It had been a long time since the winds of her homeland had touched her pale skin. She closed her eyes against the sensation, the chill pleasant against her fevered face even as it bit painfully into the rest of her exposed skin. But she couldn't allow herself to revel in the feeling for long.
She had spent months traversing the wilds since she smuggled herself into that port in Valenwood, and she knew that they had to be Dominion trackers on her tail. Cringing slightly at the pull of her wounds as she moved, she wondered for what must have been the thousandth time why she hadn't stolen a horse. Surely she could have found someone who deserved to be rid of their equine companion.
Like any bloody Imperial.
Her chest tightened in rage at the thought of how her brothers-in-arms had betrayed them.
How could they? After all we fought, all we sacrificed…
How she had reveled in telling that to Tala. Her thin lips had curved in a cruel smile, golden eyes mocking…
The Nordic woman squeezed her eyes shut.
I don't have the time for this right now.
A few days back, when she had caught her first sight of snow, her heart had leapt. Now, even in the cold remained relatively comfortable on her skin, her feet-wrappings were soaked with sweat and now slowly beginning to freeze. What with the sun going down, she needed to find shelter for the night. Luckily, the Pale Pass had no shortage of caves – though she would try to find a small one, less a more complex system have… unfriendly inhabitants.
After about half an hour of searching in the fading light, she found a suitable niche in a sheer rock face, empty but for a few bleached bones. Whatever predator had used it, they hadn't used it in a long time.
Pulled her ragged bedroll from her bag, Tala curled up against the night chill, unwilling to light a fire out of fear of the attention it might attract.
…What a glorious homecoming this is.
When dawn broke, Tala's movements were practiced and efficient. Within minutes she was on the move, headed to the last hope for a free Tamriel. Their name was hot on everyone's lips, from Valenwood to the Capital.
Someone had dared to rise against the Empire. And therefore, by extension, the Thalmor.
Their name… it was far too familiar.
She had fought along side one of them, had sworn her undying allegiance to another. She had sworn to protect him. And she had failed.
It had been years. Hoag had to be dead. So who was leading the fight?
Had he had another son after news of Ulfric's capture? Some rumors said that Ulfric himself was the one at the head of the rebellion, but Tala knew that was impossible.
Because Ulfric is dead. He's dead, all because I wasn't good enough. If Galmar survived the War, he will never forgive me.
She clenched her jaw. She would take to her knees in front of this unknown heir, and she would beg their forgiveness. She, who begged for no one. But she would do it for the Stormcloak family, because she owed that and so much more. And then she would fight until she could fight no more, because that was what she did.
I will fight until my homeland is free. No, until all of Tamriel is free.
Lost in her thoughts as she was and dazed by fever, she was almost upon the fighting before she realized the presence of others. The cries of someone trapped in the throes of death snapped her to awareness, adrenaline rushing through her veins.
In front of her, she saw red and brown clashing with blue and silver. Her breath left her. She knew those uniforms – both of them. How fitting that the rebels would take the mantle of Windhelm, from where the Stormcloaks came.
From where all mankind came.
She drew her pilfered blade from her belt with one hand and summoned blue flame with the other. It was elven blade, glinting golden-green in the sun. Sharp, despite repeated use. And she charged into the fray, ignoring the way her malnourished muscles screamed in protest and her wounds stretched almost past their breaking point.
I will not fail again.
Just as she crossed blades with her first opponent, the hairs on the back of her neck rose and a feeling not unlike static brushed across her skin. It was something she had felt before, but never thought to feel again, and her heart clenched painfully. For the space of a heartbeat, a strange silence settled over the battlefield, like the calm before a storm.
It was impossible. It was just a memory. They was no way –
Yet suddenly, it was.
"FUS… RO DAH!" A roughed voice shouted with deep fury. It was a voice that was all too familiar. Brown and red bodies flew threw the air, and she plunged her blade into the heart of her opponent as she spun to see the source, her own heart beating with the force of war drums.
Impossible.
And yet there he was. A shallow cut above his right eye was slowly dripping blood down his face, and she could see even from here how the years had aged him. His movements were slower, though that was more likely from the fatigue of battle than from the loss of youth.
He's alive.
As shocked as she was, it was only from year of battle-honed instinct that she heard the skirmisher coming up behind her. She spun on the balls of her feet once more, bringing her blade down in a deadly arc.
Being a half-bred mutt did have some advantages.
The downward slash caught him brutally in the skull, and he fell. She pulled her sword free and sheathed it as she ducked to avoid an arrow, summoning dual storms of fire and ice to her palms. When a group of Imperials charged at her, she unleashed the fury of the elements upon them, taking a perverse pleasure at their final expressions – surprise.
A Nordic mage was a bit of a novelty, after all. Good thing her matted hair was covering her ears.
She didn't have much time to linger, however. A female greatsword wielder nearby had been cornered by three Imperials, and they were wearing her down. Tala took a quick glance at Ulfric – he was her first priority, but he appeared to be doing fine. They were outnumbered, and they were losing men and woman far to quickly, but as long as he was alive, the battle wasn't lost.
She rushed to help her unexpected comrade, switched to illusion and letting herself disappear into the fray. In chaos like this, even if someone had been looking at her, they wouldn't be able to keep eyes on her now.
She caught the first of three by surprise, drawing a crude iron dagger from her belt and slicing his jugular. But that, of course, broke the spell. The female Stormcloak had collapsed to the ground, so now it was two against one.
And one of them had a warhammer.
She had faced worse odds before, but she was already wounded, and she tired.
She still might have won… if she hadn't then taken an arrow to the shoulder.