Hey guys! So first fanfic sweg. It's just so exciting!
(Skyrim, it's dialog, settings, and characters do not belong to me, they belong to Bethesda. Fierani belongs to me. This is a work of fanfiction, no one's paying me, so it's allowed).
Don't forget to favorite, follow, and comment because it makes me super happy. :D And correct me if I've messed anything up, leave me a comment or dm me so that I can make sure not to make the same mistake again. Are there any particular quests or characters you want to be in this story? Let me know via comment or dm! Enjoy!
(Note: I went into this without a beta and I wrote it in notes on my iPhone, so no grammar check. I went back in and fixed the errors I saw, just let me know if you find any others. Thanks! :D)
Title: Fire
Chapter 1: Helgen
Are Dunmer truly less susceptible to flame?
So far, this had not been the journey Fierani had anticipated.
She was bound in the back of a cart, eyes closed, too exhausted to lift her head from the shoulder of the person next to her. She assumed they didn't mind, as they hadn't pushed her away. Normally, the dark elf wouldn't show any sign of weakness, but she was simply too exhausted to care.
She tried to piece together how she had come to be here... Imperial soldiers. And... rebels, maybe? And someone tried to steal her horse. Wait- where was her horse? Okay, so someone stole her horse. Gods-three dammit.
So why was she here? What did she do? Fierani assumed she had contretemps timing. Maybe she could talk her way out of this.
The elf was marginally aware that someone was speaking to her, but she really didn't care. She had a splitting headache
"Hey, you there. Gray-skin. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
Fierani said nothing. She shouldn't be here. She had been trying to get back over the border. She had been in Cyrodiil when the attack began, on her way to High Rock. She knew better than to go through Skyrim; she knew I the Nords disdain for all non-Nords, especially Dark-elves. She was driven towards Lake Honrich by warriors coming over the Jerall Mountains from Cyrodiil. She was captured while trying to sneak back up the pass, trying to get out of Skyrim.
"Damn you Stormcloaks," another man's voice. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell. You there!" Fierani opened her eyes, blinking them several times due to the flooding sunlight. She didn't bother to raise her head. "You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
'So you didn't steal my horse, then,' The elf thought to herself. So now her horse was on its own. 'Great.' Her bigger problem was the fact that she was surrounded by Nord men, bound in the back of a cart.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," said the first man, a blonde Nord.
The Imperial soldier in the front must have felt the need to prove his masculinity, "Shut up back there!"
Fierani rolled her eyes. 'S'wit,' she thought to herself. She swore she heard the man next to her mumble the same thing.
"And what's wrong with him, huh?" Fierani just didn't like Horse-Thief's voice. She lifted her head from the man next to her's shoulder to look him in the face. He had a gag around his mouth, and his dark blue eyes shone weary, but still indurated.
"Watch your tongue." The blonde man was suddenly very austere. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."
Fierani was beginning to think blondie was a bit demented. But they all were slipping, after four days without food and water. She assumed four days. She had been out for three of them.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."
So this was about that civil war her brother, Galail, had briefly spoken about. It wasn't really a problem in Solstheim.
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" Horse-Thief was really grinding on her nerves.
"Hey, what village are you from horse thief?" The blonde man's voice was soft again as he spoke to the man next to him.
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."
He gave him a small smile. "And you, elf? From Morrowind?"
Fierani looked across to him, her accented tone soft as she spoke, "Solsthiem."
"You're a ways from home."
She gave him a humorless chuckle, "I know."
Soon, the carriages had arrived at a walled city. Fierani, of course, didn't know which city it was.
She looked past the blonde man's shoulder to see a few armored Imperials mounted on horses. They had important looking Altmer with them. There was an Altmer woman on a speckled horse whose grim smile showed she was all too happy about they small genocide about to take place. Yes, the Dunmer knew where they were headed.
"General Tullius, sir. The headsman is waiting."
A headsman? They couldn't possibly just hang them? They had three cart-fulls of rebels. Decapitating all of them would take absolutely forever. Fierani supposed they wanted to make a spectacle of it.
"Good. Let's get this over with!"
And Horse-Thief spoke once more, now begging and crying, "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!"
General Tullius didn't look as Fierani had expected he would. He seemed rather short, not much more than a head or two taller that she was, and she wasn't tall. But she hadn't seen him standing yet. He had thinning gray hair and deep creases in his forehead. Fierani assumed he must be more of a strategist than a warrior.
"Look at him. General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."
Tullius turned his horse around and disappeared behind a brick wall, the others following in tow. Fierani close in on herself a bit, upon hearing the blonde man's opinion of elves. It wasn't something she hadn't heard before, but she'd never been completely surrounded by men who thought the same.
