"Why?"
A familiar nightmare of blood and shock visited her that night. A half-flayed humanoid face would lock its one blue eye and vacant eyehole with her and ask her that question. She could never find an answer for it, never knowing the reason for inquiry, but horrified when it didn't like her silence. If it didn't get an answer, it would open its disjointed jaw and try to swallow her.
Skathi jolted in a cold sweat. This dream had been around ever since she first struck out into the wild. It wouldn't come every night, but often when she was worn from the day before. She didn't know the origin of it and thought it might be connected to why she left home in the first place. She didn't remember it, so it was more out of gut-feeling than fact.
Coming back to reality, Skathi noticed she was in an unfamiliar building. More alarming was her fur and gambeson were gone, replaced by a common red dress. The thought of someone seeing her naked was unnerving, especially when she realized she'd been scrubbed, the dirt on her skin missing. At least they chose the right clothes. She liked the color red.
She got up but felt sudden pain course through her body. Old wounds seemed to have reopened recently and muscles were still sore from the day before. She felt around and found bandages around her familiar injuries, whoever had been caring for her clearly having been there. She wanted to thank them, even if she didn't feel like talking much that day.
A hot smell caught her attention. She looked around and found a pot of stew on the fire. Starved, she took a bowl of it and gulped it down at once. She didn't pay attention to taste; she was so hungry. So much so that she took a second bowl. By then, she found it meaty and well spiced. Thank whoever lived here for their kindness.
Skathi found a pair of shoes that seemed to fit and gloves no one was using, so put them on and sauntered out the door. She looked out and saw a small town with straw roofs and simply dressed folk. This rustic air reminded her of home, a place she hadn't thought of in years. She didn't remember the town's name, but this place seemed a lot like it.
She made her way to the main road in the town when she saw a woman in a green dress waving at her with familiarity. Skathi wasn't sure why the woman took an interest in her and walked over to her. She seemed to work at a lumber mill, operating the machinery without pause. When the outsider crossed the bridge over, the lumberjack raised her axe like a greeting.
"Glad to see you're awake!" she called, "After what you've been through, it's no surprise you slept in."
"Skathi took a seat on a tree stump. "What happened last night?" she asked.
"Well, when Ralof brought you in, you were dragging your leg and delirious," the lumberjack explained, "he explained what happened yesterday and we put you in the spare bed." She continued, "But before we did that, I insisted those flea-ridden pelts be tossed out and burned."
"Skathi had an arm to her chest at this. She didn't want people to see her naked like that, no matter the reason. They would surely be disgusted at the sight, like in horrible memories she felt instead of remembered clearly.
"Don't worry," the lumberjack added, "Ralof and the other two men in the house promptly left to give us some privacy."
Little comfort.
"I've met women like you," she remarked, "You don't scare me, not even slightly."
Skathi was disbelieving. She wasn't like most women, even without the scars or furs. For someone to know her secret and not be disgusted was a relief. Thank whatever the god may be for this woman.
"When I got a good look at you, it seemed some of your wounds had reopened," the lumberjack continued, "I spent a pretty penny on a potion to heal you, but they seemed to work."
"They still hurt," Skathi said.
"Well, it'll go away with some rest," she remarked, walking over to the outsider, "My name's Gerdur."
"I'm Skathi Wolf-Runner," the latter replied.
"Wolf-Runner," Gerdur repeated, "How'd you get a name like that?
"I'm not sure," Skathi admitted.
Truthfully, she wasn't sure where she got that name. She assumed it was a family name, but she couldn't remember her parents' names. In fact, she couldn't remember her parents most of the time or anything from her time in civilization. She hoped it wasn't too important.
"Listen," Gerdur said, "If what Ralof said was true, we're going to need guards around here. We're vulnerable if a Dragon attacks us. If you could get the Jarl of Whiterun to send us some protection, it'd be much appreciated."
Skathi nodded. She naturally assumed she was the only one who didn't have something going on that kept her from leaving or that her being an outsider made her a prime candidate for whatever dangerous things need doing. Not a lot in life she would want, but that's what happens when you retreat from the rest of the world.
"Of course, she was going to need armor. Her furs and gambeson were surely ash by now, and we unfit to wear anyway. On the way to the mill, she'd spotted a smithy, so she figured that was a decent place to look. Of course, she couldn't make her way over there on an empty stomach.
