A new day was breaking over Skyrim and skies that had been shrouded in thick clouds for days finally cleared. The sun rising over the eastern horizon had turned it a rosy golden colour and almost seemed to hold some secret promise for those who would seek it. For many across the land, they greeted the dawn with busyness and prepared for the day's work. Farmers milked cows, bakers leavened bread, shop and stall owners opened their businesses.
It was no different for those in the numerous military camps nestled in forests, valleys and hills – be they Stormcloak or Imperial.
Soldiers crawled out of their bedrolls, doing their best to ignore the chill that had settled in their bones overnight, splashed their faces with icy water and put on their armour. A blacksmith repaired armour and weaponry, the beat of his hammer steady and true as it hit the anvil and rang out over the camp. Horses snorted and nickered softly as they received their morning feed. The smell of campfire smoke and breakfast being prepared happily mingled in the frosty morning air.
Lingering somewhere between wakefulness and dreaming, Alessia started to stir and gradually became aware of the sounds of camp life around her. The hustle and bustle she heard was comfortingly familiar and it transported her back to a far simpler and happier time. Burrowing under her blankets, she fell into old habits and mentally started running through her morning routine.
Have a wash, check my armour and weapons over and get kitted out, breakfast...
The list went on and eventually she opened her eyes, ready to start her day. She was about to jokingly comment to her long time tent mates that it was colder than a witch's tit in the middle of winter, but snapped her mouth shut when she discovered that she was surrounded by injured Stormcloaks instead.
Initial confusion gave way to disappointment and she flopped back onto her cot, staring blankly up at the tent above her. The nagging ache she felt from her injured leg helped her to ignore the heaviness in her heart and the lump in her throat. She initially gave into self-pity, wallowing in it for a while before becoming disgusted with herself. Deciding that it did no good to let wishful thinking get the better of her, Alessia swallowed hard, pushed all of it aside and tried to recall exactly how she'd come to be here. She could remember being attacked by the sabre cat then struggling through the snow. There also was a vague recollection of seeing Ralof (although she was certain that was a dream), but beyond that her memory was nothing more than a haze.
As she lay there, the breeze carried the scent of food to her causing her stomach to involuntarily growl loudly, making her acutely aware of just how hungry she felt. Scowling, Alessia's tongue tried to slick over her dry, cracked lips but it felt furry and sticky and her parched throat was sore.
Smacking her mouth, she started to wonder how many days she'd been unconscious and felt around for her waterskin, but came up empty. Now growing irritated, she sat up a bit to look for it, although it was nowhere to be found. Looking beyond the tent flaps, she spied a bucket with a ladle just outside the tent and watched while a Stormcloak dipped the ladle and brought it to his lips to slurp down a mouthful of water.
Watching the soldier made Alessia feel as if she had an itch she couldn't scratch and so she slowly sat up, pushing through the dizziness she felt, and eventually placed her feet on the ground. Bracing herself against the cot, she caught her breath before trying to stand. She'd barely managed to lift herself a few inches off the cot before the muscles in her legs quivered and gave out beneath her.
"Damn it!" she sharply hissed as she landed heavily on the cot and impotently punched at it. She felt disgusted at how weak she felt at the moment, but was determined not to give up yet.
Glowering at the bucket for taunting her with its promise of cool refreshment, Alessia made another attempt at heaving herself off the cot and to her feet. Wobbling and unsteady as a newborn colt, she finally made it, although she daren't try to move any further. The slight tremor she'd felt in her legs had turned into full blown shakes and threatened to betray her and send her sprawling to the ground. Cautiously she took a shuffling step forward, her injured leg painfully protesting at having any weight put on it.
At this point, however, she was so desperately thirsty that if she fell, she didn't care. She would crawl to the damned water bucket if she had to.
It wasn't until she'd managed to leave the tent that anyone seemed to notice her at all. Around her she saw several of the Stormcloaks eyeing her suspiciously, although some were a little more open about their disdain for her. As she passed by, they would spit on the ground and growl, "Damned Imperials." It was very tempting to let them all know that she held no love for the Empire herself, but she suspected trying to do so would probably be about as successful as her visit with Ulfric had been. Instead of offering any excuses or explanations to them, she did her best to ignore them, fixing her attention on her goal of getting a drink.
