Snow. Soft, fluffy heaps of snow covered the Pale Pass, despite the calendar proclaiming it to be not quite autumn. Ako'Siirto didn't care too much about it, after all, he had spent half his life living in a far more inhospitable location. The fresh smell of pine needles hung thickly in the air, along with the far off, slightly rotten smell of frost trolls, his tail twitching slightly at the thought. He hoped he didn't have to face those again anytime soon, it was such a nuisance to burn them. Seeing the snow for the first time in a few months reminded him of the first time he had come to Skyrim.
It was a normal spring day for the locals of Dawnstar, that is; cold and snowing. At least it wasn't blustery as well. The handful of guards on patrol went about their business, not paying much attention to anything but the end of their shift and corresponding visit to the inn. The miners and workers at the smelter barely took note of the snow falling, drifting lazily onto their clothes, occasionally stirring to shake off the worst. The normality meant little for the newcomer, shivering at the edge of the pier, avoiding the scurrying dockworkers as they unloaded the goods that came along with him. He stomped off towards the inn, carrying a small pack slung across his shoulders, and a firm staff made of solid oak wood, in his hand.
Wrapped as he was in a multitude of furs and layers of clothing, it was impossible to distinguish any identifying features, except for dark eyes that avoided eye contact with anyone. Stopping near a guard, a quick, whispered conversation took place. The stranger changed direction, and seemed to suddenly be in a hurry, this time aiming for the stables. The reason for his sudden hurry was a carriage, ready to leave. A few words were exchanged with the carriage driver, and the stranger got on. As he did, a swish of a mostly white tail revealed the visitor to be a Khajiit, far removed from the deserts and jungles of his homeland. The carriage disappeared in the snow that was still falling, heading east.
Ako chuckled as he thought back on the first few months in Skyrim, shivering from the icy cold that characterized northern Skyrim's summer. His first winter consisted of mastering the flame cloak spell, just to stop shivering. Nowadays he wore warm robes, additionally enchanted to keep him warm if necessary. Somehow, he missed the cold of Skyrim. Having spent the last 3 months in Cyrodiil, first visiting his place of birth in Leyawiin, and from there on exploring on his way back north, he was often panting from the heat and exhaustion. Many years of living in northern Skyrim meant he had a considerably thicker coat of fur than most of his kinsmen. It was good to be back. Helgen, his stop for the night, was just beyond the mountains.
As Ako crossed the high pass and started to descend, he suddenly heard the din of battle, coming from some distance ahead of him. He rushed forward, moving warily but quickly. He did not want to be caught up in the crossfire of some bandit raid gone wrong, but also wanted to assist the traders or whoever it might be.
As he came into a sudden clearing, he saw Imperial troops seemingly finishing the skirmish, taking prisoners and starting to carry the bodies away. Most of the prisoners wore dark blue leather and fur armour, reminding Ako of the Hold guards' armour. Nauseous from the stench of blood and innards, he heard a groan of pain from one of the bodies yet to be removed. He hurried forward, passing the oblivious soldiers who seemed to be lookouts, but their attention was fully focused on the bloody road. "Halt!" a commanding voice yelled. Ako stopped for only a few seconds, annoyed, before continuing on his way. A few of the soldiers sprung in the way, swords drawn, pointing towards Ako. "What exactly do you think you are doing, cat?" the owner of the commanding voice, revealed to be a female Imperial, demanded.
Ako snapped back, "I am a skilled healer, and there is a gravely injured man suffering there. I can and certainly intend to save his life, if you s'wits don't mind." Brushing the swords away, he fell to his knees next to the injured Nord. He focused his magicka, the energy present in all living creatures, what mages used to cast spells and affect the world around them. He felt the rush of energy entering the broken body of the Nord, gently prodding to determine what parts of the body needed to be healed. He closed his eyes, pushing his magic through the Nord, sensing the ripped muscles and cut veins marking the path of the sword that ran the Nord through. Then he held a mental picture of a Nord in perfect health, willing the broken Nord to repair. He felt the tendrils of magic knitting together torn muscles and sinew, flushing out extraneous fluids before knitting closed the gaping holes where the blade entered and exited his midsection. He saw some colour returning to the now sleeping man, having healed everything. It was now up to the Nord himself to wait as his body repaired the connections.