"This is Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in... funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
That was a strange concept for the elf. Imperials keeping these people "safe." Imperials had never made her feel safe. The Empire itself seemed to exist merely to destroy the Dunmer population, reputation first. The island she had been raised on, was one great example: nothing but loose sand, for miles, all the elves sequestered to the blazing heat of the desert lands close the the salty shore. Ash spawns that killed people daily, the Imperials swooping in to greedily take all of their supplies and provisions, no matter how few they were. Very few were rich on Solstheim, and provisions were far from plentiful. The elves truly needed everything they reaped, but seldom, more like never, go them. She'd seen them order Redoran guards to beat elves in the streets when they wouldn't give up their property. A year or so ago, that had happened to her Galail. She had a long, thin scar that wrapped around upper left arm and onto her shouldered where she caught one of the blows from a whip whilst trying to protect him. It hardly mattered, though, for he nearly died. That wasn't entirely due to his injures, however. But it was completely the Empire's fault.
Whilst Fierani was lost in thought, they stopped moving.
"Why are we stopping?"
"Why do you think. End of the line." The blonde man spoke directly to Fierani, in a soft voice, "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
Horse-Thief began to hyperventilate, "No! Wait! We're not rebels!"
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Blondie said annoyed, his tired tone showed he had enough of the pathetic thief, as well.
"You've got to tell them!" Horse-Thief near sprung into blondie's face. "We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"
A female soldier, probably the Captain, called out loudly, "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"
"Empire loves their damned lists."
A broad-shouldered, auburn-haired soldier called out the first name. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.
The Jarl walked-no, maybe even strutted, towards to block, head high, chest forward. Prideful, though bound and gagged, even in the face of death. Fierani had to respect a man like that, even if he was dumb enough to fight a super-power such as the Empire.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," the blonde man bowed his head reverentially."
"Ralof of Riverwood." So that was blondie's name. "Lokir of Rorikstead."
Horse-Thief, or Lokir, was not having any of this. Fear and adrenaline burst forth. "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Lokir sprinted up the slope at an alarming speed, not even noting the Captain's warning "halt!" "You're not going to kill me!"
His luck ran out. "Archers!" He went down hard, tumbling down the slope, dead before his body stopped, steel arrow struck through his chest.
"Anyone else feel like running?" Fierani did, in fact. An arrow might be a more desirable way to go out than the chopping block.
"Wait... you there!" Fierani spun her head around. "Step forward." The elf did as she was told, and realized for the first time that she was terrified. The terror and hopelessness of her situation, though she had felt the gnawing in the pit of her stomach, now crashed over her, swallowing her up completely.
The Nord who has called her sensed her fear, he spoke quietly to her, looking her in the eye. "Who are you?"
"F-Fierani. Selohas." She fought to make the words come out clearly.
"Another refugee? The gods really have abandoned your people, Dark Elf. Where are you from, Fierani?" The red-haired Nord's voice was soft and sympathetic. Fierani did not really care for sympathy, usually, but accepted it now.
"Solstheim."
"You're quite a ways from home..." the soldier said. "You chose a bad time to come to Skyrim, lass." He scanned the list in his hand, seeming almost relieved with what he found (or hadn't), but only for a moment, before calling to his superior, "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."
"Forget the list." Fierani's heart dropped like a rock. "She goes straight to the block."
"By your orders." The Nord looked at her sorrowfully. "I am... sorry. I will see to it that your body be taken to Solstheim."
Fierani shook her head slowly, dark ruby eyes fixed on the ground, "Don't bother to." It would kill her family to receive her back in two pieces, better she just disappear for good. It did, slightly, comfort her that someone felt conflicted about this gruesome display.
Next next minutes flew by so very quickly, but the next thing The elf knew, she was looking at the red-headed Nord from her position knelt in front of the chopping block. She was slightly aware of the tears screaming down her cheeks, and wished she could hide them. She didn't want to give these sadistic bastards anymore pleasure.
Suddenly, there was a rumbling, strong enough to vibrate through all standing around.
"What was that?"
"It was nothing," the General said, "Hurry up."
The elf's face was smashed into the block, her right cheek now sticky from the blood of the last victim. She considered praying to the Tribunal, but she was never very devout. Or religious, so it seem stupid.
Suddenly everything around began to quake. The headsman lot his grip on his raised ax, fell over, tumbling backward. Horses reared up and cantered away from their riders. Shouts and screams filled the air, but were drowned out as a head-splitter roar erupted from the clouds.
"What in Oblivion is that?"
"It's in the clouds!"
Fierani stared, frozen in terror, still knelt at the block as the creator of the roar landed a lot a tower high above them all. She made perfect eye contact with a legend.
"Dragon!"
