Rise of the Snow Elves

Prologue

The two moons shone bright on that chilly night when Aranel, Queen of the Snow Elves, looked upon the small island where her people were reduced to.

After the Nords had driven them from their lands and the Dwemer enslaved them, her ancestors led a small group of survivors to the sea, sailing north, traveling to the other end of Atmora, and sailing again until they found a small island and a vast mountain, the 'Ice Mountain'. They lived for centuries in peace on that rock of snow and ice, their numbers growing slowly. By the beginning of the fourth era, the population of the Snow Elves had reached over two thousand.

Their island seemed so small compared to their massive homeland. With their numbers growing, the Snow Elves mined into the mountain, finding chasms and riches beyond imagination. They built houses into the thick walls. Soon, they also carved a magnificent palace out of the mountains surface and layered it with ice and snow, that sheltered it from the harsh winds and storms that struck the island often.

The Snow Elves were merely shadows of their former selves in Mereth. They only believed in peace, nothing more. No gods, no Daedric Princes, no religion. It seemed best to only concentrate on stopping their race from becoming extinct. So Aranel believed.

She never raised a hand to those who lost their way from Tamriel. She actually enjoyed their company, marvelled by their stories of a land she never knew of. She insisted on having their 'guests' stay in her palace "until their ship was repaired and their crew found". While in fact, Aranel was keeping them from leaving. She couldn't have her people found out about after so many years of isolation from the rest of Nirn.

But she had another thing in mind.

From an Imperial, who washed ashore a months ago, she learned the history of the Tamriel. Of the Empire. The word was new to her. Empire. She tried it out on her tongue. There was no word for it in her native language. She wondered if she... No, it was impossible. Or was it?

Aranel called her most trusted friend and loyal advisor, Faeron. A few centuries old, he was in his prime years and would soon have to take a wife, as was the law.

"Your Majesty, what can I help you with?"

She smiled at him. "My lord, Faeron, I've heard from my...spies that you've acquired all materials needed for-"

"Yes, milady, however there is a slight problem with the smith."

She gave him an uncanny look. "A problem, Faeron?" His knees buckled with fear. "Milady, none of our smiths have the knowledge to craft our ancient armour, it was lost in time."

She frowned at him. "Is there not any smiths from the time we lived in Mereth?"

"There is, milady, but they seem to have...forgotten. They have all the materials yet it seems their hands will not do what their mind tells them."

Her silver hair blew with the wind, flowing freely across her face. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

What was the name of the human smith that Breton from Mereth mentioned? Gray-Mane? Eorlund Gray-Mane? Yes, that was it. The greatest blacksmith in Skyrim, the Breton said.

"You are to send your most trusted men to Mereth, Faeron. Ride to the city of Whiterun and there you will find a Nord, Eorlund Gray-Mane. Bring him to me."

Faeron bowed low and left her swiftly. Aranel turned back to her balcony, gazing across her kingdom to the sea. It was possible. A Nord had done it before her...

She wanted an empire of her own.


The Dragonborn slowly pulled the reins as Whiterun came into view. He turned on the saddle and smiled at Eoghan, his son, who was just a few feet behind him. A young lad of almost eleven summers, he already showed he was to be a great warrior. Arí's smile was returned, but not the beaming, bright smile he received two nights before.

Eoghan was sat down in the living room of Proudspire Manor while Arí explained to him the many dangers of Skyrim beyond the walls of Solitude. His son seemed very bored by the time Kelda, his wife, told him he and his father were to travel to Whiterun together to celebrate Jarl Balgruuf's birthday. Eoghan's face lit up and he gave his parents that beaming, bright smile that they would taunt him for the rest of his life.

They had spent the night in Rokistead, Arí catching up with all the people that he had helped ten years earlier during the time the dragons returned. Eoghan was always fascinated by his father's past life and often asked to hear the times when he saved maidens from bandits and slain dragons with only an iron sword. Arí was quite shy of that life of adventure and not knowing what was to happen next. But he certainly missed it.

It was late morning when they finally reached the gates of Whiterun. Almost immediately, the city guards had recognised the Dragonborn and opened the large, wooden gates without a moments question.

Eoghan was amazed by the city. He watched the old woman, Adrianne shout at her apprentice, a small Redguard girl with short, brown hair. She hammered a steel blade on the anvi, glimpsing up at him. Then, he followed Arí to the cosy house beside the smithy, where a tall Nord woman stood. Cladded in steel armour, she greeted his father with maximum respect.

"My Thane, Arí! It is an honour to see you again. How fare's Lady Kelda?" She almost bowed to the man. He turned and winked at his son before addressing his housecarl: "Lydia, it is also an honour to see you. It's been so long since I've been here. Kelda is faring well. You remember my son, Eoghan." He turned and swung his arm around the boy's shoulders. Lydia fell to her knees in front of Eoghan. His cheeks flushed red with embarrassment as a few of the citizens had gathered nearby, watching the Dragonborn and his son arrive after many years away.

"It is such a honour to see you, Lord Eoghan!"

His cheeks were now the colour of his mother's fiery, red hair.

Arí was laughing aloud, totally amused. He stopped his son's face from going any redder (which wasn't possible) by ordering Lydia to take the saddle bags that were already craning his arms.

"Welcome to Whiterun," he whispered in Eoghan's ear as they entered Breezehome.


The Snow Elves always fascinated me while playing Skyrim. So that got me thinking, what if. What if there were other Snow Elves that survived besides Gelebor and his brother. What if there was some Elves living in a land unknown to the rest of Tamriel? It seemed like a good story, so I thought 'why not?'

Just go easy on me in the reviews.

-Aeon

(By the way, Eoghan is pronounced like Owen. It's an old Irish spelling of the name.)