1. Stranger Among the Stormcloaks
"Ugh…"
Aeryn groaned, temples throbbing and rear aching. Whatever she was sitting on, it was hard and made of splintered wood; it bucked and jerked constantly and unpredictably beneath her, accompanied by the sound of rocks and pebbles clacking against one another. Her head hurt awfully and she didn't dare open her eyes for fear that the light would send her into blind agony.
"Hey, you. Elf. You're finally awake," announced a thick Nordic accent.
She dared to half nod, Yes, I'm awake and no, I don't feel like talking, but didn't open her eyes.
"I'm Ralof," the voice proclaimed. "And you are?"
Now the Altmer forced her eyes open a slit despite the pain just so that she was able to glare at the Nord, as he clearly had not gotten the message. She had to refrain from rolling her eyes at the sight of him – he was the epitome of a Nord, with shoulder-length blond hair and a braid dangling in front of his ear, blue eyes, broad and chiseled features, and of course the hefty figure that lent most Nords a muscular appearance whether or not they possessed any real strength.
"W-well, if you don't feel like talking, that's okay," he amended, seeing Aeryn's venomous expression. There was a moment of silence in which the Nord – Ralof – gave her a once-over. His face grew dubious as he took in the Altmer in front of him, and Aeryn wondered just how strange it must have been to him – he was used to seeing high elves dressed in the robes of Thalmor, prancing about proclaiming that they were superiorly bred and deserved to rule Tamriel.
Instead he was seeing her – though admittedly, Aeryn was somewhat similar to the standards of her race. She was tall, like most elves, and would probably have at least six inches on Ralof if they were standing side-by-side. Her skin was golden like that of any Altmer, but somewhat mottled with old and fading scars, all of them results of bad decisions. Her hair, the golden brown color typical to high elves, was cropped short a few inches above her shoulders so that it just barely reached past her chin and in the front, at her forehead, it stubbornly creased upwards on each side into twin crests. And her eyes, well, they were also somewhat typical – deep green and slightly curving with her face.
The main thing that set her apart from the Thalmor was the fact that Aeryn didn't look down upon everyone – or at least, she didn't immediately assume that she was superior. She would be first to admit that she was prone to judgmental thoughts, but then again she wasn't about to found a Dominion to tell everyone else that she was right and they were wrong. The other difference between her and most Altmer was her eyes. Average at first glance though they were, they sparkled with barely-restrained amusement almost all the time.
And of course, right at this instant she was in the garb of a prisoner, so Ralof had reason to be puzzled.
"I guess you were caught in that ambush like us, and that horse thief there," Ralof said at last, nodding towards a scrawny and brown-haired Nord with a grimy face who sat, shoulders hunched, at the rear of the cart. When Ralof pointed him out, the man seemed to shrink into himself like a cornered rat. He practically radiated defeat.
So it took Aeryn by surprise when the man spat, "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along – the Empire was nice and lazy." He muttered something else, but Aeryn was too busy redefining her opinion of him. Huh, maybe he's got more spark than I gave him credit for, she thought with a wry smile.
Ralof laughed at the thief's comment, though the laugh didn't come out very confidently, and that was when Aeryn noticed his armor. It was padded chainmail, swathed in blue cloth. As the thief had said, he was a Stormcloak – a rebel fighting the Empire and Thalmor for the freedom of Skyrim. Interesting.
"And what about him?" the thief added with a disdainful sniff towards the final prisoner bound in their cart. "He can't be who I think he is; there's no way he would let himself be captured so easily." Though the statement could have easily been a compliment, there was no mistaking it for such with the thief's tone. Aeryn turned to look at the man beside her for the first time.
It was undeniably Ulfric Stormcloak; the man was legendary. After the Markarth Incident, he'd gone on to challenge the king of Skyrim and was now leading the entire Stormcloak rebellion against the Empire. Aeryn had not expected, after being knocked out, that she would awaken with the leader of the rebellion bound and gagged in the cart next to her. His fine black cloak was clumped with mud and ice, and his blue eyes were dark with bridled rage.
"Hey! Watch your tongue!" Ralof snapped, turning and shooting a glare at the thief so fierce that it rivaled Aeryn's earlier expression. "You're speaking of Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!"
She could have easily discussed the politics of the Civil War and whether Ulfric's challenge against Torygg was fair or whether Skyrim could stand alone against the Thalmor embassy, but just then Aeryn noticed that there was smoke from up ahead. At first she frowned, puzzled – Is there a fire? – but then realized that the makeshift road they were on had become sturdier; the cart was jostling less and less as the stones became smoother and more closely-packed. Then their cart rounded a corner, and she saw the town that would live on only in her nightmares in the years to come.
It was a beautiful town, actually. A sturdy wall encircled it protectively, and inside of the town were orderly houses with thatched roofs and sturdy planks. It was honestly not what Aeryn had expected from a small town in Skyrim, but she was pleasantly surprised. However, she could also see the bustle of Imperial activity within the town – legionnaires in gleaming red and silver armor rushing back and forth, elbowing past civilians to clear the roar for the carts. Aeryn craned her neck, trying to see more of the town, and her blood ran cold at the sight that greeted her.
There was a chopping block, but that really didn't matter. There was also a man in a black hood holding a massive iron axe while standing near the chopping block, but that also didn't matter. What mattered was the glimpse that Aeryn caught of a horse and its rider, a rider who was all too familiar in their silver-lined black Thalmor robes. Gods damn it, she thought bitterly. Just when I thought everything would turn out okay, she shows up.
"General Tullius, sir! The headsman awaits!" The call sounded from deep within the town, presumably somewhere near the chopping block, and its response was far nearer: "Good. Let's get this over with."
For the first time, Aeryn looked down and noticed that, while her hands were tied, it was a loose fit. The cuffs were made for solid Nordic wrists rather than the slender arms of an Altmer. She briefly considered slipping free from her bonds, but in the end decided against it. Escaping would be more harm than help, considering there was a legionnaire riding a horse just behind their cart. Damn it all! This would have been a manageable situation if she weren't here.
