Chapter Text
As the sun began its descent towards the horizon, casting an amber glow over the rugged landscape, Elara found herself near the border of Markarth. The sun dipped low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain near the edge of Eastmarch and The Rift. She trudged wearily along the worn path, her leather boots kicking up small clouds of dust with each step. The land around her was a mix of rocky outcrops and hardy shrubs, the sparse vegetation clinging to life in this unforgiving corner of Skyrim. She could see where the land divided slightly, where the plants began to gain more color the further she went toward the city.
As Elara walked, her gaze shifted toward the horizon. The air was warmer here than in the other parts of Skyrim she had journeyed through, a fact that didn't go unnoticed by her. She had heard stories of the Reach's unique climate, but experiencing it firsthand was a different matter entirely. Sweat had piled on her forehead as the day had passed and she needed a bath. The prospect of finding an inn or even a makeshift campsite had driven her forward, her weary feet pushing her onward despite the growing fatigue that gnawed at her bones.
The dunmer woman had no home to return to and was hoping to find someplace, any place to sleep. As she rounded a bend in the road, her eyes caught sight of a group of Imperial soldiers stationed at the border. She trudged along, choosing to pay them no mind when a voice shattered her thoughts.
"Halt!" The command came from behind her, and Elara's heart leaped into her throat as she turned to watch as the men approached her. “State your business, elf.”
She cringed from the insult, raising her hands in defense. "I mean no harm," she stammered, her voice tinged with urgency, eyes wide with alarm. "I'm just passing through, looking for a place to rest for the night."
The soldiers exchanged glances, their skepticism palpable. "A Dunmer lurking near the border?”
"Crossing the border illegally, are you?" Another imperial sneered. "Just like that thief, we caught earlier."
Panic bubbled up within Elara as she attempted to reason with them. "No, you don't understand. I'm not here to cause trouble. I've traveled a long way, and I have no home. I was—"
Her words were cut short as a strong hand seized her arm, the soldier's grip unyielding as he twisted her arm behind her back, being pushed to the ground. Elara cried out in pain, her forehead connecting with the unforgiving stone road beneath her. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and she could feel warmth trickling down her face, mingling with the dust on her skin.
"Bind her hands," the commanding officer ordered, his voice cold. Elara winced as her wrists were tightly bound in front of her, the coarse rope digging into her flesh.
Through a haze of pain, she was lifted from the ground and roughly pushed toward the waiting carriage. Her vision blurred as she glimpsed the chaos unfolding in the background—soldiers shouting, swords being drawn—but darkness tugged at the edges of her consciousness.
The world spun as she was practically thrown into the back of the carriage, her body coming to rest on the hard wooden floor. The jolt sent a fresh wave of pain radiating through her head, and she groaned softly, her fingers gingerly touching the swollen bump forming on her forehead.
She could hear the commotion outside growing fainter as time passed, the sounds of the soldiers' voices blending into an indistinct murmur. She thought she felt the carriage dip as more people were loaded in with her.
As the carriage creaked into motion, Elara's vision continued to dim, the edges of her perception fading to black. And then, with the gentle sway of the carriage and the rhythmic clip-clop of horse hooves, she surrendered to the void, her consciousness slipping away into the inky abyss.
As her consciousness slowly returned after what felt like hours had passed, she heard a soft, male voice calling out to her, pulling her back from the brink of darkness. "Hey, you! You're finally awake," the voice said, its tone tinged with a mix of relief and concern.
Her head felt heavy and her vision swam, but she managed to turn her head towards the source of the voice.
The Stormcloak soldier who had addressed her was leaning against the carriage wall, his cerulean eyes fixed upon her with a mix of curiosity and sympathy. His long, blonde hair cascaded down his shoulders, tied back with a single small braid that seemed incongruous against the backdrop of war-torn armor.
She lifted a hand to her forehead, feeling the tenderness of the swelling bump and the sticky residue of dried blood. With a groan, she managed to prop herself up on one elbow, her gaze fixed on the Stormcloak.
