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Skyrim - Child of Akatosh

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"Since the death of the High King and the beginning of the Civil War, bandit raids on travellers have become more frequent," Amren remarks, his voice tinged with concern as he polishes his sword.

Signe nods in agreement, her gaze sweeping over the bustling streets where the chaos of daily life unfolds. "Yes, I've noticed the increase in jobs for The Companions as well," she replies, lending a helping hand to Amren's wife, Saffir, as they pick up her wares after the children running through the streets toppled her cart.

 

"I respect the man, but what was he thinking?" Bjorn's voice carries a note of frustration as he works alongside Signe and Torber, pitching in to clean the stables. "Skyrim became a bloodbath overnight, with friends and family turning against each other. He shouldn't have used the Thu'um on Torygg. Now Skyrim is without a king," he adds, his voice heavy with concern, "and the Aldmeri Dominion will surely seize this opportunity to strengthen their hold on Skyrim."

 

"Bjorn, you're aware that you just worded the prophecy of my future," Signe says quietly, her voice tinged with a hint of foreboding. "When Skyrim is without a king and the sons of Skyrim spill their own blood..."

Bjorn's gaze snaps up to meet Signe's, and he can't shake the chill that runs down his spine as he catches a glimpse of her eyes turning orange for a fleeting moment. The weight of his words hangs heavy in the air, as the implications of what Ulfric’s action set in motion begin to sink in.

 

Signe's attention is drawn away from the tense moment with Bjorn as a courier approaches, clearing his throat to gain her attention. He extends a letter toward her, bearing the seal of Solitude.

 

My dearest Skinny Nord,                                                                                                                                                                      

You need to visit me urgently.                                                                                                                            

Love, Your handsome Bosmer

 

It has been eight months since Roggvir’s escape and Signe is not keen to return to Solitude but if Daelyn says it is urgent she must go.

 

“I have arranged for you to sing tonight at The Winking Skeever. I will attend your performance with an Altmer who I have been using for information for more than a year.”

Daelyn leaves Signe’s room for her to rest and turns back, “Please wear something close-fitting tonight, ask Lisette to help you choose one of her outfits.”

Signe glares at him, “Why? Do you want to sell me like a wench?” she retorts, frustration evident in her tone.

Daelyn's laughter echoes down the hallway as he closes her door.

 

Signe adjusts the borrowed red dress, her fingers tugging at the tight fabric. Despite their similar builds, the dress feels constricting around Signe's larger breasts, leaving her feeling somewhat uncomfortable.

With a resigned sigh, she gazes at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the sight of herself in the form-fitting attire. "Time to be a spy that looks like a wench," she murmurs.

One of Hadvar’s friends whistles when he sees Signe, “Hadvar will be sorry that he did not see you in this dress.”

Signe offers a polite smile in response to the whistle, her disappointment at Hadvar's absence evident in her tone. "Where is Hadvar?" she inquires, her voice tinged with a sense of longing. “He and soldiers from the Imperial City went to Helgen, some trouble they expect there.”

 

Daelyn signals for Signe to join him and an Altmer after her performance. “Signe, this is Orondil and he likes to talk to the pretty Bard.” He pulls a chair for her to be seated and presses a kiss to her temple. “Please excuse me, the love of my life needs me at home.” With a smile and a wink, Daelyn excuses himself, leaving Signe with Orondil.

 

"Orondil, Daelyn mentioned that you have some interesting stories about your work at the Thalmor Headquarters," Signe asks with a slight smile.

Orondil nods, “All the letters from the Dominion are delivered to my office. I rewrite it in code and send it to the various Justiciars stationed in Skyrim. These letters are confidential and if you want to hear about them, I want some kind of compensation.” Signe's discomfort grows as Orondil speaks, his gaze lingering on her low-cut dress with a hunger that makes her skin crawl. Despite her reservations, she tries to maintain her composure, leaning back in her chair in a feeble attempt to create some distance between them.

 

Signe's discomfort intensifies as Orondil leans closer and lies his hand upon hers with a suggestive touch “Maybe we can swap stories in my chambers at the Thalmor Headquarters, and I can show you some of the letters and maybe something more.”

Instinctively, she withdraws her hand. “I would like to listen to your stories here where we can have a drink while talking”

Signe signals to Corpulus for a round of drinks. Orondil swallows the brandy eagerly and holds his goblet out to Corpulus, looking at Signe. Signe nods and Corpulus fills the goblet, leaving the bottle on the table.

 

“What can you tell me about the soldiers stationed at Helgen?” Signe steers the conversation towards a topic of interest, hoping that his drunken state will cloud his judgment and make him more forthcoming with information.

“The Thalmor Justiciar sent the soldiers to Helgen because they are after a man with red eyes and a strange-looking sword. Why the interest in the sword I do not know, but they think he will try to cross the border at Pale Pass into Cyrodill. All I know is that they want him and are prepared to wait until he shows.”

 

Orondil pours his goblet to the brim and empties it in a single swallow. Signe watches with a mixture of amusement and concern as his head makes contact with the table. Signe exchanges a puzzled glance with Corpulus, who only shrugs and grins.

