Ignis Ille Ex Gelida
One of Frozen Fire
Chapter One
The gentle rocking and jostling that my body began to feel was quite relaxing, though I couldn't figure out its source. I was unable to recall when I had really become aware at all, let alone when I first noticed the sensation of traveling. The lulling effect of the vibration gave the blackness that occupied my vision strength, I couldn't will my eyes to open. I had lain still for only a short while before I began to hear voices and the sound of clinking metal, though it all seemed distant and muffled. I tried to shift around, but my body was anything but responsive; all my attempts to move were met with a total lack of sensation.
Slowly, I felt my consciousness begin to slip away from my grasp as elusively as it had come. I started to become worried; I felt as though I needed to wake up, but I was being swallowed whole by the dark abyss of unconsciousness.
As I sank deeper, I saw two, massive red orbs light up the darkness, a gaze so timeless that it peered into my soul. Panic slowly took the place of worry. The sounds from before faded away, yielding to a low rumble, like the growl of a saber cat but from something infinitely more powerful.
"Awake. There is much left to do," a deep voice cut through my dulled senses, the low tones reverberating within my mind. No light reached my eyes, but the pinprick of hope that had blossomed in my chest felt as dazzlingly bright as Magnus himself. My soul began to stir in response. A heat like fire spread out into my body filling my chest to the brim, then overflowing out into my extremities. The hairs on my arms and legs rose, chills running up and down my spine.
The hot sensation continued to intensify, filling my head with a whirlwind of emotions. My body felt like it was rejuvenating, like the strain and struggle of a lifetime was being taken off my shoulders. The small pinprick of hope that I had held onto so dearly had grown into a gushing fountain. The emotions came faster and faster, each beginning to blur into the next, inseparable from the last. And just before I felt as if I was going to burst in an awesome nova of golden light, I awoke.
My eyelids forced themselves open, and despite the overcast skies, I found myself squinting into the ambient daylight. My head was buzzing with the memories of what I had just experienced, but they were quickly fading as if it were only a dream and nothing more. After my vision focused and adjusted to the light, I was able to take in my situation.
My body was propped uncomfortably into the corner of a wooden cart, and I wasn't alone. Joining me in the cart were three other men. Across from me sat a blonde Nord; his features were rugged, exhaustion plastered across his demeanor as he stared at the floor of the cart. On the left side of his face, a trail of dried blood led my gaze to just up above his temple. The majority of is armor was constructed of leather and fur, save for an iron cuirass covered by some blue cloth with an emblem of a bear on it. In the opposite corner of the cart from me was a weather-tanned Nord with brown hair. Crusted dirt caked the pronounced lines of his face, all he wore was burlap clothing and wraps on his feet. To my right was a Nord in elegant blue robes. All four of us in the cart were bound at the wrists, yet only the Nord to my right was gagged. He sat with his elbows on his knees while bowing his head as if lost deep in thought.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake," the blonde Nord said, breaking me from my thoughts. "You were trying to cross the border right"? Still slightly dazed from my return to reality, I simply nodded. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," he spat at the man in rags across from me.
"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief shot back. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. If they weren't looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell," his face contorting in anger and frustration. He seemed to calm down somewhat as he turned to face me. "You there. You and me—we shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants," his anger returning as he gestured to the man on his left.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blonde Nord said.
"Shut up back there"! The bark of the Imperial Soldier silenced us in an instant.
Unsure of what to do, I followed the gaze of the man across from me, who looked out past the cart driver. I was greeted by rolling plains that stretched out for miles upon miles, running into the jagged hills that ran across Hjaalmarch and The Pale. The plains were intermittently punctuated by massive, rocky outcroppings that jutted from the earth. Occasionally, a village or stone fort poked their head above the crests of the gentle hills of Whiterun Hold, giving the otherwise barren landscape a warmth and life. In the distance, the Druadach mountains teased my eyes at the edge of my range of vision, the nearly vertical crags resembling fangs as they protruded from the haze.
It was a view that never got old, one that I had the pleasure of seeing on the occasion that Bolund and I finished the day's work early. A warmth that was similar, yet subtler, to the one that awoke me from my slumber returned for a brief moment, vanishing as soon as it had come. After a pregnant pause, the horse thief mustered up the courage to break the uncomfortable silence.
"What's wrong with him," he inquired, gesturing towards the gagged man.
"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King," the soldier erupted in offense. At the mention of the gagged man's name, the thief's eyes widened in horror, mine following suit.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm," he exclaimed, "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you… Oh, gods, where are they taking us"?
If the Stormcloak felt any fear from his imminent end, he didn't show it. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." He turned his gaze from the thief to Ulfric, and then to the floor of the cart. My stomach sank even further, the full weight of my situation finally sinking in. Soon, my head would roll along with the rest of the insurgents that occupied the two-cart caravan.