"Any place I can get supplies?" Skathi asked.
"Well, Alvor's forge is a good place to get weapons and armor," Gerdur explained, "but for things outside of that, there's the Riverwood Trader. And if you don't have any money, you can help yourself to whatever's around the house, but don't take from the purse."
The outsider nodded again and got up to leave the mill. She went over to the smithy and caught a good look at him. His yellow beard was lined with soot and it peppered the rest of his body. His workplace was littered with steel and iron creations, some old and some new.
"You gawking or are you looking to buy something?" Alvor asked.
"Sorry," Skathi replied, "I'm in need of some arms and armor."
"Well," the smithy said, "got anything in mind?"
Skathi thought about it. She doubted she could take to steel or iron all that well, so it would need to be light. She also doubted she had enough to pawn to for anything fancy. She lost her bow and arrows in the business with the Stormcloaks, so she would need replacements.
"You got any light armor?" she asked.
Alvor thought about it for a moment. He took a glove off and put a hand under her arm beside her chest. Skathi quickly stepped back at this unwanted contact, but the smithy seemed to get what he wanted.
"Apologizes," he said, "I do that with anyone who's looking for armor. I think I've got something for you.
Alvor put a mail shirt on the table. "I make these for guards, but they usually bring their own," he explained. "You'll need a gambeson to wear it comfortably, but it's yours for 75 Septims."
And thus, they reached an impasse. Skathi hadn't the coin for it but needed the armor. She knew stealing it was unacceptable, so you need to sell some things to afford the mail.
"I'll be right back with the gold," she said before leaving.
The outsider sauntered over to the Riverwood Trader, an easy feat with the gold scales out front. The building seemed familiar, frighteningly so, but she had never been to it in her life. She found herself witness to an argument between an Imperial man and woman. Well, she presumed they were Imperials. She wasn't good at identify races.
"Well, one of us has to do something!" the woman yelled.
"I said no!" the man barked, "No adventures, no theatrics, no thief-chasing!"
"Well what are you going to do then, huh?" she retorted, "Let's hear it!"
"We are done talking about this!" he stated.
About then, he spotted Skathi, a little shaken from the conversation. "Oh," he said as he cleared his throat, "a customer. Sorry you had to hear that."
The outsider shook herself back to the world. "I've got a few things to sell," she replied.
Skathi set out several items. Mountain flowers to worn daggers, animal teeth to wormwood. Miscellaneous junk she'd collected over the years in packrat fashion in case she ever needed them. She got a good 275 Septims for them, more than what she would assume. Skathi took the gold and headed off to buy her armor.
Once the mail and gambeson were paid for, she bought a longbow and a quiver of arrows. She also bought a knife, if only for herself. Ready for the road, Skathi set out for Whiterun.
Jeanne slept in due to the strange change in times between High Rock and Skyrim. It felt like the Nords' land was an hour ahead of them, so it turned to dawn at what felt like the morning twilight. She finally sauntered out when the innkeeper was pounding on her door, telling her even the Falmer were awake by now.
Coffee was off the table. The Empire voided their trade contracts with Hammerfell when they left, but Redguard and Breton contract were ancient. As Skyrim was part of the Empire, they probably wouldn't have coffee. Well, the side of Skyrim she was in wasn't part of the Empire anymore, but she doubted that they would be drafting contracts this early in the independence process.
Instead of that, she was given a Nord mead, locally brewed. Tasted like honey and piss, but it woke her up. Was it a good woken up? No, it felt like being frightened out of the hiccups by a madman. For balance, she snacked on a snowberry crostata.
She wandered into the attic and saw two of the Stormcloaks from last night, Mikaela and Ravani, she believed. They were warming their hands over the fire, damp gloves set on the hearth just far enough to be warm without burning.
"You two are back?" Jeanne inquired, "Did you fight the dragon?"
A tired Ravani turned to the Breton and explained, "We didn't see a dragon, just a company of Imperial riders."
"And Ulfric?" she asked further.
"I think he's in the Hall of Kings," the Dunmer continued, turning back to the flame.
Jeanne shoved what was left of her crostata in her mouth and bolted off to the citadel. Ulfric was probably going to be busy all day and any time she could claim for herself was precious. She ran across the snow-covered stone of Windhelm and was soon in the shadow of the center of power in the city, guards stopping her from tripping over herself.
