The Pale was a vast, cold region. Fog coiled at the bottom of the dense woodlands that stretched over the mountain. Down the hills that reached out to the plains the land was blanketed in snow and ice, clinging to tree and rock and the bodies of travelers that strayed from the road. Harsh winds whipped powdered snow across the ground, dangerously keeping the cobblestone of the road hidden. The inhabitants of The Pale were well adapted to its cruelty, in essence, dangerous beasts. Troll was amongst the most dangerous predator in its depths. With the crackling of branches Eira burst into the tree line and pushed deeper into the sprawled forest. The troll wasn't far behind. It bellowed, expending its foul breath from a mouth full of teeth yellowed and black with decay, reeking of death and rot .shaggy white-grey fur straggly and damp, hung in clumps covering its thick hide. He pounded the earth with balled fists and 400 lbs. of strength. The troll's gleaming black eyes trained on its quickly disappearing target. Eira surged uphill through a patch of dense trees and dived between scattered boulders dotting the slope. The troll lunged, swinging a forearm at her and narrowly missing by a hair. Ahead, a river's flowing waters splashed and roared, frothing white foam as the current pulled the water over the edge of a waterfall. Eira's energy began to drain and she felt her heart sink. She could reach the river before the troll could attack but wouldn't last past the other bank. The sound of the river thundered deafeningly as did the pounding of the troll on her heels. She sprung forward hoping that it was enough.
And it was.
Water tickled her body as she plunged through the river, until she finally drifted upwards and bobbed up the surface. The troll snarled furiously, frothing saliva and pacing on the bank. The moments' relief was just that, a moment. As she floated the river became stronger and faster, currents no longer sweet and light but raging and ripping at flesh and cloth. Sharp rocks jutted at the precipice in the center of the river but slick. Eira slipped right past them and over the edge. The breath ripped from her lungs and she couldn't fester a scream. Her stomach dropped and water sprayed her face just before she submerged. Bubbles rolled up Eira's body as her hair tugged her scalp above her from dropping straight down into the river. More of her skirts ripped and dangled below her knees, moderately shorter than the proper ankle length dress her mother had sewn just for Eira. She resurfaced for the second time, unscathed. The troll was no longer a threat and Eira was still alive. Her muscles screamed in agony, her legs burned and the wind stung icily on her newly wet skin. So far she had outrun every danger that crossed her path but if Eira didn't happen across weapons or armor, she wouldn't survive the wilds of Skyrim. She pulled herself out of the river and flopped onto the bank. She glanced down at her dress, sopping wet skirts torn and caked with mud and splatters of blood from falls and quarrels with nettle bushes adorned her body. Picking up a small flint she pulled the chunk of dirt caked fabric that hung awkwardly on her leg. It was a shorter dress now, reaching her knees instead of her ankles. It was wrinkled and dirt smeared but easier to move around in. Eira approved of the change, even though it left her skin bare where the boots couldn't reach. The cold faded from her skin as it dried but cloth remained frozen. Her hair hung in wet strings that clung to her face as she caught her breath and searched for kindle. She had no clue what direction the road curved and the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. The snow began to come down thicker and grew heavier underfoot. Eira struck the flint on stone and crouched at the flame, hoping to quickly dry. It took a while but eventually her dress softened and grew warm and the ashes were buried after the fire was put out. After wandering further away from the site Eira found a sturdy, ancient tree and scaled it till she found a good fork. She sank against the rough trunk of the tree and waited til the fear hammering in her heart relaxed. It slowed after a while, when the sun was a sliver over a distant hill and the glow was a faint line across the sky. Eira's eyes fluttered shut.
Sifa hovered over the fire, dipping a wooden ladle into the cooking pot, stirring the mix of meat vegetable and broth as Idonea tugged on her mother's skirts. The room was warm with a sweet roasted aroma that swirled in wispy clouds of steam that rose from her pot. The fire in the hearth caused the small cottage to glow in orange light, shadows flickering in a merry dance along the walls. The small home was decorated with furs and wooden furnishings set with wares and fresh fruit and vegetable. Sifa turned to Idonea, quickly scanning the house, searching.
