Hello everyone! I've been playing Skyrim like crazy and decided to write my first fanfic on it. This is going to revolve around my Dragonborn Nyra, her struggles with accepting her fate, and her feelings for a certain Imperial general. Seriously though, Tullius is pretty good looking. Am I right? I will be really grateful for any critique or advice on my writing since this is my first fanfic ever.
Hope you enjoy!
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The night was to cold to her liking. Nyra, being the tiny Bosmer she was, would never get use to Skyrim's icy weather. Her auburn hair was still thankfully pulled back and out of her face. She felt relief when it had began to rain and wash away the blood that had stained her thieves guild armor, but now her bare arms were covered in goosebumps. She shivered as the rain took away the heat in her body and run off her body.

Her footsteps were soft and quiet as she entered the Bannered Mare. The warmth that filled the building felt amazing after her long trip from Riften. With having to deal with bandits, trolls, a giant, and one damn dragon, she was ready for some mead.

She silently made her way over to the counter and sat down, not bothering to remove her cloak or hood. She nodded to the bartender, Hulda, and the woman placed a mug of mead in front of Nyra.

"You look awful, dear." She spoke lightly. Nyra sighed and gulped down her drink. It wasn't as nice as Black-Briar mead but it had to do.

"I had some business in Riften, not to mention I had a run in with a damn dragon."

Hulda leaned forward, her eyes shining with interest. "A dragon, truly? What did it look like?" Nyra shrugged, paying more attention to her drink.

"Bigger than a house and more scales than an Argonian." She said with indifference. Nyra heard a familiar laugh behind her.

"Is that really how you describe them? If so, you're a terrible story teller." Nyra looked over her shoulder and saw Helven. The muscular Breton smiled widely at her, his large blue eyes shining. Hulda nodded at him and handed him a mug as well, then going back to wiping the counter.

It had been a few months the last time she saw him, being buried in work back at the thieves guild. He seemed less like the big oaf and more like a warrior, or a harbinger. He had grown some facial hair which was turning into a full beard, and had black warpaint around his eyes and running down his neck. His entire appearance however seemed more savage however, which disturbed her slightly.

She remembered back when she had first met the man. He was nothing more than an over eager kitchen boy in the manor she worked at as a guard. He wore rags, dirt on his cheeks, and a bruise on his hand from the chefs spoon but was still a bundle of sweetness. He began to follow her around when she started her new job there, like a puppy in truth. Eventually she stopped shouting at him to go away and just let him follow her around the manor. Nyra felt the tips of her mouth turn up in a smile at that memory.

He sat down and reached to pat her on the back, but a quick glare stopped him. He seemed to have forgotten the "no touch" rule they established 20 years ago.

"How are you Nyra? I haven't heard from you in a while, I was starting to get worried." He said jockingly. He knew she could take care of herself, and she knew he could as well. She simply shrugged.

"I've been caught up in some business in Riften, there's been a surplus in jobs there and I had to take them." She admitted.

Helven's smile faded a little, disapproving of her line of work.

"Oh, and none of them were linked to Whiterun? Oh well I suppose that answers that question." He mused and took a sip of his drink.

"What about the dragon problem?" He implored cautiously. She felt the anger that had boiled up earlier appear again. Nyra glared at him and got tense. Well, tenser than she usually was. She reached into her back pocket and pulled out a crumpled letter, handing it to him.

She watched as he opened the letter. His eyes scanned the letter, and his smile disappearing more and more. When he was done he crumpled the letter just like she had when she read it. He handed the balled up paper back to her.

"Who in Oblivion do they think they are?" He hissed. Nyra looked at him straight in the eye. "I have no idea, but they aren't getting their audience. I'm sick of fighting dragons!" She seethed. 'I'm no dog people can call for at any moment' She thought. Helven leaned back and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Nyra, you can't stop fighting them. No matter how hard you try you can't escape you're fate. You're the one that told me that you know." He insisted. She had told him that nearly 20 years ago.

