The Frost Mage - A Skyrim Fanfiction

Chapter 2 - Bound

'Trauma root, Hagraven feathers and a pinch of salt. Carried in a strong alcoholic base, and you'll be able to keep down any magical monstrosity.' – Indarin of Firemoth, Imperial alchemist, 4th Era, 200.

---

The first sensation Mist became aware of was the cold. The cold, hard earth pressed up against her and the unmoving chill of the dawn air, it felt like an assault. Chilled to the bone, Mist tried to pull her arms in to warm herself, curling into the foetal position. She tried. Groggily, she attempted to pull her feet up but felt they were caught on something. Confused, Mist cracked open an eye. The sound of metal on metal jangled – she was bound.

The second sensation she felt was the pain in her head. Her temples throbbed. It was still dark, though the faint grey of the sky told her that it would be dawning soon. Mist lay in a small clearing that was churned by many feet, the grass squashed and pulped into mud. Hands shackled; Mist rolled clumsily onto her stomach. Dark lumps lay about her, she became aware that it was these lumps that she was bound to. Fellow prisoners. Craning her neck to look up hurt, with pain spreading to the base of her skull.

'Tal, get the doctor, the girl is waking.' A soft voice punctured the dull silence of the clearing. Mist dumbly looked around, trying to find the source of the voice. Before the girl could determine the direction of the voice, hands rolled her onto her back. They were not rough, Mist noticed.

A dark silhouette crouched above her. It was an Imperial soldier, a female dark elf. Mist winced - her shoulder had rolled onto a rock. The elf pulled Mist into a seated position, supporting her back. Supporting some of her weight, Mist was now aware of a pain in her ribs. Broken ribs – a familiar pain. She had broken them before – two summers ago when she fell from a horse. A lifetime ago.

A second, hooded person joined them, squatting down on the other side of Mist. Another dark elf. The red glow of his eyes was emphasised by his red cloak, pinned with the insignia of the Imperial Legion. He held a small earthen mug to Mist's lips.

'Drink, it will help.'

Mist drank, too weak to question the request. The taste of alcohol was powerful, nearly masking the cocktail of herbs that were blended in the tincture. A sensation of heat spread from her nostrils to her stomach. She was laid back down and left alone. It was still quiet in the clearing, the sky was lighter now. The fire in her belly faded, replaced by a faint spinning sensation in her head. Her body felt light and detached as she fell asleep.

---

The faint hubbub of activity penetrated the silence of the forest as its inhabitants began to stir. A crackling fire, twigs snapping in the heat. The song of wooden spoons breakfasting in clay-fired bowls. Sunlight shone upon the forest, burning off the predawn fog. Birds chirped. Dew made the leaves and grass shine.

'...at the road to Ivarstead –' Snatches of conversation built into the hum of the clearing. Soldiers moved within their practiced routines. The encampment was on the move.

Leather tents collapsed as their rope tethers were released. Horses with their heads buried in bags of feed pawed the earth as they were hitched to wagons.

'...we'll take the pass with the Twelfth Division.' Scrolls of well-worn maps whispered as they were rolled up.

The scraping of metal on metal began to join the symphony. Iron hinges turning. Whetstones on blades. As the sun crept higher, Nords, bound by their hands and feet, began to rouse. Shackle chains rang as these unfortunate souls were pushed up onto their feet. One of them, a young woman, was pulled away from this queue of Nords. She tried to throw out her arms to resist but they were quickly pinned down against her body.

Mist again felt a clay mug being pushed to her mouth. The liquid was cold but the sensation it brought was warm. It tasted repugnant. She shuddered, barely conscious. She couldn't place where she was, everything was happening too quickly for her sluggish mind to process.

A hand on her back moved her forward. Mist's feet dragged under the mass of her chains. She was pushed into the back of a wagon. The rough wood felt warm compared with cold earth that she had been asleep on. Mist curled into a ball, hugging her knees to her chest. Her eyes closed. Sounds melted together. The wood of the turning wagon wheels creaked.

Soldiers shouldered their backpacks and fixed their scabbards. Like a turning tide, the camp moved out, gaining a gentle momentum as they took the road.

'... to Helgen.' Mist heard the words faintly over the ringing in her own ears before falling unconscious.

---

I quick chapter this one. I wanted to sink into Mist's experience of being held by the Imperials.

Hope that life is treating you all well. Next chapter coming in a few days 😊