AN: I apologize for the quality of these early chapters. I pick up a beta later and, in general, imporve. I will go back and fix them later. Right now the focus is on writting new content. Thank you.
Chapter 1
Returning Home.
"Lo, though I wander Tamriel fair, slay monsters, loot dungeons and save maidens, there is one quest I love more than any other. Returning home. There's nothing quite like coming back to that special someone, hanging your helmet over the fire and sitting down at that nice bowl of warm stew. If only all homes were as welcoming as mine."-Tharafin Odmar, Dunmer adventurer of some renown and later count of Bruma. Quote circa 4E 5
A spray of chilled water slammed into Hammel Greymist's face as the cart's wheel ploughed on through the puddle of melted ice. As if that wasn't bad enough, the prison cart followed said puddle with a sharp drop, bouncing its rickety wooden frame. Smacking his head against the bench, Hammel cursed.
It was bad enough he'd been grabbed by the Imperial Legion while crossing back into Skyrim, but now he was cold, damp and sore. He hadn't had time to even speak his name. One moment he'd blundered into a conflict between Imperial Legionaries and these Stormcloaks he'd heard a little of, the next he'd been struck in the back of the head. He'd woken up here, his things gone and hands bound, proving the immortal saying that things can always get worse.
At least I'm back in Skyrim.
Skyrim. It was a funny thing, being back in his homeland after so long. The Nord had spent so much time in Elsweyr, where the rolling sands and ancient cities were so different from his birthplace, he'd almost forgotten what it looked like. The ache in his heart for the looming mountains, wide-open tundras and massive pine forests never left him. Often at night, laying in his bed roll gazing at unfamiliar constellations, he'd dream of Skyrim.
It was just as beautiful as he remembered, from the snow covered mountains to the frozen air cooling in his lungs. At least if he died, he would be home.
"Hey, you're awake." The voice was thick and laced with a strong Nordic accent. Hammel lifted his head wearily, his gaze falling across the features of the man across from him. Like Hammel, this fellow was a nord, his face covered in grime and scars. Unlike Hammel, his hair was shoulder length and blond, a beard of the same shade sat proudly on his chin. He was dressed in the armour of the Stormcloaks, his hands bound with thick rope. Judging from the bloody stainds the rebel had tried to rub his wrists free of the bonds, with no luck. Hammel felt the thickness of the makeshift cuffs around his own wrists. Nothing short of a blade would remove them.
Next to the Stormcloak sat an exotic looking elf woman, altmer if Hammel had to wager a guess. Her hair was midnight black, her eyes golden orbs. Streaked across her face was war paint, more traditional for nordic raiders than high elves. However, like the Stormcloak, she was dressed in the same blue tunic and chainmail combanation all rebels seemed to favour.
"Hey," the blond Stormcloak continued, "You were trying to cross the border right? You aren't one of us." He nodded his head at the woman next to him, "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman."
"Shut up Ralof," the elf hissed, "Don't tell him anything." A gust of wind coated her midnight locks with flecks of snow, but did nothing for her ice-cold expression.
"What does it matter Lianna?" The man responded casually, "He's not one of them." The Elf snorted, but didn't argue. As Hammel's vision began to clear, he noticed the contact between the elf and Ralof's hands, lovers perhaps? "So, what's your story, friend?"
The cart's wheels continued bouncing, scattering the snow and water strewn across the path before it; leading the prisoners every closer to their final destination.
Hammel Greymist had a story, but didn't particularly feel like giving it to this Ralof, a total stranger. "Wrong place, wrong time." His words were rough, burrowing up through his throat like a pickaxe on granite. It had been so long since he'd heard his own voice; it sounded odd to him.
