Skyrim One-Shots

Miraak x Reader(Elven) ~Bottom Of The River~

The silence was suffocating in the Bloodworks. You found that out after not too long of being there.

Maybe it had only been a few days. Maybe a few weeks. Maybe a whole month now. You didn't know. All you knew now was that you had to try to ward away lice at every step of your small cell and ignore the looks you got from the guards. They had no sympathy for the Imperials. As they should, being the opposing faction. An elf, too- Nords generally despised your sharp-eared folk. And one as old as you? Yeah, you were hated.

But, soon enough you'd die. That was fine. You had never put up a fight to the guards like others did, and maybe that's why they hated you. You didn't fight. You just sat there. Barely moved. Whispers of an upcoming execution lurked, and you were lucky enough to be able to hear the guards talking of it.

Today. It was today. You were as always, blank-faced and untalkative. You had spoken a total of ten words in your stay here. Simple things, like yes or no, maybe a quiet, "Silence, friend," to the man in the cell next to yours, constantly talking rather odd things to himself. Usually, the guards would slam his cell bars and he'd be quiet for a few hours, and then start up again.

He was to your right. You were the furthest cell to the left, and there were a total of 10 cells in the room, 5 on each side, some hosting a few people, some hosting one. Across from you were two thieves, one red-headed, the other with a light brown. Breton and Nord. They talked often, but very quietly. The red-head had tried to pick the lock once and the nutter two cells right from her had some grudge, yelling about Nordic honor and the ginger got a few whippings along with the tall, dark-haired man for the commotion.

Others in the cell were a Redguard man that often stayed quiet, too, an Imperial mage that did not shut up for the life of him in the same cell, a female Nord and male Nord also in one cell that were treated the best (former housecarls, as it seemed). True blondies. Then, there was a female dark elf mage and her friend, a Khajit that often got hissy at the guards, two Thalmor members (Ondolemar and Ancano- you knew their names) and finally, a male Nord in old priest robes with black eyes and veins that hadn't uttered a single word, but you could tell he was utterly pissed. He was in the first cell and none of the guards even got near him.

A guard went to the center of the room and the rest paused at attention, the man seemingly higher of in the chain of command than the rest. He had no helm and was rather young- mid-twenties at the latest.

"Execution day is today," he stated simply. "May the gods be with you as you go, prisoners. I would not have chosen this fate for you all, but I have little option. It is best not to fight," he paused for a moment. "We'll start with the left side, the first cell to last, then right cells, first to last again. You'll be brought up to the center square where the block will be and it'll take about two hours. Mara willing, we'll spread your ashes in your home country."

"Easy goes it," a guard muttered, unlocking the first cell, the Redguard and Imperial mage, who stepped out and the Redgaurd was put in chains (the mage already had one, to prevent from magic use).  The next guard brought the dark-haired man and his twin (who she saw or heard rarely and forgot he was there), who didn't fight either. Then, there were two housecarls that got tight smiles and quiet apologies. The madman got chains and a shove.

"You. Up," the guard in front of your cell barked, and you stood, silent as always. He unlocked the door and you stepped out while the unusual Nord in the right side first cell got out as well.

Everyone else had little trouble, save for the Khajit who gave his guard a nasty look and the guard snarled. They took the stairs next, then were in the main hall before they knew it.

"Los hi nuk?" came the soft grumble from the man behind you.

"Bek," you hummed back.

The haul erupted in absolute chaos in mere seconds. Dragon shouts erupted out from both you and Miraak behind you, disarming the chains of everyone in the room and gathering the weapons the guards had in a huge pile. A swift fire shout melted them into iron and steel blobs from the elder Dragonborn.

The thieves, good old Brynjolf and Mercer, started to knock people out, and the twins of Jorrvaskr, busted for Lycanthropy, turned into werewolves and started to scare the guards crapless. 

But you and Miraak? The entire hall was running.

"Hah! Cicero has been freed!" the jester cackled giddily.

The former Thalmor members started to get everyone out, the entire crew starting to run out, a bit giddy. The Dragonborn councils. 

Oh, Ulfric wasn't getting the throne. No, he lay dead. Argis got the lucky shot, Jordis with him. Such loyal housecarls and your best friends.

The Dragons were back. Skyrim wasn't a political battering ground, no.

It was the home of Dragons.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

oooo dam

thiis is either horrible or like awesome

maybe confusing 

idk

dani out

Adieu!