Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, all the credit involving the game goes to the talented creators at Bestheda Softworks. The plotline and some characters and happenings in this story belong to me.
I am currently going through and editing/rewriting what I currently have of this story. I lost interest in writing it for a while simply because there was so much that I wanted to fix in what I had already written that I was kind of disheartened. But as of now, I have renewed vigour for this story. Look out for future updates because I'm hoping to keep them streaming in!
A storm approached. I could feel the instinctual pull in my blood. I sneered up at the crystalline sky – still deceivingly clear and inviting no matter which horizon I faced – as I forced my legs up another dune of snow. It was my third day on foot, the first I had spent running for my life, too scared to stop even for a moment to rest. Since then, the exhaustion – even with the little sleep I allowed myself – burned in my veins.
Perhaps this storm would provide me with enough cover.
I allowed myself to stop for a moment when I reached the peak of the mound, and stared north. The sun would set in around four hours, but the brewing snow-storm would most likely beat it. I stifled a groan of defeat. I had hoped to see home on the horizon before I camped for the night, but it seemed like I'd be delighted with more exquisite views of those damned Jerall Mountains.
Tiredly, I rotated my shoulders – shifting the heavy weight that hid in my pack – and began searching for some form of shelter. I eyed the base of every enormous pine around me. Some of them were almost buried in the snow that had rolled down in an avalanche a few days prior to my arrival in this silent forest.
Finding nothing, I continued north, eyeing every tree I passed until I spotted the kind of haven I'd been looking for. Allowing what felt like a relieved grin steal my face, I stumbled through the snow towards the tree cave. By instinct, I knew where I could and couldn't walk as I approached the entrance. Ducking my head, I climbed carefully down into the space underneath the tree. It was larger than I had expected. The avalanche had swiped off some of the base branches of the tree before the upper needles froze together to form a wall of needle and ice. Three branches formed the dome I was in; two of which were at my eye level and held out the snow directly opposite me. The latter was above me and was the branch that had caused the snow archway I had seen. I could tie my furs to the branch to make the space more comfortable. It would even be large enough to house a small fire. Nodding to myself, I abandoned my pack and walked back out into the world.
The weather had already taken a turn for the worst. Clouds were rolling in from the east, and a chilling breeze had picked up that carried flakes of snow from the storm. I swallowed as I hurried to a mostly unburied tree to get dry wood for a fire. The branches closer to the trunk were mostly dry and deadened from the cold. I pulled them off with ease. When I had a bundle that would last me the night, I turned to leave, and hesitated. A large stick that looked to be the trunk of a fallen infant pine lay at the base of the tree. I bent to pick it up, immediately knowing where it would be useful. With my arms full of dry wood, I stalked back to my tree cave. Once there, I threw the small pile of firewood beside my pack and held the tree trunk in both hands to force it deep into the snow at a slight angle. I leaned against it to test its strength before smiling again to myself and glancing up at the sky.
It had begun to snow. The wind was blowing uphill, growing more powerful as the storm grew closer. My smile faltered. There wasn't much time left to waste now, the storm would be upon me soon. I'd hoped to have a warm meal tonight as a celebration for being close to crossing the border.
I hurriedly entered the snow cave to retrieve a large piece of tough leather, saving the other smaller sheets and furs for the interior. Returning to the tree trunk I'd imbedded in the snow, I tied one end of the sheet to it and tested its secureness again before tying the other end of the leather to the branch creating the snow and ice doorway. I didn't allow myself the time to admire my handiwork. I hoped that it would ensure I would have a way out in the morning.
Returning to the interior of my den, I shoved the bundle of leather and furs aside and began building a small tepee out of some of the firewood I had gathered. Calling upon what little destruction magic I knew, I summoned flame to my fingertips and held a hand up to the mound of dry wood. At first it didn't ignite, but when I increased the heat, it took like a charm. Once the fire was burning cheerily on its own, I began tying layers of furs and leather to the branch above me, weighting them down to make a tent under the tree. When I was finished, I sighed and sat down against the trunk of the humongous pine and watched my little fire.
