The two characters of this story are my own entirely, but the circumstances and setting of course belong to you know who (yes, it's Voldemort). It's just a oneshot story for now.
The shadow loomed over the town, not unlike a storm cloud that seemed to appear before the sun. It thundered and flashed and it caused the ground to shake deeply to its core.
The wind was full, blowing the strings of hay and wheat from the farms and swinging them in an air dance to fascinate those brave or foolish enough not to hide.
Each roar was disastrous, each crash quaked the walls causing cracks to ride through the seams of stone, the windows shed light from outside, a bright smoking orange that seemed to burn just to look at.
She has to be safe the warlock knew, looking from his studies and preparing his magic to open the door before it opened itself for him. I do not have a choice...
The ward tingled on his skin as its light spread over his entirety; his black robes absorbed much of the powerful spell to shield his skin as he ventured outside.
The storm was mighty indeed, one that the Aedra could not have kept them safe from; flames were building into the morning sky higher than the towers that had made the town seem safer than the other hamlets nearby, oh, how wrong they were to think so.
He ran, faster than he was physically capable but his spirit dragged him across the cobble, he had to.
The rocks were flying through the skies, landing in mighty explosions, his ward was not thicker than the walls those rocks reduced to cinders, his last day had came.
He continued on, running, running faster than the horses that had escaped the stables, his magic draining his mind, grogginess clouded him almost as much as the smoke, but he had to.
Her house was in town, whilst his was near the gates, one would think it a short stroll but the molten rock sliding across the paths and the flames licking his ankles caused the run to be an obstacle course, but he arrived at the small tower she had called home.
It was broken, crumbling as he opened the door, embers flaking onto his sparkling ward and settling into ash. Her things thrown across the room, jumping when the bringer of the end days spoke, flying when he crashed onto the buildings to stalk his prey.
"Lyanna?" He asked the gods to give him one last thing, lest his seventy years be meaningless.
Lyanna moaned under a fallen cabinet, her autumn hair sprawled around her in a tangle, her face was bruised and bloodied but with every roll under her eyelids, the mage's heart swelled.
He barely had the magic to hold his ward all the way to this place, the adrenaline keeping it alive, yet he managed the telekinesis spell to lift the furniture from her battered body.
She was unconscious, and he had no time to feed her a potion and wait, he scooped her into his withered arms and ran again, because he had to.
Outside the chaos continued, the legion had their swords wavering in the air as if the thin steel would protect them from the crashing meteors, arrows flew into the black armor of the mighty beast that hovered over them, and it chuckled at their futile attempts as the storm raged on.
Stormcloaks were running too, their necks saved by their awaiting death, but they had the chance to run or fight and that was all they wanted, that was all the Stormcloaks ever wanted, to fight or die trying.
Lyanna shivered in his arms as he made his way to the gates, only to find them smouldered, soldiers pointing him towards the keep that buried deep beneath the settlement, on the other side of town, but was it his only chance?
The dragon crashed the buildings into the ground, its great feet smashing the stone and wood and its Thu'um burning it to piles, he knew that the shake of its weight alone would hinder the escape through the underground passage, but he was not sure what to do.
Nevertheless, he ran anyway.
He had to.
His ward long gone since leaving her home, her young face pressed against his chest, he could not help but wonder if she was safe in her dreams, if her unconsciousness brought her to Sheo's Bliss.
The last gate was smoking, the flames had started on the door and were working their way through the heavy wood, the guards told him to go elsewhere as the heat burned when he approached, but he simply used his spell once more to open the fiery doors and bolted through.
Skyrim's cold was hiding, all he could feel was the burning embers through his cloaks and the smoke in his lungs, the sky was deep red, unrecognizable from the North's bright blue.
He had ran for what felt like forever, although it was only moments, he sat at the Standing Stones, up the road from Riverwood. His back leaning against the cool stone of 'The Mage' as he watched Lyanna sleep, sprawled between 'The Thief' and 'The Warrior', her breaths were shallow, but he had cleaned her wounds from the ash and blood that had stuck to her skin.
"My precious girl," He wept tearlessly, his eyes dry from the smoke, "I'm so sorry"
He was not strong enough to carry her all the way to Riverwood, his old bones felt like washing away in the heavy wind.
He was not fast enough to reach her in time, before her body lay broken beneath her falling home.
He was not young enough to love her, as he wanted to.
His magic pools drained, his consciousness was questionable.
However, he raised one hand, and then the other, the white light folded from his finders and swept over her body, engulfing her and caressing her in the only ways he could ever know.
She moaned beneath him as his spell traveled into her bones and tried to put her together again.
He tried. He had to.
The world went black with his golden touch still looming over her, because it was not enough.
It never was.
Now, I'd like to make a few things clear that I did not want to write it in, Lyanna is not a child, simply a young woman whom the unnamed mage admires deeply, I could write a backstory in another chapter if I wanted to, but for now this is what you get.