Exhaling, somewhat drained and panting from the large amount of magicka he had used, Ako heard heavy footsteps crunching behind him, and felt a sharp object poking him in the back. As he turned around to face the offending weapon, it was smashed into his skull hilt first, and darkness overtook him.
Ralof watched as the cat fell with a hiss of anger, knocked out cold by the Imperial captain, the golden glow that surrounded him fading away. He was impressed by the cat's bravery, brushing aside swords and barrelling through soldiers to save the life of a complete stranger. The cat had definitely understated his healing skills. Very few in Tamriel, let alone Skyrim, could heal a man suffering that kind of wound without any apparent difficulty. 'Damned Imperial dogs. Now they're taking seemingly innocent travellers as prisoners as well. The cat did not deserve that.'
Ralof and his fellows were herded onto the carriages they had tried to escape from a few minutes ago. They were now a few men less, but the cat and the horse thief, who unintentionally provided the distraction that allowed the attempted escape, were bundled onto the same carriage as Ralof. The unconscious Khajiit was placed directly across him, allowing Ralof to get a good look at him. The cat had almost pure white fur, with a rather long tail curled around him. A scrawny fellow, somewhat shorter than most people, especially amongst the tall Nords. He looked rather young, but Ralof was ignorant with regards to other races and their aging, especially non-humans. The Khajiit wore white-furred robes, elaborate embroidery on the sleeves and back, with flowing tendrils resembling fire, dark blue and light gold tongues of flame intertwining outwards and upwards. Ralof noticed this was very similar to the pattern that appeared on the cat's tail. His face was hidden beneath a hood, long whiskers peeking around the edge.
When the Khajiit first barged in, he had been carrying a fine carved staff and a small satchel slung across his back. These had disappeared while the carts were being loaded, no doubt the doing of that accursed Imperial captain. As they dropped down below the treeline, Ralof noticed the glimmering bindings around the cat's hands, claws slightly extended. Apparently the Imperials were prepared to deal with mages. No doubt the enchantments on the bindings prevented the Khajiit from casting spells, although Ralof didn't know how it worked. With the cultural distrust of magic that Nords possessed, he didn't want to know, either. Closing his eyes with a long sigh, he thought, 'It will all be over soon. Don't see how we're getting out of this one.'
The loud snap of teleportation magic crackled and filled the air. A distinct stench, reminiscent of ozone and burnt flesh, permeated the emptiness as the Psijics left, the Eye of Magnus in tow.
"A – arch-Mage? M - me?" the young Khajiit stammered. "How?"
A small chuckle came from the hall's entrance. "I do believe they are right, my dear Ako. No one else here has either the talent or the dedication to the college that you displayed. Why, running across half of Skyrim without rest, just to save the College and Skyrim. You are indeed the best choice for the position."
"But I don't want it, Tolfdir. I never wanted anything other than learning more about magic. Heck, I haven't been here for even a decade! Why not you?" whined the Khajiit.
Tolfdir chuckled softly, "You know why, my boy. If the Psijic Order thinks you are the best candidate for Arch-Mage, who are we to gainsay them? But, if you need help, I'll still be here, and as Master Wizard I will assist you in your responsibilities. I'm sure you will make a great leader, Arch-Mage."
"I guess I'm not getting out of this now," said Ako with a loud sigh. "Very well, then my first order as Arch-Mage is to bid you show me to my quarters, and then to not disturb me. I feel like sleeping for a week," he said sarcastically, swaying slightly.
