No Safe Place

"Phynlii, that's enough. You are not traveling through the Reach. What in Oblivion do you want in Skyrim? Andastyr questioned her with a furrowed brow. "And suffer the same fate as your parents, aye?"

Her face was straight with unamusement as she shifted her weight from one leg to the other. "Do you think I worship Daedra in the wild whilst prancing around in deer pelts? You can't keep me in Jehenna forever. I have traveled all of High Rock without trouble. The view around here has become stagnant."

The words pulled at his heart softening his facial expression with slight pain. The powerful and usually well reserved Breton melted at the thought of the closest thing to a daughter he had ever known leaving.

"Skyrim is nothing more than a land with a taste for war. Especially now. It is no secret that Ulfric Stormcloak murdered High King Torygg. The Emperor is surely next on his list. He is continuing his father's bidding." Andastyr sneered.

"I am not going for the politics. Plus, he's just standing for his beliefs. I could stand behind that." She said lowly diverting her eyes from his shocked stare. "Would you not fight for your beliefs or your land even? The Nords were there first! Those Thalmor have some gall. They shame the High Elves. By Oblivion, they shame all Mer!"

"The Altmer are our ancestors, Phynlii." He spat back at her rebelling thoughts. "That inludes the Thalmor. "

"The Nords will only further their hate for them as the Elves overstep their boundaries." She shrugged off his stupefaction. She stood taller than most female Bretons, even most males, as she got up from her seat. She pushed her chair in with a downward glance signifying that the discussion was over. "I need to know I can do this on my own. I am going to Skyrim, Dad."

Andastyr knew he couldn't hold her back forever. She had a vast amount of skills including swordplay and an affinity for most schools of magicka. No matter how cold her silver eyes had shone in the evening light, they always had the power to crumble the aging Breton's heart. Though he wasn't her father by blood, it was he who pulled the ice eyed baby from the sabre cat's terryfing muzzle as he passed through the Reach that fateful night. He witnessed her mother's body being sacrificed by her father, Phand Jak.

In his youth, Phand has been an old friend. The skillful sorcerer had been sucked into the ways Forsworn thinking he would one day be their king. Sacrificing his wife to the E'tada would his loyalty to their cause and to the old gods. Phynlii was only a little more than an infant left outside the camp to perish.

As the memories recollected in his mind, Andastyr cleared his throat as stood putting his arm around her in a half hug. "Just promise me you will write." He bargained.

"I shall as often as I can." She smiled wrapping her arms around the stubborn man. Where did he think she got her bullheadedness? "You know, I won't be gone forever."

The usual cool air was warm and smothering as Phynlii tried to rest before her new adventure. She tossed and turned as Secunda and sibling Masser made their way across the sky. Nirn's sun pierced the black blanket stars stirring its inhabitants to life. Phynlii pulled her cover up over her eyes as she tried to conserve her last bit of rest. Realizing it was too late, she stretched her arms above her head before getting out of her bed. Rubbing her eyes, she slowly strapped on her usual leather amor grabbing her knapsack as she left her room. Throwing her trusted knapsack across her shoulders, she passed through the rest of the house to meet Andastyr at the stables.

"Well, Britta is all ready for you, my dear child." He smoothed the mane of his prized mare.

"Are you sure you want me to take Britta? I know she's your favorite." Phynlii rubbed the ebon muzzle of the horse.

"Britta is my favorite for a reason. She will protect you if there is a need." He tightened the saddle as he did a mental check of everything. "Also, I want you to take this with you."

He handed me a glass dagger. "My father's glass dagger of ice. It's enchantment causes a foe to be paralyzed with frost for a couple moments giving you the opportunity to finish the job or flee."

She strapped it to her side along with her ebony sword on the other side. Grandda was a master enchanter. He taught Phynlii almost everything she knew of magicka. It was a grat honor to carry his blade.

"Thank you so much." She hugged him one last time. It was finally sinking in that she was about to journey to an unknown place without her dear father figure. Though it wasn't permanent, there was a quiet pain within her chest. "I promise I am coming back. Don't worry, ol' man."

"I will always worry, young one. " He smiled before kissing her forehead. "Take care of yourself, my sweet child. May the Eight bless you."

A comical smile played acrossed her face, "Nine! We can't forget Talos! I would like to be in the Nords' favor when I enter into their land. "

With one last look at the city of Jehenna, she departed on her journey. She was finally on a real adventure.

___________
18th of First Seed; Morndas

Andastyr,

I know I have only been gone for a few moons now, but writing you near this lonely campfire will help pass time. So far I have had little to no botheration getting through the Reach. Aside from the vast amount of wolvesn but that is the same with anywhere I've ever traveled.

I don't have much to say about my journey this far other than I hate the rocky terrain of the Reach. It has done a toll on my already ragged armor. Maybe I can find a good blacksmith in the next town. I do expect the rest of Skyrim to be far more beautiful than this.

Britta is doing well. I make sure she is fed, watered, and her hooves are free of muck anytime I get the chance. I know he misses you as much as I do, but I think she is enjoying our little adventure so far.

I have made it to the outskirts of Markarth. I can see its vast wall in the distance, but I have been on the move since the first ligh of this morn. Tomorrow, I should reach it by mid morning where I shall find a courier for this very letter.

I think I should try to get some rest. It is much harder to fall asleep in a bedrool compared to my comfortabe bed at home. Until til next time.

With Love,
Phynlii

__________

Upon finishing the letter, she lightly blew on the wet ink until it settled in dry. She folded it delicately after putting away her inkwell and quill. Only when she was done tending to Britta, did Phynlii finally unroll her bedroll. The fire dance and crackled as her eyelids slowly met each other.