"Thought you'd never wake up," he continued, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "You took quite a hit there.”
"Where am I?" she asked, her voice soft but laced with apprehension.
"In the back of an Imperial carriage," the man replied, offering a small smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. “Ralof. And you are?”
"Elara," she answered, her gaze narrowing slightly as she assessed the situation. She flexed her fingers experimentally, testing the ropes’ strength.
Ralof’s expression seemed to soften as he noticed her discomfort.
"Don't worry, we won't be needing those binds for long," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle. She wondered what he meant by that. “You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
He gestured towards another man, with reddish hair and tan skin, clad in rags, who was sitting on the other side of the carriage.
The man cursed and spat at Ralof, his anger evident. "You damn Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. The empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell," he ranted.
"No, I wasn’t crossing the border. I was just looking for a place to stay," she explained, feeling vulnerable now.
Ralof seemed sympathetic as he studied her, his eyes searching for truth in her words. "We've all been through a lot," he said finally.
"And what's wrong with him?" the thief sneered, but his voice was trembling.
Elara turned her gaze towards the man on her right, the one the thief had addressed, and took in his appearance. His attire stood out among the ragtag group of prisoners – a big formal coat adorned with fur accents, an outfit that seemed out of place in their grim circumstances. But what caught her attention more than anything was the cloth covering his mouth, a gag, muffling his voice.
Before she could make any sense of the situation, Ralof interrupted, visibly frustrated with the thief's ignorance. " Watch your tongue. You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."
Ulfric Stormcloak—the name resonated through Elara's mind, sending a shiver down her spine. The realization hit her like a ton of bricks; this man, bound and gagged, was the reason she found herself in this predicament in the first place.
Her thoughts spiraled into panic as she looked around the carriage, her surroundings taking on a more sinister tone. The wind seemed to grow colder, carrying with it a sense of impending doom. The town up ahead filled her with dread, knowing that wherever they were taking them, escape seemed increasingly unlikely. Ulfric's presence explained the heavy Imperial presence at the border.
The thief's surprise and fear mirrored her own, and he stammered, "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? But if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?"
Ralof's expression softened slightly as he replied, “Sovngarde awaits.”
As the carriage trundled onward, a town on the horizon drew closer, ominous and foreboding. Dread settled like a stone in Elara's chest. She couldn't help but notice a subtle shift in Ralof's expression. She could sense tension radiating from him, his expression darkening as he stared down at the Imperial soldiers guarding the entrance, one of whom wore armor adorned with gilded accents, a clear sign of higher rank.
A soldier's voice echoed from one of the watchtowers, addressing the man in the gold-accented armor. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!"
The words cut through the air, and the man turned his head to respond. "Good. Let’s get this over with," Elara heard him reply.
Briefly, their gazes met, and Elara felt a shiver run down her spine. In that fleeting moment, she saw a hint of sadness in the man's eyes, as if he bore the weight of a heavy burden, one that extended beyond the impending execution. Their connection was fleeting, but the intensity of his gaze left an impression on her.
Amidst the somber atmosphere, Ralof's voice broke the silence, scoffing at the sight before them. "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," he exclaimed.
His words slid off his tongue effortlessly, and she couldn’t help but flinch. But when he caught her gaze and seemed almost embarrassed, trying to clarify that he meant no offense to all elves, just the Thalmor, Elara had already looked away, not surprised by a Nord's casual insult.
His attempt at changing the subject came briefly after, motioning around at the town surrounding them. "Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in," he said with a tinge of sadness.
Elara smiled faintly, appreciating the brief glimpse of vulnerability in his words. However, her thoughts were soon clouded by the realization that they were nearing the execution site. Panic began to well up inside her as the carriage slowed to a stop, and she caught sight of the headsman and a priestess standing by the execution block.
The horse thief, visibly distressed, sought the attention of the nearby soldiers. "Why are they stopping?" he asked, his voice trembling as the carriage set itself by another against a stone wall.
Ralof's response was flat and emotionless, "Why do you think? End of the line."
