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Skyrim: Plaything	By : GE_The_Beast Category: +A through F > Elder Scrolls - Skyrim Views: 21445 -:- Recommendations : 3 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This story is made for fun, profit and entertainment. In no way do I own anything discussed. I do not own Skyrim or The Elder Scrolls fandom in any way, nor do I intend any profit from this story.

Chapter List
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It started out as a feeling. Like she could see flashes of some kind of life that had been lived. The power flowing from the Black Star of Azura was forcing some kind of thoughts into her mind. They were not her own.The first clear image she could see was looking down at herself. Wearing a familiar set of rags and standing at Helgen. But everything was different. Instead of dragging her to the block for an execution, they took her before a different area of the fortress. Dragged inside to the torture chambers. Then words came through the memories.
“What’s this one in for?”
“Caught her trading rare potion ingredients to Stormcloaks. She’s a thief.” They had gagged Elayne, and she couldn’t speak in her own defense. “But there were Forsworn furs in her bag.”
“Forsworn? Thievery? Supplying the stormcloaks? Why isn’t she on the chopping block with the rest?”
“General thinks there is already enough blood. Remove this one’s right hand. That’ll keep them from banditry.”
Oh gods. Oh Gods! This was why she had given up in the other world! You needed two hands to fight. To be an alchemist. For most kinds of magic! Oh my gods, they made her a cripple! She could barely feel through the memory, but knew that the Elayne of the other world had lost her hand. Her dominant hand was gone. While everyone else went back to their civil war, she wandered and tried to relearn how to do her life. How to eat, dress and cast spells. Drinking away her problems was impossible, as she had only her clumsy left hand to work with. She never went to Whiterun, or met Baalgruf. Instead, she ended up in Riften. She knew she could absorb the souls of dragons, but no one believed that a cripple was any sort of Dragonborn. The Greybeards believed her, but all of them knew that Elayne was not the hero they needed.
Elayne could see Shashev grinning at her in reality, even as another wave of memories collided with her own. But this was her. This was the person she was in another world. How could she not be curious! This wave of memories showed her nearly destitute. Begging for money in Riften with one good hand and a pewter cup. Finally leaving the city in debt to a woman named Sapphire with a set of good armor and weapons. In debt for hundreds of gold. She lost it all within minutes of leaving Riften, and that was when Shashev found her on the side of the road. The other Elayne was crying, having been robbed by a single Khajit thief.
That was when her other self met Shashev. The red haired smooth talking Dunmer. His first words to her were not the kindest. “You look like shit, girl.” He said, high and mighty. “Who owns you?”
“Nobody.” Her other self muttered, glaring. “I am not owned by anyone!”
“Must’ve fallen asleep on that collar there.” He grinned. “Looks like one of those collars you find in the old Nordic ruins.” The Elayne in memories touched the familiar iron torc collar, looking abashed. She hadn’t realized it was around her neck. “Tell you what, if you help me out a bit, I’ll help you get that off.”
“With what.” Her memory self said despondently. “What could you want with a one handed weak woman?”
“Warm my bed, and I’ll keep you fed. Use a bit of magic to heal my wounds? That’ll earn you some favors. Do enough and I’ll remove that collar. You don’t need two hands for that.”
It was the first time someone had openly demanded sexual favors. It wasn’t the first time this other version of Elayne had thought about giving herself over to it. But in this memory she could see that her other self had no hope. She never got her feet off the ground. Shashev had a wicked grin on his face. He had to know she wasn’t the prettiest Breton around. She had a nice ass, sure. Even a blind man would admit that. But her old mousy brown hair and flat curvature appealed to few in this province. So she knew it was an option, but her memory self was floored. Until she looked closer at the man’s belt. It was the same kind of gear that Sapphire was wearing. He was in that same guild.
“Are you just making sure that Sapphire gets her money back?”
“Why? She owes me far more than you might owe her.” The dunmer said. “But I heard rumor that you have some kind of special ability.”
“Maybe I do.” Her otherworldly self was just as much of a merchant. “But it’s fairly unique.”
“What if there was a way to teach other people the same?”
“Somehow I doubt you can handle it.”