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening," the thief rambled, anxiety beginning to give way to full-blown panic, though neither the blonde Nord, Ulfric, or I paid him much attention, our thoughts turning towards the brief future that now placed itself at our feet.
After a moment the soldier looked up, "Hey, what village are you from, horse thief"?
"Why do you care"?
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
After a brief pause, taken aback by the respect the rebel soldier was now showing, the thief replied, "Rorikstead. I'm… I'm from Rorikstead." The moment was broken by the sound of gates being hefted open, heralding our entrance.
"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting," shouted a soldier within the fortress.
"Good. Let's get this over with," an olive-skinned man replied with a weary sigh, turning back to conclude his conversation with two tall elves in dark robes.
"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor," the Stormcloak growled. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." His face turned red in hate and disdain. "Damn elves," he fumed. "I bet they had something to do with this." Jarl Ulfric grunted through his gag in agreement, eyes narrowed.
The thief's panic set in further as the carts sauntered through the city. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me," he begged frantically.
"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in," the Nord recounted. "Funny," he snorted, "when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe…" I had been in Helgen a few times and had to agree with the soldier. The town had always seemed to look over the surrounding valley, including the hold capital of Falkreath. The high parapets of the three towers could see for miles, the stone walls of the city and keep seemingly impenetrable. Ever since the start of the civil war a few months ago, the Imperial Legion had garrisoned a large battalion of troops here. A civil war started by the man who sat on my right.
The ride came to a stop in front of the north face of the central tower, the cart that had been in front of ours stopping to our right.
"No! Wait! We're not rebels," the thieving Nord said.
"Face your death with some courage, thief," the rebel soldier jabbed back.
A Breton in Captain's armor joined by a large Nord Legionnaire beckoned the prisoners out of the carts. "Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time"! The Captain put her subordinate in charge, then went to the other cart to oversee the same process.
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake," the thief pleaded with the two Stormcloaks.
The Nord Legionnaire began to read off names. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm," he said.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the blonde Nord called out proudly, earning a nod as the Jarl walked towards the growing group of prisoners, a meager crowd of townsfolk beginning to assemble nearby.
"Ralof of Riverwood," the Imperial called, the blonde Nord finally joining his commander.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
The thief stepped toward the Imperial and his captain who had since rejoined her counterpart in reading off the list.
"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this," he said, drawing the final few stragglers to the crowd. In a single burst of bravado, Lokir began to sprint into the townspeople, pushing and shouldering as many people out of his way as possible. "You're not going to kill me," he exclaimed.
"Halt," the captain yelled, waiting a short moment before continuing, "Archers!"
Three archers poked their heads over the top of the north tower's parapet at the authoritative yell. The captain was now pointing at the fleeing form of Lokir, who had now nearly finished carving through the sea of civilians. Knocking their arrows, drawing their strings, the three marksmen held their shot until the thief ran into the clear. Twang, twang, twang! Almost as fast as it had started, the corpse of Lokir crumpled to the ground.
"Anyone else feel like running," she asked, glancing at the few remaining prisoners. Satisfied with the answer she received, the captain turned back to the Nord who held the list and motioned for him to finish his task. He looked over the list a number of times, confusion beginning to etch itself across his face.
"Wait, you there. Step forward," he said with a scratch of his head. "Who are you?"
"Garrick of Falkreath," I said, my voice catching a bit.
"Ah, you're Boland's assistant, aren't you? Sad to see you end up with this lot," he said while writing on his tablet. Before I could clarify, he had already turned towards his superior. "Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."
"Forget the damn list. He goes to the block like the rest of them," she answered impatiently.
"I'm sorry, your remains will be returned to your family in Falkreath. Follow the Captain, prisoner." A flash of genuine sorrow and regret tore across his face, if only for a brief moment. I hesitated for a moment at the mention of my remains. No matter, I decided, I'll be dead soon, anyway. I joined the line next to Ralof, Ulfric stood on his right.
General Tullius walked over and stood in front of him, looking him up and down before beginning to speak. "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne," his voice beginning to rise. Ulfric stayed silent. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."
At the conclusion of this monologue, a sound like no other sang down the gray crags that surrounded Helgen, the ferocity that permeated the air sending chills down my spine in a visceral reflex.
"What was that," the Nord with the list asked nervously.
"It's nothing. Carry on," Tullius said as he walked away from Ulfric.
"Yes, General Tullius," the Captain answered quickly. Walking towards where the executioner stood with a priestess, she motioned to begin the beheading ritual. "Give them their last rites."
