The Tale of Aurora Delvanni: Chapter One, Aurora Delvanni is forced to flee to Skyrim and start a new life. Options

[Tellie]

The Tale of Aurora Delvanni.

Foreword:

'So you've come to write down my story have you? I thank you. I was born Aurora Regine Septim. The only daughter of Saryn Constantin Uriel Septim, the only son of Martin Septim and Salina Delvanni. What was that? Oh I can assure you the Septim bloodline is not as dead as people would have you believe and my favily has always been a long lived one.'

'As I was saying I was born Aurora Regine Septim, but like my father I chose not to use the name Septim. The Septim line was almost destroyed completely and that is why my grandmother kept the birth of her and Martin's son a secret, and my father had no desire to lay claim to the throne either, so without further ado let us begin.'

Chapter One. A New Home:

It was a few days after my twelfth birthday that tragedy struck my family. My family had been living in relative peace in Bruma ever since the Oblivion crisis, but peace was not to last. I had grow up with the war against the Aldmeri Dominion and could vividly remember the fires as Cloud Ruler Temple was burnt to the ground with the Blades along with it in the 175th year of the Fourth Era. That was the first day I had seen my father truly angry.

Grandmaster Jokad the great grandson of the legendary Blade Baurus was the only Blade who knew my true identity and had been a lifelong friend of my father so when the attack came my father could not be stopped. Two hundred years old and he grabbed his sword and started running towards Cloud Ruler with more agility then I had seen in much younger men, and naturally I panicked.

With my mother dead the year before I had no one left, so I ran after him. A few hundred yards away he stopped and turned towards me. "Aurora go back, this is not something you should see".

His words hit me like a slap in the face. "Please don't go father, I have no one left but you", I could already feel tears mar my face as I saw the determination in his old eyes.

"AURORA, please don't do this, I have to try and stop this...but I cannot allow you to throw away your life, go back", the steel in his voice brooked no argument so I simply nodded at him, knowing that if I spoke I would break down in pleading sobs.

Once he had passed the burning gates I followed trying to keep myself to the shadows as much as possible. Sneaking closer I heard the sound of steel clashing with steel and my father's mighty shouts rang out across the courtyard.

Climbing up the steps I hid behind a pillar as the last Blades who had not been hunted down, betrayed by their Emperor fought against the much larger force of Thalmor soldiers, With my father joining the small battle it appeared that hope was not yet lost as none could stand before him when he swung his mighty ebony claymore and his spells claimed the life of dozens as he waded through the battlefield.

To my horror though someone slipped past his guard and knocked him to the ground. With his weapon lost and two Thalmorians pinning him down I could only watch with silent horror as a giant of an elf raised his sword for a killing blow, yet before he could strike Jokad threw himself at the elf shouting "RUN MY LORD, WE'LL COVER YOU".

Before my father had a chance to act however a blast of magic disarmed the remaining Blades and then the fight was over, each of them held with a sword to their throats and the big Thalmor soldier removed his helmet.

"My Lord? I was under the impression that you served Titus Meade The Emperor, not some half breed from Bruma".

Jokad bowed his head in shame now that the secret was out, my father was more than he seemed. "You'll get nothing out of me filth", he growled before launching a most impressive clot of spit and mucus into the enemy's face.

The Thalmor leader, his face reddening drew out his blade once more, "Then if you do not tell me I'll just kill him now and be done with it".

This time I was prepared. I already had the words for a fireball spell in my head when I was suddenly clubbed over the back of the head. Seeing stars I crashed into the snow as I tried to clear my vision, and I was vaguely aware of screaming as someone grabbed me by my hair and dragged me over to the others.

"Aurora you silly girl", my father moaned as I was dropped before him. "Please I'll do anything you ask, just don't hurt her", he begged of the Thalmor who laughed cruelly.

"Then tell me what the honourable Blade here was talking about, who are you"?

My father sighed knowing that he was damned either way. "If I tell you will you swear to let her live"?

The Thalmor sighed as if my father had laid on him a heavy burden. "Yes yes I swear I shall not lay a hand upon her".

Apparently satisfied my father took a deep breath. "I am Saryn Constantin Uriel Septim, the son of Martin Septim and true heir to the throne of the Empire".

