"Keep your brother, and he'll keep you."
Helgen 4E 201
Ulfric looked at the young woman lying on the ground. Though her arms and legs were bound she struggled to her feet. Gritting against the pain from the wounds on her back as she finally made it to her feet. Clearly still disoriented, she took a few unsteady steps forward, and Ulfric sighed before he moved to help her. He carefully took her arm and urged her closer, following the other Stormcloaks into a building. Though she didn't struggle against him, Almiri glared.
Ulfric pulled a blade from a sheath hidden beneath his cloak and cut her bindings, "You'd best stick with us lass, if you want to survive, that is."
Almiri only grunted and jerked her arm from his, "Where are my things?"
Ulfric gestured to a large chest to the right, where she found her weapons and knapsack. She pulled them out of the chest and vaguely heard Ralof asking Ulfric a question.
"Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move now!"
After carefully sheathing her weapons, moving as slowly as possible so as not to irritate her wounds, Almiri pulled a small blue bottle from her bag. She quickly chugged the contents and made a distasteful noise before flexing her hands. Ulfric watched as a small ball of light danced between her two palms. He had seen healing magic before, but not to such an extent.
When the spell dissipated, Almiri rolled her shoulders and turned back towards Ulfric, "Lead the way."
Almiri braced herself as the building shook, stones from the top floor tumbling back as the snout of the dragon burst through. Ralof, midway on the stairs, shouted for the men to get down as the gaping jaw of the dragon shouted, and flames licked at the stones. Almiri took a step back, growing uncomfortably warm in her furs. She felt a hand clamp down on her arm and drag her out of the building. The next thing she knew, she and Ulfric were running side by side.
When Almiri finally stopped running, she leaned against the wall, not ten feet in front of them the dragon had landed. She sucked in her breaths quickly, turning to look at Ulfric, "Why did you help me?"
He watched her silently, his eyes studying her as the air from the dragon's wings whipped her hair around. She scowled at his silence, shaking her head before continuing to move. Almiri made it down the alleyway and out in front of the door to the keep before she realized that Ulfric was no longer behind her.
"You! Come on, into the keep!"
Almiri hesitated for only a moment before following behind Ralof into the keep. As she snuck through the tunnels with him, she tried not to think about why she felt concerned for Ulfric, instead chalked it up to owing him for helping her. A strange feeling coiled in her stomach, though she knew her father was a Nord, and even her mother had been part Nord, everything that the Forsworn had told her, even her earliest memories, was that Nords were to be hated. That they had been the cause for her people's exile. They were the Reachmen and so the Reach belonged to them, but why did she not feel any hatred towards Ralof as they continued further into the cavern.
Did she want to hate the Nords?
When they finally walked beneath the bridge and into Riverwood, Almiri's skin was slick with sweat. Her body ached from the constant travel and she would give anything for a hot bath. She followed Ralof to his sister, Gertrude, and they told her their story. Almiri was all too aware of the debt she owed Ulfric and it weighed heavily on her mind. She had never been indebted to anyone in her life, and she made sure to repay all favors she received. Almiri accepted Gertrude's help reluctantly, following Gertrude to her home.
After she had a clean body, and a full belly, she set off to return the favor. Her task was simple, warn Jarl Balgruuf of the danger so that he could send guards to protect Riverwood. She made it to the gates of Whiterun before nightfall, but was far too tired to continue. After purchasing a room at the Inn for the night she settled into her bed and pulled the journal from her bag.
Windhelm 4E 162
The stone walls stare down at me, calling me stranger, trespasser, enemy. I'm all too aware of the lingering gazes as I walk through her streets. Though I chose to not wear my Forsworn armor, it is still clear by my clothing that I am not a Nord. I will purchase new clothes and write later...
After removing my war paint and donning a dress I find their stares of a different nature. I do not like the dress, it constricts my movements and makes breathing more difficult than it should be. My face feels naked to their eyes, as if they can plainly see my thoughts.
I've heard the Palace of Kings is a splendor to behold and hope to gain passage into its halls. Perhaps the guards will let me in now that I look more appealing to their culture...
Never in my life have I met such a man blind to anything other than war and strife. Hrongar claimed to be on business for his brother, but business or no he is a crude man that I wish I had never met. After spilling his drink on me, he made no apologies, only a drunken request for 'my services'. If I had my blade I would have sheathed it in his stomach. Pity. Of course, I did not, and would have likely been killed by his comrades had I done it.
However, a man did come to my aid. A Nord, no less. Though he looked anything but a kind gentleman that was exactly what he showed himself to be. After guiding me to a room where a maid brought me clean clothing, he asked if there was anything else I required. I wonder if, perhaps, that I did not look so much like a Nord, he would have treated me the same.
I find myself wondering about him even as I do the most trivial tasks. Perhaps I will return to Windhelm.
The walk to Dragonsreach was a short one, but Almiri was grateful for her full night's sleep nonetheless. The guards eyed her curiously when she entered and she found herself quickly approached at sword point, "What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors."
"Gertrude of Riverwood sent me…regarding the dragon. Riverwood is in danger."
"Well, that explains why the guards let you in. Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak with you personally."
Almiri followed the housecarl with a frown, what made this Jarl so special? Because he had a chair? He sat around on his ass? You wouldn't catch a Forsworn chief so idle. No, their existence was a challenge, a battle each and every day.
