Frozen In Place
Main Character: Ariana Iceblade
Pairing: Ariana x ?
Summary: A treasure hunter by trade, the young Nord Ariana Iceblade finds herself stuck between a rock and a hard place – where will she go? Who can she trust? What will she become?
As Ariana moved to join the rest of the prisoners, she noticed a short-haired man at the very front, facing the prisoners. Although he was dressed in the garb of the Legion, it was hard to tell his station – he didn't wear a captain's helm, yet the others seemed to defer to him. He had a very sour look on his face as his eyes roved over the prisoners.
"Look at him," Ralof whispered. She hadn't even realized that he had been standing next to her. "General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." He gestured toward a pair of Altmer standing by with peculiar grins on their pointed faces. "I bet they had something to do with this."
The General's eyes suddenly stopped their searching, settling on the bound form of Ulfric Stormcloak. Tullius scowled before addressing the man.
"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. You started this war, you plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now, the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" shouted Tullius.
The other prisoners looked on silently. Ulfric made no move to reply. All was silent for a moment – it was as though time had frozen.
RREAAAARRGGGHRRRN!
A strange sound broke the silence. Anger and malice given form, it fell down upon them like a hammer on an anvil, startling everything back into motion. Guards unsheathed their weapons as prisoners' muscles tensed and everyone looked to the sky.
"What… what was that?" one of the guards asked.
"It's nothing. Carry on!"
"Yes, General Tullius!" the captain replied. She turned to a priestess who had been standing off to the side. "Give them their last rites."
The woman in tan robes stepped forward. She raised her hands in the air, fingers extended and palms facing the prisoners, and began to recite.
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you—"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" a burly Nord with dark red hair interrupted the Priestess, striding up to the block. Ariana listened to this interaction with interest.
'The Eight Divines? These Legionnaires seem to take every opportunity to deny Nord heritage and beliefs and throw it in their faces, don't they? It takes two armies to persist a war, after all. Perhaps if they wouldn't be so uncaring about those they insult, it would never have come to this. Mutual ignorance.' Ariana thought to herself.
That was one of the main goals of the Stormcloak movement – the freedom to practice their religion and worship Talos (the Ninth Divine, belief in whom had been systematically and violently suppressed by Thalmor Justiciars) openly and without fear of persecution was something that many Nords felt was important. Talos' story was one of glory and honor, values that all Nords are brought up to revere. For the governors of the Empire to deny the Nords' historically fundamental concepts was seen by the Nords as a betrayal of their people.
"As you wish," the Priestess sniffed haughtily before walking off.
Impatient, the rebel pressed on, seeming more irritated with the slight to his Divine than afraid of his impending death.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning."
As he was forced to kneel down in the dirt, with a boot on his back holding him down, the Nord added one last parting shot: "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"
Ariana wouldn't tear her eyes away. She would bear witness to his death with respect. To look away as he died would be to deny that he was worthy of recognition for his deeds in life. His bravery in the face of despair had won him that small honor, at least in her eyes. She hardly had to worry about the nightmares if she wasn't going to live through another night, right?
A deep breath as muscles strained to lift a heavy axe, a whoosh of air as the axe fell, a spray of warm blood, and it was over. The red hair, now so much redder, became slick and wet with the man's lifeblood as it was left to dribble out on the dirt.
Members of the audience screamed and shouted, one at a time, as if in some morbid play where each actor needed himself to be heard. Some cried for the bloodshed to stop, others called for justice, and still more wanted the bloody death to continue.
Ralof, at her side, spoke softly with a sigh.
"As fearless in death as he was in life."
She turned to look up at the man next to her, only to see that he was far away. Maybe he was remembering a glorious battle with that same red-haired warrior. Perhaps they had shared a drink, once upon a time? Stories around the campfire in the dead of winter?
"Next, the Nord in the rags."
Ariana was startled from her thoughts as another unearthly roar shook the sky, louder and likely closer this time. She wasn't the only one. Many of the guards had their hands on their hilts, although at least they hadn't yet drawn their swords. The listkeeper turned to his captain.
"There it is again. Did you hear that?"
"I said, next prisoner," the Captain insisted loudly, ignoring the rising concern of her subordinates.
Looking around for a moment, trying to locate the "next prisoner," something clicked. Ariana hadn't realized it initially, but she was the only Nord in the company wearing rags. All of the other prisoners, even Ralof, were wearing some sort of armor. Only hers had been taken from her, likely when she was unconscious. The Intricate Armor — the only thing her father had left her, and a relic of times long passed — and Frostbite, an invaluable gift from one of her oldest friends. They had been taken! Oh, but gods, she had other things to worry about, didn't she?
"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy." Listkeeper continued to try to coax her, but she wasn't about to move. Frozen in place, her head turned toward Ralof and his eyes met hers. Her gave her a short, sharp nod of his acceptance to her silent plea before she turned back and marched forward to meet her doom.
'At least I will be remembered for a little while longer. Perhaps I'll even be missed,' she thought to herself, still bitter about the loss of her possessions. 'And now at least I'll have a chance to be with my family in Sovngarde. See my father face to face for the first time. Maybe cuss him out for dying and leaving me in that damned orphanage.'
Having already wasted more than enough time, Ariana Iceblade walked briskly to the block, doing her best to ignore the blood that was already soaking into the wood, and the severed head that had been left on the ground. That was when she noticed it.
Something felt… off. It was as though the air had become heavier, thicker with some unnamable substance. As she was forced to her knees before her executioner, her eyes focused on something in the distance. As he raised his axe, a black shape flew through the sky, releasing a terrifying sound — the same horrible noise that they had already heard twice that morning. As the black shadow crashed down upon the top of a nearby tower, the headsman's axe fell… four feet from its mark. The headsman himself couldn't maintain his footing as the ground shook, and had dropped the axe onto the foot of the imperial captain, severing it.
Ariana raised her disbelieving eyes to the top of the tower, and took a moment to inwardly cower in fear. It truly was a beast of legend. Black as night, as long as a tower was tall and half the height, covered in spiny scales and spikes sharper than any sword, eyes that burned golden… there was no doubt in her mind that the creature could be anything but a—
"Dragon!"
A/N: It seems that my average chapter length will be about 1600 words per chapter, and let me tell you, there will likely be MANY chapters. I've got a basic outline for the first few quests and twists in the main questline already set up, and I'm just working on elaborating it for you at the moment. I'm actually thinking of changing the rating to M. I just realized that I've been describing a lot of blood recently… this is Skyrim, after all. How does anyone expect to get through a fic without mentioning a lot of blood? Still, I've got plans to touch on some adult themes (but not delve too heavily), so it's probably for the best. What do you think? R&R!
Questions for reviewers: Am I being too wordy when I describe things? What about my phrasing? Does it seem weird (in a bad way)? What do you think of Ariana? Sorry about the flood, but I really want some feedback. I've never done this before, and, although this story has gotten over 100 views, I haven't gotten a ton of commentary.
I know I've been doing some pretty rapid updates (Three in as many days? Really?), but it won't always be like this. I've got a lot about to start going on in my life so we'll see whether things go to hell or not. ;)