Tolfdir smiled at the smirk in the new Arch-Mage's eyes. "As you wish, Arch-Mage. I'll be handling the clean-up here. Here is the key to the Arch-Mage's room, and we will send for a tailor within the week to get your robes. I'm sure Sergius will do the position of Master Enchanter honour with the enchantments."
He noticed Ako swaying, dozing lightly, and asked with a worried expression, "Just when did you last sleep?" Ako drew his ears flat sideways, the Khajiit equivalent of guilt, and replied with an embarrassed cough, "At the Windhelm caravan, on my way back from Mzulft. That was… hmm, 4 or 5 days ago?"
Tolfdir stared at Ako in astonishment. "But… how... You… Ancano….. The fight? Fights? How are you still standing? No, you're definitely going to get some sleep, right now. Come, my boy, I'll make sure you don't fall over before you get there. I'll send Colette to tend to you as soon as she is able."
As they walked up the stairs, Ako softly thanked Tolfdir. As he made to lie down, Tolfdir having left him at the door, he fell asleep before his head even touched the pillow.
Ako awoke to the creak of wooden axles, the soft chirping of woodland birds and a pounding headache. The smell of pine needles hung heavy in the air, with the smell of horse sweat, unwashed men, and dried blood soon driving it off. He cracked open his eyes, immediately closing it to slits again as bright noon light invaded his mind. He thought about the dream he just had. It was a memory, of some 9, maybe 10 years back. There was a familiar presence about the scene, which was new. It felt somewhat like an old family friend or beloved uncle. Ako could not figure out why though.
"Hey, cat! You finally awake?" came a gruff voice from somewhere to his left. Scowling, Ako opened one eye to glare at the speaker from under his hood. It was a Nord, dressed in the same guard-like armour, with unkempt, matted blond hair. Inquisitive, sky-blue eyes met his as he growled in reply. Next to him was another, even dirtier Nord, bound like the rest, but seemingly unconscious. To Ako's right sat a faintly familiar, well-dressed giant of a man, possibly a noble, bound, and, unlike the rest on the cart, gagged.
The first Nord spoke again. "That hit got you something nasty, eh? I'm kinda surprised you didn't end up with a cracked skull or something. Blasted Imperials."
Ako snorted in agreement, and asked, "It was that bitch of a captain, right?" He lifted his bound hands to his head, gingerly feeling the clotted blood. He tried to heal the wound, but almost immediately realized he couldn't quite. Yet. The magicka draining enchantment on his binds was strong, and Ako was still drained a bit from healing the Nord's compatriot. It was a smart move by the Imperials, since a healer could conceivably throw fire around as well. Though they were in for a surprise soon enough.
The Nord went on, "Yeah, she looked angry when you came in, but after you saved Earik she lost it completely. It was the only 'kill' she got in the skirmish, and you 'stole' it. Funny though, she ordered all her underlings to leave him alone, despite having the others' suffering ended."
"Gmpf, so not only is she a short-tempered witch, but a cruel and sadistic one at that?" Ako replied angrily. "I think I will have a word or two with her superiors over this."
The Nord laughed at that, and asked, "The name's Ralof. And yours? How'd you end up here anyway? I know how our sleeping horse thief got here, but you seem different." He nodded with his head to his left, where the dirty Nord was still knocked out cold.
"Walking home seems to be unsafe these days," Ako replied dryly. "I was travelling back from Cyrodiil, having spent 3 months there. And you?"
Ralof puffed out his chest, proudly stating, "We Stormcloaks are fighting to liberate Skyrim from her Imperial slave masters! We are free to worship Talos, despite all the Imperial lies about Him." He looked old all of a sudden, sadness clouding his face. "But that seems to be at an end."
"A civil war?" Ako asked, somewhat disbelieving. "That's new. Leave home for 3 months and all Oblivion breaks loose."
Ako sighed loudly. The cart rolled on in silence for a while. A strangled gasp came as the horse thief woke up. "Ugh… where are we? Where are we going?" he asked in a slightly panicked voice.
