Note: This fic is written in 1st person since the game is primarily first person.
Character Profile:
Name: Ardlae Gaethwatch
Hair: Black.
Eyes: Red.
Skin: Tan.
Class: Warlock. She wields a battle axe but uses magic too.
Age: 21.
Hello, reader! This is my first contribution to the mass of fan stories for the Elder Scrolls series! I first played Skyrim when it came out, and didn't touch it again until a few days ago. My love for the game resurfaced, and I found myself inspired to write. This fic will be AU in places, but I hope it will bring something new.
Drawings of my character can be found on my instagram:
ink_doodles
If you enjoy this, please leave a review! Reviews inspire someone to keep on writing!
This will be slightly AU, with a different dragon attacking Helgen at the start- sent to investigate the dragonborn.
As I start to wake, the first thing I am aware of is the aching pain in my side. It steadily grows from a dull throb into a white hot, piercing sensation. The pain, whilst agonizing, is a testament to the fact that I am...somehow, still alive. Still, the ache... it is not pleasant, to say the least. With the stinging in my right side, it takes me a few moments until I feel well enough to open my eyes. My energy is slowly returning to me, bringing with it renewed senses, and thus, fresh waves of pain. I would prefer to keep them closed- it would be far simpler to stay asleep, but I have to know where I am. As I open my eyes, I am greeted by a view of a tired-looking blonde Nord, sitting in front of me. His hands are bound in heavy chains, as mine are.
"Good, you're awake." He smiles, despite his tied hands. "You shouldn't move too much. That's a nasty wound you've got there, elf."
"Wound?" My voice is quiet, but I look down at my right side, past my tied hands.
I see a dark bloodstain on my tattered tunic, and realize this is the cause of my pain. Swallowing, I manage to straighten up, and begin studying the wound with tired eyes. The bloodstain is worryingly large, spreading across my torso, from a bandaged wound in my right side, just under my chestplate. Frowning, I lightly touch the patch of blood. I am given slight relief when I find the blood is dry, and seems to have been for a while. I am relatively safe...until the wound reopens, that is. I appear to have lost a significant amount of blood already. I cannot afford to lose any more.
"It didn't catch anything vital, or you'd be dead already." The Nord sounds relieved.
"That much is obvious." I roll my eyes.
"Your wit seems untouched by your pain."
"What happened?" I change the subject, my memory somewhat dulled from a growing headache.
"I don't know. They brought you up a few hours ago, said you'd been trespassing on a border." The Nord shrugs. "You...remember anything?"
"Not much. I faintly remember trying to retrieve some jewels...no...I remember. I was retrieving some jewellery for a client of mine." My memory begins to clear, as our carriage continues down the rough path.
"Client?" The Nord raises an eyebrow.
"I help people. Good people." I wince slightly as I sit up straighter. "The jewellery was taken by a group of...Khajit thieves. I tracked them, and met them in combat. I suppose our fight unknowingly passed onto the border."
"Bad luck."
"Indeed."
A moment of silence passes, when I note the other two prisoners in the carriage. They were both silent, so I did not become aware of them until I heard another person cough. Of the two other prisoners, one is a wood elf, wearing robes that are so threadbare...they can barely be called clothes. How they still cling to him is a miracle in itself, but it is one I am grateful for- I have no desire to see this spindly man in his unmentionables. The other prisoner is a muscular man, hunched over. His posture indicates a rage that threatens to escape. His clothing is far from theadbare. His fur lined cloak is far superior to mine, made with the finest silver fur of winter foxes. His armour, though blood-stained, shines in the dull light. It must have cost a small fortune...the craftsmanship is impeccable. His mouth is gagged, and I notice that his armour is similar to the Nord opposite me. It takes a moment, but I finally recognize the armour.
"You're stormcloaks?" I ask.
"Yes. And that man there, he is no mere soldier. That is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak." The blonde Nord nods in the mans direction.
"That...explains the gag." I lean back against the carriage walls.
Wonderful. A man who can shout people to death is in a confined space with me. And I am wounded.
Could this day get any more dire?
"If they've got Ulfric..." The wood elf swallows. "Then...they're taking us..."
"Yes, my friend...it is likely we are to be executed." The blonde Nord straightens up.
Yes. This day got worse.
"Damn." I mutter. "There must be some way out of this."
