"Listen to me, Sjofn," the woman pleaded, her amber eyes meeting the gaze of her daughter's that matched her own as she took small hands in her own. "You have to go into the tunnels with your brother."
"No, Mama, I want to fight with you!" The young girl protested, lifting her jaw stubbornly to hide the tremble of her lower lip.
A hand released her and brushed a thick lock of glossy black hair from Sjofn's soft round cheek, fingers brushing over bronze skin a few shades lighter than her own. Sjofn's hands grabbed at it as she pressed her face into her mother's palm.
"I'm scared, Mama. I don't want to leave you!" She whimpered.
"I know, my little one, but you must. Your father and I will come for you once we clear them off. I promise."
They both looked up as a lanky figure came rushing into the cellar. Amir was clutching his sword and Sjofn's bow. His normally tanned face was pale. Iszara looked up at her son, eyes widening.
"What is it?"
"Father said they're coming. That Sjofn and I need to get to the tunnels now!" He cried. "He won't let me fight with him!"
Iszara stood, drawing herself up to her full height. At five feet and seven inches, she still was shorter than her teenaged son who favoured his tall Nord father in all but hair and skin colour. Still, she seemed to tower over him as she fixed him with a sharp glare.
"Your father and I do this to protect you both. You both know the tunnels like a fish knows the water. Those damned Imperials don't. You will fight by setting the traps as we taught you," she said firmly.
"Iszara!" Alric cried from above. "They are in view! Get the children into the tunnels now and get your bow!"
"Papa!" Sjofn called desperately.
The Nord came down quickly and scooped his daughter into a one armed hug, his other hand gripping his war axe tightly. He kissed her, his blonde hair falling over his face as he pressed his lips to her thick hair.
"Be good, little bird, and set the traps like we taught you, alright?" He murmured.
She nodded, sniffling.
"Why are the Emperor's men coming to our home?" She asked quietly.
Alric and Iszara exchanged a look, but neither said a word.
"We will talk about it later," Alric replied, setting Sjofn down on her feet. "To the tunnels with you, like a good girl!"
Alric turned sharp blue-grey eyes to his son.
"Watch over your sister."
Amir nodded, the fourteen year old trying his best to be brave as he pressed the small bow into his eight year old sister's hands.
"We'll see you soon, father," he said firmly.
Alric nodded, watching as Iszara kissed their children before they both climbed out of the cellar, weapons brandished and armour glinting. Both children watched their parents go with sinking feelings in their guts, before Amir pushed at his sister gently, but urgently.
"Into the tunnels, Sjofie. We'll set the traps, and we'll see mother and father on the other side."
Sjofn nodded, lip still trembling as Amir pushed the false panel in the wardrobe back, and silently, the two children darted into the tunnels, setting booby traps meant to confuse, maim, and even kill any pursuers. Sjofn didn't ask, and Amir wouldn't have answered, but the question still rang in her mind:
How will Mama and Papa get through the traps? Does it mean they're not coming?
"You're going to burn it," Sjofn complained as she dropped the rolled up hide and antlers by the fire.
Amir glowered at her, continuing to turn the cuts of meat over the fire. The rest of the buck was wrapped in leather and broad leaves, ready to be sold. The hide, too, now that Sjofn had finished cleaning it. The meat roasting was their usual fare, their own take from their kill. Sjofn hadn't eaten all day, chasing after a raven that had flown off with her set of lock picks, and the smell of roasting venison was making her mouth water.
"You're a mess," Amir commented as means of a greeting, referring to her messy hair frizzing about her face with twigs, leaves and a few feathers sticking out of the thick black locks.
"Not all of us were graced with hair that stays neatly braided without falling out of place," she retorted as she sat down, waving a hand at Amir's neat braids that he had pulled back at the nape of his neck. He'd inherited their mother's wiry thick hair, and like her, he braided it into many long braids and pulled them back. Sjofn had inherited the thick aspect of their mother's hair, but instead of wiry, it was silky like their father's, and had the tendency to frizz at the slightest bit of humidity.
