I hold my hand over the smoldering embers of the recent campfire left behind by the Stormcloak soldiers. I've been tracking this group for several days now, going on little sleep and practically no food, fueled by revenge. I know the one who raped me is with this group and, while I wish the other soldiers no harm, I won't hesitate to kill anyone who tries to stand between me and my target.

I clutch my crude flint blade and wished to the Divines that I had my bow and arrows back. I could slip into the shadows and sink a well-placed arrow into the bastard's brain. I look at my flint blade again. Hmm, now that I think about it, perhaps slinking up behind him and slitting his throat would be much more satisfying. The thought of watching him bleed out make me smile a little.

As I begin to follow the trail of footprints, I can't help but think of my father. "Atar," I whisper in our Elvish tongue, "If only you were here."

My father's name was Nostarion and he was the Orotaar, High King, of our clan in Valenwood. He personified everything beautiful about the Bosmer people. My father was very tall and was slender, yet muscular. His hair was such a fair blond that it almost looked like strands of spun silver in the sunlight and it hung straight down like a flowing cape around his broad shoulders. The feature that really captured everyone's attention was his eyes. They were the most beautiful shade of sapphire blue and were as clear and deep as the ocean. He always said that his eyes were the reason my mother fell in love with him.

I never really knew much about my mother. She died while giving birth to me. From the way my father described her, she must have been the most beautiful woman to ever walk the valleys of Valenwood. Father said that before they met, she had been a servant to a very wealthy and powerful noble family. He never really said more than that and no one in our clan would ever speak of them. Of course, that only piqued my curiosity, but the more I tried to find out, the less I knew, so I finally gave up.

All I ever really knew was that I was as different from any other Bosmer I'd ever met. I am a little taller than most women of our clan, but my hair and eyes set me in another category all together. Where most Bosmer women of our clan are fair haired and blue-eyed, my hair is a deep scarlet, reminiscent of blazing fire, and my eyes are a strange shade of gold. Father said that as soon as he saw me, he knew I would be called Uruloki-Yetille, meaning fiery dragon-eyes in Elvish.

I grew up being like my father's shadow. I went everywhere he went. I did all that he did. He taught me the ways of the Bosmer. I learned to hunt, to rely on the flora and fauna around me to provide all my needs, and how to use the ancient magic of our people to befriend the beasts that roamed our lands. By the time I was ten-years-old, I was as deadly as most of the soldiers in our clan. My father always looked at me with eyes full of pride, but at the same time, it seemed like he was expecting to see something more. I was never sure what it was until my eighteenth birthday.

On the eve of my birthday, my father told me to pack my things for a trip. I didn't think much of it as I often accompanied him of journeys to other villages and to other far off lands. I found my old leather knapsack and threw in only what I thought I might need for a few days away. Had I known the events that would transpire I would have certainly left our home better prepared.

My father led me many miles away from our village before he finally spoke. "Uru, you have come of the age of women and I promised your mother that when this day came, I would tell you all that you have wanted to know about her and her past."

I started to speak, but father held his hand up to silence me. "Please, just listen and then I will answer any questions you may wish to ask, okay?"

I nodded my head and sat down on a nearby log. I wanted to just blurt out a million questions, but I bit my bottom lip and tried to focus on what my father was saying.

"When your mother was younger, she longed to leave her home in Valenwood and experience life in the Imperial City of Cyrodil. Life was not easy for her and she finally agreed to take a job as a servant for a family of great power and wealth. The lord of the manor was taken with your mother's beauty and he eventually began to bed her in secret."

I could feel heat flood my face and my jaw must have hit the forest floor. Of all the things I expected to come out of my father's mouth, this was not one of them.

Sensing that I was on the verge of speaking, father once again held up his hand to keep me silenced and he began to speak again. "No matter what you may be thinking of you mother, please understand that she was young and made mistakes. She was a beautiful, kind, loving woman who still deserves respect even though she is no longer with us physically.

Anyways, the lord did bed her in secret and told your mother that if anyone discovered their affair, that his wife would have her murdered and would destroy him. So your mother kept silent, but our people have a saying—a wise woman keeps her own secrets.

A few months after the lord began his private visits to your mother's chambers, she discovered she was with child. Knowing what would happen to her if this information became known, she decided to keep her secret and flee from the manor.

One night, after the lord had made his nightly visit, your mother packed a few possessions and fled from Cyrodil, back to her home in Valenwood. When your mother returned to our village, my heart leaped for joy because I had loved her since we were children. I went to her one evening to profess my love for her and she broke down in tears. I couldn't understand her sadness, until she told me all that had happened to her. I didn't care what she had done or that she was with a child by another man. All I knew was that I loved her and I bound soul to hers and swore to keep the child as my own. Nobody would ever know that I wasn't the man who fathered you."

My eyes were swimming with tears. I had so many questions that I wanted to ask, that needed to be answered, but I couldn't find my voice.

