Shifting Sands

Part III – Across the Dunes

The sweltering wind hit her face mercilessly.

Iman was used to the heat. She was used to the dryness and to the way sometimes sand got stuck in her throat and made her cough. She was used to feeling the sweat on her skin always evaporate almost instantly, but for the clamminess that sometimes remained.

She was used to the smell of distant seas.

It all seemed different now.

Was it because it was likely for the last time that she would feel these sensations?

Was it because it all didn't quite feel the same here in the Alik'r Desert? Not like it did in the grand city of Sentinel?

Or was it the smell and sight of blood that made it all feel… strange?

She had been hiding out in her friend's apartment for a week before she moved to another friend's place. As a precaution, she had to move. The Thalmor started asking about her in that neighborhood.

Her parents have really disowned her publicly, but that didn't even hurt anymore.

All that Iman wanted was to be free.

And her friends were helping with that.

They contacted whomever they could, whomever they trusted. It took weeks of Iman hiding and waiting, but in the end, it paid off. Her friends found a group of smugglers that would take Iman with them, away from Hammerfell.

To the one place where she could still go to escape the Thalmor.

Skyrim.

The land ravaged by a civil war. Its people actually sounded endearing. They fought against the Thalmor too. Whatever they had, they threw back at them.

Iman was mourning for her friends and her lifestyle, but she would find herself in the cold north. She knew that she would. It had everything that she had ever wanted.

Freedom.

Now she was here, at this point. In the middle of the desert, traveling with three strange men that agreed to take her to Skyrim for a decent pay. If she cooperated. She would get a new identity, new life, new chance at doing whatever she wanted.

It was exciting.

Until they reached the first military checkpoint in the desert. The caravan was technically 'legal'. And so was she. She was not wanted officially anywhere and the Thalmor had nothing on her. But they were waiting there for her regardless. And when the caravan left the checkpoint, they followed.

Now they were lying at the men's feet in a pool of blood. The smugglers were ready for this. But still, one of them got wounded and from what she'd seen, the battle was very tough on them with all that magic flying about.

"This wasn't the first one for sure," one of the smugglers scoffed in between his tired pants. "We're too obvious."

"We're doing the same thing we always do," a second smuggler shrugged.

"I know," the first snarled. "It's her."

All their gazes turned to Iman at once, scowling at her. Yes, it was her. It was her fault. But this was what they had agreed to!

"I beg your pardon?!" Iman growled at him. This is what she paid them for!

"She 'begs my pardon'. See what I mean?" the first smuggler frowned even more, mockingly imitating her. "The entire city of Sentinel is looking for some spoiled rich bitch and she's right here. Looks like a bounder, grunts like a bounder… guess what? It's a fucking bounder."

"You could have at least dressed in something other than silks," the second smuggler shook his head at her.

She wore her green dress and jewels for the journey. She didn't want to take much more money or clothes from her friends – they had already helped her pay for these people. And she needed these fancy things to sell in Skyrim and start her life there.

"And the fucking name you gave us," the first smuggler scoffed disdainfully again.

"What's the name?" The third smuggler piped up at last while he continued to wrap a bandage around his wounded arm.

"… My name is Sandy," she answered the man uncertainly. They asked her as the first thing. She didn't know what else to say.

"'Sandy'? What the shit?" the third man cringed. "Ugh, these fucking spoiled brats are useless."

What? What was that supposed to mean? These men were so grouchy.

"Could you be more obvious with a fake name, your highness?" the first smuggler mocked her. "Less people would bat an eye if you named yourself 'Sand-slut'."

"Excuse me?!" Iman gasped. They were all Redguards too! Why would they use such words to refer to her?

"You wanna go to Skyrim, you better get used to that insult," he smirked at her meanly. Well… that was probably true, but she still didn't have to listen to it now, did she?

"Forget her," the third man waved his hale hand dismissively. "These noble idiots don't last long anyway. Why do you bother? We get paid for getting her past the checkpoints to the border and that's it. Who cares how soon the Thalmor will sniff her out after that?"

Yes, who cares? Just get me past the border and then leave me be.

She could do this on her own. She had to.

"It makes it harder to get past the checkpoints, dipshit," the second smuggler grumbled.

The first man made a few steps, stopping right in front of the back of the wagon she had been sitting on. He lowered his head so that his face was right in front of hers, watching her intently. "So, Sandy, is that your name? The name of an empty-headed noble bitch that just felt rebellious for a minute before she realizes that her old life and her old name was easier? Are you going to go back to your rich parents and beg at Thalmor feet for forgiveness."