Aeryn forced the thought out of her mind and cast an appraising look at Ulfric, determined to get a better look at the "true High King of Skyrim" while Ralof and the thief busied themselves in a battle of wits, if one could call it that.
He was handsome in a rugged way that she hadn't seen on most people with power; then again, this was Skyrim – a harsh place where a luxurious life meant you would likely die with an empty purse and a slit throat. Ulfric was not the sort of person one might steal from. He was large – not hefty large like most Nords but actually muscular, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. Two dark blond braids framed his face, which had a blond beard as well. She hadn't seen his eyes clearly, but when he looked up Aeryn saw that they were blue-grey and had an uncanny intensity to them. He had been watching Ralof bicker with the thief, but now his gaze shifted to meet hers.
Perhaps other women would blush and flutter their eyelashes and look, feeling faint – in all honesty, Aeryn had no idea what other women would do – but she inclined her head in a respectful nod, acknowledging that she knew Ulfric's status. Interest sparked in his eyes.
Then the gates to the little town were pulled open and Aeryn could see her clearly. The ambassador's gaze was cold, and when it locked onto hers Aeryn could practically see frost crystals forming in the air. The bound Altmer, however, didn't give Elenwen the satisfaction of fear and merely gave her a smirk and a sardonic nod. Though she didn't look away, she could sense Ulfric's surprise and feel his gaze switch from her to Elenwen and back.
"This is Helgen" Ralof sighed, and the heavily accented voice broke the spell. Aeryn followed the Nord's gaze and saw that he was staring at the buildings around him, a touch of sadness in his eyes. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here." He chuckled, but the sound held more misery than amusement. "I wonder if my friend Vilod is still making that mean with juniper berries mixed in."
Aeryn understood his wistfulness when she recalled the chopping block she had seen. Of course, they're going to kill us. Still, even knowing what her fate would be, the Altmer couldn't help but wish that she had time to make more memories.
The cart drew ever closer to the place where they would meet their end, and Aeryn made the choice not to fret about her death. She was luckier than these men, after all – Ralof and the thief likely had a home and family, and Ulfric of course had an entire Hold to look after that would likely soon have an Empire-elected leader at its head. Yet she had nothing. Well, nothing she would count as worth surviving for, Aeryn reflected as she looked back at Elenwen.
Instead of stressing, she leaned wordlessly back against the side of the cart and pressed her back against it, raising her bound hands above her in a long and exceedingly nice stretch.
Ralof stared at her in dumb disbelief. "You're not worried at all?" he asked in a tone that hinted that he suspected her to be mad. "With the chopping block right there, you're not worried?"
She shrugged and turned away to see the houses they were passing. It's probably best not to tell him I have nothing to live for. On one house's porch were three Nords, two adults and a boy. The child sat with his legs crossed, peering curiously at the procession going through his home. Aeryn smiled at the boy, knowing that if she ignored the residents they would likely remember her – if they remembered her at all – as a stranger among the Stormcloaks. His eyes widened as she passed, but then the male Nord growled, "Haming, you need to get inside."
"But Papa," the boy protested, "I wanna watch the soldiers!"
"Come on, son. This isn't for the eyes of children." The man was firm but kindly, and as his son reluctantly obeyed Aeryn saw him cast a look in her direction that was almost apologetic. So not everyone is eager to watch the traitors die, she thought appraisingly.
Their cart pulled to a stop alongside an identical wagon, this other one carrying four Stormcloaks. Huh, so this is the cart of all the unusual ones, is it? The thief, the leader, the talker… and the stranger. She twisted around to see two Legionnaires – one woman in the armor of a legate and the man who had been riding behind them – leap from their horses and approach the cart with a board in hand.
"Let's go," Ralof sighed in the most defeated tone Aeryn had yet to hear. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting." He was the first to stand, followed by Ulfric. The Altmer got to her feet and waited impatiently for the thief to do so as well. He reluctantly hopped off the cart ahead of her, and she followed suit.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," the male soldier called out. Ulfric started stalking away, shoulders bobbing under the wolf-pelt cloak. "Ralof of Riverwood," the soldier added. Ralof strolled forward, suddenly confident and aggressive – a sharp contrast to his fatalistic behavior only seconds ago – and glared at the solider as he passed. Aeryn only just caught him as he muttered the word "traitor" into the legionnaire's ear as he passed.
With a pained look, the man ignored Ralof and called out the next name. "Lokir of Rorikstead?"
"No!" the thief begged, taking a few frenzied steps forward. "You've got to believe me – I'm not one of them! I swear!" Aeryn watched his movement closely and found that he was practically dancing with unease. He's going to run, she predicted, and within a minute the thief had indeed begun running away. There was no fuss as he did so; one legionnaire lifted his bow with the practiced manner of a man who had killed many times before and shot the thief in the back, sending him sprawling across the cobblestone road. Aeryn caught sight of the little boy from before peeking through a window, eyes enormous as he gaped down at the now-dead man lying on the stones before his house.
Shame you had to see that, kid, she thought with a half smile. Ah, well. He's got to grow up sometime; why not the day the rebellion is quelled?
"Anyone else feel like running?"
The captain's harsh snarl snapped Aeryn out of her thoughts. She stepped forward, smiling patiently. "If you don't see me on the lists," she said just as the male legionnaire opened his mouth to speak, "it's probably because I'm not really supposed to be here. I mean, I get the whole one-person-is-nothing-compared-to-all-the-deaths-in-war thing, but don't you think it would hurt your reputation a little?"
The legionnaire winced as she spoke, and Aeryn realized that her arrogant comment had probably cost her life. Damn. Short-tempered captain, I guess. Should have guessed, the way she was snapping earlier.
"Excuse me," the captain growled. She took two long strides forward, hands balled up into fists at her waist, and look down her nose at Aeryn – which, considering that Aeryn was almost two feet taller than her, was an impressive feat – with a baleful glare. "Who in Oblivion are you and what in Oblivion makes you think that talking with such disrespect is going to get you out of an execution?"