"Where is your sister? I told Eira to wash an hour ago and get ready for your father's homecoming." Sifa frowned, smacking her hip with a rag she used to dry dishes.
"- Out fighting Ranulf again." She watched her mother's eye widen in shock and outrage at such brazen behavior. Idonea looked up at her mother with bright green eyes. "It's not like her to be obedient." She looked away from her daughter unto the pot again, stirring. Sifa muttered under her breath. Suddenly the wooden door to their home flung open, nearly thrown off the hinges. A bear of a man entered, long hair and large beard crawling down the front of his chest. Blue armor clung to his massive frame, barely stretching over muscles that bulged with his every movement, strapped to his back. a steel war hammer glinting silver, bright compared to the dull scales on Hjalmar's armour. A blur of motion caught his eye and a child with wild, untamed blond hair that tangled in waves catapulted herself at him, squealing with delight. Her small frame was covered in mud and scratches and her dress, a plum purple little thing, ruined. Eira looked delicate, with a small pointed chin and slim face and pale grey eyes. Unfortunately for her mother, she was fierce and bold. She climbed, fought and wandered the forest closest to their home. Belly vibrating with laughter, He scooped Eira up in his arms. After a tight hug she placed his helmet upon her own head. Sifa smiled at her husband and slid her arm around him. The helmet tipped halfway across their daughter's face.
"Hjalmar." The little girl squirmed as he embraced his wife.
"How long will you stay? When will Ulfric call on you again?" her voice cracked.
"I don't have much time. Just the night. Imperial soldiers are marching Fort Dunstad. Ulfric is hoping to get there first." Idonea watched her mother swallow sadness and clear her throat. Heartbreak shone in her eyes but Hjalmar watched Eira skip about with the helmet bouncing as she danced, ivory horns gleaming in the fire's light. Sifa turned to her daughter sharply.
"Eira, take it off!" Eira ducked away from her mother's attempt to grab her arm.
Hjalmar laughed heartily. "She has a warrior's heart."
"I won't allow it. I've already lost one I love, I won't lose another."
I won't allow it. Eira woke with the words echoing in her mind from the memory. Blinking into the morning sun, she pushed the remnants of guilt away and turned her thoughts to her next move. The Pale was alive with the call of birdsong; thin mist crawled across the snowy ground and not a single danger in sight. She made her way down the tree. After a bit of walking, Eira found the road once more, leading her to an inn, isolated from town or city. Exhausted, Eira pushed the tavern's door open and was greeted by warmth, the aroma of ale, and roasted meat. She plopped down onto a wooden chair against a corner of the inn, two chairs opposite either side of her and a table with a tankard and a plate. Both were filled to the brim, fresh and steaming. The patrons of the tavern lounged about, chatting and enjoying the entertainment of the Bard. She had a ways to go. She needed provisions and directions to the road to Windhelm. She bit her lip, wondering when at last she could see her father again. Hjalmar wouldn't be able to lift her as easily anymore. She could see him now, so happy to see her, no longer an innocent child. She wanted nothing more than to fight side by side with her father, how proud he would be of her strength and swiftness. His great hammer paired with steel of her own, flashing in battle. Hunger rumbled in her belly painfully, interrupting her thoughts. Eira sated herself and relaxed into the melodious tune, the notes trilling and playful, the Bard's song wove into the music. Hypnotized, she closed her eyes.
"what a shame to see such a pretty face so lonely."
Eira opened her eyes to see a man looming over her perch with a toothy, confident grin plastered to his face. Green and tan coat tailored with fine silks suited the Breton, his slightly brown complexion complemented by the garb. His eyes, beady and dark, roamed over her greedily, making her feel like worms writhing under her skin. His approval was obvious in the gesture. Eira didn't want to offend him, he had the money to watch her pay for any mistake on her part.
"I'm waiting on my friend to join me."
Idiot. Should have said husband. She mentally scolded herself for the misstep.
"We could be friends." He grinned nastily. "Or more."