"You have to tell them! We're not rebels!" he shouted, his bound hands gesturing towards the surrounding soldiers, desperately trying to plead their innocence.
Ralof, with a hint of desperation in his voice, tried to calm him down, albeit begrudgingly, urging him to "accept his death with some courage.” However, before he could fully impart his words, a captain, a stern-looking woman with a decorated helmet to match her uniform, stepped forward. Her hand rested on the hilt of her sword, her face a mask of emotionless impatience.
"Quiet! Make your way to the block," she barked. Elara observed her closely, trying to dismiss the notion that this was just another desensitized soldier. There was something different about her; a sense of eagerness in her eyes as she seemed to relish the prospect of their deaths.
The thief hesitated for a moment, shaking his head in disbelief, before attempting to escape. "Halt!" the captain's voice boomed, but he paid no mind and sprinted back towards the exit gate.
The captain lifted her hand, and archers swiftly aimed, releasing their arrows in a synchronized volley. The thief's body fell lifeless to the ground, and the hope of escape was snuffed out in an instant. Elara's heart pounded in her chest as she witnessed the swift and ruthless response.
The Captain turned her attention to Elara, the coldness in her eyes still present. An imperial made his way next to the captain, his demeanor looking a bit more sympathetic than his superior.
“Ralof of Riverwood.” He said simply, a quill in his hand as he read off of a sheet of paper. The stormcloak stepped forward, following the other prisoners toward the execution block wordlessly.
The captain’s eyes never left Elara’s though as she raised a crooked finger in her direction.
"You there," she spoke, her voice cold and indifferent, "step forward.”
The soldier beside the captain looked up from his list and addressed Elara with a hint of remorse, "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind."
She appreciated his attempt at offering some comfort. Gathering her courage, she spoke up, "Elara Dawnweaver." Her voice quivered slightly, but she tried her best to sound brave.
The soldier searched his list, but he shook his head, seemingly finding no mention of her name. He looked toward the captain with concern, "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."
Elara's hope flickered briefly, but it was quickly extinguished as the captain dismissed his concern with cold indifference, "Forget the list. She goes to the block."
Despite the man’s empathy, the captain's order left her with a feeling of hopelessness. She was just another nameless prisoner in the eyes of the Empire. His gaze met hers, his eyes reflecting a mix of sympathy and something else couldn’t figure out. His attempt to show compassion, even in the face of a brutal task, left an impression on her. She held onto that fleeting sense of humanity as she was led forward, her steps steady despite the fear that coursed through her veins.
As Elara stood in line, waiting for the inevitable, her mind raced with memories of Morrowwind, a place she would never step foot in again. One by one, the prisoners were led to the block, and their lives were extinguished. Some were defiant until the very end, cursing the Imperials, while others pleaded for their lives with their final breaths. The sound of the axe meeting flesh and the blood splattering on the stone haunted her.
She noticed the crowd in town cheering, their chants fueling her anger. Elara's hands clenched into fists, restrained by the binds. Each execution felt like a personal affront, an assault on her very being. She knew that she, too, would face this merciless fate.
When it was finally her turn, the captain turned to her, face unreadable as she pointed at her. “Next. The elf.”
Even in my last few breaths, I am being insulted, she thought to herself in disbelief. She wasn’t guilty, nothing to warrant this kind of response from the captain. But she was treated as the rest of them anyway.
A soldier behind her pushed her forcefully towards the block, and she was pressed down to her knees, now facing the headsman. His mask covered any possible expression he could have, but she doubted he had any.
The priestess began her chants and prayers as the headsman readied his axe near her awaiting head. She couldn't bear to watch him raise the axe above his head, the anticipation of the blow was suffocating. But nothing came.
Just as she shut her eyes, a shadow passed over the watchtower. She felt the ground tremble beneath her as she cautiously looked up, seeing the headsman dropping the axe to the ground and scatter away from the block.