For a whole minute not a sound was uttered before the Thalmor shrieked a fearsome cry and beheaded my father with a deft stroke of his blade. I screamed in fear and denial as my father's head rolled on the ground and then rage overtook me. Screaming with pain and rage I threw myself at the Thalmor only to be thrown to the ground with mocking laughter ringing in my ears.

"My my you are a feisty one, I believe your death shall be a slow and painful one", he smiled wickedly as he approached me with his blade ready. Panicking I reached out for anything that could help me and from inside me something stirred like a beast of old and with a booming voice like I had never heard my mouth uttered the word [b]'FUS'[/b].

The effect was instant, the Thalmor soldiers were thrown away like ragdolls and the surviving Blades reacted immediately, grabbing discarded weapons they threw themselves at the Thalmor while Jokad grabbed me by my arm and ran,

Once we had reached the Bruma stables he stopped. "Aurora you must leave now".

Shaking my head I tried to speak only to cough up blood, that shout must have done as much if not more harm to me than my enemies.

"Listen the Blades are all but gone and Cyrodiil is no longer safe. Grab a horse and ride. Ride far away where they won’t find you. I rode as hard as I could while the remaining Blades threw themselves at the Thalmor in a futile attempt at delaying them. They bought me time enough at least to stop by the home of myself and my now deceased father where I hurriedly grabbed whatever valuables we had: a good two hundred septims, a trusty steel dagger and a magnificent red jewelled amulet in the shape of a diamond, banded by gold and eight smaller gems that my father had told me I would one day inherit (but must keep hidden at all costs). Pocketing the coins, sheathing the knife in my boot and slipping the amulet over my head I donned a travel worn blue hooded robe and pointed my horse in the general direction of far away.

I lost track of time quickly enough. While heartbroken at the murder of my father and jumpy as a cat in a room full of rocking chairs (thank you Thalmor and any agents you may or may not have after me), I was also excited. I was a very precocious and grown up (or so I told myself) twelve-year-old with nothing but the future (and endless muddy roads, curses!) ahead of me and surely this was the start of my very own adventure that would surely rival those of my grandmother or even grand aunt (who was living it up in Morrowind and no doubt amusing herself…and any of her compatriots by blasting Argonians back and forth after their rather…misguided attempts at invading a realm protected by three living gods who had sent Mehrunes Dagon screaming headfirst back to Oblivion).

Of course, a twelve-year-old's imagination is rather different from the harsh realities of the world. It was cold, it was wet, it was damned uncomfortable roughing it in the woods due to no innkeepers willing to either: house a twelve-year-old without parents for free or accepting said twelve-year-old’s coin (when I had them). Oh yes, a good two hundred coins did me well…for about two weeks, then I had to get creative. First and foremost, without coin there wasn’t a single innkeeper (a pox on all of them) who would even entertain the notion of housing me (regardless of my doe eyes and hopeful beaming smile).

Furthermore, without coin I lacked the crucial ingredient for a good life…or even life in general. Food is sadly a necessary ingredient to keep our bodily functions working, and food doesn’t exactly grow on trees…well I suppose some of it grow on trees, but I’ve found out that unannounced (and unpermitted) trips into someone’s fruit garden or vegetable patch is a very good way to give yourself a good bout of personal exercise (to avoid either the cane or the guards…I’m still undecided to which one is worse). Regardless, over the years that I spent wandering Tamriel on foot, (my trusty mount Brunhilde having found her way into my pot that very first year) I discovered that I had a peculiar set of natural talents (from my father’s stories an inherited family trait).

Magic came rather naturally to me, the only problem was finding the proper spellbooks, after all mages and shopkeepers didn’t give them out in charity (a pox on them too). I was also blessed with the ability to not only find myself in constant hot waters with guards, shopkeepers…priests, most of the time due to my rather itchy fingers that took a delight in…borrowing items (food and coin for the most part), items that most of the time I did not technically have permission to ‘borrow’, regardless if it was for a good cause or not (and yes, keeping me alive is a good cause I can assure you). Still, the only thing I did better than getting into tight spots was wriggling my way out of them, being blessed by not only very good genes (apparently scraping and clawing one’s way out of trouble was a time honoured Delvanni family trait stretching back for generations), said genes had gotten a very good workout over the years as most of the time I was on the move (guards, or anyone else I’d robbed and/or insulted not far behind me).

