On the back of her armored mount Ruthalia thought it was time to finally do what she had been told to do ever since she first entered Whiterun.

Go and see the Greybeards.

This gave her not only an opportunity to find out more about the Dragonborn legend, but also the chance to discover more of this unknown country. Supposedly, there was someone in Ivarstead who knew about the Greybeards.

Ruthalia pulled out a map, trying to figure out how to get there, scanning the drawing of Skyrim with her wood elf eyes. She was from Valenwood but had been pulled into this strange land when she had joined a fight against a group of soldiers that attacked a party of hunters just outside of Skyrim. The soldiers had captured her and taken her with them, along with many others.

Staring at the map, the soft rhythm of the riding mount beneath her caused memories of that day to float to the surface.

Ruthalia remembered the cold stone under her cheek, as she placed her head on the filthy block, waiting for her execution. She had taken her destiny silently.

And then there was the dragon.

He had appeared on top of the tower, roaring and arching his black wings. Massive. Frightening. His simple presence awesome enough to cause the whole village to hold its breath.

Too late.

They saw it opening its huge mouth, with teeth as sharp as the finest steel, longer than daggers, and then the roar followed by a wave of flames, swallowing the roof tops of the wooden houses. Then chaos.

Forgotten was the execution as everyone ran for their lives. Little mice, running from the hawk.

Ruthalia had gotten herself up and looked for a way to escape the massacre. The flames were soon all around her, wooden boards flying through the air like tooth picks. Crashes, screaming, roaring and shouting. The dragon's wings soaring into the air, strong and leathery. She still remembered the sound of them beating, carrying it over the village, supporting it while it shot more and more fire balls down onto the lost village. Guards tried to shoot it, their bows and arrows ready - missing. They missed each time.

She blinked as a butterfly flew right past her, interrupting her reverie. It was fairly big but nothing compared to the size it could reach in Valenwood. A soft smile spread over her face. Ruthalia reached out with one of her arms and the little insect landed peacefully on her hand, yellow wings flapping lightly. The horse was moving through a small, beautiful forest. The sound of its hooves on the dirt path a gentle thumping. The air was thick with pollen and heavy from the heat. The sun was shining bright on a perfectly blue sky. Several birds were singing and she could make out some deer in the distance, moving through some scrub, her sharpened elven senses enabling her to do so.

The butterfly, now taking off into the air again, caught her attention for just a moment. Its little fluttering wings nothing compared to the dragon …

"Watch out now!" the Imperial soldier shouted as the black dragon landed right on top of the house closest to them.

All Ruthalia could see was its huge wing, for fortunately it was facing the other direction, spitting more of its hungry flames onto the already dead village.

Sneaking past it they ran for the next shelter, but too late. The dragon had caught their movement in the corner of its huge eyes.

Almost grinning, it let its massive form drop down in front of them. Growling from deep within its throat it prepared to cause more death, the first bits of flames dancing around its cavernous mouth, curling around its snout like snakes.

The moment seemed to last forever as Ruthalia found herself eye to eye with the great beast. And even though it had caused so much misery, death and destruction she found it utterly amazing and beautiful. And that amazement would have cost Ruthalia her life, if a blond Nord had not shown up and grabbed her arm, pulling her out of the way. Not a second too late, either, for where Ruthalia had just been standing there, was now a black, burned spot on the earth.

Breathing heavily she stared at her rescuer for a while, then they both headed for the main watchtower. They charged through the side-entrance and slammed the door behind them.

She blinked and shook her head, clearing the last of the fiery images floating before her inner eye. Her mount was blowing deeply out of its nostrils and it had slowed down a little, stomping its feet every so often, seeming nervous. The Wood Elf pricked her ears to the sounds of the woodland around her and narrowed her eyes for signs of danger. There was nothing, only a wagon that had broken down at the side of the road, sacks, barrels, vegetables and clothes scattered everywhere. That was until she spotted a man not far from the wagon, cowering and alone. His clothes looking dirty and torn. A big bow was fastened on his back however, along with a stack of arrows.

Ruthalia narrowed her eyes and stopped her horse. In one swift movement, she swung off its back and stepped up to the lonely figure. What would anybody be doing out here?

"Are you all right?"

"I … I got attacked. A bunch of bandits ambushed me on the way to Ivarstead and stole most of my goods," he stuttered, shaking a little.

Ruthalia wrinkled her forehead, trying to figure out what it was about this man that seemed rather foul and fake. She decided not to answer.

"They took off with it, but can't be far."

"Lead the way," she said after another moment of silence, still wary. She knew his kind all too well. A decoy. This was not the first time somebody had tried to lure her into a trap. And it was definitely not the best of lies she had encountered either.

"Their camp is right across the bridge," he exclaimed excitedly, happy over the help it would seem. Ruthalia's mind was working as she followed him slowly, carefully. Why would he know of their camp and why would he sit so close to it. It makes no sense, guards passing by would be at their throats in no time. Definitely one of the most pathetic lies, she agreed to herself.

She could see it almost immediately after they passed the bridge. There was a little cooking spit over a strongly burning fire, barrels here and there. Sacks filled with all kinds of things. A small table close to a tent. And then the shouting.

"Haha! I got you!" the helpless man cheered, not so helpless anymore.

The first few archers appeared on top of the stairs of some ruins, their arrows ready and pointing at Ruthalia. But she had been expecting a trap and had her bow ready as well. Before anyone else could act, the not-so-helpless-man had an arrow sticking out of his forehead and dropped aside with a thump.

"Get her!" more voices shouted, now coming from everywhere.

Bandits with swords came running out of the corners of the small camp, more archers appeared from behind left over walls. Ruthalia's hands were swift and, one after another, they each followed the first archer's miserable fate. But taking care of the archers had given the swordsmen a chance to get closer, and Ruthalia was forced to pull her blade as well. Enchanted with a Soul Trap that would fill some of the Soulgems she carried, it glowed a mysterious pale blue. But the bandits didn't hesitate to slack at her with their dull blades. She blocked the first hit, coming straight down at her, then she made a swirl and her blade slit open the bandit's stomach, guts spilling out hot on the cold stones of the bridge she was still standing and fighting on. But another bandit soon took the others place and tried his luck on her as well. Their problem was that they didn't cooperate. The leader was shouting commands from further away, but their filthy characters were out for money and their own sakes, trying to get to her first in order to claim all her goods before their leader could.

Two more bandits fell.

Ruthalia kicked their lifeless bodies off the bridge to make more room, awaiting the angry leader.

"Useless dogs!" he mumbled, coming at her with raised blade and readied shield. He was using an Orcish weapon, the blade razor sharp with a cluster of nasty spikes. He managed, more out of luck than actual skill, to cut into Ruthalia's thigh. She stepped back a few inches, to gather herself, the wound caused by the dirty sword burning like fire.

She clenched her teeth and with an angry moan closed in for the kill. Her Daedric sword easily cut through the bandit's helmet and went straight down into his brain, killing him immediately. He dropped down in front of her, blood splashing onto her bare arm and staining her armor. Damn, that will need some serious cleaning later, she thought sarcasticly, wiping her blade on the dead body of the leader.

Breathing heavily she stood there for a moment or two, before she started looting the bodies.