 

 

Daelyn greets Signe with a mischievous grin when she enters the kitchen, “Did Orondil behave?”

“Why are you even friends with that man? " Signe questions, her frustration evident in her tone as she recalls Orondil's unwelcome advances. The memory of his sweaty hand on hers sends a shiver down her spine.

“Did he like the brandy?” Daelyn's response is cryptic, his grin widening.

"You... you drugged the brandy!" Signe accuses, her voice tinged with disbelief at the methods he employed to ensure her safety.

 

Signe starts to push her belongings in her backpack. “ I am leaving tomorrow morning at daybreak, I need to get to Pale Pass. The Thalmor are looking for a man with red eyes and a strange sword. I have a feeling that it is the boy…. Man with Brynjar.”

Signe meets Daelyn's shocked expression, the fear in his eyes mirroring the unease reflected in hers.

 

**************

 

10th of Last Seed E 201 –

Signe cuts through the woods and mountain South of Falkreath to avoid Helgen. A few miles from Pale Pass she spots a few merchants at a fire.

Signe approaches the group of merchants with a polite greeting “Good evening gentlemen, may I join you at your fire?” She offers bottles of mead from her saddlebag to share around the fire.

Once settled around the fire, Signe broaches the topic that brought her to their campsite. “I am looking for a man with a strange sword going towards Pale Pass, has anyone seen him?”

“No, we have not seen anyone today.” A merchant answers while walking away.

An Argonian merchant, unpacking his bedroll, walks to Signe and sits down next to her. “I delivered food at Helgen a few days ago, before the imperial soldiers arrived. There was a shackled man in a carriage. A Thalmor Justiciar was asking him about a sword. Maybe this is the man you are looking for?”

 

“That’s her,” a voice called from the shadows.

Signe turns around at the sound of the voice. A Thalmor wizard and Elven soldiers emerge from the shadows behind the merchant. Instictively she reaches for her bow, remembering that she left it tied to Paint sending a surge of panic through her veins.

“Run Paint, run away!” Signe's desperate cry fills the air as she watches in horror as the Thalmor wizard unleashes a shock spell, paralyzing her with a jolt of electricity. Unable to move, she collapses to the ground, her body wracked with pain when an Elven soldier delivers two vicious kicks before she loses consciousness.

 

 

Signe's senses slowly return as she opens her eyes to find herself bound to a chair in a small, dimly lit room.

“Go get the Justiciar, she is awake.”

A few seconds later a Justiciar stands in front of Signe, “Why are you inquiring about a strange sword?”

Signe looks him in the eyes. “Maybe I need it to stab you in the heart with it when I find it.” Her face stings from the strike.

 

“Let us try again, why are you looking for the man with the sword?”

Signe looks at him with contempt and answers through gritted teeth, “I told you, I need it to stab you in the heart.” The taste of blood fills Signe's mouth as the Justiciar strikes her once more. She spits out the blood and meets his gaze with a bloody smile.

 

“You will answer the Justiciar, or I will make you talk,” Signe grits her teeth against the pain as the chair is kicked out from under her, sending her crashing to the ground. He uncoils a whip from his waist and with a sharp yank on her hair, he hauls her forcibly from the ground. “Tie her to the torture rack, my whip wants to taste blood”

 

Two soldiers drag Signe to the rack and tie her hands above her head. She can hear the singing of the whip as it swings through the air and then red, hot, pain when it strikes her back. Signe grits her teeth against the searing agony as the whip lashes across her back, refusing to give them the satisfaction of hearing her pain.

Her world blurs into a haze of pain as the whip comes down on her back, again and again.

The soldier prepares to strike again, but the Jusiciar’s shout stops his motion. “Wait!” With a swift motion, he rips open her bloodied shirt, exposing the Mark of Akatosh etched into her flesh. Angry curses fill the air.

“Send word to Justiciar Ondolemar in Markarth to come to Helgen as soon as possible. We have found the Nord bitch with the Mark of Akatosh on her back.” the Justiciar says before hitting her with a shock spell.

 

16th of Last Seed 4E 201 –

The Imperial captain shoves Signe into a cell and she falls face down in a pile of hay covering the floor.

Strong hands reach out to help her sit up. “Let me help you.”

She gratefully accepts the assistance, allowing herself to be guided into a more comfortable position.

The man unties her gently and holds a waterskin to her parched lips. "Small sips, girl," he murmurs softly, "we do not want you to choke."

 

Signe struggles to keep the torn shirt from slipping off her shoulders. A curse escapes one of the prisoners as he catches sight of the jagged gashes crisscrossing her back. He swiftly removes his shirt and extends it to her. "Let me help you," he offers. Gently, he guides her arms, carefully slipping the shirt over her head. "Why are you a prisoner of the Imperials?" he asks, his voice heavy with concern.

"Thalmor," Signe replies hoarsely, "I am a prisoner of the Thalmor."

 

17th of Last Seed 4E 201 –

Signe cries out in pain as a booted foot crashes into her back. "Wake up, rebels," the soldier barks, his voice cruel, "Today you all face the headsman's axe." With a rough shove, he urges them forward, leading them through a narrow passage that opens into a vast chamber.