"Ah! You're awake!" said a familiar voice in her ear, making her jump. Quickly turning she found Ralof there, grinning at her. The movement was too much too fast though, and Alessia was overtaken by another wave of dizziness that nearly brought her to her knees.
Once more Ralof caught her, wrapping a strong arm around her back and she in turn hitched her arm around his shoulders and clung to him.
"You're going to have to stop coming to my rescue, Ralof. I don't like playing the damsel in distress," she half-seriously drawled. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate the help, but she felt indebted to Ralof now and had no idea how she would ever repay him.
"I don't remember too many stories where the damsel was wearing dirty, tattered armour. I'll be certain to get you a fine gown to wear for next time," Ralof said with a smirk before chuckling at the filthy look Alessia shot him. Adjusting his grip on her, and still laughing, he said, "C'mon. I suppose you'll be wanting something to eat and drink by now."
Ralof started to steer her in the direction of the cook's fire, taking his time to allow for her injured leg. He pointedly ignored the strange looks they received, not really caring one whit what they thought about the Imperial. As far as Ralof was concerned, she'd more than proved herself when they escaped Helgen together. Alessia had fought bravely with him, back to back and never faltering.
His admiration of her only increased once they'd arrived in Riverwood. It would have been easy for her to hide away in Gerdur and Hod's house until it was safe to go on her way, but she hadn't. Instead she graciously helped some of the residents of the village, practically refusing to accept any reward for her work, before volunteering to speak to Jarl Balgruuf about possible aid and protection should there be a dragon attack.
"How long was I out?" Alessia asked, grunting in pain as Ralof helped lower her onto a log that was being used as a makeshift bench. She hissed while stretching out her leg and gingerly touched the place on her thigh where the cat had clawed her, her fingers tracing over the new stitches in her trousers.
"Eh... you were out for three days," he replied while ladling stew into a wooden trencher. Now breaking a loaf of bread, he nodded at her injury and said, "I had the smith patch up your leathers while you were asleep. Hope you don't mind." Placing a chunk of bread on the trencher, he handed it to her, "To be honest, we didn't know if you'd make it or not. You stumbled into camp pale as a ghost, half-frozen and bleeding like a stuck pig."
Driven by her hunger, Alessia grabbed the plate from Ralof and started to devour the thick stew, shovelling it in as fast as she could. It was greasy, over salted and she had no idea what kind of meat was in it, but she didn't care. With every bite she made small sounds of pleasure and was certain that no meal had ever tasted so wonderful to her in all her days.
Ralof shook his head, once more chuckling at her, and handed her a waterskin, "Here sister, you'll want something to wash it down with."
"Mrphf!" was Alessia's delighted, muffled reply and she snatched the water from Ralof, pulled the stopper out with her teeth and greedily guzzled, stopping only when she choked on it. Spluttering and coughing, she covered her mouth and croaked, "Sorry, sorry! You must think my manners are atrocious!"
Catching Ralof off guard with her comment, he stared at her for a moment before breaking out in raucous laughter and slapping her hard on the back, making her wince.
"Look around you 'lessia! This isn't one of your fancy Imperial City dinners, if you hadn't noticed!" Gently shoving her, he said, "Go on, get it down you girl."
Not needing to be told twice, Alessia dug in again, mopping up some of the stew with the bread and shoving it into her mouth.
Ralof watched her in silence, his smile fading, before he finally spoke again.
"Maybe when you're done, you can tell me why in Oblivion you were out wandering in a damned blizzard." Ralof said, all traces of humour now gone from his voice.
Her eyes flicked up briefly from the trencher before she hunkered down over it and shrugged. "Just felt like it," she mumbled through the mouthful of bread she'd just bitten off.
Not satisfied, Ralof's brows furrowed and he continued to press her for more information.
"I went to Whiterun hoping to see you before reporting for duty, but you weren't there. Everyone in the Bannered Mare was talking about the Imperial who helped bring down the dragon, though." Leaning in, he lowered his voice and said, "They're all saying this Imperial is the Dovahkiin. And they also said that she up and left town weeks ago with nary a word to anyone! Is that true?"
Surprised by how much Ralof knew, Alessia started to slowly chew her food and set the trencher down, pushing it away from her. The thought of what happened that night at the watchtower made her stomach churn nervously. She was still in denial about it all. Fear and reluctance to accept the implications of what being the Dragonborn might be meant that she had been running from it ever since.