As she entered the Hall, she was met by the sculped heads of hawks, watching over her like gargoyles that even followed her here. The throne room was decorated with the blue and gold heraldry of a bear. Before her was a long table flanked by benches and holding much food and drink. At the stone throne, a fine Nord stood beside it, as Ulfric could be heard elsewhere.
Jeanne quietly tiptoed to the room this discussion was coming from. She peaked her head in to see who was talking. There were two Nords, one in hide armor and a bear-head helm, the other in black furs and mail. From their discussion, she assumed Ulfric was the latter.
"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer," the bear-head warrior fumed.
"He's a true Nord," Ulfric stated, "He'll come around."
"Don't be so sure of that," the warrior retorted, "We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."/p
p class="MsoNormal""And what would you have me do?" the jarl asked as he cocked his head.
"If he's not with us, he's against us."
"He knows that. They all know that."
The bear-head warrior gritted his teeth. "How long are you going to wait?"
"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message," Ulfric said like he understood his comrade well enough.
"If by message you mean shoving a sword through his gullet."
The rebel Jarl smirked. "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement," he asked, "don't you think?"
Ulfric had a drowning presence. You couldn't help but hear and hang on every word he said. His words spoke to a primal standard that worked their way into your head and told you to follow his path. It was understandable he was jarl, as the Nords would elect their leaders and it was obvious why he was picked to lead them.
"So, we're ready to start this war in earnest then?" bear-head grinned.
"Soon," Ulfric replied as he left the war room to the court.
As he left the war room, Jeanne tried to act normally as though she didn't spy on them. She probably failed, but no one paid her any mind.
"I still say you should take them all out like you did Deadking Torygg," bear-head remarked, following his Jarl.
"Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls," Ulfric explained as he approached his throne, "Whoever we replace them with will need the support of our armies."
Jeanne remembered the High King of Skyrim was named Torygg, but she hadn't heard anything about his death. This was new to her. Had Ulfric killed the king? The Breton hoped it was in honorable combat, not an assassination. Her father taught her that an assassin gets your enemies out of the way, but it's easier to say no to you when they know you're their enemy. Duels are public.
"We're ready when you are," bear-head stated.
"Things hinge on Whiterun," Ulfric remarked, "If we can take the city without bloodshed all the better. But if not," he trailed off with a grim expression. Anyone could finish that sentence.
"The people are behind you," bear-head replied.
"Many I fear still need convincing."
"Then let them die with their false kings."
Ulfric sighed. "We've been soldiers for a long time," he recounted, "We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts."
Bear-head gritted his teeth. "What's left of Skyrim to wager?"
"They have families to think of."
True enough. If someone didn't want to orphan their children or widow their husband or wife, they had the right not to join them. Jeanne had little to lose.
"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner?" Bear-head growled, "We are their families."
"Well put, friend," the Jarl nodded, though tokenlike, "Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"
The bear-head warrior, called Galmar apparently, looked confused. "I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion," he answered, "you know that."
"Yes, but why do you fight? If not for me, what then?"
"I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men. Are we not one in this?"
Ulfric took a breath. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms," he proclaimed to the room of six people, "dying on foreign soil. I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths. I fight for we few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces. I fight for my people impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves! I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing. I fight because I must."
And finally, he took a seat in his throne. With what he's been through, he may yet deserve it.
"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric," Galmar responded, "And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough, will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."
"I would gladly retire from the world were such a day to dawn," Ulfric smiled fondly.
"Aye. But in the meantime, we have a war to plan.
This discussion over, Jeanne saw her opportunity to approach the Jarl. He scowled like a scurvy criminal was brought into the house and shat on the rug. Perhaps that was to be expected.
"Only the foolish or the courageous approach a Jarl without summons," he barked, "Why are you here?"
Jeanne stood her ground as well as she could. "I wish to join the Stormcloaks," she explained, a little frightened by the Nord.
His eyes glared. "Why?" he asked.
She wasn't sure if it was because she was a Breton or not, but he didn't seem to tolerate her presence well. "I see your plight to worship Talos without persecution and sympathize," she stated, "I wish to lend my talents as a mage to the cause."
