Author's Note: This is my first fan fiction ever posted. I'd definitely like some reviews and critiques, and I'm also looking for Beta readers. Also, feel free to follow along for quicker updates and news at my TES blog!
One They Fear: A Skyrim Fanfic - Chapter One
In all of her one hundred sixty-seven years on Nirn, Aliya Beran did not imagine being caught in an ambush like that before. She never imagined that she would simply be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Normally, she was smarter than that, always aware of her surroundings. And she was almost always just plain lucky, even when she was not. Her luck had run out, she supposed.
Her body throbbed in pain, from head to foot, dark bruises blooming on her grey arms, and likely other unseen areas. It hurt to breathe; gods, it hurt to exist. She needed a healer, badly. Tentatively, she opened her ruby eyes and looked around. Sunlight streamed down through the mist. Everything felt wet and cold, and Aliya shivered. She was on a wagon, her hands bound and crammed in with other prisoners. It creaked along, surrounded by Imperial soldiers on horseback. With her headache, watching the road pass by was almost making her sick, so she tried to focus on other things.
There was wagon another ahead of them, equally fully of prisoners. They all dressed alike, the same chainmail and quilted leather, with storm-blue cloaks wrapped around them. Just behind the wagon she was in, one of the Imperial Legionnaires was attempting to ride her gelding, Rebel, though neither horse nor rider looked happy about it. He kept lunging at the reins and nickering in Aliya's direction. The soldier riding him checked him hard, and she barely suppressed a cry at his rough treatment.
The man sitting across from her, a big Nord with hair like straw and eyes the color of blue mountain flowers, was watching her closely. "Hey, Dunmer. You're finally awake. That's your horse, huh? He's a fighter, been giving the soldiers trouble for a while now. You walked right into that ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
"Damn you Stormcloaks," the dark-haired thief snarled, "Skyrim was fine until you came along! The Empire was nice and lazy. If it wasn't for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now." He glanced at Aliya. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. Its these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
The blond man scoffed. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
"Shut up back there!" their driver called, annoyed. Everyone completely ignored him. The thief turned to study the man sitting next to Aliya, who was gagged unlike the rest of them. He was a very imposing man, with hair somewhere between gold and brown, wearing a fur-lined cloak and armor. He was watching the road go by, obviously deep in thought. Aliya studied him closely too. His shoulders sagged, but that couldn't hide his obvious build. He would be tall and board, very powerfully built even for a Nord. He looked like a bear in his furs, and with baleful sulky eyes like a bear, too. He was not a man to be trifled with. Yet here he was, caught the same as she was.
"What's the matter with him?" the thief asked.
"Watch your tongue!" the rebel snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!"
"Ulfric. The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But if they captured you... oh gods, where are they taking us?!" The thief looked around, panicking. Only the two rebels appeared resigned. Aliya herself looked down, putting her forearms on her knees and leaning forward. She said nothing, but the rebel spoke her thoughts.
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," he said softly.
The thief began to pray loudly to the Divines while Aliya gritted her teeth.
"Fuck the Empire," she spat, glaring down at her feet. This is what awaited her, despite her and her parents' loyal service? Her father dead, her mother heartbroken, brothers lost somewhere in Skyrim. Her own sacrifices made in her own way to serve the greater good - didn't that mean anything to them?
No. An Empire who went to war over unacceptable terms, sacrificed loyal men and women only to accept those terms five years later due to cowardice could not possibly appreciate the work she and her brothers have done at her father's side. Even her mother's place as Champion of Cyrodiil was being forgotten in place of the heroics of Martin Septim, and her father's work as the Nerevarine of Morrowind was unknown to any except Dunmer who had been born there before the Red Year.
Both the rebels looked at her curiously at her dark outburst, but she said nothing more, still looking down. She touched the pendant at her throat, the Amulet of Akatosh that was once her father's then her mother's, given to her when she left for Skyrim on her own. Next to it was the tiny vial containing her father's ashes, comforting in her final moments. The blond rebel and the thief were talking once more, something about home. Gods that Nord could talk. Maybe he was making up for his master being gagged. Aliya tried not to think of her own home, her mother forlorn and waiting for her children to come back to her. It was too painful to think of her family so broken.
They arrived at the town of Helgen, a little village built around an Imperial fort. Its people gawked at them as they passed on by. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman awaits," a soldier cried from the gates. A heavy feeling settled on her breast, her breath coming short. She wasn't afraid of death, she had faced it too many times before to be afraid of it. She had even caused much of it herself. But so many things in her life still needed doing. Her father's life work... She had a strong feeling that it wasn't supposed to be her time, yet she knew she would kneel at that block in a moment's time.
