Unbound Pages

A/N: Hey everyone! So, this fanfic is a bit of an interesting creature, inspired by an odd combination of events that really occurred in Skyrim, and my own futile quest to find every book in the game. The fanfic actually ended up being a hard test of my writing abilities. The main character is a little mentally unstable, so her story twists and comes together in ways that may not seem immediately clear. The story follows a character whose story begins as the Dragonborn's does, though whether she is the Dragonborn is neither here nor there. Honestly, the story is up for a bit of interpretation. The pieces of the main character's history are laid out for the reader to find, but they are as clear as you want them to be. Before continuing, I just thought I'd clarify a few things. Many things in italics are actually occurring within the past, or mind, of the main character of the story, while anything bolded is really just for emphasis. With that out of the way, I hope you enjoy this little snippet of our 'heroine's' adventure. Please review with any comments, criticisms or interpretations; I'm curious to see what people come out with!

Words. Words, black on the page and dripping. Books. Books are the things that knowledge hides in. Knowledge, books, words – all together, none separate, and all that is needed. The ink runs; splatters on the ground. Everything is gushing, red and thick, clotting together and burning.

The sky is dark, the air is humid. Where? There, a door ajar, the wind pushing and pulling it. Then there are feet on wood, creaking boards, snoring bodies and snuffling dogs in corners. All are asleep. Moving around to the shelf and with it the books, their pages glistening, are in my hands.

Suddenly, there is a flash, a roar and it rises. The fire is on the ground, spreading. The hearth becomes the floor, becomes the room, and becomes the house. However, the thief and the knowledge, twined together, are soaring far, far away.

The movement rocks me awake – but I don't want to leave the dream – and I blink into wakefulness. There are cuffs on my wrists. When did they get there? My hands start to shake. Who took me? What did they do? I don't remember. I feel like I can't breathe. There are wisps of grimy brown hair whipping around me – is that my hair? I can't even remember the color anymore – and the world is small around me. I don't feel anything protruding from under my clothes either, the roughspun tunic long but not thick enough to hide anything.

"So, you're finally awake."

My breath hitches. Is it him? Does he have them? Calloused fingers touch my shoulder, the sensation like slime against my skin, making me jump away. I cuddle into my corner, as far away from the culprit as possible. The other man is also grimy. Dirty, with a twisted smile, a tooth missing, jerkin disheveled. The sky is a grey slate above, but the light barely filters through the trees. The carriage jerks underneath me, and I curl in further. There are eyes on me. Eyes piercing, eyes watching, eyes laughing. Twisted smiles fill in the world around, winking out of the shadows of the trees.

"Poor you, getting caught up in a mess like this. At the wrong place at the wrong time, am I right?" His smile wasn't dark or twisted anymore. Had it ever been? His face was sober and that familiar look, the look that you couldn't understand, weighed heavily on his face. Eyebrows lowered, look downcast. "Empire's men must be desperate to get anyone. To think they'd even take in a scrawny girl…"

No. No, no, no, no. Not this again - dungeons and darkness, screaming and abuse. Being used, used, used, over and over again so that they could get what they want. Always wanting, like wolves hunting and foaming at the mouth. I felt a sob rise up in my throat.

"This is you Stormcloaks' fault, with your stupid rebellion. I'dda been halfway to Hammerfell with that horse if you guys hadn't been waltzing by and gotten me caught. Worthless murderers." Another man spoke. His clothes looked like they were made of burlap; he couldn't have any books on him.

More men (more prisoners like her?) and more questions. A headache loomed above all else, and my mind was burning. Words, words, words crammed into my mind. Their words ripped me apart, leaving me confused and disoriented. Stormcloaks, rebellion, Hammerfell, fault; all were words with power, with meaning, and I didn't know them. I was supposed to know. I hadto know.

A heavy body slumping against the sides of the wooden carriage – pointed downward; that was why the world felt as if it was sideways – and she skittered further away. This man was better dressed than the rest of them, his sable furs flowing in the breeze. There was a scrap of paper tucked just under the collar. A letter? I couldn't see any words. I had to know what those words were.

"Ulfric Stormcloak…" Their words were hushed, almost mindful. The raggedy man who had spoken earlier was talking again. "If he's here then…"

"Heh, sorry, looks like it's going to be the end of the line," jerkin-covered shoulders shrugged. "We win some and we lose some, yeah?"

"Filth, you thought you'd win?" whispers my mind; slithering voices that pierce and then fear, rampant fear. It was like fire across my skin.

"Least they could have done was give us some mead." His burlap friend, head hung low, didn't seem willing to answer.