"There is half an army of soldiers outside this carriage. We are outnumbered, elf." The Nord focuses on me. "You seem far too young to have much fighting experience. You'd be dead in seconds."
"I am not 'too young', Nord." I scoff.
"Then how old are you?"
"...21."
"Not as young as I thought. Still, you don't seem like much of a warrior."
"I'd take you down in seconds, if I wished." I grit my teeth, sparks beginning to fly from my hands.
"Ah." The Nord notices the flicker of flames about me. "A mage."
"A mage. Good with a battleaxe too."
"I'd like to see that."
"Maybe you will." I let the spell fade, knowing that performing magic with bound hands was unwise.
I could burn my hands at the very least, and blow my own hands off at worst.
Which I would prefer not to do.
Not unless I had no other choice.
A moment of silence passes, before the blonde nord speaks up again, a sad smile on his weatherworn face.
"Might I ask your name, friend?" He enquires.
"I...don't see why not. Ardlae Gaethwatch. It wouldn't hurt if I knew your name as well. You are likely the last friendly face I'll see." I answer, sitting up straight.
My side throbs, but I force back the groan that threatens to escape my lips.
"Ralof. Of Riverwood." 'Ralof' answers.
"Not a bad name."
"Nor is yours. It is unusual, but it suits you."
"Is that a compliment?"
"Is that a problem?"
"Not at all. Compliments simply don't come by very often."
"I see."
"How are you two so calm?" The wood elf frets, fidgeting.
"If we cause a fuss, our journey will end even sooner. I'd like to live as long as possible." Ralof explains.
"That...makes...it...no! It doesn't make sense!" He stammers, moving away from us.
"Calm yourself." I speak calmly.
"How?" The wood elf trembles.
"Think of your home." I smile. "What's your name? Where are you from?"
"I..." the wood elf swallows nervously. "My name is...Lokir. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."
"Rorikstead? I've-" I'm cut off as the carriage wheels screech.
All of a sudden, the carriage comes to an abrupt stop, causing us all to fly to the left, painfully colliding with the carriage doors.
"Why are we stopping?" The wood elf's eyes widen.
"Why do you think?" The blonde Nord's voice goes quiet, smile vanishing from his face. "End of the line."
The wood elf pales instantly, the entire remaining colour draining from his gaunt face.
As the carriage doors open, the bright light of the sun assaults us, so vibrant that it takes us all a few moments to adjust. A snobbish looking soldier leads us out, her voice rising to startling levels as she barks at us to stand in a line. Her voice could rival any town crier...no...destroy any crier. How could one woman be so loud?
Reluctantly, we follow her orders, forming the line just as the end of summer sun's rays begin to warm our skin.
"Ulfric Storm cloak." The soldier looks at the scroll in her hands, before looking up. "Leader of the Stormcloaks. I do not believe I need to say more."
Ulfric is seized by two tall, hulking guards, and led to the group of prisoners also awaiting their execution. He offers little resistance- not that he can move anyway- his bonds are thrice as strong as mine. His somewhat eerie presence is met with looks of disdain, along with jeering from observing villagers.
"Ralof of River wood." The soldier calls. "Charged with association with the rebel stormcloaks."
Calm and collected, Ralof smiles back at me, before he moves to take his place beside an equally calm Ulfric.
The wood elf is next. He is as far from calm and collected as any one person could be. He is trembling all over, sweating like whores in a temple. As the soldier drones on, lecturing the wood elf as he pleads for his life, I let my mind drift, savouring my last few minutes of fresh air.
My calm is interrupted, as I hear the wood elf raise his voice.
"You won't take me alive!" He screeches, before pushing past the soldiers, and running full pelt towards the gates.
"Stop!" I call after him. "They'll-"
I do not get the chance to finish my sentence, for the sound of fired arrows whistles through the wind, and the elf is struck down, falling to his front in a pool of shining blood.
Half a dozen arrow shafts stick out gruesomely from his bloodied back.
"You there! Elf!" The female soldier calls, as a guard walks towards the dead wood elf.
Taking a deep breath, I step out of the carriage, keeping my face blank and expressionless.
"You trespassed on a border, fighting, no less. Join the other prisoners, and await your execution." She concludes.
The man next to her, who holds a scroll and quill, frowns.