"Ah, you're like the thief." Ralof nodded his head down towards the end of the cart. Turning his own head, Hammel realized he shared the cart with three others. One was a scrawny nord dressed in rags, obviously the thief. Next to him sat an orc, dressed in the robes of a mage while wearing several visible rings. Hammel's trained eye noticed the Orc's fingers were bound in a very specific manner designed to prevent spell-casting. No doubt several other measures were firmly in place to prevent him from throwing several fireballs. Lastly, there was another Stormcloak, clad in a fur-lined cape rather than a simple tunic. His mouth may have been gagged, but nothing covered pure hatred burning out of his eyes towards the Legionnaire cart driver.
"Blasted Stormcloaks," the thief muttered, "Skyrim was fine until you started your little war. The Empire was nice and lazy." Shaking his head sadly, he signed. "I could have been on that horse and halfway to Hammerfell by now. Instead of a rich payday and warm bed, I'm stuck here with you." Glancing across at the gagged Stormcloak, the thief asked casually, "Who's this anyhow?"
"Watch your tongue," Ralof commanded. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhlem and true High King."
The High Elf, Lianna, Hammel believed her name was, inclined her head towards the bound Jarl, murmuring, "Talos' blessings, Jarl Ulfric."
"Shut it back there!" The driver ordered sharply. Snapping the reins, the soldier increased the horse's pace.
At the mention of Ulfric's name, the thief turned ghostly pale. "Wait, if that's Ulfric, then where are we headed?" Glancing about rapidly, he look for a quick exit, rubbing his bonds futilely against the wooden bench.
"I don't know where exactly we're headed, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof's words were casual, but filled with sorrow. Next to him, the Elf had closed her eyes and bowed her head muttered words under her breath in a solemn tone.
"Sovngarde..." the thief muttered, clearly terrified with the prospect of facing the afterlife. "No, no, no, no!" He looked across at Hammel, blinking rapidly to hold back quickly forming tears, "This isn't right! We aren't rebels! We don't deserve to die!"
"Quiet," the Orc growled. "Your complaining is interrupting my final moments of peace. Silence yourself, before I silence you." The mage's words had the desired effect, shutting the thief's mouth more effectively than a steel trap.
The cart's wheels protested loudly as it turned yet another bend, slamming Hammel, and its other occupants, against the bench. Thick stone walls loomed in the distance, the figures of guards barely visible atop them. Several flags flew from the quartet of towers evenly placed around the village's exterior. Imperial ones, judging from the color scheme.
"Hey," Ralof asked the scrawny rogue, "Where are you from, horse-thief?"
The panicking man blinked. "What?"
Smiling warmly he stated, "A nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"Rorikstead." The thief's words were so soft, Hammel strained his ears to hear them, "I'm from Rorikstead."
"Summerset Isle," Lianna stated crisply, "Though, my true home is Riverwood."
"Riverwood," Ralof murmured, closing his eyes, "I can smell the pines now."
"Dragontail mountains," the Orc said simply, his gruff voice laced with longing. "It was oblivion, but it was home."
"And what of you, brother Nord?" Ralof enquired while the cart rolled under the the town's gateway, a gateway they would never pass again. "Where is your home?"
Images flashed before Hammel's eyes, wars, drinks, exotic women, but nothing of substance. He'd had a birthplace, had a family once, but now... He had nothing. "I was born in Solitude." The images were hard to drag up, having been thoroughly buried in the back of his mind for so many years. "But...it's been so long."
"Hey," Ralof encouraged, "I understand. At least we're all going to the same place right?" He glanced around the village, noticing a trio of altmer in dark robes, speaking with a distinguished looking Imperial. "Look, it's general Tullius and his pet hunters." Ralof spat vehemently, "Bloody Thalmor, figures they'd have something to do with this."
Hammel expected some kind of outburst from Lianna, but she looked just as furious as Ralof. "So, how'd you get on the wrong side of your people?" The Nord's attempt to make conversation didn't garner quite the response he expected.
"They aren't my people! I'm as nord as you or Ralof!" She spat out furiously, displaying the war paint smeared across her face like a badge of honour.
