It was going to be another cold day. Even if the sun did come out, on the Waterfront there was always a chill this time of year. Carts beat and dragged on the mudded trails that surrounded the only place in the Imperial City where the streets were not paved with cobblestone or brick, or really had streets. paths were beaten into the dirt on the ground where the fishermen regularly traveled to the docks for a day in the waters. That would not be an envious job this time of the year, but the baseborn and people like Uncle Atticus needed to work too.
Still in his half-sleep phase Cal could hear the distinctive click and thud of hooves on frozen dirt. The muddy paths had already frozen. It was colder than he had thought. The wind was strong too. Shaking and rocking him. He must have fallen asleep in the hammock outside again. Mother would scold him later if she found out he had snuck out to the Waterfront. Again. He rolled onto his back, swaying more than he expected on the stiffened cloth. Instantly his body heat fled him and Cal gasped from the cold that instantly embraced him.
It was too cold for the Imperial City, even for the Waterfront. Cold like snow. Snow! Cal tried to open his eyes, but the sunlight invaded them as fast as the cold had his body. He groaned. No. I'm in Bruma now. He silently scolded himself for falling asleep on the porch. Again.
"Looks like the lads waking." A deep-accented man said. A nord. Bruma. Suddenly Cals whole body bounced, his head jerking up and slamming back against the floor. The floor continued to shake and rock.
Another earthquake? Cal tried to reach his hand around the back of his sore head, to find both his wrists felt like they had been tied together. Ily he scowled.
Shielding his brow with his hands, he peaked his eyes open. The sun was in the middles of the sky. Mid-day. As he expected. What he did not expect was the frame of shifting trees around the sun. He was not on Aunt Relas Porch. He was moving. He groaned again. Looking at his wrists, the knots were too-tight and practical. Nothing a six-year-old could have done.
Cal lifted his head, and studied his surroundings in confusion, he was lying on the floor of a wagon, and behind it was an man clad in leathers and steel, adorning a thick red cloak. A dragon encased in a diamond marked the cloak. The symbol Cal had seen thousands of times sewn into the back. The Imperial Empire. An Imperial soldier! He was mounted on a horse leading the wagon. A wave of relief washed over Cal. Everyone knows that symbol means safety. Peace is safety and order, whatever the cost. His tutor had made him recite that phrase every lesson.
The wagon hit another bump and Cal hit his head again.
"Easy lad." The same deep voice said again. Cal groaned and pulled himself back up. A hand grabbed the back of his tunic, steadying him.
"Finally awake now, lad?" The man said. Cal looked to his side. A nord indeed was seated over him. Cal had been lying on an old fur cloak, entire patches worn to the leather. It didn't do much to reduce the discomfort of the damp wood, but he was sure it saved him from some bad splinters and freezing. There were three other people on this wagon, all nords. He scanned the faces seeing none familiar, but they all had their eyes on him.
Feeling shy suddenly, Cal opened his mouth searching for words. His throat was dry and face numbed by the cold, but he had to say something.
"Maybe they cut out his tongue." A man dressed only in burlap rags, at the end of the wagon quipped. He almost sounded amused.
"Give the boy your patience!" barked the first one who had spoken, the two sat next to each other, but Cal could see they were nothing alike. Both were nords, and both looked rugged like all men did when they were on the road for weeks at a time, long hair, scruffy beards and dirt on their faces. The one that had just scolded the other, had thick layers of leather adorned with a deep-blue tabard, more fit for this sort of cold. Where the other one looked like he would freeze in his dirty caked rags. Not the he showed and sign of cold. Cal became immediately aware his own garb was not much better. His thick white wool tunic now stained and filthy with mud and…ash…blood?!
He felt a memory nudging the back of his head, eliciting another groan. It was bad, he knew it. Cal tried to reach it, but nothing came.
"Lad?" Cal snapped back to the present. Looking up at the man. Despite his rugged appearance, he used a gentle tone. "A little young to be crossing the border, aren't you?" he asked "Alone, at that".