"Good," she heard the answer from the front of the column. "Let's get this over with." She glanced forward to the General, his white hair glinting in the little sun that was now splashing down on them all. The mist was clearing, but Aliya still felt cold down to her bones. Especially, she noted, that the General was deep in conversation with a black-robed Thalmor agent. She threw a glare towards them for good measure, but no one noticed but her fellow captives.
"Damn elves," the rebel was grumbling. "I bet they had something to do with this." He glanced at Aliya, but she didn't comment on it. She had all of the Dunmer pride her mother instilled in her, despite being raised on Cyrodiil. Of course she was nothing like those stiff-necked Altmer, and so she took no offense.
Soon the wagons lurched to a stop, just in front of a tower. Already there was a gathering of soldiers, and civilians even came out to watch. There was the block, and next to that, a hooded headsman and a priests of Arkay. As the prisoners were loaded off, Aliya wondered what exactly she was doing here. She tried to think back, and all she remembered was stumbling onto fighting. Then everything went black. She was probably snuck up on and, judging by the pain in her head, knocked out by a sword-hilt. Her father would be ashamed of her for getting jumped like that.
The prisoners were lined up, and a Captain started to shout orders. "Step toward the block when we call your name, one at a time!"
"The Empire loves their damn lists," muttered the blond rebel. Despite is all, Aliya had a sudden urge to chuckle. He was right, and it cheered her to see someone still keep their humor even in such bleakness. A dark-haired Nord Legionnaire began to call out names to them, checking them off on his list as he went.
"Ulfric Stormcloak." The rebel Jarl, bound and gagged, stepped forward to the block.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The talkative blond Nord also stepped forward when called.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
The thief, however, started screaming and bolted, only to be picked off by a well-aimed arrow. He crumpled in a heap of flesh, blood staining the road around him. A soldier went to retrieve the body. Aliya shook her head at the fool, but wondered why she herself was letting this execution go on. She could escape somehow, she was sure of it. She had gotten out of worse scrapes than this... not that she could think of any right then. It was almost as if something other than herself was willing her forward. It was... odd, yet she didn't resist. It almost felt like a play, and that in a moment everything would be normal again.
The Imperials came to Aliya and the dark-haired Nord paused.
"Captian. This one's not on the list," he said, turning to his superior. Aliya did not dare to hope they would release her. The captain glanced over, but didn't seem to care or even give it a moment's thought.
"She goes to the block," she commanded and her subordinate nodded sadly. No witnesses, Aliya supposed, but with her past, she could understand in some detached way.
"I'm sorry Dark Elf. I'll make sure your remains go back to Morrowind," the Nord said gently.
Aliya shook her head, voice cold and hard. "I'm from Cyrodiil. My mother lives alone on a farm south of Bruma. My remains should go there, especially my Amulet."
The man nodded again. "Alright. Step towards the block."
She took a deep breath, head held high, red eyes glaring at any who dared look her in the eyes. The Imperial Legion General, Tullius, was admonishing Ulfric Stormcloak, but Aliya suddenly couldn't focus. She heard a strange sound in the distance, like a roar or a howl. She could feel something stir in her, like the animal feeling she got before a kill. She wanted to vomit.
"What was that?" someone asked as everyone glanced at one another.
"Its nothing. Carry on," General Tullius ordered.
The Priestess of Arkay began to recite their last rights, but a red-headed Nord interrupted.
"Let's get this over with, I haven't got all day!" he snapped and boldly walked up to the block.
"As you wish," the priestess demurred.
The Imperial Legion Captain shoved the Nord down and put her foot on his back. Aliya's blood boiled as she watched the Imperials treated their captives so dishonorably.
"My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperial. Can you say the same?" the red-headed Nord asked. Not one voice was heard as the dull thud of the headsman's axe sounded through the air. The Legion Captain pushed his body aside with her foot.
The roaring howl sounded again through the mountains. The soldiers were getting spooked. Aliya's own heartbeat was racing.
"There it is again!" one of them murmured.
"Next! The Dunmer woman!" the Legion Captain called sharply. She stared down Aliya with contempt, and Aliya returned the favor.
Aliya stepped forward. They weren't even going to move the other body out of her way. She stood at the block and was shoved roughly down by the Legion Captain. Her cheek lay in the still warm blood of her predecessor, the waxed wood smooth underneath that. Details seemed to stand out as her pulse quickened: the sky was so blue, the snow on the mountains so white. She could see her horse, Rebel, rearing and neighing in desperation - or was it fear? She had the strongest instinct to scream at that moment, her own blood rising with fear, excitement, and adrenaline.
That was when she saw it: a black, monstrous thing, swooping through the air just over the tower, that roar-howl piercing the air.
A dragon.
"What in Oblivion is that thing?!" the General cried. It swooped in, landed on top of the tower before the block, and let out a mighty roar. Thunder cracked despite the sunny weather, and a powerful wash of energy washed over her, knocking the headsman down and disorienting her. Everything began to darken as panic spread. She could hear screaming, the shouts of soldiers trying to coordinate an attack through the chaos. She lay still, still vision blurred, and saying a quick prayer to Akatosh that the dragon wouldn't notice her. It took to the skies again after a moment and Aliya was roughly pulled to her feet.