Well… I'm dead already, so… Aeryn leaned over the Imperial woman, reaching out with her bound-together hands to tap the list that the male legionnaire held. "To answer your questions in order, my name is Aeryn and I'm pretty sure that respect has nothing to do with the fact that I'm not supposed to be executed here and my name isn't on this list, here." She leaned back and arched one eyebrow, then shot the captain her best smug smirk.
An array of colors went across the woman's face – she went from tanned brown to pale to pink to crimson, almost reaching purple in her fury. She turned around and snarled at the male legionnaire, "Forget the damned list. She goes to the block – first."
Before Aeryn could stop herself, she blurted, "It's a better scare tactic to make me go to the block second – or last – so I have more time to anticipate my impending doom and I have to watch everyone else die. I mean, you're the captain and you absolutely make the calls, but I'm just saying what I would do. Personally." She grinned. Gods damn it, I'm intentionally digging a deeper grave for myself! I never knew it would be so much fun to be executed!
The woman's fist suddenly snapped out, aimed for Aeryn's face. The Altmer raised both hands, almost as quickly as the legate had thrown the punch, and caught her fist. She leaned down and stared the woman straight in the eyes, trying to make her own gaze as intense as was physically possible. "Not recommended." Then she shoved the fist away and grinned again. "After all, you don't want to set a bad example for General Tullius!"
The captain looked murderous, but she did spare a nervous glance at the general only to find that he was watching her with disapproval in his gaze. I'm sure he doesn't want his legates losing their temper just because of a few smart remarks from a prisoner, Aeryn thought as she watched the captain go pale once more.
"Fine," the woman hissed at last. "Go stand with the rest."
Aeryn nodded, putting on a façade of the obedient prisoner, and went to stand quietly next to Ralof. She saw that he was giving her a wide-eyed look and shot him a quick smirk before addressing her attention to Tullius and Ulfric.
"Some here in Helgen call you a hero," Tullius sneered at the Nord. "But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!" His voice dripped with triumph.
Then came the sound – the sound that would accompany Helgen in Aeryn's nightmares, though not limited to them by any means (unfortunately). It was a piercing cry that all at once sounded as if it were right above them and also very far away. Aeryn couldn't help but shudder, losing some of her previously unshakeable confidence, but she saw that she was not alone in her fear.
"What was that?" wondered the male legionnaire who had called the names for her cart. Aeryn decided that it was a very long-winded way to refer to him and instead settled on mentally calling him Pelin, a word in the Ayleid language meaning "knight."
"It's nothing," Tullius growled. "Carry on." He glared at Ulfric one more time before stepping back. The legate who had nearly struck Aeryn strode forward, glaring at the Altmer even as she snapped, "Give them their last rites."
A priestess, swathed in golden robes, moved up to stand at the legate's side. She raised her arms, hood covering the upper half of her face, and began to speak.
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of –" she stated in a soothing voice, only for the harsh snarl of a Stormcloak to interrupt her the instant she mentioned "Eight Divines."
"Oh, shut up! Let's get this over with; I haven't got all morning." Aeryn turned her head to one side and looked on in surprise as a red-haired Stormcloak soldier strode forward. His eyes were ablaze, fearless in their ferocity, and he stuck his chin into the air aggressively as he shoved past Pelin. "Come on, already!"
The legate sneered at him. "Kneel before the block," she snapped. When the Stormcloak obeyed, she put her steel boot onto his back and shoved down – with more force than Aeryn thought necessary – so that the soldier was forced to lay his head onto the block.
He glared up at her, still unafraid, and said in a voice that seethed with rage, "My ancestors are smiling at my, Imperials. Can you say the same?" The challenge, boldly spoken, cast a hush over the spacious area. Aeryn looked around, seeing uncertainty on the faces of several legionnaires.
Thunk.
There was a heavy thud as the executioner swung his axe, severing the soldier's head in a single bloody blow. The Altmer couldn't help but flinch at the sight of the head as it completely missed the basket and spun away towards Pelin, who leaped back with a horrified expression. When she saw that the head was still blinking, Aeryn felt ill. You challenged them to think with your last words, she thought. Rinik kril.
Then she frowned. What in Oblivion. What did I just… what was that? Shaking her thoughts free of it, Aeryn lifted her head and locked eyes with the legate.
"Next, the elf!" the Imperial woman snapped, curling her lips in a ghastly grin.
Again came the roar. It was closer this time – much closer. Aeryn took a deep breath and tried to force both the strange words and the sound to the back of her mind.
"I said, next prisoner!" the legate yelled.
Aeryn forced herself to toss out another attack on the woman. "Please, we're not a mountain's distance away," she sniped. "I'm six feet away from you. Let's be civilized as we chop my head off, okay?"
It wasn't nearly as good as any of her previous japes, but it would have to suffice. Aeryn felt a small worm of satisfaction as the legate scowled up at her, and it was enough motivation to make her move forward. She strode forward, unable to help but compare herself to the Stormcloak who had died so bravely, and knelt before the block. Before the legate could push her down, Aeryn set her head on the block and looked up at the executioner. There was a roar for a third time, and that's when her memory of the event blurred into only a select few images and sounds.
She could see, from her limited vantage point, a tower behind the executioner, and behind that a mountain. And from behind this mountain came the dragon. It was as if death incarnate winged its way down towards Helgen, beady crimson eyes boring into every man and woman in the square. The executioner, oblivious to the great beast swooping down behind him, began to bring his axe down just as the dragon landed atop the tower. The impact rattled Aeryn to the bone and the ground itself shuddered, resulting in the headsman losing his balance and falling. As he picked himself up, Aeryn saw the dragon open its maw and... do something.
At the time, she had no idea what it was. All Aeryn knew was that her vision swam and the world swayed unsteadily around her. The sky, which had previously been blue and dotted with white clouds, was suddenly swirling in a storm of blackened clouds. Her only memories of the next several seconds were a yell from Tullius – saying what, she remembered not – and balls of flaming rock hurtling out of the sky, cracking open upon impact with the road of Helgen.
Then Ralof grabbed her shoulder. "Hey, get up!" he shouted at her. "Come on, before one of those fireballs gives you the execution you just missed!"