Shouts and cries erupted around her, drowning out the sound of her racing heart. Amidst the chaos, Elara's ears picked up on a sound she had never heard before – a deafening roar that seemed to shake the very foundations of the world. The air itself vibrated with its power, sending a shiver down her spine.
A colossal creature, unlike anything she had ever seen, perched atop the watchtower. Its scales shimmered like polished ebony, reflecting the fiery light of its breath. Its wings were folded neatly against its powerful frame, and the intelligence in its gaze sent shivers down her spine. A world-shattering roar erupted from its massive jaws, a sound that seemed to tear through reality itself.
As the creature let out another roar, the clouds above seemed to warp and swirl, caught in an unnatural dance. The dragon's wings unfurled, and it launched itself into the air with a powerful beat.
The force of it was enough to knock her onto her side, off of the block, struggling to stand up.
As she steadied herself, a pair of hands reached out to help her up. Instinctively, she flinched away, her mind still reeling.
"Easy there," a voice called out over the din. "We don't have much time. Follow me, come on!"
Elara's wide eyes found the source of the voice – Ralof. Despite her initial hesitation, she realized she needed to move quickly. With a shaky breath, she reached out and accepted Ralof's help.
His grip was firm, his eyes determined. "We need to get out of here," he urged, his voice barely audible above the dragon's furious cries.
Nodding in agreement, Elara followed Ralof's lead. They dashed through the pandemonium, weaving through the town's narrow streets as flames and debris rained down around them. The dragon's fiery breath consumed buildings and structures with an insatiable hunger, leaving nothing but smoldering ruins in its wake.
The ground trembled beneath their feet as the dragon's massive form swooped overhead, its wings beating with a force that sent shockwaves through the air. The sheer power of the creature was overwhelming, and Elara's fear threatened to paralyze her.
They reached a nearby tower, its doors ajar. Ralof pushed them open further, and she stumbled inside after him. The door slammed shut behind them, shutting out the chaos and the deafening roars of the dragon. The interior of the tower offered a brief respite from the destruction outside, allowing her a moment to catch her breath.
Inside the tower, other Stormcloaks were already gathered, makeshift weapons in hand, their faces a mix of determination and fear. Elara's eyes darted to a figure lying motionless on the floor, another rebel checking their wounds.
Her focus was drawn back to the stairs leading up, and she followed the footsteps of another rebel as they ascended. Ralof's voice echoed from below, shouting for her to come back, but she pressed on.
She hadn't reached the second level when the tower itself was rocked by a colossal impact, stones flying and crashing around her. She was thrown to the ground, pain shooting through her body as a stone struck her.
Amid the chaos, the tower wall was torn asunder, and there it was – the dragon, its serpentine head curiously peering inside. Elara's heart raced as she pressed herself against the wall, barely daring to breathe. The creature’s eyes scanned the interior, its fiery gaze seemingly searching for any survivors.
Another deafening roar rattled the tower, and her instincts took over once again as she threw herself to the side, desperately seeking cover. The dragon's fiery breath seared the air, the intense heat washing over her even through the stone walls.
This was a nightmare made real, a force of nature, unlike anything she had ever imagined. She clung to the hope that the tower's walls would protect her, even as they trembled from the dragon's assault.
The dragon pulled its head out and took flight once again, providing her with a fleeting moment to think. She peered over the edge of the tower, spotting a nearby building with its roof half-burned off. Gathering her courage, she prepared herself mentally before launching herself off the tower, tumbling down to the house below.
With a roll, she landed on the second floor, feeling the impact reverberate through her body. Elara quickly picked herself up, adrenaline pumping through her veins, and ran through the building's interior. Burned bodies lay among the rubble, a grim reality for those who hadn’t had enough time to flee.
She found a hole in the floor and leaped down to the first floor, heading outside once again. The town was in chaos, flames dancing amidst the debris.
Gritting her teeth, she pushed forward, weaving through the burning buildings, dodging falling wood planks as they broke off from the houses. She leaned against the doorway of a house, looking out as she spotted the imperial soldier from earlier.