“I’ve been studying the dwemer for almost fifty years. I’ve been trying to piece together something that let them study the entirety of powerful objects in an instant. Or condense time down to a single point, so they wouldn’t have to wait a century to fully understand how to use a tool. If you come with me, I hope to help you harness that power.” While his tongue was promising to help her, no kindness reached his eyes. It was clear that there would be no refusing him. Or else she would end up in worse than rags.
That memory passed, and Elayne saw herself debased, turned from semi-independent hero to worthless bedwarmer. Shashev Helseth did keep his promise to the other Elayne to get the collar off. If only to replace it with one of his own. Surrounded by his lackeys of the thieves guild and wearing little more than piercings, the Breton had no choice. And she watched as woman after woman came into Shashev’s life. Some escaped, but Elayne was always kept close. She was brought to ruins and word walls, but only to approach when the fighting was done. Ostensibly, Shashev claimed that she was his scribe slave. With only one good arm and little to stand out beauty wise Elayne watched for a year as women came and went, until Shashev finally assembled enough of some Dwemer material called Aetherium to make into a crown.
This is when her memory self knew that things were bad. The crown could allow Shashev to appear as if he was multiple birth signs at once. Multiple powers could be his. But he used the crown to mimic the birth sign of the Dragonborn. The unique sign that allowed us to be marked as one. So he could absorb the souls of the dragons he killed. Become through dwemer tonal mgic something of an artificial Dragonborn. Anything she learned, he could be taught. Like a Greybeard, but using his tonal magic to skip decades of learning to become like Arngeir in an instant. This other world’s Elayne began to realize that Shashev was bent on dominating more than just a few women.
He wasn’t focused on having a harem. Most men would have been pleased with that. He made such men happy. He traded people like they were horses, creating an intricate system of favors between powerful men. Jarl Korir and Dengir gained a powerful circle of broken women to do their bidding. Powerful Imperial and stormcloak officers gained slaves of their own, and those who rebelled against the system were sold to the Khajiit caravans, and were disappeared into wagons that departed into Ebonheart. None of them ever came back.
Elayne couldn’t tear her eyes away from that damned crown. Try as she might, the blue light held her attention, and she could feel the otherworldly soul washing over her. Visions turned into a wash of gifts from Shashev. Ones she recognized. The Queen’s restraints were hers in both worlds. But she knew who made them. That was clear. She watched as Shashev made them by hand. Every strike of his ebony and dragonbone crafting hammers was like a wave of feeling and suffering. Her other self did not know how to escape. She didn’t know! How could she! And once the collar was around her neck, it didn’t matter what she thought. She became the slave mistress of Dayspring Canyon. Using dragon shouts, the will of other mortals and immortals alike were broken. The words and understanding of the very shout she used also rolled over her. Gol. Hah. Dov. Gol Hah Zaam was the refined shout that she was taught by some kind of Black book, brought back from Solstheim. This was the key to breaking the will of Serana, Maven Black-Briar, and Elisef the Fair. Shashev had the world at his fingers, and Elayne was silently screaming in the back of her mind as she indoctrinated every powerful figure in skyrim to his cause.
But one memory stood out. It was of one of Shashev’s many visits to Dayspring Canyon, as the spring began. “Sir.” One of the thieves guild initiates spoke up, entering the room. He was a daring young Dunmer that had at one time been working in the mines of Eastmarch. “We have a report of a slave acting oddly. Someone broke into your old house, in Whiterun.”
Shashev had looked up, Elayne silent and sitting upon a couch with far prettier women. “Who would dare break into Breezehome? Every thief in Skyrim knows better. Who is this slave acting oddly? We’ve trained every slave taken by either side of the war!”
“Her, sir.” The man pointed to the couch where Elayne was sitting. “It was her.”
Thus began a realization. A spark of hope. The full realization that she could fight back! Her other soul wasn’t trying to take over her body! They knew they didn’t have the will to survive. No, she was taking all of the secrets and years of knowledge and study and showing Elayne who Shashev was. How he controlled Ebonheart and the heartlands of Morrowind. How he was controlling Skyrim. Two provinces ready to fall to a man like him, and underneath Dayspring canyon was a massive construct. Every piece of dwemer metal he could get his hands on was being funneled into this project. It was a gigantic Dwemer construct. He was following some kind of blueprints.