Aeryn barely had time to register that the Nord's hands were somehow untied before she was running after him towards a tower that was as of yet untouched by the dragon. She heard Ulfric speak, though his words were lost in the sounds of fire and screams. There was an acrid taste in the back of her throat, burned there by the smoke, and she struggled to breathe.
Somehow she was on the second floor of the tower then, with another Stormcloak standing there. He opened his mouth to speak and the next instant he was invisible through the massive wall of flames so close to Aeryn that it was a miracle she didn't lose her eyebrows. It was blindingly bright and then it was gone, and when the Altmer turned her head she saw a gaping hole torn in the side of the tower.
"Jump through and run!" Ralof urged her. "We'll follow when we can!" and then she was hurtling through the air, landing hard on her ankle, and running. She jumped from the second floor to the first, wincing as she put more weight on the hurt ankle, and fled the burning building only to run right into Pelin or whatever his name was.
"Torolf! Haming!" he was yelling, and when Aeryn followed his gaze she saw the Nord and the little boy that she had seen before. The man looked gravely injured and the boy was stubbornly refusing to leave his side.
She remembered screaming something at the boy, remembered his pale face as he abandoned the man and ran to her. The great black dragon had landed as the child was running, and Aeryn had knelt and embraced the boy, covering his ears as she did so that he didn't see or hear the shrieking of the man as he burned alive. There was no protecting him from the smell of scorched flesh, though, and she could see tears streaming down his face as she directed him towards Pelin and the elderly villager at his side.
"Gunnar! Take care of the boy; I have to get to General Tullius!" Pelin shouted. He thrust the boy – Haming – towards the elder and ran towards Aeryn. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He beckoned her on, and the Altmer had nothing to say in protest when she was too dazed to think straight.
From behind her, she vaguely made out the elder calling, "Gods guide you, Hadvar!" Hadvar, she thought, so that's Pelin's real name. But then they were jumping over a burned stairway and Hadvar cried, "Stay close to the wall!" before Aeryn could consider it.
She pressed her back to the stones, their sturdiness giving her some measure of comfort – only for that comfort to be shattered in the next instant when the dragon crashed straight through the wall. Its great obsidian wing had a wickedly sharp talon at the tip of one spine, and it was that talon that raked along her cheek, leaving an agonizing gash. The wing itself felt as if it had just been pulled from a blacksmith's flame and just as quickly as Aeryn's cheek was torn open the white-hot claw cauterized it even before it could bleed. Her jaw clenched tightly to keep from screaming as the dragon heaved itself up, putting fresh fear into her mind that it might impale her as it flapped.
Then Hadvar was gone, running up a wooden staircase that was somehow not a charred pile of ash, and Aeryn had to follow half-blind with pain. She nearly tripped over the corpse of a legionnaire as she went through a doorway into a house. The doorway was the only part of the house still standing.
She followed Hadvar into the clearing where she had seen Elenwen, where she now saw General Tullius and several archers with a mage shooting fireballs at the dragon. At his feet was a badly injured townsman, arms wrapped tightly around his gut. Aeryn forced down bile as she realized that the man was not just clutching a wound but holding in his intestines. "Hadvar, into the Keep!" Tullius roared, sounding not unlike the dragon. "We have to get out of the town!"
Aeryn's eyes met his and she saw him make the conscious decision to ignore her prisoner's garb. Then two elven soldiers appeared in the gate, and she had to follow Hadvar before they could see her. He was already some distance from her, and she saw Ralof as well. The two Nords seemed to be having a private showdown even as the dragon razed yet another house to the ground.
Her memories of what happened next were particularly vague. Aeryn recalled running up to them, but then her mind was a blank slate until she was inside the Keep with Ralof at her side – she didn't know if she'd made the decision to go with him or if he'd dragged her after him.
"That thing… I still can't believe it," he rasped as he looked down at another Stormcloak who seemed to have made it inside before dying, likely from some internal injury. "A dragon – just like all the legends."
Aeryn nodded, taking deep breaths in an attempt to slow her racing heart. "Incredibly convenient for us," she commented once she felt steadier.
"Aye," Ralof agreed as he looked around. "Well… I don't usually condone disgracing the dead, but Gunjar doesn't need his armor or weapons anymore and, well, you do." He nodded towards the dead man. "It may not be a perfect fit, but it's better than nothing, right?"
She frowned and knelt by the body, taking the weapons but leaving the armor. "I don't think it will be any help if it doesn't fit properly. I'll wait and see if there's any discarded armor as we go further in – after all, this is a Keep, surely there will be some left for other soldiers." She looked down at the rags the Legion had put her in and was glad to see that there was a belt, which she promptly clipped the iron war axe to. Then Aeryn reached up and touched the gash on her cheek, wincing as she ran her fingers over the notch and the tightly-stretched skin.
"Wait!" Ralof hissed, suddenly dropping into a clumsy crouch. Aeryn dropped her hand and tilted her head to the side, puzzled, then picked up the sound of voices coming from a wooden gate to her right. "I think it's Imperials," Ralof muttered to her. "Take cover."
The Altmer slid into a crouch as well and unsheathed the axe with her right hand. With her left she summoned the Flames spell, ignoring the strange look Ralof gave her. Probably something to do with "elves and their magic," she thought, knowing that she didn't exactly give off the impression of a mage.
The gate creaked and began sliding upwards, and Aeryn was face-to-face with none other than the legate who she had so successfully enraged earlier, along with a male legionnaire that was definitely not Hadvar.
"You can have that one," Ralof called to her with a grin as he unsheathed his blade and began to attack the other legionnaire.
Aeryn didn't know whether to thank him or stab him in the back. On one hand, killing the woman would be extremely satisfying. On the other, the captain was most likely very well trained and completely prepared to kill the Altmer who had humiliated her so completely. Oh well, she thought, and lunged forward.
