Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions
Prologue

The breeze that swept over the lake brushed past the blooming trees and flowers, carrying their sweet scents along with them. The birds sang their final song of the day as the sun slowly sank below the horizon, casting an orange glow over the shimmering waters and fields.
Ciryamenwe was painting the scene before the three of them; her husband, Falintaor Valanocke and their esteemed guest, Lord Highal. The semblance of her work was uncanny, but her personal touch made the painting seem very vivid and alive.

A handmaiden poured the three of them the finest wine with a practiced smile, obviously tense and glad she could leave once done. Though the family she served received and met plenty of important folk she would then serve and accommodate, none were like Lord Highal.

Though he was an important diplomat and ambassador, Lord Falintaor knew all too well how fortunate he could count himself that he was graced by the company of Lord Highal; a noble appearance even by Altmer standards, not to mention his status. How envious many would be!

Lord Highal's dark, auburn hair was a stark contrast against the cold, sharp features of his face, which were as flawless as his skin. The ornate and gemmed robes he wore were not gaudy, but were elegantly tailored to his physique. It was an impressive show of wealth and taste. He rubbed his thumb over one of the many gemmed and enchanted rings which adorned his fingers.
"As is to be expected of one of my own, my son, Taurmillan has risen amongst the ranks of the Thalmor. He was most pleased to hear that your Cirilonde agreed to marry him. He insists the ceremony take place at our estate, should you agree to that."

Though he was by no means of any form of 'lesser stature', Falintaor's attire paled by that of Lord Highal. His ornate dress-robe had been made by one of the finest tailors, but weren't as elaborate as Lord Highal's, as would be befitting a diplomatic ambassador. His white-golden hair and beard had been neatly trimmed and his green eyes held more warmth. It represented how he was known; a warm and kind man, who right now, was extremely tense.

"After all these years of knowing one another, it only seems appropriate and fitting, does it not, Lord Exarch?" Falintaor swirled his goblet of wine so the tremble of his hand would not show as much. "I'm very pleased to hear that your son finds my Cirilonde pleasing. I assure you she'll have no issue to leave Alinor to be at his side."

"I'm sure," Lord Highal's smile was without warmth. "However, I understood from my son that she still desires to travel to Skyrim and enroll at its College in Winterhold?"

Lord Valanocke swore inwardly. No doubt, Cirilonde had discussed this with Taurmillan, who had brought it to his father's attention in turn. He drank some of his wine as to appear composed and hide any nervosity. This had better not cause any trouble!
"I hope you don't take offense. I retrieved her from the Imperial City years ago and she has been so eager to prove her worth by any means. She's an esteemed healer as you no doubt know and maybe the prospect of marrying a man like Taurmillan has fuelled her desire to better herself even more so. Marriage to him is a constant matter on her mind and would hate to fall short."

Or so I hope…After all, Cirilonde had been very adamant about her desire to attend the College of Winterhold. She knew her marriage to Taurmillan would be essential to improve their standing after all that had transpired.

Falintaor's gaze was locked on the lake and the gardens surrounding them. Somewhere, his daughter and her husband to-be would be out for a stroll.

Elondirn, the Wood Elf gardener, had really outdone himself over the course of the past days once the word had reached his ears that two exceptionally, prominent men would visit his Lord's estate. He had even gone as far to tame the song birds to perch not too far away from them so their song, gentle and sweet, could be heard. The whole scene before them would have been beautiful and even romantic, but Cirilonde felt anxious and trapped. Nerves, dearest of mine, her mother had assured her, telling her daughter about the feelings that had bloomed between her and her father, who had been persistent in courting her.

Taurmillan, however, did not spark any such feelings as he had not made any efforts to reassure her. He looked very much like his father, save for his cold, harsh and grey eyes. Like his father, he was no common Altmer and had been present at some of the most historical events in the fight against the Empire, who had submitted to the Aldmeri Dominion after the Great War.

"…Men are weak. All we have achieved in but a few decades is proof to our supremacy. Even now, Skyrim has become a cesspool of disarray and chaos because the apes squabble over their holds." His voice was clear, rich and strong.

Hesitant at first, she laid her gloved hand on his and he looked down at her. They had been walking with their arms linked so this sudden gesture of affection surprised him as she had been so tense. "I hope you can see it's not all misery and despair, though. Just look at all this…" she gestured at the gardens and a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips. "And yes, Skyrim is in chaos, but there's knowledge to be found there at its College in Winterhold. Many great Mer attended in the past even during the Arcane University's glory days."