"You could try to braid it, you know," came his reply as he cut off a piece of meat and offered it to her. Sjofn stabbed at the offered piece with her knife and tore into it.
"And eliminate the competition? No one would ever give you so much as a second glance!" She mumbled around a mouthful of meat. "I'm doing you a favour, Amie. Giving you a chance!"
He snorted, but he was hiding a smile behind his own cut of meat, and the two siblings ate in amicable silence. When the venison was down to a sizeable amount, and their meal was nothing but grease being licked from fingers and knife blades, Amir got up and began to pack the meat into his small cart.
"Going to Riverwood to sell, then?" Sjofn asked. Amir nodded.
"Should get a good price for that meat," he said, picking up the rolled hide and antlers. "The hide, too. You're damned good at cleaning it. It's primed for tanning."
"Thanks," she said, pleased. "Why not go to Helgen, though? It's RIGHT up the road."
Amir's face shadowed with hatred.
"I saw Imperials leading a convoy there with prisoners. We won't be welcome there, and it would be hard for me to stay my hand, Sjofn."
Sjofn opened her mouth to respond when a roar sounded overhead. Both siblings whipped their heads towards the sound, eyes widening. Over the trees wheeled and circled a dragon with a hide as black as night. It dove, roaring again, fire spewing from its mouth.
'Yol....' she heard as the fire escaped the sinuous throat. She blinked, but shook her head. Yol wasn't a word.
"It's attacking Helgen!" She said urgently. Amir snorted.
"Good. I hope it eats the Imperials."
"Amir, there could be CHILDREN there. We at least need to see what's happening so we know what to say!"
Amir blinked owlishly.
"What to say? Say what to who?"
"If we go to get help!"
"Sjofn, why would we go to get help? We don't know those people, we don't owe them anything, and they're housing Imperial filth," he growled, going back to tending to the cart.
"Amir, I know people are wary of us because we don't live in town, because we look like Mother. We don't look like Nords, we look like Redguard. Someone called me an Al'Akir in Whiterun. If we helped out, maybe it would show we're not simply mercenaries, that we have common decency and aren't just after coin!" She said plaintively.
Amir sighed. His stubborn sister had a point and he knew it, and any chance to lessen Nord suspicion, even though they had Nord blood in their veins, would help them immensely.
"Alright. Let's go," he said, sheathing his daggers- he'd given up swords and picked up daggers when he got too many comments about being Al'Akir. Sjofn shouldered her bow and quiver, and together, they took off through the woods towards Helgen. It wasn't long before they saw the panicking victims fleeing through the woods and down the road- a mix of Imperials, civilians, and even Stormcloaks that were taking pains to avoid being seen.
"Stormcloaks, Sjofie," Amir breathed, the twenty six year old's eyes alight. "The Imperials must have had them prisoner. The dragon freed them! Surely it's a sign!"
Sjofn knew Amir wanted nothing more than to join the Stormcloaks and the rebellion. Until now, they'd only seen a few of the rebel soldiers and never had the chance to talk to them.
"The Imperials' symbol is a dragon, Amir," she protested as he darted from cover and after the soldier once the last Imperial went out of sight. She chased after him, cursing his eagerness to join the rebellion. "It could be a sign for them, not-"
She let out a cry of surprise and protest as she ran smack into a man who came rushing out of the thicket. Large hands caught her by the waist as she fell, steadying her. She cast her gaze around the large man, looking for her brother as she caught her breath. She saw a glimpse of Amir under a tree, talking to the Stormcloak animatedly, and relieved, she turned her attention back to the man she'd run into.
"By the Eight, you scared the ever... loving..." She trailed off as she looked into the amber eyes of a tall man in the obvious garb of a noble. His blonde hair was a mess, wind braids coming undone, and smoke and soot darkened his clothes. The intensity of his gaze, the set of his heavy brow, sharp hooded eyes and his arched nose gave him a fierce, untamed look that unnerved her and stole the words from her mouth.
Dibella, help me find my tongue, for this man's gorgeous face has surely stolen it from me.
