Hadvar's pace was one Kiir found little problem keeping up with. Yet, she still stayed two steps behind him.
They approached a closed gate and Kiir picked up on the two voices coming from inside the other room. Even in the dim light, she could see the figures standing against the wall- though their voices were still too distant for their words to be made out.
"I'll take the two on the right." Hadvar said as he opened the door, nodding towards the two blue-clad soldiers rummaging through barrels.
Kiir shook her head, frowning. She'd never killed before... let alone used her magic for anything intentionally destructive. The Dominion had outlawed any practice of Destruction magic outside of a few novice spells and, even if she could do more than light a candle, flames still seemed...
As they entered the room, Kiir quickly opted instead to use telekinesis and flung one of the pointed fire pokers she saw near the fireplace at the female. She hadn't held the spell long enough and the poker flew sideways, hitting the woman's head and knocking her out.
Hadvar had already finished with the other man and glanced at her as he pulled his bloodied sword from his gut. "I assume you meant to do that?"
Kiir didn't respond and only looked up when Hadvar tossed her a small dagger.
"Kill her quick. We need to move on."
"Can't we just leave her?"
Hadvar scoffed. "Do you want her at our backs the whole way out? Just do it quick, grab some of the potions lying around and meet me at the door."
Kiir looked at the dagger in her hands and back at the woman sprawled out on the floor. The blood from the two men Hadvar had killed began to make its way towards them and still wearing only foot wraps, Kiir wanted none of that.
She crouched awkwardly near the woman's face and paused. She didn't want to kill her, but was far too proud to ask Hadvar to do it instead. Her new life was calling for more than she was willing to give. She hadn't chosen to leave, this hadn't been a choice.
Kiir decided to use her anger. She placed the blade against the woman's neck and breathed out.
Suddenly, the woman's eyes flew open and she looked a Kiir for only a moment before her hand flew out and wrapped itself around Kiir's throat.
In surprise, Kiir shoved the blade into the woman's neck.
The woman recoiled, frantically pawing at the blade and finally pulling out. A torrent of blood shot directly at Kiir who fumbled backwards. She ended up scooting directly into the cold, grisly puddle from the man Hadvar had killed, the one Kiir had tried so hard to avoid.
Kiir sat, back flat against the wall behind her, and watched as the woman slowly died. Gods preserve me. Her movements grew slower and slower until she finally stopped moving altogether.
She heard Hadvar chuckle and she looked up at his smiling face.
"You look worse than she does."
Hardly, Kiir thought. Her hands and feet were soaked in blood and her cuirass was no better. Kiir wondered if she'd gotten any on her face.
"First one's always the worst. Come on." He tossed her a rag. "Wipe some of that off and let's get going."
Kiir did as he asked, finding the rag to be far less adept as cleaning blood than she'd hoped. She met Hadvar by the door and smiled weakly.
He swung open the door. "You elves age pretty weird, don't you?"
Kiir scrunched her face. "Weird?"
"Yeah, you guys live to be like... 800 years old, don't you?"
"1000 usually. More with magic." Kiir stated, moving out of the way of a torch that'd jutted out into the hallway.
"And you all look the same age. How does anyone know how old you are?"
"Asking usually works."
Hadvar laughed. "Good point. How old are you?"
"203." Kiir said. She found herself a bit reluctant to answer.
"Gods." Hadvar murmured. "That old and you look barely old enough hold a drink."
Kiir narrowed her eyes. She'd never been called old before; older, perhaps. But never old. She'd forgotten how short the lives of men were. "How old do you have to be to hold a drink?"
Hadvar shrugged. "I dunno. I was maybe 15 when I had my first mug of mead. Been drinking it ever since."
"Mead?" Kiir squinted. "So your family wasn't too well off, then."
"I wouldn't say we were rich." Hadvar looked back at her as they descended the stairs. "What does that have to do with mead?"
"That's a poor person's drink, isn't it?" The only people Kiir had ever heard of drinking mead were those in the lower caste; it was made with only honey and water, perhaps spices if the occasion was special enough. Was it not like that in Skyrim?
