Sabrin dreamed of stones being washed away and rearranged by tides that followed an unseen hand.

On distant winds, there was a song, sung in a tongue that made her blood hot.

She dreamed of fire and smoke.

At night, her skin parted to reveal something more than sinew and blood beneath.

She dreamed of a place with honey and hope in the air and a sky filled with lights.

Wings and cold steel and a home.

Reality was not so frustrating and cryptic, but it also smelled like death.

Sabrin was no unsullied innocent. She was a thief and a killer in turns and had even been a whore when money was really scarce. Blundering into an Imperial border patrol might have been an accident, but the Imperials weren't sending some untried maiden to the block that would end up some unsung sacrifice of the war.

The point being: Sabrin doubted if the Divines had anything to do with the fact that she had managed to navigate the chaos of Helgen as it literally came down around her ears. Despite that, it was the likes of Akatosh and Arkay, Mara and Kyne that she prayed to as she beat feet over the cobbles and dodged debris.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Get out of our way!"

"We're leaving, Hadvar, and you can't stop us this time!"

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!"

Dragon.

Dragon, dragon, dragon!

"Shut up, shut up!"

Sabrin rammed herself into Hadvar's back, which caused him and Ralof to collide, and the three of them fell through the Keep doors in an undignified heap of limbs and equipment as the scaled, black terror made another low dive and lit the ground afire.

Inside, they separated quickly and backed away from one another; three cornered animals looking for one to another with darting, anxious eyes.

Nords. Sabrin hated Nords. Her mother had been an Imperial and she herself was no delicate flower, but a damned Nord made even the heartiest of the other bloods look frail. These two were no exceptions.

She hated Skyrim in general. Hairy, small-minded, horse men without the sense to live somewhere warmer.

Why was she here?

"No closer, kinslayer," the blonde growled.

"Nor you, Stormcloak."

Sabrin glanced between the two men and realized that she was being ignored. Also, she was apparently the only one aware of the fact that an ancient myth had just fallen out of the sky and was burning the place down around their ears. So clearly she was also the only one with a brain.

Speaking of which, they had apparently entered the Keep through the barracks and she had already spotted a number of footlockers and weapon racks that required her attention.

"I'm going to find some armor," she announced, loudly. She already had her rough-spun tunic that smelled like vomit and horse halfway over her head.

She made sure it hit one of them as she cast it off and turned away.

It was like they had just remembered that there was a reason they were there together and not sad little scorch marks marring the cobbles outside and looked at her like she had grown a dog's head.

"If you intend to follow this traitor, I cannot let you—"

"You cannot trust someone who was just going to execute—"

Sabrin whirled around to look at them and flailed her newly acquired sword in their direction, forcing them both back a half-step despite the fact that she was a tiny woman in ratty pants and wraps and naught else. "Dragon!" she bellowed, silencing the beginnings of their protests. "There is a flying horror outside the damned door! Get your priorities straight!"

That seemed to give them both pause.

Pushing her hair out of her eyes, she glanced between them. "Look, kill each other later," she said. "Or now, fine. But I intend to escape so leave me out of it."

With that she turned away again and began ransacking the next nearest footlocker for suitable clothing.

Hadvar and Ralof glanced at one another, weighing one another with cold, measuring looks.

"Someone needs to warn Riverwood," Ralof finally started.

"And Jarl Balgruuf," Hadvar agreed. He raised his eyes to meet Ralof's again. "A dragon could decimate them if they're taken by surprise." He shifted his weight. "I would not see the innocent harmed…"

"Nor I."

"So?"

The other Nord lifted his chin. "The Stormcloaks will not go away," he said stubbornly. "But a dragon… that will not either. We do this first."

Then Hadvar was promptly hit in the face with another bundle of ragged cloth and Sabrin passed between them in a pair of new boots and leather armor. "That was really sweet," she said. "Now let's not die."