"Lets get out of here, lass! The gods won't give us another chance!" The blond Nord from her cart, Ralof, cried. He untied her bonds quickly and took her hand, starting for the tower.
"No!" Aliya cried. "My horse. Faster!" Rebel was already running towards her in midst of the chaos. The dragon was flying around, roaring and spitting fire everywhere, then landing occasionally to snap at people fighting back. Arrows and spells flew through the air, and corpses already began to litter the ground. Aliya swore to the Nine she could hear words in the dragon's roars, but she assumed it was due to her being disoriented still. It was dizzying to do anything, but she pushed herself to reach Rebel, weaving in and out of destruction and bodies, both warm and cold.
Finally she snatched Rebel's reins, his eyes rolls and showing their white. Aliya swung herself up onto her horse and Ralof climbed on back. Softly she could hear Rebel grunt under their combined weight - he was bred from racing stock, not the stout Nordic horses she had seen - and she knew that he would not be able to last carrying so much. She spurred Rebel out of the burning fort, the gelding as eager as she to put the chaos behind them. Lucky for them, the dragon was far too interested in razing the fort to the ground than chasing them. The three of them dashed through everything and out of the village gates, and Aliya's luck must have returned because not one arrow or fireball hit them.
Rebel carried them as fast and as far as he could before his breathing began to worry Aliya. She slowed him to a walk, patting his sweaty neck and mentally promising him all the apples he could eat as soon as she could get them.
"Is there a town nearby?" she asked her companion. "We should stop soon."
"Aye, my home, Riverwood, is just north of here. Should be a road close by," he said slipping down from the saddle. He took the a hold of Rebel's bridle and began to lead the way, also gently patting the horse's nose. Rebel passively followed him, nickering in weariness, as Ralof tried to find the easiest path through the brush for him.
"My name is Aliya Beran," she offered, realizing that he didn't know.
"I'm Ralof. Nice to meet you, Aliya. You chose to come to Skyrim at a bad time, my friend. First the war and now a dragon! By Ysmir!" he exclaimed in disbelief.
"I thought dragons were just legends," she said, looking up into the sky. Blue peeked out from between grey clouds, and the sun was beginning its descent from its zenith.
"So did I. But legends don't burn down villages," Ralof answered neutrally.
"Well, what does it mean? Dragons appearing again?"
"I don't know myself but if anyone would, its Ulfric Stormcloak," he returned, full of pride.
Aliya considered that. For a long time she was silent. Then, "Why is there a civil war in Skyrim?" As far as she knew, Skyrim was always a stanch supporter of what once was their greatest son's Empire.
"Many reasons," the Nord sighed. "Chiefly because the banning of Talos worship. Second because the Empire dances to the tune of their witch-elf puppet masters. Skyrim should not be yoked to such a weak Empire. They tax our people, take our silver, expect us to die in war for them and allow the Thalmor to terrorize our families!" He took a deep breath. "Sorry. Its enough to make any man bay for Imperial blood."
Aliya was quiet for a long time after that. It made her angry as well, and had her own reasons to hate the Empire and the Thalmor. And while she wasn't devoted to Talos herself, it was still wrong to ban his worship simply on the Thalmor's whim. After what she had seen of them, it was best to almost do the opposite of what they want.
As if reading her thoughts, Ralof said, "You should come with me to Windhelm after we stop in Riverwood. You seem like you have no love for the Empire."
"Indeed I don't," Aliya said darkly.
"Then it's settled, we'll head to Windhelm after this."
"If your jarl is still alive," she said casually.
Ralof chuckled. "Oh, if I know Ulfric, he's just fine." For a moment, Ralof's face darkened and he looked like he had more to say but thought better of it. Aliya looked at him quizzically but he just grinned at her. Aliya couldn't do anything but shake her head and smile in return.
"Alright, I'll come see what its all about."
"That's what I like to hear! Come on, Riverwood's just up ahead, maybe an hour or two."
"Good," Aliya groaned, "I feel like I haven't slept in days."
Riverwood was a small settlement, but everyone was friendly. Ralof's sister Gerdur was took both of them in her home for the night. She made a big Nordic dinner, nice and hot, which Aliya was grateful for. Still, she couldn't shake the chill in her bones.
"You'll get used to the cold," Ralof told her, chuckling and giving her an extra blanket. It was just the two of them, sitting in front of the hearth while Ralof's family slept in their beds.
Aliya sipped the mulled mead he also handed her, smiling. "I don't know about that. The fire of Red Mountain itself flows in my veins."
"You Dark Elves are a strange lot," he said, chuckling again.