The captain met Aeryn axe with her iron sword, parrying it with ruthless efficiency, and forced the elf back a step. She reciprocated with a gout of flame, which was known for being very difficult to parry, and was awarded with a yelp of agony from the legate as her armor caught aflame. She didn't completely panic, which impressed the Altmer – she was clearly well-trained, to ignore flames that were slowly creeping their way past the metal armor – and instead struck again.
This time Aeryn wasn't prepared for the force of the blow and hadn't put enough strength into her parry, so the blade slipped past her axe and cut jabbed through her rags into her shoulder. It didn't get far, for she managed to lift her weapon higher, but the pain was sudden and breathtakingly sharp. However, it also left the legate open, and Aeryn took the opportunity to lash out and dig a deep wound into the Imperial's sword arm.
"Damn you!" the legate snarled, retreating for a moment and tugging the cloth of her armor so that it stemmed the bleeding of her injury. She also managed to swat the still-burning fabric at the hem of her armor until the fire went out. Aeryn took the chance to press the attack, seeing that Ralof had nearly finished off his foe.
She saw terror in the woman's eyes as she pounced, blade of her axe pointed straight for the Imperial's heart. "To the Void with you," Aeryn snarled, and plunged the axe into the woman. Disappointingly, it didn't go straight through – the most dramatic method of killing – but it was enough.
Once the woman was dead, Aeryn weighed the axe versus the sword and decided to leave her weapon embedded into the legate's chest, instead opting to take the iron sword. It wasn't the best weapon she could have asked for – iron was cheap and this particular blade was clearly old – but it was more comfortable than the war axe.
"Done then?" Ralof asked her, wiping his sword clean on the dead legionnaire's armor. "Let's see if one of these Imperials has the key to that door over there." As he knelt down, the Nord jabbed one thumb over his shoulder at the gate across the room to indicate which door he meant. Aeryn reached into the pocket of the legate and found, among some gold, a small and tarnished golden key.
"This it?" she asked Ralof, holding it up so he could see.
He smiled, relief glowing in his azure eyes. "Aye, that's the one," he agreed with a nod.
Aeryn approached the gate and peered through its cold iron bars, looking out for any Imperials on the opposite side. Seeing none, she slipped the key into the gate's lock and pushed it open. Ralof entered just behind her and began to walk down a curving stairway. Aeryn waited a moment, looking around, then followed.
At the base of the stairs was a hallway. The high elf caught a glimpse of several figures at the other end, only their silhouettes visible through the dust, before there was another roar and the ceiling just… fell in!
She swore and ducked low to the ground as the building shook, praying to the Divines that the rest of the Keep would hold. Thankfully they seemed to have heard her, because outside of a few pebbles dropping the place stayed standing.
"Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy," Ralof growled with a sigh. He looked around. "Ah, there's a door." Aeryn moved in just behind him as the Stormcloak opened the door and revealed a storage room. The Altmer's mouth watered at the sight of stew resting on a table with alto wine sitting nearby. However, she also noticed two legionnaires who drew their weapons at the sight of her.
She unsheathed her iron sword and realized with a scowl that these legionnaires had steel blades. What in Oblivion? Why do foot soldiers get better weapons than their captain? Ralof charged them, swinging his hefty blade, and had one soldier down within a minute. Aeryn rushed forward and cast Flames on the other man, realizing that her sword would be of little use to her against his better blade. Once he was dead, she switched weapons.
"So we have a storeroom here," Ralof observed, turning three hundred and sixty degrees around. "I'll look for potions."
"I can grab some food and drink," Aeryn chipped in eagerly. How long has it been since I've had a real meal? she wondered, stretching up to collect a few garlic bulbs and elves ear leaves from the ropes where they were tied. Seeing Ralof's expression, she explained, "They're useful in alchemy and if all else fails, they can be sold. Aren't you supposed to be looking for potions?"
He ducked his head and went back to rifling through barrels. Aeryn turned to the table and looked dubiously at the stew. I probably can't take that with me without making a mess… unless I find some way to store it. She grabbed the alto wine and pulled out the drawers of several cupboards. Inside of them were a few septims and pots, but there was no sign of a jar or any such container. Sitting on another shelf, however, was a small pouch filled with salt and a potion inside a blue bottle. Aeryn swiped them both, knowing that the blue potion would likely replenish her magicka supply should she need it.
"I found a lot of potions," Ralof called to her. The elf approached him and he tossed her two more magicka potions along with a health potion and a stamina potion. "These should be sufficient for getting out of here, provided we're lucky enough to find an exit soon." He grimaced. "Though this hasn't been a particularly lucky day."
Aeryn grinned at him and pushed open a wooden door, only to be greeted with the sound of Shock magic and shouting. Ralof hurried past her down a set of stairs, and in the gloom she saw his eyes widen. "Shor's bones, it's a torture room!" he gasped, beckoning Aeryn to follow him. She followed and saw quite a battle taking place – a torturer and his assistant were battling a pair of Stormcloaks who had apparently made it through the Keep already.
Ralof charged headlong into battle, and Aeryn had no choice but to follow. She stayed at a distance from the torturer, shooting bursts of Flames at him as he focused his attention on the female Stormcloak who was attacking him. With their combined attacks, he fell quickly. The Stormcloak woman looked up at Aeryn, eyes glittering with the fury of battle, but she settled down as Ralof struck down the torturer's assistant.
"I can't say I've ever been helped by an elf before," she greeted Aeryn as the Altmer descended into the torture room. "Not unwelcome assistance, friend." Her accent was just as strong as that of Ralof, and she looked equally powerful.
Aeryn smiled and nodded at her. "Aye, and I would imagine not many elves have helped a Nord before – let alone a Stormcloak. Let this be a lesson that we're not all brought up to think we're 'superior.'" This was a lie; Aeryn had also been brought up told that she was a superior race. Of course, that would not have been the wisest thing to say in the current situation.
"Was Jarl Ulfric with you?" Ralof was asking the other Stormcloak, a brown-haired man whose eyes were surrounded by blue war paint.
"No," the woman responded quickly. "We didn't see him make an escape."
Ralof pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, a defeated look crossing his broad face. "Damn it all… let us hope that Talos watches over him." The other two Stormcloaks exchanged a glance, then cast concerned looks at Aeryn. She merely smiled complacently. Now was not the time to share that she, too, worshipped Talos.