"You don't want to be heading that way," he said quietly, and the voice that came from him was deep, rich, a rumble of thunder in the mountains that she could feel resonating in her gut, could feel rubbing over her ears, and she wanted to drown in the rich depth of it.
"Wanted to see if... help. If anyone needed help," she said lamely, unable to look away from his golden brown eyes. He shook his head.
"None left to save, and those left can save themselves or die as the Divines decree," he said. "All that I saw left were Imperials, and those damned dogs can feed that winged demon."
A soldier came running up to them through the thicket, his clothing marking him as a Stormcloak.
"My Jarl! Thanks be to Talos, I thought we'd lost you!"
Jarl? This man is a Jarl? That means... Oh by the gods...This can't be Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak!
The man turned his gaze to the soldier, his expression that of barely concealed relief.
"Ralof. You made it out alive."
"Yes, my Jarl. The dragon took out the Imperials that had me. I got lucky, I did. Avoided the fire and the snapping teeth," Ralof replied eagerly, but he winced, and Sjofn's eyes immediately dropped to the blood on the man's leg, her panicked awe over the identity of Jarl she'd run into fading away at the sight of the wound.
"Let me see that," she demanded, dropping to a knee and rummaging through her pack. "At least let me bandage it."
"No. If Jarl Ulfric is injured, see to him first," Ralof protested. Sjofn looked up at him, her suspicions confirmed, as her expression was a mix of apprehension, awe, and concern for any possible injuries.
"I am fine," he said. "See to Ralof. I should make my way back to Windhelm. It will be hard for the Emperor's dogs to get me there."
"I... do you need anything?" She asked timidly as she bade Ralof to sit, pulling herbs and bandages from her pack. "My brother and I have a camp not too far from here. We have a few supplies, meat and the like. He wouldn't mind, really. He'd be tickled to death to help out the Stormcloaks."
Ulfric tilted his head as he watched her crush the herbs between her fingers, releasing their juices before pressing them into the gash on Ralof's leg.
"You look like a Redguard. Are you Al'Akir? Why would you have any love for Nords?" He asked. Sjofn's cheeks flushed angrily.
"I am born of Skyrim to a man as pure a Nord as any," she said hotly as she wrapped a bandage around Ralof's leg, who smiled at her gratefully. "My father was Alric, from Falkreath, and as fine a smith as you would have ever found, save for the smiths of the Skyforge. My mother, Iszara, was of Hammerfall, is true, but the hot blood of a Nord runs through my veins from my father."
Ralof laughed.
"Temper of a Nord woman, she has!" He said jovially. "Remind me of my sister, you do."
"Was?" Ulfric asked. "You look young to have lost parents."
Sjofn was quiet as she got to her feet in a single fluid movement.
"I'm twenty. Not that young," she growled softly. "...Imperials killed my parents. My father refused to make weapons for them when he found out they were taking ore from the local mine without paying the miners. They said he owed the Empire his service and he refused. They attacked our home, and my brother Amir and I fled through the tunnels under our home while our parents fought them off."
Her eyes moved to Amir, who was still talking to the soldier, looking excited.
"We have no love for the Empire," she said softly. "My family was not happy when the decree came, outlawing the worship of Talos. My father held Talos in the highest regard. To take away a man's right to revere a hero, a god amongst men, was to take away his heart and soul, according to my father. My family never had any love for those who lick the boots of the Thalmor."
"The Stormcloaks would be a good place for you," Ralof said brightly. Ulfric was still sizing her up, his eyes on the bow strapped to her back.
"An archer, I see. How are you with a bow?" He asked.
Sjofn pulled her bow from her back and drew an arrow. Pulling the bow taut, she aimed quietly, her amber eyes focused on the wildly gesturing figure of her brother. As quiet and gentle as a baby's breath, she let the arrow fly once she had it nocked. The arrow went straight past Amir's ear, one of his braids falling to the ground. He wheeled in her direction, fury etched on his face.
"I TOLD YOU NOT TO DO THAT AGAIN, SJOFN. JUST YELL AT ME TO GET MY ATTENTION!" He roared.