Numidium. He was making Brass-Walks. But it was far from complete. It was broken somehow. It lacked some kind of core components. “So that’s your plan.” She said, in reality. In the now. “You couldn’t kill Alduin with artifacts or powers. So you needed something stronger.”
Shashev’s head snapped upwards, the crown’s light shuttering for a long moment. And she took advantage of that moment. She closed her eyes, and cast a tiny illusion spell to make it look like her eyes were still open. Through her eyelids she could see the piercing light. But she was herself. “Of course I did. Alduin is connected to the Snow Tower. He is the son of Akatosh. He cannot be killed!”
“So you think that the only way to kill him is with the power of another tower. The Brass tower. That’s how you wanted to kill him.”
“You’re accepting the memories rather quickly. Yes,” Shashev clearly stated. “I was building my own Numidium once I realized that I couldn’t kill Alduin. And I traded lives for time. Five hundred a year needed to die in Sovngarde in order to keep the beast sated. Five hundred a year, tracked through Penitus Oculatus, Stormcloaks and the Imperials to prevent Alduin from finishing what he started. All to buy time until I could finish the Numidium.”
“You honestly think that would work?” Elayne laughed. “He’s Anuic! You would be trying to kill an Anuic force with a lesser force that you created and powered using something less than the heart of Lorkhan.”
“You have a better idea? I was raised by an apostle of Sotha Sil! I know more about the dwemer than you could ever know! And the Heart of Lorkhan could be duplicated, with enough time.” Shashev roared, angry that she could guess his intentions. “Where was this brilliance when I was demanding things of you before, Elayne!”
“You never saw it.” Elayne replied, as the memories nearly stopped. The last one was of Shashev explaining his plan to the other Elayne, and removing her collar for the first time with no intention of replacing it. Then he held up the Black Star. The corrupted and tainted artifact of Azura. There was a single flash, as a rather unique blade went into her forehead. The same blade that rested upon Shashev’s belt at all times. Trueflame, her other self’s memories supplied. Not that it meant anything with the jumble of thoughts in her head. “Could you just fucking organize yourselves already!”
Tiid Klo Ul. Time, sand, eternity. The Dragon shout made sense to her. It tumbled out from her mouth with a scream, as the crown’s blue light cut out. Elayne cracked her eyes open, watching as the world moved in slow motion, Shashev holding a moonstone collar within inches of her neck. He was so close, now! He was sneaky, holding his breath so she couldn’t hear him get as close as he did. His other hand was reaching for that damned sword. Trueflame. He was within feet of her. But time stopped moving.
But the memories listened to her. They began to order themselves, and words formed in her mind. The other Elayne wanted her to know something. Mirrored Experiences, Stolen Secrets. Every time she used Captured Dreams, she was experiencing a small part of her counterpart’s life. Overcoming the same difficulties that she could not. The words were the ones she had read from Captured Dreams! Still Water, Full Reflection. She was unnaturally drawn to the truth of Shashev. To the ways and places that held the truth, rather than the lies that almost all others easily believed.
Deserved Traits for Blurred Experiences. The other world’s Elayne had been a poor lover and bitter woman. Years of being nothing but a plaything had broken her. Yet the same experiences make her curious and excited. Difficulties to be overcome. They both felt the same shame, but unlike her counterpart she also got a thrill. Intelligence is Avarice, Cowardice its Mistress. The other world was terrifying. Every time she learned something new, it just made her more terrified of Shashev. But she saw the memories of him arrange themselves. Of hours of studying his motions looking for weakness. Her counterpart had seen him fight some of the scariest creatures in the provinces. There were few weaknesses in his style.
