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Heretics and Extremists	By : Inxathekhajiit Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 5671 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim, nor any of the characters from it. I receive no profit for the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
Chapter 4

Never. Never could the high elf ever have predicted what was to transpire upon this land in the following seasons. That the wretched Stormcloak rebellion that was always such a useful little tool to toy with would turn into a gale force that could not be stopped. Never would he have dreamed that Markarth would fall or that his men were to be slaughtered mercilessly by the very same soldiers that had once obeyed his every command.
He felt then that it must be a waking nightmare he had found himself trapped within as the officers of Skyrim dragged him to his knees. He had no time to prepare for his rapidly approaching death if it had fallen into their hands.
It had not, of course. His nightmare would not be so short lived as the Altmer whose blood he now found himself sitting in. As the red substance soaked into his gloves and knees, he did not feel so very tall and powerful.
The men had been ordered to capture and transport him and while they were not by any means pleasant, they were unnervingly civil with him-given the circumstances and who he was.
He was by no means polite either. As soon as the shock of being taken prisoner had worn off, he fell into a furious fit against anyone who approached.
“Do you KNOW WHO I AM!!??” He would spit threatening words and attempt to access his magic through the binds and charms which prevented it. “ANYONE OF YOU WHO HOLDS ME PRISONER A MOMENT LONGER WILL FEEL THE FURY OF THE THALMOR DESCEND DOWN UPON THEM. They will RELENTLESSLY HUNT YOU DOWN AND SKIN YOU WHILE YOU STAND HELPLESSLY BY!! THIS FOLLY WILL NOT BE TOLERATED-“
No one present seemed to give a flying fuck and eventually his consistent noise lead to one of the Stormcloaks shoving a metal horse bit between his teeth and tying it fast to his head. Much to the amusement of every soldier involved. Their jeers and cackles were humiliating enough to stay his threats and reduce him to glowering menacingly in the back of the cart which carried them.
The elf was certain that by the day’s end, they would find themselves over-run on the road and he would be cut loose by the faithful men of the embassy. They would hear of this treachery and immediately rise to his assistance.
He was confident, NAY, MORE than confident in this.
A day on the road passed,
and then a second day passed.
Before it could truly sink in, he found himself being dragged along the stony ground of the city of Solitude. The buildings seemed completely alien and the faces entirely hostile and dangerous. His nerves were setting upon pins and needles.
“DO NOT TUG ME, HEATHEN!!” He snarled and once again fell into a mad struggle to free himself. He had tried many times upon the trip to do so and it always ended the same way; with him on the ground and every blade pressed to his throat.
Now, in the plain view of all of these wretched swine, he could not bear to be SEEN being drug along complacently. He was in Thalmor robes. He was respected and FEARED throughout this land! He would not be a display for these people to gawk at!
“Do not embarrass yourself more, Lord Ondolemar! Who the fuck un-gagged him!?” One of the soldiers cracked back at him; a comment that ignited appreciative laughter amongst the party.
And so he found himself with the horse bit shoved back in his mouth despite his obvious struggles to make it as difficult as possible. He bit down on it to instill his frustrations upon the metal; tasting bitter iron and blood.
The name being yelled attracted even MORE attention and soon people were gathering and pointing and wanting confirmation that it was indeed Ondolemar that the Stormcloaks lead along in chains.
The high elf flushed and clear chagrin was apparent on his features. He kept his head lowered and his eyes cast to the ground the rest of the way through the city.
It was impossible to ignore the attention he was getting. He’d best keep his posture straight and make sure to glare murderous daggers at anyone who was looking too hard.
His entire being was filled with an intense dread as the palace doors came into view. He was not ready for this. He would NEVER be ready for this. Never had he even knew what dread felt like; what true, soul consuming fear and uncertainty felt like. He had never feared in all his life and even if he had ever dreamed of fearing something, it would not have been these PEOPLE.
They pushed through the doors of the palace much too soon.
Ondolemar was not prepared to see Ulfric seated so smugly on the throne in his robes and his furs. There was a certain unnerving surreal effect given off by this sight. It was unmistakably the same wretch he’d had in chains for so many days. Even though the Altmer had heard of Ulfric’s success, it was only now that his brain seemed to accept that this was in fact the same man.
The elf and crew of Stormcloaks stopped in the throne room; Ondolemar immediately attempting to look as menacing as possible as his height towered over everyone in the room and all eyes seemed to fall upon him.
He felt a deep, unseated panic though as the Nord gave a little wave to usher the Stormcloak soldiers away and felt the desperate need to insist that he go with them.
