly smaller but as equally muscled dapple gray, had already made a good start on his own and paid her absolutely no mind whatsoever, and even less than that as she wiggled her way back past them and out of the somewhat rickety stable stalls into what, for lack of a better word, shall be called the morning sun.
The little village, if the eclectic collection of houses and inn could be called such, was already awake and, whilst not bustling, was at least getting along with the day quite nicely. Here and there livestock roamed, either pecking optimistically at the road in the hopes some passing merchant or traveller had negligently upended an entire bag of corn without noticing, or otherwise roaming the surrounding terrain in the vague pretence of freedom but knowing at the same time they had a nice warm pen to be getting back to at the end of the day, and a free haircut. Isabel had always rather liked the quiet working-class attitude of the stead; the farmers farmed, the inn keeper kept, the guards guarded and herself and Ereldur… Well, they did what they did and kept out of everyone else's way. It was all so blissfully simple. They were honest people, with the exception of Lemkil, out here on the far reaches of civilisation; people who either didn't have the desire or the capability of living closer to the cities. They worked from sun up to sun down, kept their complaints to a minimum and -and here was the important bit- they were not even remotely interested in that dreadful beast known as politics.
"Ho, Miss Isa! You're up early. You headin' to Whiterun?" Ennis' voice startled her out of her reverie and she shook her head to clear her thoughts, glancing over to the man it belonged to in the nearby field, who was methodically working his way down the plot alongside the somewhat hard but extremely hardworking Reldith. She greeted them both with a smile, which was returned by Ennis and received a vague nod from Reldith, and nodded.
"Indeed we are. Either later today or first thing tomorrow, depending on himself. Need anything?" The difficult thing about the stead being so far out was the lack of supplies and the journey required to get them. Whilst everyone in the village tended to their own business, once a week herself and Ereldur would take the two horses and cart on the road to Whiterun for provisions, and it was an unspoken courtesy that anyone who needed anything, or perhaps wanted something sold or repaired whilst they were in the city, would find there was more than enough space in the cart. It was a tradition that dated back to when her mother had first moved there, and one Isabel had neither the heart nor the inclination to break. For one thing, theirs was the only serviceable horse and cart in the vicinity, and for another, favours were a strong currency in this world.
"Got me a couple of broken tools I wouldn't mind gettin' fixed, if there's room and it's not too putting you out too much..?" This was another part of the tradition; the question was a sheer matter of unassuming politeness, and Isabel answered with the expected reply.
"Of course not, there's plenty of room! Drop them in to us around lunch and I'll make sure they're on board with us when we leave." She tugged her cloak tighter about herself and started back towards her house with a farewell nod, only for Ennis to clear his throat and call out again, stopping her in her tracks.
"You, ah, you jus' be careful on them roads, miss. Was talkin' to young Billy-" 'young' Billy was one of the guards who frequently patrolled the province, and at least as old as Isa herself, who was into her mid twenties "-and he was saying there was a nasty attack a couple of days ago on a family of your lot. Not that your lot is any different from us, mind, I jus' mean they was of your way inclined. That being a good way, of course, miss. I just mean…" The poor man was floundering somewhat now, and was earning from the nearby Reldith a look hard enough to carve stone, leading Isabel to come to his rescue.
"An Altmer family, Mr Ennis?" She kept her face amicable, but inside she felt her stomach sink just a little. Another attack. There had been too many reported recently, flaring up over the countryside like little concentrated pockets of hatred and fear. It was this damned Stormcloak rebellion that they'd begun stirring up over the past few months. 'Skyrim is for the Nords' and all that. She'd experienced some of the hostility in Whiterun; higher than normal prices from a couple of the 'true' Nord merchants, malicious looks from others, watered down ale and whispers behind her back, but she'd never been outright attacked, and it was nothing compared to the abuse she'd seen some of her Dunmeri cousins get. She knew it would only get worse as hostilities between opposing fractions grew, too; it was always the average Joe who suffered in these things, never the instigators.
