Thread: Skyrim in Chains (Collector x IrishRose)

How he had convinced her of this, she would never know. Skyrim had changed. It wasnt the free kingdom that she had grown up in, that she had fought for. This return to tradition was hard on everyone that wasnt a Nord man but life had been manageable. She had grown up happily enough, her Imperial mother and her Nordic father an example of the sort of loving couple that she might, in her less guarded moments, express wistful hope for finding herself. It had been her mother that had been a member of the Companions before her, her father a blacksmith and devoted to his tiny, fierce wife. It was from her mother that she got her ferocity and her black hair, from her father that she got her humor and her dark blue eyes. They had both contributed to her temper, and to her sense of honor, and the rule in their household had been whatever the cost, do what is right. Honor, duty, loyalty, charity and protection to those less fortunate, courage in the face of danger, all of these were the code she lived by, the creed that had been woven into the very fabric of who she was, as much a part of her as her mothers nose and her fathers smile. When the new freewoman laws had been passed down, she had been among the first to join the fight. Shed heard tales of brother fighting brother and families torn asunder by conflicting ideologies regarding the Empire and Skyrim, but had never thought to experience herself. It seemed that she was to learn what it was to slay her countrymen. Her mother and father had left Skyrim when the winds began to change, so she was at least able to rest easy knowing that her family was safe. She had refused to go with them what manner of woman would she be, she asked them, if she were to escape to safety and leave the other women of Skyrim to their plight? Her parents were worried for her but they understood. Unchanging and fierce as the northern mountains, for Tasia it wasnt a choice so much as a responsibility. And she took her responsibilities very seriously. Things had gone well for them for the first few battles. Men as a general rule wanted to capture the rebels, not kill them. Add to that fact that there were enough women like Tasia who had made their livelihoods through battle, or hunting, or other dangerous combative means and the first strikes were a rallying cry for the rest of the women of Skyrim. But things couldnt hope to go so well forever. They didnt have the numbers, the supplies, the leadership. Tasia was a phenomenal warrior put a greatsword or a battleaxe in her hand and it was a rare man alive that could touch her. But she wasnt a leader, had tactical training and was used to fighting alone, not as a unit. In more guerilla style attacks she was unstoppable. When fighting with other women and men it was more of a handicap. It was only a matter of time, really it wasnt surprising that they lost the battle, but that they had held out for as long as they did. It had been after a sound defeat near the end of the rebellion when she had stumbled, bleeding heavily and nearly delirious, into the khajit caravan that she had frequented so often before all of this insanity. Kiro had been a good friend to her over the years, ever since she was a little girl going with her father to trade with the caravans and shed been delighted and fascinated with the walking, talking versions of her kitten back home. Kiro was a slimy sort of fellow, but she could recognize the same drive to protect that which he cared about, namely the caravan, that she herself had. Their methods were different but it wasnt her place to judge, given the hardships that non-humans had to face in Skyrim. It had been Kiro that had found her, nearly bleeding to death from an axe wound though the axe wielder hadnt fared as favorably as she had she took his head while he had only hacked into her side. The khajit cared for her, tended her wounds and kept her warm and fed and safe. Hed always had a silver tongue, and with her a rather captive audience, he had used that silver tongue to convince her to abandon the rebellion and allow him to become her protector. It stung her pride to be anyones ward, especially someone like Kiro, someone that she would have seen herself more as a protector of than being protected by. He was smaller than her by nearly a full head, quick and crafty where she was strong and powerful. Still, over the course of his care of her, he eventually convinced her that the rebellion was doomed to fail and that she could do more good alive than she could a martyr for a lost cause. And now, here they were, having gotten through the ordeal of convincing the Windhelm authorities to allow Kiro to have protectorate over her she had no idea how he did that and had finally been allowed to return to her little home on the outskirts of the city. She hadnt gotten to stay in it much, usually being sent on missions for the Companions and visiting her family and then living on the run as part of the rebellion. It was odd to come back to it, only now for it to be Kiros house rather than hers. She hesitated, glancing at the khajit a moment and feeling a sharp pang of frustrated defeat. It wasnt his fault, he was only doing what he had to do by the new rules of Skyrim. It didnt mean that she had to like it. The house isnt very large. Not a big plot of land either. Well in the back, a couple of fields to either side, a stable attached to the house. Not much to see. The house itself was laid out in a very open fashion, which wasnt surprising given that it was a small house, meant for one person. It was comfortable though, full of little personal touches and cozy her motherd had a hand in its set up and decoration. Shed paid well for good furnishings, her home was almost luxurious, as fine as any house in Solitude or Markarth. A hot spring fed into the bathing room in the lower portion of the house, a large pantry off from the cooking hearth and a large, open main room, with bed and dresser off to the back side, chairs and couch near the hearth for warmth. It wasnt the largest house by any means, nor the most opulent, but it was home, and it was hers. Well, it used to be. Now it, like everything else she owned, like even she herself, belonged to Kiro. And even if he was her friend, she couldnt help but feel a little curl of fear in her belly at the thought of just how helpless she was now.