Adventures of an Altmer – Book One: The Prisoner
Chapter One: Helgen
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To say Eilen Elsinfaere was doomed was an understatement. For some obscene reason, she was apprehended at the Darkwater Crossing, even though all her papers (passport, ID, everything, even her license that certified her as a carriage driver for Kynareth's sake) were in order. She now found herself on a cart to Helgen, where she was sure she'd meet Akatosh without a fair trial. She just knew, a sort of sixth sense of hers told her so.
She was going to Helgen, where she'd die, and there was no saving her.
Eilen forced her green Mer eyes open, and looked around for the first time since dusk the previous day. She had no idea why the carts were moving so slowly – but she suspected the Imperials wanted to show everyone that they captured the 'rebels' and also caught their leader, Ulfric Stormcloak himself.
The blond Stormcloak opposite her noticed the sudden movement of Eilen's head as she surveyed her surroundings, and smiled in a friendly way – odd for a 'true son of Skyrim', who, by nature, should hate Altmer and just about anyone who wasn't a Nord.
'Hey, you. You're finally awake,' he said. Eilen looked at him more closely, taking in his blond hair with the one braid, his deep blue eyes, which seemed to see through her and examine her soul.
'No one can sleep for a very long time in any case,' she said. 'I was bound to wake up eventually, either now, or just before the Imperials cut off my head.'
'You have a very odd way of looking at things, Elf. I'm Ralof. You are?' the Nord asked, peering into her soul again.
Eilen didn't want to give away her name so carelessly, for all she knew, he was a spy for the Imperials, put into the Stormcloak army to pass the Imperials information.
'I am called Jo by my friends,' she lied casually. After two hundred and sixty years of life, she had learned to lie to those she wanted to lie to, and could do so effectively and effortlessly.
'That's not a High Elven name,' he said, with suspicion.
'My full name is Joarelie Saelinlock,' she said, with mock resignation.
'Ah, no wonder your friends call you Jo,' he said, jokingly.
She sighed.
'Jo? What's wrong?' Ralof asked.
'I wonder what Skyrim would be like, without this civil war, where everything was peaceful, without my first introduction to the country being on my way to the chopping block,' she said critically.
'Where are you from?' he asked suddenly.
Eilen arched an eyebrow. 'Curious, aren't we?'
Ralof paled and backpedalled. 'I'm just curious as to why a young lady such as yourself would be travelling alone in such a harsh land,' he said.
Wrong move.
'Firstly, I'm two hundred and sixty years old. Secondly, I'm a master battlemage and warrior,' she said, her other eyebrow twitching.
'You don't look a day over twenty, I assure you,' Ralof said, his face going impossibly paler.
'Joarelie, right?' a dirty brunette in roughspun clothing said with suspicion.
'Yes,' she said, looking at him more intently.
'I've seen you before,' he said suspiciously.
Holy Oblivion! It's Lokir!
'Can't say I've met you before,' she said, trying her best to conceal her panic, which was rising in her chest and making her heart beat faster, like a drum. Lokir was one of her fences in the Alinor Thieves' Guild, and went back to his hometown, Rorikstead, two decades ago.
She made a signal with her jaw that said just go with it, you dunderhead.
'Must have been someone else,' he said, shrugging. Ralof glanced at him with a boggled expression upon his face.
He hummed and looked at Lokir. 'What village are you from, horse thief?' he asked.
'Stupid Lokir!' she thought to herself. 'Why would he steal a horse of all things?'
Eilen shook her head in a way that obviously said; you stupid dunderhead.
What happened next was… startling. Lokir's eyes flashed with a burning hatred that was obviously boiling for years, and his voice was scalding and harsh.
'Damn you Stormcloaks!' he screeched. 'If the Imperials hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!'
In the Alinor Thieves' Guild, 'Hammerfell' was a code name for a land they found to be safe from all sorts of trouble. She wondered what Lokir's 'Hammerfell' was. She wondered why he blatantly used an Alinor Thieves' Guild code, but she suspected that in his rage, he forgot they wouldn't know what he meant. But, on the other hand, maybe Lokir wanted to flee to the land of the Redguards, and wasn't using Alinor Guild code, after all.