Ralof raised his head to look at the thief. "I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits."
The thief looked at him in horror, and all but screeched, "What? But…. You've got to tell them, we're not with you! We're not rebels!"
Ako rolled his eyes and rubbed his temples as best he could, ears flattened under the hooded robes in annoyance. "Shut up, will you? You are in this mess of your own making, thief," he sneered with disdain. The whining of the thief grated on his ears, and did nothing to help his headache.
"Hey, horse thief. Where are you from?" Ralof asked after a short silence.
"Why do you care?" came the short, snapped reply.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof replied, almost kindly.
Lokir seemed to be mollified by that, and haltingly replied, "R – rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead."
"And you, cat?" the blond asked, seemingly over his racist streak.
Ako thought for a moment before he answered, "I was raised in Leyawiin, but nowadays I count Winterhold as home. Have done so for more than a decade now."
Ralof looked surprised as he asked, "Winterhold, eh? Perhaps Skyrim is your home then. Must have ice in your blood to live in Winterhold." He chuckled softly. "Are you with the College, then?"
Ako smirked inwardly, replying in a neutral voice, "You could say that." 'If only he knew.'
Ralof looked impressed, and said, "That explains why Earik still lives."
A walled keep – town, Ako realised – came into view. A patrolling soldier yelled out, "General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting."
"About time," an older Imperial riding a horse replied. He was wearing a decorated version of the standard Imperial armour, indicating his rank as general.
"Helgen…." Ralof suddenly said, a nostalgic lilt to his words. "I used to be sweet on a girl here. Wonder if the juniper mead is still as I remember it."
Ako nodded silently, and tuned out any further conversations as he tried to come up with a way out of this mess. 'Few people will believe that a so-called cat is Arch-Mage… Despite having held the position for a decade, I have never visited any court or even left Winterhold. And I look too young for such a position.' He shrugged a bit, deciding that should they call him a liar, burning off the enchanted bindings should be enough proof. Perhaps there might even be a Winterhold native here.
He was brought back from his musing by Ralof cursing at the Thalmor talking with General Tullius. The carts drew to a halt outside of a tower on the west of Helgen.
"Why are we stopping?" the horse thief asked in a quavering voice.
"Why do you think? End of the line," came a resigned sigh from Ralof. "Come on. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
Ako quietly chuckled, "I hope the gods aren't offended by waiting a bit longer for me." He looked over the carriages, noticing that the entire town seemed to have turned out for the excitement. Ralof and the thief both gave Ako quizzical looks, but before they could press it, they were interrupted by a Nord, wearing Imperial colours, holding a book and quill.
"Step forward when I call your name," he said.
Ralof muttered something about "….damned Imperials and their lists…." to Ako's amusement.
List-man began, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
Ako's ears perked up at that, recognising the name. Eastmarch, of which Windhelm was the capital, was known as an influential and restive hold. Despite knowing very little about the civil war, Ako knew that this man was either at the very root or near it. If he was to die, this war would swing strongly in the Imperials' favour.
He vaguely heard List-man calling Ralof and the thief. His musings were again interrupted, this time by the thief running and suddenly sprouting arrows as the Imperial captain called the archers on him. 'Bitch' he thought. 'I'll get you yet. No one gives me a headache, especially not for saving a life.'
List-man turned away from the dead thief, and looked surprised to see Ako. "Wait… who are you?"
Ako decided to take his revenge on the Captain-bitch, as he thought of her. He waited until she looked him in the eye, and loudly announced, "Ako'Siirto, Arch-Mage of the College of Winterhold."
A stunned silence followed, before several cries of "Liar!" rang out, from both captors and captives alike.
Ako continued, "I assure you, I do not lie. Khajiit I may be, but anyone of any race can be a talented mage."
As a momentary hush fell over the crowd, Ako suddenly felt a change deep within him, a stirring of heart and soul with apprehension, unlike anything he had ever felt before.