"All right. We have to keep moving," Ralof said at last. Then he frowned. "Hang on a moment… it looks like there's something in this cage." He approached the middle cage. Aeryn peered over and saw a dead mage slumped in the corner, with a few coins and potions scattered at his side. "Can anyone here pick locks?" the man asked, looking around.
Aeryn was reluctant to share this particular ability of hers, knowing that Nords were often against such "dishonorable" skills, but when she looked into the cage again she saw a spell tome. That was enough for her to nod.
Ralof tossed her several lockpicks. "Here. We might need what's in there."
She decided, perhaps wisely, not to ask how he had so many lockpicks. Instead, Aeryn crossed to the cage and knelt down by it. It took only a few seconds of fiddling with the lock before she successfully opened it. The rusted cage door swung open with a creak, allowing the elf to collect what lay inside.
After a hesitant moment, she decided to take the mage's robes as well – they would be useful should she ever want to use their enchantment. She picked up the spell tome, for Frostbite apparently, and flipped through it, scanning the pages rapidly. Once she did, the center of the book began to sizzle. The sparks quickly ate away at the paper until there was nothing left of the tome. Damn, I love that, Aeryn thought with a smirk. She spun around and faced the Stormcloaks. "I'm ready to get out of here," she announced, spirits lifted. "Who's with me?"
They grinned at each other, then Ralof raised his weapon. "Aye, let's go!" The group of four charged through the halls past the torture room into a lower one, this one with hanging cages that held skeletons and dead prisoners. The others lowered their head in respect for the dead, but when they looked away Aeryn reached through the bars and grabbed whatever gold and bone meal she could find. Just for potions, she thought as she followed them.
Finally they reached a wooden wall with a portion bashed down and a rocky cave beyond. The uneven stones that made up the cavern were mossy, the floor covered in sprouting ferns, and Aeryn was surprised that whoever created the "escape hatch" of sorts would have let it go so drastically.
Then again, she thought, it's likely that no one has ever had to use it before. That would explain why none of the townsfolk seem to be using it.
She heard voices up ahead. "Damn it," Aeryn swore softly. "Everyone, hold up. There are more Imperials ahead."
The female Stormcloak reached up and pulled an iron warhammer from her back, readying it with a metallic clank. The male Stormcloak grabbed a greatsword and clenched it tightly with both hands. Ralof merely grabbed a bow – how he had gotten a bow and arrows, Aeryn had no idea. "Ready?" he whispered. With nods of affirmation from them all, he led the group forward until they were at the corner of a wider room. "Go!"
At once, all four leaped out of their crouches and ran into the room. Ralof fired arrows at the legionnaires across the room, but they were moving too much for him to hit. Aeryn saw that the other two Stormcloaks could handle the bunch up close, so she ran forward to engage the two archers. As she approached, the elf noticed something that they hadn't – under their feet, and splashed onto their legs, was a faintly pink liquid with an iridescent sheen. Oil.
All it took was a single spark. One spark, and all the oil leaped into a roaring wall of blue and white flame. The smell of scorched flesh filled the air, and the screams of the Imperials rang off the mossy stone walls. Aeryn caught sight of Ralof and the other two Stormcloaks gaping at the flames, the light flickering onto their faces, and smirked triumphantly.
Eventually, the fire died down and Aeryn waved the others over. They avoided the area entirely, wincing and screwing up their noses, but she stepped nonchalantly over the charred corpses and led the way to another tunnel. This one, at first glance, appeared to be walled over with wooden planks. Aeryn spotted a lever nearby and quickly pulled it, watching with satisfaction as a drawbridge dropped. It was lit by a small channel overhead that led to the surface. Ralof crossed first, and the Altmer followed. When she looked up, she could see that the dark clouds had receded and the brilliant blue sky was visible once more.
Just as she set one foot on the stone across the bridge, however, there was a roar from overhead and a huge stone hurtled out of nowhere. It slammed into the bridge, making it collapse, and Aeryn yelped in alarm as she slipped backwards. Ralof surged forward, reaching for her hand, and just barely managed to grab it before she fell into the pit. He grabbed her wrist and helped her scramble out of the hole where the bridge had been before.
She staggered once she was soundly on the ground, calm façade shattered. Ralof put his hand on her shoulder to steady her. "Are you okay?" he asked, eyes concerned. She nodded shakily and looked across the gap to the other two Stormcloaks.
The woman smiled at her in a way that was likely meant to be reassuring, but instead just looked broken. "Hey, we'll be fine. We can find another way out of here. You go on ahead."
Aeryn took a deep breath. "Wait," she called as they began to turn away. The woman looked back. "I didn't catch your name."
The Stormcloak smiled at her. "Oh, you're right. I'm Frida." She gave Aeryn a nod before continuing after the male Stormcloak.
Ralof peered at her. "We need to keep moving. Are you ready?"
She nodded and shook off his hand, standing straight again. "Let's go."
They continued through the cave, following a stream. Ralof frowned when the stream flowed underneath a rock, then looked to the side. "Ah, there's a passage."
"Aye, but there are webs there," Aeryn pointed out darkly. She switched out her sword and activated the Flames spell in both hands, preparing herself. "Lucky for us, spiders usually don't like fire."
Ralof raised one eyebrow. "Gods, you look like you're ready to take down anything," he replied.
"I am."
He didn't respond to that comment, instead beginning to walk down the tunnel. Aeryn held up one flaming hand. "Hang on. Let me go first. Those things can spit poison, and I'll probably be better at dodging them than you."
Ralof furrowed his brow. "I doubt they're so dangerous that I can't see the poison coming," he began as he turned the corner. Aeryn saw it coming already and grabbed his arm, jerking the Nord back just as a volley of blue-green venom splattered against the wall directly where he had been standing an instant before.
"Point taken," he agreed, stepping back quickly. "You go first."