Finally looking at Ralof out of the corner of her eye, Alessia let out a weary breath and shook her head, "So they're still going on about it? By the nine... You'd think they didn't have anything better to do!" She took a swig from the waterskin and tried to affect nonchalance. "You know what it's like with rumours. They get bigger every damned time someone tells the story. Everyone was running around like headless chickens and scared witless. When people get like that, they see things."
"And I guess they hear things too?" Ralof pointedly asked. "I suppose everyone all over Skyrim, including me, imagined hearing the Greybeards calling for the Dovahkiin, then?"
"What do you want me to say?" she snapped at him, uncomfortable with this line of questioning. "I'm not this bloody Dovahkiin, alright? All I am is a soldier... a former soldier... who got caught up in things she didn't understand."
"Fine. If that's what you say, fine," Ralof returned, throwing his hands up in aggravation. Frustrated and fed up with Alessia's dodging him, Ralof ran a hand through his hair and decided to change the subject. "So where have you been the past few weeks? No one seemed to have an idea where you disappeared to. Did you even go to Windhelm?"
Again, he could see her bristle and he suspected that if her leg weren't so sore and stiff, she would have bolted long before now. It seemed so unlike the woman he'd come to know in the days following Helgen. That Alessia had been warm and open, and almost friendly to a fault once the initial shock of their narrow escape had worn off. Now she seemed to have been doing her dead level best to isolate herself from everyone.
"I went to Windhelm," she reluctantly admitted and quickly interjected when she saw the excited look on Ralof's face, "and it went... badly."
Ralof stared at her incredulously, not quite believing what he was hearing.
"What? Why?" he asked rather ineloquently.
Trying to act indifferent about it, Alessia idly played with some of the buckles of her armour and shrugged, "Before I committed myself to the Stormcloaks, I just wanted to ask a few questions."
"You what? By Shor's bones, woman!" Ralof suddenly explained and scrubbed a hand over his face. "Don't tell me you went in there with that high and mighty attitude you Imperials like to lord over everyone!"
The accusation stung her and she glared at Ralof. She'd felt certain that she'd done nothing but show Ulfric the utmost respect.
"Damn it Ralof, give me some credit! Is it so wrong that I wanted to know more about the man whose banner and cause I might take up? Can you blame? Between me being unconscious most of the cart ride to Helgen, Ulfric being gagged, and the not so trivial matter of the dragon attack, it's hardly surprising that proper introductions weren't made that day!"
He had to grudgingly admit that she was partially right. Helgen had been terrifying and chaotic with little time to do more than simply run for their lives.
"So what did you ask him?" Ralof asked while tearing a chunk from the bread Alessia had abandoned and popped it into his mouth.
"I simply told him that I wished to take a measure of him for myself since I'd heard so many conflicting stories. I said that some called him a hero while others believed him a traitor to Skyrim and its people," she said with another shrug. "I also said that I wasn't sure whether I really wanted to join the Stormcloaks or not."
"By Talos, woman!" Ralof swore quietly while shaking his head. "You're damned lucky you walked out of there! You know that, right? What on earth possessed you to go in there and spout off the shit you've heard in the taverns, hey?"
Alessia's expression turned sour and she said, "Oh please, Ralof! Like you've not heard the gossip as well!"
"Oh, aye, I've heard it," Ralof nodded vehemently. "Difference is I know the man. I'm part of his honour guard and have been since nearly the start of the war. I've spent time with him and damn it, he's not doing it for power and glory. I've seen him agonize over sending men into battle. And I've seen him mourn for those who don't return."
For a long moment, Alessia and Ralof's eyes locked before she finally arrogantly sniffed, "You should have bloody said sooner."
"You should have bloody asked," Ralof sneered.
With that, Alessia started trying to get to her feet, but she was still weak from her injuries. Frustrated she snapped, "Help me up!"
"And just where do you think you're going?" Ralof asked, refusing to lift a finger for the uppity Imperial.
"I'm going back to Whiterun!" she barked and made another clumsy attempt at standing before finally managing it. "I'm going back and I'm going to join the Companions!"
"You? A sell-sword!" Ralof exclaimed before letting out a barking laugh which only seemed to further aggravate Alessia.
