Your Truth Cannot Stand
A Skyrim Fanfiction
Chapter 1: Descent Into Darkness
Spoiler/content warnings:
Contains major spoilers for Skyrim, particularly the main quest and the College of Winterhold questline, as well as:
- Graphic depictions of torture.
- Mentions of blood, war, slavery and mass murder, including murders of children.
- Racism and racial oppression.
- Religious persecution.
- Drug use (specifically Moonsugar).
- Mild cussing.
- Cruel methods of indoctrination.
- A lot of Elder Scrolls lore - newcomers to the franchise might be confused by this story.
Basically, if you've played the game and/or read up on Elder Scrolls lore, you can probably handle this fic.
Synopsis:
Ondolemar had spent his whole life believing that hunting down heretics and enemies of the Thalmor was a service to the gods. He never imagined that one strange Khajiit could throw everything he thought he knew into question, and send him on a quest for truth that would end with him trapped in a torture chamber.
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness (you are here)
Chapter 2: Strange, Meet Stranger
Chapter 3: Enchanted
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House…
Chapter 5: Oh No, She’s Relatable
Chapter 6: I Need to Speak to the Thalmor’s Manager
Chapter 7: All I Should Have Been
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
Chapter 9: It’s the End of the World as We Know it
Chapter 10: Gods and Pawns
Chapter 11: I Was Like You, Once
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances
If you prefer, you can read this story on Archive of Our Own here.
Contains major spoilers for Skyrim, particularly the main quest and the College of Winterhold questline, as well as:
- Graphic depictions of torture.
- Mentions of blood, war, slavery and mass murder, including murders of children.
- Racism and racial oppression.
- Religious persecution.
- Drug use (specifically Moonsugar).
- Mild cussing.
- Cruel methods of indoctrination.
- A lot of Elder Scrolls lore - newcomers to the franchise might be confused by this story.
Basically, if you've played the game and/or read up on Elder Scrolls lore, you can probably handle this fic.
Synopsis:
Ondolemar had spent his whole life believing that hunting down heretics and enemies of the Thalmor was a service to the gods. He never imagined that one strange Khajiit could throw everything he thought he knew into question, and send him on a quest for truth that would end with him trapped in a torture chamber.
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness (you are here)
Chapter 2: Strange, Meet Stranger
Chapter 3: Enchanted
Chapter 4: A Dragon, a Daedra and a Justiciar Walk Into a House…
Chapter 5: Oh No, She’s Relatable
Chapter 6: I Need to Speak to the Thalmor’s Manager
Chapter 7: All I Should Have Been
Chapter 8: Paralysis Analysis
Chapter 9: It’s the End of the World as We Know it
Chapter 10: Gods and Pawns
Chapter 11: I Was Like You, Once
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances
If you prefer, you can read this story on Archive of Our Own here.
Ondolemar had never realized he could fear and hate stairs. Not until he was about to be dragged down a flight of them by rough, armored hands that almost seemed to relish what they were about to do to his four broken limbs.
The sight of the approaching ledge made his heart pound, and he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and silently prayed for strength.
If there was an answer, he couldn’t sense it. No voice, no comfort – just a throbbing sea of pain.
As the guards hauled him over the sickening precipice, he tried to keep his forearms clear of the wood, but there was nothing he could do to protect his legs. Each small drop felt like a plunge from a cliff, and he gritted his teeth, barely holding back the scream that lodged in his aching throat.
By reflex, he tried to wrap himself in the soothing warmth of Restoration magic, to ease the pain and make himself battle-ready again, but his well of magicka was as dry as his mouth. He fought to swallow, and the feeling of metal against his moving throat sent sick heat roiling through his chest.
They’d collared him. As if being arrested, beaten into helplessness, thrown on a cart, and interrogated en route wasn’t indignity enough, they had removed his boots, gloves and robe, and he’d been reduced to inheriting a pair of rough pants from the corpse of a recently dead prisoner.
He could still feel them, wrestling with his clothes and injured limbs as the cart jostled beneath them. And then their rough hands had clamped a magicka-draining collar around his throat – not tight enough to choke him, but heavy enough to constantly remind him that it was there.
He understood why they did it. He was a highly trained Thalmor mage; without proper precautions, he could pose a threat to his interrogator and guards, even while caged and chained. Or he could escape.
And they wanted information, which they believed they could only get by breaking his will.
But as shackles clicked around his wrists and his captors’ hands retreated, leaving his broken arms to bear the weight of his exhausted body, even the tsunami of pain couldn’t drown his humiliated rage.
A tall, dark figure loomed before him, and through the haze of his watering eyes, Ondolemar recognized a familiar set of robes.
Black with gold trim. Just like the clothes he should have been wearing. Framed by that familiar hood, a gleaming yellow stare bored into him, and he narrowed his own in return.
“Carnaril.” He didn’t recognize the name, but the feminine voice seized his attention instantly. His blurred, drifting gaze swayed to the side, and sure enough, there it was: a familiar face, pale and angular as a skull, dominated by black-rimmed golden eyes and framed by light-brown hair.
Elenwen.
Even after blinking the water from his eyes, he couldn’t quite call her expression a smile. But the smug enjoyment that stained her serene malevolence was unmistakable.
