Leisha finally pulled her bloodstained boots off her feet, slipped her arms out of her bracers, and pulled her cuirass over her head. She arranged them neatly on the floor by her borrowed bed and reclined. She watched the orange shadows cast from the fireplace dance on the thatched ceiling of Gerdur's home for a minute before finally closing her eyes. As she drifted further and further off, flashes of the day's events played out behind her closed eyelids...
She was making her way through dense woods a few miles from the border. She could already feel the temperature difference that Skyrim was so famous for. After hiking for an hour, Leisha seated herself on a fallen log. The way that it was split jaggedly and singed on the end made her wonder if lightning had cut the massive tree down. Better not be in this part of Skyrim during a storm, she decided.
She sat there for a few minutes, listening to the sound of her own breathing and the whistling of the birds drifting somewhere in the canopy above her. Silvery light filtered through the leaves and illuminated small bits of dust in the air. The air in Skyrim was cold and clean, not at all like the humid and over-recycled air of the land Leisha had just trekked from. She wondered if she would miss Cyrodiil while she was on her search in Skyrim; she doubted it. There weren't many places she missed- maybe certain things or people, but never the whole setting.
The shitstorm came right about when Leisha decided to end her break. She scooted off the trunk, grabbed her elkskin satchel off the frosty forest floor, and moved not five steps before she heard it. She heard footfalls, many and in no particular rhythm, leading her to believe that there were several others walking nearby. Instinctively, she creeped behind the broad trunk of a towering tree and stole a glance at the group. Several soldiers clad in dull chainmail and blue cloth were making their way through the woods. There must have been at least twenty blues moving around one man with a dirty blond mane. This one did not wear the armor, but he clearly commanded authority. Before Leisha could gauge whether or not she was in trouble, she felt a hand close around her mouth and something hard and cold press at her throat.
"Be quiet or die," her captor whispered. Another pair of hands grabbed at her wrists. She felt someone else tying something- probably a rope- around her ankles. Leisha's blood burned for her to react, but by the time she realized just how incapacitated she was, her veins froze in fear. Well, fuck.
Her head was bent back so her neck was more exposed to the knifeman. Still, she could see that his hand was clad in a leather glove bearing the Empire's symbol. Her eyes went back to the group of blue lackluster soldiers. She scanned their uniforms for any sign of Empire allegiance, but saw none. That was when she realized she had just walked into an ambush between Imperial soldiers and some enemy faction.
She wasn't the only unfortunate bystander. Within seconds of her capture, Leisha heard the distant galloping of a horse. A scrawny man with messy tassells of hair rode up to the group of blue soldiers at full speed before rearing his horse quickly when he saw them. It resulted in the animal catapulting him onto the dirt. Just as the blue soldiers turned to view him, ambushers in red lunged out from cover. Leisha had no idea that there had been so many Imperial soldiers hiding until she saw dozens leaping out from bushes and trees and roaring ferociously with swords and axes jabbing at the air. Some had even climbed up into the trees, and they were now raining arrows down upon the blues. The Imperials who had tied Leisha threw her to the ground in their hurry to join the fight. The side of her face hit the dirt with a terrible thud. "You shithead!" she growled, struggling against her binds as she rolled in the dirt.
She watched her captors jump into the thick of things. One was immediately shot in the chest with an arrow. A second Imperial soldier in red leather and lustrous steel charged in, beheaded a preoccupied enemy, and proceeded to exchange blows with another. Leisha's eyes eventually locked onto the group of blue soldiers who were frantically ushering the blond-haired man away from the scene. Within seconds they were cut down by the reds, and the important man, whoever he was, was tackled and tied by the Imperials.
Leisha tried to calm her rapid breathing to no avail. She found comfort only in the fact that she was left tied up on a slight hill, rather than in the small valley where the blue soldiers' blood soaked now the soil. She hoped that the Imperials would free her after their attack, but then she saw them loading the dirty horserider onto a cart of tied up prisoners. As far as she knew, the horseman was just as uninvolved in this event as she was. She frantically began to worm-crawl her way behind a bush with hopes that the Imperials would forget about her. She wasn't so lucky. A man flipped her onto her back, pulled out a knife, and, to Leisha's surprise, cut the ties around her ankles. She thought she was finally free until he pulled her up and said, "Now walk, prisoner."
"No! I'm an innocent woman," she insisted coarsely. She was unable to keep the anxiety out of her voice.
"Maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time," the balding fighter said with his thick Nord accent. "Or maybe you're a Stormcloak spy. Either way, you're coming with us to be dealt General Tullius's justice." His hand closed around Leisha's shoulder like a vice. He shoved her forward and sent her stumbling toward the wagon of POW's. Leisha scanned her surroundings quickly. One Imperial sat as the wagon's driver, two more stood vigil on either side of the cart, and at least twenty more soldiers were nearby with their weapons drawn. Leisha knew that she had no chance running, so she simply took her seat on the wagon's splintery bench. Welcome to Skyrim.
Opposite her was one of the blue soldiers. He had a few splatters of blood on him, but Leisha guessed that it was not his blood. He offered her a sad, almost apologetic smile. Leisha huffed and turned her head defiantly. It's your Gods-damned fault I'm in this mess, she thought.
"Make sure that traitor's mouth is tied off tight!" snapped someone in shining steel armor. Leisha turned her attention to two footsoldiers leading the blond VIP toward the wagon. The man's hair was natted with blood, mouth rendered unusable thanks to a cloth gag, and had his wrists tied with several feet of rope. The soldiers weren't taking any chances with this one. Leisha's nerves began to combust. Where are they taking us?
