A NIGHT IN HELGEN

Arenar

Two guards were posted outside the town's gates, standing opposite sides of the massive doors. Their armor was Imperial Legion, which worried Arenar. If these two were at the camp last night, they might recognize me. He pulled his hood lower over his face.

One of the Nords raised his hand, signaling Arenar to halt. "Pull down your hood," the guard ordered. Reluctantly, Arenar did as commanded. "What brings you to Helgen, Imperial?"

"Just... trying to find a place to rest before the day is gone," he answered, thankful the troops didn't seem to recognize him.

The other guard shook his head. "You'll have to find somewhere else. We have direct orders from General Tullius to keep the gates closed until further notice."

"May I ask why?"

"No," the guard bluntly responded.

Arenar spun the Moon-and-Star, the ring Indoril Nerevar used to unite the Chimer clans of old. He said, "If you are going to force me into sleeping outside in the freezing cold forest without a weapon, you should be decent enough to explain why."

The guard looked at his fellow Nord, who shrugged slightly. He turned back to Arenar and said, "Last night General Tullius captured Ulfric Stormcloak and some of his men. The prisoners were brought here to house them overnight. Early tomorrow morning they'll be executed before any outside Stormcloaks learn of their leader's capture and attempt to rescue him."

Arenar had suspected as much. He twisted his ring again. "Well, I have no intention of reporting Ulfric's capture to anyone; I carry no preference of either the Imperials or the Stormcloaks. Besides, do you think General Tullius will notice one more person?" Both of the guards shook their heads, completely trapped in his ring's power. "So are you sure I can't stay in Helgen for the night? I promise not to cause any trouble."

The guard on the left side of the gate waved him over as he unlocked it. "Keep your head down. If you stir up trouble, we never saw you. Got it?"

Arenar nodded, a small smile spreading across his face as he continued to follow the wagon's trail. He admired the Moon-and-Star, glad it hadn't been stolen with the rest of his belongings. When he'd first put on the ring and it hadn't killed him, as it had so many people before him, there had been no doubt he was the Nerevarine. For it had been enchanted so only Indoril could wear it, and Arenar was Indoril reincarnated.

Arenar tore his gaze from the ring and placed it upon Helgen. In comparison to the hundreds, if not thousands of small villages he'd been to it was more of the same, excluding the walls. A few small houses were separated by stores, but most of the buildings were constructed with lumber and had a hay-covered roof. An impressive keep built entirely of stone was the main attraction in Helgen. Posted outside the building were numerous Imperial troops and three empty wagons. Behind the wagons stood the executioner's block. That's where the Stormcloaks will die.

While walking along the road Arenar found Helgen's inn, The Hollybush. He entered, finding the building packed with villagers and Imperial troops. He hid his face as well as he could with his hood once again.

He sat down at the bar and the Nordic innkeeper greeted him. "Welcome to The Hollybush, Imperial. Don't think I've ever seen you 'round here before."

"You're right," Arenar mumbled, glancing over his shoulder. No one appeared to be staring at him, which was a good sign. "I was in Cyrodiil up until last night. May I have a bottle of mead? Any kind will do."

The innkeeper reached down and brought up a small bottle. "Nord mead," he said, handing the beverage to Arenar. "I'm surprised you managed to get past the guards. The Legion seemed unlikely to open the gates for anything, much less a single traveler. Of all the places to bring the Stormcloaks, it would be here."

Arenar finished off his mead and placed the empty bottle back on the bar. "So it's the High King's death that brings the Legion and Stormcloaks here?"

The innkeeper's eyebrow rose. "You mean his murder?"

Some in Bruma had claimed Ulfric defeated High King Torygg in fair combat. Just because people don't like that Torygg lost does not mean he was murdered. To stay on the innkeeper's good side, Arenar said, "Yes, his murder. My mistake."

The innkeeper sighed. "I guess Skyrim's problems wouldn't be very important to the people in Cyrodiil, huh?"

"You'd be correct," Arenar lied.

"None of this would've started had the Stormcloaks just abided by the White-Gold Concordat."

Arenar wiped his mouth. "What is the White-Gold Concordat?"

The innkeeper snorted. "You must be drunk already. It's what ended the Great War with those damned High Elves."

"Oh yeah, that's right. Now I remember," Arenar answered gravely. Two hundred years' worth of memories often left him forgetting bits and pieces of a larger image, such as the White-Gold Concordat.

But he would never forget the Great War, for he was there in the beginning when the first major battle occurred in Leyawiin, thirty years ago. More like the massacre.

As that was the place the only woman he had ever loved died.

Arenar slept comfortably on his soft bed, in his rented room at the Three Sister's Inn. The Khajiit sisters had long since passed, but the name stuck. Lying next to him in his bed was a female Breton named Lielle.

She had long, black hair that clung to her flawless tan body and bright green eyes that perfected her beautiful face. He had met her a week earlier on the road to Leyawiin. She was a courier, and had been sent to deliver a message to the Count. Arenar met her when he'd been trying to clear out a bandit camp alone, something he had done many times. But the sheer number of criminals had nearly overwhelmed him. At the last second, Lielle had appeared and aided him.

Arenar hadn't believed in love at first sight before that day. He had spoken with, fought beside, and slept with many women before Lielle. But when he saw her... it was no denying the way he felt for her.

So he had managed to convince her that, for both there safeties, they travel together to Leyawiin. Much to his pleasant surprise, she had immediately taken him up on that offer.

And in that week, he had learned everything about her. He told her as much as he deemed safe to say. Only a handful of people knew that he was the Nerevarine, and most of them were Dunmer that'd scurried off to different parts of Tamriel after Morrowind's destruction. The few times he had entrusted this information to someone new, they had rarely taken it well. Not wanting to scare Lielle off, he'd made up a past of being a traveling sell-sword born from eastern Cyrodiil.