Shrugging his shoulders, the man didn't respond. A hand gesture would be more appropriate, but his were bound at the moment. The prisoners sat in silence for a moment, the cart's wheels squeaking loudly, axles groaning in agony. "Ah, Helgen," Ralof murmured, glancing around at the village now surrounding both waggons. "I used to be sweet on a girl here once." Lianna coughed loudly and Ralof smiled at her. "Before I met you, of course." The elf returned the smile warmly, rubbing her bound hands against the blond Stormcloak's own.
"It's good we're together in the end." Her words were serious, yet without regret.
"Always so full of hope," Ralof laughed, ignoring the driver's order to quiet down. He sniffed the air once, "Ah, Juniper berries, I wonder if Thalga is still making that mead I loved. She always put just the right amount. Too many berries can dilute the flavor, too few and that little sharp taste isn't added. Gods I miss it..." Voice trailing off, the Stormcloak became quite, as if realizing he'd never taste mead, or any other drink, again.
Ralof glanced up at one of the towers after a moment, his eyes taking in the stonework without comment, "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls always made me feel so safe." He snorted a little, punctuated oddly by the sudden stop of the cart. Hammel glanced around, while the second wagon pulled up against the wall adjacent to his. There was nowhere to run.
"Why are we stopping?" The thief asked, breaking momentarily from his frantic prayers to the Divines.
"Why do you think?" Lianna spat out, eyeing the thief with contempt.
"Its the end of the line." Ralof's words were kinder in tone, if not in intent. "A one way journey to Sovngarde."
"No!" The thief howled, throwing himself against the wooden sides of the cart. "You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!" He screamed at everyone within earshot. His protests were utterly ignored by the guards, who went about their tasks with bored expressions.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof's reply was cold and firm, as unyielding as Skyrim itself.
"Everyone out!" The cart driver ordered firmly while cart's ramp dropped. Glancing at the wagon next to him, Hammel observing its blue armoured occupants as they climbed down, heads held high with quiet pride. The Orc disembarked without a word, standing just as proud as the Stormcloaks around him. Ulfric looked like the leader he was, despite his gag and bindings his stance spoke of power and honour.
The horse-thief on the other hand, wet himself in sheer terror as he stumbled down the ramp, teeth chattering. Tracing their way through the grime on his cheeks, the thief's tears of fear made the journey down his face. The dampness on his pants spread a little, but the thief remained still standing as his feet slapped muddy ground.
Hammel followed suit, shoulders slumped slightly. His watching gaze took it all in. The entire village of Helgen seemed to surround the square where the prisoners stood. People lined the numerous balconies and porches, some smiling, others crying openly; yet all were oddly silent. Before them, standing erect like a proud soldier, was the central watchtower, soaring over the keep, other four towers and every other part of the village. An Imperial banner flapped triumphantly in the wind, glaring down at the Stormcloak prisoners.
But none of this kept the attention of Hammel Greymist. His eyes instead focused squarely on a simple stone block, stained with fresh blood, sitting contentedly in the middle of the village square. In front of the block was a bucket full of straw and standing beside it was a masked executioner. The hooded agent of death stood quiet as death itself, looking tall as a giant.
Six soldiers armed with pikes covered the path the carts had entered by. Four additional archers stood at the path's bend, bows ready. Several other legionaries milled about, trying to look like they were doing their jobs rather than secretly observing the execution. Standing directly on the path before the block was a nord legionary and a short, female Imperial. The armour she wore, marked her as a captain, the barking tone in her voice confirmed Hammel's suspicions.
The prisoners were herded into a semi-circle, all gazing towards that simple stone block, imaging how their necks would feel stretched across it.
General Tullius strode brazenly towards Ulfric, a Thalmor agent at either side. Looking Ulfric up and down, Tullius crisply stated, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!" Tullius' accusation clearly angered Ulfric, who growled furiously from behind his gag. "You started this war! Now we're going to finish it, by putting you down!" Turning towards the stern faced woman, Tullius commanded in a much softer voice, "Carry on, Captain."