'By Malacath's hairy knuckles, all I asked was what village you were from!' Ralof exclaimed.
Lokir calmed down somewhat and said sullenly, 'Rorikstead.' He spoke a bit louder and with more pride when he said, 'I'm from Rorikstead.'
Eilen turned her Elven green gaze on Lokir for the first time since the conversation took such a sudden turn.
'What happened that made you hate the Stormcloaks so much?' she asked with real curiosity. Ralof turned his head to look at her. She looked into his mind, using her magic to see the point of such a suspicious look.
'Does she know him? Or is she just curious?' was the thought embossed in his mind.
'Meridia's white robes!' was her only thought, full of terror.
'The Imperials thought Rorikstead would be a nice place to gather Imperial forces. You know Jarl Balgruuf is sitting on the fence – he doesn't know which side to choose. So, the Stormcloaks found out about this, and invaded Rorikstead to "purge" the settlement of Imperial "scum".' You could hear the quotation marks when he spoke, and his obvious disdain for both sides of the war.
'What happened next?' Eilen asked, trying to puzzle out why her old friend hated the Imperials, and most importantly, the Stormcloaks, people who were fighting for his own freedom.
'The Imperials couldn't invade any other settlement in Whiterun hold, so they chose Rorikstead, because of its position, close to Markarth. When the Stormcloaks invaded,' here his voice broke, 'my family died in the skirmish. My wife, my daughter, her husband…' his voice was now thick with tears. 'My unborn grandchild.'
The blond Nord next to her, which she had a sort of idea was Ulfric Stormcloak himself - she couldn't see his face properly, he had a gag over his mouth, looked as if he would shed tears over the deaths of the thief's family. After all, they were innocent Nord citizens, who died as a result of the civil war.
'Divines. I'm sorry for your loss,' Eilen said with genuine sorrow.
'No matter. I'll meet them in Sovngarde soon,' he said.
Don't think that, she wanted to say. You won't die, she wanted to scream. But she couldn't say with a sense of surety that he would not perish.
She turned her magic to the mind of Lokir.
'My family… My poor family,' were the pained words of his sorrowful mind. 'Ironic that I meet Eilen again close to the end of my life, at this point in time in the Fourth Era.'
The warmth and love that emanated from his thoughts at the mention of her name was overwhelming. Could it be that Lokir admired her as well as looked up to her, the nimblest thief in the Guild?
The warm breeze that floated around her ruffled her neatly cut brown blonde hair. This movement made her earrings jingle, which captured Ralof's attention. She was a High Elf, but wore one Talos charm earring, and two ruby pendants, one in each ear, the Talos pendant in the shell of her left ear, the rubies in the usual place for earrings.
Then Ralof knew he could trust the Mer. Even though she was an Altmer, who were prideful elves, she turned against her own people, and believed in the Nord hero-god.
The environment changed – lush green forests and mossy paving-stone roads replaced with cobblestone and grey stone towers.
'This is Helgen,' Ralof announced, with remembrance and sorrow.
'A true Nord town, in Falkreath. Look how low it has fallen, to house Imperials,' another Stormcloak in their cart said with clear disdain and a snort.
'Shut up back there,' the Imperial cart driver said, annoyed at the prisoners' constant conversation.
'I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in,' Ralof said, ignoring the Imperial's command.
'What's wrong with him?' Lokir asked Ralof, looking at Ulfric. Ulfric was scowling as best he could , turning his stormy gaze to Eilen. He was growling.
'Watch your tongue!' Ralof shouted, his head snapping around to look in Lokir's direction. 'You're speaking about Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!'
'Ulfric Stormcloak? The Jarl of Windhelm? Gods, if they've captured you, what are they going to do to us?'
'Get these prisoners out of the carts! Move it!' a harsh female voice commanded, much to Lokir's dismay.