Legends untold, Shadows Foretold. He wasn’t a true Dragonborn. He knew enough of the Dwemer to claim he was powerful, but the true revelation of Shashev was that he was no master of Chim. He had the most basic understanding of it. An absolute bare minimum. He was at best a man with the ability to emulate something. He could fake being a Dragomborn, but when push came to shove it all came down to nothing. He wasn’t a real hero. The Library of Epigraph carries its own Currency. She was the hero! That’s what her other self was trying to show her! She could feel more of the memories organizing inside of her head. Dragon Shouts were making more sense, and the words Arngeir tried to teach her long ago became clearer. The Skein is thin, Flesh reveals its Secrets. To free herself, all she needed was some of his blood. That was what she needed to escape the restraints she now wore. And if there was anyone that carried enough gold on his person to pay for that, it was Shashev.
Betrayed by Servants, your return must be Servile in turn. There was no way she could take on Shashev in a straight fight. He had been betrayed and expected it from those he controlled. There was a ring upon his finger that her counterpart was trying to remind her about. Some kind of signet ring. But time after time it reflected spells back at their sources, or allowed him to defeat foes that he had no business fighting. Traitors Await but one End, Cowardice is Mortality Personified. Shashev had no mercy and expected nothing in return. He thought himself a king. Devastation's Enigma, Folly of the Ehlnofey. She had read that when she stole from Harkon. Shashev couldn’t control the Earthbones. He couldn’t command the world like the Dwemer did with the Heart of Lorkhan! Her other self heard him complaining about that limitation as he held a certain artifact. A dwemer artifact called Sunder.
The last words she had read in Captured Dreams pushed into her mind, the words scarring her. When fair Umbriel sailed the skies upon torment and blasphemy, Mournhold was the Crucible. Shashev was born in Mournhold, an unrecognized bastard to its king. His most damning secret was the fact that his own extended family never truly recognized him as a member, even though he and Karliah shared the same ancestry. They both were descendants of Queen Barenziah. But she was favored. He was the son of Hlaalu Helseth and one of his royal guards. His mother’s true name was Diradeni Farano, disowned by her own parents. And so she named her only son after the king, and when the king died in the wake of Umbriel’s passing, the royal signet ring was greedily shoved onto the child’s finger, and Shashev became a bastard in truth. And the other world’s Elayne only learned that because she put together Shashev’s mumblings in his sleep.
The memories changed, to one last moment of clarity. It was of her counterpart, standing naked in front of a mirror wearing the Queen’s Restraints. Minus a hand, of course. Her mousy brown hair was styled into a large bun on top of her head. “I’ve done all I can. All his skills, how he fights. I’ve tried to remember it all. Even if I cannot defeat him, you can. So do it.” She stared into the mirror, a seething look. The rest of her body looked like she had spent all of her time upon cushions and chairs. Very little muscle could be seen, compared to her current state. But the eyes stuck out. They bore into her reflection, attempting to push all of the feelings and emotions she was feeling into the image. “For both our sakes.”
“For both our sakes.” She murmured, coming back into reality. Shashev was still reaching for his weapon at a glacial pace. Before she could affect him with the enchantments upon her weapons, she needed to deal with that ring. The one that would reflect all of the magical effects she could throw right back at her. Her counterpart had known how. Strictly, a dispel spell. Someone fighting Shashev Helseth would never realize that attacking him would reflect all of your cunning enchantments right back at you. All of the preparation someone would have can be worthless. Unless you knew him. And right now, Elayne knew him better than any other creature alive. Her old reliable steel dagger of paralyzation had a powerful poison on it with just the right potency. It had a dispel effect within it, and that was the only thing that would remove the Reflect.
While time was still slow, her dagger whipped forwards, and stabbed him. The poison seeped in, and time started speeding back up. Even as she tried to reach out to stab him again, the Dunmer seemed to see it coming. He dodged back, the blade passing within an inch of his armor. He was an amazing duelist, and they both knew it. She didn’t have the reach with her legs. She couldn’t pivot! But he could, and in the air above both armies they circled around each other. She just dropped the dagger. It wasn’t going to puncture his dragonscale armor. Her hands curled around the Daedric Crescent’s handle. Shashev was eyeing her up and down, and especially eyeing the weapon. “Isn’t that a bit large for someone so small and dainty?”
“I could say the same for your mother. I wonder if your father had a passing thought for what his actions would really cause. Shashev Farano, hmm?”
Shashev lost all cool in that moment. “My mother was the Nerevarine! Not a half-blind guard.”
