And here it is, the last of my three first meetings. And probably the last time I’ll do three posts like this for one prompt (most likely).
And this meeting should be familiar to everyone who has ever played Skyrim. This is of course, my alternate-timeline Besharat (who I’ve posted about as Stormcloak!Besharat before) and Ralof. I’ve taken some liberties and expanded the conversation beyond what the game offers, since we aren’t waiting to see what kind of character you’re going to be. And yes, this is an AU version of my canon LDB. I have my reasons for having a second version of her instead of a completely different character (mostly that I couldn’t find one that fit the same way).
Warnings- none
Length- about 1k
As always, prompts courtesy of @hombrediablo
(Everyone knows what this first meeting looks like. It’s been memed to death. So here’s a picture of them in Whiterun right before going to fight Mirmulnir)
***
It looked like my first day in Skyrim was going to be my last one. My last one anywhere, at that.
I opened my eyes to bumping and jostling beneath me. I was in a cart of some sort. I tried to reach up, and discovered my hands were bound in front of me.
"Hey you, you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into the Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." A big, blond man was sitting across from me, similarly bound. He wore mail with a blue cloak over top.
It came back in a rush. I'd been walking, and had come upon these men on the road. I'd exchanged polite greetings with a couple of them as we'd walked near the back of the line. They'd been telling me the best way to get to Whiterun when everything had gone mad. Shouts, horses, and then we'd been attacked. I'd fought, but something had knocked me unconscious.
"I remember. Sort of." I shivered. It was then I realized why. I was only wearing my shirt and breeches, now filthy. Everything else was gone: my warm clothes, my armor, my weapons, my pack. Even my boots were replaced with ragged ones. A pang went through my heart.
"They took all my stuff..." I mumbled.
The blond man nodded. "They were probably looking for evidence. I think they wanted to connect you to us, however they could. I'm sorry for that, my lady."
"My name is Besharat. When I was in Cyrodil, they called me Earth-Breaker."
"I'm Ralof. And I wish we could've met under better circumstances."
"Me, too."
"We told them you weren't with us, but they threw you in here anyway. I guess they didn't really care."
"My people and the Empire aren't on the best of terms anymore." I shrugged. "Trying to sell us out to the Aldmeri to save their own asses tends to do that. I hear you Nords know what that's like."
"Aye, we do." He nodded.
"You damn Stormcloaks!" The man beside him hissed. "Empire was nice and lazy before you lot. I could've been halfway to Hammerfell with that horse by now!" He looked over at me. "It's them the Empire wants, not us! We have to tell them!"
"We tried, and they didn't listen. Whether you like it or not, we're all brothers and sisters in binds now." Ralof shrugged.
"Shut up back there!" The wagon driver shouted back at us.
I held up my hands, concentrating. Nothing happened. I tried again, frowning harder.
“What’re you doing?” Ralof asked.
“Trying to channel my magicka. It’s not working for some reason.”
“You’re a mage?”
“No. But I know a handful of spells. Destruction magic, a bit of healing. Useful stuff for a warrior, but nothing really big. But nothing’s working at all right now. Maybe getting hit over the head is messing me up.”
“That’s too bad. We could’ve used it.” Ralof sighed.
“Yeah. No kidding. Dammit.”
“It’s alright, sister. Maybe it’s a sign that we aren’t meant to escape. Who can say?”
"What's up with him?" The thief asked, pointing to the man sitting beside me and changing the subject. He was dressed in finer clothes than any of us, and was both bound and gagged.
"Watch your tongue," Ralof glared. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."
The thief paled. "Ulfric… You're the leader of the rebellion. If you're here...gods where are they taking us?"
Ralof shrugged. "I don't know. But I think either way, Sovngarde awaits. For most of us, at least. I'm afraid I don't know much of Redguard ways." He looked at me.
"We go to The Far Shores."
"Ah. That has a nice sound. Where are you two from?"
"What do you care?" The thief spat.
"It's just a Nord’s, or anyone's, last thoughts should be of home. I'm from Riverwood."
"Rorikstead." The thief looked down at his hands. "I'm from Rorikstead.”
"Bergama. In the Alik'r Desert." I added.
"You're a long way from home." Ralof patted my knee, giving me a sad smile. I could only nod in reply. The stab in my heart at knowing I wouldn't see it again robbed me of any words.
Now there was shouting back and forth somewhere on the ground. A headsman was waiting for us. We were coming into a town now. People were watching us be carted in. Perhaps they'd watch us be executed, too. A picnic and a beheading. Isn’t that usually how that went? One always needed entertainment with their meal, didn’t they? And it would be exciting too, a bunch of Stormcloaks, including their leader… and a random Redguard. I knew I stuck out among the prisoners for being odd looking. Not only was I not a Nord, but my brown skin, red hair, and startling blue eyes made me stand out quite significantly. I was sure the locals would find me quite the sight as I took my turn at the block.
"This is Helgen." Ralof said absently, pulling me from my thoughts. "I used to be sweet on a girl here. I wonder if she's still here. You could come here… I wonder if Vilod still puts juniper berries in the mead… Ah. Back when I was a boy, and the Imperial walls and towers made me feel safe."
We wound our way through the streets, and I couldn’t help but agree with Ralof’s sentiment about the walls and towers. After all the time I’d spent in Cyrodil, they’d been ubiquitous sights, and usually signaled a safe place, unlike so many places that, while still ostensibly in the empire, were hardly policed or patrolled. But here they were not safe, not to us considered criminals. People were gossiping, pulling their children away.
We pulled up in front of a tower, the carts creaking to a halt...
