Your Truth Cannot Stand
A Skyrim Fanfiction
Chapter 12: Solace from the Sky
Table of Contents:
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness
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 (you are here)
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances
Chapter 1: Descent into Darkness
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 (you are here)
Chapter 13: Awakening
Chapter 14: Second Chances
The world was dark and deadly cold. His fingers and toes had gone so numb that even if he was rescued now, Ondolemar wasn’t sure they could be saved. Each breath was an impossible struggle, rewarded with the feeling of inhaling knives, and every bone in his broken body wanted him to stop.
And yet, in the distance beyond the pain, the sky was wondrously alive.
The firmament was alight with stars, and glorious streaks of white and green danced through the air, as if celebrating the majestic flight of the moons.
In all the years he’d been in Skyrim, he’d never allowed himself the time to truly watch the aurora, obsessed as he was with his duty to the Thalmor and the gods.
But now he was finally free of that duty, and with the delusions that surrounded it stripped away, he felt like, for the first time ever, he could look to the sky with clear eyes.
It was beautiful. So beautiful, as if all the lights of Aetherius had come to watch him depart from this world, and to ease his passing. A last gift of mercy, a comfort in his final moments… maybe even a sign that he could be forgiven, even if he never had a chance to atone.
Is it true? A tear slipped from his eye, the first he’d willingly allowed himself in so, so long. Even though I strayed so far from the path, is there still some hope in the next life, even if none remains in this one?
As if in answer, the aurora flared brighter. Cold and primal, but breathtaking, like so much of the landscape he had seen in his journeys from Markarth to the Thalmor Embassy.
I never really appreciated it. I was too busy comparing it to Alinor, too locked in my own blind conviction that everything Altmer was inevitably better. As if our land was created by different gods than the ones who made Skyrim!
I wonder what other marvels there are, in this province I so scornfully dismissed. I’ll never have the chance to find out.
Auri-El, Magnus, Syrabane, Y’ffre, Mara, Xarxes, I’m so sorry for squandering my chance to appreciate this world, and to carry out your will in it. I’m sorry for blindingly accepting tempting lies, just because they fit with the way I wanted to see myself and the world.
Auri-El, I… I’m sorry for believing the Thalmor when they stole credit for your victory, and for helping to spread their lies. Please, forgive my ignorant heresy.
And if you can, please save the Nord downstairs who… no, save ALL the innocent people whom the Thalmor still hold prisoner. If it’s too late for me, then please, don’t let it be too late for them.
I’m so sorry… to the Thalmor’s victims for whom it is too late, and to their families. I have so much to atone for, and no time or strength left to do anything but pray.
A ragged breath dragged through his throat, shallow and slow, every wisp of air taking so much more energy than it gave in return. With a muted start, he realized he could just stop making that effort, and within a few minutes, his suffering would be over.
But the aurora was still dancing in the sky, and he still had time to pray. He wouldn’t throw either gift away prematurely, no matter how much these last few minutes hurt.
Besides, there was still the smallest chance that Kierska had survived… that she’d read his letter… that she was looking for him. How tragic would it be if he let himself die just minutes before she found him?
No. His mind was fogged with drowsiness, his body drained of strength, but he wouldn’t let himself close his eyes, and he certainly wouldn’t stop breathing.
Please, open the other Thalmor members’ minds. Help them see the truth. Even if it’s too late for me, don’t let it be too late for them.
The sky darkened briefly, as if something small, quick and jagged was tearing a hole in the aurora, and Ondolemar’s heart sank. For a fleeting second, he wondered if it was a sign of rebuke.
Then the first patch of darkness passed, and a second, smaller one came plunging from the sky. “FEIM…”
That voice…
“ZII!”
In an explosion of magic-laced sound, the plunging shape went pale, wisps of ghostly white light framing a form that had suddenly turned translucent.
