Almost there, just a little further...

Her clothes were soiled from days of traveling, now little more than rags. The temperatures had dropped as she approached the border between Cyrodiil and Skyrim, and the quickly disintegrating clothing was not sufficient protection against Skyrim's harsher climates. She shivered, and reluctantly went out onto the main path, to walk in the sunlight. Maybe it would warm her enough to stop shivering. She hadn't seen a soul for the last day and a half but had been hiding in the shadows of the trees to avoid being detected and hauled back to her company. Bosmer were not common in this part of the Empire, and her battered appearance would be noticed.

The Thalmor were formidable foes, especially with soldiers from Valenwood serving as archers and sometimes infantry. Tharwen knew this only too well as one of those conscripts. Her body ached from her imprisonment. She had tried to desert before, and the consequences had been harsh. They didn't want to kill her outright, thinking she could be broken with enough punishment. If they found her again she would most certainly be made an example of though. She couldn't afford to be seen, at least until she was far from the Imperial city. She knew that to the North, a civil war had upset the balance. She now wished she'd waited until being stationed there before trying to make a run for freedom – she would likely have been missed in the melee more easily.

She licked her lips, mouth watering. She had not been able to bring provisions this time, and both hunger and thirst were beginning to take its toll. This on top of her intermittent sleep had dulled her senses. With her thoughts reflecting inward, she did not pay heed to the commotion nearby, until it was too late. The sounds of a skirmish ahead caught her attention and she began to run toward the treeline, as her natural instinct dictated. The fighting sounds drew nearer and as she ran through the knee-high grasses she faltered. A horse nearby whinnied in terror and she turned another way, before hearing hoofbeats behind her. Then it went black.


Tharwen opened her eyes, feeling nauseous, and wanted to feel the bump she was sure had formed on her head. Her hands were tied. She could tell she was on a cart, by the way her body jolted up and down, making her stomach hurt even more. Her vision slowly faded back into focus. She looked to her side, seeing a man bound and gagged, and another in rags like her own, also bound. He looked morose, skittish. The gagged man looked stonily ahead.

She looked ahead, seeing a resigned, but calmed Nord man glancing toward their destination. He looked back to her and his voice seemed strangely optimistic. "Oh good, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, weren't you? And that thief over there."

The dark-haired man's anger swelled. "Damn you Stormcloaks..."

Tharwen ignored his little tirade. Theives like this man were all cowards. She didn't heed him, until the Nord reprimanded his insult toward the man in the gag.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the True High King!"

The thief voiced her concerns aloud. With the leader of the rebellion in their prison cart, she had a sinking feeling that the Thalmor would be nearby. And that this time she wouldn't be getting away. She began to think of any way she could extricate herself from the situation. It seemed hopeless. With Ulfric Stormcloak in tow, she was certain the security would be steadfast. Unbreakable.

The carriage came to a halt. Almost wistfully, the Nord glanced at her "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."

She nodded, tacitly, and grimaced in disgust as the thief began to beg and plead with the justiciar. Jumping down from the carriage with her wrists bound was awkward and she felt woozy from her head injury and her lack of supplies over the last few days. He was right. End of the line.

The men were called to the block, one by one. Finally she stood before the Imperial soldiers. The man looked up at her, his face betrayed that he was not happy with what they were doing, but that he was a man of duty and honor. "You, you're not on the list. What is your name."

"Tharwen of Valenwood." Her low voice was clipped, and decidedly unfriendly, though not disrespectful.

"Not many Wood Elves would choose to come alone to Skyrim." He looked over to his superior. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list. "

"She goes to the block."

"By your orders, Captain." He looked back to her. "I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood. Follow the Captain prisoner."

Tharwen did as she was bid, walking past General Tullius, berating the revolutionary leader. A deep, guttural roar echoed around them, from the mountains nearby. She felt like she had snapped back into reality, feeling very cold and uncomfortable. The company craned their heads to the sky, looking around for the threat.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing! Carry on." Tullius dismissed them with a gesture.

"Yes General Tullius." The shrill Captain saluted him and turned to the priestess. "Give them their last rites."

The priestess was interrupted by the first man to arrive at the block, and he knelt. The executioner lowered the axe, and his head rolled into a wooden box. Tharwen shivered, and saw the Captain look at her directly.

"Next the Wood Elf!"

