How to Pickpocket a Pickpocket

Chapter 3

At first everything was blurry.

Artis' sight came through painful flashes as she tried opening her eyes. She couldn't make out her surroundings. The few images she managed to make out were trees and three people sitting close to her. By what she could feel, she found that her hands were painfully tied with tight leather straps, almost cutting off her wrists' blood flow and causing her hands to shake and prick slightly. The air around her was cold and damp and smelled of smoke and sweat. Finally, her blurry vision cleared slightly, and she could make out the faces of the people around her.

"Ralof?" she croaked and cringed from the burn in her dry throat.

The Nord's head snapped up and his sorrow filled eyes lit up at the sight of her, "Artis! You're awake – I thought I lost you. Do you have any idea what a scare you gave me?! What in the name of Oblivion were you doing at the border, damn woman?!"

She frowned at her overruling headache and rubbed her temples in desperation to get rid of it, "Not my fault some guards were after me for a crime I didn't commit. What happened anyways?"

"We were ambushed by the Imperials." Ralof sighed and let his head hang low.

Artis felt her heart slowing down, "My father... Is- Is he-"

"Alive." Ralof quickly answered the question she dreaded to ask, "Don't worry. Some of us were lucky to escape alive, some of us weren't... I'd rather would've died in the ambush than sitting here in this damned wagon on my way to whatever torture these bastards have planned for us."

Artis looked at the other two men, one a thief and one none other than the very man her father served, Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak. The Jarl's mouth was muffled with a piece of cloth, for a reason she did not know. He looked up and caught her staring, holding her gaze for a moment too long before she tore her eyes away. She never met any of the soldiers her father served and fought with, even less the Jarl himself. The only soldiers she knew were Ralof and Hadvar. Her father has never spoken a bad word of Ulfric since she could remember, and she felt that he was a person to trust and rely on. Hopefully he won't suffer much wherever they were heading.

The thief tried to converse with her a few times, but she ignored him most of the time. He only shut his trap when they arrived at the gates of what Artis recognized as Helgen. The hairs on her arms rose when they passed through them. Something bad was going to happen. She had no idea how she knew, but she just did, she had this feeling. Artis' eyes studied the people who were staring at them.

"But, father, I want to see the execution." A boy moaned as his father pushed him into a house and closed the door.

Execution.

Now she was sure they were going to die. Helgen never was a friendly city. That's why people tried avoiding it at all costs.

The wagon was brought to a halt roughly, making the few of them on the back stumble while being forced to jump off. She was unfortunate enough to fall on her knees when an Imperial guard pushed her off. She immediately knew her knees were scraped and bleeding by the wetness in her grey tunic. Just think how pissed she was when finding out that the damn Imperials discarded her armor and left her in only this thin piece of clothing. Ralof assured her that they didn't do anything unholy to her while she was out, which made her feel slightly better.

"Artis?"

Her head snapped up to meet the horrified eyes of Hadvar, clothed in his Imperial armor with a list in his hands.

"Artis, what the fuck are you doing here?!" he exclaimed in a whisper-shout, yanking her up by the arm. He glanced around frantically in worry that his superiors might catch him talking with a 'captive' before continuing scolding her again, "Explain!"