Jagged boots slammed into the snow beside his head, jarring an “OOF!” from a body that should’ve been destroyed by the fall, and Ondolemar’s eyes went wide as adrenaline chased his exhaustion away.
A furry, scale-covered form, bent like a predator ready to spring. A long, lithe tail, lashing wildly in righteous rage. Clawed fingers, filling with magic that was reflected by her blazing yellow eyes.
KIERSKA!
The Embassy guards rushed toward them, pelting the ethereal feline with arrows, lightning and fire. The Dragonborn ignored the attack, her hands glowing green with Alteration magic as they gracefully swept through the air, and Ondolemar’s heart leapt. I know that spell!
The Shout’s protective shroud wore off, and Kierska ducked beneath the barrage, slamming her hand to the ground.
A blast of magic poured across the snow, rushing in every direction and catching everyone in its tide. Ondolemar froze as if turned into stone, and the sound of magically paralyzed bodies thudding to the ground was music to his ears.
She did it. She deciphered my letter. And now we can escape, without robbing a single one of these elves of their chance to see the truth.
A blue bottle flashed from Kierska’s pouch, and she downed the magicka potion in a few hasty gulps before throwing the bottle to the side and dropping to her knees. One hand slipped beneath his head, cradling him with a tenderness that he’d never thought he’d feel again, and even the rough, pebbled dragon hide felt like the touch of Mara.
Golden light poured from her hands, soothing and warm, willing him to heal and live. It was the same spell Carnaril had used, but it felt so different when it was being cast by a friend.
“I got your letter,” she whispered, her voice quick and firm, but soft. “I’m getting you out of here.”
His heart leapt. He’d known what she was here for, but to hear it put into words…
His ribs moved, and if it weren’t for the paralysis spell, he would have cried out. But he could feel what she was doing: reconnecting bone to bone, pulling the jagged fragment from his lung, and healing the punctured organ.
Life and warmth flowed through his toes and fingertips, and relief rushed through him as he realized he might get to keep them after all.
She couldn’t heal him much, he knew. His starved, exhausted body didn’t have the resources to rebuild its damaged parts, even with the help of magic.
But she could keep him alive, and though the pain threatened to drive him from his senses, he could bear it for the sake of being whole again. Of having hope again.
Those massive wingbeats were back, louder and closer than he’d ever heard them before, and his eyes went wide as the vast, awesome form of a hovering dragon slowly descended toward him.
Kierska slipped a hand beneath his legs and an elbow below his shoulder blades, and as she lifted him from the snow, he felt the paralysis starting to wear off. In the corner of his eye, the Thalmor guards began to stir, and a cold rush of adrenaline shot down his spine. They’re coming!
The time for healing had run out. The dragon’s claws closed around him, gentler than he’d ever imagined such a huge, deadly creature could be, and the Dragonborn’s voice cut through his fear.
“Go,” she instructed the beast, her voice calm and firm. “Head south, then take him to the rendezvous. I’ll catch up.”
She’s commanding the dragon?!
Her hand rose, cupping a swirl of orange and blue, then with a flick of her wrist, she was gone.
The dragon surged into the sky, so fast that it felt like he’d left his stomach behind. As the creature swooped toward the south, Ondolemar thought he saw a small, jagged figure flicker into sight just long enough to open the door to Elenwen's Solar, only to vanish again.
She’s going after the other prisoner, I hope. Or Elenwen. Or the Thalmor’s secrets. Or maybe all of them at once.
Whatever she’s planning, I just hope she and the Nord make it out alive.
For now, all he could do was pray, and watch the incredible spectacle of mountains and auroras rushing past him as he raced through the sky, borne by a creature of legend and saved from a hopeless fate at the bidding of the Dragonborn.
The world around him started to fade, and now, at last, he was ready to let go. Tomorrow would bring a chance to atone, and beyond all hope, he might still be alive to act on it.
And yet, in the distance beyond the pain, the sky was wondrously alive.