The black scaled dragon opened it's mouth and a language foreign emerged, followed by a dull glow and a huge gust of wind, so powerful you could see it. Fierani was blown backwards, a tumbling mess. Her head made contact with and overturned cart with an audible "whack!" and she saw white.
"Get up, gray-skin, the gods have given us another chance!" Ralof was helping her to her feet before her vision could clear. He put his hands on her arm, quite awkwardly due to their hands still being bound, all but dragging her, and she focused on not vomiting. "This way!"
They ran towards the nearest watch tower, making it into the relative safety of its walls just before a blast of fire rained down on their path. Inside were three other Stormcloak soldiers, one of them, the only woman The elf had seen at the execution, was injured badly. Jarl Ulfric shouldered the gag out of his mouth whilst one of the soldiers worked at the knots on his bound wrists.
"Jarl Ulfric," Ralof said, while examining the injury to Fierani's head. "What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric stated simply. "We need to move, now."
The group, after bidding their injured comrade farewell, she would be left behind as she was slipping fast, the group took off up the stairs.
The bricks of the tower suddenly gave way above them, she the dragon reappeared, killing another Stormcloak in a shower of flames, before taking off again, leaving a trail of fire- well, everywhere.
Ralof took charge. "See the inn down there? Jump to the roof, we'll follow when we can."
This seemed like a death wish. The inn seemed so far away, and she could see herself missing and crushing every bone in her body against the hard ground.
Fierani stared back up at Ralof, ruby-colored eyes wide with fear.
Ralof grabbed her by the shoulders, "You shouldn't've been here. You're innocent. And, being that, you need to get out of here more than we do. This is a cause we're," he motioned to the soldiers behind him, "willing to die for. But it is not your cause. Though I hope, after all you've seen," he added, "it will be. Fierani, I want you to live. I pray we may meet once again, no matter how unlikely that seems. But, if it is not so, live for me, please."
The sincerity in Ralof's thick-accented voice sent Fierani leaping through the air. Suddenly the planks on the first floor of the inn were right in front of her. She slammed into them, landing hard on her left shoulder, before tumbling through the broken floor boards and onto the first floor. It hurt, but she didn't believe she had broken anything important, and she was alive.
Fierani forced herself to her feet, a wave of nausea crashing over her again, but made herself keep moving. And a good thing, too, as the top floor of the inn caved in. She looked up to the watch tower in time to see Ralof calling out another command and the group disappearing down the stairs. They would have to find another way around.
"Still alive, prisoner?" Fierani recognized the voice of Imperial Nord. "Stick with me if you want to stay that way."
So now he was helping her. And didn't have to. He was so different from every Imperial soldier Fierani had come in contact with before. They took of across the roadway, dodging the frantic townsfolk and soldiers running every which way. "Stay close to the wall!" He put his arm around her, pressing her into the wall next to him. The dragon had landed on the wall above them, and a long, sharp talon from its wing sat precariously close to their faces.
It took off again, and so did they. The soldier had his left arm hooked around the dark elf's right and his sword ready in the other hand. They came upon the keep and Fierani saw Ralof running up from the rumble of one of the walls.
"Ralof!" The soldier called. "You damned traitor. Out of my way!"
"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof replied, implying he and Fierani. "You're not stopping us this time!"
"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde. With me prisoner, let's go!"
"Fierani! You must come with me," Ralof called to her, merely twelve feet away.
Hadvar shook his head. The soldiers tone seemed nearly desperate, "Please, I'll cut you loose inside!"
Fierani could have gone with Ralof, but something made her stick with Hadvar. She quickly followed him inside the keep.
Hadvar quickly shut the door behind them. "Looks like we're the only ones who made it. Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?" Fierani stared at him, not sure of what to make of his words. 'Bringers of the End Times'?
"We should keep moving." Hadvar's voice brought her back from her thoughts. "Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off."
The elf held out her hands and Hadvar quickly untied the knots. "There you go. Take a look around, there should be plenty of gear to choose from. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns." Hadvar began to look for a container of salve, and Fierani began rummaging through the trunks until she found some light armor, and pair of braces that didn't match, a pair of boots that were a bit too big, and a small sum of gold. She pulled an iron sword off of the stand on the wall. She could cast spells with her other hand.
"Let's keep moving. That thing is still out there."
"Wait, did you find the salve?" Hadvar handed it to her. The Dunmer gently grasped the Nord's hands and began to apply the salve to his burns; there were many. She wrapped each wound in a strip of cloth ripped from her discarded clothes.
The Nord man smiled gratefully, "I'm Hadvar, by the way."
"I heard. Fierani," the elf spoke with a slight smile as she closed the jar.
"Yes, I remember." Hadvar frown slightly, "Don't you need to use some," he motioned to the jar she had set aside.