Of course, living in the wilds (I dread the state my hair must have been in those years) I also learnt a lot about survival, like how to handle an axe (nothing wrong about a traveller carrying an axe, besides the fact that the massive dwemer monstrosity was sharp and big enough to bisect a troll), I also discovered that whenever you get stuck in situations like: guards who refuse to listen to reason (excuses or outright lies really) or stubborn wildlife (that most of the time want to add you to their palate) a good fireball is always the best answer (and in some cases also gets you free dinner).

Still, as I was saying I travelled Tamriel back and forth never staying more than a day or two at the most in any given city, as such I was…rather out of touch with local news (or even what year it was). I knew of course that the Great War had ended (a few months after I left as a matter of fact) with the signing of the White Gold Concordat. The Argonians had not only been beaten soundly by my quite frankly terrifying great aunt (at least that’s how father described her) but evolved into a state of perpetual war as the Dunmer of Morrowind took a trip down every once in a while to pick up new helpers (slaves) and the Argonians sent another wave back into Morrowind (aided by whatever mercenary or sellsword stupid enough to join every few years only to be beaten back soundly). And unrest was stirring in Skyrim.

Normally such news would have me steer clear of the land with a wide margin (the state of war being the biggest reason I did not seek out my great aunt after all). But unfortunately in the nearly two decades I’d roamed Tamriel I’d managed to infuriate quite a few local magistrates (and other persons of less repute), almost to the fact that if someone caught me and managed to provide proof that I was the one behind the numerous crimes and insults paid (isn’t it wonderful to never stay long enough for someone to learn your name?) He/She would earn enough money from the unclaimed bounties to probably buy themselves a minor Duchy somewhere.

So unless I was willing to enter the warzone that was the Morrowind/Black Marsh border, then Skyrim was the only option left, so it was with a heavy heart that I stole a horse from the Duke of Chorrol’s personal stable (glee actually, the poor beast was no doubt better off with someone who was not the size of a small troll like the aforementioned duke). Slipping out of Chorrol with my new (and quite thankful) steed and a suspiciously heavier pack (the local backer should learn to use locks better than what a blind beggar could pick) was simplicity itself…that of course should be clue enough that my bi-polar family luck would kick in.
No sooner had I crossed into Skyrim that a blizzard so strong I couldn’t even see my poor shaking fingers struck. I was forced to make a quick makeshift shelter compiled of sticks and some rolls of cloth, the only source of warmth I had was this delightful fur coat that I’d spotted hanging innocently by itself in the entrance hall of the Cheydinhal Chapel. My poor horse was forced to stand out in the cold and freeze even more than I, (un)fortunately Dinner (three guesses what I intended to do with the horse when I named her) would be free of the blasted weather soon enough.

The godsforsaken blizzard (a pox on Kynareth for exposing me to it) lasted for three days. What’s worse, Dinner managed to escape (from the weather or discovering my plots for her I’ll never know), so there I was. Cold, hungry and bereaved of most of my worldly possessions (most of them still latched on to Dinner's saddle), the only things I had left were the clothes on my back, the now sodden cloak I’d used as a ‘roof’, my amulet and of course my trusty axe (and hidden knife).

I wandered through waist high snowdrifts for perhaps a day, continuously swearing to myself that as soon as I found a town I’d settle down for good and turn over a new leaf in life. Start fresh as a lawful citizen (I was after all, a decent healer, a good forester and hunter, and had some skill in a smithy, blacksmiths often accepted help in return for a measly coin or three and you quickly pick up things when you do them for a good decade or two). Of course, my relapse into crime came perhaps the very next day or so when I spotted a man dressed in leather armor walking by his lonesome with nothing but a woodcutter’s axe in his hands and a short sword at his waist.