"'Forgiveness'?" Iman scoffed at him. "The Thalmor won't forgive me. They will punish me. And I don't want to go back. I will not live like that. I will not live in fear and submission. I will not live in misery and eternal deference." The defiance seeped through every word she uttered. She was determined. She would find a new life in Skyrim. She had no regrets about her choices. Not a single one.

"You're not gonna make it, Sandy. You're gonna turn back," the man grinned at her nastily. What was he doing? Did he just want her to give up? Never!

"I will not!" she snarled back

"You're gonna give up, like all you noble brats do," he smirked. Did they do this often? Transport nobles away from the Hammerfell politics. That was… entirely possible, actually.

Iman remained quiet for a little while. She couldn't help but wonder if he was right. If they had done this so many times and if the nobles really always gave up that easily.

But whatever the truth was, she was going to be different!

"Like fuck I will! And I'm not some fucking noble!" she snapped. Not anymore. The noble was gone. She was no longer that.

"What's your name?" The man repeated the question. It had the same intensity, but for some reason, now she could hear a measure of… kindness beneath the tone. He was just… helping. He needed her to take this seriously. She needed to do that for herself too.

"… Saadia," she nodded resolutely. Her brave and adventurous aunt. Iman had always admired her.

"Family name?" the man continued to question her, just like the men at the checkpoint did. This time she had different answers.

"Don't have one," 'Saadia' shrugged.

"Who are you?" the smuggler continued.

"A barmaid from Ska'vyn," Saadia said resolutely after a moment of contemplation. She had always wanted to work in a bar or a tavern. So many people with interesting tales there. And she needed a reason to leave too. "I'm moving to get away from my abusive wife." It wasn't exactly a lie. It had almost become true before.

"Explaining the old bruises," the second smuggler murmured with a measure of admiration in his voice as he looked at some of the fading bruises on Saadia's arms. From the Thalmor – they could only bruise, nothing permanent. But they were still taking too long to disappear. "Not bad. And she knows where our caravan passes through."

She did know. Ska'vyn was one of the places. Her friends had told her all about the caravan she was joining, fortunately.

"Where are you going?" the man in front of her continued to question her.

"Whiterun. I have a friend there who will take me in," she nodded. She had done her research. She couldn't go to any of the western Holds in Skyrim – they were all controlled by the Empire now. But Whiterun was supposed to be neutral. She could at least take a break there before deciding whether to move on. She could sell her things and get some money and then consider her options.

"Does she really?" the wounded smuggler raised his brow in interest. No, not really. She knew no one in Skyrim. But she would make do.

"Who are you? Really," the man in front of her asked with a smirk decorating his face. He seemed a little more… placated by her answers now.

"Saadia," she nodded. She had to forget that Iman had ever existed. Nobody would ever know. "Someone who will not be pushed around and oppressed by those who don't own me. Both the Thalmor and my family can go fuck themselves. There is no Iman," she growled.

"What will you do if the Thalmor come for you?" the man continued curiously.

"Whatever it takes."

She would never let them get her again.

"Maybe there's hope for this one after all," The wounded smuggler smirked.

You bet there is. I will make it through.

"Come," the second smuggler walked towards the carriage where he took a rolled up colorful rug and he unrolled it deftly, motioning for her to come closer to it. "Hide in the back until we reach the next settlement. We'll buy you some new… modest clothes there, Saadia."

That was probably a good idea. She had her story now, she just needed to look like it.

She climbed further into the wagon and let the man arrange her under the carpet. She could still peek out when he was done, look at the dunes and shifting sands passing as the caravan began to move once more, traveling through the desert as the camels led it onwards.

She looked at the sand wistfully. There would be no sand where she was going – not like this.

But for all that she would lose here, she would gain so much.

For the first time in her life, she would be free. Free to forge her own path, free to pursue her own fate. She would be free there to enjoy the things she loved so much – music, dancing, laughter, even maybe find someone that would be nice to her and would love her despite her 'behavior'.

She couldn't stop imagining her future in the cold and dreary province.

And somehow, it felt brighter than the scorching rays of the Hammerfell sun she was leaving behind.


Author's Note:

Thank you for reading!

I hope you have enjoyed the story of Iman… or was it Saadia? ;)

By the way, if you have any suggestions or requests for another character's story, lay them on me ;) No promises, but I will consider them and see if I can scribble something up. Or maybe some of them are already included or planned for the main fic too ;)

In any case, thank you again and I hope you'll all continue to enjoy the main fic :)