Ok, I wrote this on my lunch break, so it's just a drabble, for now, because I plan on writing a story at some point with this acting as backstory, but now just a drabble, might add more and make it an actual story before I get to the other one, but we shall see.
I own nada, this is all Bethesda Softworks.
Enjoy!
/Dovahkiin/
He was on the sheer cliff face of one of the mountains that served as a physical border between the rest of Nirn and Skyrim.
His hands were bloody and slick, the sharp rocks he was using as hand holds cutting and ripping his skin through his meager gloves, his feet in a similar state despite his footwraps, his blood making it harder and harder to grip the shallow hand holds he was managing to find, his feet slipping out of the same ones he had just used for the very same reason.
He was numb all over, for Dunmer were not meant to endure such horrible blizzards as the one he was stuck in now, the wind whipping around him, his long, dirty, red hair constantly smacking into his face, his red eyes nearly blinded by the sheer whiteness of the world at the moment, used to the dry, red sand of Morrowind as he was.
His barely there, holey tunic and threadbare pants not nearly enough to keep him warm, his skin no longer registering any sensations but the roughness of the rock and the pressure of it on his skin. His gaunt frame was not helping the matter at all, his ribs clearly visible, despite the fact that being able to see the ribs of a Dunmer was not unusual, his level of skinnyness alarming, even by Dunmer standards.
Not that anyone had ever cared, after all, he was a slave, or, at least, he had been, until he had escaped. A lifetime of hard labor and abuse had left him thin, but strong, but that meant nothing now, not after months of hiding, of traveling alone, of barely eating enough to keep him alive, his muscles weakened by the months of toil, with little rest or food to keep him going, which is how he had ended up on this cliff face to begin with, months after his escape from his cruel master in Morrowind, after he had traversed miles upon miles of of rough terrain, attempting to get as far away from his ancestral home as he could, trying to get somewhere where there was no slavery, where he would never have to serve another against his will again, where he could be free, where he would be free to lead his own life as he saw fit, never having to bow to anyone if he did not wish to, never to be whipped or beaten for disobedience again.
And he had finally done it, finally gotten away, almost in Skyrim, where slavery was illegal and he could not be reclaimed if his master found him.
The wind and the cold and the snow were threatening to rip him from the cliff face, but he was determined to hold on, so close, so close to the mountain top, so close to truly being free for the first time in his life, that he just couldn't let go now, couldn't give up so close to his goal, not after all he had endured, all he had sacrificed to be here, to get to this moment, on the cusp of freedom, so close that he could almost taste it.
So he kept climbing, despite the pain in his hands and feet, despite how cold he was, he kept climbing, higher and higher until he got to the top of the cliff.
He pulled himself over the top, his tunic ripping slightly as it caught on the rocks.
He laid flat in the snow for a few moments, catching his breath, panting, puffs of steam floating back in his face, due to the wind, every time he breathed.
These were his first breaths as a free elf.
He stood up on the mountain top, and walked to the edge opposite the cliff he had just climbed and looked out across Skyrim, where he could see mountains and hills and settlement,s little plumes of black smoke floating into the sky from chimneys and camp fires.
There Skyrim was, his new home, where he would find his destiny and make a life, maybe a name for himself.
He was free, Athis was finally free.