Chapter 1- The incarceration and execution of one Phyruviel Riverstone.
Dragonstar was a quiet city, it's streets were wide and clean. The snow that fell on them was always crisp and when it melted, it melted into clear puddles, not that horrid brown slush you'd see in other cities. It's buildings were well kept and quaint and it's people were mostly merchants and inn keeps. They were mannerly, well respected and generous. It wasn't like the rest of the cities in Hammerfell where a sell sword would stand on every other corner and thieves stalked the shadows. It was a sleepy, wintry little town where nothing particular or out of the ordinary ever happened.
It was for this reason that Pru had assumed it would be a prime target for some pilfering. Unfortunately, she assumed wrong. Years of being such a sleepy inconsequential town had left the guardsmen with a sense of boredom but by no means listlessness. They seemed to have an eagle eye for anything untoward and would take it very seriously if they happened to spot anything they didn't like. Pru couldn't really blame the six, no, seven guards chasing her through the streets. It gave them something to do didn't it?
She through down the stack of brooms and mops to her left as she sprinted pass it to slow her assailants but to no avail. They were a persistent bunch. The noise of clattering wood, heavy footfalls and shouting guards drew the attention of the townsfolk. They cheered for their guards and called for the downfall of the terrible thief.
Pru couldn't help but feel that it was a slight overreaction, it was only one coin purse. If it had been a larger city the guards would have given up by now and the people wouldn't have bat an eye. Not in Dragonstar, they'd be talking about this for months. As she leapt over a stack of crates in her path she could have sworn she saw a woman swoon. Persistent though they might have been she kept running, in and out of the alleys and sideways, leaping over fences and ducking under bridges. With her feet pounding on the cobble stones, her blood rushing in her ears she clutched at her stolen bounty and thought that yes, this is what it meant to be alive.
She ran so far and so fast that soon the world swam by around. She barely even noticed that she'd ran out of the gate. She stopped abruptly when she saw the stables, her lungs burning for air but her adrenaline willing her forward. The shouts of the guards were catching her up but she was given a brief moment of respite to formulate a bad plan. She grinned wildly when she spotted the grey marble horse all saddled up and ready to go. By the time the horse master realised what was happening, she was on the mare and out on the road like a shot.
"Stop thief!" he cried and Pru couldn't help but laugh. She pushed the horse to run faster and it made no protests, its strong legs propelling it forward so fast that the cold air stung her eyes. She let out a loud whoop, punching her fist in the air and laughed. There wasn't a livelier sound than the pounding of horse hooves and wind in your hair.
Suddenly she felt a dull ache on her shoulder, like she'd been stabbed and punched all at once. Her vision ebbed in and out and she lost the grip of her reigns. She couldn't swallow and her body went slack. She was barely conscious enough to feel the crack in her collar bone as she hit the ground. The last thing she saw was a sign post and the word Skyrim etched into it.
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Pru awoke to the feeling of cold stone on her cheek and thudding pain in her right shoulder. She winced and tried to open her eyes. They were groggy and stiff with a fever. She shivered and shut them again, only catching a glimpse of torchlight and iron bars. Great.
It wasn't her first stint in jail, but with her shoulder throbbing from the ill treated arrow wound and what she could only surmise as a snapped collar bone, she decided that this time wouldn't be so easy. There was also no possibility of breaking out, not in the state she was in. She groaned and tried to shift to a position that was slightly less painful. She did not succeed.
"Easy Bosmer, you're in a bad way," said a gruff voice to her left.
His accent was unfamiliar but she placed it as nordic. She felt gloved hands ease her up to sit and when she finally managed to open her eyes fully, she was presented with a tin cup of water. She took a gulp and another before passing it back to the man who sat next to her. He was fair haired with grey green eyes and a rugged complexion. He looked a little worse for wear but his eyes wear gentle and the look he gave her was akin to how a master looks to his pet. It stung her pride but she was grateful all the same.
"Thank you," she rasped, her voice dry from disuse. "How long have I been here."
The man shrugged, "They dumped you here two days ago, said something about not having the facilities in Dragonstar. They've been treating your wound."
She scoffed, "I think they've done more harm than good."
He stood from his haunches and sat on the wooden bench against the wall, resting his head back against the damp stone.
"How long have you been in here," she croaked.
The man pursed his lips in thought, "A week, maybe more. They got us not far from here. Walked right into that Imperial am-"
Before he could finish his sentence, the sound of a heavy iron door echoed around the jail. Armoured footsteps followed, along with the clinking of keys.