Tharwen made her way to the block, her mind racing, remembering all of the things she had done to lead her here. What could she have done differently? She wondered if this was the Gods' plan and thought wistfully of the arching groves of Valenwood, the hunting trips with her kin. The roar from before echoed again, louder this time.

"There it is again!"

"I said, next prisoner!" The Captain persisted.

She stumbled her way toward the block, kneeling. Her knees and thighs pressed against the dead body of the Stormcloak soldier, still warm and soft. She laid her head down on the block, already soaked with blood. The Imperial soldier looked at her with regret clear in his eyes.

At least the blade is still sharp. Nothing worse than being the last at the beheading – what is that?

Behind the headsman, a black creature flew across the sky. The roar echoed against the walls of Helgen.

"What in Oblivion is that!?"

The creature, black and huge with burning red eyes landed heavily onto the top of the Keep, with such force it knocked down the headsman. Tharwen stared, feeling small and bewildered, looking into the eyes of the first dragon in Tamriel for hundreds of years.

"DRAGON!"

A noise erupted from the beast, and the sky darkened suddenly. Another shout and she felt disoreinted, knocked off the block, her body limp against that of the dead Stormcloak. For what seemed like an age, but was just moments, she lay confused, until the voice of the familiar Nord beckoned her. She couldn't make out all of what he said, her ears ringing and her head pounded. He motioned for her to follow, which she did clumsily, her hands still bound, into the Keep. Around her, the surviving Stormcloaks had gathered, trying to make sense of what was happening. From their gestures and shouts she discerned the need to move. Following the Nord, she ran up the stairs of the keep, before a burst of flame broke through the wall. She hesitated, and followed.

"...jump through the roof and keep going!"

With a leap of faith, she sprang from the hole in the stone column of the keep and landed squarely on the destroyed house, her feet breaking through the roof and into the room below. The smell of smoke and the heat of the burning wood overwhelmed her senses as she ran through the house and into the fray. The sympathetic Imperial man was leading a child to safety, and eyed her.

"Still alive prisoner? Follow me if you want to stay that way." His concern for her was confusing, but she accepted it and followed, obeying his instruction. She could see the carnage surrounding them – the town was lost. She ran past an archer who had caught flame, screaming, but still trying to fire at the beast.

"Ralof you damned traitor!"

"You're not stopping us this time Hadvar!"

The Nord and the Imperial soldiers stood ground. Tharwen wanted to shout at them to forget their differences so they could run. Clearly they knew each other – perhaps they were even related. Civil war was an ugly business. As the Nord turned and ran, she trailed the Imperial soldier, who had by now realized it was no longer worth trying to stop prisoners from escaping. As they entered the soldier barracks, she wasn't listening so closely to Hadvar.

"...I can get those bindings off." He cut loose the bindings, and motioned to the room. "Take a look around. There should be plenty of gear to choose from. I am going to see if I can find something for these burns."

Tharwen rubbed her wrists where the cords had been tied and walked toward one of the many storage chests. She pilfered through it, dragging out a complete set of light armor. It was not as warm as she would have liked for Skyrim's weather, but it would have to do, and she happily put on the leather boots. Her feet were bruised – the foot wraps had been damaged beyond repair in her flight. She also grabbed an iron sword from the rack, thankful to be armed, even if it wasn't her weapon of choice.

"Come. This way."

She followed Hadvar through the bowels of the city, fighting her way through enraged Stormcloaks beside him. As they made their way, she stopped to collect the rabbit and pheasant meat that sat hanging by a fire. She was ravenous, and ate some of it raw as they walked. Hadvar looked somewhat disturbed, but this was not the first time Tharwen had eaten uncooked meat before in Valenwood. It was not unheard of when there were no supplies to make a sustained fire.

Through another door they entered the torture chamber. Tharwen let Hadvar deal with the Torturer and his assistant, who had just used magic to kill another Stormcloak soldier. She rummaged through the knapsack on the table, pulling out more food, some useful potions and several lock-picks. She walked ahead, then waited, as Hadvar tried to get the Torturer to join them and escape. She was glad when he did not follow. The man seemed disagreeable. They made their way down further, facing another small group of Stormcloaks. As she cut down one of the men with a burst of flame, she stopped, and grinned. The long bow was not of high quality, but it would do. She gathered the arrows from the corpse and held the bow ready as she ran after Hadvar.

