Prologue
I could feel the gaze of every single customer of the Northernhearth Inn piercing me as I entered through the low door, letting in an icy wind into the already drafty inn. The name made it sound like a safe haven from the cold outside, with an enormous hearth whose fire roared out against the freezing wind that howled through the streets of Bruma, the hall in bright lights.
The mundane reality would get anyone with a sense of decency to turn around and exit into the cold outside again.
Northernhearth inn was cold and drafty, with a low ceiling and dank lights, making it impossible to see where you placed your feet. The floor consisted of stamped earth, the tables of splintery planks. Beneath one of the few lamps the innkeeper looked at me with suspicious eyes.
With care, as to avoid stepping on any feet, I made my way towards the counter.
"A room for the night, please."
He glared at me. That seemed to be the only thing anyone here was capable of. That, and drowning their troubles in mead. Bruma was close to Skyrim, and it was rather natural that this fact had influenced them in some ways, this particular way being that the Bruman citizens prefered mead to ale. The only different I had noted was that mead was usually sweeter, and less prone to force your latrine related needs.
"Ten coppers." The voice was hoarse, probably from overconsumption of his own beverages.
I suspect he thought that I couldn't afford ten coppers - which my appearance highly suggested - and hoped that I would rather leave, or pawn the sword I had slung over my back. I dug into my pockets and dropped the requested amount on the counted. He selected a coin at random, bit it, frowned over the fact that he was paid as requested and couldn't force me leave or do something else, and waved his hand towards the stairs.
"Second room on the right".
I nodded in response, mumbled a thanks, slung my knapsack over my back, and went up to the room. It suffered from the same problems the main hall suffered from; Low ceiling, a single dank light. Ironically, the floor up here suffered not from the same issue that plagued the floor down there. Rather, it shared more similarities with the tables of the main hall.
The bed was a simple hay mattress, with little comfort and many lice to offer. Eyeing it carefully, I decided a night on the floor with my cape as bed was safer.
I dropped the knapsack and formed it into something that vaguely resembled a pillow, swung the long blade of my back, swept myself in my cloak, and lay down on the floor, gripping my sword tightly. It was all I had left.
The floor was incredibly uncomfortable, and it took hours before sleep even approached. I listed to the sounds; the howling of the wind outside the thin walls, the quiet voices from downstairs.
"Focus, Martell", mother's voice called. "Focus on my eyes. It's in the eyes you see the intent of your opponent."
I swallowed, and stared into her hazel eyes. Kind, teaching, wishing me my best. I raised the slightly curved practice sword to point it at her, ready to attack, while I kept my shield high, ready to defend.
"Now, show me what I have taught you."
Carefully, I advanced. Never near an enemy without great care, was what she had taught me. I jabbed at mother with my weapon, but withdrew before she could flick it away or lock blades with me. Never put yourself in a position where you must fight a stronger opponent without some kind of advantage of your own. She had taught me that as well.
But she had followed me now, slowly advancing upon me. I felt that I had already lost the match. I always did.
"Don't despair! Only death is certain!" she called. I felt a slight flicker of raised confidence, but quickly ducked under my shield as an overhead blow came at me. At the same time I swept out with my swordhand, forcing her to jump back to avoid being hit. I charged forward with my shield first. I had done this maneuver before, so she was familiar with it. As I came charging, she simply stepped to the side, to lash at my back when I passed. But I was prepared, whirled around in the middle of a step, catching her blade with my shield, trusting forward with it, to follow up with a sweep that forced her to duck, and…
I found myself on the ground. She had swept me over with her legs as she ducked. Never expect your opponent to fight fairly. She had taught me that too, but that particular lesson was hard to swallow. She looked at me and smiled.
"Well done, Martell. You're improving."
I couldn't tell if the praise was genuine or not. A mother is never a reliable source when it comes to reviewing your flaws. I smiled in response though.
"Thanks, ma'."
She reached out with her hand, I grabbed it, and she pulled me up. I gathered up the dropped shield and practice sword, took mother's contemporaries, and carried them into the house to drop them in a locker in the main room.
"Have your mother been beating you up again?" teased father. He looked up from the spellbook on Conjuration he usually had stored in his and mother's bedroom. The long white hair fell into his face. He wasn't old, but his hair had been white for as long as I could remember. Just like mine.
"She'd beat you too, da'."
He chuckled in response.
"That's true. She has always been a fighter."
I hadn't even noticed falling asleep. After making that observation I reprimanded myself. When do you ever notice that falling asleep? I did notice waking up, however. My back's protests against the cruel treatment I was putting it through finally forced me to give in to its demands, and slowly I rose. I tried to stretch myself out, but my knuckles scraped against the ceiling. Ah well, I though. I wouldn't get more sleep that night. Might as well leave.