'Shor, Dibella, Mara, Akatosh, Divines, please help us!' Lokir said frantically. Eilen knew, as soon as he could, he'd run.
'Lokir, whatever you do, don't run,' she said.
Lokir looked at her. 'We're going to die, Jo.' He placed emphasis on Eilen's pseudonym. 'Die. And you say I mustn't run?'
'Trust me,' Eilen said, 'Don't run.'
The cart stopped suddenly, and the prisoners were commanded to file out by the driver. As soon as their feet touched the ground, they were herded into a formation of sorts, two by two.
'Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,' a brunette Nord holding a book and quill said. Ulfric moved forwards, the Captain (Eilen suspected that was her state of office, due to her armour and crested helmet) inspected him, and signalled for him to walk towards the block.
'Ralof of Riverwood,' the Nord said again, with thinly veiled contempt. Ralof moved forward and was inspected by the Captain. He moved towards the block.
'Lokir of Rorikstead,' the Nord called out yet again. Lokir obediently allowed himself to be inspected, and moved towards the block, like Ulfric did.
'The next person on my list is Eilen Elsinfaere. An Altmer. You don't happen to be her, Elf?' the brunette asked, looking at his list.
'My name is Joarelie Saelinlock. I don't know who Eilen is,' Eilen lied easily. Lokir looked over his shoulder, fear in his eyes.
Eilen moved her head in a way that said 'I've got this'. In all actuality, she didn't, but she didn't want Lokir to bolt and die by the Legion Archers' hands.
'What do we do, Captain? She's not on the list,' the brunette said.
The Captain, meanwhile, was looking at Eilen suspiciously, at the hair covering her left ear. She was sure she saw a glint of copper and iron in the sun when the Elf got off the carriage. She took the few short steps between her and 'Joarelie' at a brisk pace and roughly yanked her blonde brown hair out of the way.
And a Talos charm stared her in the face.
The Thalmor agents behind Eilen gasped.
'One of our kind, wearing the charm of a false god?' one said.
'Death to the heathen elf!' other Nords hissed and shouted.
'Damnit,' Eilen thought. 'Akatosh, I know I haven't been the best Altmer in the world, and I've committed a few crimes, but please, help me if you can!'
'To the block, prisoner, nice and easy. We'll make sure your remains are returned to the Summerset…'
'She is a traitor to our kind! She will be cremated in the furnace of the guard tower!' a golden skinned elf said in a haughty tone.
Eilen gulped as she was led to the block. There was no saving her now. Ulfric was addressed by Tullius, and then the Captain told the priestess of Arkay to give the prisoners their last rites.
'As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Ni…' here she was cut off by an evil glare from a Thalmor Justiciar. 'Eight divines be upon you, for you are the…' she was interrupted again by a red haired Stormcloak soldier.
'For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get over with this!' he spat.
'As you wish,' the priestess said curtly.
The Captain pushed the soldier down almost gently, and it looked like she had tears in her eyes.
'Rest peacefully, my love,' she said to the redhead, and then it was over as soon as it had begun. Next thing Eilen knew, the Captain was glaring at her with tears in her blue eyes, and tears streaming down her cheeks.
'Next, the heathen Elf!' she shouted hoarsely.
'In the name of my ancestors,' she heard a voice say, as the Captain laid a hand on Eilen's back.
'And yours, Mer,' the voice said, joined by two new ones, as the Captain pushed her slowly down.
'For ages, the Dragons held this land in an iron grip, and are destined to rise again,' she heard four new voices joined with the first two say, as her neck hit the cold stone thick with warm, fresh blood and flaky dried blood.
'You will not die here today, Eilen Elsinfaere.' Six new voices joined the others, the last one regal, deep and beautiful.
Martin.
A roar sounded in the distance, snapping Eilen out of her daze.
'What was that?' the brunette said, his voice only slightly betraying his shock.
'It's nothing. Carry on.' Tullius' voice was harsh – no one could betray the Voice of The Emperor.