Their eyes met and she was wary of him at first, wondering if even during these events, he would be stupid enough to try and capture her.
His sword was drawn, but he didn't seem hostile towards her. Instead, he offered a bit of an arrogant smirk as he spoke, "Still alive prisoner? Follow me if you want it to stay that way."
Rolling her eyes at his condescending tone, Elara replied, "Oh, how fortunate I am to have your protection."
The soldier gestured for her to follow, and she obliged, not eager to be left alone. The ground shook beneath their feet as the dragon attacked another soldier who attempted to strike its head, resulting in a gruesome end for the hapless soul.
Elara couldn't help but cringe at the sound of bones crunching, her stomach churning with disgust.
Finally, they reached what seemed to be the entrance to the dungeons, and Elara took the lead, throwing open the door. The soldier followed her inside, quickly shutting the door behind them. Collapsed on the floor, she panted heavily, trying to drown out the roars outside.
The soldier watched her for a moment from the door before speaking. "Let me get those binds off you," he said, lowering his sword slightly.
Elara managed a weak smile, staring up at the ceiling above her as she lay there on her back. She lifted her hands for him as she sat up slowly.
“You sure you don’t want to cut my head off first?” She quipped a hint of bitterness in her tone. He winced slightly, the remark touching a nerve. He stepped forward and used his sword to carefully cut the ropes.
As the binds fell away, he let out a sigh and shook his head. "I had to follow orders. But if it makes you feel better, if I had any power, you wouldn't have been put to the block."
She rolled her eyes, rubbing her wrists as she looked around the dimly lit room. "It doesn't, but thanks."
As Elara stood up, her eyes fell upon a weapons rack at the back of the room. She couldn't resist the opportunity. She picked up an Imperial Officer's sword from the rack, marveling at the engravings on the blade, before turning to face the soldier.
The man seemed to be getting his bearings, annoyance evident in his voice. "There's a way out through here," he pointed to the door beside her, "just find anything useful and follow me when you're ready."
She smirked to herself, knowing she was getting under his skin, but she couldn't help herself. With a nod, she continued searching the room, finding a chest by one of the raggedly-looking beds.”What’s your name by the way? Since you already know mine, now.”
“Hadvar.” He muttered as he watched her from the door. The building shook slightly as she carefully opened the chest, looking among the items for anything useful. She spotted a pair of armguards that would offer at least some protection and wasted no time in donning them. She soon joined Hadvar, who was waiting for her, sword in hand.
He opened the door cautiously, and she followed closely behind. The building continued to shake, and she could see the torches decorating the walls flickering as they made their way through the halls.
As they passed a cart filled with fresh produce, she heard panicked voices in the distance.
They rounded a corner and found themselves facing a group of Stormcloaks in the room ahead. The soldiers were on alert, their weapons drawn and expressions tense as they spoke amongst each other.
Elara took a deep breath, readying herself for whatever might happen next as she heard a female soldier whisper to another.
“We should be moving, this is our chance. We don’t have time to wait for anybody else.” She sounded anxious, Elara taking note of how tight she was clenching the axe in her hands.
“Ralof said he went out to find the others, so we need to wait-”
One of the Stormcloaks spotted them and called out, "Hold! Who goes there?"
She heard Hadvar’s breath hitch next to her as he moved to block her. Before she could even raise her hands to show she meant no harm, Hadvar charged forward toward the group.
Her eyes widened as she saw a Stormcloak wielding a greatsword running straight at Hadvar, who was already occupied with another soldier. She cursed under her breath, knowing that Hadvar was vulnerable to the attack from behind. Without hesitation, Elara sprinted forward, putting herself between Hadvar and the charging man.
She swung her weapon with precision, blocking the incoming strike aimed at Hadvar's back. The impact sent shockwaves through her arms, and she stumbled back, feeling the weight of the soldier's blade pressing down on her.
Just as she feared her strength might give out, a sword flashed through the air. The Stormcloak's head toppled from his shoulders, blood spattering across Elara's face and armor. She staggered back slightly, catching her breath as she watched the lifeless body crumple to the ground.