"Where are my things?" she demanded and started to hobble off, doing her best to act as if she were back to normal and that her leg wasn't excruciating her with every step.
Following after her, Ralof shook his head in disgust and exasperation. He had to give it to her that she was determined, but determination alone wouldn't get her back to Whiterun. Knowing he had to stop her before she could get too far, Ralof suddenly grabbed her shoulders and brought his knee up sharply against her injury and dead legged her.
"What the..." was all she managed to say before pain exploded through her thigh and leg and brought Alessia to her knees. Drawing in a sharp breath, she held it for a moment before shouting at Ralof, "You son of a bitch!"
"Yes, well, I am," Ralof said, ignoring the insult with a shrug of his broad shoulders. Jabbing a finger at her he pointedly said, "And you, sister, are being a damned proud fool. Just tell me how you were going to get back to Whiterun, hmm?"
Heavily sitting down in the dirt, Alessia straightened out her legs in front of her, wincing as she did so. "That was a dirty trick, Ralof," she grumbled and wiped away the tears that had welled in her eyes. In all truth, under different circumstances she probably could have appreciated what he'd done, especially if he had done it to anyone else but her, but for now she was too busy being angry at him.
Again, he brushed off what she said and asked again, "How were you getting to Whiterun?"
Scowling down at her leg and rubbing at it pitifully, she snarled, "I was going to walk."
"Walk, eh?" Picking up a stick, he prodded at her injury. Not hard, but enough to prove a point. She tried to hide that was hurting her, but the way her jaw kept twitching with each jab let Ralof know he was getting through to her. "And what were you going to do if you were attacked by bandits or another sabre cat or, gods forbid it, a dragon?"
"Stop that!" she ordered, grabbed the stick, broke it and threw it in the fire. "You're lucky that I'm not up to scratch. Otherwise I would have shoved that stick up your arse!"
"Ah, so you finally admit it!" Ralof exclaimed with a triumphant gleam in his eye.
"I..." Alessia sighed and slumped despondently. She couldn't deny it because it was true. If merely walking a few steps exhausted her, she had no hope of ever reaching Whiterun. "Damn it," she whispered.
Offering her his hand, Ralof said, "Come with me, 'lessia."
Her eyes flicked between his outstretched hand and his face a few times before she took hold. Ralof hoisted to her feet and once more played the role of crutch for Alessia and guided her in the direction of the horses that were tied up nearby. While passing a group of soldiers that were standing around, he ordered them to prepare two horses and to make sure that the Imperial's belongings were packed before they departed. Without hesitation the soldiers snapped to and went about their work.
"Are you going to take me back to Whiterun?" she asked hopefully.
"By the gods, no!" Ralof laughed with a shake of his head. "I'd be doing you a disservice if I did that. I've seen you fight and I know you're far too good for mercenary work."
Ralof let go of Alessia and she leaned against one of the horses while Ralof readied it for her to ride. She stroked the shaggy fur of the sturdy mare, briefly wondering what became of the old nag that had run off in the woods, and asked, "So where in Oblivion are you taking me?"
"I've been called to our camp in the Pale. They're down a man in the honour guard." Ralof grabbed hold of Alessia's waist to lift her onto the horse when he added, "And while we're there we're going to sort out your little... misunderstanding with Ulfric."
Alessia's eyes went wide and she struggled against Ralof before finally pulling free.
"No we're not!" Alessia vehemently exclaimed. "He outright said that I should pray that we never cross paths again and I have no intention of testing him on this!"
"Oh, you really must have made an impression on him!" Ralof chortled. "You see, there's one other thing about Ulfric... He can be a damned proud fool at times... just like you! Now get on the damned horse!"
For a few moments, Alessia stood there glowering at him before finally shaking her head and relenting.
"Fine!" she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "This is such a terrible idea, Ralof!"
"You worry too much, Imperial," Ralof teased while hoisting her onto the horse. Once she was seated and ready to go, he climbed onto his own horse and said, "Things will be different this time. You'll have me there to keep you from making an arse of yourself!"
Before Alessia could make a retort, Ralof had dug his heels into the side of his horse, dashing off with a whoop.
"I hope you're right, you son of a bitch," Alessia muttered before following suit and chasing after Ralof.