Pyrophobia

The scent of blood and death was evident, washing over the room and soaking into my skin. I heard screams and shouted confessions echo through the walls, but they all fell on deaf ears. With every strike I heard, my hatred for the Thalmor grew stronger. They were merciless, cutting and burning and disfiguring even after they'd gotten what they wanted. Even if it hadn't been fought for in the first place.

Father and I had been arrested when one of the passing villagers became suspicious of mine and Ralof's "guest" and followed us home. Upon hearing Frodnar's yelling about us having a Khajiit in town, she'd alerted the guards, who turned us in to the Imperials. Against Ralof's wishes, I'd lied about my staying at his sister's house, insisting that I'd forced them to take me in under penalty of death. That had been a few days ago, perhaps a week now.

There wasn't time here. Just random intervals of torture and listening. And waiting.

"If it isn't the Half-breed," I heard the Elven bastard at the entrance of the room. I didn't move, my hands bound above my head and my ankles, to the floor. I'd lost my will to fight my binds days ago, when I heard my father screaming for mercy. He walked closer, grabbing my jaw and lifting my lip to inspect my teeth, like a mutt. "Such pretty fangs you have. Too bad we can't let you keep them."

He pulled out a long file, sharp and thick, and I hissed weakly. He called over an assistant from the next room and ordered him to hold open my jaw. With my fangs exposed, he pressed the file to my pointed canine and ground sharply against it. It was painful as he dulled my fangs little by little, going too far and hitting a nerve. I shouted and he recoiled in false apology.

"Oh, I am sorry. Did I…Touch a nerve?" He smiled cruelly and I had to fight my own instinct to bare my fangs. After all, I only had the one now. "Let's get rid of the other one. Maybe the claws, next."

For the next two hours, the only weapons I had left were stripped from me. The very proof of my will to protect myself ground down to nothing. I had lost the means to fight. I had lost myself in the loss of my weapons, my family, and my pride.

"Such a pretty kitty," The High Elf cooed, petting my hair. I didn't snap at him, I was too tired. "Too bad we can't keep you. Lock you up in chains and parade you around with the Thalmor patrols…"

"P-Please…" I begged quietly, nearing tears. My hands were bleeding from the rough treatment, as was my mouth—not to mention the countless other injuries I'd sustained since coming here.

"Please what?" He knew. He knew what I wanted, but he didn't want to give it to me.

"…Kill me. Please, I don't want to live anymore. Kill me. Kill me."

I heard him chuckle and he nodded, lifting a golden blade to my neck, "You're useless to us now. I think that can be arranged."

With that, he slit my throat, blood immediately pouring from the wound. I choked, torn between disgust at the sight of my own throat torn from my skin and skin hanging limply from me as it was bathed in blood, and the pain of having my esophagus ripped out. It didn't take too long to decide, as the pain won over and everything turned black. Before I passed out, I looked up at the Elf, tears of pain and misery in my eyes, and said the two words I never wouldn't thought I'd say to one of the Thalmor.

"Thank you…"

Break

I knew I wasn't going to Sovngarde, dying like a coward and begging for a Thalmor bastard to take my life, but I hadn't expected total darkness to meet me. I could feel something beneath my feet—a floor? Maybe my imagination?—but all around me there was a sense of…infiniteness. There weren't walls where I was, not even a sky. It felt empty.

"Why did I die?" I asked nothing, flailing my arms and hoping to hit something solid. Nothing. "Why in Oblivion am I here?"

"Do you even know where here is?" The voice was quiet, and all-too familiar. It was gentle—just as loving and maternal as I remember.

"…Manna?" I turned, only to be met with more darkness. I could hear her, but where was she?

"I'm here, darling."

"Where?" I felt two arms wrap around my shoulders and tried to turn. Blonde hair blocked my view, soft and braided into a crown, just like mine.

"Here."

I couldn't speak, wrapped in the familiar warmth that I'd been so many years without. Since the same woman that was holding me had died in my arms. Now I was dead in hers.