I exited the inn, grumbling slightly over the wasted money. They could have been spent so much better…
Dawn was coming, slowly and carefully, as if the sun was afraid that any more radical approaches to the sky would force retaliation from the night. A gray-ish, dim light spread over the streets. The wind had died down momentarily, and while I certainly won't say it was warm, if wasn't really cold either. If anything, it was bearable.
I chose to enter the Chapel of the Eight. Ever since the Treaty Talos worship had been abolished, and after hundreds of years his icon had been removed from all Chapels, making them Chapels of the Eight, instead of the earlier Nine. It was warmer here, even though there were no beds. I approached the altar of Stendarr, fell to my knees, and prayed. Right now I was in need of the mercy that he supposedly provided.
Hunted, I lamented. Hunted for almost a year, trying to escape the enemies who carried the authority granted to them by the White-Gold Concordat.
How could this have happened? Why did it have to happen? Despair welled up like a dark wave inside of me. I couldn't help but to start sobbing. The childish notion of how unfair it all was gripped me tightly. It was strangely comforting.
After a good ten minutes i wiped the tears of my face, and straightened up. There was nothing left for me in Bruma. No, I corrected. Nothing left for me in Cyrodiil. I would hang around town for a few hours, till the stores opened so I could buy provisions, and then I would go northwards, towards Skyrim. There was a civil war going on there. Maybe I could take hire as a sellsword. Oh, how I had fallen.
The sun was now above the horizon, and people started appearing on the streets. A few shops had opened, and I hurried towards one of them, owned by a sour Nord who looked like he would much rather stay in his bed than going outdoors to flip the sign from "closed" to "open". Who wouldn't in this cold? I strolled towards him, and asked:
"Excuse me, but do you sell provisions here?"
Unlike the people on the inn, this old man actually seemed happy to see me. Not seeing me, personally, but seeing a customer this early.
"Why yes, I do. Give me a minute and I'll let you in."
It didn't take him a minute, something I was thankful for. The quicker I left, the better. Once inside, he started going over his stores.
"Where are you going?" he asked casually, making idle conversation. Without reflecting that it might not be best not to tell the truth, I replied:
"Skyrim."
He looked at me with suspicion, and strangely, worry in his eyes. It didn't seem like he thought I was lying, but I couldn't be sure.
"Skyrim, eh? You'd need plenty of rations and warm clothes if you're planning to go there."
I couldn't help but snort faintly at his tone of voice. It was clear that he sold these warm clothes as well, and wanted to make some extra money. But I didn't have the extra money.
"Only rations for me. Corn, milk, and vegetables. Some meat if you have as well."
He looked slightly disappointed, but straightened his face almost immediately, adopting a very businesslike face, with a slight glint in his eyes.
I have never been good at haggling. To be frank, he skinned me almost bare. But I left with the food I needed. I exited through the eastern gate, and headed northwards. The wide road was travelled by other wanderers, a few carts, and the occasional patrol.
The crisp air chilled my lungs with every breath, and I regretted not having bought a warmer cloak. I didn't feel cold - yet. But I was sure i would by sundown.
Despite not having slept properly during the night I felt alert and brisk. I would soon be out of Cyrodiil, and while not free of Thalmor Influence, Skyrim was slowly slipping out of their grip. I wouldn't go so far as to say that I would be safe in Skyrim, but I'd be better off at least. I hoped.
Four days later the mass of people had thinned out greatly. I was almost alone on the road, constantly glaring in all directions for patrols. I couldn't trust they would take me for anything else than a smuggler, or maybe a fleeing criminal. The latter wouldn't be entirely incorrect, depending on your perspective.
On the fifth dusk I reached the border station. Camping not far from it, I decided to try and sneak by when night fell. You'd need official passports to get through legally, something I lacked. I also lacked the funds for a bribe.
As darkness fell, I gathered my belongings, packed up, and started to move as silently as I could. My night sight wasn't on level with that of a Khajiit, but since I never bothered to light a fire it was still good enough to see where I set my feet.
I shuddered in the cold wind, and could only hope nobody heard my footsteps on the dry leaves. Sounds travel far at night. I could hear an owl hooting, and flinched as it plummeted towards the ground to catch a rat crawling through the bushes. And then I heard it:
"I swear I saw something out there!"
The shrill voice pierced the night like an arrow, sending me on the edge, declaring my defeat.
Don't despair. Only death is certain.
The blood thumped against my temples, and as stealthily I could I lowered my posture, slowly inching away from the voice.
"You're seeing shadows, Björn, there is nothing out there."
