"I've almost got them off."
Sadarlis Indilu was not having the best day. The air around him stank of hay and sweat, as dank and heavy against his skin as the wet wool of what remained of his robes. Rusted shackles as stifling as the air weighed down his wrists, and he was so peppered with bruises that his skin was more purple than grey. The crowd of Nords packed into the stinking cell had mostly ignored him, stepping over his battered body as a redhead in sack clothing pulled the shackles off a battered young man in blue-sashed armour. Looking over, the Nord in the blue sash squinted, spotting him in the darkness and sighing to himself.
"You were unlucky to get caught up in this mess, friend. You, the sulking High Elf, and the Breton in the corner. Where ya from anyway?"
Sadarlis licked his lips, his mouth dry as the lingering taste of blood refused to go. "Azura's Watch." He croaked, the cracked skin of his lips splitting open and leaking a little blood.
"Refugee headed for Windhelm? Gods, you really were in the wrong place at the wrong time. How-"
"Quiet!" The redhead hissed, positioning his free arms behind his back in false binds. "Ralof, guard's coming!"
Ralof fell into line beside the redhead, arms behind his back as the steady tramping of metal footsteps came past the cell bars. Slow, deliberate, a temple procession perhaps? Sadarlis eased himself into standing as leather-skirted Imperial soldiers made their way past, in a procession of about ten surrounding one figure. A prisoner, clad in rags, face hidden by an iron helmet and hands bound to a crossbar across both shoulders.
"What's with the helmet?" The redhead hissed.
"That's Ulfric Stormcloak." Another Nord replied.
"The leader of the Stormcloaks?"
"True High King of Skyrim, and heir to the Empire of Tamriel." Ralof replied, as Sadarlis stumbled, tripping over his bare feet and smacking his face against the stone. Laying on his side, he squinted past the smarting over one eye towards the procession's tail end.
"Wait, what? Doesn't look like an Imperial to me."
"Not that Empire, horse thief," another Nord interjected, "they say Ulfric's got the dragon blood in his veins."
"Wait, I thought the Septims were all wiped out."
Ralof glanced over at the bickering Nords. "That's Uriel Septim's line, boy. Old Tiber Septim used to be Talos of Atmora. Ulfric's from that line."
Sadarlis' shoulder leaned against the cool granite of the cell wall as he stared after the procession. Blood oozed from his split lips, forming a scarlet bead which he licked away. Ulfric...then it was like a temple procession after all. Just one for a funeral yet to come.
"Would you please quit with the Gods-damned cow eyes! For the love of Rajhin, not like Ulfric's done us any favours. He's the reason you, me, and the coward are in this mess in the first place."
He glanced over his shoulder at the speaker, as she leaned against a stone wall. The Altmer's shoulders were bent funny, like she'd stepped through her arms so her wrists were shackled in front of her. The rusted binds strained on her wrists as the short chain wove with her folded arms, and the ragged ends of her hair only touched one shoulder.
Sadarlis looked back out to the empty hall outside the cell, rolling his eyes. "He's done more for my kind than you Thalmor." He muttered to himself, before a slim chain looped over his head and around his neck.
"What did you just say!?" She barked, pulling the chain on her shackles tight around the Dunmer's neck and digging her knee into his back. "Sounded like something about the Thalmor."
"Hey, get off him!" Ralof snapped, grabbing her arm as she pulled tighter on her shackles. The chain dug further into Sadarlis' neck as he struggled, spluttering against her attack.
"Nothing." He gasped, before she lowered her knee and let him drop to the floor.
"That's what I thought." She spat, glowering down at him as Ralof shoved her away. "Learn from that."
Ignoring the Altmer, Sadarlis once more struggled to his feet as the tramping of metal boots came again. Rows of soldiers, blades in hand, stood as the cell door was unlocked to swing open with a squeak. "In line, the lot of you. Straight out that door!" A commander in steel armour barked, blade in his hand pointing out to the courtyard. Muttered curses were directed his way as the cell emptied, filtering down to the courtyard as two soldiers, male and female in polished armour, stood with a list and quill.
"Step forward when we call your name. Kjoth of Ivarstead."
A haggard soldier in blue-sashed armour stepped forward, spitting at their feet on the way past. One by one he called their names, until he reached the end. "Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No, I'm not a rebel! I'm not with them!" The redhead in rags yelled, bolting for it across the courtyard, bare feet slapping the cobbles.