As they tried to enter a hall, the cracking rumble of a rockslide made Tharwen jump back, the way closed. She followed Hadvar through another door and then crouched, seeing webbing surrounding cavern. Water rushed below them, the air musty and damp. The giant spiders seemed to sense their presence, using their webbing spindle to lower themselves to the floor. She stayed low, and drew her bow, hitting both before Hadvar had reached them. She ran up to them afterward, as he gave her an appraising look, and extracted the venom. They were colored differently than the variation she had seen in Valenwood or Elsweyr, but otherwise were not so different than the quarry she had hunted before.

"Hold Up. There's a bear up ahead I'd rather not tangle with her right now."

Tharwen loosed two arrows before the bear had risen. By the time it saw them, she had loosed another and it crumpled with a growl. Hadvar looked impressed, and she ran to the bear to get its hide and claws. She would have tried to butcher the animal for its meat as well, but Hadvar urged her on. She would use the pelt to make some proper armor as soon as she had the chance.

Only a little ways further, they approached the end of the underground trek. Sunlight spilled into the cavern, and Tharwen winced at the sudden assault. The dragon roared from afar and she and Hadvar instinctively crouched down. She could see the black shape of the monster disappear in the distance. Hadvar stood.

"I think it's gone for good. Let's not stick around to find out." He stood, turning toward her. "Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle is the blacksmith there. I'm sure he'd help you out. It's probably best if we split up. Good luck, I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

Tharwen nodded, equally grateful. "Thank you for releasing me."

They went their separate ways. Tharwen ate some of the food she'd pilfered, and held tightly to her long bow. She was glad she was ready – a pair of wolves soon appeared. She quickly shot them down, and hurried on, until she could see the archway of the entrance to Riverwood. She looked around, and headed toward the forge. The man sitting at the grindstone was older, gruff. He looked up at her curiously. "It isn't every day we have visitors in Riverwood."

"Hadvar says you can help me." She said, eyeing the forge. She thought of her bear hide. It would be good if he would allow her to make some armor for herself.

"Hadvar? How do you know him?" He looked incredulously at her.

"He helped me escape from Prison. A dragon attacked Helgen. Hadvar and I escaped together."

He no longer seemed to be as concerned about suspecting her. The news clearly worried him. "A dragon? In Helgen? That explains what I saw earlier flying from the south. I was hoping I was wrong about what it was. "

He stood, halting his work, clearly seeing the gravity of the situation. He mumbled to himself, disbelieving. "A dragon, here in Skyrim. What is this world coming to...?"

He looked up at her. "The Jarl needs to know about the dragon immediately. Riverwood is defenseless. Tell Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send what soldiers he can. If you can do that for me I'll be in your debt."

"I can do that. Do you have any supplies I can take with me? And can I use your forge?"

"Take what you need, within reason of course."

She nodded, and he led her inside. She stored up on cheese and cooked meats, unsure about the other provisions. She did not feel comfortable eating vegetation, and bread just reminded her of her imprisonment. It was still from the earth, and not sanctioned. She may not be in Valenwood, but her dietary habits hadn't made that leap. A little girl approached her while she was inside, asking eagerly about their escape from Helgen. Tharwen tried to answer politely but was blunt.

She nodded to Alvor, and disappeared outside to replenish her supplies of arrows, using already-felled wood. It was the only way, but she felt uncomfortable stripping the bark. Molding the iron tips was easier, and she sharpened the blade of the iron sword. With the bear and wolf pelts she was able to make a simple set of fur armor. She knew it was slightly less effective, but she was not comfortable with the idea of being mistaken for a soldier in this strange land. Better to appear as a rogue. She would need to spend some more time soon collecting the proper materials so she could to make stronger, more protective armor. That would have to wait, though. She wanted to move away from the carnage. It was dark by the time she set out. She was exhausted, but did not feel comfortable enough to truly rest. She drank a health potion that the family had provided for her, and feeling slightly invigorated, she set out for Whiterun.


My second play-through of Skyrim. I've decided to document it and control the story, more in a role-play style. Sorry for the repetitive nature of this as I realize it's pretty much scripted thus far. I'm hoping once the story picks up it'll be a bit more individualized. I'm happy to hear comments about the story or just talk about Skyrim (because it's awesome!)