For something that was hastily constructed, there sure was a cosy sense of home about the place. The fire was slowly heating the small, dimly-lit space. The only unsettling part of it now was the howling of the growing blizzard. I had one piece of leather left, which would work well as a door to block out the sound. So, I stood and tied it to the leather and fur walls of the tent before unrolling my bedroll and lifting my pack onto my lap. I had no real intention to sleep; not yet. My stomach was gnawing with hunger but I wasn't planning to eat yet either.
Sighing, I opened my pack and pulled out the object that had been weighing me down these past few days. The object that had me running from the Imperial Guard and sleeping in a snow den outside Bruma instead of in one of Bruma's cosy taverns.
It was cylindrical in shape, with two rods acting as hand holds poking out each end. The cylinder body was made of an ivory metal and decorated with golden, vine-like patterns. I ran my fingertips lightly along them, admiring the handiwork. It was heavy, for something filled with what I assumed would be paper and writing. There was a lip where that paper would reveal itself, but after seeing the monks in the White and Gold Tower, I knew better than to open it.
An Elder Scroll.
I held it in my hands.
Before I'd been sent on this impossible mission, I'd only ever seen drawings of the scrolls in ancient texts I'd picked up here and there during my travels. I never thought I'd be holding one.
I twisted the Scroll over in my hands, studying the face that I now looked over, the word "Bloodwing" intertwined with the golden vein-like vines.
I never thought there would be an Elder Scroll that shared my last name. Yet here we both were.
Sighing, I traced my fingers over the delicate lettering. Part of me wished that I had some way to contact Brynjolf. To confide in him all that had transpired since I had left to complete this quest. But when I do finally see him again, I will have to reveal to him how I had succeeded – and failed. I was not prepared to discuss that topic with him just yet.
Straightening my shoulders, I carefully tucked the Scroll back inside my pack. Outside, the storm began to unleash its ferocious and devastating life force upon Cyrodiil. I rummaged through my pack to find my water canteen. It was almost empty, but there was plenty of snow outside to melt for an herbal tea, so I gritted my teeth and pushed one arm out into the storm to collect a handful of fresh snow. Freezing air bit and clawed at the leather and furs tightly wrapped around my arm, fighting to find a way in to stroke the delicate, warm flesh beneath. Wincing at the chill that even my blood couldn't ignore, I gathered what felt like a powdery handful of fresh snow. A little hurriedly, I packed the snow into my canteen and placed it directly next to the fire so it would melt and boil, moving a little closer to warm the chill off of my armour. While I waited, I picked absently at what remained of my salted pork, cheese and stale bread. A warm meal of rabbit or venison stew would have been so much more pleasing; perhaps I would be lucky enough to cook tomorrow morning once the storm cleared.
The outside world had become a place of darkness, cold, and slicing wind by the time I'd finished brewing my tea. I leant against the trunk of the pine, feeling it bow to the wind as I contemplated the Elder Scroll. The moment I had touched the damned thing the slow thrum of power it released had called to me. As though it wanted me to open it, to read its secrets. I knew better than to listen, but even now, with it in a leather pack on the other side of my icy den, I felt its tendrils of power tugging at me. It was akin to a domestic cat purring contently in its owner's lap. I would be lying if I said that the pull didn't bother me.
I wondered what Brynjolf would think of it. I wondered if I had have explained the connection I felt to the Moth Priests they would have let me take the Scroll without sending Cyrodiil's finest after me.
Such thoughts remained with me even after I had finished my herbal tea and tucked into my bedroll. They followed me through the blissful clouds of my dreams; ever a waking-world weight hauling me down from that glittering sky.