I know I said that I would start fresh, but I was hungry, and the man obviously had coin, and in the grand scale of things what was one last robbery? Not receiving an answer, I unsheathed my axe from its place on my back and stepped towards him. “Hello there, give us your coins and nothing bad will happen to ya”, I said with my best smile as I hefted the big axe in my hands.

The man breaking out into a laughing fit wasn’t exactly the reaction I’d planned for, the pointed cough from behind me provided me with ample explanation for why the man was laughing. Standing perhaps a few feet away (certainly within arms reach) was no less than a whole company of Imperial Legionnaires in full armour and a pair of carts laden with prisoners (dressed in light scale, mail and leather armour with blue cloth and furs). “Oh Bugger!” were my last words before a mailed fist sent me happily into the land of dreams.


So I decided to rewrite large parts of the intro (and add more parts) to make it more 'correct' in terms of time. Such as the end of the Great War (and beginning of the sotry) does not lead to Aurora going straight to Skyrim. Instead it leads to Aurora developing into a (somewhat) competent their and warrior/mage with literally nothing to her name (except a very long list of bounties matching her description). SO at the start of 'Skyrim' (main part of this story) she is thirty seven years old (rather young still as she is 'technically' a dark elf).
Also I will be trying to focus on this story mostly for now while my muse is with it, but I haven't forgotten (or stopped working on) my other stories. So please leave a review and enjoy.

This post has been edited by Tellie: Mar 16 2016, 08:26 AM

[Tellie]

I admit, this one got away from me slightly as I never could find a good spot to stop it so I hope you enjoy it, I doubt that all future updates will have this length however.


I woke with a groan to the shifting sensation of being on a waggling cart, only to be interrupted by a strong male voice with clear nordic accent to it. “Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there”.

Blinking my eyes I spotted the man who was speaking to me. Strong muscular physique, dressed in that leather/scale armour of most of the prisoners I’d seen shortly before my unfortunate incarceration. The young man was clearly younger than I by a decade at least (irrespective of his blonde beard), there was a…youth to his eyes. He’d seen and spilled blood before, but had not truly seen how harsh life could be yet, regardless he was handsome enough and I tried to offer a smile only to wince as my bruised jaw protested the action, one of the other prisoners, this one dressed in rags quickly interjected his own opinions though.

“Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell”. Turning his gaze to me he tried to entice me to support him, not that it would help in our current situation. “You there. You and me – we shouldn’t be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants”.

Not having a clue of who the Stormcloaks even were I just shrugged my shoulders helplessly, No sympathy had ever been given me, so I wasn’t about to offer it to someone else who had been nabbed for stealing, sympathy after all didn’t do anything on its own.

“We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief”, the blonde one said gravely.

“Shut up back there!” my face swerved right to see the cart driver, an imperial dressed in the heavy armour of the legion glare contemptuously at us before turning his gaze back to the road.

The prisoner in rags looked at the person who was seated on my right. “And what's wrong with him?” he asked

The blonde warrior almost spat in fury as his face reddened. “Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim”, he barked at the prisoner whose eyes widened in apparent panic, while I felt my own eyebrows rise involuntarily…this was both surprising…and bad. VERY bad.

“Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?” While the prisoner’s display of panic was a bit distasteful, especially since the loud noises grated on my headache I could certainly understand his concern.

“I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits”, the blonde at least was man enough to accept whatever was in store for him, and seeing that I was seated next to the leader of an apparent rebellion I saw my chance to improve my life immeasurably.

Feeling my boot with my bound hands I grinned, the knife was still there, and really…hands bound together with nothing more than a few strips of cloth and leather! Perhaps that worked in this part of the world…unless the one being bound had access to magic. Leaning over to the blonde I whispered in his ear. “If you want to make it out of this alive, we need to knock the thief here out”, I flashed him a small glimpse of my dagger and he grinned before turning to the thief to slam his forehead against the thief’s who sank into the sweet embrace of unconsciousness.