He sat next to her, breath reeking of mead and decay, reaching a finger to trail across her skin. Anticipating the touch she tensed. She had no weapons in reach. Suddenly a shadow blocked the hearth and another man towered over her, and now the stranger next to her.
Great, just what I need.
He was an imperial, standing tall and regal. Tan, golden skin shining in its olive tone paired with dark, earth-colored hair and green eyes that blazed angrily at the Breton. They were a pale sort of green that held their own luminosity. He wasn't suited in armour and didn't seem much harm. Yet the other man shrank away from his gaze as if it burned.
"How dare you even think to touch my wife." Calmly the newcomer reached for his belt and watched the coward scramble to his feet and out of the inn.
All the while Eira sat silent, wondering if she could weasel out of another predicament. It seemed as if she were made of bad luck. He glanced up at her giving a small smile.
"I'm sorry; Geirolf is a well off lord in this province. He watches for maidens to lure to his bed furs."
"I'm not the type to be lured."
"remarkable self-respect for a traveling woman. So where are you headed?"
"My name is Eira, and I'm traveling to Windhelm to fight for Ulfric Stormcloak."
He looked thoughtful.
"Sounds noble. I can understand it. I'm Kaden by the way."
"Really? You aren't opposed to it?"
"Not really. I'm not a soldier of the Legion and the Stormcloaks want freedom to self -govern. I don't see a problem with that."
Eira grinned at his words.
"To be honest, I'm barely making it. I'm freshly on my own and I wasn't even smart enough to save up the coin for weapons or even armour."
Kaden picked up a tankard of Black Briar Mead "…What?! Do you have a death wish?!"
She glowered at him. "Of course not!" she glanced around the inn. "I left in a hurry. My mother would never have let me run off to war. She always wanted a quiet, safe life for me." She spat the word venomously. "When my sister was to be wed, my family traveled to Riften. As the ceremony began I slipped away."
He fell silent , watching her face grow solemn. She shook her head.
"She's probably happily wed in Cyrodiil. Always was a kiss ass."
Kaden chuckled . "You seem meek at first but tough underneath."
"You just have to get to know me first."
"So if you went straight for Windhelm from Riften how have you not made it already?"
"I got lost running from predators and all sorts of danger. How could I stand up for myself with no weapons?"
"Well maybe I should accompany you to Windhelm. Since you have no means of protection and you're not going to make it there otherwise."
"That sounds like a plan."
Surprise crossed his face. Kaden set down the tankard of mead and tapped his fingers on the table.
"We should set off at dawn. It's too dark to begin travel now." After agreeing on travel arrangements, Eira purchased a room for the night and left Kaden to his tent. She eagerly sank into a warm bed, closing her eyes. Eira felt like she had never even left home. The bed was covered in thick furs, candles tossing dim light across the room embellished with fruit and meat and ale, a chest sitting in the far corner to store away her supplies. Supplies she didn't have. At last drowsiness washed over her, a fully belly lulling her to sleep. The last semblance of consciousness lingered on the thought of her sister before Eira drifted into a restful sleep.
The muffled sound of groaning wood tickled the back of Idonea's mind, steadily increasing as she blinked open her eyes. She stirred for the first time in hours since the imperials swarmed her on her trek from Cyrodiil back into Skyrim, A dull ach throbbing at her temples as sunlight streamed in cheerfully on the back of the carriage she found herself in. Three other prisoners surrounded her- directly seated before her was a Stormcloak soldier, pale blond hair framing his scraggly and scarred face. Next to him sat a scrawnier man with dark hair tucked behind his ears and shifty eyes darting everywhere. He seemed panicked, opposed to the third prisoner, who was gagged with a piece of cloth, yet calmly hunched over his knees. Familiarity emanated from the stranger, his regal dress adorned in thick furs and a mane of tawny brown hair draped across his shoulders. Idonea knew this man: Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The capture of Ulfric Stormcloak would mean the end of the battle that tore through Skyrim. Relief lifted her heart. Eira wouldn't be a bloodstain on the earth. Hjalmar's sacrifice ended in vain but at least her sister was safe from the spoils of war.