"You want to know who the Forsworn are? We are the people who must pillage our own land. Burn our own ground. We are the scourge of the Nords. The axe that falls in the dark. The scream before the gods claim your soul. We are the true sons and daughters of the Reach."

The Reach 4E 175

Almiri shut her eyes in concentration as she held her palm forward. She could feel the soft hum of her magic within her, building as she focused. The magelight softly flickered to life and when she opened her eyes, she smiled in triumph. The light warmed her skin, giving a soft glow to the space around her. Perhaps Mother would stop being so sad all the time when she learned what Almiri could do, "Everyone will be happy," Almiri told herself. She frowned, trying hard to remember the time before they came here, to Markarth. The time when her mother, Alva, was happy. At the edge of her mind was a foggy memory of her father, the last time she saw him. He stood tall and proud, a grin on his bearded face.

"Where's my little warrior?" He asked, kneeling down. Almiri giggled as she came charging around the corner, barreling into his arms. His laughter was loud and deep in his chest, booming as he scooped her into his arms. "Well look at what I've caught? A little Miri, fiercest of all the warriors!"

She squealed as he tossed her in the air, catching her as she drew dangerously close to the floor. Alva approached them in concern, "Ach, must you play so dangerously?"

He placed Almiri on her feet and whispered, "Shall we attack, my little warrior?"

With a grin on her face, she nodded in agreement and they charged. Almiri latched onto her mother's legs. Her father came up from behind, lifting them both into the air.

Then she remembered her mother crying as she carried Almiri away into the night.

"Mama? Why are you sad?" little Almiri asked, unaware of the danger she was in.

"Shh, baby. We have to be quiet," she said, tears brimming in her eyes. Almiri looked back at the building behind her. The stone stood tall and looked as though it had weathered many wars and would still stand for thousands of years to come. Almiri remembered thinking of it as home, thinking of her large bear of a father.

"Why are we leaving, Mama? Is Daddy coming too?" asked Almiri, no older than three. Alva choked back a sob, "No, Miri, Daddy is not coming with us."

"Oh… but why Mama? I want Daddy to come too. Does Daddy not want to come with us?"

Alva hugged her daughter tight, wrapping the cloak around her as she silently left the city. The tears slowly fell down her cheeks as she answered her daughters questions as best she could, "I'm sorry little Miri, but you will not be seeing Daddy again."

"Oh."

Suddenly the ground shook with an unknown force and she fell forward, the magelight dying in her hand. The gates of Markarth burst open and men with axes and swords charged through. She felt the force of the shout, though she was far away, and her body buzzed with energy. Her limbs tingled as soft prickles traveled up her arms. Almiri ran and hid beneath a bridge as a young man's voice seemed to knock people to the ground. He stood tall, with broad shoulders and long blonde hair. Her eyes connected with his and she recoiled further beneath the bridge.

"Miri?! Almiri, where are you?!"

Almiri jumped up and ran towards her mother's voice, "Mama!"

Relief flooded her mother's face, "Come, Miri. We have to leave."

Her mother's arms wrapped around her and she could feel her mother shake with fear as she took ahold of her hand. They ran to the mines, making their way through the tunnels and out of the city. As they ran, Almiri could see the city behind her. The sounds and sights of battle flooded her senses. She could hear metal on metal, the cries of pain and anger from the soldiers. Blood flowed into the river and stained the stone. As they escaped from the city, an image stuck in her mind, the face of the man who caused it all. From his angry blue eyes and tangled golden hair, down to the scar that stretched across his cheek. The face of Ulfric Stormcloak.

~Sixteen Years Later~

"You do not have to leave us, Almiri," the elder said, his hand tight on her shoulder. Almiri shook her head.

"But I do."

She tied a sack of coins to her belt and shrugged his hand off her shoulder. She looked down at herself. The furs covering her body were warm and snug around her. It was made of snow wolf pelt, a unique armor that had been enchanted. If Almiri crouched down, they would not see her, but rather the snow wolf, whose head she wore. She had donned her mother's armor, a gift after she died, for the trip, rather than her old spiked Forsworn armor that would likely get her killed on sight. If she knew anything about Nords it was that their hatred of the Forsworn was nearly as great as the Forsworn's hatred of them.

