Chapter 1 – Sweet Dreams are made of Defiance
She woke with a gasp, sweat clinging to her body. The air was tortuously cold against her damp clothing, making her shudder and curl into a tight ball. She pulled her blanket up around her neck, burying herself in its soft goodness and warmth. She kept her eyes closed, hoping to erase the images she had seen, the voices she had heard. It had to be a nightmare… it just had to be. The fires of Oblivion had claimed her skin, never marking her yet never relenting. An eternity of pain, held in a cage dangling over lava. The Dremora had looked at her, a cruel expression on its face as it had pulled the lever and then the cage had descended towards the lava. Now she was awake, unable to banish the images from her head. This had been one of those dreams, she could tell by how vivid the images had been, and how the pain had chased her into her waking hours. She ran her hand down her side, searching for the heat on her skin, the dirt and grime. She then lifted her hands from under the blankets and stared at them, looking for the blood that had covered her hands as she had tried to tear the bars apart to escape. She could feel the desperation that had fuelled her to pull on the bars so hard she had drawn her own blood. When she saw nothing but her skin greeting her she sighed.
"It was just a dream" she whispered to herself, relieved to hear her voice come out smoothly. The pain of her dreams had followed her into her waking hours, but the psychical injuries had not. All she had to do was pretend she was not shaken by her dreams, that they had not happened. If it got out she had been dreaming again every disciple and his dog would be after her. She wasn't prepared to deal with the endless questions and politics today, not after what she had spent the night enduring. Her body was well rested as always, but her mind was fragile and tired. She gazed at her window, looking to see if the sun was high. When she saw it wasn't she sighed, wondering whether or not she should attempt to sleep. After a few moments she wiggled back into the warmth and safety of her blankets, not even bothering to move the strands of hair tickling her nose.
"I have a few more minutes to sleep"
…
The skies were filled with black smoke, many houses set aflame with their screaming owners being burned alive within the walls they had once considered safe. The fire was not burning the wooden houses of the waterfront, but the stone mansions of the Imperial city. The white paths were stained red with the blood of countless innocents, like snow polluted by a footprint or pale skin marked with warpaint. Soldiers slipped as they ran, some towards the battle and others away. The sound of armor clinking as squads of soldiers ran in formation. The sound of a crash as a soldier slipped in the blood or tripped over a body and fell to the ground. The screams of the Dremora, their mystical and horrible voices only adding to the terrifying chaos. The streets stunk of death and rotted meat, blood and smoke. The air was thick and deadly, and many civilians were falling due to being unable to breathe. Sounds of coughing occasionally broke the sounds of armor against armor, or against the stone. The closer she ran, the louder the sounds became. The sounds of battle and slaughter. There were not enough soldiers to protect the Imperial City and the civilians, and the leaders chose to let innocence die to save a city that could be rebuilt.
"Run!" The word was screamed over and over again, rising in a chorus of screams and orders. The Dremora screamed it. The Civilians screamed it. The soldiers screamed it.
"Fight!" A single voice shouted against the panicked screams. The voice was strong and gruff, yet it was not sinister like others. The voice was that of a leader, a hero. She found herself hunting for that lone male voice, the voice of her saviour. She stumbled through the streets, ghosting through objects as if they were not there. She knew she would not be present at this fight, or at least not in the role she was dreaming about. She soon found a group of elves surrounded by Dremora. She could only watch in horror as the children and adults alike were cornered, and the Dremora raised their weapons.
Then, as if a miracle had occurred one of the Dremora turned on its companions, swinging the blade so viciously that they began to fall. His blade was a flame, a flame of a different kind. His blade was justice, vengeance. His blade was hope and renewal. His blade was the beginning of a new Era. Then, as quickly as he had risen he fell, struck so many times he could no longer stand. The Dremora continued to fight with tooth and claw as his blade was removed, but it was not enough. He was going to die. She screamed loudly, trying to distract the Dremora from the one who had risen from darkness but her voice didn't come. She couldn't make a sound, couldn't move. She was paralysed with fear for this Dremora's life. Just as another Dremora struck a single shout filled the air.
"Fus Ro Dah!" The Dremora went flying from the words, as if they contained power. She could feel the force behind the words herself, the confidence that they would work. It was as if the person who had shouted these words knew they would work. A mix of concern yet reassurance, darkness and light. Dremora tamed by Divine, and Divine darkened by Dremora. The images made a pushed the memories aside, and suddenly she forgot the words that had been shouted.
A warrior dressed in Golden Armor leapt into the fray, landing in the middle of the circle on the Dremora that had been attacked. The warrior swung a blade made of ice, freezing the flames as he struck. His face was hidden beneath a hood, but she couldn't help feel the warrior was familiar, a friend she had not met yet. The warrior was a blur, moving faster than the eye could see. Time stood still as the warrior defeated the last of his foes and offered a hand to the Dremora. When their hands united the golden warrior pulled the Dremora into his embrace, and they held one another as if their lives depended on it. When they both moved to uncover their faces the smoke covered them, and she suddenly felt herself being shaken.
"Wake up!"
….
"Wake up!" The harsh voice of the female Dark Elf reached her ears. She could feel the strong hands on her shoulders, shaking her so violently her head rolled on her neck. She tensed, groaning loudly to indicate she was awake. She felt more rested, as if she had a purpose but she couldn't shake the tiredness she felt. She kept her eyes closed, rolling over and gathering her blankets around her body tightly like a cocoon. It was warm, soft and safe. The fur blankets were comforting; much like a dagger in her hand was safety.