Pounding a fist against her breastplate in salute, the captain responded, " Yes, general." Looking back over the gathered rebels, she addressed them coldly. "Now, when we call your name, step towards the block!"
Next to her, the legion clerk looked down at his notes, "Ulfric Stormcloak."
The leader of the rebellion stalked towards the block, standing in the crowd of prisoners forming before it. "It's been an honour, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof muttered, eyes bowed.
"Talos' blessing be upon you, my Jarl," Lianna murmured, eyes shut and head bowed in respect. Hammel heard the other Stormcloaks give various blessings, some of the villagers looking overcome with grief.
"Lokir of Rorikstead," the soldier continued, looking directly at the horse-thief. Courage failed the thief who bolted for the city gates, blasting past the six pikemen. He howled something about freedom and making it out alive.
"Archers! Take him!" The captain snarled, jabbing an armoured hand towards the fleeing rogue. The bowmen took aim and released a flight of arrows in one smooth motion. Four deadly arrows penetrated the unarmoured thief's back, sticking out of his back like a macabre pin-cushion. With a gargle, Lokir crumpled, spending his final seconds in a rapidly expanding puddle of blood. "Anyone else feel like running?" The captain threatened, shooting a warning glare at the gathered prisoners. No one did.
"Wait," The soldier with the logbook stated, looking directly at Hammel, "Step forward please." For a split second, Hammel considered running too, but the images of Lokir the horse-thief, arrows sticking out of him in all directions, came to mind, crushing that idea to dust. Hammel's wild unkempt beard and rough clothe shirt would offer no protection against those razor-sharp points. His bare feet crushing snow and mud underneath, the Nord advanced, standing before the clerk. "Who are you?"
"Hammel Greymist," Hammel answered, his voice returning to him. "From Solitude, served in the Imperial Legion most of my life, recently in Elsweyr, fighting the bandit army there. Returned home to Skyrim now, for a much-needed rest." Smiling a little under the rough growth of his beard, the Nord stated, "My Imperial Legion service number, 829730."
Baffled, the clerk glanced across to his captain. "What should we do? He isn't on the list and that's a valid serial number."
The captain looked Hammel up and down, appraising him for a moment before making her decision. "Hang the list. He goes to the block."
That wasn't the response Hammel had been hoping for.
"You bastards!" He roared, lunging for the captain, fully intending to bludgeon her to death with his bound hands. Dashing forward, three of the pikemen grabbed his arms, intercepting him before he'd made half a step. Despite his best efforts the three legionaries managed to hold the struggling Nord back. "I shed my blood for the empire!" Hammel screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "Now you throw me aside without a thought?"
"Add him to the others," the captain ordered, waving her hand towards the semi-circle of captured rebels. She pointedly ignored Hammel's failed attempts to break away from the grip of the soldiers. Turning towards a woman in simple robes, the short woman stated, "Give them their last rites."
The priest of Arkay on duty began the approved ritual for fallen criminals, holding her hands outward in a simple blessing. "As we commit your souls to Aetherius, may the Eight bless you and have mercy on..."
"Oh for the love of Talos, shut up already and just get on with it!" A dark-haired male Stormcloak shouted, shoving his way past the other rebels.
The priestess stopped abruptly, apparently shocked to hear both the name Talos and to be interrupted in the middle of her ritual. Standing there awkwardly, the priestess froze, looking oddly comical. "As you wish," the captain snapped. Waving him forward with a vicious smile she continued, "Glad you volunteered to go first."
The Nord man walked forward, head held high despite his bonds, "Good, I haven't got all day." Kneeling at the executioner's block without a fight, the rebel laid his neck across it. Even as the captain dropped her armoured boot on his back, pinning him in place, the Stormcloak was defiant, "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperial. Can you say the same?"
The executioner raised his axe, then dropped it in one fluid motion. It was a clean cut. In a spray of blood it was over. The head fell into the waiting basket and the corpse went limp. Kicking the body over, the captain walked forward, amid the calls of the villagers.
