Folgunthur

Aeris Strife remembered the days when this section of woods and ruins was once a campsite. Where a few tents once stood, now only a small cooking range was left. He leaned against a cold but pleasantly dry rock and scribbled notes down in the small book he always kept on him. It was not quite a journal per se, at least not one that he kept meticulously, but just something he liked having around to keep tabs on things as far as his potion recipes and daily logs if he did happen to find something interesting worth recording. At the moment, he was making note of the surplus of death bell he had found growing nearby.
He closed his book and clasped it shut, then stuffed it back in his pouch with his quill and ink bottle. Best finish up here and head back to camp. I wandered farther than I meant today. He reached over to his helmet, the special midnight and gold colors and sleek design testament to his Thalmor placement. He pulled it down over his head, his eyes glinting from the visor's shadow.

Aeris froze, his breath misting in the crisp air. he blinked once, turned his head ever so slightly to the side, listening, then he slowly turned his body, his piercing gaze catching the form of a figure in the trees. His eyes narrowed, his right hand sliding back to finger the hilt of his dagger, light sparks falling from his fingertips like molten snowflakes. His alarm only heightened when he recognized the blue tabard. "Stormcloak," he murmured under his breath. He curled his fingers to his fist, and a concentrated tangle of fire appeared within. "Come on out and meet your fate, Stormcloak!" he snapped, throwing the fireball where he presumed the person's head was at.

Aeris grinned at hearing her pain. Good. This one will be easy enough to get rid of. She's already injured. He brought out his blade, a wickedly carved elven sword. It clashed with hers, blocking her strike. He was frozen for a moment, caught by her brilliant eyes. Those eyes... He blinked the thought away and shoved her back, slashing his sword to her chest.

Pathetic, he thought, taking his time walking over to her crumpled body. He ran his blade up the center line of her body, pressing it briefly to her neck. "Pity you didn't wear a plate, or this might have been more of a sport." He flicked the blade against her chin. "Any last words, heretic?" And with that, he pushed her helmet off with the tip of his blade, but rather than make any other sort of move, he just stared at her face. It couldn't be...

It is you. He dropped his blade in his surprise and pulled his helmet off, the light shining in his own bright eyes, and his hair cascaded down his shoulders. "Seres..." He said her name softly, as if he was not so sure he should be saying it. She still had those eyes, those burning, icy eyes. And though she as daring him to kill her, there was still venom to her voice.

Aeris dropped to his knees and grabbed her hands, pulling them away from her wound, "It's alright, let me see," he said soothingly, his eyes flickering as he took in the damage he did to her. "By the Aedra... I'm so sorry, Seres." He hardly knew if such an apology would matter to her. She saw his armor, his uniform, heard the tone of his voice and the words he said. He was Thalmor. She was Stormcloak. He had killed hundreds of her people. She had killed her fair share of his in all likelihood. But that did not matter now. Not to him. He held his hands over her wound, pressing into the bloody gash. Golden light swirled about his hands and swirled about her body. The wound closed, the tissues and skin reforming. It vanished entirely, despite the blood being left behind to stain them both. He focused his power again, and she was once more covered in swirling, golden light as he healed her broken leg. He could only do some. His restoration magic was at a minimum. He had focused his attention to other spells, something he was regretting more. But at least now the bone would be realigned and would start healing faster. He sat back on the ground, her blood going cold and dry on his hands.

"Ah, well, I suppose it is our reality then." He bit his lip lightly, still feeling conflicted, though he was having trouble determining why. She was Stormcloak. He was Thalmor. Had their realities changed so much then? "Hmm, it's so strange," he aid, his voice still quiet and gentle. "I feel compelled to kill you for the sake of my honor, yet everything else holds me back. I suppose all that else is stronger than my pride. Is that foolishness or weakness? Or is it strength? I wonder..." He shook his head, stopping himself from rambling further. "Has nothing really changed between us, that I would run to your aid despite our present circumstance?"