"So," the blonde haired Jarl said, "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"
"I did. It destroyed Helgen and flew this way."
"By Ysmir, Irileth was right!" He looked towards his Steward, "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"
The Dunmer, Irileth, stepped forward. "My Lord, we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains…"
"The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation!" Proventus blanched, "He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him."
Almiri's attention snapped back to the conversation at the mention of Ulfric. Her anger boiled, but her stomach tightened with uncertainty. She knew he had saved her life. That much she could not deny, but why had he done it?
"Enough!" the Jarl shouted, "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people! Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."
"Yes, my Jarl."
As Irileth went off to tend this task, the Steward bowed returning to his duties. The Jarl gave his thanks and shifted in his throne. "There is another thing you could do for me."
Almiri scowled at the Jarl, who sat slumped in his throne a look of mild disinterest on his face, "No."
With that she stalked out of the keep. On her way down the steps she noticed a familiar face, it was the woman from Helgen. Almiri cocked her head, she looked much different than before. Standing tall with a seductive grin on her face she was side by side with one of the Companions. Almiri shook her head and continued on her way. By the time she made it out of Whiterun and onto the road, the sun was setting.
Dawnstar 4E 165
After my stay in Solitude I've decided to return to Windhelm. Though the Bard's College was a special amusement, the tensions around the city are growing and I do not wish to be amidst the violence when it breaks. War is coming, I can feel it.
And this King will seek to end it as fast as it starts, he is weak willed and will give in at the first sound opportunity. However, if I've learned anything of these Nords it is that they are the hardiest of all the beings around, they've fought hard to get where they are and weak King or no, they will not bow to outsiders. I've spotted few Thalmor on my travels, they are far more narcissistic than any other race I've encountered, and quite unbearable to be around.
I find my mind wandering back to the Palace of Kings, where I shall be in a week's time, if weather permits. I greatly look forward to it. I've seen many of the other cities in this wretched cold land and nothing consumes my mind as much as the home of him. Of that oddly kind Nord. I shall inquire about his name when next I see him…if I see him.
I hope I do.
Almiri continued walking through the night, and was thankful for it as she was able to sneak past an encampment of bandits, who no doubt would have killed her for her money… not that she had much to begin with. The road wove its way through the mountains, and it was a few short weeks before Almiri would sleep in a bed instead of a cave, or beneath the canopy of the trees. She sighed with delight when she saw a mill ahead, and thoughts of a warm meal filled her mind.
Almiri paused, her magic telling her of the danger before her weary body registered the signs. There were no sounds of nature, not a bird or cricket dared make itself known. She sighed when she heard the force of the wind, as the wings of the creature beat. A soft rhythm that grew louder as the dragon flew closer. Almiri turned to watch its fast approach, with a bow in one hand and a spell on the tip of her tongue. In the distance, guards from the city shouted and she could hear the sounds of chains as the gate was risen. The clack of armor dulled in her mind as she focused on her power. The soft familiar feeling inside her body swelled and her ward was at full strength by the time the dragon's flames flicked outward. Though increasingly hot, Almiri was unharmed.
She danced around the beast as it landed, pausing only for a second as she released her poison tipped arrow. Behind her arrows flew forth, while most bounced off the dragon's strong scales, a few managed to find their target. Almiri never stopped her attacks, switching from bow to spell. She was careful of her own limitations as they wore the creature down. She did not want to resort to using her Thu'um lest these people ask for her help as well. She would mortally wound the beast and then leave with the quickness before the soul could be consumed.
Though Almiri knew part of her longed for that feeling. Its warmth would fill her body, rejuvenating her lost strength. Whispers of its memories would tell stories in her mind, the dragon's power and magic melding into her own. She shuddered at the thought, her distraction bringing unforeseen consequences. The dragon's tale whipped around smacking Almiri's stomach, sending her flying into the warrior behind her. She felt the large hands clamp down on her as they tumbled to the ground.
Spitting her own hair from her mouth, Almiri struggled to stand. She brushed herself off, ready to dash back into the fray when she heard the familiar deep voice grumble at her.
"You!" she said accusingly, "What are you doing here?"
Ulfric scowled, "What am I- do you even know where you are?"
Almiri picked up her bow, "We have no time for foolish questions. We must fight," she said as she spun about, releasing another arrow, only to follow up with a spell of ice. The crystalline spears, finishing what the arrow had not. Ulfric gave an indignant grunt, before charging the beast with his blade. Almiri watched mesmerized as he moved with a speed and grace that the other soldiers lacked. He combined his power with his greatsword, with the strength of his Thu'um and Almiri's body tingled with the feeling of it, as if her own Thu'um called out to him.
When he pulled his sword from the dragon's head, Almiri realized that it was finally dead. It's body fell limp. This ancient being that many thought was only folklore, lay before her. Almiri stumbled backwards as her body began to fill with a warm sensation. She tipped her head back, letting the voice of the dragon's soul whisper to her. The dragon's body burned away into flakes of ash and light, which spirited past Ulfric, coming to rest within Almiri.
Ulfric turned to watch as she stood, unmoving before him. Her golden brown hair danced in the wind and he found himself lost for words. It was beautiful. He gripped the hilt of his blade tightly, watching as her eyes slowly opened and rested on his face. The Dragonborn.