"Well, well, Bran, what do we have here?" A ghost of a voice woke Phynlii from a deep slumber. Cautiously she slowly slid her hand towards the glass dagger placed under her pillow as her ebony sword was strapped onto Britta's saddle.

"Looks like a lonely little Breton to me, Phand." The man's smile was absolutely shuddersome. Her heartbeat rendered her near deaf as her pulse quickened. Her body tingle with a sudden desire for vengeance. His blood called out to her. She could sense his deftness in Magickca. It was enough to make someone's blood run cold. As she made it to her feet, small sparks danced at her fingertips as she conjured the simple spell; sparks.

"The Phand Jak of Jehenna?" She mustered with a snarl.

"Heard of me, have you?" His aged face twisted into a sickening grin. His eyes gleamed of a much higher, more mysterious power.

Heard of you. I plan to water Nirn with your sanguine fluid. Send your soul to Arkay before he damns you to Oblivion. The thoughts flooded her mind as her eyes never left his.

"Of course, I have heard of my father. Most daughters have great memories of theirs. I have the scars of being left to die." She spat as the other man's mouth fell open slightly. Just as she made eye contact with a firm grasp on her dagger, several guards surrounded her small camp. "Halt! Phand Jak of the Reach, you are under arrest for your crimes against Skyrim and her people."

The vile man snickered and he cut his eyes at Phynlii as she sheathed her dagger, but he didn't resist his hands ties along with his partner. "Won't be the last time."

Phynlii shivered at his words though the guards had already taken him away.

"M'lady?" A guard called with a thick accent. Phynlii was still zoned out in the disbelief that she was that close to him. It felt as if the moment was sand that sifted quickly through her fingers. She then realized there was a hand resting on her shoulder.

"Yes, sir?" She asked with heavy breath looking into his helmet concealed face.

"Are you alright? You seem a bit rattled..." He trailed off as she looked past him. "We are traveling back to Markarth. Would you like to be escorted there?"

"Actually…" She pondered the offer a couple of seconds before reaching a decision. "Yes, I would be extremely grateful for that. Do you have time for me to collect my things?"

"Sure, I will wait." He motion the other men to continue forth as Phynlii quickly retrieved her belongings. After gathering them, she hooked her knapsack to Britta's saddle then met with her newest companion for the time being.

"My name is Phynlii."

"Merek, my lady." He bowed his head slightly.

"What will be done with Phand?' She prodded as they strolled out of the rocky terrain finally onto a clear path.

"I'm not sure. If it were completely up to Jarl Igmund, execution. But, I assume he will end up in Cidhna Mine like the rest of the heathen. Madanach, their king, as been there for years. If they've spared him, I think they'll do the same with Phand." He shrugged as thy continued along the path.

They had a king? Phynlii had always imagined them as some crazy, barbaric tribe folk. Though Andastyr refused to accept it, the Forsworn were just as much our ancetors as the Altmer. Bretons with a mix of some Nords were the ones who eventually became the Reachmen. It was our ancestors being locked up in Cidhna Mine in the deep belly of Markarth. She would have to delve more into this once she had more time, but for no, Andastyr couldn't know about the chance encounter she just had with Phand.

Or her true intention of coming to this land.

"Y'know for a Breton, you have more of the Mer features." Merek said randomly after they had been wandering along the path for quite some time in silence. It was true though. She had the height of that compared to a Nord. A sharpened, angular face that resembled her Mer kin. And her ears. For years, she hated them. They were thin and very pointed ressembling that of her Altmer kin. Phynlii ran both hands over her ears at the mention of them. Merek cleared his throat.

"I didn't mean to offend, m'lady. Don't be ashamed. Just because you look different doesn't mean you aren't beautiful. Rare stones are often the most sought after for they are different." He removed his helmet blushing slightly. "We are here. Welcome to Markarth."

"I cannot thank you enough, Merek." She involuntarily hugged him. It was not often Nords made friends or even helped anyone other than themselves. "Do you patrol here?"

"I've been stationed here until Ulfric Stormcloak says otherwise." He smiled. "Get some rest at the Silver-Blood Inn."

Phynlii watched him tuck his dark brown hair back into his helmet before turning to face the inn. She entered the stone building to find the Innskeepers' bickering, an aged bard singing by the fire, and a couple of Nords having some mead.

"Aye, I'm Kleppr. Can I help you, Breton?" The older man met her at the bar.

"Do you happen to have any vacant room?" She asked digging through her knapsack for her gold.

"We certainly do." He sneered as his wife was still nagging him. "That'd be ten gold, please."

"While it's on my mind, I have a letter I need sent to High Rock. Would you know where I could find a courier?" Phynlii inquired as she pushed her payment to the silver-haired Nord.

"Well, uh." He thought outloud.

"Yes, honey, a courier will stop by here in the morning. You can leave your letter on the desk here." His wife chimed in. "That half wit oaf of a husband can't ever remember anything."

"Frabbi!" Kleppr growled in a hushed tone.

"Oh, uh, okay. Thank you!" The Breton murmured hurriedly picking up the key to her room. She didn't want to be the reason for further nagging and arguing.

The day had just started to give way to the night when Phynlii found herself bored praying to the divines that she hadn't made a poor decision by coming to this place. She had overheard that a woman named Magaret had been murdered in the square just days before. The guards were being extremely hushed about it, but it appeared to be the plot of some remaining Reachmen.