Ulfric mumbled something through his gag, which drew my attention back to him to observe him properly and I almost cursed myself as I felt a small flush come across my cheeks. Ulfric was dressed in a combination of scale and chain underneath a truly magnificent set of intricately carved plate decorated by various runes and bears. Around his neck was a dark cloak topped off by a fur of some animal (a bear was my best guess) and a sash of the same universal blue that the rest of his men wore was also present. His face held a rugged handsomeness with chestnut hair and beard with stormy grey eyes and strong rugged features that nonetheless carried some hint of what had to be elven blood (most likely from a grandparent), and I found myself drawn into his sharp eyes before withdrawing my gaze with a blush, and from the way his gag moved I was sure the blasted nord was smirking.

“Right”, I said, slipping the small knife over to the blonde man first (that insufferably smug Ulfric could choke on it if he wanted to). “Here’s the plan, once we stop, I’ll provide a distraction, you get as many free as you can and then we leg it…any objections”?

The blonde who had just slipped the small dagger over to Ulfric who discretely cut his own bonds yet like his friend and myself maintained the illusion of being bound started laughing. “You make plans like a true nord”, he chuckled and even Ulfric who was still gagged chuckled slightly before trying to give the dagger back to me.

I let my hands flash with a burst of magic for a brief moment, causing Ulfric to nod in understanding and turn the dagger back to the blonde one. “I have more than one trick boy”, I said with a smirk at the blonde haired warrior who fumed slightly at being called a boy. “Trust me, I’ll have the Imperials ‘off’ their feet in seconds”, I grinned smugly at the two confused looks. Over the decades I’d tried and tried to replicate that fierce shout that had saved my life the day my father was murdered and the more I contemplated the word the better I became at ‘producing it’, almost as if the word was more than just a word, like it was in some ways a part of me…suffice to say, it was perfect for creating distractions and advantages.

We came close to a small town, surrounded by imperial walls (though I must say imperial architecture in Skyrim is far more ‘rugged’ than the fine elegant constructions in other provinces, but I’d no doubt that they did their job well. A soldier called out from atop the gatehouse.

“General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!”, hmph, not even a trial, apparently this Ulfric’s rebellion must be more successful than the imperials wanted to admit if they were willing to just shuffle us off to be given a permanent haircut in this fashion, though with my, thankfully unproven record, I’d either be spending a few centuries in prison to atone for the number charges against someone matching my description…so unless we made our escape I would probably prefer to have my head lobbed off and be well rid of the world. Not that I intended to.

“Good. Let's get this over with”, the apparent General Tullius said from his position at the head of the column, wearing a fine red cape and the armour of an imperial general.

Passing through the gatehouse we spotted Tullius atop his charger, speaking with the leader of a trio of people whose presence made my blood boil. There in all their pomp was a Thalmor envoy of some repute (judging by the state of her finery) and a pair of guards in gilded elven armor, and I felt myself growl dangerously in the back of my throat, drawing at first surprised, then agreeing looks from both Ulfric and blondie whose name I had yet to learn.

“Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this”, blondie said, causing me to give a growl of outrage.

“I beg your pardon boy!” I snarled. “Don’t paint all elves under the same brush, I had to watch the Thalmor cut my father’s head off and then spend the next twenty years, avoiding their agents”.

The target of my ire at least had the sense to look ashamed. “I…apologize”, he said finally before looking around. “This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny...when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe”, he sighed and I briefly felt a smidge of sympathy for him, it was much the same for me in my childhood.

“Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?” the voice of a young boy asked curiously.

His father grimaced however, fully aware of what was going on. “You need to go inside, little cub”.

“Why? I want to watch the soldiers”, the boy griped as he stomped his foot.

“Inside the house. Now!” the boy’s father said in a sharp tone that brooked no argument and caused the boy to shuffle back inside, shortly afterwards the wagon stopped, and I gulped slightly as I spotted the imperials scattered about, as well as a priestess of Arkay and a masked headsman with a large axe in his hands.

Under the Imperials' watchful eye, the prisoners started jumping out of the wagons while my mind worked furiously. Most of the force that must have captured the rebels (and myself) must have moved on as we were actually outnumbering the imperials by perhaps half a dozen or so, my musings were cut short as the horse thief woke up and immediately panicked.

“You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!” he yelled furiously while everyone (myself included) ignored him.

A woman whose colouring shoved that she had at least one redguard parent, dressed in the armour of an officer of the legion barked out commands with a sharp voice. “Step toward the block when we call your name. One at a time!”

