Black Wings of the Reach
A Skyrim Fanfiction

Struggling was entirely pointless.

He knew that, but he still put up at least a small amount of resistance. Whether it was out of more out of fear or rebellion, it was hard for him to say for sure. Either one were as likely a reason as the other.

Snow and frosted earth crunched under many pairs of feet, eager to reach the growling river that channeled through the ruins. He was the only one who didn't want to go, but he wasn't getting much choice, being that he was the youngest and smallest among any of them. Hands roughly shoved him forward and he stumbled, falling face-first into the frigid channel.

He searched for the bottom, pushing himself up and sputtering water out his nose unpleasantly. A kick under his ribs was even more unpleasant, flipped him onto his back instead, and he floundered to find a way to the surface again so he could breathe properly.

That attempt ended about as well as he expected. The larger boy pounced on top of him and pinned him under the surface, straddling his stomach, hands on his neck and giving him no chance of fighting free. He peeked his eyes open, but he could barely see anything except for the white foam as the current rushed by, obscuring all but the most vague of dark shapes above.

He tried holding his breath, but there was only so long he could hold out, especially not having gotten the proper chance for a breath earlier. He couldn't hold it anymore and gasped, inhaling water. He already knew by this point how things would go. It wouldn't be the first time. The liquid in his lungs was icy, and it physically ached. He knew better than to keep inhaling, hoping for air to push out the flood, but instinct was taking over, making it worse as he struggled to draw oxygen and only took in more ice water.

His lungs felt like they would burst, and he kicked uselessly, splashing, but it was the only protest available to him. If the older boy above him noticed the signal, they didn't care enough to extend mercy. Thrashing turned into twitches and squirming, grasping the wrists of the hands on his throat and tugging. Cold seeped into every part of his body, raising goosebumps and making every joint hurt. The crystalline water filling his airways and stomach made him feel sick, heaving desperately, and he would have whimpered if he could.

His awareness of it all did not waver in the least, full consciousness denying him reprieve from his suffering, and it was all he could do just to stare up at the rippling surface in resignation.

Finally he was yanked free and he coughed water and bile onto the shore, snatching a gasp of much needed air, though the frosted air burned him both inside and out like thousands of needles, biting soaked flesh. Screaming immediately filled his ears, and he would have cringed if he wasn't already busy expelling water from his lungs.

"...things to do, now get back to it, before I tan all of your hides!" Another hand, larger and firm, grabbed his arm just beneath the shoulder and yanked him to his feet roughly while he was still coughing. "And you! What are you doing so far out? Get back to where you belong!"

Not for the first time, he was shoved forward and staggered, barely staying on his feet. Veiled blue eyes glanced over his shoulder, but he walked obediently, shivering violently in his skin. The fierce wind whipped snow from the sky and ground, and he drew arms around himself as he slowly trudged back to what he had been doing before the group of older boys had pounced him. A bucket sat on the stone with red berries caked in ice scattered where he'd first dropped it, and he collapsed to his knees to pick them up, ignoring the cold as best as he could.

He knew he was supposed to retrieve more snowberries than what he had, but he was already so cold he could barely move, and he still had stairs to climb before he would reach the inside of the ruin where it was warmer. He received some watching glances, but none of them were pleasant or warm. If anything, they were accusatory, though no matter how hard he searched his memory he couldn't peg a reason to it. Instead he merely kept his head down and shuffled onward, up the icy stairs towards a door higher up on the ruin.

Around the corner of the entrance hall was a room with a long table. The glow of a fireplace and a couple of braziers lit most of the chamber. A couple of women walked or sat about the room, dressed in fading black robes. The figure he went to was a woman with leathery, vastly wrinkled skin, with large black feathers sprouting from parts of her flesh, and her feet and hands ending in scaled, elongated bird talons.

"You've brought me what I asked for?" she rasped. She plucked the bucket away, staring down into it with an unpleasant snarl. "I told you to bring more of them!"

He bowed his head guiltily, still visibly shivering. He had no desire to go back outside and he hoped that she wouldn't demand it of him.

"I was trying to... but the other boys tried to drown me..." he offered up softly, so much that it was almost lost beneath the sound of her constant wheezing. "...s-sorry..."

"Dirty, filthy children!" she hissed. He flinched, looking even smaller. "Curse them all! Can't be trusted with anything. Screw everything up. Be gone with you!" she screeched, and he was quick to do that, ducking down the other hall further in, around the corner, and up some stairs. There was an open balcony with a wood drawbridge going over the dining room, and he quickly went across until reaching a room on his left.

Inside was a circular pit filled with hay, several shelves, and a chair. What he took most interest was the adjacent fireplace and that the room was unoccupied, and he finally shed his icy soaked shirt and pants to sit on the stones near the flame. A thin scattering of small, black feathers bristled on his shoulders and upper back as he drew his legs to his chest and shimmied close to the flame, letting it fill him and take away the cold that felt as though it had frozen him down to his bones.

For a while he just closed his eyes, listening to the crackle of the fire and the occasional voices of the women downstairs talking amongst each other. Every so often he would change position so that one part of his body or another was closer to the flame.

Laying on his side, he watched the flickering golden embers and idly reached a hand out until it disappeared into the flames. The heat was intense, but it didn't physically burn him, and when he drew his hand away, small embers continued to dance on his skin for a few moments before vanishing harmlessly.

A life that wouldn't snuff out and a body that wouldn't burn in flame.

He had no way to explain these abnormalities and as far as he knew neither did anyone else. His feathers he didn't think much of either. He had always known the hagraven matriarch to have them, so how were his own so strange?

Yet, he had no bird-talon feet or hands, everything else wholly human like everyone else, and he wasn't revered like she was for having them. He was not a hagraven, and the matriarch was not his mother, so couldn't explain at all why he was this way. None of the others could either.

Besides, hagravens, while powerful, could still die, and as far as he was aware, he could not. He could still be wounded, and he certainly still felt pain as much as anything else, but couldn't die, and unconsciousness was a hard thing to come by. For some reason, these facts were treated like an invitation to see how much damage could be done, like nothing more than a challenging game of cruelty.

He could still remember everything that had been done. Broken bones and dislocated joints... one of his wrists still ached from time to time, never having healed properly. There had been times where he was spotted in bruises like a snow sabre, and he'd been stabbed or slashed numerous times. He'd been hung and drown more times than he could count.

He didn't understand why others took that as reason to hurt him, especially when - few oddities aside - he was rather small and frail, but it was a common theme.

Exhaustion finally baring down on him, his eyes drooped as he watched the fire dance, giving in to sleep willingly.