He didn't seem moved. To demonstrate, she held out her hand and a small flame appeared. Glowing as bright as a hearth fire, it crackled and sparked, but never burnt her hand or singed her sleeve. She maintained it for a whole minute. One doesn't manage this without practice.
A smile grew over Ulfric's face. "Well, you've come to the right place," he said, "Speak to Galmar in the war room; he'll size you up and see where to best use your talents."
Jeanne nodded and left to where the Jarl came from. Inside, there was a table with a map of Skyrim on it. Several tiny flags, blue, green and red, where set atop it in specific locations. Above it was Galmar. He was a hairy man with, that was certain, with hair on his arms and on his face that was groomed well enough, but barely held back.
"So," he spoke, "Why's a Breton want to fight for Skyrim?"
"So, you only take Nords?" Jeanne snarked. Why did it seem like everyone hated her? Was it really because she was a Breton?
"You mistake me. I'm not saying no," Galmar explained, not easing up in his stance, "just wondering about your intentions. We're not looking for sellswords. The Stormcloaks need dedicated men and women who're devoted to the cause and willing to die for it."
"That's why I'm here," she repeated, annoyed, "I want to join."
"Alright," he replied, "But before I can put you to use, I need to know how much you can take. I have a little test for you."
"What kind of test?" she asked.
"The kind men use to measure themselves," he explained with reverence, "I'm sending you to Serpent Stone Island. If you survive, you pass. If you die, well, you weren't going to be much use to me anyway."
"Does every recruit have to do this?" Jeanne asked. Surely this wasn't normal.
"Only the ones I'm not sure about," Galmar stated, "This will prove your abilities, but more importantly, it will prove your commitment."
The Breton nodded and turned to leave. She came here to join a righteous rebellion and ended up feeling judged and was now off to live or die by a test she wasn't even able to study for. She felt she should have listened to her mother and gone into politics. At least the chance of death was halved. That's still more likely than childbirth, but it's still safer than this insanity.
"One more thing," Galmar added, "I'll be sending you with a trainer. A Dunmer named Faren. She's good with the sword and that's something you'll need to know."/p
p class="MsoNormal"Great, now she had someone to watch her die.
Skathi's walk to Whiterun took most of the afternoon. She set out at about noon and saw the brick and log walls of the city by dusk. A few wolves came in between her, but she dispatched them with bow and knife. Besides that, it was an altogether pleasant walk through the delightfully warm weather of the lowlands.
The city itself looked like it had seen its fair share of war and age. The grime and moss of these ancient walls was thick. If an alchemist were to lick them, they could identify several ingredients they needed and how many could be used to cure the diseases they would get from such action. They still seemed sturdy, though Skathi had no experience with stone walls, so perhaps they'd fall if she leaned on them. They did not.
She walked up the draw bridge and toward the gate into the city proper, where she was met by two guards. They wore armor much like the Stormcloaks she'd met before, but yellow clad and a scaled cuirass. The sigil on their shields was a horse's head, another difference from the Stormcloaks with their bear's head. Skathi wondered how many differences there were between hold guard armors.
"Stop right there," one of the guards ordered, "The city is under lockdown while the Dragon's about."
Skathi wasn't well experienced it dealing with most things, but she knew keeping an eye out was the least they could do. It wouldn't help; the Dragon could fly over their walls and burn them all. She'd seen it and she could never choose to remove it from her memory.
"I came from Helgen," she stated, "I'm here to warn the jarl of the dragon's path."
The guard seemed to think it over. "Alright," he said, "Take the main path to Dragonsreach; you'll find the jarl there."
With that, they opened the gates into Whiterun. The city was made of old buildings of wood and brick with a fresh coat of lacquer to hide the repairs done to them over the years. They were tightly packed together in some places, but they left wide gaps elsewhere and smaller paths filled them up. It was if it was not meant to be a city, but slowly became one. It would explain why it was built on a hill, but why here?
The first thing Skathi saw was a man in an Imperial uniform badgering a blacksmith. At first, she was terrified that he was going to arrest her again, but since there was no way to identify her and little reason to compared to Ulfric or his soldiers, she calmed down a little. Their conversation was around how the Legion needed weaponry and money was no object toward this objective. The blacksmith didn't think she could do it on her own, but still agreed to do it.