The world was tilted under the strange, cloudy light. The trees were twisting, twisting, twisting up into the sky. Nothing was real. I squeezed my eyes shut again. Worlds disappear when we stop looking. When we don't see, don't know, don't read.

I was being pulled up. When had the world stopped moving and gone the right side up?

"Come on girly, it's time to face our maker. May Talos forgive us," the Stormcloak was looking at me with sympathetic eyes, his hands lingering as I shook like a leaf in the wind. My skin was crawling and it wasn't from the brisk air.

Sanity, it had been awhile since I'd felt it settled into my mind. The world around me seemed too clear, everything too sharp as it came into focus. There were people's names being called and I was pushed along. There was the distinct mass of a person propped up before me, head covered in steel and body in leather. A soldier, my mind supplied, though I couldn't make the connection. He sent off the first man, burlaps' friend, and things began to blur again.

Words spun around, lighting up the world. A voice swam behind them as they misted toward me, my eyes following them. The soldiers sent off the different men, who forlornly walked up to a stone block a distance away. I was jostled out of the chaise, my knees hitting the dirt, but nothing could distract me from the golden auras. They were like waves finding their way to my ears. The cries of men going up to the block, the gruff questions of the soldiers; all of the voices were dancing around me. Then, burlap was running, words pouring out of his mouth, only to be abruptly silenced by the whistling of arrows.

I was shoved forward again. "Step forward, swine!" Then, a bored voice rang out. "Now, your name?"

The imperials stared, eyes not really seeing, as if I were another stone that was a part of their keep. He and his female peer were standing before me, the former with quill and paper in hand. My mouth salivated at the sight. I leaned forward eagerly, only to be pushed back by his leather-clad soldier companion.

"Your name!" The male voice repeated again, though I couldn't see the words this time. My eyes were closed, searching through my mind.

"Who?" I could feel my voice grate against my throat, coming out in a rasp. "Who am I?"

"Yes," a female voice barked out this time. "Divines abuve, dun play stupid. May as well give us yer name and origin so maybe we have a place ta send ye back to."

He was yelling, running away from the burning husk of the building where we lived. Flames ate everything, then ate everyone. Sounds were flowing from his lips. "Venla. Venla! VENL-"

"Venla."

The soldier from earlier muttered to another beside him. "Strange name for a bosmer." His skin was burnt, his voice was thick like smoke, and his eyes were watery – was that normal for an imperial?

"On second thought, don't bother stating your hold. We have enough of a backlog as is," the writer was scratching furiously on the paper, even if his head was turned towards the people walking around the dead bodies. The scratch of the quill was heavenly. "Bring her to the block!"

I was in Skingrad, being dragged toward the jails. Guards were swearing and others were pocketing my goods. Pain seared down my arms as I was pushed and jostled, tortured by the pulls against my scars.

A block came up to meet me. It was such a wonderful place to rest my head. The world seemed so bright around me, as the orange, sunset light shone down. The imperial flags flapped in the wind – the flag of the Jarl hung limply by his grave - and the keep wall stood firm and resolute. A blade sang from above, calling out the ballads of heroes and the deeds of the dastardly. It was a call to arms, a call to glory.

"Long live…" I croaked. I needed to know things.

A roar answered me.

Then, Hell.

Oblivion was all around me – Sheogorath was smiling, telling me to sing again. Cheese for everyone! Everywhere, there was fire. Fire in the bedroom, fire on the roof, fire on mother. People were screaming, people were crying, people were begging for mercy.

Was the dragon an apparition? A voice, with intent, was coming from it, but its words didn't make any sense. I saw it soar and dance in the air, destroying all that lay before it. The world above and below was orange and red, seething and angry and hot. I looked down at my hands – blood caked my tunic and arms. Was any of it real? It was a black cloud now, floating between the buildings and ready to unleash itself. Dangerous light erupted from its mouth, making the world as black as its scales.

Suddenly, I'm inside somewhere. Time had moved forward.

There's a cave, a man before me moves forward slowly. More blood on my tunic, now leather rather than wool. We move slowly over the rocks, slippery with condensation and sooty from the smoke that is slowly filtering in. The room moves slowly, the ground suddenly becoming flimsy and wood-like. The man in front of me – a Nord? – shushes me quickly, and then points at a funny-looking boulder at the end of the cave. The boulder is moving, turning over in the sunlight that streams in from some unknown source overhead, seeming to breathe despite the smoke.

"Quiet, it ain't safe to wake the beast," his voice was gruff and pointed, even if he was whispering. The contrast felt odd against the silence of the place.

Where did I jump to this time?