Aeryn smirked and dropped into a crouch, sneaking forward slowly. She watched the spiders carefully and was able to gauge when they noticed her by their scuttling movement. I hate things that scuttle, she thought to herself, then stood up so that the spiders would see and approach. They saw and approached, and Aeryn took the opportunity to back up behind the corner. "They're coming," she muttered to Ralof. "Get ready." She prepared herself to blast them with flames, and the Nord raised his sword.
The instant the first spider turned the corner, it was dead before it could register their presence. The second one, seeing the abrupt death of its predecessor, was more prepared – when it turned around, it was already lunging at Aeryn. However, Ralof's sword entered its head and pinned it to the corpse of the other before it could successfully attack. For the third spider, Aeryn was already spraying Flames forward, knowing that the giant bugs weren't likely to realize that there was fire before they had walked into it. And she was right; the spider died immediately.
"There, I think they're all dead," Ralof commented, peering around the corner to look into the room below. "Ugh, I hate these things. Too many eyes, you know?"
Aeryn grinned at him. "Yep. Say, you wouldn't happen to have any flasks, would you? The venom from frostbite spiders is surprisingly effective and if I can collect some, it would be pretty helpful later on."
Ralof dug through his pouch, frowning. "Uh… no, I don't see anything. Wait – will wine bottles do?"
"They'll do just fine," Aeryn agreed, stretching her hands out for the bottles.
The Nord looked uncomfortable. "Er… There's still wine in the bottles." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I mean… I would just pour it out, but wine's not exactly cheap."
"Oh, for the love of Talos," she groaned. "Empty out the bottle and I swear I'll buy you two drinks of your choice when we reach a town."
"Now that is music to my ears," Ralof replied with a wide smile. He pulled the stopper out of the wine bottle and overturned it, watching not without a trace of wistfulness as the pale golden liquid spilled from the mouth of its glassy green bottle, splashing onto the rocky earth and sinking into the dirt. Once the bottle was nearly empty, he offered it to her and Aeryn accepted. With a practiced hand, the Altmer held the nozzle beneath one massive mandible and applied the slightest bit of pressure with her hand. Once she did so, a chute of sickly blue-green liquid sprayed down into the bottle.
She held out one hand for the stopper, and Ralof placed it there without any reluctance. He could see that the elf was experienced with such things, and knew better now than to question her about her actions. Aeryn looked up to see the Nord with a ponderous expression on his face. "Did I hear you say 'for the love of Talos'?" he asked, raising his thick blond eyebrows.
"Aye," Aeryn replied smugly as she placed the wine stopper into the mouth of the bottle, twisting it tightly so that it wouldn't leak the venom. "That I did. You've got a lot to learn about me, Ralof, but there's the first lesson. I don't follow the Thalmor doctrine. And I'll be damned if I'm going to let the rest of my race govern who I believe in."
He nodded appreciatively at her. "That kind of bravery is something I can understand." Ralof clapped Aeryn on the shoulder as she stood up, grinning at her. "Now come on, I think the exit's this way." He led the way through the cavern.
Too late, Aeryn realized that the silk-swathed holes in the roof of the cave were more than mere holes – they were hiding places. "Ralof!" she shouted. "Run!" He looked up and grew pale, frozen with fear.
Two massive frostbite spiders – each at least three times the size of the smaller ones they had killed – dropped out of the ceiling, mandibles dripping with venom and beady black eyes fixed on their quarry, the Stormcloak who seemed unable to move or even draw his sword.
One spider landed squarely on him, its eight hairy legs forcing Ralof to the ground with a shriek. He stabbed at it futilely with his sword, managing only to shave off some of the longer hair on its legs. The spider leaned down and sank its teeth into Ralof's arm, and he let out a shriek of agony.
A red film leaped into Aeryn's eyes then, a haze of bloodred fury taking control of her. She lunged forward, unsheathing her steel sword, and hacked fiercely at the second spider which blocked her way into the cavern. With one vicious slice, she stabbed through the hardened shell on its leg and with one blow sliced the limb free.
The spider screamed a furious, high-pitched squeal and bit the air, mandibles clacking together just in front of Aeryn's face. She dodged the blow and struck again, dismembering another leg on the same side. Unbalanced now, the spider wailed once more.
Aeryn leaped forward and plunged her blade deep into its head, stabbing straight through one beady black eye and into the brain. The spider died quickly, twitching and legs curling in onto itself. Breathing hard, the Altmer snarled, "I've survived an execution, a dragon, gods-damned meteors raining down on my head, and legionnaires who wanted nothing more than to kill me, specifically me. I am not letting a pathetic frostbite spider be the death of me!"
Ralof was grappling with the spider atop him with one arm, desperately attempting to stop it from biting him once again and disabling another arm, when a gleaming blue blade appeared from its midsection and halted just an inch away from his own throat. Had he moved at all, it would have cut into his neck.
Then the giant spider rolled away, legs flailing weakly as the Altmer wrenched her sword out of it. She wiped its silvery blue blood off on its wiry-haired abdomen and sheathed the weapon, then held out one hand to Ralof. "Are you okay?"
He winced as he accepted the proffered hand with his uninjured arm, trying and failing to get to his feet. Aeryn gave him a concerned look. "No, you're not okay, are you? Come on, lean on me. Put your arm over my shoulder – no, not the hurt arm, the one that's still okay – and keep going; the sooner we get out of this place the sooner we can cure you."
The high elf looked at her, eyebrows raised in concern. He's pale. It was true. The Nord's already fair skin was nearly white as snow and his eyes seemed dangerously close to rolling back into his head. We have to hurry. She stooped low so that the shorter man wouldn't struggle to keep at her side and forced herself to ignore the spider egg sacs despite their value as alchemical ingredients.
When Ralof groaned and began to stagger, falling behind even though Aeryn was slowing down for him, she halted and looked more closely at him. He was falling unconscious. Divines help me, she thought with a sigh. Then the tall, skinny elf turned around and knelt. "Ralof," she ordered in a voice that meant no questions, "climb onto my back."
"You… you won't be… be able to carry me," he rasped.