“Is that what she told you as she raised you? My, how large your ego can grow to.”
“I’m going to break you all over again. This time, I think I’ll start with your feet. Here you might not start a cripple, but that can change. Once you accept your place, you will kneel and I can start over here. Gods, you are worse than the House of Troubles! Once I learned that you darkened the sun? I had no choice.”
“I think you brought that upon yourself when you chose to enforce your will through collars instead of charisma. At the end of time you will have no one celebrating your life. Only the fact that you, the tyrant and slaver finally died.” Elayne thumbed one hand towards him. “You’re the ruler of a web of lies that I have brought tumbling down.” That got him to charge. But she had seen this move hundreds of times. In the memories of her alter ego. He would pivot forward with his left foot, feint with his left shoulder before hammering a powerful right handed strike. Elayne in that moment knew what to do. Her weapon flashed out, one end pointed towards the elf’s throat. The other end she was gripping, ready to pivot herself. His blade flashed forwards, and the feint on both sides happened.
Elayne felt his follow up strike happen faster than she could move. Even knowing everything about the mer, nothing could prepare her for the speed at which he swung. Still, she could take a single hit for the sake of landing her own. “We shall see how my web of lies performs against your poorly prepared world. Especially when you are the one who announces our partnership.”
Both of their weapons flashed forwards. His first strike she was able to dodge. His second bit into her side, the Forsworn armor barely doing anything. Not that it would against whatever artifact he was wielding. He was just too fast.
“Ahh!” It was no cry of pleasure that she let out. Her crescent got under his arm and slid through the dragonscale below the armpit. His sword went right through her armor, cutting through it and nearly reaching her lung. It was almost as bad as being hit by Harkon. Her entire right side was now on fire, and bleeding. But Shashev froze in place. The look of shock on him was one that she had this moment to capitalize on. Her sword swung forward, her right arm useless.
“F-f-feim!” Shashev stuttered. He was moving at a glacial pace. His body became ethereal, the first of the crescent’s blades passing through where his neck would be. A wicked grin split his face open. The paralysis wouldn’t last long enough!
“Feim! Zii! Gron!” This shout was making more sense. It wasn’t making them unbound to Mundus. It was letting them become like the Ehlnofey! And they could be killed! She had always thought this would just prevent her from being killed, but that was wrong! Now on the same part of existence as Shashev, she screamed harder, the other end of her blade moving through his armor as if it weren’t there! Letting go of the weapon and with only her left arm working, Elayne grabbed him by the hair and released her racial power. She cast all of her magics into a Telekinesis spell, and aimed for the Dunmer’s wide open red eyes. “Thus unto Tyrants!” She yelled, crushing everything behind her hand until the only thing she was holding onto was the crown. A bloodied crown. Her entire body felt the pressure of the spell as well, absorbing most of the abilities but still making her feel like every inch of her body was bruised.
It felt like time was restored, as both of them returned to the pull of Mundus. Shashev’s headless corpse fell forwards, tumbling from the air in front of both armies. Elayne fell too, her body just not in any condition to continue. Her left hand clutched the crown, and she landed on something soft. Looking down, she could see that she had somehow landed upon a pile of supplies. Somehow. Clutching the dwarven crown, Elayne forced herself to stand. The Oblivion Gate stood wide open before her, as more and more green colored troops began filtering in.
“How do I stop it?” She asked, not sure if her other self’s memories would answer. It was so hard to see anything other than the glaring portal into Oblivion. There was no dragon shout that could handle that. “How?!” Nothing answered. The din of battle was all around her. How in the Gods did Oblivion gates even work again?
They needed a foci. Something. They needed something to connect from this side to theirs. Or maybe it was the other way around? With a start, she remembered. The Altar. The little statue on the other side! She had never gotten close enough to see what it was, but that had to be it!
But the only way that she could get past these people was if she could fight her way through. She couldn’t feel her right hand. Or the right side of her body. It was too much. Painfully, she slid down the pile and next to the headless corpse of Sashev. “You bastard.” She murmured. “You better have something!” His bag was packed to the brim with more potions, items and gems than she could count. Jewelry and tools and books were in neat piles. But she couldn’t trust the potions in there. One she could trust was one of those ultra high quality potions of healing. She broke the phial with her teeth and let the liquid run down her throat. Without two hands, opening potions was kind of difficult. A little broken glass was worth not dying at this moment. She could feel her wounds stop bleeding, but the right side of her body still felt ruined and unresponsive.