He turned to her, a small sigh escaping him. "Surely you're still not thinking of attending that place? There's nothing left of it but rubble and ruin."

She hesitated, her thumb rubbing the back of his hand, but her heart was racing. "I don't just want to be your wife, Taurmillan. I want to be an educated woman you can be proud of having as your wife. You're no ordinary man, and…"

Her eyes widened at first but then closed when he cupped her chin and kissed her, pulling her close against him. But she didn't feel anything. She wasn't repulsed by any means, she was attracted to him, but she didn't feel that overwhelming 'wave' of energy like she had once in the past. But she returned the kiss. "I'm a patient man, my Cirilonde," he purred, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand. "And I have no qualms to practice it while you attend this College of yours before we marry."

"Thank you so much for understanding," she said, relieved that this would give her some time and space to breathe. She was going to get married…and it excited and terrified her.

Little did Cirilonde know that even far greater things were at play in the Highal's family and with the Thalmor in general.

A week later, Cirilonde bade her parents a tearful farewell and she travelled to Skyrim by boat, carriage and eventually by foot.

It had been a long journey, but once she made it out of the mountain pass from Bruma to Falkreath, she was greeted by the pale glare of the sun. The wind she'd heard howling overhead in the pass now chilled her to the bone. She had to make sure she was safe in an inn before nightfall. But so far, save for many, Imperial patrols, she had not noticed much of the supposed 'turmoil' of the civil war.

She wrapped her robes and fur collar tighter about her and grabbed a map of the province from her pouch. "So I could take a carriage straight from Falkreath," she mused and looked up from her map, out ahead. From the high slope she stood, there was a worn pathway that led down to what had to be Falkreath.

Determined, she made her way down the road on the mountain, which had either been difficult or neglected to maintain due to the war and its location. A few times, she had to carefully slide down as not to tumble and by the time she'd made it halfway down, the sun had disappeared behind the mountains and the forest hid the night sky from view.

So far so good. Cirilonde thought and conjured a magical light to hover above her. It illuminated the way for her as she kept walking. But upon approaching a crossroads, she froze on the spot. The lantern that hung from the signpost barely illuminated the man, who stood leaning against the signpost.

His face was obscured from view by a hood, but judging by how he clung to his side with a gloved hand where the armour was stained dark from the blood that also pooled at his feet, it was obvious that he was badly injured.

"Hello?" She called to him. All of her senses piqued into high alert. Was this some sort of robber's ruse? No, it couldn't be. She could smell the stench of blood as she carefully came closer.

The man looked up. Bright, red eyes shone from underneath his hood, which would've startled anyone who didn't know of the Dunmer folk from Morrowind.

"Please, don't be alarmed, I mean you no harm. I'm a healer, I can help you." She held her hands up when he reached for one of his daggers. She had weapons drawn on her before, but something about this man terrified her. "Please, let me help you."

The Dark Elf muttered something in his native language and signalled for her to come closer.

"I'm warning you though, I will defend myself if you try anything." Cirilonde warned as she came within an arm's length of him.

"Because I'm certainly capable of doing so at the moment, right?" The Dark Elf gave a snort, his voice rough and deep. "Come on then, help me if you will. I first thought you were someone else."

He allowed for her to help him sit down but when she made to pull his hood back, he grabbed her hand and put it on his side where his hand had been. How is he even still alive?! Cirilonde's eyes shot open wide as the leather of his cuirass had been cut and singed open and deep into his flesh. The amount of blood that poured from the wound would've been enough to kill anyone, but here the Dark Elf was, still alive.

But before she could even begin healing the wound properly, the Dark Elf suddenly shot forward and shoved her to his left. He too, leaned to the left and in that moment, an arrow shot past them both and lodged itself into the signpost, sending splinters firing everywhere.
"In the name of the Aldmeri Dominion! You are under arrest!"

Cirilonde shot up, "How dare you attack me?!" she snarled. "I am Cirilo-,"

"Stupid girl, run!" Cirilonde had no time to think how it had been possible for the Dark Elf to do anything for that matter, but when another arrow buried itself into the ground near them, The Dark Elf let out an angry, pained snarl as he got to his feet and dragged her along with him.

"Wait! Stop! I can solve this for you!" Cirilonde protested, but he wouldn't let go of her wrist.

"Do you honestly think that just because you're one of their folk, they will spare you for helping me?!" The Dark Elf snapped at her. "What rock have you been living under?"

"If you just let me try!" With an angry jerk, Cirilonde pulled herself free and turned around to face the Thalmor agents. "Wait, stop, I am a citizen of Alinor! Please, don't hurt me!"