"But...commander, she's not on the list- as I recall, she wandered onto the border by accident. She was pursuing khajit criminals-" he tried protesting.
"Enough! She goes to the block!" The female snaps.
"Commander-"
"I said enough!"
Glaring at the female guard, I step forward.
"Thank you for trying to reason with her." I thank the man.
And, without another word, I walk across the cobbled ground, not stopping until I am next to Ralof. We nod respectfully at each other, with the tiniest of smiles on our faces. We may have just met, but it will be good to have a friendly face around.
It is more than most criminals in Skyrim get.
"You will be read your last rites." The female soldier stands near the executioner in front of us, gesturing to a woman in hooded robes.
"How generous." I mutter.
Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Ralof cough to hide a laugh.
"As we commend your souls to Etherius, blessings of the eight divines upon you-" she begins.
I have never had time for religion, especially not now. I wasn't even written on the list of prisoners. By all rights, I should not still be standing here.
Yet...this religious spiel may give me an opportunity.
If I can create a distraction...
Ralof looks down at me, and his eyes widen, when he sees my mischievous grin. I may be the youngest prisoner here, but I can see the way out in this situation.
"Just shut up and get on with it! We all know you don't give a shit about our souls!" I speak up, my voice bordering on a shout.
Every single person turns to face me, each with their jaws hanging open.
"What are you doing?" Ralof whispers.
"Getting the fuck out of here." I keep my voice low. "I wasn't on the list, so you can be damn sure I'm not dying today."
"Enthusiastic, are you?" The female soldier scoffs. "You can go first, then."
"With pleasure." I stretch.
"What are you doing?" Ralof whispers, as I take a step forward.
"When everything goes to hell, run." I grin, before letting my face go expressionless once more.
The crowd of prisoners before me part like the sea, each bowing their heads as I walk past. It seems I was saying what was on everyone's minds.
Yet no one else had the courage to echo my words.
Keeping calm and collected, I look around as I approach the execution block, which is dirty with dried, decaying blood. Even the jeering villagers have been silenced by my brave, yet foolish and crude speech.
This execution is well guarded. Aside from the executioner, the priest, and the female soldier from before, I note that there are half a dozen guards behind them. In Helgen, with a glance, I can tell that there are several dozen more. I am outnumbered, but if I play my cards right, I can get out of here.
Time to ignore my pain and put on a braver persona.
Kneeling down, I ignite a tiny flame in my palms, small enough to not be noticeable, yet still sizeable enough to be effective. This may be the best chance I have of getting out of here alive.
I hear the silence fall as the executioner picks up his colossal axe, and take a deep breath.
The final strands of my bindings turn to ash, my hands painfully hot, and I barely have time to roll out of the way as the axe comes slicing down, digging deep into the bloodstained wood of the block.
A chorus of shocked gasps ripples through the crowd of prisoners, with Ralof cheering.
Without a second thought, I send the executioner flying through the wall of the tower behind him, with a blast of concussive force. His axe snaps in two with the force of my magic, clattering in a heap near its former wielder.
Grinning, I allow myself a moment to breathe.
Now...
Now that my hands are unbound...
I'm as good as free.
Ducking, as the female soldier swings her blade at me, I charge my hands up with sparkling energy, summoning lightning to my clenched fists. Seizing her sword, I send a charge of electrical energy surging through the metal of her blade. The blade ignites with the sheer energy, amd the once stern soldier shrieks loudly, skin sizzling as the energy begins to shock her.
As her skin burns to charcoal black, her body crumples to the ground. Letting out a relieved laugh, I straighten up, kicking her corpse aside as I do so.
Stepping over her, as her armour melts into the ground, I am surrounded by the soldiers who had once stood behind her. Each of them is pale under their helmets, but they all bear an expression of rage.
"Stand down, prisoner!" One barks at me.
"You are outnumbered!" Another speaks up.
"We have you trapped!" An archer on the walls calls out.
The soldiers surrounding me each take a step, moving slightly closer to me. Turning round, I feel a grin creeping back onto my face.
"Well...I believe you are mistaken." I speak up.
"How so?" One soldier, the most well dressed, who I now realize must be Helgen's general, sneers.
"Now that my hands are unbound...I am no longer trapped here with you..." I click my neck.
My tone causes the soldiers to take a step back.
