Rewriting this story originally posted in 2015! Formally called "The Rogue Altmer".

Amarathine: Amara-thine

A Life Chosen

...

She ran. Ran from home for somewhere better. Free from responsibility. And of all the places to end up in Tamriel, it was here among rows of men and women wearing imperial uniforms. The last place she expected, yet a year had already passed and here she stayed.

Compared to the men beside her, fair skinned and broad chested, she was small. Sure she was just as tall, if not a bit taller, but she was frail. Perhaps stronger than the average woman, but not by much. The women of Skyrim were strong, both in the strength of their arms and of spirit.

The imperial armor sat oddly on her body. Normally they trained in bits and pieces. Full armor was reserved to the days they worked on indurance. There was nothing more uncomfortable than sweating under layers of leather and cloth, running for miles while it chafed her skin with each step.

But the year was over now. Training was over. No more swinging heavy swords for hours on end. No more sparing. No more being overpowered and thrown to the ground.

"Amarathine," called the Legate from the front of the line.

She snaked through the gaps of the soldiers in the rows ahead of her. Elbows jutted out as she passed, nudging too hard to be considered friendly. It was fine. Today was the last day.

General Tullius rarely came out of the Castle Dour. Other than occasional strolls to the market or the Temple of the Divines, his presence remained undetected. Even during training, he would watch for only a few minutes, hands behind his back. Once he watched her fall, only to shake his head and turn away.

Beside him was Legate Rikke. One of the Nords of the Legion who fought solely for peace in Skyrim. She had sparred with Amarathine on the odd occasion, along with the other women who trained. Legate Rikke was an advocate on women being just as strong as men, if not stronger.

Amarathine always fell to her sword. Only to take her hand and try and fall again.

She stood in front of the General and Legate now.

"Amarathine, Altmer of Summerset Isles. You traveled far and have become our sister in the north. We accept you into the Imperial Legion as a guard to serve under Captain Cassia of Helgen of the Falkreath Hold." As Legate Rikke spoke, she handed Amarathine a rolled parchment held together with the wax seal of the Imperial Legion.

Amarathine accepted it and grasped Legate Rikke's offered hand. The Legate put her other hand on her shoulder with a solid pat.

Releasing her hand, Amarathine moved to General Tullius and did the same. He then took one of the swords off the table behind him and handed it to her. No words escaped his mouth, only the slight down turn of the corner of his lips displayed his disapproval of the gesture.

She turned towards the lineup. "Upon my honor I do swear undying loyalty to the Emperor, Titus Mede II, and unwavering obedience to the officers of his great Empire. May those above judge me, and those below take me, if I fail in my duty. Long live the Emperor! Long live the Empire!"

"Long live the Empire!" The recruits repeated. Even some of the townsfolk who watched joined in.

Amarathine placed the sword in the sheath on her hip and fell back into her place within the lines as the next name was called.

…

The ceremony lasted until the early evening. Like everything else, it was a form of training. Standing upright for hours on end. The soles of her feet ached and the retched scent of leather and body odor permeated her nose and tongue.

Many of the new imperial soldiers went to the Winking Skeever to celebrate their success and subsequent freedom from the confines of Solitude if they so choose, but the strong stayed with the strong. Many of the weaker who became guards like her went to celebrate in their own homes, free from belittlement and back handed compliments.

Unlike them, her family wasn't here. Instead she was greeted by the two Altmer sisters who took pity on her only weeks after her arrival.

"Don't worry dear, men do not know of strength of wit and the power of words. They care only of the proficiency of their sword arm, nothing more, nothing less," said Taarie as she placed a bottle of wine on the table and sat down across from Amarathine.

Endarie let out a scoff. "I can think of one other thing."

"Please don't say it." Amarathine reached for a piece of bread from the bowl on the table.

"See," Taarie snickered. "Endarie's words are so powerful, she need only imply them!"

Endarie sat down at the table. "It is unfortunate how dreadfully hairy they are."

Taarie's eyes glittered. "It isn't so bad, the blonde ones you can hardly tell as long as you don't touch."