Almiri set out that day, making it as far as Reachcliff cave before night fell. She unraveled her bed roll and laid beneath the stars, starting a small fire before she pulled her mother's journal from her knapsack.

Windhelm 4E 162

I've just made it out of the Rift, a dirty place filled with thieves and cutthroats, here's hoping that Windhelm is a better place. It's been two years since I left my home, two years since I ran from my betrothal to Cortar. I find myself asking if it was worth it, if this trip has been for naught. I never understood the Forsworn's hatred for Nords, they seek to survive in this cold land just as we do. I had thought perhaps one day we could coexist. Now I find it a wonder that these fools know one end of a sword from another.

I imagine my father would roll in his grave to find me among the Nords working beside them and speaking with them. "Alva, what are you doing?" "Alva, how could you be so foolish?"

Of course he also would suggest the Forsworn were nearly as bad. He was a stubborn Breton, but he could not have been that strong in his convictions, after all he did marry my mother, a half Nord as well as Forsworn.

Tomorrow I will enter the city, its stone walls loom in the distance beckoning me to enter. I think I will. I can't imagine these people being any worse than those I have already met. Would my life be better had I not run? Would Cortar have been a decent match? My mind asks these questions daily, yet I refuse to return until I have found what I am looking for. Something calls to me...and I shall answer.

The next few weeks were slow going, as the falling snow blocked Almiri's path. After a month she had made it into the Rift, and was nearing Darkwater Crossing. She sighed, dropping her bag on the ground and rolled her shoulders. She heard the sound of underbrush crunching and spun around, searching for the source. Before she could take a step forward a large hand clamped over her mouth while an arm wrapped around her middle. She struggled against her attacker, but he simply squeezed her tighter until she finally stopped her squirming. The arm that had be holding her moved to brush aside the branches of an evergreen tree, revealing a squadron of Imperials. She unconsciously stepped back, colliding with a large chest.

When Almiri turned around she was stunned into silence. That face. Her fists clenched and when Ulfric was distracted by the sound of shouting in the distance she launched herself at him. Her magic crackled with her anger, her touch sending a shock through him.

"You monster!" she shouted, as they tumbled to the ground. Confused Ulfric held her back, grunting at the sharp pain that her magic brought. He gripped her wrists, pushing her hands back and she growled in frustration, "Get your hands off me you filthy murderer!"

She jerked her knee into his side and he growled, but did not relent. It wasn't until the imperial soldiers lifted her from the ground and tossed her into the back of a cart that the two separated. Almiri groaned as another body collided with her own on in the cart. She turned to glare at Ulfric, who now sat beside her.

Two carts were loaded up with soldiers, as well as two others who clearly were not soldiers. She fumed, they wore the same armor as the soldiers that exiled her people from her home.

But they're not your people, not entirely, a little voice reminded her.

Almiri sighed and when the cart jerked forward, tossing her into Ulfric's lap, she took the opportunity to elbow him in the stomach. He glared back at her, but did nothing. Ulfric looked as though he wanted to say something, but the gag in his mouth prevented him from saying anything. She smirked at him, and they sat in a tense silence until night fell.

When the sun rose, they were up again and Almiri found herself back in the bloody cart. With each bump in the road she felt her bottom bruise a little more. Balling her fists, she turned towards the back of the cart. They were riding uphill, if she jumped now, she might escape. As she moved to get up, Almiri felt a hand on her arm. She looked up at Ulfric and scowled. He shook his head, his eyes telling her that he knew what she planned to do.

Angry, she tossed her weight against Ulfric causing them both to go tumbling out the back of the cart. They easily rolled down the hill and off the side of the road. When they finally tumbled to a stop she was able to pull her hands free from their binds. She turned towards Ulfric. He still lay on the ground, his blonde hair strewn across the ground and his face. His steely blue eyes glared back at her, "Get up," she growled, burning the rope that bound his hands, "I will not fight an unarmed man."

He stood before her, but made no move to fight. She angrily shoved him, "Fight me."

Almiri, knocked him to the ground, gripping the front of his shirt in her hands, "Fight me!"