"Halt!" The female commander barked, drawing a blade as Lokir skirted past her. "Archers!"
Whatever Lokir yelled was silenced by six arrows embedding into his body and smearing him against the cobbled ground. His blood trickled down the steady slope as the archers lowered their bows, glinting red like the peacock plume on the commander's helm as she turned to the crowd. "Anyone else feel like running?"
Her voice grated like her blade as she sheathed it, turning to the commander with the list. "Next!" She barked, as he looked up.
"You there, wait! You're not on the list." The Imperial commander blanked her, addressing a Breton shaking enough to make his manacles rattle. Torn rags of what once were lavender robes hung off him like a sack, and wide eyes peered through matted hair hanging around his face.
"Forget the list, Captain, he goes to the block!" She barked, before he raised a hand and interjected.
"General Tullius' orders, we need to secure relations with Whiterun. Executing an innocent could sour our relationship. I'll take responsibility. Guards! Escort him back to the cell!"
Two soldiers flanked the Breton, leading him back inside as the captain turned back. "You're not on the list either."
The Altmer stood tall, refolding her arms, her straining manacles worn like golden bangles. The ragged ends of her hair had caught the icy wind, locks drifting like tattered flags as she glared down her nose at the two Imperials.
"She was caught with the Stormcloaks, she goes to the block with them!" The commander interjected again, before the captain cut her off.
"We can't afford an incident with the Aldmeri Dominion now." He retorted, turning to the Altmer. "You, you're our guest until we can get someone from the Thalmor Embassy down here to evaluate the situation. If the Embassy doesn't vouch for you, you're going to the block. Guards, take this one back too!"
Two more Imperials seized the Altmer by the upper arms, dragging her back to the keep. As they turned her, she jerked back her head, glaring at the Imperial commander and spitting right in her face. A smug smile crossed her lips as the commander stopped to wipe her face, before being dragged back into the keep.
Just Sadarlis remained in line. "Another straggler?" The captain asked, looking the Dunmer up and down.
"Their kind supports Ulfric, he goes to the block!" The commander interjected a third time, wiping spittle off her face as she looked the Dunmer up and down. The Altmer's attempt at garrotting him had left a reddening mark around his neck, and the manacles around his wrists threatened to bend him backwards.
"The Gods really have abandoned your people, elf. Commander, take him."
The commander grabbed Sadarlis by the scraggles of his hair, dragging him to the block. "Hey, that Dark Elf's not part of the Stormcloaks!" Ralof yelled, as the ground shook and the rough wood of the block slammed into his cheek. White specks swam in front of his eyes, the impact of the block resonated through his skull like a bell, and someone screamed.
"What in Oblivion is that!?" Some man yelled, as it slammed atop the tower, clawed wings biting into the stone as the shockwave resonated out.
"Dragon!" A woman screeched, and it roared, blasting back a handful of Imperials into the walls as if they were no more than dolls. Reeling, Sadarlis tumbled off the block, hitting the ground and watching as a leather-armoured archer flew into an Imperial soldier and smacked the both of them into a wall with a wet crunch.
"This way, move it!" Someone yelled, and Sadarlis' vision seemed to clear. "Move...fire from the skies...there!" He staggered back towards the keep, tongues of fire licking at his heels as he ran barefoot amongst the broken bodies into the open doorway.
"Thought you weren't gonna make it!" Ralof wheezed, bent over with hands on his knees, chest heaving like the sea. by his side, still bound to the crossbar, Ulfric stood struggling at the chains. Hunched in the corner, the Imperial commander lay slumped on the floor, the captain trying to stem her bleeding. The shaking Breton hid behind him, muttering something like a prayer to himself, and the Altmer had backed herself against the wall by the door. Her manacles had been shed, laying forgotten on the floor, rattling as the earth shook with every roar outside.
"Come on, grab that axe and help me get those chains off him!" Ralof yelled as he straightened up, grabbing Sadarlis' manacles and unbinding them. Once free, the Nord indicated the axe lodged in the dead Imperial's belt, going back to unbinding Ulfric.
"Are you crazy, we have to get out of here!" The Imperial captain yelled, pulling the commander to her feet, his hands soaked in her blood.