"You Imperial bastards!"
"We demand justice!"
"Kill another!"
"As brave in death as he was in life," Ralof murmured softly, his eyes taking in the fallen Stormcloak's headless corpse, "You have entered the halls of Sovngarde."
Jabbing her finger at Hammel the captain ordered simply, "Him."
The trio of legionaries holding Hammel shoved him forward, hands resting on the hilts of their swords, no doubt expecting some resistance. The Nord approached the block without a fight, without a word. Kneeling at the stone, his neck wet with the warm blood of the previous nord to die upon it, Hammel waited for the axe. It was an oddly serene moment.
Then he heard the roar.
It came echoing down from the mountains in the distance. It sounded almost like a Sabre Cat only richer, deeper and deadlier. "What was that?" The clerk asked cautiously, wrapping his free hand around the handle of his sword.
"Nothing, just a bear." The captain gestured authoritatively at the executioner, "Continue."
"That's the biggest bear I've ever heard," Lianna muttered casually, her expression unreadable.
The Orc however, suddenly seemed very nervous, yellow eyes darting from side to side, his head beginning to shrink back inside his battered mage robes. The dirty fur collar looked like it had swallowed his head whole. "That's no bear," he murmured fearfully.
All of this hardly mattered to Hammel as the executioner drew closer, axe blade gleaming with a deadly light. Shifting his stance a touch, the Nord gazed up at Skyrim's clear sky; wanting it to be the last thing he saw before the end. The clouds had rolled away, revealing the crisp morning for miles around Helgen. With the sky so clear the Nord was able to see what he did. His eyes may have been open but he couldn't believe what they beheld.
A dragon.
A dragon, in Skyrim? A living dragon? I'm going crazy.
Then, the beast roared and everyone saw it. "What in Oblivion is that?" A guard screamed in panic.
"Dragon!" The priestess howled, throwing a ward spell around her like would make a noticeable difference.
Flying forward with a mighty roar, the dragon landed on top of the watch tower with shuddering force, shaking the foundations of the village. More importantly, the shock-wave caused by the ancient monster's impact knocked the executioner clean off his feet. He'd been so absorbed in the process of his work that he hadn't noticed the monster until it was too late. Even as the executioner fell, losing his axe in the process, the dragon belted out a large gulf of flame.
People were screaming and running in every direction, buildings were burning all around them while the captain gave a failed attempt to organize the soldiers. Most simply fled, abandoning their posts without a second thought.
Hammel tried to rise, but the dragon howled again, beating his wings furiously against the tower. The resulting gust of wind smashed Hammel's unprotected head into the unyielding stone, dazing him momentarily. "Sacred Talos!" He snarled, trying to fight against the pain as his world spun around him. Bound hands clutched tightly to the block, the former legionary tried to focus even as his vision faded in and out. Someone grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to his feet.
"Come friend! We need to make it to the tower!" His voice was harsh and deep, far deeper than any nord's. Hammel's vision returned in time to find himself staring into the eyes of the orc mage. Somehow in all the carnage he'd managed to get his hands free. "Run! Go!"
Hammel didn't need any more encouragement. His steps were shaky, but the dragon flying overhead burning soldier and building alike proved an incredible motivator. Stumbling over the burning corpse of a fallen legionnaire, Hammel glanced up to see Ralof holding open a door to one of the towers. Wasting no time, the Nord and the Orc sprinted across the open space of the village square, pounding up the three steps leading into the tower. Ralof slammed it shut as they blasted past, nearly catching the tail-end of the mage's robes. Outside the tower, roars of the dragon and the shouting from villagers and soldiers alike could still be heard.
The very tower shook with the fury of dragon flames, the candles inside flickering as they wobbled. Only a lucky few had made it to the apparent safety of the tower, one of them badly wounded. The injured woman groaned in pain while a second Stormcloak did his best to stem the bleeding, whispering encouragements in her ear.