Hadvar laughed again. "Not here it isn't. Everyone from a beggar to the High King will drink the stuff."
"Is it any good?"
"Would everyone be drinking it if it wasn't?" Hadvar opened the next door. "You High Elves are an odd bunch."
Kiir wasn't sure what he meant by that but didn't ask as they entered a room with rusted cages around the perimeter and a particularly crotchety looking old man in hooded robes.
"I wish we didn't need these." Hadvar mumbled as he nodded at the old man.
Kiir squinted. "Old men?"
"No!" Hadvar startled. "Torture rooms."
The chains and cages, the collection of weapons hanging about the walls... it dawned on Kiir that Hadvar wasn't lying; this was a torture room. She'd read stories about them and how the men of old had tortured the Aldmeri during their conquest of Tamriel. There didn't seem to be anyone in any of the cages, however, much to Kiir's relief. An old skeleton lay in one and a dead man was strewn oddly in the middle of the floor.
Taking care to not step in his blood, Kiir nearly ran into an end table and glanced down at a book, seemingly out of place in the room devoid of anything not metal or stone. The title was worn, but she could still make out the name.
"You can take it." The old man said dismissively. "Some hogwash a Stormcloak had on 'em. It's gonna end up as kindling."
A 'storm cloak'? Never one to turn down a book, Kiir grabbed it and held it to her chest, chasing after Hadvar who'd already made it halfway down the next hallway.
"That's not going to help us any." Hadvar said when he saw what she was carrying.
Kiir didn't respond, instead holding the book closer to her chest. The title was a bit confusing but it certainly sounded exciting. Far more exciting than the copious amounts of history books and spell tomes she'd been forced to read back home.
"You should get out of here," Hadvar turned to the old man. "The town's been turned to shit by a dragon."
"Dragon?" The old man laughed. "I'll believe it when I see it."
Hadvar started to move towards the cave opening at the end of the room. "You'll be seeing it soon enough if you don't leave."
The old man waved dismissively and Hadvar shrugged, continuing forward.
The stone hallways soon turned to solid rock as they entered a cave. There were so many twists and turns and rooms that Kiir wasn't sure they'd ever find their way out. She'd have missed the faint glow of sunlight shining in at the end of one of the tunnels had it not been for Hadvar.
"Thank the Gods." Hadvar breathed as they exited into the fresh air.
Kiir made a silent prayer to Auri-El.
A dragon's roar echoed in the distance and Kiir's head shot upwards as a black mass sailed through the blue sky in a haphazard pattern before disappearing behind a mountain.
Kiir let out a sigh. She scanned the forest and what portion of the horizon she could see. Perhaps it was because she'd been unconscious for most of her time here, but for the first time she realized how beautiful the country of Skyrim was.
"I still cannot believe they're real." Hadvar breathed and Kiir noticed he had begun walking down the path. She jogged to catch up with him.
"I thought your people believed they once ruled over the land."
Hadvar shook his head. "Those were stories, ones you told children. No one actually believed them."
Kiir remembered what Ulfric had said back in the tower. Legends don't burn down villages. "It seems they should have."
Hadvar looked over at her and raised his eyebrows. "So where might a High Elf be heading to in Skyrim?"
Kiir shrugged. She had been so worried about surviving the previous ordeal, now that she'd escaped she wasn't sure where she'd go. "There's a College here, right?"
Hadvar grimaced. "In Winterhold, yes. I guess that'd be the best place for your kind."
The way he'd spoken reminded her of the words of her father. Except he'd been speaking about men.
"Do you how to get there?"
"There's a carriage service in Whiterun. The city's only a couple hours walk from here. You can stop in Riverwood, it's on the way and I have family there." Hadvar looked her up and down. "I'm not going to lie, they aren't too fond of Elves. Especially High Elves. But they'll give you a change of clothes and some food." He smiled, a gesture Kiir returned. "Besides, I don't think I would've made it out of there without you. Magic or no magic."
It was a nice thing to hear, Kiir thought. She wasn't sure how true it was, seeing as most of the fighting she'd done involved throwing things. But the sentiment was nice, nonetheless.