"You...are trapped in here with me." I finish, clenching my hands into fists once more.
Lightning sparks from them.
Just as I prepare to launch an attack, the who had protested my innocence steps forward.
"General Tullius!" He calls out. "Prisoner! There is no need for further bloodshed!"
"I beg to differ, Hadvar!" General Tullius glares at the man. "She just killed our Commander, and possibly our executioner!"
"What she has done is serious, general. That I can agree to. But this woman was not officially written on our list of prisoners. It is by pure accident that she is here." Hadvar walks through the gathered crowd, to stand at my left side.
"What are you doing?" I practically hiss. "Get out of my way!"
Hadvar hushes me. Affronted, I am about to strike him, when the General speaks up.
"Is that true? I did not hear of this..." the general's eyes narrow. "Still, she killed-"
"I tried to protest against the Commander's plans to execute this elf. If we had let her go, the Commander would still be with us." Hadvar interrupts bravely, before he clears his throat. "I understand the prisoner would have to face a formal trial for slaying the Commander, but she deserves the same rights as the other prisoners were given."
Just as it seems as if the General may be willing to listen- another miracle, the remnants of a ghastly roar come whistling over the mountains, piercing through the air. The haunting sound echoes through Helgen, and once the otherworldly sound reaches me, I feel a convulsion rock my body, the trembling strong enough to bring me to my knees. Instantly, Hadvar kneels in front of me, whilst the General attempts to keep the prisoners in line.
"What was that noise?" The general hisses.
"Are you alright?" Hadvar asks, eyebrows furrowed.
"I...that noise-" I stammer.
I do not have time to finish my words, before the roar tears through the skies once more, louder than before. Through the horrendous sound, I can somehow decipher a single word...clear as a word spoken in the common tongue.
"Dovahkiin..." the deep voice hisses.
"Dovahkiin..." I repeat, causing the general to cease talking in the background.
"What?" The general approaches, standing nearer.
"Did you not hear it?" I look up. "I only understood one word...but...it said that. Dovahkiin."
"You understood that? Nonsense!" The General splutters. "How could you understand that?"
"I swear- I heard it!" I insist, my body still shaking all over.
"General. What do we do about the elf?" A soldier calls.
"For now..." the general looks down at me. "Stand down. We will continue the execution ceremony tomorrow. We must find a new executioner."
"But she killed the Commander!" The guards protest.
"The elf will face a trial! We are not simple barbarians! And that is the last I will hear of it!" The general shouts. "Lead the prisoners to the gallows. Station extra guards near Ulfric."
"You heard the general!" A soldier speaks up. "Round up the prisoners!"
"Are you certain you heard that word?" Hadvar whispers.
"I swear to you, I heard that word." I answer, grimacing as the last of the shakes sends a chill down my spine.
Just as the guards begin leading the prisoners away, the piercing roar rings through the winds again, close enough to us to send trees outside Helgen's walls toppling over.
There are terrified screams as a winged shadow comes gliding over the mountains.
"By the gods..." Hadvar turns to follow the shape with his eyes. "It can't be..."
With an incredibly loud thud, a scaled creature of great magnitude, standing almost as tall as the tower it has chosen, lands heavily. Looking up properly, I feel myself freeze in terror, when I realize just what this creature is.
I have only ever seen its likeness in the sketches attached to ancient tomes...but even the greatest artist in Skyrim could not capture the sheer bloodlust in the creature's eyes...the detail in its cracked and bloodied fangs...
This...
This is a dragon.
As its demonic eyes come to focus on me, I force myself to swallow my nerves, and shakily rise to my feet, grimacing as the motions theaten to open my wound.
With all the courage I can muster, I meet the monster's gaze. It's eyes widen as it growls at me, a deep, guttural growl from the pits of its stomach.
"We have to go!" Hadvar's voice snaps me out of my daze.
As Hadvar physically begins pulling me towards the path that leads to the keep, the dragon lets out another roar, strong enough to shake Helgen at its very foundations. As if the sound is imbued with magic, the skies above Helgen open, shining a mysterious light of many colours on the now frantic village.
Turning, as Hadvar and I turn a corner, out of the dragons view, I finally manage to get my breathing under control.