"Um, no..." It occurred to her that the Nord might not know of the Dunmer natural resistance to fire. "Dunmer are far less susceptible to flame."
"Oh." He smiled sheepishly at her as he stood and made his way to the far side of the room, then opened the portcullis over the doorway with a pull-chain. "Come on, this way!"
The man stopped quickly after turning the corner, causing the elf to slam into the back of him. He held his left arm out in front of her protectively. They could hear speaking in the next room."Stormcloaks. We could try to reason with them."
They walked cautiously towards the doorway; Hadvar went in first, keeping Fierani behind him. "Hey," he began, but was cut short as this first of the two Stormcloaks took a swipe at his face with a battle axe. "Wait we just-" he dodged again. "Fine then. If you want to die, then die!"
Fierani jumped right in after Hadvar, sending flames in the direction of the assailants, making it easy for the Nord warrior to overcome them. He actually looked impressed when he turned around to face her, panting.
"Where'd you pick up that?"
The elf scoffed, her accented voice twinged with sarcasm, "No Dunmer worth their salt couldn't do a simple flame spell."
Hadvar chuckled, "That could be quite useful in combat. Not that you could ever get any Nord to even think about using magic."
"Why not?"
They began walking again.
"Most Nords," he began, "Don't like magic. Nearly all, actually. A Nord worth 'his salt'," he mocked her tone, as they turned down the corridor "believes those who use magic to be cheats, thinking the only show of true strength is with a weapon."
"Well," Fierani turned up her nose pridefully, "That isn't fair. It takes time and skill to do magic, not just anyone can do it. And those who can have to work for it. Magic does not make one a 'cheat.'"
Hadvar smirked at her, "Ah, I believe you. And I don't share the average opinion. Just wanted to warn you, you'll run into the type when you're about here in Skyrim."
Fierani stopped, surprised. "Hadvar." He turned to her. "You're going to let me go?"
The Nord nodded, "You weren't supposed to be here anyway. If we survive, I'll never breath a word of how you can to be in the Province, I swear it Fierani."
Fierani was shocked at this. The Imperials were never this... kind. The Imperials as she knew them were ruthless. Always. "Why would you do that?"
Before he could answer her, the sound of crumbling mortar sounded above them. "Look out!" Hadvar pulled the Dunmer backward before crouching over her. Just before the ceiling caved in, Fierani made out Ralof's figure on the other side.
She looked up at Hadvar, "You don't think he was..." crushed was the word.
"I... No." The young man didn't sound so certain. "I'm sure he'll find another way out."
Fierani sighed sorrowfully. She had hoped to meet Ralof again, like he said. But he was gone. She hoped he'd find peace, in- oh, what was the name? Sovngarde. That was it.
The Nord and elf made their way through another room where they found a few potions and some food and herbs. They quickly stashed the items in Hadvar's pack. They were greeted by the sight of a dead Nord hung in a cage down the corridor.
"The Torture Room," Hadvar supplied. "Gods, wish we didn't need these..."
"Do you really need them?" Fierani glanced up at him.
"Me? No. But I'm not the one making the choices around here. Or anywhere, really."
The clattering noise of steel against iron sent them sprinting down the hallway. Inside the Torture Room were two Stormcloak soldiers fighting off the Torturer and his assistant. Though the duo didn't feel like helping either party, they fought off the Stormcloaks.
"You fellows happened along just in time." Fierani could tell she wasn't going to like him. "These boys seemed a bit upset at how I've been entertaining their comrades."
The Nord looked at the man in disgust, "Don't you even know what's going on? A dragon is attacking Helgen!"
The horrid man actually had the gall to laugh. "A dragon? Please. Don't make up nonsense. Although, come to think of it, I did hear some odd noises coming from over there."
The soldier purposefully ignored the idiot, "Come with us. We need to get out of here."
"You have no authority over me, boy."
Hadvar stared at him incredulously, "Didn't you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!"
Fierani looked absolutely sick. "Forget him, Hadvar, he'd rather play with his dead bodies."
His assistant concurred. "The Gray-skin's right, forget the old man. I'll come with you."
Hadvar looked in disgust around the room before hi eyes fell upon the cage in the corner. "Wait a second. Looks like there's something in this cage."
"Oh, don't bother with that," as if there wasn't a dead person, a Mage, in the cage. "Lost the key ages ago, poor fellow screamed for weeks."
Fierani took notice of a blue satchel on a small table opposite the cages. She flipped it open to find a small sum of gold and six lock picks. The elf hurried to the other side of the room, quickly dropping to one knee and worked at the lock. It fell open on her second pick. Inside she found a Magica potion, and a thin spell book.