They walked together to Riverwood, which happened to be further than Kiir had anticipated. She wouldn't have minded as much if she'd had anything on her feet other than a bloodied piece of leather tied with twine. One of the leather pieces had all but fallen off when they finally passed under the walkway that extended up and over the road.
The town's guards watched her wearily but said nothing. She moved closer to Hadvar.
"I swear I saw it! A dragon!"
Kiir glanced up at the elderly woman on her porch as she passed. Had Kiir not herself seen the fire breathing beast she might have dismissed the woman as senile. With her sunken face and wild eyes, however, Kiir figured that talk of dragons was the least of this woman's problems.
Turning back to Hadvar, she followed him up to the steps of what looked to be a blacksmith's shop.
"Uncle Alvor!" Hadvar called to the man behind a grindstone.
The man looked up and grinned broadly. "Hadvar? What are you doing here?"
Kiir watched as the blacksmith got up from his seat and walked over to the two of them. He was shorter than Kiir, not that she was surprised, but was nearly three times her size. His arms looked about as wide as her head. Were all Nords so large?
He looked at her for a moment, seeming to take in everything- from her pointy ears to bloodied clothes- before addressing Hadvar.
"Shor's bones, boy. You look terrible." His voice dropped as he neared Hadvar's face. "Are you in some kind of trouble?"
Hadvar shook his head, backing away. "I'm fine. Please, let's go inside. I'll tell you more once we're there."
Alvor looked back at Kiir again and did a second sweep. He seemed even more displeased the second time. "And who is this?"
"She's a friend. Wouldn't have made it out without her."
The blacksmith frowned. "You know how I feel about Elves." He spoke as if she could not hear him.
"Yes, Uncle. But she's not one of them, I promise you. Now please," Hadvar paused, lowering his voice, "I'll tell you everything once we're in the house."
Hadvar's uncle reluctantly started towards the door and Kiir wanted nothing more than to leave. But her stomach ached for food and there was no way she'd survive a two hour walk with the foot wraps she currently had on her feet so she, too, reluctantly made her way inside.
The inside of Alvor's home was much smaller than any house Kiir had been in. It looked more like a one room shack than a home; she was sure her mother's closet was about this size. But it was warm and had a homey feel about that Kiir found pleasant.
"Sigrid! We have company!"
A young girl came bounding up the stairs and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw Kiir. Her face changed to one of intrigue. "What are you?"
A woman who Kiir assumed to be the blacksmith's wife appeared just behind the girl and caught Kiir's eyes with the same look of disapproval Alvor had given her earlier. She then looked at Hadvar and her face softened. "Hadvar? We've been so worried. Are you alright? We were just about to eat, let me fetch you something."
The woman turned to the pot on the fire, but not before glancing once more in Kiir's direction.
Kiir felt closer to a local spectacle than a house guest. Surely these people had seen things more interesting than a filthy Altmer in ill-fitted armor.
Or perhaps not, now that she thought about it.
The uncle took a seat across from the one Hadvar had taken before he spoke. "Now then, what's with all this blood? And this... Elf?"
"You know I was assigned to General Tullius' guard. We stopped in Helgen when it was attacked... by a dragon."
Alvor erupted with booming laughter, seemingly unfazed by what his nephew had just told him. "Come now! I think you've just had a little too much to drink."
"Alvor. Let him speak." The wife chastised, placing a bowl of stew in front of Hadvar.
"I don't know what more I can say. The dragon came and destroyed the whole town, I don't think anyone else in the town made it out alive. In fact, I wouldn't have if not for her." Hadvar motioned towards Kiir.
Alvor followed Hadvar's gesture. He didn't seem as angry, but his expression was far from joyful. "You look absolutely ridiculous in that armor. No wonder your people wear robes."
"I feel ridiculous." Kiir responded.
A smile pulled at the corner of the uncle's mouth. "Sigrid, you have some old clothes that might fit better, don't you?"
His wife looked up at the Altmer girl. The look of disgust seemed gone from her face, but she still looked wary. "She's a little tall, but yes. I figure they'll fit better than that cuirass at least. Come with me."