The firmament was alight with stars, and glorious streaks of white and green danced through the air, as if celebrating the majestic flight of the moons.
In all the years he’d been in Skyrim, he’d never allowed himself the time to truly watch the aurora, obsessed as he was with his duty to the Thalmor and the gods.
But now he was finally free of that duty, and with the delusions that surrounded it stripped away, he felt like, for the first time ever, he could look to the sky with clear eyes.
It was beautiful. So beautiful, as if all the lights of Aetherius had come to watch him depart from this world, and to ease his passing. A last gift of mercy, a comfort in his final moments… maybe even a sign that he could be forgiven, even if he never had a chance to atone.
Is it true? A tear slipped from his eye, the first he’d willingly allowed himself in so, so long. Even though I strayed so far from the path, is there still some hope in the next life, even if none remains in this one?
As if in answer, the aurora flared brighter. Cold and primal, but breathtaking, like so much of the landscape he had seen in his journeys from Markarth to the Thalmor Embassy.
I never really appreciated it. I was too busy comparing it to Alinor, too locked in my own blind conviction that everything Altmer was inevitably better. As if our land was created by different gods than the ones who made Skyrim!
I wonder what other marvels there are, in this province I so scornfully dismissed. I’ll never have the chance to find out.
Auri-El, Magnus, Syrabane, Y’ffre, Mara, Xarxes, I’m so sorry for squandering my chance to appreciate this world, and to carry out your will in it. I’m sorry for blindingly accepting tempting lies, just because they fit with the way I wanted to see myself and the world.
Auri-El, I… I’m sorry for believing the Thalmor when they stole credit for your victory, and for helping to spread their lies. Please, forgive my ignorant heresy.
And if you can, please save the Nord downstairs who… no, save ALL the innocent people whom the Thalmor still hold prisoner. If it’s too late for me, then please, don’t let it be too late for them.
I’m so sorry… to the Thalmor’s victims for whom it is too late, and to their families. I have so much to atone for, and no time or strength left to do anything but pray.
A ragged breath dragged through his throat, shallow and slow, every wisp of air taking so much more energy than it gave in return. With a muted start, he realized he could just stop making that effort, and within a few minutes, his suffering would be over.
But the aurora was still dancing in the sky, and he still had time to pray. He wouldn’t throw either gift away prematurely, no matter how much these last few minutes hurt.
Besides, there was still the smallest chance that Kierska had survived… that she’d read his letter… that she was looking for him. How tragic would it be if he let himself die just minutes before she found him?
No. His mind was fogged with drowsiness, his body drained of strength, but he wouldn’t let himself close his eyes, and he certainly wouldn’t stop breathing.
Please, open the other Thalmor members’ minds. Help them see the truth. Even if it’s too late for me, don’t let it be too late for them.
The sky darkened briefly, as if something small, quick and jagged was tearing a hole in the aurora, and Ondolemar’s heart sank. For a fleeting second, he wondered if it was a sign of rebuke.
Then the first patch of darkness passed, and a second, smaller one came plunging from the sky. “FEIM…”
That voice…
“ZII!”
In an explosion of magic-laced sound, the plunging shape went pale, wisps of ghostly white light framing a form that had suddenly turned translucent.
Jagged boots slammed into the snow beside his head, jarring an “OOF!” from a body that should’ve been destroyed by the fall, and Ondolemar’s eyes went wide as adrenaline chased his exhaustion away.
A furry, scale-covered form, bent like a predator ready to spring. A long, lithe tail, lashing wildly in righteous rage. Clawed fingers, filling with magic that was reflected by her blazing yellow eyes.
KIERSKA!
The Embassy guards rushed toward them, pelting the ethereal feline with arrows, lightning and fire. The Dragonborn ignored the attack, her hands glowing green with Alteration magic as they gracefully swept through the air, and Ondolemar’s heart leapt. I know that spell!
The Shout’s protective shroud wore off, and Kierska ducked beneath the barrage, slamming her hand to the ground.