Just as I am about to thank Hadvar, we hear the screams of a terrified child. Forgetting our own fears, and my growing feeling of uneasiness and pain, we both run in the direction of the tear-inducing sound. Several minutes pass before we find ourselves behind the tower the dragon had stood upon only moments ago. Several paces from us, a child is frozen, in fear, in the very center of the path. Standing, shaking, on the sidelines, are several other younglings, pleading with their friend to move.
"You get those children behind cover. I'll try to calm the one in our path." I speak up.
Not even waiting to see if Hadvar has listened to me, I head straight for the child who trembles on the pathway. Just as I reach him, the accursed dragon, whose scales gleam red in the mythical lights above, lands but thirty paces from us. The child screams, as I move to stand in front of him.
"Don't move." I hiss, my tone taking root. The child wraps his arms around my right leg in an attempt at comforting himself.
The dragon roars once more, the force sending a violent breeze which nearly knocks myself and the child onto our behinds. As we right ourselves, the dragon growls again. In the midst of the hisses, I find some words are becoming clearer, much to my horror.
"I have found...you...Dovahkiin." the dragon almost seems to be smiling. "Weak...wounded...how pitiful."
"Why do you call me that? Why do you call me Dovahkiin?" I call, not deterred by the dragons words.
I can't show fear. There is a child clinging to me who is nearly wetting himself in sheer fright.
I believe I spoke in the common tongue...but when I hear the child scream, and see him run to Hadvar, I am confused, until the dragon speaks again.
"You spoke in my tongue, dovahkiin. It comes...naturally to you. Perhaps you are worth fighting after all." The dragon rears its ugly, colossal head.
My eyes widen as I see the scales on its neck glow, with a menacing shade of orange. As smoke billows from its nostrils, I realize what it is about to do.
It is about to unleash hellfire.
And the children are right in its path.
"Hadvar- get behind cover!" I call out, somehow reverting to the common tongue.
Clicking my neck, I take a deep breath to steady my nerves, as the dragon rises to his full height, wings spread far enough to cast shadows over us. The chill that runs down my spine is one I won't soon forget.
"Get back!" Hadvar calls to me. "You'll be roasted alive!"
"If I don't block it, you'll all be dead too!" I retort, futilely attempting to stop my fear from echoing in my voice.
A fellow mage's flames are one thing to reflect...
But a dragon...a beast of legend...
No. I cannot let doubt rule me over. The lives of innocent children are among the lives at stake.
As I turn my head, the beast opens its gaping maw, fangs dripping with ripe, fresh blood. With an almighty roar which nearly shakes me off my feet, it sends a torrent of swirling flames towards me.
Holding my arms out in front of me, I bring up a shield ward, pouring all my magicka into it as the flames batter the shimmering shield.
I can feel the intense heat of the dragon's fire through my shield, enough to burn my palms. The pain from the heat is excruciating, threatening to break my concenctration, but I keep the shield up, even as the flames grow larger.
Just as I fear my magicka reserves are empty, the flames dissipate, into a cloud of smoldering smoke. The darkness of the smoke is so intense, that it obscures the light around me.
As a consequence, I do not see the dragon charging at me until it is too late.
The scaled head of the dragon collides with my shield, shattering the already weakened ward.
The lingering energy of my spell backfires, sending me flying backwards, tumbling through the air for what seems like ages, until I painfully collide with the ground, my back miraculously holding together as it collides with the cobbled stones of Helgen's pathways. My back takes the brunt of the blow, but it does not stop my head from smacking into the ground as well.
Such an injury leaves me stunned, gasping for breath as my vision blurs.
My entire body is screaming in pain.
I cannot move.
Even as I hear the dragon drawing closer, as I feel the ground shake with each step it takes, I cannot bring myself to move.
Before I know it, one of the dragons front limbs is pinning me to the ground, its claws forming a deadly cage around my body.
Looking upwards, I feel the hot breath of the dragon in my face, as I stare down its still smoking throat.
"Such a disappointment..." it sighs deeply. "I had longed for a worthy opponent, after you spoke in our tongue..."
Its voice fades, as I close my eyes.
This is the closest I have ever come to dying.
And what a way to leave this world it would be.
Death in combat...fighting a dragon.
But...my heart still beats.
Something at the back of my mind calls to me, urging me to fight. It's urges grow louder, until it is nigh on unbearable. The voice is persistent, and I try to ignore it at first, but I soon realize that its words ring true.
