A/N: Yes, yes, catalinaD is back! Although this might be fairly temporary (I really hope not because I really hate it when people start a story and leave you hanging in no mans land!) but graveyard shift is no one's friend. So I guess I'm just asking for some patience if I start to lag. I've been working on this story for a while now and while it isn't finished, I'm pretty motivated to do so because I like the way my characters are turning out. So please, dear readers, bear with me and feel free to nudge if there's a silence that stretches too long. Enjoy and, as always, take care!
"All right, Bird, your turn."
Aine Bird almost rolled her eyes and fought the urge. The darkness was very deep, save the flickering torches the guards held.
"Watch and learn, Perce."
"Quit the pissing contests, you two," This was Meara Kerr's steady voice, "We're running out of time."
Aine allowed Meara to tell her what to do this one time and ignored the little voice that reminded her of dozens of other similar occasions. She tuned her attention to the men guarding the border between Skyrim and Cyrodiil. The three of them had been traveling for nearly two weeks now, dodging Imperial soldiers and Stormcloaks alike on the roads south of Whiterun.
Percival Coyne was becoming entirely too recognizable to use the carriages by the time they reached the city and Aine hated him even more for involving Meara in that terribly botched job. He just had to go and embroil them in a personal matter where the repercussions would be so much more serious than usual. Meara, of course, stood by her Percival and Aine stood by her best friend; she had never been able to let her down.
She came back to herself and pushed those recollections aside, burying them for later, and watched the guards again. Only one was actually scouting, and she used the term loosely. He paced idly back and forth from one torch-bearer to the other. The night was still enough, she could hear the rumble of voices as they periodically spoke and she couldn't suppress a quiet sigh. She felt Meara lean close.
"I'll have to draw them off. We might be good, but we're not that good," Aine held up one hand when Meara opened her mouth to argue, "There's no other option, Mea. Not unless you want to turn little Perce over and finally end all this insanity?"
Percival's pale eyes flashed even in the faint light and he drew himself up. Meara touched his arm, but didn't look away from Aine.
"I can't ask you to do that."
"Then don't," Aine pulled her hood up and nodded at Meara and Percival, "See you on the other side."
She slipped away before either of them could say anything. The border was nothing more than those soldiers guarding the road and Aine used the clutches of boulders and overgrown tangles of snowberries for protection. She eased into these, careful to avoid catching her cloak in the woody branches. There were pebbles all about her and she scooped up a handful, watching the pacing guard. Her fingers moved on their own, digging into one of the pouches on her belt and pulling out two small, smooth black balls. They were a little larger than the pebbles she held and she grasped the handful carefully. She waited until the pacer put his back to her and tossed them all up the road leading back into Skyrim.
The pebbles hit the ground and the balls flashed bright orange in a small contained explosion. It was similar to someone striking a flint, but the effect on those soldiers was instantaneous. All three came to attention. The one pacing came to an abrupt halt and motioned one of the torch-bearers forward. Aine used the distraction and sidled up the road with another handful, this one including three of the little trick stones. She tossed them into the bushes out of direct view of the south road, creating a larger flash. She heard the superior officer command one of his men to follow and then the sound of footsteps echoed to her. It was hard leaving Meara and Percival's line of sight, but she did so anyway, sneaking further up the road. There was very little she wouldn't risk for her friend.
The soldiers came closer and she picked up a larger stone and sacrificed two more tricks. Taking a deep breath, she threw them farther away, risking that torchlight. The gamble paid off, the men went past her and she counted to fifteen before easing back to the border.
The other guard was slumped against one of the stone markers on the side of the road, Meara's work. Aine could see the dark blue end of one of her friend's darts in the man's neck. Nothing fatal, merely a mild concoction that put its victim under for a half-hour or so. His torch was slowly dying at his feet and Aine kept to the shadows, knowing her little trick with the stones would only work for so long.
There was no sign of Meara or Percival and Aine's relief at finally crossing onto her native soil was dampened because of this. She moved forward gingerly, straining to hear them or the soldiers. They had, of course, chosen a moonless night to carry out the escape, and at this precise moment, she really regretted it.
She was roughly a quarter-mile or more from the border when she saw the orange glow of a fire. It was just beyond a small rise and she slowed, eyeing it for the best approach. There was no way her friends would be so stupid as to start a fire now… Well, Percival, maybe, but never Meara.
Aine forced herself to focus and to move. She hunkered down, practically crawling up the rise under the bushes. The frozen ground allowed cold to seep through her gloves and thick leggings, but she ignored it. Besides, the view that greeted her over that rise pretty much made everything else meaningless.
There was the briefest glimpse of the Imperials' standard brown leathers trimmed in red and then a voice spoke.
"Ah, perfect. If you would be so good as to join us, my lady."
