When the head-torturer had started throwing around bolts of lightening, Asta's life had flashed before her eyes. Her fellow rebel had already fallen at the hands of the man's assisstant and she knew she had no chance against the two of them. Her heart sank further as, out of the corner of her eyes, she saw yet another Imperial Soldier had dashed down the stairs, hand going to his sword.

She was endlessly surprised when he was followed by Ralof and even more so when the Imperial began to attack the head torturer himself.

Now they were sat in this awful dungeon listening to the torturer's odious assisstant detailing exactly what had been done to the young woman in the cage. Despite how odd it felt to be allied with an Imperial Soldier, Asta couldn't help but respect the lengths this Nord was prepared to go to ensure the health and safety of a young woman. She'd seen enough men who wouldn't have hesitated to take advantage of the situation had they been 'gifted' a young woman. Hadvar, as Ralof had introduced him, had not only seemed to genuinly care about the welfare of this girl but had killed to ensure it.

When they had finally got the cage open and the manacles free from the girls wrist Asta thought their journey through the maze of tunnels underneath Helgen's Keep would continue. But the little Breton was still unconcious. She shot a glare at the assisstant, still crouched in the corner, knowing that at least part of her state was due to this man and his master. She may not know the girl but it was hard not to feel some sympathy towards her. She'd been dragged in to a civil war that she had nothing to do with, been gifted to a soldier without a care, then apparently fed some dodgy potion with the intent of causing unbearable torment. And it wasn't even over for her yet.

"Come on! We have to get out of here."

Asta turned to Ralof, standing in silent agreement to his words. She shot a questioning look towards the cell in which the Imper...Hadvar was tending to the girl. Ralof shot a dirty look at the assisstant.

"She's coming round. We're just trying to get her concious at the moment. Hadvar's feeding her health potions. It's going to be hard enough to get out of here anyway, so we need her walking at least."

She nodded. Crawling through caves was difficult enough without having to worry about carrying someone around. She was worried though. What was going to happen after they made it out of this place? Would Hadvar and Ralof be back at each other's throats as soldiers on the opposite sides of a brutal civil war? Would Hadvar take advantage of the the Breton's new vulnerability? Asta didn't think Hadvar was the type to...to...well, it was essentially a type of rape wasn't it? If the girl couldn't say no because she risked madness otherwise? It was a bit of a grey area, but Asta resolved to take the girl aside before they got out of here and make sure she was at least consenting. Hadvar may seem honorable for the moment but he was an Imperial. Anyone who could betray Skyrim like that could easily turn on a woman, no matter how pleasant they acted.

Shaking the thoughts out of her head for now, she watched as the small woman was led out of the cage, unsteady to start with but moving better with every potion she downed. Her bruises had already begun to fade, the sickly yellow colour they were now a massive contrast from the livid purple of before. It was lucky that Hadvar seemed to have a near endless suply of the little glass vials. As a Nord woman, Asta was significantly taller than the young woman, and she could see that Hadvar and Ralof both towered over her, it was no wonder she'd been intimidated when she'd first arrived. The girl's inky black hair contrasted sharply with the blonds dominating the room, and her skin was paler too. Asta hadn't been with the Stormcloaks long, and having spent most of her life in Ivarstead, she'd not met many people other than Nords.

Now and again the odd traveller would pass through to climb the seven thousand steps, but it seemed the grey beards were predominantly a Nord attraction. The only other race she'd met had been that strange Bosmer who always wandered around Ivarstead smiling all the time, as if there was anything to smile about in that tiny, endlessly boring mill town. Because of this she had never realised how very different all the races could be. Oh she knew the Khajit had fur, and Argonians were scaly, but only in an academic way. She had never even really thought about how such subtle differences could make such a huge divide in appearance between two human races. Nords and Bretons were apparently like night and day if Wren was anything to go on. Where as Asta was tall with wider shoulders and a womanly figure caused by her hips contrasting with her smaller waist, Wren was decidedly less shapely. It wasn't that the girl didn't look feminine, it was simply that her hips didn't cause the same kind of curve though her waist was tiny. It was an effect that could have been called willowy had she been gifted with the height of an Elf or a Nord, but with her height it could only be called petite. Asta remembered that somewhere along the line, humans and Altmer had interbred, which had been the start of the Breton race. When you looked closely, you could kind of see it in her face. Her cheek bones were high and her chin pointed, giving the girl a heart-shaped face. Asta couldn't see her eyes as the girl's hair fell over her forehead, covering them from view. She kept her head ducked low, not making eye contact with anyone in the room and her short dark locks shielded her from view. As she watched, she couldn't help but be surprised by the Breton's demeanor. No Nord woman would ever be seen as subservient to a man's wishes. Nords were the epitome of proud, no woman she knew would ever skulk around with her head bowed as though intimidated or scared, even if they were. Hopefully, the girl would gain confidence through her experiences, as there was no way such a timid little thing would survive the harsh land of Skyrim. Asta would mention that when she had a chance to talk to the girl. Hopefully that conversation would be both brief and vague.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Why was the other woman staring at her? Wren had already noticed that Ralof and this woman shared a uniform and surmised that they were in the same group, but that went no where towards explaining why the other woman seemed so intent on starring a hole into the back of her head. Keeping her head down, with her hair covering her eyes, Wren followed after Hadvar, keeping a tight grip on the hand he had offered her moments ago.