After having his bindings removed, Ulfric Stormcloak tore the gag free from his mouth. Apparently the Jarl of Windhelm was one of the survivors.
"What was that?" Lianna asked in a panicked tone, her hands still bound and her forehead caked in blood. "Could the ancient legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric's words hung in the air, nicely punctuated by another roar from the dragon. "We need to move, now!" He commanded, looking around at his gathered followers.
"We can't stay here." Hammel agreed, nodding towards the door. " That dragon'll burn down this tower, with us inside it!."
"Raina is in no condition to be moved!" The makeshift healer shouted, "We can't leave her behind!" The red-haired female Stormcloak howled in pain at the other rebel's treatment, almost as if to emphasize the point.
"I will carry her." Every eye turned to look at the Orc in stupefied astonishment, almost forgetting his presence. "I assume that is satisfactory?"
"Absolutely," Ralof stated for the party. Glancing over at Hammel he shouted, "Come on, up the stairs, the others will follow!"
Hammel went into soldier mode, ignoring all distractions as his bare feet pounded up the cold stone steps.
First, get to the top of the tower, survey the scene and find a way out.
Unfortunately for Hammel Greymist, a certain dragon had other ideas.
The second floor was in sight when the flames finally found a way through the ancient stone. Hammel fell back, his skin almost aflame from the extreme heat as the roaring inferno singed the tower's entire upper floor. Partially collapsing, falling stone barricaded the rest of the flight, leaving only a ragged hole left by the rampaging dragon.
Glancing through it, Hammel noticed the adjacent house's roof had caved in. The home was blazing, thatched roof alight and wooden structure burning away, but it still looked sturdy enough for the time being. If nothing else, it would allow him to bypass the rubble blocking his escape to Helgen's keep.
The keep might not be the safest place to be at the moment, with the Imperials likely to attack first and question later, but it was sturdy enough to survive several volleys of dragon fire. This tower wouldn't.
Despite the obvious logic of the decision, Hammel found it difficult to convince himself to leap from the tower onto the second floor of the burning house. "You're going to have to jump it!" Ralof shouted, looking down at the flaming abode. "It's the only way out."
"What about you?" Hammel didn't really know Ralof, but the Stormcloak hadn't tried to kill him yet, that made him an ally of sorts.
Ralof shook his head, "I'm waiting for my wife, I'll catch up. Go!"
His curiosity about the elf satisfied for now, Hammel swallowed once then took a flying leap.
It was a curious feeling, jumping with his hands bound. The midair journey felt like an eternity but in reality it was no long than two seconds. Hammel's bare feet smacked into the wooden floor of the house with a painful but satisfying thud. The heat around him was impressive and the smoke smothering.
Hacking painfully to clear his lungs, the Nord staggered through the burning home, past a bed, now alight, and over a fallen cupboard. A hole in the second floor proved a fine passage for getting down. Hammel was so desperate to get off the flaming second floor he didn't bother looking down first; he simply jumped. A table covered in cups and ugly dinnerware broke his fall. Several plates shattered, slicing his feet, ankles and arms. Cursing in pain, Hammel rolled off the table, knocking a few hideous mugs over in the process. Getting to his feet, the prisoner scrambled for the door.
Said door was hanging on one hinge, halfway between standing and falling. Charging at it with all his might, Hammel's shoulder proved adequate for the task at hand. Flying off its hinges, the door exploded outward, exposing a village street. The dragon flew by overhead, engulfing a pair of archers with a wave of flame. The duo almost disintegrated under the intense heat, bursting into flames before Hammel's very eyes.
As the dragon moved on, the Nord darted out of the house into the open. Across his path, the clerk had ditched his logbook for a sword, crouching behind some rubble while waving a child over. "Come on boy, you're doing great!" The miniature villager put an extra hop in his step when the dragon screamed again. Diving for safety, the young boy made it to cover, narrowly dodging a wall of fire.