I am not dead yet.
Forcing my eyes open, I strain to reach the hidden silver dagger at my belt, scrambling with my right hand. I fight back the urge to cry out; as I feel that the arm has been pulled from its socket. The pain is white hot, but I know that what this creature will do to kill me will hurt worse than a thousand deaths.
Glancing to my right, I see a dead imperial nearby, a great sword still in the grip of his charred hands.
If I can get away...
Gritting my teeth, I swallow as the beast prepares itself to breathe deadly fire once more.
With all my remaining magicka, which is running dangerously low, I release a blast of wind from my left palm. The attack takes the dragon by surprise. It does not damage the creature, but it gives me enough time to wriggle away from under its grasp. I reach out, and ram the dagger into its lower neck.
Almost howling, the dragon stumbles away.
Crawling towards the charred imperial corpse, heart pounding, I seize the handle of the great sword with both hands, grimacing as the motion tugs at the skin on my scorched palms. Drawing on my dwindling energy, I find enough strength within myself to get onto my knees. Gripping the great sword with all my might, I pull myself upwards, leaning on the sturdy blade for support.
Once I am standing upright, I glare at the dragon, whose neck is beginning to drip with scarlet blood. Not giving it time to recover, I silently pray to whoever is watching, before forcing my trembling limbs to move.
My magicka could barely fill a thimble...but it is enough to summon a small draught of energy.
Briefly invigorated, I make a run for it, charging at the dragon as I hold the greatsword as high as my injured limbs can handle.
The beast lunges at me, rearing its ugly head. I dodge it by a hairs breadth, and raise my blade high.
Praying to anyone who may be watching, as I skid under the beast, I thrust my sword into its neck.
Still sharp, the blade slices through the weakened dragons flesh, following me as I slide along the cobbled ground, which is slick with fresh blood. Steam rises as the dragons organs drop out of its body, the beast roaring in pure agony as I finally cease sliding, greatsword stuck in its lower gut.
I barely manage to pull the blade out, and stumble of the way in time, before the dragon collapses.
Rising to my feet, I am amazed to see that, somehow, it is clinging to life.
No wonder dragons are woven into Skyrim's legends.
Limping along, as my energy seeps from my body, the small energy spell waning, I lean harder on the greatsword.
Standing tall, I grip the blade with both hands, ignoring the approaching footsteps.
Looking the dying dragon right in the eye, I take a deep breath.
"Am I worthy now?" I hiss at it, before plunging the bloodied weapon deep into the scaled flesh of its head.
As the tip of the chipped sword sticks into the bone of its skull, the dragon finally ceases to breathe.
Panting heavily, I tighten my grip on the greatsword, knowing it is the only thing keeping me upright
Pain is seeping into my veins, causing my legs to tremble like those of a newborn calf.
Behind me, I hear dozens of footsteps, which seem to stop a short distance away.
Blinking, to stop the black spots in my vision from growing, I hear a series of shocked gasps ripple through the crowd gathering behind me.
"By the gods..." I recognize the generals voice as he speaks up. "Is it dead?"
"The..." I swallow, my body beginning to shake violently, as I turn my head slightly in his direction. "The dragon is dead."
"Thank the- wait- what is-"
The general's voice tails off, as the crowd falls into a deathly silence.
Turning, to see what has captured their attention, I stare down at the dragon's body, which has begun to glow with a golden, ethereal light. The sight is mesmerizing, almost blinding in its beauty.
A ghostly mist swirls around the dragon, in a kaleidoscope of stunning colours, vibrant and strong.
As the mist snakes up my arms, swirling round my entire body, I feel as if my soul itself is being touched, and imbued with a foreign strength I have never felt before.
Barely standing, I watch as the dragon's very flesh evaporates before my eyes, lifting into the wind as flakes of golden light, leaving behind its shining bones.
I can hardly believe what I just witnessed...what I just felt.
Words cannot do that feeling justice.
"It can't be..." someone in the crowd mutters. "The Nord legends..."
"She...I can't believe it." Another person stammers. "She's...dragonborn."
The words that follow are lost to me, for I finally succumb to my injuries. Collapsing onto my back, I allow the darkness, clawing at the edges of my vision, to finally swallow me.
Dovahkiin...