"Go right ahead," the Torturer muttered, "take my things."
The elf shook her head, half at the horrid excuse for a person and half at the Mage who lay dead on the floor of the cage. He was probably alive a few hours before. If they'd only gotten here sooner... She passed off the things she found to Hadvar. She hoped the man wouldn't ask about her ease with lock picking.
He didn't. "We should keep moving."
Fierani straightened. "Yes."
"There's no way out, you know." the Torturer called to them as they jogged away, almost tauntingly.
He was wrong however, the last cave-in had loosened the bricks in the walls, revealing a passageway. Hadvar kicked the bricks down. "I'm glad to be out of that place. I hope this leads somewhere."
Without any torches, it was hard to find which direction to go. It didn't help that they were up to their knees in putrid stagnate water. The group had to stop at one point, to regather their bearings. The sound of voices wafted through the darkened hallways. Fierani's elven hearing quickly picked up on the direction and they headed that way.
They came across a wide, open room, it smelt dank and ill. They were probably in the catacombs of the keep, most likely these rooms and tunnels hadn't been opened for years. Two Stormcloak soldiers were arguing, one on the other side of the room, the other near the entrance.
"Where in Oblivion are we supposed to go? Where's the way out?"
"Just give me a minute," his voice called out. "Let me think."
"How many do you think are in there," Hadvar whispered to Fierani, who was listening intently for the sounds of footsteps.
She whispered back, "More than two; I'd say about fi-"
The elf was cut off when the Torture's assistant suddenly leapt from their hiding place around the corner and lunged at the Stormcloak in the doorway, running him through with his blade. His victory was short lived, as an archer took him out in one shot, an arrow to the side of the head.
The room broke into pandemonium, there had been six standing, now there were five. Hadvar immediately went after the Stormcloak with a warhammer, and Fierani took off across the bridge she was met by two archers and a swordsman, all readying their weapons. The elf noticed the purple and gold rippling through the water below the soldiers' feet. Oil. She immediately cast a flame spell at the ground. It lit up, and so did the Stormcloaks, dying within a few seconds. She immediately wished she hadn't done it. The look of horror on each man's as they were consumed by the flames would haunt her, forever.
Hadvar had taken down the soldier with the warhammer and another with a longbow. He had resheathed his sword and had his right arm clamped to his side. He ran towards her, the fallen soldier's longbow grasped in his left hand. She stopped him before he got too close to the fire, obviously a bit delirious from his confrontation. Once it had died down, they ran through the doorway into the next room. And not a moment too soon, the ceiling of the room behind them collapsed in on itself, completely sealing off the way back with thousands of pounds of stone.
"Damn it. No going back that way." Hadvar said, panting from the exertion of fighting the soldiers. He slightly cradled his right arm, but said nothing, so Fierani did not bring it up. He was probably injured fighting that brute of a man with the warhammer. "I guess we're lucky that didn't come down on top of us... we'd better push on. I'm sure we will find another way out."
"You don't really believe that." It was a statement.
Hadvar sat heavily onto the ground. "Since nobody's trying to kill is just now, maybe we should rest for a minute." He pointedly ignored her.
The elf sighed. She caught the Nord's eyes as she quietly sat down next to him. She realized at that moment that his eyes were a light hazel-green, with gold in their depts. They were glazed with pain, and she was sure he was feeling a lot. Fierani's head still pounded, and she had some pretty deeps nicks and dark bruises forming. Hadvar had the same nicks and bruises, along with many pretty nasty burns and his newly injured shoulder. "Can I see your arm," the Dunmer spoke softly.
"I'm fine."
"That is not what I asked."
Nords in were generally stubborn, but she could be just as relentless. After a few seconds of eye contact, the Nord gave in.
"You've a dislocated shoulder," Fierani said after examining him.
"Figured as much...," the soldier mumbled sardonically.
Fierani glared darkly at him, momentarily, but didn't skip a beat, "Nothing broken, though. I can fix it."
She ignored his quick 'No, wait!' and popped the bone back into place before he could move away. A strangled gasp of pain fell from his lips, it lingered in the air of the dark cavern. They were longer in the catacombs, this was a cave.
Hadvar stumbled to his feet, and Fierani rose with him, her hands on his chest and back to steady him. "'m okay," he insisted when he saw they worried look in her eyes. "Just a little pain, never killed anyone..." He began to walk ahead.
Fierani rolled her eyes. 'Nords...'
They made their way through the cave, down it's winding walkways, until they came across a large clearing. No amount of joy and mirth could ever equal what the duo felt when they finally saw the light, just at the other side of the cave.
They started running, only to be stopped in their tracks by a cave bear, sleeping soundly across the way.