His hands shook...blood had been spilled, nearly his blood...Sadarlis grabbed the axe from the dead Imperial, slamming it into the wooden crossbar, letting it shatter as the captain grabbed the commander's arm and bolted with the Breton, slamming the keep door behind him. As the chains clattered to the floor and coiled like a snake at his feet, Ulfric pulled off the helmet and blinked in the light, staring bleary eyed at the two elves. "Gods thank you, brother, sister." He gasped, before taking the Imperial commander's dropped blade and charging out of the keep, slamming the door against the stone wall and cracking it.
"Quit staring, boy! This way!" Ralof barked, grabbing his wrist and pulling him through the keep."Watch your step...get down!"
Cold stone bit into the Dunmer's skin as Ralof leapt atop him, stone flying through the keep before a gout of fire came roaring down from the hole in the roof, scorching the stone before vanishing with a flap of scaled wings. "Goldie, hold on!" the Nord yelled, as the Altmer wove through the rubble piles. "Come on, you'll get yourself killed!"
Sadarlis pulled himself up as Ralof began pursuing the Altmer, following his path stumbling over rubble as the ground shook. Occasionally the entire keep behind him would collapse, flames bursting in as he followed the two out to a courtyard surrounded by destruction. The remains of an archer's tower lay forlorn and broken across the bloody stones, its battlements clawing at the burning straw of a house's roof as the stone crumbled into itself. What remained of windows were now jagged teeth stretching up, barring both sides from all but a glance at each other. The Altmer had bolted over to the shattered tower, pausing for breath as Ralof ran up behind her, still pursued by Sadarlis. At the other end of the courtyard, Hadvar and the Breton stood, crouching and cowering as the dragon soared overhead.
"Don't you bloody run off like that again! Come on, follow me!" He yelled, as she doubled over gasping for breath, watching through the remains of the tower as the bloody-footed Dunmer caught up. For on the other side, where the headsman's block lay, Ulfric's thu'um resonated out to strike the dragon with unrelenting force. Knocked from the sky, it slammed into the tower, bringing it down in a maelstrom of rubble atop the flapping sails of its wings. It barely struggled as Ulfric leapt atop its head, driving his blade deep into the ridge of its nose with a final roar.
"That's Ulfric Stormcloak," Ralof gasped, chest heaving as he struggled for breath, "they call him the Dragonborn, last son of Talos. The one defending Talos worship, defending the Nordic way, from being stripped away and outlawed by these Imperials. No true Nord respects them anymore, they lost us. Lost the loyalty of the Nord people when they turned their back on our values, banning the worship of Ysmir. You know, like when they turned their back on your people, banned you from asylum in the Empire's provinces, Dark Elf. Come on, let's go!"
Ralof turned and bolted, heading out the door and letting it shut behind the two elves, leaving nothing but a winding tunnel down into the bowels of the keep. "Come on, this way." Sadarlis gasped, grabbing the Altmer's wrist and making for the tunnels.
"Why should I follow you?" She snapped, yanking her hand away.
"You got any alternatives?"
The Altmer snorted, jogging after him through the cave-like tunnels, bare feet padding over the springy earth, dodging the odd mound of rubble coming down from the roof. "You got a name then, soot-skin, or d'you want me t'call you Master? Seems the slave-driving aspect hasn't left you quite yet." She quipped, following him in squeezing through a narrow gap.
"Sadarlis," he snipped, "Sadarlis Indilu, and I take it you want me to call you Thalmor, right?"
"I don't get called Thalmor, the Thalmor call me."
"And what do they call you?"
"Things that only get said past your bedtime, kid. I'd say what they called me alongside Estore, but I'd probably give you nightmares."
Estore smirked and patted his head, striding past him out of the small cave. Sunlight rays streamed through barren branches onto the dusting of snow around her, and winds whipped at her bare arms until goosebumps rose up. Ahead of her, mountains stretched towards the glacier blue skies, smothered in snow that seemed to run down their craggy slopes and gush over the hardened ground. Stubby grass clumps wore spiked armour of frost as they poked through the powdery snow, only to be crushed under her bare and bloody foot as she swanned down the shallow hill into deeper mounds.
"I presume you have somewhere to go that isn't following me?" She glared over her shoulder at the source of the crunching snow behind her, wading through the frozen drifts.
"You assume that I was following you."
"Well where'ya off to if you're not following me?"
"I don't know." Sadarlis paused, tasting blood as he licked his sore lips. "But it's definitely far from home."