Shashev’s ring was still around his finger. Elayne valiantly removed it, sliding it onto her own hand. “I deserve it.” She murmured. “He was a genocidal murderer!” Who could have been a hero. “All he deserves is Arkay’s price.” If it didn’t violently burn her hands to touch any of that gold and gems he had. Weapons and items she couldn’t take the time to understand were here. But there were scrolls in here too! One of them with symbols she recognized. She drank a large mana potion from her pack, scowling at the taste. “Ugh! Dwarven oil!” That could quell any desire to drink more potions. That ingredient was vile. But it gave her enough. “Come on Talos. I need another miracle from you!”
Tapping her heels, she rose above the crowd. Only then did she realize that she was topless. Her armor must have been mostly shredded by that single strike. She chose not to care, running through the air like she was born to do it. There was a certain thrill in not touching the ground, but she could ruminate upon that later. A couple of arrows struck her, but she pressed on. Through the glowing doorway and over the heads of reinforcements still pouring through. She felt a flutter in her stomach as she crossed over, arriving in the very same plains of Whiterun. The difference was the burning. The plains were afire, with thick smoke upon every surface. She couldn’t even see Whiterun, but judging by the glow it was afire. Shapes flew through the night, dragonwings flapping upon the wind.
Green clad figures were trying to carry crates and people towards the portal, and Elayne saw with a horrified look frozen and burnt corpses in every direction. The Dragons were carving paths through everyone, and it was hard to tell how many people had been here. Hundreds. Perhaps thousands. But only dozens were actually getting through the gate. She could just let them die, she thought callously. Just go back through the portal and let them die to the dragons here. Though that brought its own horrid realization. The dragons here could step through that portal into her shade of Mundus. Alduin could destroy their army from within. She had to close this somehow. Looking forwards, she could see a familiar face.
The altar no longer contained a divine shrine. Perhaps it never did. It was the kind of sacrificial table that you could find necromancers practicing with. Upon that table was Elenwen, stripped to her skin. There was also a set of the Queen’s restraints. But the thing that had her heart in knots was the glowing dwarven dagger buried in her still breathing chest. Her earrings were thundering, and she needed no other indication for what the sigil stone was. Someone from her world to bind the oblivion gate to. Her favorite spell came to mind. “Sorry Elenwen.” She said, mostly for the Gods. She certainly wasn’t actually sorry. Elenwen deserved something after causing her so much trouble. Maybe not this.
Her right arm still refused to move at all. So she reached out with her left. The dagger wavered, the handle wiggling in her chest. It looked important, somehow. That was all she wanted to know. The moment that it was wrenched from Elenwen, the entire area began to shake. Too much energy was in use, and Elayne felt herself drawn back into her own world. The dagger made it into her hands just as the portal collapsed, knocking everyone within a hundred feet over and creating a cloud of ash.
Having been told that these were Daedra and not men, Elayne bit her lip as every single one of the other world’s people were put down. People with faces of those you knew, and many you did not. The last to fall was Mjoll, her heavy blade felling at least twenty Imperial and Stormcloak men before she was brought down by a tide of arrows. Twitching, she slid down into the dirt next to Elayne and gave her one last look. A look of betrayal. Like Elayne was the reason this all happened.
“She did it!” Galmar Stone-Fist was yelling into her ear. “By the Gods, she did it!”
“Someone find a healer!” A second voice called. “Her arm,”
“Don’t.” Galmar corrected. “Healers can’t fix something that ruined.”
Elayne dared to look at her right arm. It was ruined. She couldn’t move it because her bones were just broken. Fear and shock broke through her, followed by bile. Sometimes, you aren’t aware of the true pain of a wound until you make eye contact with it. In this case, seeing your own hand hanging on by a thread was a thousand times worse. Retching, she vomited up potions and mead and everything else her body could. She had become akin to her other self. And that thought terrified her.
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Skyrim: Plaything