The headsman lifted his heavy axe. It was the end. She could feel many people's eyes on her, and, the weak attempt of magic from a mind she knew well. Lokir. He asked her to teach him her spells, many years ago. Eilen was an accomplished mage who could create her own spells. Unfortunately, Lokir was not.
'Don't… give up. You'll –'
The spell broke as Lokir ran out of Magicka.
The roar sounded again – but closer this time.
A black shape came into view –
And flew right towards them. A dragon.
'What in Oblivion is that?' Tullius shouted, his voice hoarse from the use of Voice of The Emperor. He looked up at the sky in shock.
'Dragon!' one of the Nords shouted. Eilen barely heard any of this. The dragon landed on the tower, and used a shout that sounded oddly like 'Fus Ro DAH!' and the headsman went flying. The dragon opened its fearsome jaw again and called forth a devastating meteor shower… With its voice.
'Hey.' Ralof's tone was urgent. 'Joarelie. Get up, we need to keep moving! The gods won't give us another chance!'
Eilen staggered to her feet, and looked around at the town of Helgen.
Well, what was left of it.
The dragon had destroyed nearly everything, and Eilen couldn't help but feel sorry for the Nords that lived in Helgen, and that they had nowhere to go, now that their town and all their belongings were destroyed by dragon fire. Try telling that story at a pub – they'd lock you in the Jarl's dungeon for drinking too much Nord mead or some of that imported Dunmeri stuff – Sujamma.
'Joarelie!' Ralof hissed. Eilen staggered after him. He strode into a tower that wasn't destroyed by the Big Black Behemoth and spoke urgently to Ulfric.
'Could the legends be true, Jarl Ulfric? The dragons have come back? The Harbingers of the End Times?' he asked in a low and fast tone of voice.
'Legends don't burn down villages,' Ulfric said. His voice sounded the same – soft as butter, but sharp as a knife at the same time. He looked at Eilen, and then looked around the tower. They were alone, the soldiers within long since fled, and the injured Stormcloaks long since escaped.
'When were you planning on telling us the truth, Elsinfaere?' Ulfric said, turning his blue-grey gaze upon her.
'I needed to make sure I could trust you two. Where's…' she almost said 'Lokir', but then opted for 'the thief. Where's the horse thief?'
'Don't play tricks on me, Elsinfaere. I know about Lokir's past with the Alinor Thieves' Guild. And how, even after eleven years, one can stay the same, especially an elf such as yourself,' Ulfric spat.
'Oh, the racist tendencies come out straight away. I'm sorry I didn't stick around Windhelm, Your Highness. I was merely looking for a more welcoming place to settle down into. Y'know, one where people didn't hate me just because I'm "a Thalmor-"'
'That's enough!' Ulfric interrupted her. 'That is not true and you know it. Damnit, woman! Why do you think I saved you in the first place?'
'I don't know and I don't care. Right now I want to get out of here before the dragon brings the whole damn tower down on top of our heads!' Eilen shouted with such vehemence that even Ulfric stopped in his tracks.
'Elsinfaere?' Ralof asked quietly and suddenly. 'Eilen Elsinfaere. The one Hadvar was looking for.'
Hadvar. The brunette.
'I am going to ask one more time. Where is my colleague?' Eilen asked.
Ulfric folded his arms across his chest. 'Give us a reason to trust you, Elf,' he said.
Eilen caught her right pinkie finger with both her middle and ring fingers, and absently started moving the fingers around in her own iron grip. Ulfric noticed this, her mechanism to cope with nervousness, and smirked.
Eilen unfurled her hand from its makeshift pinkie finger trap and let Magicka course through her veins in the form of a Shocks spell.
'Give me one reason not to electrocute you, Ulfric,' she hissed venomously.
'Give me one reason not to incapacitate you and leave you here for the Imperials to catch, Eilen,' Ulfric retorted.
Le end...
HAHAHA of the chapter... You don't think this is a one-shot, do you?