"We should try to sneak by," Hadvar little more than mouthed to her. He handed her the bow and quiver anyway, if they woke it up, there was no way he could shoot with his injured arm. This suited Fierani just fine, bows were her weapon of choice.
Luckily, they didn't have to worry about it, and quietly made their way around the beast. The couple quickly exited the cave, feeling as though they'd been there a year, deeply breathing in the fresh, crisp air.
The wind changed suddenly; Hadvar hooked his good arm around Fierani's waist, pulling her with him into the shadow in the mouth of the cave. The large, black-scaled dragon flew overhead, in the direction of a rather sinister-looking construct.
They lingered a few moments longer in the shadows before cautiously stepping out onto the road. Hadvar suddenly laughed mirthfully, "We made it, oh, by the gods!" He pulled the elf into an embrace with his left arm, planting a kiss on the top of her head, burying his nose into her jet-black hair.
Fierani grinned stupidly as she wrapped her arms around the Nord, pressing her face against his chest.
Hadvar began to speak, arm still wrapped around the Dunmer, "Closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there; he'll help us out."
Fierani looked him in the eyes, "Would he, though?"
Hadvar knew what she meant. Would his uncle, a Nord, help a Dark-elf? He knew that he would, but she was still wary, and had good reason to be. "Yes, he will, I'm sure of it. Come on," he motioned with his head as he released her, "It's this way."
They continued down the path in silence; the adrenaline faded and they were utterly spent, doing everything they could to keep moving. After about fifteen minutes of walking, Hadvar started to make conversation, "See that ruin up there?," he pointed towards the construct that the dragon had flown over. "Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares. Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that kind of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it." Fierani didn't like it either. She didn't know what a "draugr" was, but assumed that, if they came out of that place, she didn't want to.
Hadvar jogged down the winding path, the elf on his heels, once they caught sight of the river. He knelt in the riverbed and caught the cool water with cupped hand, bringing it to his lips. The Nord let out a sigh and rocked back on his heels as Fierani knelt beside him, stooping some water for herself.
"We're almost there, the town is along here, the White River."
Fierani splashed some water into her face, smoothing it back into her hair. She looked to her left and was met with a rather curious sight: three stones carved extravagantly, all upon a stone platform, overlooking the river. Hadvar followed her eyes to the large carved boulders. "These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape," the Nord supplied. "Go ahead, see for yourself."
Fierani stood and walked towards them, dark eyes studying them intently. "They are monuments?"
"No, not exactly. You see," the Nord walked up beside her, "these stones, and all those like them, grant special abilities. All you have to do is walk up to it, place your hand there," he motioned to the circle in the center of the stone in the middle, "and choose whichever one you'd like."
The elf could read Nordic, but she had never seen a form like this. Hadvar again supplied the answers to her unspoken questions. "That one there," he gestured to the one on the right, "is the Warrior Stone. I chose that one, myself. The middle one is the Mage Stone. I assume," the Nord started jokingly, "that you'd fancy that one. And the last is the Thief Stone." He had no comment to go along with that.
Fierani thought it'd be better not to say that she'd be better off with the Thief Stone. Her hands were not the cleanest when it came to thieving. She only stole to survive, to help her family survive, and she was certain Hadvar would understand that. But she still wasn't about to bring it up in front of the soldier now.
Unbeknownst to the elf, she had furrowed her brow and was chewing her lip whilst in thought, as she studied the Stones, a habit she had picked up long ago. Hadvar cleared his throat, "You don't have to choose one now, I don't mean to pressure you..."
Fierani quickly looked up at him, "Oh, no! I'm just... thinking, is all." She gave him a small smile.
The Nord returned her smile. "I'm glad you decided to come with me. We're almost to Riverwood."
The Dunmer nodded and the couple resumed their journey, leaving the Guardian Stones behind them.
Riverwood came into view shortly. It was a small mill village with no walls and no guards or soldiers. The entrance to the town was merely a bridge high above the road connecting the woods to the mill. Walking across the bridge was a tall thin elf, a Bosmer, with a bow strapped across his back, seemingly a hunter. Behind him he dragged his kill, a small stag. An old Nord lady was screeching from the porch of her house on their right about dragons and death, and a young man in blue was trying desperately to calm her. On their left, a blonde woman was pushing sweat-dampened streaks of blonde hair from her face as she stopped momentarily from chopping wood. Fierani swore that, when the woman looked up, she glared at Hadvar. She felt him stiffen next her her. A blonde boy emerged from the house behind her with a flask of water for her, a shaggy dog on his heels. Off behind the house, a man was working the mill. Down the street, a young man and young man were arguing on the upstairs porch of their store, and probably home.