"Everybody up!" called a voice.
Three figures appeared in the jail. As they came nearer to her cell she was able to pick out their armour. Red for Imperials. She rolled her eyes. The imperials had gotten a lot stricter ever since the Stormcloak rebellion started. All across the Empire their fist was tightening, trying to keep control of a situation that was rapidly unravelling. Pru was not the least bit political. Whoever ended up winning this war didn't matter to her. All she knew was that in peace times, her line of work was a lot easier.
"Look alive elf," said one soldier, clanging his blade against her bars.
"Easier said than done," she said, wincing as she stood. The man with whom she shared her cell helped her up and allowed her to use him to steady herself. The fever was taking its toll.
"Step away from the Stormcloak," the same soldier commanded. She looked at the man, no, the Stormcloak, that steadied her on his arm.
"She is wounded, she'll need assistance," he said.
The Imperial looked sympathetic and nodded, "Fine, no funny business,"
She tried to get a look at her brothers in binds as they were lead out from the jail. There was at least twelve in total, the majority of which wore the blue colours of the Stormcloaks. It made her slightly uneasy. She wondered where they would be taking her, it wasn't uncommon to transport prisoners from jail to jail if there was a shortage of cells, and being in the midst of a civil war she wasn't surprised at all the moving around. She didn't think the Imperials would be the type to take prisoners. They came out to a court yard and her Nordic friend helped her up into the cart with two other prisoners. One was a dark haired scrawny little thing dressed in ragged clothes. Petty criminal, she nodded to herself. The other was her Stormcloak friend but the one to her right was a mystery. He was tall and broad, with sharp eyes and a proud nose. He was gagged as well as bound and that struck Pru as strange. What was so dangerous about him?
If she had have been more aware, she might have thought more on it or comprehended the imminent danger she faced, but the fever was breaking on her and her head was thick and cloudy. Before she could stop herself she fell asleep to the sound of rolling cart wheels and quiet chatter.
Her dreams were troublesome, as fever dreams often are. She dreamt of dark skies and rivers of blood down snowy mountains. She dreamt of fire and ash and a rumbling voice speaking a language she could not understand. Black wings eclipsing the sun.
The bump of the cart jolted her awake. Her shoulder still ached but the fever was not so bad, the cool mountain air no longer felt like an arctic breeze at least. She felt more like herself and so for the first time, took in her surroundings. They were on a mountain road, the train of carts following the other like a strange caravan. Tall fir trees bordered the cobbled stones but beyond them she could see down into a land that was alien to her. The air was new, colder and fresher. The cold and the mountains told her it could only be one place.
"We're in Skyrim," she whispered.
Her Nord friend arched his brow, "Yes, we have been the entire time."
Panic welled up in her throat. Blasted Hamerfells, they knew she'd try and skip to the boarder. By dumping her in Skyrim she would be doomed to jail here too. Her eyes darted about frantically. There was Imperial soldiers on either flank. Diving out of the cart wasn't an option, and even if there were no soldiers, she would hardly make it very far with her wound. She closed her eyes and cursed to herself. Jail it was, then. She tried to tell herself that it wouldn't be for very long. It was only a horse and a few bloody septums.
"Hey, hey you," the scrawny one called her.
She opened one eye in response, not caring for his tone.
"You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloaks the Empire wants. I'm just a horse thief," he said, desperation lining his words.
The nord scoffed, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now."
"Shut up back there," commanded the soldier in front.
There was a brief silence in the cart and Pru took it as an opportunity to rest her eyes again. Hopefully by the time she awakened they'd have arrived.
"What's with him," the scrawny one said. She could positively feel the Stormcloak bristle at the remark.
"Watch your tongue," he said. Pru once again opened her eyes. He was frowning, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim."
Every nerve in Pru's body stood on end as she looked at the man to her right. He met her gaze but only looked away again. There was a calmness to his countenance. It unnerved her even more.
"If they've captured you..." she whispered more to herself than to her cart mates.
"Then where are they taking us?" The scrawny one buzzed with new found panic.
Her nordic friend levelled her with a gaze, " I don't know, but Sovengard awaits."
She swallowed down the fear that lurched up her throat. She had faced death before. She had been in knife fights, travelled all over Tamriel and faced every bandit, thug and wolf pack that crossed her path. But never before had she been so completely trapped by death. In a fight there was always the chance to survive. If she was a gambler, she'd bet on herself everytime... But now? The odds were weak, if there were any at all.