“Empire loves their damn lists”, blondie snorted.

Another soldier, this one a chestnut haired nord with the typical strong nord physique and dressed in imperial light armor stepped up next to the captain, a list in his hands. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm”, he said gravely, and Ulfric walked over to where the headsman stood with determined grace, not at all phased at his (apparent) imminent demise.

“It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!”, blondie said as Ulfric walked off.

“Ralof of Riverwood”, so Ralof was the name of the blonde who walked off to join Ulfric.

“Lokir of Rorikstead”, the horse thief was hyperventilating as his name was called.

“No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!” he cried as tears fell from his eyes and then he ran full pelt towards the gate.

“Halt!” the captain shouted after him causing him to laugh hysterically as he yelled “You’re not going to kill me”.

The Captain, and almost everyone else turned towards the fleeing thief and I saw this as my chance. I inhaled and shouted “FUS”, at the top of my lungs. The Captain, the nord with the list, and five soldiers who had their bows drawn and pointed towards the fleeing horse thief were blasted to the ground in shock. Spinning on my feet I unleashed a concentrated bolt of fire from both my hands, causing the two legionnaires next to General Tullius to fall screaming to the ground while I ran full tilt towards the general.

The situation was so bizarre that even an experienced soldier like Tullius was unable to react at the speed and viciousness of my attack. The situation worsened as Ralof seized the closest solder and slit his throat with my dagger and took the imperial’s sword and started to free his fellow rebels while Ulfric himself removed his gag and to my shock imitated my actions by drawing his breath and unleashing a shout that rung through the air like a crack of thunder. I recognised ‘FUS’ as the one I myself knew, the following words ‘RO DAH’ were new however and proved to be even more powerful than my own as the headsman and another four soldiers were blasted back in a wave of pure force and from the sickening cracks I knew they probably broke every bone in their body when their backs hit the closest tower.

Without breaking stride I sent forth another pair of fireballs towards the Thalmor who were advancing towards me with their blades drawn. One of them fell back with a horrible scream as his hair, clothes and even flesh itself caught fire from the magical flames, while the other one was blocked as the female Thalmor leader raised a ward. By that time the Imperials started to react but it was too late, my own actions and those of Ulfric had already laid low fifteen of our captors eight of them permanently, so we had the advantage of numbers now and the rebels, some of them still bound fell upon the imperials with the desperate fury of a man who knows he will die if he doesn’t.

I for my part ducked under the wild swing of the Thalmor bodyguard and sprang forth, pushing with all the strength in my feet I caught him at his waist and threw him to the ground. Panicking he tried to swing his sword but I caught his arm in a vice grip while slapping his face as hard as I could while speaking the cantrip of a lightning spell that was based on touch. He made a strangled cry as his body spasmed in its death throes. Feeling the hairs on my neck raise I rolled to the left which was quite fortunate as the last Thalmor, the woman in charge stabbed her sword down at my former position, burying her fine ebony blade into the chest of her dead bodyguard, before she could pull her sword free I grabbed a loose rock and smashed it down with all the strength I possessed (considerable actually as I am larger than most of my kind), and the Thalmor witch fell to the ground with a cry of pain as blood and teeth alike flew from her mouth and broken nose.

Before I could finish her off however a tremendous thundering sound came forth and blasted me off my feet while the sky itself turned an ominous orange hue. Shaking the cobwebs from my head I looked at the top of the tower only to let loose a shriek of shock and fear.

On top of the tower perched a massive black beast like something out of my darkest nightmares. Blackened scales protected a strong body bulging with powerful muscles. Jagged spikes protruded the massive shape and the head particularly had an impressive crest of long curling spikes. The large maw held rows of teeth as long as a sword, and the curling talons on the beast’s wings were as long as a man. The enormous wings themselves, folded elegantly were large enough to shadow a city from the sun if the beast ever was to take flight, but worst of all were the eyes. Flaming red and baleful with a disturbing intelligence stared straight at me with what was unmistakably hatred and I barely even noticed as a strong pair of hands grabbed me and started to pull me away as I stared transfixed at the beautiful and terrifying being.