Skathi sneaked past them to the main market. People were still doing some shopping, but just some things for tomorrow or a midnight snack. There was one guy, a Redguard, that was just swaggering around, bragging about how he owned a farm and his produce was far better than the vendors. Needless to say, no one had a pleasant conversation with him.
With nothing she needed here, save an apple to stave off scurvy, she climbed the stairs up into a lovely garden that split into a few different areas. One was into a neighborhood with houses, perhaps the very first of the city. Another led up into a mead hall that looked like it used an oversized canoe as a roof. The last led toward a great hall, made of wood as old as the ancient trees of forgotten forests built around a keep that looked even older.
To the side, Skathi found a priestly looking person with a sermon as loud as the winds of the Jerall Mountains. He spoke of Talos Stormcrown, the man who was Tiber Septim that ascended to divinity. He spoke of how the Empire has abandoned their faith to conform to their new Elven overlords and that the Stormcloaks had all the right to they needed to rebel. Skathi found this man in need of a few good punches.
She ignored her violent impulses and climbed up the steps to what she presumed was Dragonsreach. Now that she was closer, it was clear this could only be the jarl's keep. Thought mostly wooden, it seemed it could take dragon fire and still stand strong.
She entered the keep and beheld the ancient structure around her. It was a marvel to behold. She lost herself in the architecture until a Dunmer in leather armor pulled a sword on her.
"What's the meaning of this interruption?" the Dark Elf woman asked, "Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.
Taken aback, the outsider explained, "I'm Skathi Wolf-Runner. I have news from Helgen. About the dragon attack.
The Dunmer had a look of reservation about her and put away her sword. "Well, that explains why the guards let you in," she said, "Come on then, the Jarl will want to speak to you personally."
Skathi approach the man on the throne. He wore fine clothes too big for his body, but they still fit his regal air. He had a hardened look about him, like he had made up his opinion of you the moment you walked in. Born over the sign of the Warrior, surely. He had just come out of a conversation with presumably one of his advisors and fixed his eyes on this stranger that came to his court.
"So," he inquired, "You were at Helgen? You saw this dragon with your own eyes?"
Skathi held the other side of her belt tight. "A dragon destroyed Helgen," she reported to the best of her ability, "Gerdur is afraid Riverwood is next."
"Gerdur?" he echoed, "Owns the lumber mill, if I'm not mistaken. Pillar of the community. Not prone to flights of fancy."
"Yes," Skathi repeated, "I had a great view while the Imperials were trying to cut off my head.
"Really?" Balgruuf inquired, "You're certainly," he paused, "forthright about your criminal past. But it's none of my concern who the Imperials want to execute. Especially now. What I want to know is what exactly happened at Helgen.
The Jarl then turned to his advisor. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"
"My lord," the Dunmer spoke up, "we should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger, if that dragon is lurking in the mountains-."
Before she could finish, Proventus spoke up, saying the Jarl of some place Skathi didn't catch would think this would be a threat to his people. Balgruuf hardly seemed to take in that information, less so than Skathi had, if that could be believed.
"Enough!" he ordered, "Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once.
"Yes, my Jarl," the Dunmer, apparently named Irileth, replied.
Proventus sputtered. "We should not-."
"I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people!" the Jarl barked.
His advisor frowned. "If you'll excuse me, I'll return to my duties," he said as he left the throne's side.
"That would be best," Balgruuf remarked.
He turned to Skathi and smiled. "Well done," he said, "You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it." He took out a scaled cuirass like the one his guards wore with fur boots and gauntlet. "Here," he said, "take this as a small token of my esteem."
"Thanks," Skathi replied.
"There is another thing you could do for me," Balgruuf continued, "Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps." He stood up and started to walk towards room on the side of court, "Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and rumors of dragons."
"Sir," she replied, "I survived a dragon attack, not slayed it."
"Are you kidding me?" he responded, "With arms like those, you have to be a good enough archer to bring it down."
Admittedly, Skathi did have strong arms. Years of the wilderness made her a hardy woman, as she needed to be. Her practice with the bow came with the need for a brawny upper body. It made her feel uncomfortably masculine, but she would ignore those thoughts, as she needed to survive.
She followed the jarl to a landfill of an office. Papers and crystals and tomes were littered around the room with no patter or reason. The desk at the center was only slightly better for having a map in the center that seemed like it was supposed to be there, but the rest was ridiculously untidy. At the desk, a wizard in a blue robe who was reading now stood up, unphased by his surroundings.