Nodding back at an old legionnaire behind him, the nord legionary stated, "Take care of the boy! I've got to get to the keep and join the defense!"
"Gods guide you Hadvar!" The old soldier shouted, shielding the child with his armored body.
The clerk, Hadvar, looked over at Hammel with mild disdain, "Still alive prisoner? Come with me if you want to stay that way!" Considering he most certainly did, the prisoner followed Hadvar as close as he could. The legionnaire dashed through the burning village, sword clutched tightly in his hand. Hammel glanced backwards at the relative cover of the rock-pile his new companion had just abandoned, then dashed after the clerk.
Time seemed to both speed up and crawl. Hammel's feet pounded through the dirt, smoke and fire everywhere, further weakening his already sore muscles. He passed a newly freed Stormcloak wresting over a pike with one of the legionaries, saw several archers doing their best to hit the dragon, heard the furious chanting of the priest as she worked her spells. All of his senses were filled with the overflow of information, so he blocked them out.
Focus on getting to the safety of the keep in one piece, worry about other things later.
Ploughing on through smoking skeletons that had once been homes, the Nord followed his impromptu guide as close as he dared..
In front of him, Hadvar hacked his way through the smouldering ruin of a village hovel, pressing on towards what remained of the wall, shouting for the archers to keep the rain of arrows flying. Ducking his head under the charred remains of a door, Hammel kept his eyes on Hadvar, making his own progress towards the safety of the keep.
Several prisoners clashed with the legions auxiliaries, while archers on the wall fired arrows, with very little effect, at the rampaging dragon. Almost lazily, the great beast flew low over the wall, snatching two guards up in its massive clawed legs. Screaming in terror, the guards fell to a painful death after the dragon dropped them.
The keep was within Hammel's vision, standing dead ahead, a bastion of safety in the crisis around him. Shoving his way past an elderly villager, who stood gawking at the dragon, the Nord made his way for the doors.
The keep had two visible entrances, one further to the left, the other a straight run from where he was standing. Hadvar was directly ahead of him, sword clutched tightly in hand, clearly making a move for the closest door.
Someone else wanted it too.
Ralof came dashing out from nowhere, an iron battleaxe clutched tightly in each hand, both weapons dripping blood. Lianna was close behind him, hands unbound, a shovel gripped tightly between them. Based on the stains, said shovel had been put to use.
"Stand aside Imperial lapdog!" Ralof threatened, jabbing the battleaxe in his right hand menacingly at the Imperial soldier. "You stopped us before, but not this time!"
Hadvar, knowing two against one wouldn't end well for him, stepped back, "To Oblivion with you Ralof! I hope that dragon sends you all to Sovngarde!" The Nord soldier fell back, heading towards the far door. "Come on prisoner!" He shouted at Hammel, "You want to live don't you?"
"You would go with the Empire? After this?" Ralof shouted indignantly, gesturing for the prisoner to join him, "Come on!"
Hammel looked back and forth between the two doors, between Stormcloak and Imperial. "Ralof hasn't tried to kill me today." Hammel snapped at the clerk, moving over with the Stormcloak duo.
Hadvar didn't seem pleased, his mouth opening for a, no doubt, stinging retort, but another roar from the dragon silenced him. Sending another gout of flame into the courtyard as the dragon flew by it almost seemed amused with the pitiful attempts to bring it down. The priest tried to maintain her wards of protection but the dragon's power proved too great. Her dying screams prompted Hadvar to move. Throwing open the far door, the legionnaire disappeared into the inviting darkness of the keep.
"No sense waiting around here to get roasted," Lianna snapped, brandishing her shovel. "Ralof, get us in!"
The Stormcloak didn't bother responding to his wife, instead putting his boot against the nearest door. Lianna charged through it, Hammel hot on her heels. Taking one final glance at the courtyard around them, Ralof yanked the door shut as he retreated.
The darkness of the keep surrounded the trio, protecting them from the dragon. How long was another matter entirely.