Ulfric knocked her feet out from under her, causing her to fall onto her back. Grunting she climbed to her feet and tugged the gag from his mouth. He finally stopped scowling and grumbled, "I'll not fight a child."

"A child?!" she shouted. She plopped into his lap and grabbed his hand, turning his palms towards her. She pressed his hands against her breasts, then moved them down her stomach and to her hips where he gripped her as she ground her hips against him. Then she leaned forward, her breasts pressed against his chest as she whispered, "Do I feel like a child?"

Ulfric fought his growing arousal and grunted out, "My mistake… a whore then," before flipping them. He held her hands above her head with one hand and the other he placed on her throat, "Who are you that you think you know me so well?"

Almiri glared up at him, "I am no one."

"Well, no one, what are you doing here?"

"I seek only to find a father whom I do not know."

Ulfric loosened his hold, "What is his name?"

She frowned, uncomfortable with telling him the truth, but given their situation she knew better than to lie, "All I know is that he is a warrior from Windhelm," Almiri glanced behind him, "the guards will catch up soon."

Ulfric pulled his hand back, watching her closely to see if she lied. When she showed no signs, he stood and pulled her up with him. At the same time the guards emerged from the trees, weapons drawn. One guard held a blade to Ulfric's throat while another wrapped and arm around Almiri's throat.

"Which one of you bloody rebels started this?"

Almiri responded by biting his arm and elbowing him in the gut. Another guard beside her reached over, gripping her hair and pulling her back violently, "You little wench!"

She had to bite her cheek to keep from crying out.

The Imperials bound them together around the trees and started a fire nearby. Almiri watched envious as the soldiers sat around the fire eating and laughing. The smell of cooked meat tickled her nose and she felt her mouth begin to water. A brief glance to her left showed her that Ralof felt much the same way. After wriggling to no avail, she finally sighed and bumped Ralof's shoulder. He moved slightly and his snores grew louder.

Almiri slumped her head, "Of course, he's asleep," she mumbled. Almiri looked to her right at Ulfric, who sat silently, still awake. She could see the reflection of the fire in his eyes, an oddly chilling sight. His face was set in determination, despite the seemingly futile situation they were in.

When she bumped his shoulder, he turned to look at her, an eyebrow raised. She mouthed the word knife and gestured downward. After a few silent seconds his eyes flicked downward then back up to her. Almiri sighed, he had no idea what she meant. She struggled to move her arms until they were closer, pressing her breasts together. She leaned to the side and Ulfric could see the tip of a hilt, resting between them. He would have laughed, had he not been gagged. Instead the two wiggled closer and struggled to stay quiet as they watched the guards around the campfire grow more and more drunk with each swig of ale.

Almiri managed to move the ropes down to her stomach so that she could lean forward. She looked up at Ulfric as his bound hands reached for the hilt of the blade. When his hands touch her skin he was startled at how smooth it was. His eyes looked up at Almiri's face just as his fingers found the hilt, and he was struck by the sight. Her eyes were shut and lips slightly parted, he could feel the rise and fall of her chest grow faster with each passing second. He felt a heat spread over him and he let his fingers linger a moment longer.

When she finally opened her eyes, Ulfric was already cutting through the binds on her hand. She took the knife from his hand, but instead of cutting him free, as he expected her to do, she placed the knife back in its hidden sheath and began to walk away. Almiri made it nearly three yards when her stomach began to grow uneasy, could she just leave them to die?

Part of her screamed that he and his men killed her people, but she knew that it was not so simple. They were also her people, and leaving them to die made her no better. Before Almiri's conscience had time to sort out her actions, the guards realized that she was gone. After a mad dash through the trees, she felt an arrow fly by her. After cursing, she dropped to the ground. If they couldn't catch her, they were just going to kill her.

Almiri sighed when she felt their arms wrap around her and lift her up. The Imperials dragged Almiri back to where the camp was already set up and the Captain in charge ordered Almiri to be whipped. She struggled in vain as they tied her arms on either side of a tree trunk, after removing her chest piece, leaving her standing in her breast bindings.

"Twenty lashes!" the Imperial Captain shouted.