The sound of a hammer against an anvil brought the elf's eyes back to the left. "Things look quiet enough here. Come on. There's my uncle." Hadvar led her up to the steps of a porch a few houses down. A man was working over a blazing forge, sweat making his red shirt stick to his back.
"Uncle Alvor..." Hadvar spoke only loud enough to be hear over the crackle of the forge. The man at the forge spun around rather quickly, surprised to hear is nephew's voice.
"Hadvar? What are you doing here? Are you on leave from..." The older man stopped suddenly, taking in the poor image of his burnt and bloody nephew and his strange companion who was no worse for wear. "Shor's bones, what happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?"
"Shh.. Uncle, please," Hadvar's voice was little more than a whisper, "keep your voice down. I'm fine. But we should go inside to talk."
Alvor was unconvinced. "What's going on? And who's this?" He glared accusingly at the Dunmer.
"She's a friend," he said, placing his hand on her back. "Saved my life in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything, but we need to go inside."
The older Nord nodded quickly, his judgement of the elf completely changed. "Yes, come on inside, quickly. Sigrid will get you something to eat and you can tell us what happened."
Just before they walked inside, Fierani took a glimpse of the land back behind the houses to the left. She saw the blonde Nord who had glared at Hadvar running up to meet a familiar looking figure, encompassing him in a hug. It couldn't be! But it was, Ralof was alive! Her heart immediately felt lighter, but she hid her joy from her face. The elf hoped Hadvar hadn't seen the Stormcloak soldier, but he seemed not to as he grasped her hand, leading her into the house.
"Sigrid! We have company!"
A red-haired woman with bright blue eyes came up the stairs. "Hadvar? Oh gods, Hadvar! What happened to you?"
Hadvar didn't have to say, because Alvor quickly whispered something into his wife's ear.
"Come," the woman spoke again, more composed, "you two must be hungry. Sit down and I'll get you something to eat."
"Now, then, boy," Alvor started, "What's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?"
Hadvar ran his hands through his hair as he plopped heavily onto a wooden chair at the short dinner table. "I don't know where to start. You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked... by a dragon."
Alvor nearly choked on the wine he'd been sipping "A dragon? That's... well, now, that's ridiculous. You aren't drunk, are you boy?"
"Husband," Sigrid's voice was sharp as she chided her husband. "Let him tell his story." The Nord woman led Fierani by the arm to the far head of the table, sitting her down and piling her plate with food in that way that only Nords can.
"Not much more to tell," Hadvar looked at Fierani, as if for confirmation. "This dragon flew over and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it out myself if not for my friend here," he grinned slightly at the elf before become solemn again. "I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened."
His uncle shook his head, "No, not like that you aren't; you couldn't even make it Whiterun in the shape you two are in."
Hadvar began to protest, but was quickly hushed by his aunt, "Your uncle is right, Hadvar, you need to heal up." The woman set her hands on Fierani's shoulders. "So you two will stay here with us until you are."
Fierani was shocked, looking wide-eyed between Hadvar and his family. "Really?" She hadn't actually meant to say that out loud.
"Of course," Alvor spoke with a laugh, placing his large calloused hands over her own thin ones. "Any friend of Hadvar's is a friend of mine. I'm glad to help however I can."
Fierani could not but smile brightly at the couple, unable to find a way to thank them. Her father had told her to stay away from the Nords, that they all would only bring her trouble and grief, but she was glad to see that he was wrong.
The rest of the evening was spent with Sigrid fussing over the two battle weary companions, all but forcing food down their throats, cleaning their wounds, drawing them baths, making sure they were warm enough, cool enough. She had to fight to keep their daughter, Dorthe away from the two, for she pelted them with questions about the dragon and the attack that they just weren't ready to answer yet. Alvor left the house just before dark to round up men in the town to look out in the night, news of the dragon in Helgen reached to town shortly after Hadvar and Fierani arrived.
By nightfall, the house was quiet, Sigrid and Dorthe were asleep downstairs to give privacy to the young Nord and the Dunmer. Outside, the sound of the men's hushed speaking and heavy footsteps as they patrolled the town carried easily to the elf's pointed ears.
Hadvar and Fierani were settled atop many furs and blankets laid out in front of the fireplace. Hadvar was poking the logs in the fire, mostly because there was nothing else to do, left hand on the poker, right in a sling. The duo was exhausted, but their war-ravaged brains could not find peace.
"I feel sick." It was Hadvar that spoke. Fierani looked up at him, fiddling with the drawstring in the neck of her borrowed, much-too-big sleep dress. "I feel like I killed those people without need. I never killed anyone like that. Everyone was just trying to get out, we were all rats in a trap..." the young man looked away, ridden with guilt.
