She had been a prisoner to a foolish dynasty long enough. The Medes Dynasty had ruined her bloodlines kingdom; they had lost it to the elves of all people and were even now the slaves to the elves as they did not have the money or supplies to overthrow the Thalmor's yoke. Titus Medes was not a bad man, however, he was not wicked, and he treated her well. He treated her well because she was a pawn, she heard the rumors that it would be better if he killed her, but he had planned to marry her to one of his sons. This would create the strongest dynasty in all of Tamriel. What race could rise against the last blood of the Septims and the Medes who rose up after the Septims left a gap in leadership? He was waiting until after one of his relatives in Skyrim married, it was not the right time to have such a lavish feast anyways. Skyrim was in revolt, they would see a marriage as another Imperial extravagance. So they plumped and preened her for the day that was bound to come, to a man whom she despised and felt too free with her. Her skin crawled at the thought of his voice in her ear, or the way he rubbed the small of her back in passing. She had stayed silent in all of this, the dragon without a voice. She had to stay silent, she had to smile at their banter, she had to act cute and dumb or else she would be killed like her parents. Her parents were the last of the rebellion of the Septims, and they had died quick, public deaths as she watched on the scared child.
So roamed the halls in lavish dresses of the softest silks and brightest colors, she was their song bird that sang at their feasts and said the words they had trained her to say. She hated them all as much as they hated her. The people seemed to love her, just for the fact if she rose up then perhaps Skyrim would come into reign, but that was foolish. Those nords would fight for their freedom until you burned down every hold. Even if the people rose up with her, the Thalmor now roamed every inch of the Imperial City, and their forces were much stronger than a few thousand with pitchforks and fires. It seemed Skyrim was her only way out of this.
She had been plotting for a while, and it had cost her a lot of gold to pull this off. She had a contact in the Thieves Guild that was willing to sneak her out but it was still risky. She had watched the sun fall that night and it almost felt like she had the wings of the Akatosh avatar that stood in the courtyard. She feigned illness and went to her room early. She had slipped into the thieves own clothing, tight black leather and boots to match. She threw on the only remnant of her parents, a wolf pelt that her father had made. It was pitch black, and the hood still contained the wolf's facial structure and ears, with a few teeth remaining. They said it made her look like a savage, and perhaps she was. She knew that she was not the same as these royals. She was a fighter, she was a dragon.
She grabbed the rope from under her bed, and tied it tightly to the post. She made sure it was secure and tight as she stepped onto the window's ledge. She repelled down to meet the thief at the bottom. He led her out their passage to avoid the guards, and once she had stepped beyond the gate he had a horse waiting for her. She paid him the money and rode off that night towards Skyrim. She could hear the alarm bells ring as the city was a blur to her back, and she smiled to herself. She smiled her first real smile in over a decade.