A Skyrim Tale: Vilkas and OC

One

The young Breton moaned suddenly as her head began to throb. She was bouncing around and in that moment, she knew she was in a carriage. Her eyes opened and then shut as quickly as a sharp pain surged through the front of her head. She tried again a moment later, opening her eyes, her vision still a little fuzzy, but she managed to stay awake.

"You're up." She heard a deep voice say. She looked around and saw three men in the carriage, not including the Imperial guard. She was about to send her right hand to assist her head, only to find that her hands were bound at the wrist.
"Who are you?" She croaked out at the Nord across from her. He had long blonde hair and circles around his eyes.
The man says, "Ralof of Riverwood. And yourself?"
"Gwynyn of High Rock." She attempted to be as vague as possible so she didn't have to explain herself to these people.

Her head began to throb again as the pair of men without gags began to argue. She groaned again and bits and pieces of what had happened to her began to come back.

She was just a humble Breton in search of a change in Skyrim. She had attended the best magic college in all of High Rock and had learned quite a bit more from her mother, Evrayelle D'arbel, and her mentor, Triant Mar'yun. Her father was never in her life and her mother never spoke of him, except that he was a traveling Nord who left three months into her mother's pregnancy.

After Gwynyn learned this, she only focused on the Breton side of her, with the occasional armor and sword training. She despised Nords, but she knew it was unfair to judge a whole race based off of her awful father, so she decided to start anew in Skyrim after her mother passed.

"Where are you from?" Ralof asks the other man.
"Why do you care?" He spits back, scared out of his wits.
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"Rorikstead. I...I'm from Rorikstead." He begins to whimper and mutter about death, calling on the Divines for help.

Gwynyn wasn't about to listen to that. She was going to find a way out of this. She always did.

She looked down at herself and realized that they had left everything intact on her light armor, which meant they shouldn't have found the potions she keeps, but she did know they took her sword and daggers. She sighed and bit her lip just as the carriage came to a stop. Maybe this was the end...

"Why are they stopping?" The man from Rorikstead asks.
"What do you think?" Gwynyn asks carefully, "End of the line."
"No, they can't do this to me!" He yells out.
"Accept your fate like a Nord, man." Ralof tells him as the four people pile out of the chair. The Imperial Captain begins to list off the names before the dark haired Nord makes a run for it. Gwynyn holds her breath as the archers shot him, but she was last.
The man asks, "Who are you?"
She says, holding her head high, "I am Gwynyn D'arbel of High Rock."

His eyes travel up and down her body, from her thin figure mutilated by the armor, to her white, almost silvery skin. Her eyes were a bright blue, which were the only sign of her being Breton and she had three scars running down the left side of her face. Her long blonde hair was mostly down, except for a small bit on both sides braided to hold the hair from her eyes. She had to strands of black feathers attached to the top of her head and he could almost see the Nord in her. The war paint across her nose was so elegant, and he knew that she had been raised by Bretons, and by the potions they found in her armor.

"Long way from home, then, huh, Breton?" He turns to the captain, "What do we do? She's not on the list." Gwynyn follows the captain over to chopping block, where it's already begun. One man has already accepted his fate, lying down on the block. But before he can swing, a loud roar is heard through the mountains. They continue with the execution, ignoring the beast in their midst, and as the ax comes down, Gwynyn can't help but yelling at the executioner.
"You Imperial Bastards!" She screeches, still scared on wit's end, but she found that one bit of courage so that she could fight the Imperials in her last few moments. Then, the roaring sounds again, but the captain only continues.
"Next the Breton!" She calls out. Gwynyn sighs and breathes through her nose, approaching the chopping block slowly, laying down sideways without a word. She silently prays to the Divines, watching the bloody ax rise over the executioner's  masked head, as if that would hide him from the watchful eyes of the Divines, and just as he prepares to swing down on her neck, a dragon swoops down and lands on the watchtower.

Gwynyn gasps and the executioner falls. She stands and just as she does so, the Dragon shouts and she falls back down. Her vision goes fuzzy a moment before the Imperial guard calls to her.

She follows him, running as best she can with her hands bound. She makes it inside the keep, following Ralof of Riverwood. Ralof offers to cut off her bindings, but she simply uses her fire magic to burn them off. Ralof raised an eyebrow at her, but simply sheathes his dagger. Before anyone else can speak, the dragon bursts through the wall and breathes fire, causing all to shriek.

The dragon flies off and Gwynyn is the first to run to the gaping hole in the wall. She watches as the dragon flies to terrorize more people of Helgen. She jumped down to the inn without another word and was followed by Ralof. It's impossible for her to keep her eyes on the dragon and the path she's taking at the same time, but suddenly, the Imperial guard tackles her to the ground.

She looks up just before she begins to kick and scream, and sees that the dragon had flown right above them and landed within fifty yards.

"Follow me." The guard orders. Gwynyn looks back a moment, Ralof lost in the storm, and follows the guard. He leads her into the Keep and they both catch their breath. "I'm Hadvar." The guard says. Gwynyn stays silent, refusing to speak with him. I should have followed the Stormcloak. She thinks. Hadvar says, "Look around. There ought to be a sword or two around here and some better armor."

Better? There was no way Gwynyn would trade her armor...except for something way better.

She looked through the chests quickly, taking just about everything, giving her a total sum of 54 gold bits, along with two Iron swords and some lock picks.

She and Hadvar make their way through the keep, silently, killing four Stormcloaks before they reached the Torture Chamber, where Gwynyn found her new armor: a set of Mage robes. After picking the lock with about three picks, she finally got in, taking the gold, literally the clothes off the man's back, and a book of Sparks, though she already knew the spell. She quickly changed into the robes, and left behind her armor. Pulling the hood up, Hadvar says, "Let's go."

Killing Frostbite Spiders, more Stormcloaks, and a bear, the pair finally made it through the maze underneath Helgen and into the world above. Gwynyn smiles and sheathes her sword before letting the sun soak into her fair skin.

"I owe you my life." Hadvar says seriously, smiling softly. "And I believe this belongs to you." He pulls something out of his armor and handed it to her. Her fingers grazed over the intricate design of her Amulet of Mara as she slipped it over her head.
"Thank you." She said, her voice as smooth as silk.
The brunette man smiles and says, "And so she speaks! My uncle owns the blacksmith in Riverwood. If we head there, I'm sure he'd be happy to help."
Gwynyn thinks it over a moment before nodding, "I'd be in your debt, Hadvar."