A smattering of footsteps led us away from the boulder, weapons at the ready in case of an emergency. The mace felt weird in my hands – the knife felt like it was searing into my palm – but it made me feel safer, stronger. The transition from rock to dirt made the world lighter, and less as if it was constantly being pulled out from under me. The sounds that moved around us echoed in a playful dance, from footstep to clinking armor to metal weapons brushing against narrow walls. It was impossible to see in the barely lit tunnels, each movement a hazard in the dark. It was like moving through a void, a place fueled by nightmares.

I had crawled under the bed. Papers were scattered on the floor, notes kept from ages past and sealed away from memory. The space was dark and filled with dust, causing my hands to clutch the papers as I sneezed.

Disjointed. Out of time. One minute soot and blood covered, then the next, clad in soft cotton covered in grime. The world felt like it was spinning and imprecise, and stayed that way even as we got back into the waning sunlight. I rushed to the tree line, emptying what little remained in my stomach as the world started to dip, convulse, and turn.

When I looked up again, I was alone. Now, moonlight streamed down on the broken cobblestones, and everything was silent. There was no more screaming and no more voices – no more choked gasps – and no more wing beats.

I eventually found myself stumbling forward, following the path away from the fortress. It was freezing, the dirty rags covering my body doing nothing to keep out the cold. Before my eyes, the olive skin of my feet was turning blue, then purple, then green, then back to olive again. Did frigid air do that to a bosmer?

Eventually, a village came into sight. I honed in on its numerous twinkling lights, whose burn suggested warmth, home and comfort.

Maybe there are more there?

I practically hummed at the voice. I hoped so.

Unfortunately, it doesn't take guards long to notice a lone, dirty woman wander into a village of her own accord. I was 'escorted' to the inn almost as soon as I stepped through the gates, and the world felt like it was slipping around me once again.

There were a pile of books on the bedside table. Within seconds one was open, my nosed pressed between the pages. By Sheogorath, the smell was divine. The parchment was new, making the ink pop out of the page, and my eyes skimmed over everything eagerly.

"Oh? You like to read? You don't seem the type…"

My back snapped to attention, my gaze zeroing in on a woman on the other side of the room. She chuckled, at what I realized was probably my expense, but moved to recompose herself a moment later. The moment lasted too long, the two of us unwilling to breach the quiet. Gurgles were building up in my throat, while she shifted uncertainly under the intensity of our combined stare.

There was a bookcase behind her. Books held knowledge and knowledge was power.

I squinted to see the titles. The Real Barenziah. Oblivion Crisis. The Holds of Skyrim. The Wabba -There were so many I hadn't seen. So much I could lear-

"By the divines, you're not much of a talker."

The voice had a distracting lilt to it, dropping in ways that teased the ear. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she leaned back into the bookcase, pressing the – precious – spines against her own. My hands itched. There were a few bottles of half-empty ale scattered on a dresser on the other side of the room, while a plate sat empty, sticky with some residue or other, on the bedside table. A belt hung from over the top of the dresser, leather and buckle glistening under the room's candlelight.

There were so many opportunities…

"Well, there's grub if you want any, but don't expect too much. The past winter wasn't easy for anyone, so we barely have enough to go around." Skirt swishing around her ankles, the woman began to remove herself, evidently seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere. Though her short auburn hair barely brushed the edge of the bookcase as she passed, but it was enough to set my teeth on edge. "But, don't be shy; you look like you need a bit more meat on your bones. Anyway…rest up, I guess."

The woman (innkeeper?) shut the oak door behind her, cutting out the din from the building's other inhabitants. Only candles remained to light the chamber, casting dark shadows into every corner of its expanse. Shadows flickered, morphed, and came to life all around; consuming the walls they lived on. Someone was strapping her fingers, and the walls of the room were blurry from tears. Inky blackness formed figures on the wall, acting out scenes that I did not want to see, like a terrifying pantomime. A teacher stood at their lectern, arms raised above the crowd. Then, a smoky apparition appeared on the wall beside the bed, which forced me to the headboard at my back. A crying woman, her arms wound around a small child, was rocking back and forth.

Jumping up, I rush over to the bookcase, frantic to get away. The room is strange – too small, too cramped to be a proper room – and there were supplies littered everywhere. Maybe a storage room that doubled as a bedroom for the resident cook? Anything was possible. Bags were emptied and refilled, before being stashed away within easy reach. All was over in a frenzied matter of minutes, leaving me sitting on the bed with Wabbajack in my hands. The book shook under my palms, anxious and clammy with sweat.