Bloodied but victorious, Elara met Hadvar's gaze, her chest heaving. “Well, I’m glad you weren’t too annoyed with me to let me die.”
Hadvar nodded, his breathing heavy as he let out a small chuckle. "Thank you for having my back," he replied, his voice filled with gratitude.
Elara wiped the blood from her face and offered him a weary smile. Surprisingly, she didn't feel the usual revulsion she would have at the sight of someone else's blood all over her. A mirthful chuckle escaped Elara's lips, a stark contrast to the grim scene around her. It was a sound born from the absurdity of it all.
Hadvar raised an eyebrow at her, his curiosity was evident. "Something funny?"
“Nope,” she said, smirking in his direction.
As he wiped off his sword onto his uniform, she quickly surveyed the room for anything she could use to aid their progress. Her eyes fell upon a fallen Stormcloak soldier's shield. Without hesitation, she secured it to her arm, feeling the weight of it.
Hadvar had already moved towards the exit, his focus on the health potion he had found in one of the nearby barrels. Elara quirked an eyebrow at him. "Planning on sharing that?"
He flashed her a sheepish grin, his exhaustion showing through. She sighed and pushed the door open, leaving him behind to catch up.
Her focus shifted to the locked cells she passed, their grim contents revealing the fate of prisoners who had met a gruesome end. In one cell, she noticed a decaying skeleton, a haunting reminder of the passage of time. The Imperials had left the remains untouched, callous in their disregard for those they deemed disposable.
Her footsteps quickened as she heard the distant sounds of commotion, and a vivid blue light danced across the walls, indicating the presence of a magic user.
As she rounded the corner, she saw an Imperial soldier under attack from two Stormcloaks. Without hesitation, she seized a nearby empty wine bottle and hurled it at one of the assailants’ heads. The glass shattered upon impact, and the man staggered back momentarily disoriented.
The distraction proved enough for the Imperial soldier to gain the upper hand. In a flash, his blade found its mark, driving into the chest of the stormcloak. The remaining Stormcloak's eyes widened in realization as he found himself outnumbered and outmatched. Before he could react, a surge of blue light crackled through the air, striking him with a jolt of electricity. Elara watched as his body convulsed and then fell to the ground, motionless, joining the macabre tapestry of the torture room.
The room fell silent once more, the echoes of combat lingered in the dimly lit chamber, the scent of blood and burnt magic thick in the air.
Hadvar, momentarily freed from the immediate threat, approached the other Imperial soldier who had assisted them.
"You should be escaping, the city is under attack," Hadvar urgently insisted, sheathing his weapon. Elara, meanwhile, paid little heed to the conversation, her eyes scanning the room for potential supplies.
The other Imperial scoffed at the notion, his disbelief evident in the dismissive curl of his lip. As the men exchanged words, Elara's gaze wandered, purposefully averting from the gruesome surroundings. Her eyes landed on a dagger, lodged with precision into a training dummy in the back of the torture chamber. Determined, she pried it free, the metal cold against her fingers as she holstered it at her side.
A small coin purse and a knapsack lay forgotten on a nearby table, and she wasted no time in investigating their contents. The knapsack yielded a stamina potion, a handful of gold pieces, and a couple of lockpicks. Deciding she needed a backpack, she slid the knapsack onto her shoulders.
The conversation with the resistant guard appeared to yield little success, as he scoffed and returned to his duties. Hadvar sighed in frustration, catching up to Elara as they proceeded deeper into the tunnels.
"Stubborn old man," he muttered to himself, concern etched across his features. She studied Hadvar for a moment, uncertainty flickering in her eyes, but did not attempt to comfort him.
As they approached their exit, the distant murmur of voices reached their ears. Hadvar, taking the lead, rounded a corner only to swiftly duck as an arrow whizzed past them. A woman's voice echoed in the cave, amplified by the sound of a waterfall cascading in the middle of the room.
"Imperials!" the woman shouted.