"Hadvar," Fierani placed a hand on his knee, "you had no other choice. You tried to reason with them, remember? They decided to die rather than work together to get out of there. It wasn't your fault that they were blind to reason." Fierani was just as haunted by the day, specifically the faces of the men in the catacombs right before they went up in flames. But she could hide it, for Hadvar's sake.
Th Nord nodded, but was still unconvinced, and sat in silence for many moments. "It did not want Ralof to die," he said quietly, unexpectedly.
Fierani looked up at him with sympathetic eyes, know good and well he was alive, and, also, that Hadvar couldn't know.
"I've known him for as long as I can remember. We grew up, here, together. We were friends..." He sighed shaking his head. "This war. This damn war, ruining everything, all friendships and kinships, every city and town..."
"What is this war? The man they were executing...?"
"You didn't know? That was Ulfric Stormcloak and his top lieutenants." Hadvar sighed. "I'm sorry you were ever caught up in it."
"I'm not." Fierani spoke softly.
"Why?"
Fierani smiled, "I wouldn't have met you." The smile turned into a smirk, "You probably would have died without me there, too..."
Hadvar gave a breathy snort, glancing at her with a glare that was contradicted by his boyish grin.
"So this Stormcloak," Fierani started, "he's a traitor of some kind?"
"Right, the leader of the Stormcloaks. They claim to be fighting for Skyrim's freedom, but the war is really all about Ulfric wanting to be High King of Skyrim."
"How would a war make him High King?"
"It wouldn't," Hadvar said. "But murdering the High King was a start."
"Oh." Fierani didn't know why to say, she had obviously missed out on a lot.
"Ulfric founded the Stormcloaks years ago, as a sort of private army to advance his ambitions. He's always used the ban on the worship of Talos to stir people up against the Empire. He never succeeded in getting much support, so a few months ago he murdered the High King! That got the Empire's attention."
"How were you able to catch him?"
"A masterstroke by General Tullius! He's only been in charge here for a few months, but he's turned things around for the Empire. We've been trying to catch Ulfric since the war started, but he always seemed to slip through our fingers... like he knew we were coming. This time, the General turned the tables on him. Ulfric rode right into our ambush with only a few bodyguards. He surrendered pretty meekly, too. So much for his death-or-glory reputation. I thought we were taking Ulfric back to Cyrodiil, but I guess the General changed his mind. You know the rest."
"Why was the worship of Talos banned in the first place? Isn't he the most widely worshiped god for the Nords?"
"I'll admit it hasn't been the Empire's finest hour. But it wasn't like the Emperor had any choice, did he? If he hadn't signed the peace treaty with the Thalmor, they would have destroyed the Empire- then where would Skyrim be? That's the part that Ulfric's supporters always conveniently forget about. Unless the Empire stands together, the Thalmor will destroy us all."
Fierani didn't need to be told about the Thalmor. True, Dunmer didn't have as much trouble with the Altmer as other races did, but, to the High Elves, everyone else were below them, pee-ons. And the kind of power that the Thalmor had behind them was inexhaustible. There was no point in picking a fight with them.
"I take it the King's death brought Ulfric much support?"
"Yes, but it wasn't because he did it, it was how he did it. He shouted him apart."
Fierani blinked utterly confused. "... shouted."
Hadvar nodded. "Shouted. He opened his mouth, said some spell, and the King was blown to pieces."
The elf was having trouble finding words. He 'shouted' the King to pieces. "That's not possible."
"I know. But Ulfric did it. No one has any explanation for it. All he did was speak, and the King blew apart."
"So he is a Mage? A sorcerer?"
"Not that we know of. He's a Nord, tried and true, he wouldn't use magic."
They fell into silence again, lying on their backs. They didn't sleep, however, but we're becoming increasingly more worn out. It must have been nearly a half hour before either of them spoke.
"'Rani?"
"Hm?"
Hadvar rolled onto his side to face her. "I wouldn't have made it without you today."
"I was joking about that, you know," she replied.
"But I'm not." He sat up and looked her straight in the eyes. "Thank you, my friend. I know it will never be enough, but... but thank you. I am in debt to you, always."
"Oh, Hadvar," she said, pushing her weight onto her arm. "It is I who should be thanking you. You were kind to me, protected me, you-you trusted me. And you didn't have to. I was a prisoner from another Province, no one would have blinked had I died. You would have survived, I know it. It is I who would have died. But you stayed with me, the whole way. And the hospitality that your family has shown me, that they are protecting me now! I could never begin to thank you enough. I own you my life."
"No, no- you own me nothing. You are my friend now, and in my company, you are always welcome."
Fierani smile brightly, "Thank you, my friend."
Hadvar caught her hand in his own. "My friend."
Finally, just as the sun began to light the mountainside, the two drifted off to sleep.