The priestess began, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Ni— er, Eight Divines upon you…" The silence that permeated the prisoners and the surrounding crowd as she rattled off her prayer was impressive but short-lived.
A Stormcloak soldier from the other cart sighed loudly and marched forward. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," kneeling down and occupying the crude indent put in the stone block.
"As you wish," the priestess said, taken aback by the eagerness for death.
The soldier's impatience seemed to grow at the pause brought on by his demand. "Come on, I haven't got all morning," he barked at the executioner who stood above him. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" His rhetoric sparked an outburst from the onlookers. Some threw insults towards the Imperial Legionnaires, others hurled death threats to the Stormcloak prisoners. The verbal onslaught quickly died down as the executioner raised the axe above his head, gravity helping to bring his giant axe down on the neck of the soldier.
Ralof bowed his head. "As fearless in death as he was in life," he said, almost too quietly for me to hear. The executioner rolled the deceased soldier's head into the basket that sat beneath the block with his foot, looking to the Imperial Captain to select another prisoner. My stomach sank as her gaze fell on me after scanning the rest of the prisoners.
"Next, the Breton," she barked. Just my luck, I thought. Before I could move, another roar echoed out from within the mountains to the South, much louder… much closer. The crowd began to mutter amongst themselves, speculating what could make such a sound.
"There it is again. Did you hear that," the Legionnaire asked.
"I said, next prisoner," the Captain repeated, impatience beginning to enter into her voice.
Noticing my hesitation, the Nord attempted to coax me into moving, "To the block prisoner. Nice and easy."
I walked forward, starting to kneel before being forced down by the sole of the Captain's boot. The headsman lifted his massive ax into his hands, moving to heft it up above his head. However, the blade never went above his burly shoulders.
"What in Oblivion is that," Tullius exclaimed in utter disbelief.
The headsman now was looking around, allowing me to crane my head up to glance at the townspeople, whose heads were turned to the sky.
"Sentries! What do you see," the Captain called out, concern lacing her voice.
"It's in the clouds," a soldier said from the north tower.
"Dragon," came a shout from a nearby Legionnaire. As if by magic, the word Dragon elicited utter pandemonium from soldier, prisoner, and townsperson alike. Screams and cries rose up from every direction, the previously confused gathering now a whirlwind of desperation and panic. Some ran into nearby buildings for optimistic protection, others ran out of buildings (for what reason, Divines only know). The massive, black dragon landed heavily on the central parapet of Helgen above me, sending tremors through the earth, shaking my bones to the core.
After roaring and spraying a horrendous gout of fire towards whatever it could see in the nearby vicinity, it turned its cold, red eyes onto my helpless form next to the chopping block. Though I was grateful for the recent death of my would-have-been murderer, I wanted to be anywhere else in Mundus than under the deadly gaze of a killing machine. It felt as if time stopped, all the noise of the present moment dying away. I could perceive nothing else but this entity, my eyes locked in the stare of the dragon's. The dragon roared again following what could have been nothing less than a thousand years and took back to the skies to terrorize the remainder of the town. I could only thank the Divines that I didn't become dragon food.
Over the din of terror, voices began to gain purchase, the first being that of General Tullius, "Don't just stand there, kill that thing! Guards, get the townspeople to safety!" After a small moment, Tullius gained control of his men back from the hypnotic presence of the flying legend. The sound of clanking armor and weapons being unsheathed began to fill the air.
"Hey, Breton! Get up," Ralof bellowed over the din of terror. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance! This way," he said, hurrying towards the safety of the northern tower. Awkwardly pushing myself up with my bound hands, I stumbled through the fire and debris and managed to get inside.
I saw the Nord standing amongst his compatriots who all looked towards a now ungagged Ulfric. "Jarl Ulfric," Ralof began, "What is that thing? Could the legends be true"?
"Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move, now," Ulfric responded, his baritone voice commanding the ears of the band of survivors.
Ralof nodded, beginning to rally the others. "Up through the tower. Let's go," he exclaimed. "This way, friend. Move," directing my attention to the stairs behind me.
One of the other Stormcloak soldiers had already reached the second floor of the tower. "We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way," he commanded. Suddenly, he was thrown across the room by the head of the dragon, a hole punched through the wall of the tower.
"Yol… toor shul," the dragon growled in a guttural, scraping voice. Flames erupted from its gaping maw at the completion of the phrase. Blistering heat filled the room. Ralof and I flinched backward to shield ourselves from a fiery doom. Despite being thrown back down the stairs by the dragon's entrance, it wasn't far enough to mitigate the heat. The dragon flew off with a roar, and I cursed as I inspected my nearly charred forearms and feet. The tide of Stormcloaks surging up the stairs left me little time to worry, and I did my best to regain my composure.