"Aye, Altmer." Ennis looked at her with the relief of a man who'd been offered an escape route, though it faded as his sombre voice went on. "Just a couple and their little girl, minding their own business, did right for 'em, though. Strung the husband up an' the wife, well, they… well, they did wrong things, miss Isa, and the little girl beaten so bad she was near dead when they found her. Young Billy said they been roaming the land looking for an excuse to cause trouble, an' now the Stormcloaks done give 'em one. Savages." The man's voice quivered a little towards the end, and Isabel felt her otherwise frozen heart warm a little for him. A good man who was alive to see the beginning of bad times.
"Thank you for your concern, Ennis. I will ensure we are extra vigilant on the roads, and you tell young Billy from me he knows where I am if he ever needs anything when passing through." She couldn't imagine finding such a scene was pleasant on the mind, and 'young' Billy was a good sort, even if he did sing extremely loud and extremely off-key after too much ale in the early hours. With a slightly sadder smile and a much sadder heart, she left the two to their farming and opened the door to the quaint little farm house she called home, making sure to beat the mud and dirt from her boots before stepping in.
It was a modest, somewhat clustered affair, consisting of all manner of living essentials, such as the bed, wardrobe, table and kitchen cupboards all crammed into one half of the space, whilst the other was dedicated to an Enchanting table that dominated most of the room. It was there she found Ereldur, sat on one of only two chairs they owned, oblivious to the world around him as he worked on picking apart the enchantment on an old necklace he'd picked up off a travelling pedlar. His hands glowed with a soft, pale light as he worked, calm and unrushed, mixing with the unnatural glow of the table itself and highlighting his face with an eerie touch. For a long moment she stood in the doorway and watched him, unaware of the smile on her face, studying the play of light in the gold of his hair and tan of his skin, the reflection in the bright amber of his eyes, before moving to him, gently placing her hand with her wedding ring on his shoulder and squeezing. He immediately stopped his work, the glow fading from his fingers as he placed the necklace on the table, and turned to look up at her with a grin.
"You were up early." He hooked one arm about her waist, pulling her down onto his lap, shifting so there was room between them and the table.
"I couldn't sleep." She twisted in his lap, picking up the necklace and examining it under the light of the nearby candles. She could see, in her minds eye, where the enchantment twisted into the metal, a streak of magic so tightly woven it was almost a part of the silver, and could see where exactly it needed to be tugged and teased until it unwound. She didn't, though, knowing how much he enjoyed figuring it out for himself, instead placing the necklace back down on the table and turning back to him.
"The dragon dreams again?" He lifted one hand to stroke a couple of loose strands of hair back from her face; hair that was as white as the snow in the hills, despite her age, and a sharp contrast to his own soft gold. She tried not to notice that that same hand that so tenderly touched her face was missing two of its fingers. To notice them was to get angry, and she didn't like to be angry around Ereldur.
"Yes. He didn't say anything this time. We just stood and looked at the sky for a long time, then he sort of just looked at me, directly iat/i me, almost through me, and I had this terrible sense of foreboding. I woke up and it was still early and I couldn't get the feeling to go away so I went out to see the horses…" Isa sighed, resting her forehead against his and closing her eyes. The dragon dreams had been a frequent occurrence for as long as she could remember, but never quite so frequently as now. Some times she felt the old gray dragon in them was one of her oldest friends, and other times as though she hardly knew him. Very rarely she felt in danger from him, and in total the dreams were neither welcome nor unpleasant, but mostly a distraction from an otherwise content nights sleep. They normally brought a headache with them, too, because sometimes the dragon spoke, in a voice like the roar of thunder, and sometimes she almost understood what he was saying to her, a glimpse of understanding that came like the flash of scales in a pond before it was gone. He hadn't said anything to her last night; just looked at her with that terrible, fathomless gaze, and it had been like looking into the heart of eternity. Isabel shivered and changed the subject, although, in retrospect, perhaps not to the best of topics. "There's been another attack."