"You would know, going after the young bards unlucky enough to wander into—"

Amarathine gagged on the piece of bread she was chewing. Both sets of golden eyes fell on her. Wrinkled around the edges with wisdom gathered over the years. They were twins, both one hundred and twelve, in the Hearthfire of their lives, yet talked like girls even younger than she.

"Perhaps this is not appropriate table talk," Endarie said.

They all nodded in unintended unison and ate in relative silence.

Tarrie took a sip of wine and placed it onto the table. "So, did they give you on of those dilapidated swords to go with that horrid uniform?"

"They're just for show." Endarie sneered at sword resting against the wall near the doorway. "No one has been foolish enough to commit anything beyond theft in these walls."

Amarathine placed her spoon back in her half emptied bowl. "Actually, I'm not going to be stationed in Solitude."

Both Tarrie's and Endarie's heads shot up to meet her gaze.

"Where are they sending you, then?" Endarie spoke first.

"Hegen, wherever that is. Near Falkreath somewhere." Amarathine replied after swallowing another bite.

Endarie looked between her and Tarrie. "That pitiful excuse for a town? Someone must have retired for you to be sent so far."

"Is it permanent?" Tarrie asked, a frown on her lips.

Amarathine nodded. "All postings are permanent. It's alright though, I'll come back to visit now and then."

Endarie poured herself another cup of wine. "Amarathine dear, Helgen is half way up a mountain nearly a month away on foot, not a simple stroll for afternoon tea."

"It's that far?" Skyrim was vast, but that was much farther than anywhere she'd travelled on foot before. Even in Alinor trips from city to city took only a day or two by carriage.

A full month of walking would be perilous. Skyrim was wild outside the wall of Solitude. Bandits, animals, beasts. People told tales of them all. Not fictional stories, but past accounts of only days before.

"What about on horse back? Two weeks?"

Endrie let out a peal of laughter, only for it to stop short. "Have you not seen the prices of horses these days? The Legion has them in short supply, and that supply will not go to the Imperial underlings, no offence, Amarathine."

"None taken," Amarathine replied, adjusting herself on the wooden seat.

Tarrie perked up. "Perhaps there are other soldiers travelling south that you can join?"

"Ah, I'd never thought of that!" She could travel with the rest of the men sent to Falkreath.

But who exactly was headed there? Her mind was too preoccupied contemplating her own fate to listen to anyone else's posting. Surely she wasn't the only one sent south. Even travelling with company half way would be better than nothing.

"You'd better find out when everyone is leaving. Tardiness is a poor trait for a legionnaire."

"I wouldn't think of it."

Once everyone retired to their rooms for the night, Amarathine sat on the floor at the foot of her bed. Her leather satchel in front of her, surrounded by her belongings. A wooden comb, a journal, a map, a travelling dress, a cloak, and a silk hair ribbon.

If a year of training and hours of running in full armor taught her anything, it was to pack light. Excessive clothing took up space that could be used by food. Trinkets added weight and would make her a target for thieves.

Perhaps the comb wasn't necessary, but it was light and small. There was nothing worse that matted hair.

The journal wasn't either. A purchase from a travelling merchant. The leather cover was decorated in strange designs from a foreign land. The pages were empty, waiting for stories worthy enough to fill them.

A map. Even if the path was simple there was always the chance of getting lost. Or maybe she would pass something worth noting down.

Her travelling dress was simple. The sisters had made it for her back when she first came to Skyrim. As a solider, or guard rather, armor should be worn at all times. But it would be nice to sleep in.

The cloak was issued by the legion. Simple and dark. It kept the wind and cold at bay on many occasions. Solitude was never warm, even the summers were cool and damp from the ocean air.

And finally, her silk ribbon. The only thing that remained from home. The material was much softer than anything found in Skyrim. Once red, its vibrance had long faded into a softer shade. It looked better this way.

Even after everything was in the bag, there was still plenty of room for food.

Soon she would be free of the confines of another city. Her hard work had paid off. Nothing sounded better than a simple life as a guard in a small town. A life so simple, once so far away, now laid out before her eyes.

A life chosen.