"So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" Farengar inquired with probing eyes. After uncomfortably studying Skathi, he said, "Oh yes, he must be referring to my research into the dragons."
He thought about it further. "Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me," he said, "Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.
Wanting to be through with this, she quickly inquired, "Alright, where am I going and what am I fetching?"
A smile crept on the wizard's face. "Straight to the point, eh? No need for tedious hows and whys. I like that. Leave those details to your betters, am I right?"
"So, what do you need me to do?" Skathi particularly blurted.
"I began to search for information about dragons" he exposited, "Where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"
He continued, gesturing to a map of the hold "I ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow, a "Dragonstone," said to contain a map of dragon burial sites.
He pointed to a particularly point on the map near Riverwood. "Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself.
Skathi nodded and left. She retired to the inn, the Bannered Mare. She bought room and warm food for the night and turned it. Tomorrow, she would set out for Bleak Falls Barrow.
Rena had a long time. In chasing Ulfric, they found themselves getting ambushed by a company of archers from the south, presumably the Rift. They barely managed to get out of it before they found themselves on the wrong side of the boarder. They spent the night and day trying to escape the Rift. It was horrific.
The Stormcloak guerrillas were obvious to mention, but the wildlife played its part as well. Wolves would maim a soldier, maybe kill him, before their comrade killed it or chased it off. The bears were another thing, taking out three or four in a single attack. They were disused to fighting animals.
She was still thankful for a few things. For one, they did not encounter a giant or a dragon, which would surely lead to devastating death upon them. For another, Knight Ansgar was fierce enough to keep the company together through example. Maybe they would've survived such beasts as a giant or dragon with him at the front.
Rena mulled it over breakfast stew. They just threw some dried meat and vegetables they had on hand, but it was enough with what was left of the company. Better than potato soup. 'round fifty Legionnaires were left, herself the only one from Helgen. She was the only one left.
Knight Ansgar was in the medicine tent, recovering with another ten of the soldiers. He was the only one who wore steel armor, the rest were scouts in leather jerkins. Throwing himself into as many fights as he did, Rena was surprised he wouldn't be discharged for his injuries.
Herself? She was tired. She had only gotten sleep last night and not the night before. Even then, she did not rest well, adrenaline telling her something was just around the corner. By the time she finally felt comfortable, it was three hours before dawn. The Legion would kill her, one way or another.
She was hesitant to think that. Her life was forfeited to the Empire, something she knew for months now. She wondered if it was truly something worth dying for. The Thalmor may be good enough reason, but what about her life? Would it matter if she left? Desertion was looking pretty good where she was standing.
"Excuse me," spoke a voice like a river, "Why are you in Whiterun Hold?"
Rena looked up and saw a handsome woman, tall and strapping. She was wearing braided locks of long black hair and common armor atop pale skin that look like it was roughed up by the wild, a bow and full quiver over her shoulder. Her face and body were androgynously shaped, but Rena could tell she was a woman. If not, Dibella's work had touched this man's face to make him beautiful.
"They had camped in the shadow of Whiterun out of exhaustion rather than alliance or spite. They knew they were in outside the Eastmarch and Stormcloak territory, but not exactly where. Sargent Sorratar said it was fine, but most could tell he was just as tired and didn't care, just like everyone else. When they woke up the next morning, they took one look at the stone walls of the city and decided they were going to savor their time here before the jarl's men came to shoo them off.
"We were tired," Rena explained and nothing else.
The woman just nodded and said, "Sounds about right."
There was a small silence between them. "So," Rena spoke up, "you with the jarl or someone else?"
"No," the woman explained, "I'm just on an errand and most everyone in Whiterun is looking at you funny. I just thought I'd check you out."
She looked like she was fishing for something to say. She did not seem used to talking to people. Unusual, but not unwelcome. Rena always found they were more likely to get to the point, but also less likely to keep to a topic. At least a conversation was never boring, if disorganized.
"I'm Skathi," the woman introduced herself, holding out her hand awkwardly.
"Rena," the Legionnaire replied, shaking her hand.
"I'm going to Bleak Falls Barrow," Skathi explained, "There's something the court wizard needs for the fight against the dragon."
"Need any help with that?" Rena asked.