"Isn't the land of your forefathers in your blood as well? I had a Nord once tell me as a child, 'You can take the Nord out of Skyrim, but you could never take Skyrim out of the Nord.'"
"That's true," Ralof nodded. He ran a hand through his hair, and was quiet for a long moment. "So, erm, Aliya... why do you hate the Empire?"
She sighed and set down her mug. It was a long and painful story she didn't care to get into. "Many reasons. Maybe one day I will share them with you." Ralof put his hand on her shoulder but said nothing. She could tell by the look on his face that he had a guess, yet he still didn't push this issue. Aliya was grateful for that, and gave him a gentle smile. "No worries, friend. Let's talk about happier things."
"Alright. Why did you come to Skyrim in the first place?"
She perked up a little at that.. "Well, I'm looking for my brothers. Both are here last I heard, and my mother wants the family together again."
"Ah, a noble quest. Any idea where they may be?"
"Well, not really, no. We've had no letters, just a word-of-mouth from, ah, a passing soldier... well, a deserter. Said he knew of a pair of Dunmer brothers, one mage, one warrior, both raven-haired, he met on the road to Whiterun. But that was months ago, they could be anywhere by now."
"Then it would be doubly smart to come to Windhelm. There's a Dark Elf population there, maybe they know. And with Stormcloak camps across Skyrim, maybe one of the captains have seen them."
Aliya smiled again. "Perhaps so. And I'd be happy to help topple this crumbling Empire." These Stormcloaks were worth checking out, at least. Anything to destroy the Empire who destroyed her family.
Ralof drained his tankard of mead. "That we are united on."
The pair stretched out before the hearth to sleep, and the next morning Aliya found herself shivering in the dark, body close to Ralof's, trying to get warm. His arm had curled around her during the night, probably on instinct - she was told Dunmer felt slightly warmer than other mer or men. But she was still not warm. With chattering teeth she woke Ralof, who quickly pulled his arm back in embarrassment.
"Guess you need new clothes," he said, avoiding eye contact. He got up while Aliya huddled into the blankets and threw a log on the fire. Gerdur and her family were rousing themselves, too: work started at dawn at the lumber mill. Ralof brought something back, some clothes made from woven muskoxen wool, light but warm and very soft under her fingertips.
"They were mine as a lad, hope you don't mind," he said, sheepishly offering them to her.
"Thank you," she said, flashing him a smile. His face pinkened as he left the house, leaving only herself. She changed, washed in the small basin Gerdur had pointed out, and rebraided her raven hair. Feeling better - and warmer - Aliya went to see about her horse.
Rebel had been put in the yard with the family cow, and was happy to be free of his saddle. Aliya fed him an apple and brushed his coat to gleaming while he ate.
"Guess you'll have to grow a thick coat," she said, lovingly patting his hindquarters.
"I thought Dark Elves ate horses, not rode them," Ralof said from the fence.
Aliya made a face. "Well, yeah, don't you, sometimes?" She began to tack up Rebel, checking everything thoroughly before putting it on. "I think its more of a rumor started because horses don't thrive in Morrowind. Too much ash. I guess whenever Morrowind was at war with Skyrim, or Cyrodiil, they'd eat the horses they captured instead of keeping them. Makes sense, if you think about it."
Ralof looked thoughtful. "Here in Skyrim, horses are prized, especially by the nobles. Can't say I've heard of anyone but a desperate man eat a horse."
The Dunmer shrugged. "War created desperation." She turned back to checking Rebel's gear. "Anyways, my mother fell in love with horses when she moved to Cyrodiil with my father, and we've bred them ever since. I've always been around and loved horses."
By now the sun was fully up, and the little town was bustling with activity. Children played in the streets, and Aliya could hear the blacksmith pounding away at his forge and the lumber mill's soft sawing. Gerdur came up behind Ralof, holding a small sack.
"I have a favor to ask," she said, and when Aliya nodded she continued. "The Jarl needs to know a dragon's on the loose, and Riverwood is defenseless against it. Would you ask for help on our behalf?"
She thought for a moment. Really, she had nothing to lose by it. She couldn't just leave them to fend for themselves, not with the kindness they paid her.
"Of course," she replied, and the Nord looked relieved.
"I packed some food, but you should have decent hunting too."
"But what of weapons, sister? And Aliya needs armor," Ralof asked.
Gerdur nodded, prepared for that too. "We may have an old axe or bow around. And Aliya can have my old leather armor from my younger days."
"One more thing. Whiterun hasn't picked a side, but I don't think I'd be a welcome sight."
"Well, you could split up for a while," Gerdur ventured.
Aliya nodded. "Yes, that will work. I have to look in Whiterun for my brothers, anyways." Ralof reluctantly agreed with that, but Aliya could see he wasn't happy. "Don't worry, everything will be fine," she reassured him confidently.