"To hell with what you think" she snapped. "I'm not abandoning you here and my only options are leaving alone or carrying you. I don't give a damn whether you would be disgraced by having an elf carry your heavy body because you're not dying here. Now climb on my gods-damned back."
A moment later she felt the weight of a Nord on her back. His pale arms draped over her shoulders. Aeryn took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around Ralof's legs, hefting him higher onto her back, and began to move.
She passed through a rocky hallway and entered yet another wider cavern, seeing the stream return once again. There it is again. Oh, gods damn it all. She swore softly, seeing a furry black lump across the cave. A bear.
The Altmer approached, crouching as best she could with the weight of Ralof on her back. Should I sneak past? Even as the thought crossed her mind, Ralof let out a low moan of pain and the bear's ear twitched in its sleep. Well, that's not going to work. I can't engage it in close-contact battle, not with Ralof. Then she caught sight of the Nord's bow out of the corner of her eye, still strapped onto his back. Ah. Perfect.
Moving as slowly and carefully as she could, Aeryn let Ralof slide to the ground near the stream. He was completely unconscious now, and she was able to take the long bow and iron arrows from his back. Carefully, carefully, she nocked an arrow to the bow and pulled back on the string, aiming at the bear's throat.
Breathe in, breathe out. Deep breath. Fire.
The arrow shot through the air and plunged deep into the bear's neck, cutting off its air with a spurt of blood. It let out a low moan of pain, frozen in place but not yet dead. Aeryn set the bow and arrows down and took out her steel sword, approaching slowly and cautiously. Is it going to attack?
It seemed not. The bear was paralyzed with fear and pain, dark eyes darting frantically around the cave. At the sight of the elf it growled fiercely but made no moves to attack. Aeryn drew back her blade. "Sorry to make you suffer," she murmured softly before bringing the sword down onto the bear's neck. It died quickly.
She returned to Ralof's side and came to the frustrating conclusion that no, she could not hoist the Nord onto her back without his assistance. With a frown, Aeryn formed a cup from her hands and dipped it into the stream, collecting cold water. She poured it over Ralof's bite mark first and his face twisted with pain as she applied gentle pressure to the swollen injuries. Blood seeped from the wound as Aeryn washed it. Ralof's eyes gradually opened, though under a haze of pain.
"… Elf?" he muttered, squinting up at her.
"Hush," Aeryn shushed him swiftly. "I need you to climb on my back again. We're almost out. Stay with me, okay? I need you to tell me how to get to the nearest village."
As she helped the Nord onto her back again, he mumbled, "Riverwood. 'S nearest. Gerdur… c'n help us."
Aeryn didn't try to silence him this time, instead supporting him with her arms as she trod through the cave. At last, after passing an area filled with a disturbingly large number of human bones, she saw a blindingly bright light. Outside at last.
Her shoes – if one could call them that, considering that they were little more than cloth wrapped haphazardly around her feet – crunched on snow as she staggered forward. And all at once she was out – out of the cave, out of Helgen, out of the Oblivion she had just survived.
Then the sound of wings flapping reached her, and she ducked in sudden blind terror. When she looked up, the massive black dragon that had razed Helgen to the ground was soaring away faster than anything she'd ever seen. Its huge horned wings flapped powerfully and it let out one earth-shattering roar before it flew higher and vanished into the gathering storm clouds that brushed the tops of mountains.
That's over with, then, Aeryn thought with a sigh. She got to her feet once more, making sure that Ralof was steady on her back, and looked around. An old, icy pathway that seemed as if it hadn't been used in years twined away from her towards a distant river.
The reality hit all at once. She had been inches from death and then saved by a creature that had nearly killed her once more. She had fought through a Keep and then a cave filled with people who wanted her dead. Her only companion was badly poisoned with the venom of a frostbite spider. And she had no idea where the nearest town was. But we still lived.
"We're alive, Ralof," she said aloud, and the sound of her own voice – haggard and rasping – shocked her into taking a few steps forward. Now that she had moved, she began to walk of her own accord, following the worn old path to wherever it might lead.
So I recently realized that every other Skyrim story I've ever written is, well, saved in a miscellaneous folder somewhere on my flashdrive with two or three pages and a quick description and listing of the plot but not much else. Because of this, I decided that I would write about the one and only character who is a constant and prominent figure in Skyrim for me - Aeryn the Altmer. She's the classic Dragonborn; leader of all the guilds and hero of the land along with being a jack of all trades. She tends to be sarcastic and is often an ass to those around her, but she can be kindly at times. I decided I'll just write a collection of one-shots about her life, because those seem to be the only things Skyrim-related that I can ever complete. I'll do my best to post them in a relevant order, meaning she won't reference her time in the Thieves Guild before she's even joined it.
Here's the first story - the classic Helgen tale. Try as I might to make it unique, I know I can't do a very good job of it. Instead I just tried to be as descriptive as I could. Up next: I don't know! Probably her venture into Bleak Falls Barrow without a companion at her side. Also, a fun fact: Aeryn was the first Skyrim character that I ever made; however, her files were saved to my computer rather than Steam. My computer basically committed suicide and wiped off everything in its system, which meant that I lost Aeryn. I've recreated her as best I could, which means I have to stick with my original bad decisions (namely, joining the Stormcloaks).
The sad thing about all this is, no one here is ever going to get the full grasp of Aeryn. I've made... probably three or four hundred comics of her by now, all of them for pure amusement, and they have helped develop her character wildly. None of the real-world people who read my comics will know these things about Aeryn, and no one online will know those things. She's unfortunately doomed to be a half and half character split between the internet and my tiny circle of friends, whole only in my mind. So I'm sorry if some of the things I write make no sense to you, because I'm referencing something that I haven't shared. Please point it out when I do this and I will fix it immediately.
Okay, I'm done talking now. Bye.
Edit: One other thing. This came out far longer than I intended it to originally - I was expecting 3,000-4,000 words and instead I got a full-fledged short story. I just don't want to set expectations so high for all the other stories of Aeryn. I may make one that's only 2,000 words and the next might be 15,000. The length of stories will vary wildly, so please be prepared for that and don't expect anything to stay the same.