Kiir followed the woman down the wooden steps to the cellar as Hadvar continued to discuss, quite feverently it seemed, the events of Helgen with his uncle.
The young girl followed them down, seeming utterly entranced by Kiir's presence.
Sigrid rummaged through some chests and pulled out a few dresses, laying them on a couple of nearby barrels. "You aren't like those other Elves, are you?"
Kiir wasn't sure who she meant by 'other' Elves. "I don't think so."
"Well you certainly don't look like one, dressed in that armor." She held a dress up to Kiir and, shaking her head, held up another. "You really fought off a dragon?"
Kiir shook her head. "No, kind of just... ran away from it. I owe your nephew my life."
"And it sounds like he owes you his." Sigrid handed her a white and tan dress. "Go see how that fits. I'll be upstairs." She placed the other dresses back into the chest and walked back up the stairs, taking one last glance before disappearing over the ceiling.
The little girl did not follow. "Are you an Elf?"
Kiir smiled. "Yes."
"Why are you so tall?"
Kiir pulled the bloody foot wraps from her feet and placed them on the ground. They looked even more pitiful off her feet. The gauntlets were put next to them, equally as stained. "I don't know. That's just how I am."
"My dad doesn't like Elves. He says they're bad."
Kiir felt odd undressing in front of a child. And the little girl's intense stare that made her nervous. "I don't look bad, do I?"
The little girl smiled and shook her head. "No. You're really pretty." She pointed to Kiir's head. "I like your hair."
Kiir couldn't figure how the girl could like her hair, as knotted and bloodied as it was. She looked like she'd been put through the ringer. "I like your hair, too."
The young girl giggled and, without another word, ran up the stairs.
Kiir smiled and shook her head, pulling on the soft fabric dress. She was surprised; it fit her better than she expected. The sleeves and skirt were short but the rest of it fit well enough to be workable until she found some different clothes in the bigger city. She folded the burlap clothes and placed them on top of the armor before slipping on the boots Sigrid had placed out. They, too, were a bit small but leagues more comfortable than the foot wraps.
Hadvar was just finishing his story when Kiir reappeared. "But I need to be getting back to Solitude to tell them what happened. I was hoping I could stay for the night."
"Absolutely." Alvor agreed, standing from his chair. He looked up at Kiir. "You're... welcome to stay as well. I'll be out at the forge if any of you need me."
Kiir didn't know how serious Alvor was and didn't feel like overstaying her welcome, if she was even welcome in the first place. She slowly made her way towards the door, hoping to avoid any awkward goodbyes, when Sigrid placed a hand on her shoulder. "I've put a bowl of stew on the table for you, if you're hungry. And I've got something to get that blood out of your hair."
The sudden change in demeanor caught Kiir off-guard. Not thirty minutes ago this woman had look at her as if she'd killed one of her children.
Sigrid pulled out a chair and Kiir sat, still unsure of the woman's intentions. The aroma made it too difficult not to eat the food set down in front of her, but Kiir was sure to inspect each spoonful before she ate it.
"Apple cabbage stew." Sigrid explained, as Kiir turned a few of the larger bits of apple over in her bowl. "I have a few left over pheasant breasts if you'd prefer one of those."
Kiir shook her head quickly. Sigrid had interpreted Kiir's lethargic eating pace as an insult to her cooking. "No, no. This is just so foreign." It was true; Elven food was extravagant but very balanced. Sweet was always sweet and savory was always savory... this was both at the same time.
By the time Sigrid returned with a shimmering bottle of what Kiir assumed to be the shampoo, the bowl of stew was gone. Kiir wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Something her mother would've chastised her for mercilessly.
"This should get that blood right out. It works wonders when Dorthe gets mud in hers." Sigrid said, eyeing her daughter.
Kiir thanked her and inspected the jar, attempting to swirl the contents. It was, however, quite thick. Like a silver custard. She set it down and looked over at Hadvar. He still donned his red and silver armor, prompting her to ask a question before she lost her chance. "So who is who, exactly?"
"You're going to have to be a little more specific than that."
Kiir pointed to his outfit. "You're wearing red. The others were in blue. I'm going to assume that means something."