She tried to ignore their talk, tried in vain to formulate any sort of escape plan but everything was futile. Suicidal. She thought then she may as well face her death with some dignity, and not run like a coward. She sighed and tried to calm the nerves in her stomach as they came into a small town. Imperial soldiers lined the street and ushered civilians into their homes.
"This is it then," she whispered as the cart came to a halt.
"Where are you from, girl." Her nordic friend asked kindly. She watched the Soldiers scurry about making their preparations but numbness struck her when she caught sight of the executioners block.
"Why?" She asked, her voice far away, even to her own ears. She didn't take her eyes of that block.
"Your last thoughts should be of home."
She looked to him then, his kind eyes helped with a small smile to comfort her. She did think of home. Of Valenwood and the trees and the warm breeze that rustled through them so they whispered to her. The way the birds would sing to each other in the mornings and evenings and the smell of earth. The feeling of soft ground beneath her feet when she ran through forests and fields, hunting with her friends. Laughing. Crying. Running.
"No more running." She said to her friend, not expecting he'd understand but his nod told her that he did.
Her mind drifted off to home, retreated there and into her memories so that her present felt like a bad dream. She barely even noticed when the scrawny one made a break for it and was shot down without a second word. A name was called and she thought of the brook in the forest near her home town. The axe went down and she thought of climbing trees there as a child. Then someone was speaking to her.
"What is your name, prisoner." The Imperial soldier with the list prompted her. He was not as harsh as his comrades, his eyes spoke of a dignity. He took no pleasure in his task.
"Phyruviel Riverstone," she supplied.
The soldier nodded and got back to his list but soon his brow furrowed and he turned to his captain.
"What should we do, she's not on the list."
For a moment hope swelled in her chest.
"Forget the list," said the Captain, "she goes to the block."
The soldier looked at her and almost hesitated before nodding, "By your orders Captain."
Pru stemmed her urge to fight when she was hauled towards the block. Her breathing heavy and fearful. She tried to steady it. Tried to fight the tears that were building in her eyes but no matter how hard she tried, they spilled over onto her cheeks. She didn't whimper, no she had more pride than that. But no matter how brave she tried to be, how much she tried to calm herself, she did not want to die. They pushed her onto her knees and it seemed as though the world slowed. All she could hear was her heartbeat, and all she could see and smell was the blood of the blocks previous victim. She waited for the calm that wouldn't come.
She heard something then that sounded like wind. Like a distant blizzard in the mountains surrounding her. It somehow echoed out over her thundering heart rate. Her tears stopped as she listened for it again. Looking around, no one else seemed to notice. She ignored the preacher giving her last rights and heard it again.
That was not wind. She looked to her forearms and noticed her hair standing on end like the atmosphere was filled with static. A foot pressed into her back and forced her neck on the block but she could no longer focus on dying. Something was wrong, she felt it in her blood.
She looked up at the dark hood of the heads man. She couldn't see his eyes and for a brief moment she wondered if he felt guilt, but the moment was fleeting for it was then that she saw the winged shadow swooping over the mountains in the distance. It let out it's terrible roar.
"What in Oblivion is that!" One if the soldiers cried.
"Sentries what do you see?" The Captain called.
It was then the dragon landed on the crumbling tower. Was it looking at her? It opened its jaws and let out such an almighty roar that the skys turned dark and the village was plunged into chaos. Pru felt like she'd be tossed through the air by the force of that sound.
Once again adrenaline rushed through her blood, the pain in her collar bone would have to wait. This was definitely flight, not fight. She scrambled to her feet and tried to avoid the debris that crumbled from the buildings. Everything was on fire, yells and screams blanketed the town but nothing could hope to drown out the dragons roar. She'd never heard a sound like it. But she ran. Like she always had. She was a survivor.
"You! Elf! Follow me!" Called the Stormcloak, "I can get us out of here." Pru found him amidst the smoke and flames and headed towards him. He quickly cut her binds and dragged her along. It took her a moment for her legs to kick in. She couldn't fathom what was happening. It was like some sort of hellish nightmare, one from which she couldn't wake. In the back of her mind she hoped she was still in that cart, hoped this was just a terrible fever dream. But the heat of the flames on her cheeks and the vibration in her chest when the beast roared told her that it was all too real.
Ralof, she discovered her friend's name, led her into a keep of some kind. Finding a corpse she took its armour and weapon and proceeded to follow on. The rumblings outside the keep heightened her nerves, as though any minute the walls around them might give out and crush them. She tried to push back the thoughts.
This was a fight, just like any other fight and if she were a gambler, she'd bet on herself every time.