She stared at him until the dread that was settling in his gut could surely be seen on his face, then turned her gaze to the robed Mer beside her. “I still believe he is holding something back. If he shows any signs of failing to tell you everything, you are authorized to use Severe Manual Uncoiling.”
Severe- His stomach clenched as his mind processed the term. As a high-ranking Justiciar, trained to inflict and endure pain, he knew all too well what it meant.
Elenwen’s eyes returned to him, roaming across his bloodied, half-bare form as if savoring the bruises and visible fear, and he hated the smile his plight brought to her face.
“Should he become unable to speak,” she continued, “heal him until you once again have leeway to apply more damage. Repeat the process until you’re sure he’s ready to tell us everything. Alert me when you’re ready for the final interrogation.”
“Of course, First Emissary.” Carnaril gave her a crisp nod, and she turned with her usual calm poise and strode out of the cell.
Then the interrogator turned back to Ondolemar, the cruel elegance of an Elven mace twirling between his fingers.
“Now tell me,” he said serenely, “how you came to start researching the false god Talos with the Dragonborn.”
The sight of the approaching ledge made his heart pound, and he lowered his head, closed his eyes, and silently prayed for strength.
If there was an answer, he couldn’t sense it. No voice, no comfort – just a throbbing sea of pain.
As the guards hauled him over the sickening precipice, he tried to keep his forearms clear of the wood, but there was nothing he could do to protect his legs. Each small drop felt like a plunge from a cliff, and he gritted his teeth, barely holding back the scream that lodged in his aching throat.
By reflex, he tried to wrap himself in the soothing warmth of Restoration magic, to ease the pain and make himself battle-ready again, but his well of magicka was as dry as his mouth. He fought to swallow, and the feeling of metal against his moving throat sent sick heat roiling through his chest.
They’d collared him. As if being arrested, beaten into helplessness, thrown on a cart, and interrogated en route wasn’t indignity enough, they had removed his boots, gloves and robe, and he’d been reduced to inheriting a pair of rough pants from the corpse of a recently dead prisoner.
He could still feel them, wrestling with his clothes and injured limbs as the cart jostled beneath them. And then their rough hands had clamped a magicka-draining collar around his throat – not tight enough to choke him, but heavy enough to constantly remind him that it was there.
He understood why they did it. He was a highly trained Thalmor mage; without proper precautions, he could pose a threat to his interrogator and guards, even while caged and chained. Or he could escape.
And they wanted information, which they believed they could only get by breaking his will.
But as shackles clicked around his wrists and his captors’ hands retreated, leaving his broken arms to bear the weight of his exhausted body, even the tsunami of pain couldn’t drown his humiliated rage.
A tall, dark figure loomed before him, and through the haze of his watering eyes, Ondolemar recognized a familiar set of robes.
Black with gold trim. Just like the clothes he should have been wearing. Framed by that familiar hood, a gleaming yellow stare bored into him, and he narrowed his own in return.
“Carnaril.” He didn’t recognize the name, but the feminine voice seized his attention instantly. His blurred, drifting gaze swayed to the side, and sure enough, there it was: a familiar face, pale and angular as a skull, dominated by black-rimmed golden eyes and framed by light-brown hair.
Elenwen.
Even after blinking the water from his eyes, he couldn’t quite call her expression a smile. But the smug enjoyment that stained her serene malevolence was unmistakable.
She stared at him until the dread that was settling in his gut could surely be seen on his face, then turned her gaze to the robed Mer beside her. “I still believe he is holding something back. If he shows any signs of failing to tell you everything, you are authorized to use Severe Manual Uncoiling.”
Severe- His stomach clenched as his mind processed the term. As a high-ranking Justiciar, trained to inflict and endure pain, he knew all too well what it meant.
Elenwen’s eyes returned to him, roaming across his bloodied, half-bare form as if savoring the bruises and visible fear, and he hated the smile his plight brought to her face.
“Should he become unable to speak,” she continued, “heal him until you once again have leeway to apply more damage. Repeat the process until you’re sure he’s ready to tell us everything. Alert me when you’re ready for the final interrogation.”
“Of course, First Emissary.” Carnaril gave her a crisp nod, and she turned with her usual calm poise and strode out of the cell.
Then the interrogator turned back to Ondolemar, the cruel elegance of an Elven mace twirling between his fingers.
“Now tell me,” he said serenely, “how you came to start researching the false god Talos with the Dragonborn.”
Author's note:
Of all the characters I would've expected to latch onto my mind and not let go until I wrote his story, Ondolemar was NEVER on the list.
But then I found out how quickly he bonds with the Dragonborn if they help him even once. I learned that if he gets Razelan in trouble, he'll take the blame rather than get an innocent human thrown out of the party. And even if the Dragonborn betrays him in the Embassy, he usually won't retaliate - but he WILL try to kill them if they attack the dogs he so vocally hates.
All in all, he's strangely soft for a Thalmor Justiciar, he values curiosity, and while I suspect that his peers and superior officers are more interested in the politics of the war than the religious aspects, Ondolemar himself seems wholeheartedly invested in theological side of the Talos ban.
So what if his quickness to make friends with other races, his fondness for inquisitiveness, and the importance he places on religion led him to pursue a line of research that his colleagues didn't like?
This story was supposed to be just a few quick conversations. But it grew into so much more.
If you want to read my original stories, you can find them here.
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