One word, repeated over and over, like music for my eyes to see, forming a colorful cascade before me. The tome was dusty, the dirt sticking against my fingers and turning the brown an ashy grey. There was a bolt of pleasure running through me, as my eyes continued to skim the words.

There was a story behind my eyelids. A world that exploded just like the words that flowed in front of me; that moved with its own logic. In it, the words of that daedra sang and encouraged the frivolity, the madness, the excitement. A man turned into a goat, turned into a dog, turned into a troll, turned into a man again. The world was sudden, was without control, and moved in a way never seen before. It was enchanting. It was ludicrous. It was mad.

And all I could do was laugh.

The sky was above me once again, nebulas of stars twinkling as far as the eye could see. The Aldmeri dominion had taught father about the stars so he could navigate. Yet all he'd succeeded in doing was directing his battalion into an ambush. I tripped down the path by the river, feeling my pack weigh heavily upon my shoulders. Knowledge was light; the thoughts made me shiver.

"Can you believe it's this cold in summer? Skyrim is the worst."

A colder breeze cuts over partly singed flesh. My teeth chattered, making the scars on my face stretch uncomfortably. Burns don't always heal so easily.

"I almost miss the Oblivion days in Cyrodiil, everything was so warm and cozy back then," Sheogorath walked alongside you, rubbing his (its?) hands together. The wabbajack was there a second later, twirled by his fingers, occasionally being used to transform a moose into a rock or a fly into a fox. "The world's been boring ever since. There's no spark, no impulse, and no life. Everyone's all about work and mead, it's boring."

One leather boot moved in front of the other, my eyes following their movement. They squished against the damp earth, sinking and rising like a wave. I was that wave, falling and coming up again, gasping like a fish as I rode forward.

"Wouldn't it be fabulous if you could use those brains of yours to heat up? Like fizzle-sizzle-rampa-BOOM, you thought and you're hot."

I snorted at his ridiculous words, a silver hue against the snow-laden landscape. The bag felt heavy against my shoulder (whispering for release) but I would be able to put everything down soon. Animals scurried away from us as we approached, probably none-too-pleased by the staff being poked at them.

They were being dragged away from me, screaming and clawing against the ground. Nothing mattered. I didn't know. I didn't know! I didn't KNOW! They needed me. They NEEDED me. I don't know. I don't know! Why couldn't they hear me? I didn't know…

"I…don't…" my voice croaked out. It was a wisp, a faint trickle of ash.

"I don't, I can't, I won't," Sheogorath mimicked in a high pitched voice. He prodded me with the butt of the staff. "We only live once, darling. Gotta make something of it while we can, or else where's the fun?" The daedra chuckled to himself, opting to glide instead of walk. "Then again, I live forever, so what do I know about lost time."

We seemed to be coming to an end, where the trees faded away and made way for a rolling, unceasing plain of earth. The earth that seemed to glow under the light of the night sky, lit as brightly as fire dancing in the night. It was nearly phosphorescent. It was too much.

"Ugh," Sheogorath groaned out, clearly bored. His fingers were snapping in front of him, sparks flying from his fingertips. "Boring. Come on, dolly, can't you do anything exciting?" He spread his arms, and the forest was ablaze for a moment. Ablaze, but not burning. I shied away from the torch-like trees that towered over the path.

"Humph, this world isn't spontaneous enough," he was back to twirling, guiding me to the border between the woods and the plain. "Reality and dreams aren't close enough. People need to lighten up a little." He pointed Wabbajack at me. "And that includes you, missy - don't think you're unique because you're touched. Your dreams are too real, it's sickening."

I finally stumbled out of the wood; the wind, howling and unblocked, rushed to greet me. The pack was still at my side, the weight a comfort. Words would soon be mine to devour.

But, Sheogorath did not join me.

"Guess this is the end of the line for you and me, dolly," Sheogorath bowed, a fur hat in hand where once a staff was held. "Can't say it's been fun, but it gave me something to do. Now remember: 'Cheese for everyone!'" The daedra tossed a frown in my direction, face sharp while the rest of him blurred. The downturn of lips quickly reversed, however. "Just keep on keeping on, as they say. I'm sure you'll get into more fun soon." Sheogorath squealed out his last words. "I can't wait." Then he dissolved, phasing into the very air I breathed.

Eventually, I took a step away from the woods, dragging myself forward. The world was getting fuzzy again.

Crossroads. Flickering lights – torches, your mind supplies – attached to beasts in hide and iron. My breath is loud in my ears, in my mind, flowing into phosphorescence all around.