After making sure the coast was clear, Ralof told me his escape plan. "See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going." The straw thatching had been burned from the building leaving a big enough hole to jump through. Even though I was only on the second level of the tower, it was still going to be a long fall.
Ralof gave me a nudge, "Go! We'll follow you when we can"! I returned a small nod. Taking a step back, I ran forward to take my enormous leap from the tower. In hindsight, it would have been incredibly helpful to have my hands cut apart before jumping; my bound hands did little to keep me upright during my flight, nor did they help to cushion the hard impact my body made on the solid wood floor.
But stopping was not an option while a winged reptile of death was around. Thankfully I had begun to get the hang of using my bound extremities and was able to haul myself to my feet. I ran to the other side of the inn's upper floor to where a gaping hole gave me immediate access to the ground floor. I hit the ground running, darting behind a house that was up in flames where some other survivors, including the Nord who had the list earlier, weathered the fiery storm of the beast.
The dragon had now circled back over the down, beginning a dive towards two figures in the middle of the main road. Oblivious of his now descending doom, a young boy was tugging hopelessly at the arm of a collapsed man.
"Haming, you need to get over here now," the Nord shouted.
Looking from the Nord to the man in the street, Haming turned and ran to the Nord, and not a moment too soon.
"Thataboy! You're doing great" he said, trying to soothe and encourage the shaken child. Turning back to the man in the street, the Nord took a step to lend aid before the dragon landed with a heavy thud. He cried out, "Torolf! Gods… everyone get back!" he shouted, just managing to dive behind the house and escape the gout of fire that engulfed the cobbles.
After the dragon had flown to the other side of Helgen to wreak havoc on the other groups of survivors, the Nord turned to survey his band of survivors. His eyes widened slightly once he became aware of my presence. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way," he ordered. Looking to a man on my right, he continued, "Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."
Gunnar nodded in response. "Gods guide you, Hadvar." It seemed I was never to learn the names of anyone in this land unless someone else decided I should know it. Hadvar jerked his head in the direction of an alleyway between a wall within the city and a large building that looked like it might have been a tavern or another inn before it had been razed by the dragon.
"Stay close to the wall," he cried as the dragon circled back and began to land right where the Legionnaire and I were running towards. I ran as fast as I could muster across the road, nearly throwing myself into the alleyway and slamming my back against the wall. Crunch! The dragon now perched itself on the wall directly above me, a razor-sharp talon embedding itself into the stone no more than a single foot from my head.
Hadvar and I remained absolutely still, hoping, praying that the awesome beast wouldn't notice us. To my great relief, it seemed more concerned with barbecuing the fleeing Helgenites than checking to make sure it didn't step in a pile of human. Hadvar began to move once the dragon had taken off again, calling hushedly, "Quickly, follow me"!
After ducking through a small house with a very inconvenient zig zag, Hadvar and I burst out into a large open area. Some soldiers and a few of the civilians were hopelessly firing whatever ammunition they could muster up at the invincible god that dove amongst the battlements.
Tullius caught sight of Hadvar almost immediately, "Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we're leaving"!
"It's you and me, prisoner," he said over his shoulder as we began to sprint towards the massive keep on the northeast side of the town, "stay close"!
Once we got within a hundred paces of the main doors, Ralof came into view as he ran through the gate nearby the execution site.
"Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way," Hadvar snarled.
"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof replied, "You're not stopping us this time."
Hadvar snorted, "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."
Ralof narrowed his eyes at Hadvar as he continued for the door. He looked to me, "You, come on! Into the keep"!
Hadvar looked back as he flung the main door open, "With me, prisoner! Let's go"! I looked at Ralof for a moment before shaking my head.
"Come on! We need to get inside," Hadvar bellowed. I turned away from Ralof and hurried past Hadvar, who pulled the door closed behind me with a resounding slam that echoed into total silence.
A/N
Hey all! I hope you enjoyed reading the first chapter of Ignis! This is my first real crack at writing a fanfic, so make sure to be extra brutal with your critique ( ;D ) Everything in my writing needs improvement, so every opinion matters (and any helpful resources as well).
I'm planning to release a new chapter at least once a month, but that's subject to change based on this semester's workload.
I don't intend to ever let my notes get long, and I don't have much more to say. Thanks for your time and happy reading!
~Sage
Legal/Copyright
The Elder Scrolls Universe, The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, and it's constituent assets belong entirely to Bethesda Softworks, Bethesda Game Studios, and ZeniMax Media Inc. This work is a transformative use of the content owned by ZeniMax Media and it's holdings and is distributed in a non-profit manner.
Garrick of Falkreath and any additions made within Ignis Ille Ex Gelida that are not owned by Bethesda Game Studios are the intellectual property of SageAndInsight.
