Disclaimer: this fanfiction is based on a game produced by Bethesda Studios called Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim.
Therefore, I do not own anything in this story. It’s meant to be fun and a simple, free showcase of my writing style. All dialogue of characters other than Aia is straight from the game. I’ll make note if I ever add dialogue to flesh out a scene.
Setting, characters, and plot will be determined by my playthrough on my Nintendo Switch. The screenshots and clips will be from my game system. My playthrough for this fanfiction is a role-playing challenge run of an Imperial named Aia. I am pausing the game to write what happens as it does. If Aia dies in the game, she will be thrust back in time to my last save to try again in the story, as well (Re: Zero). I am not sponsored. You do not need to be a Skyrim fan to enjoy the story, but you will miss some jokes and references (especially about followers).
For my character stats, rules, and lore: see the bottom of the post.
Chapter 1: Helgen’s Wake
After a long night of broken sleep, I awaken to a misty dawn with the scent of dew in the air. I look around the carriage I’m in, hands bound, at the other three prisoners–Nords of Skyrim. Two are armored, while the other is dressed in ragged garments similar to my own.
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us…”
The blonde Nord turns his attention to the ‘horse-thief’ quickly enough, who says he’s from Rorikstead. The blue armor is that of the Stormcloaks–rebels fighting the Imperial Legion for Skyrim’s independence. The gagged man is none other than Ulfric Stormcloak, the ‘True High King.’ The Jarl of Windhelm…
I’ve read about Skyrim’s Jarls and High King in one of the books in the Great Chapel of Mara back home. Each Jarl rules their own province within Skyrim, and the High King rules over all of them. Eris Senim, the elderly Dunmer who allowed me to volunteer at the chapel as a child, is the one who even suggested I come here to help the Legion in the first place–to restore peace and unity, to hone my restoration skill.
The merchants I had been traveling with were overrun by bandits and killed as we crossed the Jerall Mountains, and I would have joined them had a hunter not found me among the wreckage. She treated me with some potions along the road before we parted ways as she headed for Riften, and I continued on to Darkwater Crossing.
I traveled all the way from Bravil in southern Cyrodiil to help the Imperial Legion against the rebels. I can’t believe I’m in the back of this carriage with their leader, of all people, probably to die at his side. Priest Eris said that the bloodshed of war could always use more healers, but I was captured with the rebels as soon as I crossed the border…
It just…can’t be over.
We reach a city. The blonde rebel points out General Tullius, leader of the Legion, talking to the Aldmeri Dominion. I would have served under him…I vaguely hear a small child behind me being ushered inside as I stare at my feet…I stumble forward when called from the carriage, realizing the horse-thief is already dead.
“Who are you?”
I hope I’ll be spared when I’m not on the list, but I know it in my heart.
“Aia, of Bravil.”
My name means nothing.
I have no connections, no family. My year-old travel clothes make it seem like I could start begging for skooma any second.
General Tullius confronts Ulfric Stormcloak.
I suppose I should be grateful that the war is over…A strange howl echoes in the distance.
A brutish, red-headed rebel steps up first, interrupting the Priestess of Arkay.
“Next, the renegade from Cyrodil.”
Another howl.
I feel paralyzed as I glide forward after him, shocked at the absurdity of my execution and repulsed by the headless corpse still gushing over the headsman’s block…
I stare down. For the love of Mara and the mercy of Stendarr, please spare me from this cruel, backwards fate.
I drop to my knees. There are so many I could save, if I only had the chance.
A soldier kicks me down over the block where I’m face to face with the red-head. Gagging and crying, I turn to the side and face the headsman. Please.
Another strange, yet…familiar howl…or is it a call? My mind blanks for a moment and with clouded eyes fixed on that wicked axe of death, I listen. “Dragon!”
The headsman continues to raise his weapon as a massive ebony dragon slams onto the tower behind him, throwing the hooded man off-balance. The dragon shouts. A terrible storm brews. All of us are rocked, and many scatter or disappear as I reel from the aftershock. Debris hails around me.
The talkative Nord from the carriage calls out to me, “Hey, you. Get up! Come on, the Gods won’t give us another chance! This way.”
Mara. Stendarr. Oh, Divines!
I race after him into a tower with some of the other rebels, wondering where we’re going to go, but not trying to interact with them. We move up the tower where someone is trying to clear the rubble.
The wall right in front of me shatters!
I’m met with the black face of a mighty dragon. I back away as he smothers the second tower floor with flames, killing the Stormcloak and flying away. The blonde suggests I jump, and I do. It hurts when I land, but I keep running. Please.
I see one of the Nords with the Imperial Legion. He’s directing a child to safety behind a destroyed home. I can only watch as his father becomes another victim of flames.
“Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way.”
My eyes widen. I’m allowed to live? I can’t smile, given the situation, but there’s a chance!
“Gods guide you, Hadvar,’ says the old man as he continues to hide with the boy.
“Stay close to the wall!” The dragon kills another. Hadvar and I rush through a still burning house to find General Tullius mounting a defense with mages by one of Helgen’s gates. He commands us all to run, and I can’t look away from all of the dead bodies. Hadvar ushers me forward.
He and the blonde Nord, Ralof, seem to know each other. The rebel Ralof tells me to follow him. ..I was mistaken for a rebel once already, but do I have a choice?
Then, Hadvar invites me to still stick with him…he might give me a chance to explain, to live. Would living as a prisoner on the right side be better than being free on the wrong side? I don’t know if I can answer that.
I may be a prisoner now, but maybe…If I explain…
I choose to trust in Mara and her guidance, that my path doesn’t end here, and that Stendarr will protect me. I will live. One day, I will be a powerful priestess of the people. Today, I just need to live.
I trust in the Divines, and follow Hadvar.
Chapter 2 coming Wed, June 4! NEW chapter every Wednesday!
Character: Aia
Current Level: 1
Current Perks: none
Age: Unknown, Young Adult
Race: Imperial
History: An orphan raised by the Great Chapel of Mara in Bravil of Cyrodil, Aia has always been fascinated with love and restoration magic. The priest there encouraged her to travel to Skyrim to help the Legion in the civil war there…
Level of 3 Primary Skills: Restoration (25), Block (20), Alteration (15)
Level of 2 Secondary Skills: Smithing (15), Enchanting (20)
Days Past: 0
Dungeons Cleared: 0
Challenge Run Rules:
- No offense outside of shield bash and dragon shouts.
- 5 perk skill limit: 3 mage, 2 warrior
- Difficulty: Master. Anniversary Edition: Survival mode on, all DLC installed.
- Character Death results in resetting to the last time she has slept.
- Morally Good: does not commit crime, lie, or associate with Daedra
- Legion Loyalty: a loyal Imperial, she fundamentally opposes the Stormcloak rebellion.
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