My feet carried me over the stone ribs before me, stretched as they were over boiling pitch, and then up to a wooden monolith in the fields. A lump with a strip of birch imbedded in its center and glass mixed throughout. Voices were murmuring off in the distance, dancing in the wind that swept over the glowing fields and the broiling river. In a hollow stone lump, with spinning wings – a windmill - two beasts in cotton seemed to be moving together.

The wood gives way with little pressure, leaving a warm, and dark, maw in its wake. The warmth is comfort, unlike the burning forest that had been left behind. Combined with the smell, it almost felt like…home.

Sneaking in was easy – the place was mine. Mother and father were warming themselves by the hearth, gossiping and grumbling about the neighbors. My sister and her friends were off in the corner, whispering and joking amongst themselves, moving around cards on a well-worn table. It was all so happy.

In this topsy-turvy world, where wood shrieked as the house moved underfoot, there was always one staple.

Another bookshelf, sparsely filled, rested firmly against the wall. Within moments a book is in my hands, opened and swimming with letters that don't stay pinned down. The spine is unreadable, and it's as if the book is enchanted. As if the information is too important for me to know.

A word – lies - comes together in the center of the page. The story is indistinct – my mind's eye devoid of any image – but it is a word.

"Pathetic. But then again, what else should I expect of a bosmer?" Foreign sweat is pushed into your split chin. An imperial face grinned at yours, moving in time with the words. "What, you think you're smarter than me? You think I can't tell when you're lying? All the bosmeri resistance is filled with are lies."

The book fell from my hands and I stumbled back. My legs hit wooden limbs behind me, groaning in united protest at the force.

"Please, Vanla, tell them what they need to know," the woman was pleading, clawing at the wooden walls.

I spun around. "You know where, right?" My sister whispered, her short brown hair lank against her forehead. It was night time in our room, and she was telling me a secret; she needed to make sure I remembered.

The world was wet again. The walls were melting around me, drenched by the deluge. The floor was covered in blurs and splotches.

"Time's up, bosmer," the imperial face spoke again, sneering at us. "You're ashes."

"No!" Hands swept across the flat wood, sending everything flying. I needed a stable surface, I needed to breath. The room was filling with the silence. It was pressing my body down and drowning me.

Then, there was fire.

"Vanla!" They were screaming. They were burning.

Smoke was choking you.

"Why couldn't you just tell them? Didn't you know?"

The candles were overturned, and the fire was spreading through the rushes and over the walls. The house was a prison cell of fire, popping and roaring with whatever it consumed. My body was the water, soaking in whatever liquid remained from earlier. The bag was still pressing into my side, reminding me of what I needed to do. The book – lies - was in my bag a second later.

The heat was like the planes of Oblivion. It felt like peace.

It was a sea around me, crashing in waves against everything. Consuming everything.

Yet, legs dragged me toward the door, my body ready to fall apart. Time bent around me, stretching and shrinking, my feet bringing me toward the river as fire finally penetrated the outside world.

People were screaming. People were screaming.

Bodies began rushing towards me. Teeth of metal were raised to slaughter; raised to maim; raised to teach. My skin was on fire. It burned and wailed at the night air, still glowing.

As best I could, I bolted, and monstrous – sentient – cries followed me. I didn't know what they needed to know. I didn't. I didn't-

Icy liquid lapped at my exposed legs, but I struggled through it. The beasts in hide and iron were following, but I could get away from them. I just needed to move faster.

A sign loomed on the side of the road. The world was still fuzzy, but the golden-white words popped out at me: Whiterun.

My shriek of the words made the beasts stumble back.

"What is she, some hagraven-bosmer mutt?" One of them barked to the others, now all hesitant to get closer.

How do I escape? I tried to look for a way out, but the world was too bright. I moved back towards the treeline. I had to keep the books. I had to get away. I had to know.

Of course, the beasts gave chase. The ground sped up to help me move faster. Mother always said nature was willing to help a bosmer. I felt like my body was barely there, as I pushed forward and upward.

Wolves came, attacking the beasts in armor, allowing me to move further away. The wolves that spoke through their growls, whose eyes shone in the moonlight, whispering comfort, shielded me. Their jaws snapped at the teeth of iron following me. Through the underbrush I continued, their voices crying out. They were telling me that Hircine was on my side, that she would guide me through the darkened woods and keep me from the barbarians - keep me from the fire.

Finally, I was in a clearing, and all the roaring had ceased. Nothing glowed - nothing barked or cried - the silence was no longer suffocating

Laughter pierced the air. Shrill, piercing, hysterical. I was free. I had survived. Rags torn, books in hand, grimy hair sticking to my neck, I had survived. Free. Free to get more books. Water trickled down my face. Was it coming from my eyes? Knowledge, books, free. Rinse, Repeat.