“RUN!” the voice of Ulfric yelling directly into my ear as well as the accompanying slap across my face was more than enough to get me moving and I ran as best I was able to along with Ulfric and Ralof.

Helgen was already littered in bodies (some burning others not), and more would probably join them as imperials, stormcloaks and civilians alike ran here and there in a disorganised mob while huge balls of flame fell from the sky to shatter houses or engulf men. As we cleared the gates the dragon (for what else could it be) flew off again with a chilling roar and even at the distance away he was I could feel the wind pick up from the beats of its massive wings. We continued to run for I don’t know how long as our hearts beat a dance tune in our chests, none cared about allegiances at the moment, as the nord who had called up names from the list was running right beside us along with one of his comrades, right now we were all brothers in arms doing what we could to survive, or so I thought. The imperial who was the companion of the nord legionnaire suddenly drew a crossbow and aimed it straight at Ulfrics back and pulled the trigger.

I don’t know what made me react, perhaps it was for what the Jarl (and mostly successful rebellion leader) could do for me, or perhaps it was that blasted Delvanni lineage for once kicking me to do the right thing in my life. Regardless of what it was I shouted “GET DOWN!”, as I forcibly pushed Ulfric out of the way only to let out a strangled gasp of pain as I felt the steel quarrel punch into my chest.

“AURELIUS!”, the other legionnaire protested at his companion’s unexpected move.

Whatever Aurelius had to say for his defence he took with him to the grave as Ulfric swung an axe he had picked up in the fighting and removed Aurelius’ head at the neck. “Give it up Hadvar”, Ralof said to the last legionnaire (the one with the list that is).

Hadvar looked unsure as he turned his head back and forth between Ralof and Ulfric, at least until Ulfric lowered his axe. “I have no desire to spill more nord blood today Hadvar”, fortunately that seemed to be good enough for Hadvar who sheathed his sword.

My hoarse coughs of pain quickly got their attentions again as all three kneeled next to me, and from what I could see things didn’t look too good for me. “We must remove the quarrel”, Ulfric said with his calm voice while offering the hilt of his axe for me to bite down on. “We will have to remove your shirt”, he added while looking at me.

At first I was confused, before I realized why he was hesitant, after all removing the shirt of a woman you don’t know could be considered…inappropriate for any man, lest he have her approval, and I gave him a quick nod before biting down hard on the axe handle, while Ralof quickly opened my shirt with the help of my knife. As soon as he had cut open my shirt both he and Hadvar held me down while Ulfric carefully removed the quarrel from my chest while I screamed and twisted at the pain, my vision blackened and sound itself grew faint as pain overwhelmed me and then…it was over.

A flask of red liquid was offered by Hadvar and I greedily drank it down, wincing as the very uncomfortable feeling of flesh knitting together coursed about in my chest while Ralof poured water from his waterskin over my chest to wash away some of the blood. “SHOR’S TEETH!” Ralof yelled suddenly, an exclamation that was shared by the other two who stared down at my chest in disbelief.

“What?” I asked weakly while trying to cover my chest from their gaze.

Ulfric chuckled slightly as he offered me his fur cloak. My ire quickly abated as he wrapped me securely in the warm furs (my exhaustion played a large part here I think) before he used his finger to draw my amulet out to rest on top of my chest.

“Do you even know what this is”? he asked.

I shrugged slightly, I knew it was a family heirloom, whether it was from my Delvanni side or my Septim grandfather I didn’t know, but I had a sinking feeling that I was about to find out.

“This”, Ulfric said as he held the amulet in a slightly shaking hand. “Is the Amulet of Kings”.

My thoughts at that revelation were quite succinct. ‘Oh Bugger!’


As you can see, the AU continues. I never quite could accept that having your hands bound by either rope or leather would make you incapable of using magic for example. Also if you can smuggle a lockpick into prison where you'll no doubt be searched quite more thoroughly, than you'd be after getting caught by a small band of soldiers already on the move and busy with other prisoners I don't think it would be too difficult for a relatively skilled thief to hide away a dagger so that brought about the changes...still I had to let Aldie show up, wouldn't be 'typical Delvanni luck' for him not to.

leave a comment of your thoughts and I'll see you with the next update