"What?!" Ralof shouted, moving to stop them. It took four guards each to subdue Ralof and Ulfric after she gave the order. They tied Almiri's arms together around the trunk of the tree. The camp went silent after Ralof and Ulfric stopped their shouting.

"Five…six…seven," the captain said with each lash of the whip.

Almiri's nails dug into the bark of the tree, and try as she might, Almiri could not keep from crying out.

"Twelve…thirteen."

The sting of each lashing grew until she could feel the warmth of her blood trickling down her back. Tears began to pour down her cheeks and they cut the rope, untethering her from the tree. She sunk to the ground, leaning her weight against the tree. Ulfric tossed his weight to the right, surprising two soldiers, while knocking the others to the ground. Almiri heard the commotion and when he finally reached her, the Captain kept any more soldiers from trying to stop Ulfric. Though his hands were tied, he still managed to help Almiri to her feet. She stayed silent for the rest of the night, quietly pulling her shirt back on, and cringed at the feel of cloth against her wounds.

Then next week was silent, Almiri made no more attempts to escape, but neither did she respond to Ralof's words, or Ulfric's nudging. Instead she brooded, squeezing her eyes tight whenever the cart rocked her back against the railing. She recognized the surroundings, they were traveling in opposite direction that she wanted to go.

As the cart rolled into Helgen, Almiri noticed the woman beside her waking up. She'd thought it odd that she had stayed unconscious until now, but again said nothing. Even ignoring Ralof as he began speaking to the woman. The carts jerked to a stop and all of the prisoners were unloaded.

The guard with the list looked down at the woman in front of Almiri, "Wait, you two there, step forward. Who are you?"

"Vira."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman"

Almiri stood silently until the guard turned to face her, "And you?"

She gave a disdainful grimace at being called a Nord, but ignored it, "The name's Almiri."

He turned to his captain, "Captain, what should we do? They're not on the list."

"Forget the list, they go to the block." Almiri shrugged and followed with a calm demeanor that peaked Vira's curiosity.

"By your orders, Captain." He turned back to them, "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland. Follow the Captain, Prisoners."

Almiri walked off to join the other prisoners in front of the chopping block. She watched with curiosity as General Tullius turned toward the leader of the rebellion, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

Almiri could hear muffled words from Jarl Ulfric, but only watched, apathetic to the situation. She was a fool for leaving the way she did, all because of her mother's stupid journal. Almiri shook her head. No, that's not true. She wanted to find her father, if he still lived, Nord or no.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

Almiri looked up into the sky. Something is coming, everyone turned towards the sound.

"What was that?"

"It's nothing, carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius, give them their last rites."

"As we commend your souls to Itharius, blessings of the eight divines-

Almiri cocked her head as she heard Vira speak in a different language.

"For the love of Talos, Shut up! And let's get this over with" a soldier walked to the block.

Vira chuckled, and Almiri wondered if perhaps the woman had hit her head it the ambush. It would explain why she was out so long, as well as her odd behavior.

"As you wish."

"Come on! I haven't got all morning." The captain pushed him to his knees and as he rest his head on the block he said, "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?" The executioner loped his head off and shouts came from around.

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Justice!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

Ralof frowned, "As fearless in death as he was in life."

Almiri felt a small twinge of guilt at her hatred towards Nords. She realized that she really knew nothing about Nords, their culture, or even why the civil war had started to begin with.

"Next! The Nord in the rags."

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" Ralof asked her.

"I said: Next prisoner."

"To the block prisoner. Nice and easy."

The captain pushed Vira to her knees just as she had done with the prisoner before her. Almiri watched as Vira placed her head on the blood covered chopping block. When she looked up she could see the dragon behind the executioner.

"What in Oblivion is that?!"

"Centuries, what do you see?"

The Dragon landed and Almiri could feel the ground shake. It shouted and Almiri was sent tumbling to the ground. The pain of her back exploded, and she could feel nothing else, and hear none of the chaos around her. When her senses started to return to her, Almiri could see Ulfric not fifty yards from her. He was walking away from her when he suddenly turned around. His eyes locked with hers.

He's going to leave me to die.