The captain glared at him, before sneering loudly, "You are still lying. Not that it matters, you can join your fellow rebels on the block."
Ako sighed irritably, "Should I prove it? If I can get my pack back, I can show my official robes and my staff."
Captain-bitch glared daggers at him, before snapping, "No. No way you are Arch-Mage, liar. If it isn't fake, you probably stole it, a thief like all cats."
Ako sighed audibly, murmuring, "I had hoped to have civilised captors. Wishful thinking." His hands and wrists suddenly flared to life, white hot fire burning his bindings and dispelling the draining enchantments with a sound of shattering glass. The fire continued to flow from his hands, rising high into the sky. A statue of a cloaked mage standing ready to cast a spell, same as the statue that stood in front of the college, formed from the fire. Ako stopped the flow of fire to the statue, leaving it standing in the air above him, the cloak fluttering in a nonexistent wind.
Lifting his hands to his head, he quickly healed the wound left by his capture. Murmurs of disbelief and gasps of surprise fled through the crowd, Listman having an even more stunned expression on his face. Captain-bitch contorted her face in equal amounts of disbelief and rage, before yelling, "But… How!? The binds… I was assured they prevent mages from using any spells?!"
Ako sneered loudly, "Not quite true, is it? It only drains their magicka. Against lesser, even most mages, it would drain their magicka completely. But I am not Arch-Mage for nothing. And perhaps the poor fool you left for dead in the skirmish? Let's ask him how powerful a mage I am." Turning his attention to the General, who was looking unfazed as befitted a war commander, Ako inquired, "By the way, leaving people, even rebels, to die slowly with a gut wound is not how the Empire operates, is it, General?"
The general slowly turned his gaze to the captain, who was now red with rage and a fair deal of embarrassment. He looked back to Ako and said, "It will be dealt with internally. For now, you are free. But please remain until after the executions, when we can sort out this mess you found yourself in and recompense you for the inconvenience caused." Then, he directed his attention to a few of the soldiers standing near the carriages, ordering them to bring Ako's pack and staff to him.
Ako thanked them as he let the fiery statue dissipate. As the humiliated Captain-bitch continued with the execution, an unearthly roar came from the skies. The stirring of Ako's soul came again, urging him to be strong, challenge it, roar out his own strength, but somehow knowing he was vastly inferior to whatever was responsible for the roar. The crowd began murmuring, quailing, but the soldiers dismissed it. As the first rebel was laid upon the block, the roar came again. Again Ako was stirred, feeling very uncomfortable with the alien feelings within him, more urgent this time. Just as the headsman raised his axe, a screech akin to massive blades cutting the air came from above, and a dark, massive form dropped from the clouds.
It landed on the tower, shaking the earth as it did so. It gazed over the assembled crowd with contempt, a cruel light in its eyes, seeing them rooted to the spot with fear.
A single scream came from the crowd. "DRAGON!"
AN: So, this is the start of a story I started writing on a whim back in 2015, during the FMF protests in South Africa. It quickly grew to 60k words, then sluggishly from there on. With life being what it is, I find myself with a fair bit of time on my hands again for a few weeks at least. My writing has improved massively since this was first written (thanks to university and much proofreading for others), but if I don't post it now, it'll be rewritten for the nth time and never get published. Similarly, the title might change a few times before I find one I like. Much thanks to empire1003 here on for her help in proofreading this (even if it was a few years back). English is not my mother tongue, and the English I speak is South African English. It is similar to British English, but there are some differences that might seem strange to people. Similarly, my humour is South African. I've been told it is strange at best and downright disturbing at worst. I have a fairly substantial backlog, and I'll be aiming to post one chapter a week or so until I run out of words. This story is loosely sketched through a sequel, but given that I took 9 chapters to do what I thought would be done in 4, loosely sketched can mean just about anything. I'd be very happy to hear any feedback and comments. Thank you!