"NOW THE SIDES ARE EVEN!" She bellowed back, her voice louder and stronger than his- even the air felt heavy as she shouted her reply. She chuckled and shouldered her bow again.
"I shot off one of his braids last week," she shrugged. "He wouldn't listen to me when I told him Falkreath was not where we wanted to trade. It was a good distraction from his path- the Imperials I saw further ahead would have accosted him. He would have walked right into them."
"You've a good eye with a bow. Are you a battle archer, a hunter?" Ulfric asked. "Or did your mother teach you the ways of Redguard scouting?"
"A hunter," she said. "Never trained for combat. And yes, I am skilled at scouting and hunting through my mother's guidance. If I don't want people to hear me, they don't. I've practically stood on top of Amir before and he never knew I was there, and he was facing me."
"The Stormcloaks could use skilled scouts and archers. Have you considered joining?" Ulfric asked.
"Never had the opportunity to ask a Stormcloak," she replied. "It seems that dragon gave me the best opportunity to ask the man in charge."
Amir and the soldier joined them, Amir glaring daggers at his sister.
"Uncalled for."
"Totally called for," she shot back. "Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak asked to see my skill with the bow. You needed to have your braids evened out. Win win situation, methinks."
Amir's brown eyes went wide, and he bowed his head at Ulfric.
"My Jarl, I apologise for my sister," he said hastily. Ulfric made a dismissive gesture.
"She has fire. Nothing to apologise for, especially if you both are interested in joining our cause."
"Yes, my Jarl! I want nothing more than to drive those Empire dogs out of our lands!" Amir said heatedly.
"You should come with us to Windhelm then," Ulfric said. "We will have to test your mettle, of course, but we perhaps we will see your abilities on the way there."
Ralof tested his weight on his bad leg and made a sound of pleased approval as he nodded at Sjofn. She smiled at him.
"Don't stress it too much. We will need to stop somewhere and clean it, though. Those herbs will only hold off infection for so long without the wound being cleaned."
"We can stop in Riverwood. My sister lives there. She can help us out before we head out again," Ralof agreed. "She can pay you for the herbs you used on my leg."
"We were headed there, too," Amir added. "We have venison and hides to sell, but we can use them on the trip to Windhelm instead. Our camp isn't far."
Ulfric nodded.
"Let us make haste. Imperials will be sending reinforcements to Helgen once word reaches them of the incident."
"Are you sure you want to stay behind, Sjofn?" Amir asked, almost looking doleful, his gaze turning suspicious as they fell on the Avian at Sjofn's side.
"Yes. If we want the town to help hide our tracks, doing favours will help keep them happy about keeping quiet about where we went, or that they even saw us," Sjofn replied. "We went delving into a Barrow before. This will be no different, Amir. It's just a golden claw and bandits. We've handled worse. Besides, it would be better if I told the Jarl of Whiterun about the attack on Helgen. It might not be wise for Stormcloaks to simply walk into Whiterun after Imperials were killed."
Ulfric nodded, approval in his expression. Amir pulled her aside.
"I am worried about the Avian. You barely know him," he whispered.
Drex was an Avian male Sjofn had found outside the inn, restringing his bow. The two had talked as Ulfric bartered with Delphine, the inn owner, over goods, and Sjofn had taken an instant liking to the Avian's dry humour and wit and similar love for archery. He'd no love at all for Imperials, and though Ulfric had given Drex a wary eye, Drex had been nothing but respectful to the Jarl. Sjofn liked him right off the bat.
"He's good with a bow, and just as stealthy as I am," she hissed. "Would you rather I go into the Barrow alone, brother, since you cannot be parted from your new commander's side?"
Amir had the decency to look admonished, and her expression softened as she kissed his cheek.
"Sometimes kissing babies and doing favours can be what wins a war. I have the social grace to do that. Go smash things, and leave the delicate work to me, alright? I'll be fine, Amie," she murmured as she pressed her forehead to his.
Amir traced the tattoo on her cheek.
"You remind me so much of Mother when you do that, the harsh glare then the gentle words. An arrow, you are. Sharp, quick, with a soft fletching," he whispered. Sjofn rolled her eyes good naturedly.