 

Three cages line one wall, each imprisoning a soldier. The Imperial soldier strides purposefully to one cage, the metal bars rattling as he unlocks it. A towering figure steps from the cage. A man of formidable strength, his hands bound behind his back, his mouth silenced by a muzzle.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, today you meet your end," the soldier sneers, his voice thick with disdain, "Slayer of Kings."

Ulfric's gaze shifts to Signe, a silent exchange passing between them. With a subtle nod, he steps closer to her, his towering frame casting a shadow. He leans forward slightly, meeting her eyes with a silent understanding that speaks volumes.

 

At the door, a rough bag is forcibly pulled over Signe's head, plunging her into darkness. A firm grip seizes her arm, guiding her through the door and into the open air.

Signe's ears are assaulted by shouting and cheering when the Stormcloaks make their entrance. Names are called out, mingling with the grim sound of the axe swinging and the jubilant cheers that follow each severed head.

 

A forceful shove propels Signe forward, causing her to stumble, her knees buckling beneath her. She collapses to the ground with a sharp thud, pain shooting through her limbs. As she struggles to rise, a hand yanks at the bag covering her head, momentarily granting her vision.

Blinking against the harsh light, Signe looks up, her eyes meeting the gaze of the man standing before her. With a sudden cry, he recoils, his expression twisted with shock and horror.

 

"Signe, no, it cannot be," Hadvar exclaims, shock etched across his features. He turns urgently to the woman beside him, "Captain, this woman's name is not on the list. I know her, she is not a Stormcloak."

The captain's gaze flickers to Signe, "No, she is a Thalmor prisoner, sentenced to death. Headsman, you may proceed."

Beside her, Ulfric Stormcloak kneels at the other block. He bows his head, placing his neck upon the block.

“Even on his knees and in this position, he looks like a king.” Signe thinks lowering her head and placing her neck upon the cold wood. "Today I die on my Twenty-first Name Day," she reflects. With a resigned acceptance, she braces herself, waiting to hear the swift descent of the headsman's blade.

 

 

Signe's mark of Akatosh begins to vibrate, and a strange sensation courses through her, filling her head with an unfamiliar sound that reverberates within her soul. "Something is coming," she whispers urgently.

Raising her head, Signe locks eyes with Hadvar, her eyes the colour of fire. "Hadvar, Jarl Ulfric," she calls out, "something is coming."

With a sudden sense of dread, Signe turns her attention to Ulfric, her voice ringing out with a desperate plea. "Get up, run. It is here."

 

Hadvar extends a hand to Signe, pulling her up from the ground with a firm grip. All eyes turn skyward when a massive shadow blots out the sun. A dragon flies toward them with a roar that shakes the very earth. The roar brings forth meteors that fall from the sky above. The ground trembles beneath their impact, sending shockwaves rippling through the air. Panic grips the crowd as they scramble for cover, their voices drowned out by the deafening roar of the dragon and the thunderous crash of falling meteors. Signe turns around to look at the devastation and death around her. The dragon turns and flies towards Signe, breathing fire.

 

Hadvar hoists Signe onto his shoulder, his feet pounding against the earth as he races toward the safety of the keep while the dragon turns around for another pass, its fiery breath scorching everything in its path. The air fills with the acrid scent of burning flesh and the agonized screams of those caught in the dragon's infernal embrace. Buildings crumble and collapse under the onslaught, engulfed in flames that lick hungrily at the sky.

 

With a gentle hand, Hadvar lowers Signe to the safety of the floor inside the building, his touch reassuring. Swiftly, he cuts the binds before turning his attention to the other prisoners. “There is a way out through a cave at the end of the passage, come this way.” Hadvar takes the lead, guiding them through the dimly lit corridors of the building. Finally, they reach the end of the passage, and a vast cavern unfolds before them.

 

Ulfric approaches Signe and he takes her right hand in his own, his touch gentle yet firm. "That day in Solitude," he begins, "I saw your eyes, the same colour as they are today, Child of Akatosh. I do not think your eyes will ever be amber again."

As Ulfric lifts her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her father's ring, "You will always be welcome in Windhelm, Child of Whitewyrm,"

With a final nod of farewell, he and his men disappear into the swirling smoke.

 

Hadvar turns to Signe, “Go with Ralof to Riverwood and warn them. I will go to Solitude and warn the Imperial army. Evil has returned to Skyrim and the people must know.”

Hadvar takes Signe in his arms and kisses her on the forehead. “Today all my dreams of me and you lie broken before our feet,” Hadvar murmurs, his voice thick with regret. "Helgen will always be a bridge between us, neither of us can cross." With a heavy heart, Hadvar turns away, his footsteps echoing against the cavern walls.

 

Ralof's voice breaks through the silence. "We must leave as soon as possible," his tone urgent. "This place will be swarming with Imperials in a couple of hours."

Signe shakes her head. "You go ahead and warn Riverwood," she replies firmly. "I must go back and find someone or evidence of where the Thalmor took him."

She turns around and heads back into Helgen Keep.

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