"Manna…" I whispered, hugging her back and burying my face in her shoulder.

"Shh…"

"Where are we?" I asked, tightening my grip, praying that she didn't slip away again.

"Nowhere. I'm not here, and neither are you."

I looked up from her shoulder and turned my head. Manna backed away from me, showing me familiar pale skin and deep, brown eyes. She was dressed in the slightly torn tunic I'd seen her in last, though it seemed in much better condition than when she'd died. She smiled gently.

"I don't understand," I said. She shook her head, like she would if I'd done something silly as a child.

"You are not meant to die now darling. There are things that need to be done."

"Killing dragons?" I asked. It was all I was good for, after all.

Manna stepped forward and grasped my hands, chuckling under her breath. She sighed and looked up at me, "Darling, you mean so much more than that. There are many who admire you, respect you, and fear you. But there are choice few that love you."

I didn't have to ask. I already knew who loved me, who feared me, who would hold hatred in their hearts even in the afterlife.

"Go to them…" She didn't explain how I was supposed to leave. I felt her slowly ebb away, her solid form melting away into nothingness.

"Manna!" I gasped, folding my arms, only to meet nothing. She was gone. Just like last time, I was a child without his mother. She'd left me with nothing in my arms.

BREAK

And then I was waking up. I was choking on my own blood, and I could feel it pouring down my neck and chest. By some miracle of the Divines, I was alive. The cut on my neck had swelled and clotted, stopping any more blood from escaping me. When I felt less dizzy, I looked up and around the room. Two High Elves were dead on the floor, another trying to crawl from the room, his legs gone from the knee down. I wondered, but had no wish to see, where the other parts of his limbs were.

I was still in my shackles. Who had done this?

"Godrael?"

I turned at the sound of the voice, only to be met with a group of unfamiliar Nords in Stormcloak armor. One of them stepped forward, a brunette with narrow, hazel eyes.

"Are you Godrael?"

I tried to speak, but more blood bubbled from my mouth. I'd swallowed a fair amount, it seemed, and it was all caught in my throat. A few winced, while the rest just stared apathetically. They'd seen worse, I'm sure.

"Let me get you down from there," A blonde woman said, walking towards my chains. She tried to undo the cuffs, but resorted to hacking the chains apart with her axe. "There," She said when I fell to the floor. The brunette man helped me up, letting me lean on his shoulder.

"Are you Godrael?" He asked again. I nodded weakly and he hiked me further up his arm. "We've been told to rescue you."

"Wh…Who?" I coughed, the blood slowly draining down my throat.

"Well, Ralof reported it to a camp near Riverwood first," He said, walking with the rest of the group. I saw that they'd killed all the guards and Thalmor agents here, while losing a surprising few of their own. "He said that a Stormcloak had been taken hostage by the Imperials and their elves. A man from the camp went to Windhelm and told Jarl Ulfric. He wouldn't have it, especially when he heard that it was the refugee that had been mistakenly captured by the Imperial ambush and nearly burnt to death."

"Idiot…" I muttered. "I'll…K-kill him when I…Ugh…" The taste in my mouth was horrible, and my voice was broken from having my throat slit.

"I wouldn't say that in a group of Stormcloaks," He muttered next to my ear. "We don't take death threats to Jarl Ulfric kindly."

I shook my head, "Ralof…Put h-himself…his family in…danger, f-for m-m-me…"

The brunette chuckled, "I'm guessing you're friends, then?"

"Yeah…"

He led me outside with the others. There was a carriage waiting for us, and several of the men stopped to climb in. Some treated wounds, while others prayed to the Divines for their fallen comrades. The brunette helped me up and I was caught by another man—blonde, though darker than Ralof's or my mother's—who seated me beside him.

I was so tired. It felt like it had been weeks since I'd last rested. The woman who'd released me patted me on the arm and offered up her shoulder for the trip to Windhelm. I laid my head on her shoulder and closed my eyes, listening to the sounds of the carriage, the rebels, and the wilderness surrounding us.

For the first time in a while, I slept.