The birds woke me up the next morning, a cheerful sound that I was happy to wake up to. The storm had passed earlier on in the morning, the smell of freshly fallen snow was carried through the stiff leather flap of a door by the slight and crisp morning breeze. The fire had not long died, embers still glowed amongst the ashes. Sighing, I pulled my bow out of my knapsack and a half full quiver of arrows to hunt. I still had quite a bit of salted pork, cheese and bread left, but after eating only those three things for days, all I could think about was deliciously hot and aromatic rabbit stew. I knew enough about plants that I could find myself some wild carrots and potatoes to cook with it. Maybe I was even far enough north to find some sweet snowberries.
Before I opened the tent door, I turned back and looked at my rolled-up bedroll. Thinking twice, I walked over and pulled the Elder Scroll from the centre of the roll and clipped it to the leather strap holding my quiver to my back.
Peeling back the leather sheet proved to be more difficult than I had thought it would be, as half of it had been frozen with the snow on the opposite side of my construction. When I saw the massive amounts of snow covering the wall I had built, I was immediately glad that I had done so. There was a hardened mountain of snow on the other side of the leather wall, and above the entrance was a clear ice roof. I stared at the artwork that only nature could make and wondered if Kyne above had played a part in this. Inhaling the cold fresh air, I crawled through the small hole in the snow at the end of the ice-roofed walkway.
I climbed out into a white world; my Nordic senses informed me that the snow around me was over a metre deep and that I would be standing near the tops of the trees around me. A small amount of anticipation crumbled at the knowledge, I would not be able to find any kind of ground-growing food now. I still had plenty of bread left over and a few seasonings in my pack to make up for the absence of vegetables in the stew.
The light nature of the snow made me thankful that I had trained in sneak ever since I was a young girl. I managed to remain on top of the thin layer of hardened snow without leaving a footprint. When I was far enough away from my little burrow, I closed my eyes and listened to the sounds of the forest. The majority of noises I heard came from the birds that fluttered restlessly around in the trees. I waited until I heard the noise I wanted to hear, the squelching noise of something digging in the snow and it didn't take long for me to hear it. I automatically began to move soundlessly towards the noise, pulling an arrow from my quiver and loading it into my bow. I pulled back the drawstring and aimed in the direction of the noise, sighting the rabbit digging in the snow for grass and noting the direction and speed of the wind before releasing the arrow. As soon as I released it I knew that it had been a perfect shot. It arched over the distance between the rabbit and myself, before it slammed violently into the rabbit's left flank, killing it instantly. Regret flashed over me, I usually tried to avoid killing an animal unless I had no other choice. I shoved the thought to the back of my mind and walked over to the dead rabbit. Its fur was pure white, and would make a nice neck-warmer. I skinned the rabbit with skill, maintaining the quality in the fur and doing so efficiently. I cut out the parts of the rabbit that I did not eat and left them there for the foxes.
My stomach was content with the hot meal and I was on the move again shortly after I had eaten all of the stew. I aimed to escape Cyrodiil and step into Skyrim before nightfall. It took me most of the morning to pack up my camp. I ended up leaving the leather sheet wall holding up the snow because it was frozen solid. It was cooler this morning than it had been all week, which I knew was because the cold season was coming for the northernmost parts of Tamriel. Skyrim would be covered in a heavier blanket of snow when I arrived there. I smiled at the thought of being so close to home, so close to the damp smells of Riften and the Ratway. It made the chill around me seem less foreboding. I was almost there, a few leagues away from the warmth and safety of my comforter next to the hearth in Honeyside. I shook the thoughts from my mind to focus on the crisp white world around me. I kept walking until I met the road that I had spent the morning searching for. I had memorised maps of Cyrodiil and Skyrim before I even began packing for this journey. This road was the quickest path through the Jeralls. As much as I hated to be on such an often-tread path, I was much more likely to make it home using this well-known pass than I was finding some other way through them.