What seemed like forever went by. Leisha's rear was sore from the uncomfortable ride across Skyrim's bumpy trails. She had learned that the man with the brown mop of hair was a horse thief and a native to a village called Rorikstead. The man across from her was named Ralof, and he was a rebel loyal to the gagged man, Ulfric Stormcloak. She dimly remembered hearing whisps of gossip about this Ulfric while she was in Cyrodiil; he was apparently the man who murdered High King Torygg- or something like that. She regretted being so obviable to gossip now. She gnawed on her lip nervously. She was in the same wagon- literally- as a wanted traitor of the Empire. At least that's how the Imperials would see it. Leisha realized that this was not boding well for her at all, but she saw no way to escape. There were simply too many soldiers who didn't have their arms tied behind their backs like her. All her hope of survival banked on the slim possibility that one of the Imperial soldiers would hear her out and understand that she had nothing to do with this, that she had literally been in Skyrim for only a few hours...
Not much more time passed before the wagon was lead through a small settlement called Helgen. Bystanders watched the Imperials pass by from their porches. She heard several parents urgently usher their children inside. A terrible feeling swirled in Leisha's gut as the wagon came to a stop in the center of town.
"You, prisoner. Step forward and tell me your name," said one of the Imperials.
Skyrim's already found a special place in my heart, she thought bitterly. She obediently stepped forward, but her eyes narrowed and her lips pursed as she glared at the Empire's soldier. "My name is Leisha," she said. She made her Cyrodiilan accent obvious to prove that she was not involved in the Nords' rebellion.
Rather than bothering to ask for a surname, the Imperial's eyes searched the parchment he held in his hands. "She's not on the list," he said to the woman in blood-flecked plate beside him.
"Forget the damned list," she snapped. "This one goes to the block." The woman did not even bother to look at Leisha, who she had just condemned to death. The man with the list directed faintly regretful eyes toward Leisha.
"I'm sorry, Imperial. I'll make sure your remains are returned to your homeland."
Did he really just say that? What a Gods forsaken asshole. He knew that she was innocent! "I see how you do justice in Skyrim," Leisha spat before she could stop herself. Now the authoritative woman's eyes locked onto Leisha. They were fierce and fiery with rage.
"What did you just say?" she growled, already right in front of Leisha with a gauntleted hand raised. Realizing there was no way to take it back and prevent punishment, Leisha stubbornly- perhaps stupidly- persisted.
"I said, justice in Skyrim is a load of mammoth shit."
Thwack. The steel gauntlet whipped across Leisha's cheek. She felt blood swell in her mouth. That bitch, Leisha screamed internally. She wanted more than anything to break out of her ties and tear her abuser apart. She saw the Imperial woman raise her hand to strike again, but someone stopped her.
"Captain, let's move on," someone barked. His gruff tone told Leisha that the command was not meant to be merciful, just efficient.
Leisha slowly came further and further out of her sleep, like a wave slowly climbing up the sandy shore. Eyes peeled open groggily. Panic coursed through her at first when she did not remember where she was, but then it all came back to her.
Her memories were like smoke, agitating and cloudy. She remembered kneeling by the executioner's block, regretting ever bringing her search to Skyrim. The headsman raised his weapon overhead, and Leisha saw the sun dance off the steel. Then her eyes spotted something gigantic, black, and jagged cut through the sky. The moments after were a blur of flame, cinders, and panic. She dimly remembered leaping off a tower into a busted open inn and allying with Ralof and the Stormcloaks simply because she couldn't trust her would-be Imperial executioners as comrades. Although she wouldn't say it to Ralof or his family, whose home she was currently staying in, siding with the Stormcloaks at Helgen did not by any means mean she would be getting involved in their little rebellion.
"I see you are awake." It was a woman's voice, particularly deep and possessing that Nordic accent. Her name was Gerdur. She was Ralof's sister and very generous to allow Leisha to room in her already cramped household.
"And here I thought I was a charred snack for a dragon," Leisha deadpanned. She sat up on the bed and rubbed her eyes. Gerdur ignored her humor and made her way to the bed with a cloth and bowl in hand.
"You have wounds that need tending to," she stated. She seated herself on the bed beside Leisha and soaked the cloth in water. Before Leisha could insist upon treating her wounds herself, Gerdur insisted, "You will allow me." Leisha sighed through her nose and braced herself for the clumsy touch she expected from the woman; Nord women were not known to be especially graceful. But thankfully, Leisha found the soaked cloth to meet the wound on her face very gently. It was soothing, even.
"Thank you," she said politely as Gerdur finished up. "For that, and the hospitality you have shown me."
"It's our way," Gerdur said. "Our way, as in the Nord way and the Stormcloak way. We take every ally in with open arms. Now tell me, how did you make it out of a dragon attack with just a cut on your face?"
Leisha pulled her legs out from under the covers and gingerly touched her right ankle. "Not just that cut. I have a scabbed knee and a swollen ankle by the looks of it. From jumping out of a tower into a burning building." It sounded so ridiculous to her when she said it our loud. "The mark on my face is from some Imperial bastard-" Leisha decided if it was okay to call anyone a bastard in Gerdur's house, it would be an Imperial soldier- "who decided to make an example of me. Other than that, though, I'm remarkably unscathed. I don't know how I escaped all that like this. I'll call it luck."
"Or call it the gods," Gerdur corrected piously. Leisha simply nodded her head even though she was sure the gods had nothing to do with it. "Now what do you plan to do?"
Leisha knew what Gerdur wanted to hear. 'I'm going to march myself to Windhelm and join the fight against the Empire!' She decided to take a more honest approach for once. "I don't know," she confessed. "I'm looking for something, and my only lead is that it's somewhere in Skyrim."
"Hmph." Gerdur obviously wasn't easily lured by mystery. Rather than probing, she said, "Well, I hope you find whatever it is you're looking for."
"Me too," Leisha mumbled.