His palm was warm and lightly callused from sword work. It surprised Wren that this evidence of violence didn't scare her but made her feel more secure within Hadvar's protection. Her own hand was thin and pale inside the curl of his fingers and was dwarfed by the very size of it. Intermittently, he would run the pad of his thumb along the underside of her hand, towards her littlest finger, as though reminding himself that she was still there. The tingles this created fizzed along her arm in an intricate dance, racing through her heat and warming her at the very centre of her being. She'd never felt anything like this before. Wren didn't know why, but she wanted more contact, wanted more tingles. As she thought about it, her breathing became slightly quicker and a blush began to warm her cheeks.

They were moving through the curved corridor beneath Helgen Keep, cells lined the walls to either side of them but all he could think about was her. Hadvar marvelled at the feel of her hand in his. Even such an innocent form of contact was filled with heightened sensation, and had he not known better, he would have thought that he was the one suffering the effects of a lust potion. He ran his thumb over the length of the underside of Wren's hand, delighting in the feel of her unbelievably soft skin. Knowing that it wasn't the most appropriate of feelings, he tried to quash his growing lust beneath a heavy layer of propriety and will power.

Her breathing quickened behind him and Hadvar glanced back, just to ensure she was still alright. Wren's face was flushed and her lips slightly parted, she was watching him and as he looked back, the pale flush flared high on her cheekbones. That layer of propriety and will power shuddered at her gaze, wavering, nearly giving way before he shoved the rising lust back down. It wasn't right. She wasn't feeling these things on her own, they were forced upon her by that gods-damned potion. Hadvar faced forward again as he thought to himself that she wouldn't even be looking at him if not for the potion. The hollow ache that thought caused him was enough that he could only glare at the floor, knowing it was beyond foolish to invest so many emotions so very quickly in one girl. He only just knew her name, for Kynareth's sake, what was he doing being hurt by her possible indifference at a later date.

They had passed through a short section of unpaved tunnels, left there by the original stonemasons when they were building Helgen's Keep. As they moved forward they came to the opening of a large subterranean room. Hadvar could hear the sound of water rushing through but what concerned him was the fact that over the sound of the waterfall, he could clearly hear the clashing of blades and the shouts of both Stormcloaks and Imperial Soldiers. He felt Wren walk in to his back as he came to a pause just before they were in sight of the opening and he pulled them both over to the wall, pressing her gently against it with his arm, he turned to the group and signalled that they all be silent. Ralof frowned at him and crept forward along the line.

"Stormcloaks." He said, "And Imperials. They're battling it out at the moment but whichever side wins we're in trouble."

Ralof nodded. "We don't have the option of waiting around to see who wins either, there's a dragon on our tails and you have to get Wren out of here quickly," Ralof smirked, "Or you might just get caught on the road to Riverwood with your trews around your ankles."

Hadvar blushed alarmingly at the crudeness of Ralof's suggestions. As if he would allow for Wren to be taken in the middle of a forest... Even as he thought it he was assailed with images, flashes of him and Wren together, her short hair curled around his fingers as he pressed her against the smooth trunk of a tall tree, over-shadowed by it's branches as he plunged in to her, her head thrown back, slim, pale neck bared to his lips and tongue. Her breath coming in pants as he brought her to peak again and again.

He groaned as his trousers tightened uncomfortably. Glaring at the smirking Ralof he willed his thoughts to more appropriate things like the battling soldiers in the room down the hall.

Grimacing, he moved back over to where Wren stood, her back to the wall. He waved the Stormcloak girl over.

"What's your name?"

"Asta"

"Asta, I want you to stay here with Wren and guard her. Ralof and I will go and clear the room. Join in if you have a tactical advantage but your priority is to keep her safe."

Asta had never been one to take orders well, particularly from an Imperial, but Hadvar was so intense, that there was no room for discussion. She didn't really want to fight her fellow Stormcloaks either and it was highly unlikely that they would just let her and her party pass, what with being led by the Imperial soldier. This way, at least, she would have a chance to have a quick word with the little Breton about consent. She nodded as the torturer's assistant moved past her with his sword drawn and joined Hadvar and Ralof. She watched as the small group headed off in to sound of waterfalls. Wren followed Hadvar with her eyes until he was out of sight and Asta could have sworn the girl whimpered quietly. She moved forward as the girl started to take steps after her soldier. Clapping a hand on the girls shoulder quickly to stop her moving forward and pushing her gently back towards the wall, she drew her sword incase anyone escaped the melee and headed their way.