Cal stared blankly "Maybe he's just dumb." Said Rags "Or- "
"What is this?" He asked finally. It was weak, he knew, but he didn't know what else to say.
"Maybe not." Rags finished.
"The Imperials ambushed us and put us here, you were caught in the cross-fire, sort of. Same as that thief over there" The armored one said, motioning to Rags "We are prisoners now". Prisoners?!
"You Damned Stormcloaks! If not for you I could have been halfway to Hammerfell by now!" Rags spat on the wagon floor, next to Cals feet.
Stormcloaks…That word rattled in Cals head, he knew it, but its meaning seemed just beyond his headaches reach. Who were these people?
"Relax, we are all brothers and sisters in binds now. Horse thief." He replied calmly. He looked back at Cal, "I am Ralof, by the way"
Cal thought for a moment, "I am Caldwyn" he paused "Cal" Ralof nodded.
"And you?" Ralof asked Rags.
"What do you care?"
"Our fate is sealed, there is no reason for grudges." Ralof said.
Rags sighed. "Lokir" he said through gritted teeth. "But do not tell me there's no reason for grudges! Before you Stormcloaks started causing trouble, the Empire was nice and lazy! Now they're so tight packed they're worried about thieves and arresting children!" He motioned to Cal "And how old are you anyway?".
That seemed to draw the attention of everyone in the wagon. "I…" Cal shrank into himself "eleven".
"A true threat to the nations security, this one!" Lokir stamped his foot on the wagon floor.
"Shut up back there!" The soldier steering the cart barked back at them. Cal flinched at the authoritative tone. Shrinking inwardly.
Unable to stand being in the literal center of attention, Cal tried to pull himself to the free seat across from Ralof. Failing to get any footing with the moving floor and his bound hands, he slipped and almost landed on his backside again. A hand caught him by the collar, steadily hauling him to the free seat. Cal looked now at the third passenger- prisoner, now seated next to him.
The man was enormous towering over him and probably over twice Cals height standing up, the man dropped his own bound wrists back in his lap, but he was also gagged. He was clearly of higher class than the others, his clothes were dirty like everyone else, but finer.
"And this guy? What is his problem?" Lokir asked. Ignoring the soldiers order.
Up north the only race that separated class by wear were the nords, who could handle wintry weather as any the other races did the summers. At least back in the Imperial City. There were many nords in Bruma, more than back home. Most were upper-class in regal furs, jewelry, the frozen metal on skin never worn out doors by Imperials was worn proudly by the richer and more adverse to the cold outdoors. Where the middle class and baseborn generally dressed in tight leathers and light cloaks to shrug the cold off.
In thicker Furs, richly dyed same colours Ralof wore and adorned with silvery on the edges. This man was the latter.
" Watch your tongue!" Ralof barked back, Cal jumped at the tone "You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!"
Lokir's eyes shot open "Ulfric Stormcloak?! The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion." He suddenly looked nervous "If they've captured you… oh gods where are they taking us?". The thief's attention went directly to the front of the cart. Cal looked forward too, where another wagon full of 'Stormcloaks' were.
Stormcloaks. Ulfric Stormcloak and a rebellion.
"Relax friend," Ralof returned to his friendly demeanor "Sovengarde awaits. Best not keep the gods waiting for us." Ralof said.
"Are they taking us to the Imperial City?" He asked hopeful, if he could see his parents, his father could sort this out.
For a long moment, the entire wagon was silent. Even Lokirs prayers were interrupted with a look of confusion. The giant too- Ulfric Stormcloak looked unsure. Ralof spoke up.
"Lad, where do you think we are?"
Cal had to think about his geography for a moment "The Silver Road?". The entire wagon was taken aback. looks trained on him in disbelief. Where else could they be with all this snow?
"Lad… We're not in Cyrodil." It was Cals turn to look shocked, he knew that had to be a joke. Some dark humor that stirred some resentment.
"You were caught crossing the border, that's how you were found. Barely said a word- nothing coherent before you passed out. They tied you up and through you back here with the rest of us."
That did not make any sense. This had to be a lie.
"Lad, you are in Skyrim" Ralof said.