Skathi seemed taken aback. "I don't know," she said nervously, "I'm not good with people, especially soldiers."
That was fair. Few trusted the Legion, especially in Skyrim. She heard of Imperial soldiers being drunkards, murders and rapists in when their overseers were not paying attention. Never did she hear of their punishments, nor did these rumors come from anyone in the ranks. She heard two soldiers were killed in Helgen by citizens they victimized. Some officers could be worse. They had more power, so could have more elaborate red stains in their ledger.
"I don't blame you," Rena said, "Honestly, I'm pretty tired; the offer was mostly token."
"Yeah," Skathi noted. And she left, having nothing else to say.
Rena wondered if it was a good idea to let her go. People that went to Bleak Falls Barrow could die from bandits that roosted there or spiders that nested deeper in. If there was something that could help against the dragon, it was surely in the blackest a name asarcophagus in the darkest crypt in the barrow. Skathi would need help.
The soldier swallow what was left in her bowl and ran off to healing tent. She found Ansgar, bandaged and beaten from his time on the road. He still seemed more powerful than some of the healthy men about the camp.
"Lieutenant Donton," he acknowledged, "What have you to report?"
"Permission for a joint operation with the Whiterun Guard?" she asked, stiffy.
He raised an eyebrow. "What's the nature of this operation?" he inquired.
"Scavenging in Bleak Falls Barrow," she reported.
"That old tomb?" he asked, "What do they want there?"
"Something they believe could help with the dragon crisis," she stated.
Without three moments passing, he commanded, "Go. Take who or whatever you wish but do it and do it now."
Rena could not leave the tent faster. She grabbed her equipment and mounted her horse, galloping down the road. She knew the path to Bleak Falls shadowed Riverwood, so rode south. Skathi had strangely gotten ahead of her, despite being on foot.
Still, it did not take long to find the woman. She looked behind her, saw the Imperial soldier riding up to her and nocked an arrow in her bow.
"Stand down, milady," Rena warned, "I've been allowed to help you in your quest."
Skathi put the arrow pack. "Well, if that's all," she said, "Is the horse in gonna be in issue on the side of the mountain?"
"Only going down; they're oddly good at climbing the damn things," Rena remarked truthfully. Skyrim had the strangest horses on this continent. "You wanna ride?" she asked.
Skathi looked nervous. "I've never been on a horse before," she admitted.
"It won't be that hard," Rena said, "Just hold tight and try not to squirm."
Skathi look blankly at the horse. After a moment, she walked towards it and roughly climbed on top. The mount moved slightly, and the woman grabbed onto Rena like the mast on a sinking ship. The soldier patted her passenger's shoulder with a little smile, taken by the adorable panic. She slowly road up the road to Bleak Falls Barrow.
Jeanne was unused to the weather of Skyrim's tundra. Windhelm was said to be the coldest city in the province, but at least the pyres, fire pits and hearths kept things warm. The roads through Winterhold were not so luck as to be lit.
But of course, the coldest company was the Dunmer opposite her. Ravani started no conversation between them and wouldn't say much to any question asked. Jeanne tried to engage her, but the Breton soon discovered it was entirely futile.
Eventually, the travelers came across a fort by the road. It didn't interrupt the path but was positioned in such a way as to impossible to travel past without being in rang of the archers. Fortunately, it was occupied by Stormcloak soldiers, so Ravani turning into the gate wasn't as questionable. Well, it wasn't questionable beyond, "Why?"
Ravani tied up her horse and seemed to expect Jeanne to do the same. Being a noble of High Rock, the Breton was used to doing this. That done, the Dunmer approached another man wearing a bear head as a hat. Jeanne wondered if there was a trend that she wasn't aware of.
"Lieutenant, I'm Ravani Faren of Eastmarch," she introduced, "I'll need lodging in your facilities for the next three hours."
The officer looked behind Ravani toward Jeanne. "So, you're finally taking a lover?" he inquired, "Of all your options, I didn't expect this little whelp."
Jeanne's face turned red, unused to sexual discussions. It wasn't as though the idea of taking a Dunmer for a lover was unthinkable, especially her, but not right now. Ravani turned her heard around to catch the Breton and turned back to the officer, hard expression unchanging. Okay, so maybe right now was fine with her.
"I'll never take a lover, Maularr," Ravani stated, "Least of all that little whelp." She continued, "I just need to use the training yards."