Father sat beside me and took my hand. "Uru, everyone in our clan knew that you were different from your mother and me, but they never questioned it because of a prophecy told many generations ago by one of the clan's oracles.

It was foretold that one would be born among the Bosmer who would be born of the mighty dragon with the power to defend the people with but a simple whisper.

When you were born, our clan elders decided that you were the one who would fulfill the prophecy. They didn't know about your true lineage, or they would have known how incredibly special you truly are."

My mind was reeling. Affairs, a dragon, prophecy, this all sounds so insane; however, I can tell from the solemn look on my father's face that it is all true.

"Now, my little dragon-eyes, ask me your questions and I will hold nothing back."

I took a deep breath and tried to collect my thoughts, but all of my questions all came rushing out, "Why didn't you tell me all of this before? Who was the lord who took my mother? What is all of this about a dragon and a whisper? What makes you think it's me who's so special anyway? Most of all, why should I believe anything you tell me know? You've lied to me my entire life!"

My father stood up, drawing himself up to his full height. He spoke, not with the soft voice of my father, but with the strong voice of our Orotaar, "Uruloki-Yetille! Speak not to me in this manner! I have loved you as my own since the moment you came into this world!"

"Loved me? You've done nothing but deceive me and our people! You're not even my father!" I screamed.

As soon as the words left my mouth, I immediately regretted what I had said. My father's eyes were wide and his mouth open as if he wanted to say something, but only a slight groan escaped his lips. That's when I noticed the bright red blossom of blood blooming across his robes.

During our argument, bandits had slipped up behind my father and had shot an arrow that pierced him from his back through his chest. I dropped to the ground and rolled toward my knapsack, grabbing my bow and a quiver of arrows.

As I stood, I knocked an arrow and shot the bandit behind my father through the eye. He slumped to the ground in a heap.

I spied a second bandit trying to duck behind an enormous oak tree. Taking him out was easy enough. An arrow ripping through his throat brought his retreat to a halt.

I scanned the tree line looking for any other thugs who may be hiding, but I saw no one else.

"Father!" I rushed to his side, but he was gone. By the Gods, what had I done? My last words to the man who had done nothing but loved me and protected me were that he wasn't my atar, my father. I leaned over, laying my head on my father's shoulder and broke down into a fit of hysterical crying.

I wanted to tell him I was sorry. I wanted to beg him for forgiveness. I wanted to be able to tell him that I loved him, but I am only greeted with the increasing coldness of his body.

After several hours I managed to compose myself and began digging a grave for my father. All the while, I keep a close eye on the trees in case more bandits around, but I manage to bury my father without any more nasty surprises.

I wasn't sure what I should do. I had no idea where my father had been taking me and I didn't want to return to our village. Since my father was dead, I would become the clan's Orotaari, the High Queen. That was something I had absolutely no interest in. I ended up doing what I do best. I disappeared.

I hid aboard a ship that I heard was headed for Skyrim. A few weeks later I ended up in this mess that I currently find myself in. Can my life possibly get any worse?

The sound of voices brings my attention back to the present. I dart behind the trunk of an enormous willow tree.

"Come on men. We're almost there. Pick up the pace so we can get there before nightfall," said a large blond-haired Stormcloak soldier. His voice is gruff and judging from the way the others immediately quickened their step, he must be the leader of this rabble.

There appears to be about twelve soldiers in his command. I spy the only one who matters to me. As luck would have it, my target is bringing up the rear of the group. I watch for my opportunity to strike.

"Ralof," he called out, "watch the rear for a while. I need to drain the ol' snake. Too much ale last night."

"Aye. Just don't fall over into your own piss," Ralof replied.

My attacker stopped and turned slightly off the pass. He pulled down his breeches and began to urinate.

I slowly and quietly slip out of my hiding place and make my way toward the piece of scum who raped me. I am only a couple of inches away from him when I hear the shouts.

I'm not sure what is happening, but it sounds like the Stormcloaks are under some sort of attack. My attacker turns to see what the commotion is and we lock eyes. His mouth gapes open and I lunge forward to drive my flint blade into his gullet.

Even though everything is happening fast, I notice that the soldier's eyes dart to an area just over my shoulder.

I'm within a mere inch of my blade spilling the blood of my foe when I feel a sharp pain at the base of my skull.

I'm trying to open my eyes, but it just seems so hard to do. My head is pounding and I keep trying to open my eyes. I am being jostled around and I can't place where I am or what is happening.

I finally force my eyes open and see that I am in a wagon with several Stormcloak soldiers. I can feel a trickle of blood dripping down by my left eye and when I reach up to wipe it away I see that my hands are bound tight with leather straps. I look to see who has me captive and I get an answer I don't want. It's Imperial soldiers. Well damn, it looks like my life just got a hell of a lot worse.

A/N: If you are enjoying the story, please leave comments. Constructive criticism is appreciated. Thanks! :)