Hadvar nodded. "Ah. Red are the Imperials. Blue, Stormcloaks."
Neither term meant anything to her. "They didn't have cloaks."
"No, no, Stormcloaks! As in Ulfric Stormcloak."
"Ulfric?"
Hadvar cocked an eyebrow. "Surely you know of the war? Ulfric killed the High King of Skyrim, murdered him, and all his rebels are fighting to take over the country. He was among you at Helgen, the man whose mouth was gagged."
There was that word again. War. "There's another war?"
"Gods, what are they teaching you out on those Islands? Yes, another war. The Imperials are fighting to keep this damned country together while the Stormcloaks fight to tear it apart." He shook his head. "After the Empire banned the worship of Talos, Ulfric used it to rally together a ragtag group of rebels. They were never really much of a threat, until he murdered the High King. That got our attention."
Talos. Now that was a name Kiir knew; her father spoke incessantly about how foolish and ridiculous men were to think that one of them could become a god and how banning worship would truly show men who held the reigns. Ulfric had clearly not taken kindly to that. "So if he's the leader, how did you capture him? Why did you capture me?"
"General Tullius is truly a mastermind. The Empire was scrambling to find Ulfric before Tullius was put in charge. He walked right into our ambush; I guess you just got caught up in the scramble." He shrugged. "Not that it matters now."
Kiir didn't remember much from the ambush. She'd been making her way north from Cyrodiil and after that her mind blanked. "Well thank you, I think."
Hadvar laughed. "I guess sending you to your death was not the best introduction."
"I'm not too fond of dying."
"On that we can agree." He slid his bowl across the table and sat back in his chair. "Hey, if you ever get out of the College and are looking to join up, you should head to Solitude and talk to Tullius. We don't have too many mages on our side and after seeing a little bit of what you guys can do, we could certainly use it." He seemed sincere.
Kiir thought about that look on the Stormcloak woman's face and shuddered. "I'll certainly think about it."
"Of course. And know you've got at least one friend here in Skyrim."
Kiir smiled. At least something good had come of the day's events. She uttered another 'thank you' as she got up from the table and decided to try out Sigrid's shampoo before it got too late.
The river behind Riverwood was icy cold, not that Kiir expected it to be anything but. She dunked the ends of her hair into the water and, with a bit of the shampoo on her hands, started kneading it in. The crusty feeling of dried blood quickly dissipated. Sigrid hadn't lied, her shampoo was working wonders.
Kiir started scrubbing at her hands and found she couldn't stop thinking about the Stormcloak woman. The one she'd watched die clawing at her own throat.
After hearing Hadvar speak of the war, Kiir wondered if Skyrim was the best place for her to have come to. It was so different than what she was used to. Cold, harsh, and with more blood than she'd seen in her entire 203 years on the Isles.
The learning curve for survival in Skyrim was steep and Kiir wondered if she'd be able to get on track fast enough to make it to 204.
Pushing those unpleasant thoughts to the back of her mind, she rang her hair out as best she could before gathering the jar up and returning to the house.
The rest of the evening was quiet and slow; Alvor stayed out at the forge until dark with Dorthe joining him anytime her mother turned her back for long enough for the young girl to slip out the door. Sigrid made up beds for Hadvar and Kiir in the cellar out of some straw and a few extra blankets. Dinner was the pheasant breasts, something Kiir had eaten before but found Nords cooked them far differently than the Altmer did. It seemed she'd have to live with the peculiar flavors of Skyrim for a while.
The next morning came faster than Kiir would have liked and had to pull herself from the blankets to begin on her way to Whiterun.
Alvor gave her somewhat vague directions to the city, but Hadvar assured her that there were signs along the road to help her if she got lost.
"And stay on the roads." He warned. "There are a lot of nasty things in those woods."
That was the last thing Kiir wanted to hear as she was about to head out on her own into those very woods, but decided it was better to have been warned than to go in blind. She wished the family well and held tightly to the pack Sigrid had given her, to carry the book and some bread.
Kiir crossed the bridge north of Riverwood and began her long walk to Whiterun.