Maularr took another look at Jeanne. What was so interesting about her?
"And then up to Serpent Stone Island?" the lieutenant inquired, "You'll need three years to get that pudgy little girl battle ready."
Jeanne didn't like that. She'd had issues with her weight for years, from when she was young to now. Whenever she was sick of being fat, she'd diet herself, but then her family would be concerned that wasn't getting enough weight to still be fertile. They'd keep her at the dinner table until she ate everything on her plate.
Looking back, she wasn't dieting properly in any event. No breads or meats, only produce and milk, was slowly killing her. Now she was a decent weight, mostly due to maintaining her muscles in preparation for joining the Stormcloaks. She didn't want to go back, but she thought she might need some work.
"Maybe, but we are at war," Ravani remarked, "If she's unready, the battlefield will fix that quickly."
"Alright," Maularr agreed, "Head into the yard and find some training swords."
Ravani guided Jeanne to the weapons rack and picked some blunt blades. They got out into the yard and the Dunmer stood without the impression of battle ready. Jeanne, on the other hand, remembered the fencing training she was taught to fight for herself. She took her stance, raised her blade and locked eyes with her trainer.
She seemed unimpressed. Ravani swiped the Breton's blade, spun and smacked it out of her hand, setting the point on her throat. Within a few movements, she would've killed Jeanne had this been a true battle. Not something she was used to.
They tried again. Jeanne lunged her blade at Ravani, but the Dunmer smacked it way by the fuller and put the edge to the side of the Breton's throat. They tried again. Jeanne pirouetted to slash Ravani, but the Dunmer leaped over the blade and put her own over the Breton's head. They tried again. Jeanne charged to bring her sword down onto Ravani, but the Dunmer turned to dodge and smacked her blade on the Breton's back. They tried again.
Jeanne was getting sick of this. For ten minutes, she hadn't been taught anything, her only instruction being to attack her trainer. Every time, she was thoroughly defeated by Ravani's blade reaching an unarmored spot or hitting hard enough to break her mail and gambeson. She was beginning to wonder the point of this exercise.
"Why in Oblivion are you doing this?" Jeanne fumed, "You're not teaching me anything!"
"There's only one thing you need to learn from this," Ravani explained, "You will die unless you get creative.
The Dunmer reached into her pouch and took out a blue vial with a tag that said, "Arcadia's Cauldron, Potion of Resist Magicka." Jeanne finally figured it out. Using the blade alone would not save her in battle; she needed to use her inherent magical abilities to gain the edge.
Ravani drank the whole potion down as they prepared for another round. Jeanne readied her blade and fire in her hand. The Dunmer charged to meet a wall fire that stood in her way. Jeanne moved around it to lunged at her trainer but found no one. Her search was interrupted by invisible arms and throw over someone's head, smashing on the hardened snow.
The Breton looked up to see Ravani form from sudden purple and orange energies that blinked out of existence instantly. She didn't know her trainer had magics.
"I thought you were trying to encourage me to use magic!" Jeanne yelled at the Dunmer.
"I said you should get creative," Ravani explained, "I'm trying to get you to use everything at your disposal to win the battle. If you don't do what's necessary to protect yourself and everything behind you, then Aetherius won't be waiting for your soul for long.
Now, I've gotta use the chamber pot."
The Dunmer left to the barracks, leaving Jeanne to stew, leaning on a wall. She was angry and hurt from the training. To be told how to think like a child was something no one responded well to and this was especially painful due to the literal pain her body was in. She wondered if she could just bypass all this and get the Stormcloak colors another way.
In the middle of this thought, a warm bundle of something fell into her lap. She looked up to see who could drop it, but she saw no one. Unwrapping it, she found it held a snowberry crostata, the cloth and baked good clearly coming from Candlehearth Hall. She thanked whoever lost their dessert and ate the pastry like a child.
When Ravani exited the barracks, she found Jeanne covered in red goo. "I'm not gonna turn the corner and find a chewed up dead body, am I?" she sarcastically asked.
"They continued their lessons. This time, it was simple technique, not mixing magics. She figured out how to handle these broadswords in comparison to the rapiers she was used to. By the time they left the fort, Jeanne was confident she could handle herself in this hardy land of Nords and war. She hoped she wouldn't be proven wrong.