The borderline wasn't marked, but I knew the exact moment I left Cyrodiil behind and stood again on home soil for the first time in over three months. The smell of snow and pine became interlaced with the sweet, spicy scent of snowberries. The slight breeze changed direction, stroking the sweet, crisp air along my cheek and through my hair, as if Skyrim herself had missed me. It was an effort not to quicken my pace. I looked up at the sky and realised I only had four hours until night fell, and as I looked down and rounded a corner in the winding mountain road, I looked out over a familiar sight. I was almost at the peak of one of the mountains, so I could see right across Skyrim to the Sea of Ghosts with the largest obstacle being the Throat of the World. My heart sighed at the sight of home. Even with the terrors that had raked the lands of Skyrim over the course of my life, there was no other place in Tamriel where I would be happier.
After taking in the sight, I followed the path as it began to descend in the middle of the range. There the path would enter a cavern which led under the mountains and came out to the southwest of Helgen. From there, I didn't need the roads to show me the way home.
As I descended down the path, I caught a glimpse of a sabre cat just before it moved into the bushes to ambush me when I reached it. I halted and crouched down, quietly pulling the bow from my back and removing an arrow from my quiver. The sabre cat wasn't dumb, as soon as I took firing stance it realised it had been spotted. It leaped out from behind the bush and hurled itself towards me, snarling all the while. I took a deep breath as I straightened my body and followed the cats' movements with my drawn bow. I released the arrow just as the sabre cat reached me. My arrow buried its head deep in the cats' shoulder, but the only thing the beast did to acknowledge it was groan in pain. It lashed out at me and I jumped back just in time to keep my face.
'This is how you want to play, huh?' I growled as I dropped my bow.
The cat and I began the circular dance as I drew my twin blades from their sheaths on my shoulders. I noticed that the cat retreated a bit at the ringing sound of metal against leather and a bloodthirsty grin crept over my face. We circled around each other for what felt like an age, I lowered my fighting stance and stood up straight with my blades at my sides. I lowered the bait, which the cat saw as an opening and didn't hesitate to exploit it, but I was waiting for that and so were my blades. I stepped to the side and let the huge body of the cat fly past me; I lifted my blade and raised my arm in an arch at the last moment. My blade collided with the sabre cats left flank, blood splattered across my face and the cat yowled with pain. It landed in a heap behind me, mewling softly. I held my position for a little longer before I turned around to put the beast out of its misery.
I glanced down at the mess I had made, the sabre cat's pelt was drenched in its own blood and the cat's insides had spilled out onto the pathway for the world to see. Nausea built in my stomach as guilt began to weigh me down. Closing my eyes, I shook the image of the cat from my mind and continued down the road, only stopping when the mouth of the cavern opened up in front of me. After taking a deep preparatory breath, I sheathed my blades and drew my bow. I crouched and snuck into the cave.
The sight was an unfamiliar one, as I had entered Cyrodiil at the passage south of Riften. I exhaled quietly as I moved through the rocky tunnel. I could tell that the passage was used often by travellers because of the braziers and sconed torches that lit the long, narrow walkway. There were a number of tracks on the dusty clay floor below me, the majority of them were horse and carriage tracks. I gritted my jaw when I thought of how much more comfortable I would be if I was travelling via carriage, but I knew that I would be harder to track if I travelled by foot.
The cavern walls were made of piled clay bricks, with huge wooden beams supporting them. There were patches of graffiti where bored travellers had carved into the brick not just using Nordic patterns but Brettonic art as well. The small shards of artwork on the walls of the tunnel amused me as I made my way through it. Towards the end of the tunnel there was a huge Nordic carving that depicted all of the Nordic Gods. Above the mouth of the cave stood Shor in all His glory, with the other gods surrounding him, I paused as I took in the sight. I lowered my head for a moment out of respect, then looked forwards to the almost twilight hue of the land outside the cave. A wave of joy stole away my concerns for sneaking as I took the step out of the cave and onto home soil. I didn't bother sneaking for much longer; I left my crouched position and paced myself at a steady jog and followed my heart home.