"Five more minutes" she said, barely getting the words out as more than a flat, sleepy groan. The shaking had stopped, but her brain still felt like it was being rattled in her head. Her eyes couldn't open and there was a certain tenseness in her jaw, as if she was resisting yawing. She gave into the yawn, opening her mouth wide and clamping her eyes tight as the sound escaped her. Her face relaxed as the yawn finished, and she felt the tension she had felt was gone. Suddenly the warmth was torn away, thrown at her feet like the head of a criminal tossed to the king. She yelped, gathering herself into a tight ball as light assaulted her. The attack did not end there. Cold hands grabbed her by the arm and yanked, rolling her so the light was shining directly into her sensitive eyes. She groaned loudly, putting a hand up to try and block the light as the hands continued to pull her. She squawked rather indignantly as she was pulled off her bed and landed on the stone floor with a thud.
"Get up!" The Dark Elf ordered again. She weakly groaned, turning to look up at the stern dark Elf woman, Belan Uvani.
The first thing that was noticeable about the Dark Elf were her small white eyes, scarred beyond repair yet still able to see. She had an angled brow, soft compared to other Dark Elves yet still harsh on her. Her skin was a greener shade than most Elves, instead of the usual greyish of her kind. Her nose was sharp and hawklike, a nose that was always in other people's business both metaphorically and literally. Her nose went well with her harsh thin lips that gave her an older appearance. Her cheeks were also hollow for her age, giving her an aged appearance. She wasn't that old, only a few hundred years old.
"I said five more minutes, sister" she retorted to the Dark elf, spitting the last word as if it were foul tasting. It was no secret that she and Uvani did not get along; in fact, they went out of their way to annoy one another. This had been going on for the last fifty years or so. For the first ten years it had been funny, a bitch fight between sisters. However, it had slowly grown tiresome and they both assumed the other would never stop. There were perks to being gifted, but it also left one open to awful pranks the other had thought up for twenty or so years.
"And I woke you up now, Stronach" the elf replied, using her last name.
"If the special dreamer can't wake up then alas our order will end"
"Do I hear jealousy, Uvani?" Stronach asked in a teasing tone of voice. Every day was the same with Uvani. Her unwavering loyalty to their order was a cover for jealousy. Stronach was also loyal, although much younger than the Dark Elf. Stronach knew she had abilities others did not, just as others had abilities she did not. She was one of their dreamers, gifted individuals that could have dreams to predict the future. As the youngest of the youngest bloodline, Stronach was looked upon as a special child; as such a lot of attention was paid to her. Her life was planned out, and the walls weighed heavily on her.
"You're but a child, and you act like one. But the others trust your dreams, and they request you share your latest one" Uvani expressed her disgust. It was true, Stonach was childish but she was still loyal, and could still hold her own against the other bloodlines. Others looked up to her, just as they looked to Uvani for her skill with daggers. Uvani had an unnatural gift at combat, although she never revealed her secret. Others looked to Uvani for jobs that were likely to end in conflict. Stronach was rarely let out on assassinations, but when she was she took full advantage. She was selected for jobs that required finesse. Even with her childish personality she could handle the most mature of jobs. She was one they called incredibly gifted, and she wished she actually was what they believed. Instead of being given the chance to prove she was an excellent assassin she was caged and forced to share her dreams. She often refused, which didn't sit well with anyone, especially Uvani.
"Fine. I'll share the stupid dream then, Happy?" Stronarch growled, getting to her feet with a huff. Uvani nodded, turning and walking out of the room without another word. Stronach groaned loudly, flopping back onto her bed and closing her eyes. It was hopeless to try and resist, but something about the voice she had heard was familiar. It was as if she had heard it before in her waking hours. She pushed herself up off her bed, blinking a few times as she looked around the room for her desk. She got up, quickly crossing the room to her desk, where she sat down and began to write.
She was not going to remain locked up any longer, nor was she going to share her dream only to have another assassin sent to make sure things went smoothly. This was her dream. Her life. Her way. She was going to leave the safety of their castle and head to Cyrodiil, a land she enjoyed and had thrived in. She was going to go find the man who had spoken, the man who had inspired her to take action. She was going to go find the hero. She finished writing her dreams down and placed it on the bed, not bothering to make it. She knew the maids would scold her for it later, but she didn't really care. She quickly got dressed in her leather armor, making sure that every buckle was sitting in its proper place. She grabbed an ebony dagger, strapping it around her thigh before she rushed to her door. She stormed out of her room into the dark stone halls, ignoring the chill as she walked away from the Blood Chambers. She was not heading towards the new, but towards the old.
The stone was dark, and it grew darker as she walked towards the chambers that would lead to her escape. Her footsteps were as silent as a cats, confident and predatory despite their softness. Her shadow danced on the walls as she passed the torches that flickered in their place on the wall. The firelight made her skin glow, revealing her warm, gentle features to anyone who passed by. She raised her hands to her hood, pulling it up and hiding her face as several disciples walked past. With her face hidden she continued to walk through the halls, looking like any other disciple except for her dagger. She eventually reached a dark room, with only a circle obvious in the middle. It was filled with blood, glowing faintly as she stepped closer. When she stood in the circle she looked at the alter that stood in the middle. After a quick breath she placed her hand down, wincing as a blade shot out and gashed her hand open. She remembered her dream, and how her hands had been bleeding. It inspired her to stay strong, to remain silent as her blood began to fill the alter, then cascaded down the sides of the stone into the circle. The blood flared, as if set on fire before a voice reached her ears.
"Where to, Daughter of Sithis?"
She took a deep breath, preparing to face the wrath of every other child out there before she spoke.
"Cyrodiil. The Imperial City. Prison district"
AN: Some people have expressed some curiosity in some of the past of my Skyrim Fics, so I decided to add a story about it. I will be continuing to work on The Skyrim Alliance, but this story is relevent to the story in Lineage. Set a few hundred years before, with no spoilers. I hope you enjoy.