"Go, Amir, and save me the silly sentiments. I will meet you in Windhelm once I finish this task," she replied, bumping his nose with a finger. "Behave for the Jarl, will you?"
He laughed.
"How will I manage without my big little sister?"
Sjofn chuckled, her eyes glittering. She tried not to flush as she felt Ulfric's eyes on her as she tossed her head in laughter.
"You will have to make do. Now go. Drex and I have it from here."
"Talos bless your weapons, sister."
"Dibella sharpen your tongue and wit, brother."
"So this is it, huh?" Sjofn asked no one in particular as the door slid down. Drex made a sound of curiosity.
"This chamber feels dangerous. Keep your eyes and wits about you, Sjofn."
She nodded and slid into a crouch, sneaking along the chamber, Drex creeping at her side.
"Impressive. Damned impressive," he whispered as they approached a platform surrounded by stairs. A wall behind it, carved with runes and sculptures, towered and curved over the back half of the chamber. An altar and what obviously was a sarcophagus were in the middle. To the side of the curved rune covered wall was a staircase. Intent on simply climbing it, Sjofn headed for it when an irresistible sound tugged at her ears. She turned her head, and the wall was pulling at her, some of the runes glowing.
"Sjofn?" Drex whispered in concern as she crept towards it.
She didn't hear him. Her blood sang in her veins, pounding in her head as a low chant, a rumbling cacophany of voices roared in her mind and ears. It was a siren song she could not ignore, and it pulled at the very essence of her being, her blood aflame with a need to be closer to the glowing runes. Her hands reached out and stroked the glowing carvings, the stone cool and smooth under her slender fingers, and as flesh made contact with the glowing symbols, she felt a sense of completion. She felt satisfied, temporarily sated, and a strange but familiar fullness filled her chest. It was new, but she felt as though she'd been waiting for it all her life.
Then came the frustration. She had a sense of knowing, but not a sense of HOW. She suddenly knew she could do something, but she didn't know how to do it. The words no longer glowed, but she saw them still.
Fus.
She knew it meant Force. How, was what she did not know, but she knew the WHY and the WHAT.
"Sjofn?" Drex asked again, worried, his feathers fluffed in concern.
Silence rang through the chamber as she dealt with the strangeness of the situation, but the quiet was broken by the lid of the sarcophagus being thrown back. A Dragur was dragging itself from the stone grave, and it fixed its empty eye sockets on Sjofn.
"...fus... RO DAH!" It rasped, and the very air in front of it rippled, and pushed her flat on her back. It froze, as if it expected it to do more than simply push her back.
Sjofn didn't hesitate. She leapt to her feet and drew her bow, Drex mirroring her movements behind the undead Nord. Almost simultaneously, arrows flew into the creature, and it collapsed. Another arrow to the head, and it fell still. Sjofn approached it to rifle through the rotting clothing for anything useful and to retrieve their arrows.
"What's that?" Drex asked, pointing a claw to a smooth flat stone by the Dragur's side.
Sjofn picked it up and examined it.
"It looks like a map? I can't read it properly," she said. "Maybe a scholar in Whiterun can figure out what it's for."
"Are you alright? The wall had you in a trance," Drex commented.
"It... I can't explain it," she admitted. "I felt like it was knowledge I'd lost, and was reclaiming. I feel like I've taken back part of myself."
"I don't even know what language that is," Drex said. "What did it say?"
"Force. Fus. In what tongue, I... I don't know. I just... know."
Drex cocked his head.
"You look pale. Let's find a way out of here, give that claw to its owner and get you some food and sleep. Then we can head to Whiterun."
Sjofn couldn't agree with him more.
"Yes. Let's get the hell out of here. I don't want to see anymore dead walking around."
The two climbed the staircase in silence out of need for stealth, and for Sjofn, it was out of confusion and bewilderment. She had no idea what had happened back there, and she was slightly afraid that she knew something, yet had no idea what it was she knew.
Maybe someone in Whiterun would know.