Following the crazy Nord men turned out to be a Very Bad idea. Ralof and Ulfric ambushed the Imperial Captain –no complaints there- and her companion, stripped them of their gear and valuables and then turned to me.
“How’re you with a sword lass?” Ulfric held out an Imperial sword for me to take. I hefted it in my hand, the weight was a little more than I was used to, and the blade was much too thick for my liking, but it would do.
We came across a dead Stormcloak –Ralof explained to me about their whole “free Skyrim for the Nords” campaign. I resisted the urge to poke logic shaped holes in their plans, these men were my ticket out of here after all. – and stripped him too. They turned speculative eyes towards me and held out the armor for me to take.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, I’m not putting it on with you staring at me. I do have standards you know.” Ulfric’s lips quirked and he pulled Ralof a little ways down the hall from me. I ducked behind a wooden cart and set about to putting on the cuirass, boots, and gloves.
It was obvious that the man this had come from was several sizes larger than me and much taller. The rip in the fabric from the chest wound that’d killed him was on my thighs, not my chest. I had to roll up the leggings several times for them to even get past my ankles and the gloves and boots weren’t even worth seeing if they fit.
“I never noticed before, but you’re very short, aren’t you?” it was true, on Ulfric; I barely came up to his chest. On people back home it was slightly better; I usually came up to their shoulders.
“I prefer the term “vertically challenged,” thanks.” Ralof was laughing at the sight I made; the cuirass was almost a dress on me. “Don’t think that just because I’m small I can’t fight.” I waved the sword threateningly at him, “I might not be very strong, but what I lack in strength, I make up in speed and guile.” Ralof quickly stopped laughing as the sword came very close to his nose.
We continued for a while, killing Imperials here and there. Ralof and Ulfric got to see my swordsmanship first hand, against a heavily armored soldier. Once I’d killed him, I turned to him, wiping the blood of my blade, “See? Told you I could hold my own.” They didn’t say anything but I swore I saw what looked like respect in Ulfric’s eyes.
We got to a storeroom on the lower levels of the keep, “See if you can find any potions around here, we might need them.” There were a few lying out in the open and I rummaged around in the sacks for some apples and cabbages. “Why don’t you look in those barrels?” Said barrels were almost as tall as I was; my head just cleared the tops. I shot Ralof a dirty look.
“Check the barrels he said. Do you Nords have to make everything so large? Check your own damn barrels; I’ve no wish to fall into them trying to get to the contents!”
After that debacle, Ralof stopped talking to me altogether and Ulfric didn’t seem inclined to break the silence, so it was quiet, which suited me fine; I might seem like this wasn’t bothering me to them, with my snarky comebacks and comments, but this scared me. I’d traveled from home before, but that was usually on boats that docked at nice, safe cities. With baths.
Suddenly, I heard something that made my flesh creep. “Say, does Skyrim have the same giant spider problem the rest of Tamriel has?”
“Yes, they’re called frostbite spiders, why?” Ralof half turned to look at me.
“Well, don’t look now, but I get the feeling that we may or may not have just walked right into a nest of them.” I choked back a whimper of fear. Ulfric cursed and fired his bow at one of the things hanging from the cave ceiling.
“Can’t you, I don’t know, blast them with a fireball or something?” Ralof called to me from where he was bludgeoning one with his axe.
I was, unabashedly, cowering near the doorway, “Yeah, uhm, no can do, sorry. I’ll, uh, just wait here until you’re finished.” I dodged a ball of spider goop one of the giant spiders fired my way.
Ulfric and Ralof dispatched of the spiders and I cautiously made my way into the middle of the room. “I thought all of you Bretons could do magic?”
Anger flared inside me, here were more people expecting me to be certain way just because of who I am, I get that enough at home, am I cursed to have people want me to be who I’m not?
“Well I can’t, sorry to disappoint you.” I turned away from him and started down the other passage, “I was born without the ability to manipulate the magicka inside me. A block if you will. It’s not that I choose not to use it, it’s that I literally cannot.” I half turned to see them, “Can we keep going? I’d like to be out of here before next month.” Ulfric was looking at me with a gleam in his eyes, something about it made me slightly uncomfortable.
Magic came as easily as breathing to my family, being 10th generation mages. Until me. I was always the weird one, more interested in blades and tactics, even before we learned I couldn't use magicka. The only common ground my brothers and I had, was our love of books.
*Edit on 10/10/14 for grammar/spelling, indents, cleaning up that last paragraph entirely.*
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About the sizes: Aeron is only 5'0" (152.4 cm) on a good day, I'm estimating that the average Nord is anywhere from 6'0" - 6'5" (182 - 192 cm) therefore, their barrels would have to be slightly taller, somewhere along the lines of 5'3". Therefore, Aeron wouldn't even really be able to see into the barrels.
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That being said, I really need to stop writing these chapt... more