The other voice rang of exhaustion and irritation. It's owner probably just wanted to return to their hearth and enjoy a mug of beer - mead. He was clearly an intelligent man, whom his companion should do everything to emulate. I turned around, and saw the pair clearly. They were using torches. I quickly averted my eyes and kept moving. They had no chance of finding me if they used torches, they night eyes were practically dead.
"I tell you, there's someone out there, trying to sneak across the border!"
Obnoxious bastard, that one.
"If you're so convinced there's someone out there, be my guest to find out. If it turns out to be an angry bear though, suit yourself."
The obnoxious bastard huffed and proceeded to searching for the person trying to sneak over the border. By then I had advanced long enough to get a headstart, and a quick glance revealed he had missed my direction by several degrees. He'd never find me if he kept going.
The cracking sound under my foot betrayed my position. As I hurried my tempo I cursed the dry branch I had accidently stepped on. Glancing back again, I noticed he had corrected his angle, coming towards me. In an attempt to shake him, I turned right and slightly back towards the border.
I didn't step on any more branches that night. Only a few minutes later I turned back in my original direction, parallel to the annoying border guard's route. Soon enough, he gave up with a shrug and comment on his own imagination, and I could continue my journey through the night without further impunity. I returned to the road, and started my way forward. Soon I saw a sign that said "Helgen", pointing me to go further into the mountains. I didn't know what Helgen was for place, but since it was marked with a sign, I supposed it was a village or something similar. It would do.
The whizzing of an arrow and the subsequent "clink" against the ground as it bounced away startled me, stopped me dead in my tracks, and without reflecting I swung my shield of my back as I pulled my sword in self defence.
"Well, look at what we have here", an aloof, arrogant female voice stated as half a dozen men in armour closed at me. "Someone who's being trying to get over the border illegally, it would seem."
An altmer dressed in the Thalmor robes came riding out of the dark on a white horse. More soldiers followed in her track, all in heavy armour. A click was heard, and a lighted torch raised. I was almost blinded by the sudden light.
"Or maybe a spy?" the Thalmor pondered. "Either way, disarm him. General Tullius has apprehended a group of Nord prisoners to be executed, might as well throw this one in with them."
No. I would not be taken by the Thalmor. I'd rather die. And take some of them with me. Without any further activity of the mind, I charged forward with a roar. I like to think it was a roar, but in retrospect, I've found myself to realize that it was probably more of a pathetic wail.
I never stood a chance. As soon as I bashed the first one with my shield, the second whipped me over the neck with a wooden mallet. Temporarily blacking out, I fell to the ground. As soon as my sight was back, I looked up at the Thalmor on her horse, holding my sword, studying it.
"Oh, it seems I have a Blade on my hands." The pun passed miles over our heads at the time, but she seemed to enjoy it. Then she looked closer at me. "No", she decided. "Too young. Maybe one of your parents? Or perhaps both?" She grew silent for a moment, gauging my reaction. "Oh, yes, they both were, weren't they? Well, as yet another rebel against the authority of the Thalmor, I guess it's just fitting that you face your death in the same way as the Stormcloaks." She turned from me, and instructed the soldiers to strip me of my clothes and possessions, and instead force me into a pair of overworn clothes, binding my numb body hands and feet. The latter were slung together in a way that allowed me to take short, humiliating steps, but not to run. I was dragged into the night by the elves.
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A/N: Thank you for reading so this. Please note that this is just the prologue, and that the rest of the story takes place after the Main Quest and Civil War.
Also, I'm going to add some snippets of info in this A/N.
All distances and cities are much larger, sporting much bigger populations. It's more realistic that way.
There is no such thing as health potions. There are stamina and magicka potions, because those do make sense outside the game. However, it's not healthy to consume these, since they force the body and soul to perform to a higher standard than it's capable of on its own.
Magicka usually takes days to regenerate, and completely depleting it may render you incapable of casting spells again. Potions and enchantments may remedy this, but sooner or later you suffer from withdrawal-like problems.
Using Shouts damage the human body to some degree. There are no specific time limits in between shouts, you can essentially fling shout after shout, but more than one shout in several hours will start damaging your throat, and too much usage without recovering will rapture your lungs. The Amulet of Talos lessens the damage caused by oneself by shouts instead of lessening the time between shouts.
These changes are done to make it more realistic, and to make sure that magic and shouts doesn't become the tantamount to god mode. These will also apply in any other ES fanfics I might make.
And finally, I ignore Dawnguard completely. As far as I see, that was not part of the Dragonborn's story, and therefore I don't include it. There won't be any references to it it any way. The Dark Brotherhood storyline takes place, but it's not the Dragonborn who is the listener. The Thieves Guild might be referred to, but he won't be joining them either. Same with the Companions.
Wow, sorry for the extremely long A/N...