Elara's hand returned to the hilt of her sword as they approached the room. Peeking around the corner, she witnessed Hadvar charging in, challenging the first attacker. Stormcloaks, she noted, all attempting to escape. Another arrow whizzed past, narrowly missing Elara's chest, prompting her to ready her shield.
Two archers at the back of the room seized the opportunity to flee, their eyes fixed on the unfolding melee. In a swift movement, she blocked an unavoidable arrow, charging at the panicked archer. With a forceful shove and the aid of her shield, she knocked the archer to the ground, the fallen soldier beneath her grunting in resistance. Seizing the opportunity, Elara's sword descended, slicing through the man's neck. Ignoring the gurgled cries, she raised her shield just in time to block another arrow from the remaining archer.
Scrambling to her feet, she dodged the archer's next shot. Lunging forward, she knocked the bow out of the archer's hands and swiftly ended her, the blade plunging through the woman's gut.
Exhausted, she sighed, turning to find Hadvar successfully dispatching the last soldier, the lifeless body tumbling into the dark waters below. Collecting the remaining arrows and a longbow, she decided that she would probably need a drink to forget the faces of the mangled bodies in front of her.
Hadvar approached, a bloodied smirk adorning his face. "You fight well, I thought I was going to have to do all the heavy lifting," he remarked.
Elara's grimace hinted at her discomfort with the compliment, and without a word, she took the lead down the remaining tunnel. "Are we getting closer?" she inquired, glancing over her shoulder at him. His boots echoed against the cave floor, each step kicking up dirt that made her cough.
The distant rumbles of the cave and the roars of the dragon outside seemed to be fading away.
"Yes, just up here," Hadvar replied, his gaze dropping to Elara.
She noticed his stare and annoyance crept into her voice. "What're you looking at?"
"Just wondering how a Dunmer got caught up with us," he admitted, his words tinged with curiosity. She frowned at the question.
"Well, it wasn't because I was trying to cross the border," she replied dryly, her eyes forward as they reached the end of the tunnel, opening into a larger cave.
"I mean no offense. I believe your people should be able to go where they please," he quickly added, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. Elara, however, had other concerns. She squatted down, grabbing him by his armor to force him into a crouch, hiding behind an abandoned carriage.
"What? What is it?" Hadvar whispered, his eyes searching hers.
"Bear," she whispered back, pointing at the sleeping creature up ahead.
"Well, we can try to kill it or—" Hadvar began, but Elara was already on the move. She kept low, sneaking around the creature. There was no room for recklessness, not when she was just itching to be out of this cave.
Hadvar's armor clinked softly as he followed her lead, sneaking behind her as they made their way out of the cave. As they reached the exit, the sunlight spilled into the cave, illuminating Elara's face. A subtle smile crossed her lips, a momentary reprieve from the tension.
"A little farther, and you'll reach Riverwood. Thank you for your help in there," the imperial said, breaking the brief tranquility. The reminder of their roles brought her back to reality, her hand tightening around the hilt of her sword.
She stepped away from him, the distance between them growing.
"Hey now, no need for any more aggression. I'm not gonna bring you in," Hadvar reassured, holding his hands up in a gesture of peace. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, her defiance cutting through the air like a dagger.
"Not like I'd give you the chance again," Elara retorted defiantly, her gaze unwavering.
"In my eyes, you've already been redeemed. But I'd stay away from other imperials, just in case," he murmured, his words a quiet revelation. She furrowed her eyebrows, studying Hadvar with a mix of confusion and hesitation. The contrast to the callousness she had experienced from other soldiers earlier in the day left her wondering about his motivations.
"Why?" she questioned, her tone accusatory, the sword in her hand now pointed at him. The blade's tip hovered just inches from his throat, a silent threat.
"I don't believe you've done anything wrong," Hadvar admitted, his eyes steady on the weapon at his throat.
She took a moment to absorb his words, the weight of his statement sinking in. What if he’s lying?
After a contemplative pause, she lowered her weapon, the tension in the air dissipating.
"You said there's a town?"