Running. In the flight from the carnage time seemed to disappear.
The runner falls over, gasping for air in the snow, she curls up in her cloak and cries to herself. She's just some petty noble's daughter, not even good with magic, and yet here she was in Cyodiil fleeing from bandits. Her dark hair pools around her head, her brown eyes closed tightly as she pleads for relief. "Lady Mara, Stendarr, Kynareth, anyone, someone help..." she sobs. Seeing a small cave she crawls to it, ready for her life to end.
Shivering and soaked from melted snow, she soon finds herself gathering branches into a pile. She mumbles a simple fire spell as she shivers, her hands began to feel numb as the spark of warmth spits from her freezing palms.
The branches fail to ignite, she moans in defeat, even when her life is on the line she's a failure. Tucking her knees to her chest she cries to herself and the unforgiving cold.
Her head jerks up as the sound of a snapping branch echos through the frozen woods, she stares into the darkness accepting her fate.
Soon a large hairy form enters the clearing, it kneels down to the place where she was lying down before.
Her frozen ears pick up strange sounds emanating from the thing "By Kyne this is taking too long!". Her heart quickens, was it a bandit? Or some beast of legend? Trying to stay still she watches the fiend look around before it turns in her direction, her teeth chatters as her body shakes, was this how she was going to die?
It stops and kneels down before her, tilting it's head it swears "Ysmir's beard! She's alive!" before it draws steel, she closes her eyes and waits for the dagger to bury itself in her chest, instead she hears scraping sounds before the thing swears again and mutters something before her ears pick up the sound of a flying burst of flame igniting her pitiful collection of branches.
Opening her eyes she sees the beast, it resembled a man with a short beard and long hair, old scars cut into the beard as the eyes stare at her. The eyes. Icy grey like frozen stone bored into the lass's soul, she turns away from those icy orbs. She feels something heavy and furry fall over her shoulders, turning to the beast again she noticed something, it was wearing armor!
"W. Who are you" she stammers as her shivering body slowly warms, the man turns towards her and answers simply "Hjalmar.".
"Are you a..." the girl's voice trails trying to form a thought as the man tosses some dead wood in the fire. "I was sent to look for someone, a Breton girl, named Amelia. Take it that's you?" he finishes her train of thought.
The Breton nods, "hhhmmm." was all she could say as the fatigue catches up to her. The warmth soothes her aching body as she quickly drifts off into slumber. She was convinced she would be having nightmares but part of her notes she was being protected right before her mind goes into the realms of sleep. Hjalmar watches the sleeping girl, noticing she curled up in his cloak.
Eventually he goes to fetch firewood, feeding the flames and keeping watch. He uncorks a flask of wine and sips it, "Shor's beard this is thirsty work." he mutters to the cold air.
He feels something grab his arm, he looks down and sees a pale delicate hand hold his scarred arm tightly. She murmurs in her sleep "Please don't leave me." the words stab into his heart tearing a gasp from his throat.
Memories of an old life run through his head, pleasant ones of home giving way into sad ones of sickness and death.
He shakes his head, that was the past, an old life, leaning down he whispers to the sleeping girl. "I won't.".
The mercenary stares off into the frozen woods watching as the moon eventually gave way to the early rays of morning. He watches as the light washes the snow into colors of flame and hues of pink.
Eventually he hears the girl stir. Waking up, Amelia stretches and tries to shake the previous night's events from her head, her brown eyes settle on the form of her rescuer. "Hjalmar was it?" she asks quietly, he turns towards her and nod. "Here, you're going to need it." he says offering her some dried meat and bread, her stomach rumbles loudly at the sight.
She pulls back, embarrassed at her lack of grace. "Sorry." she says quietly. A hearty laugh answers her. "By Kyne, lass! No need to be ashamed of hunger!" he laughs.
Amelia snatches the food from his hand and starts devouring the offerings, manners be damned! Hjalmar watches her with a knowing smile, "Take it you're feeling better?" he asks. She nods, "Thank you." she says softly.
She gets a good look at Hjalmar, his hair was a auburn red she rarely saw on the Nords working the docks at her father's warehouse. His eyes made her squirm under his now soft gaze. Instead she studies his clothing, worn furs and grimy chainmail covered most of his body, what skin was exposed was scarred or tattooed. "Mind if I see your hands?" he asks, she hands her hands out as he softly takes them. She tries to suppress a sigh as he feels and probes each finger and palm, "Looks good lass, no sign of frostbite." he says in his Nordic accent.
She blushes and smiles weakly, "Thanks for rescuing me." was all she could say as he removed his own gloves. "Wear these, they're abit bloody but the fur should keep your hands warm." her rescuer states. Nodding, she slides them on and tightens the straps around the wrist, even then her hands felt small in them. She flexes her hands, Hjalmar exits the cave and stretches out his limbs, follows him, wrapping the cloak tightly around herself. "Doesn't the cold bother you?" she asks. Hjalmar shakes his head and tightens the strap around the beaten up battle axe on his back.
"Let's get you home." he says offering his hand to her. Amelia nods and takes it, "No place like home." she says with a slight smile as memories of warm fires and old books dance through her mind.
The End
And...I'm done with is story! Finally got around to fixing it! Hopefully someone out there takes a liking to it.