A blast of magic poured across the snow, rushing in every direction and catching everyone in its tide. Ondolemar froze as if turned into stone, and the sound of magically paralyzed bodies thudding to the ground was music to his ears.
She did it. She deciphered my letter. And now we can escape, without robbing a single one of these elves of their chance to see the truth.
A blue bottle flashed from Kierska’s pouch, and she downed the magicka potion in a few hasty gulps before throwing the bottle to the side and dropping to her knees. One hand slipped beneath his head, cradling him with a tenderness that he’d never thought he’d feel again, and even the rough, pebbled dragon hide felt like the touch of Mara.
Golden light poured from her hands, soothing and warm, willing him to heal and live. It was the same spell Carnaril had used, but it felt so different when it was being cast by a friend.
“I got your letter,” she whispered, her voice quick and firm, but soft. “I’m getting you out of here.”
His heart leapt. He’d known what she was here for, but to hear it put into words…
His ribs moved, and if it weren’t for the paralysis spell, he would have cried out. But he could feel what she was doing: reconnecting bone to bone, pulling the jagged fragment from his lung, and healing the punctured organ.
Life and warmth flowed through his toes and fingertips, and relief rushed through him as he realized he might get to keep them after all.
She couldn’t heal him much, he knew. His starved, exhausted body didn’t have the resources to rebuild its damaged parts, even with the help of magic.
But she could keep him alive, and though the pain threatened to drive him from his senses, he could bear it for the sake of being whole again. Of having hope again.
Those massive wingbeats were back, louder and closer than he’d ever heard them before, and his eyes went wide as the vast, awesome form of a hovering dragon slowly descended toward him.
Kierska slipped a hand beneath his legs and an elbow below his shoulder blades, and as she lifted him from the snow, he felt the paralysis starting to wear off. In the corner of his eye, the Thalmor guards began to stir, and a cold rush of adrenaline shot down his spine. They’re coming!
The time for healing had run out. The dragon’s claws closed around him, gentler than he’d ever imagined such a huge, deadly creature could be, and the Dragonborn’s voice cut through his fear.
“Go,” she instructed the beast, her voice calm and firm. “Head south, then take him to the rendezvous. I’ll catch up.”
She’s commanding the dragon?!
Her hand rose, cupping a swirl of orange and blue, then with a flick of her wrist, she was gone.
The dragon surged into the sky, so fast that it felt like he’d left his stomach behind. As the creature swooped toward the south, Ondolemar thought he saw a small, jagged figure flicker into sight just long enough to open the door to Elenwen's Solar, only to vanish again.
She’s going after the other prisoner, I hope. Or Elenwen. Or the Thalmor’s secrets. Or maybe all of them at once.
Whatever she’s planning, I just hope she and the Nord make it out alive.
For now, all he could do was pray, and watch the incredible spectacle of mountains and auroras rushing past him as he raced through the sky, borne by a creature of legend and saved from a hopeless fate at the bidding of the Dragonborn.
The world around him started to fade, and now, at last, he was ready to let go. Tomorrow would bring a chance to atone, and beyond all hope, he might still be alive to act on it.
Author's note:
In Shor's Stone, you can meet an NPC named Sylgja who says "A priest of Mara was passing through on his way to Dawnstar, and healed me to the best of his abilities." This, combined with the fact that she was still too unwell to travel, implies that Restoration magic has its limits, and sometimes can't heal people fully.
My headcanon is that if a body is low on resources, it simply doesn't have the energy and raw materials with which to replace all the damaged parts.
Restoration magic can provide some of the necessary energy, and can move displaced or separated parts like wounded flesh and broken bones into place while helping the cells to multiply until the gap between those parts is closed, but if the patient is exhausted, starved, or otherwise nearly spent, attempting to heal them fully without letting them eat and rest first would deplete their body's remaining resources and seriously harm or kill them.
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