“On your knees, elf…You will kneel before the future High-king of Skyrim…“ The man’s familiar low, slow monotone was all too Tambriel-shattering for him. It was like the reality of this was hitting him full on in the face with blow after blow. His imagination was flying to immediate presumptions that Ulfric was going to disembowel him right here and laugh maniacally as he bathed in his blood!
Whether it was crippling fear, embedded instinct or some last sliver of dignity that kept him on his feet, he did not kneel. He would not kneel. He told himself over and over that if he were to die here he would do it with some class and not shame the Thalmor. He of course, had never mentally prepared or really even THOUGHT about such an occurrence before this day.
“That is just like a high elf.” Ulfric rumbled as if bored before standing as if it was annoying to have to do so. He held his hands locked gently behind his back and strolled over before the imprisoned Altmer. When he turned his neck to naturally have to look up upon Ondolemar’s face, he may as well have been standing on his chest; to say the elf was intimidated would have been a grand understatement.
“Oh. Which one of those cheeky men did this?” The Nord suddenly took note of the elf’s gag with a slow point with his fingers as if he’d just noticed. “It seems that shrill, snake-like voice of yours was far too much for their poor ears……Well? Did you pull the carriage as well as the other mules I sent?”
There was such amusement in his voice; such teasing in that tone that at last a quiver of something other than dread sparked within the elf. It did not help that the men in the great hall laughed most merrily at the jest.
Ulfric was looking up upon him with possibly the most subtle and effectively condescending expression one could give-only HE could give. “I should probably remove that bit before I ask you anymore difficult questions.” He mumbled as if he was thinking this aloud to himself.
More laughter. Even Ondolemar’s ears were going red.
“Please do not force me to have to raise my voice with you, my lord Altmer-“ More condescending words full of poisonous little barbs; but a very real threat as well. To add to this humiliation, the Nord reached out and patted Ondolemar as if consoling a good friend-or an extremely retarded person. “I will remind you again that you are to kneel before me.”
He stepped back and waited with such mock patience. The high elf’s facial expression was contorted into unspeakable rage to express that the final answer was NEVER.
Ulfric got the message and shrugged expressively.
“Typical Thalmor. Rude to a fault.” He said loudly enough to please the present members.
Just as Ondolemar was looking furious enough to charge out at the man in spite of all his chains, the Nord turned back to him and cast the power of the Voice. A series of ancient words spouted forth from Ulfric’s lips and rendered the Altmer’s frame into a terror so great that his knees would hold him no longer. They buckled beneath him and he collapsed almost instantly in light of the unspeakable and irrational horror that claimed him. Suddenly his heart pumped rapidly and he shook involuntarily from head to toe in such terror. He had been exposed to the ancient words and knew much of them and their power, but never had he felt these used upon himself.
He could not stand again and trembled violently in gut-wrenching anxiety for several moments before it finally began to wear off. Only then did he realize the humiliating whimpers that had escaped him.
Ondolemar wanted desperately to be outraged and furious once more, but he must shake this terror completely first.
“You see.” Ulfric mused unhappily to himself, as if he were disappointed. “I do so hate having to teach manners to full grown men. Especially when they were doing so well in pretending they were not about to piss themselves…….”
It gave the high elf no reprieve to know that a denial of food and water for the past days was all that spared him from that particular involuntary reaction. His broad shoulders rose and fell hard as each intake of breath drew him more away from fear and more towards shame and then blistering, bitter fury.
Ulfric stepped forward and unlatched the bit which kept the elf gagged. He tossed it casually aside.
“C-coward.” He hissed breathlessly. “You would use the words of power to force fear upon me where your own actions could not. Y-you misuse the gift….. as always-“
Ulfric actually gave the slightest of smirks. “Of course.” He said as if humoring the elf. “I merely thought it was less cruel than cutting the tendons which held you up in your disrespect. I will remember your preference next time-“
Ondolemar had an incredulous expression on his face as he looked up at the man. He could only gasp very softly in the remnants of terror and glower from beneath his hooded robe.
“Galmar shall find you most amusing.” Ulfric mumbled as he turned slowly from the elf before adding in a sharper droll: “Guards, take our guest to my quarters and see to it that he is treated with the delicacy required for such creatures. Leave him in those robes..I do not think we will find any replacements not soaked in blood in this entire region……”
“You swine!” Ondolemar seethed and struggled as he was once again drug away. “The dominion will descend upon you for these treasonous atrocities!! Skyrim will not survive the slaughter!!”
Ulfric merely chuckled to himself. The irony of the situation was not lost to him.
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Heretics and Extremists

Chapter 4