When they had finally reached Leyawiin, it'd been late. Deciding it best to bring the letter to the Count the next day, the two of them had gone to the Three Sister's Inn. Not so unfortunately, there had only been one vacancy left. Lielle had been quick to suggest they share it.

Little sleeping had went on in that bed, not into the early hours of the next day.

"Thalmor!" cried a voice from downstairs.

Arenar and Lielle woke and rose up from the bed simultaneously, confused by the shouting. "What was that?" she asked.

"I'll check," Arenar said. He pulled on a pair of pants and grabbed Trueflame before poking his head out the door. Nothing yet. He walked over to the railing and peered down at the first floor.

Two High Elves and a Wood Elf made a circle around Ortag, the Imperial innkeeper. One Altmer wore black robes and a hood that hide his face. The other wore simple elven armor, the same kind as the Bosmer. All three were armed with an elven sword in one hand and magic in the other.

"Surrender if you value your life," the hooded High Elf barked.

"To Oblivion with you!" Ortag screamed defiantly.

The elf ran his blade through Ortag's abdomen. He fell to the floor, clutching his fatal wound that bled freely. In seconds he was dead. "That will teach you to respect your betters," the Altmer said, spitting on the dead man's corpse.

What's going on? He stepped forward, kicking a bucket he'd failed to notice. Immediately all three elves stared at him with their cold, merciless eyes. The armored Altmer's glaring was especially unnerving, a deep scar running along his left eye.

"Throw down your blade if you want to leave this place alive," the hooded elf ordered.

"No," Arenar replied. He leaped over the railing, landing directly in front of the leader. Before the elf could react, Trueflame passed through his heart, killing him almost instantly. The armored Altmer swung his sword at Arenar's head, but he rolled out of danger at the last second. From the corner of his eye, Arenar spotted the Bosmer advancing up the stairs. Lielle! He had to end this fast.

The Altmer's hand sparked as a lightning spell was unleashed. Arenar failed to dodge it; his full attention was given to the Bosmer. He yelped and collapsed onto the ground when the bolt hit him in his right arm, causing him to drop Trueflame as numbness spread out to the rest of his body.

"Should have surrendered," the Altmer gloated. He now stood over Arenar with another lightning spell charging in his palm. "Oh well. More Imperial scum, and anyone else who dares to fight against us, will die at our feet before we are done."

The elf crouched down, placing his hand over Arenar's heart. He smiled as he released the spell, shutting down the Imperial's vitals.

Hours later Arenar woke up, surrounded by flames. The Three Sisters' Inn was burning down around him. He glanced down at his chest where a black scar marked his most current death. Slowly he stood, picking up Trueflame from the where he'd dropped it.

Ortag and the hooded elf's corpses filled the building with a pungent smell that made Arenar gag. He climbed up the stairs towards his room, hoping that Lielle was safe.

He passed through the doorway. "Oh gods," Arenar whispered, his heart filled with despair.

Lielle's naked body lay lifelessly on the floor. A steam of blood had flowed onto the ground beneath her from the deep wound stretching across her throat. Arenar's elven dagger that he kept for emergencies was currently residing in her cold hand. She tried to defend herself and failed.

Arenar stood there silently, unsure what to do. After a few minutes passed he remembered the fire, which was now closer to his room. He slid on his leather boots and tugged on his light coat. Deciding to leave his armor behind, Arenar snatched his coinpurse and left the inn.

He encountered a family that was also fleeing the city not long after. Among them was a Thalmor agent who had defected from the Aldmeri Dominion. Arenar had almost decapitated the High Elf on sight, and had continued to watch the ex-Jusiticar for the duration of their escape from the siege of Leyawiin. Little did he know that he would become friends with the Altmer, whose name was Rimion.

The whole group, despite the odds, escaped the city. And soon after, Cyrodiil.

"Hello? You there?" the innkeeper asked.

Arenar blinked, back in The Hollybush with another empty bottle in front of him. "I'm sorry," he said. "What did you ask me?"

"I asked you if you planned to rent a room tonight. If so, that brings your tab up to twenty-five Septims," the innkeeper said.

"Yes, I'll take a room," Arenar said.

The innkeeper placed a key down on the bar. "It will be the last room on the left. Arenar stretched out his hand to grab the key, but the Nord pulled it away. "I said that will be twenty-five Septims."

"My apologies. I just have a lot on my mind right now." Arenar reached down for his coinpurse then cursed. He remembered that his coinpurse had been missing from his body as well earlier that afternoon.

Seeing no alternative, Arenar twisted his ring. "I've already paid for my drinks and room, so can I have my key?"

The innkeeper nodded and handed Arenar the room key. "You did pay me. Have a good night."

Arenar stood up and walked to his room. He felt bad about robbing the Nord, but it wasn't his fault he couldn't pay. He'll have to take it up with General Tullius and the face-stomping bitch.

The room was nothing fancy. The bed was small and the empty chest available to hold any extra supplies would go unused by him. But still, it was much better than sleeping in the snow.

He hung his cloak on the door and fell onto the bed. Arenar fell asleep almost immediately. He began to dream about Lielle, like he did almost every night. He visualized her tanned skin, her luscious lips, and her sweet voice.

And the cold stare she gave him from her dead eyes. Once they were bright and full of life, but not anymore.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to Aryk von Straln for letting me use The Hollybush for the name of Helgen's inn. The original inn was never given a name in-game (as far as we know) so he used that name for his story "The Edge of Madness," which I highly recommend.