Much to her anger, when she looked over her shoulder, the Dark Elf had disappeared. Typical, she thought angrily. She raised her hands upon the approach of four, Thalmor agents, of which three were clad in dirty and bloodied, Elven armour. The fourth was a Thalmor Justiciar and clad in the all-too-familiar and intimidating black and golden robes.

Her stomach turned and threatened to make her throw up as an old wound was ripped open along with all the bad memories. But she knew that this time, she would be safe.

"You there. Hold still. You are under arrest for aiding a criminal!" The Justiciar said to her.

"I didn't know he was a criminal, I thought he'd been attacked by wild animals or bandits!" Cirilonde tried to defend herself. "You have no right to arrest me, I am the betro-"

Ruthless and painfully rough, Cirilonde was forced to the ground by the Justiciar.

"Let me go!" she struggled against him, "How dare you?!"

He punched her, hard, causing stars to blur her vision. "A pitiful effort," he chuckled. "Do you honestly think I've got the time to listen to any whining or begging?"

But before the Justiciar could even tie her wrists together behind her back with iron cuffs, he leapt up, startled by the horrid, gurgling sound one of his colleagues made as he choked on his own blood before collapsing dead to the ground.

Before the remaining three could even utter another word or take action, a dagger was thrown and landed in the throat of the Thalmor soldier to the Justiciar's right. The last one standing made a soundless cry as a swift, red-eyed shadow repeatedly stabbed him in the back before breaking his neck. The Justiciar stood frozen, terrified and at high alert, caught between fight and flight. His eyes shot in every direction in the hopes of catching the invisible assailant. He held his elven blade at the ready in one hand while the other crackled with static.

"Found you!" He snarled, shooting a bolt of lightning forth from his gloved hand, but nothing was hit.

Cirilonde lay frozen and trembling in fear on the ground in the mud and snow. She watched how blood pooled from the dead bodies and stained the snow red. She forced herself to look away from one of the dead soldier's lifeless and horrified eyes and up at the Justiciar.

Every fibre of the Justiciar was on high alert and his body tense as he was still on the lookout for the invisible assailant. But there was nothing to be seen or heard, save for the silent rustle of leaves and branches and the howl of a beast in the distance.

The Justiciar let out a frustrated growl and reached for a horn that hung from his belt, clearly not happy he was forced to blow on it. "You'll go on the block for this, girl. Regardless of who you think you are, or say you are."

Cirilonde fought against his grip and before she could even cast a spell, he countered her with a silencing spell. "But I didn't do anything!" she tried to yell, but no sound left her lips, tears streaming down her dirty and terrified face.

Cirilonde's eyes suddenly went wide as the Dark Elf who she thought had left her behind, appeared behind the Justiciar. "Welcome to Skyrim." The Dark Elf snarled and before the Justiciar could even turn to see, his cry for help was silenced by the Dark Elf's daggers that punctured both his lungs from behind and tore the rest of his innards apart.

Cirilonde tried to back away from the Dark Elf but fell on her behind, now realizing what he was. She must have looked so pathetic in her mud-drenched robes and tear-stained face. "Please don't hurt me!"

In the distance, they heard shouting and the barking and howling of dogs.
"I won't, sera. But we need to go." In the little light there was, Cirilonde looked up at him. Like all Dunmer, his skin was ashen blue and he had red eyes. He was clad in dark, leather armour. Thick strands of pitch-black hair stuck out from underneath his hood. "Not going to hurt you," he added irritably. "We have to go now!"

He wasn't wrong, as the light of torches lit the forest in the distance and the loud barks and howls of the dogs became louder along with the shouting and voices of what sounded like Imperial soldiers. If she was found here, it was not going to end well for either of them!

Cirilonde took his hand and the both of them ran, but one of the dogs had caught their scent and the hunt was on. Whereas the Dark Elf was nimble and quick, her limbs felt stiff from cold snow she had been lying in. Branches tore and lashed at her face and clothing as she ran as hard as she could. Her heart was pounding as hard as a war drum and all she could think about was her regret to leave home.

She let out a shriek when one of the hounds caught up to her and began snapping at her ankles. The Dark Elf spun around and kicked the hound before burying one of his daggers into its skull. He then pulled Cirilonde along with him. "Keep going, girl. You must!"

But it was too late. While the Dark Elf no doubt would've been able to make his escape on his own, the hounds not only caught up with them, Cirilonde barely heard the noise of a sling before it hit her in the head and knocked her out cold.