Ereldur frowned at that, using his maimed hand to tilt her face up to his until she opened her eyes. "Bad?"
"Dead, and their little girl nearly the same." She let out a long sigh, picking herself up out of her husbands lap and unfastening her cloak, folding it neatly on top of the chest of drawers near their bed. "A child, I mean… What harm can a child do to you, really? What kind of depraved mind thinks, 'alright, let's kill the father, rape the mother and then beat Oblivion out of an innocent little girl because they're a different race to us'?" She found she was pacing now, her anger bubbling up with sadness, boiling in her skin, and quickly stopped, trying to calm herself. She had a volatile temper at best, and when she was thoroughly provoked, things had been known to set on fire. When your house was mostly constructed of wood and flammable objects, it was generally not a good reaction to have.
"In this world exists all kinds of minds, depraved or otherwise, my love." Ereldur levered himself up from the chair with a great deal of effort and, Isa was sure, a greater deal of pain. She watched him warily, ready to go to him should he need it, but other than that she didn't offer to help. He didn't like to be reminded of his injuries, war wounds though they were, and she had learnt early on in their relationship he found any offer of unnecessary help to be insulting. Besides his maimed hand the hollow of his neck bore a thick scar and the left side of his pelvis had been shattered, leaving him with a permanent limp and even more permanent pain. Not that he would go to a healer or an alchemist for some relief; men could be stubborn like that. "And it is our lot to live amongst them and do the best we can." He limped past her to the kitchen cupboard, pulling down a couple of bowls and setting them on the table. "Do you want to leave Skyrim?"
"What, be chased out of the country of my birth by a gang of uncivilised, racist thugs?" Isabel almost growled the rhetorical, moving to the cooking pot over the hearth, where the breakfast was cooking. "I don't think so."
"Then there is nothing we can do other than weather the storm. And you, my love, could quite possibly tell the clouds to stop raining if you were in the temper, so I have no worries there." He grinned at her, and she found herself grinning back as she ladled some of the porridge into the bowls on the table and sat down to eat. "Do you want to make the trip to Whiterun today?"
Isabel paused, considering her own mind, and then slowly shook her head. The sense of foreboding from her dream had not gone away, and Ennis' story had only added to the doubts in her mind. She was not sure what exactly it meant, or even if it meant anything at all, but there was disquiet in her heart that told her she did not want to travel anywhere, not today. "We'll make the run tomorrow. There's still a couple of things Mralki wanted Enchanted and there's no major rush. We'll still make it in time for the Merchant's Festival." She was careful of mentioning Mralki around Ereldur; they had fought on opposite sides in the Great War, after all, and though Ereldur was repentant for his sins, Isa got the feeling Mralki was not the type to forgive and forget. It was why the old Legionnaire approached Isa for his Enchanting needs, although she was Altmer herself, and why Ereldur would very rarely step foot in the Frostfruit.
"Your wish, as ever, is my command. Tomorrow, then."
And the day, for all its little nuances and differences, went on as it ever did.
Isabel's dream that night was dark and brutal, full of shouts and screams and the roar of fire, and she ran with flames on her heels, and shadows in her heart. Bodies hung from the darkness as she passed and they swung with the wind of her passing, faces she knew and faces she didn't, all of them cold and accusing and twisted. Behind her was the sensation of being chased, just out of sight, and above there was the leathery beat of wings and a voice, a voice like thunder, that cried out in her mind like a crash of lightning.
Awake, Dovakhiin! Awake. They come.
And she woke up in a cold sweat with the sheets in a tangle around her body and Ereldur shaking her, calling her name, and in the distance she could hear shouts and screams and laughter, and the light burning outside the window was as bright as fire and as cold as the hatred of men.
TO BE CONTINUED.