"These dragons are going to keep on coming and someone has to kill them, permanently. And there's only one person who can actually do that, and I'm sitting next to her." He pressed, his eyes shining with conviction. Nyra looked away, knowing he was right.

Nyra shook her head. "I-I just need a break." She grumbled.

"From what, killing dragons?" Helven shot back. Nyra felt her cheeks turn red with rage. She stood up from her stool, slapped some coins on the counter, and gave him the darkest look she could muster.

"From everything Helven." She hissed through her teeth. Before he could say another word Nyra left the tavern.

The rain was coming down in sheets now but she didn't care. She ran down the street, out the gates, hopped on her horse and left. 'I just need to clear my head.' She thought. The rain pelted her hood and soaked a few locks of hair that stuck out from it. Her yellow warpaint, two lines underneath her left eye and one above, was now smeared and running down her cheek.

'Why did this happen to me? I never wanted anything to do with this damn place!'

She never realized that she had urged her horse into a sprint. Mud and water splashed onto her clothing, drenching her completely. She made her horse continue onward, making her way to Rorikstead. She didn't know why she was heading there, or that there was a dragon flying right towards her in the dark.

A thundering roar brought her out of her daze and before she could react the dragon shouted and a blast of ice smashed into her and her mount. She flew off, skidding in the mud and into a boulder. Dots flooded her sight as she tried to stand up. "Come on Nyra, get it together!" She shouted inwardly.

She stood up and reached for her NightingGale bow, a gift from Karliah. She drew back an arrow and looked up at the white dragon flying overhead. It let out another roar and flew back around. She quickly aimed and released the arrow, finding itself in the dragon's neck. It reared its head back and roared again, flying higher. All Nyra had done was piss it off. She cursed and looked around to find her horse. It was laying in a pool of mud and scarlet blood. She had no quick get away now.

She reached up and touched the wound on her head and felt the warmth of blood on her fingertips. She could either run away or continue fighting. She cursed her stubborness and drew another arrow. She watched more carefully and let the arrow fly. It sunk itself into the dragon's wing but it continued to fly. The dragon flew in her direction and shouted again, its voice shaking her bones. She darted to the right but the icy blast hit her left leg, bones snapping.

She screamed as she crashed on the ground, landing on her wounded leg. She curled up and clutched her leg gently, she let out a string of curses as pain shot up and down her leg. She wasn't supposed to die like this, not like this. She opened her eyes and looked up at the dragon, it soared and looked as though it would descend again and finish her off.

She fumbled for Chillrend as it flew closer and closer to her. She pulled it out of its sheath, the light glow shined through the murky darkness of the night. "Come on you damn creature!" She screamed at the top of her lungs. Before it landed she gave out most likely her final shout.

FUS!

The shout hit the dragon right in the face, dazing it and making it crash land, a deep trench was left in its wake. She watched as it slowly got up and faced her. Those bright yellow eyes flashed with the same rage that others had described her with.

It turned and clawed its way over to her, a deep growl rumbling from its throat. Nyra laid there, Chillrend in hand and blood on her face.

A sudden realization had hit her in the gut. Her last words to her closest friend, no, a brother, weren't that of fondness at all. She had sat there and hissed at him like some scolding old hag. Though it wasn't more than whispers, she had blamed him for this. He came to Skyrim and she followed. Getting captured. Helgen. Thieves Guild. Everything.

She felt her resolve break, her hands shook as tears welled up in her eyes. She wasn't a brave Nord or an all powerful Altmer. She was a simple Bosmer with a cold exterior and broken leg. And she was going to die here in the mud.

"Come on...COME ON!" She shouted at the dragon. It opened its jaws, sharp teeth the size of daggers shined white in its giant mouth. She began to lose her vision, the edges of her sight turning dark. She felt herself begin to lean and fall over, laying on her side as rain came down in sheets on her.

Before her world went dark from blood loss, she saw soldiers dressed in red appear. They began to fight the dragon, overwhelming it in numbers as they slashed, shot, and skewered it. She watched as one noticed her and ran to her.

She remembered a man with short grey hair and piercing eyes.