Aine sensed the presence beside her and was quite suddenly hauled to her feet. Her body tensed, ready for a fight, but the one holding her was a massive Orc and she didn't stand a chance. He divested her of the dual blades and her knives and shoved her ahead of him into the hollow.
A half-dozen soldiers ringed the area, standing at attention. Meara and Percival each had one guard behind them, blades in hand, and the one that spoke stood more or less in the center. He was tall and lean, his Cyrodiil heritage very apparent. His shiny black hair gleamed in the torchlight and his cool grey eyes were shrewd and intelligent. Aine had difficulty suppressing a shudder when they ran over her body.
"Well, now we can get to business," He spoke calmly, nodding to the Orc who hit Aine in the backs of her knees, forcing her to the ground. He expected her reaction, catching and holding her arms before she could land a punch, "Easy, lady, Bosta does not take kindly to retaliation; it is best if you cooperate. Now, what are we to do? I hear that Solitude has been searching for three subjects that match your descriptions perfectly. Something to do with a theft of a particular jewel, I understand. Fortunately for the owner of said jewel, the Imperial Legion has not been so busy with the Stormcloak uprising that this goes unnoted. What have you to say - Percival, I believe?"
"That was mine to begin with. You can't-"
"Val, now would be an excellent time to shut up and listen. We aren't in any position to do otherwise."
The superior officer looked at Meara in complete surprise that morphed into grudging admiration.
"And here is one with some sense. Perhaps I should have asked your opinion. What do you suggest we do, lady?"
"I won't, sir, because you aren't serious about that request," Meara's voice had that absolute calm that Aine so envied; now more than ever, "And since that's the case, can we move on to the next step?"
Aine watched the emotions cross the man's face and knew this was not an easily impressed individual, nor was he used to opposition. He turned to face her friend fully, his grey eyes intrigued.
"No one speaks to me in that fashion. May I ask why you feel an exception?"
"Why keep putting this off?" Percival demanded, "What the hell are we doing here?"
"Perce, shut up," Aine tried to twist free of the Orc who merely tightened his grip, using that hated nickname to get Percival to pay attention, "For once in your life, just shut up."
"Another voice of reason, but you have not answered my question."
Meara's slanted green eyes glittered in the torchlight, her beautiful face pale under the normal golden glow. Her Altmer blood exuded nobility whether she was noble or not, and it became her better than anyone Aine had met. It certainly gave her some sway and power here, and she clearly meant to utilize it as much as she could. In that moment she looked regal and the guard behind her faded even more into the background.
"It's pointless; meaningless, and I am not interested in playing this game with you, sir. We were sneaking across the border, we got caught, and you're gratuitously postponing our punishment for your own amusement. I'm not playing; let's get this over with."
The Imperial studied Meara for a moment, his face unreadable. Aine could feel Percival's anxiety and when those cold grey eyes landed on hers, she squared herself as best she could. Her chin lifted automatically in that abominable queen look that anyone who knew her well would recommend not testing.
"I see the ladies are of one mind," The Imperial lifted his shoulders and motioned to his men, "I suppose there is nothing left but to take them to Helgen."
Percival's pale eyes were enormous and he went rigid in his guard's grip once he was on his feet. Meara's guard had already ushered her close to Aine and Percival's frightened tones brought everyone to a halt.
"H-Helgen? But that means-"
"You are thieves and were caught sneaking over the border in a time of war. According to your lady, we aren't playing this game. That means I get to decide your fate and this includes Helgen. You can walk to the wagon on your own feet or be dragged there by them," The Imperial turned the full force of that unreadable gaze on him, "The choice is yours, Percival."
Percival looked around at the soldiers, his eyes finally landing on Meara.
"There - there's got to be something we or - or you could do?"
The soldier's brows arched up.
"Could you really be suggesting bribery, Percival? No, no, no, that is not how I - Captain Markos Stychus - operate. No, far too primitive."
Percival blinked and Meara said his name in an undertone. Aina hated the speculative gleam that suddenly ignited in Stychus' eyes and she felt her nerves stretch tight.
"I - I don't-"
"Of course you don't and so I will explain. What would you be willing to give up for freedom, Percival? Or rather… who?"
Cold crept into Aine's heart. Percival looked rapidly between her and Meara, confirming that dark, deeply buried suspicion. She didn't think for a minute Percival would do anything to her on his own, but Stychus… he was something else all together. Her body tensed and Bosta tightened his hold; if she noticed it, she'd be worried about bruises. Meara was entirely still, her hands balled into fists, and Aine didn't like it.
"Who?"
"Exactly: who," Stychus spoke like they were discussing the weather, "I find it interesting. Who would you be willing to give up?"
"Val-"
"Are you serious? You'll really trade freedom for my answer?"
Stychus lifted his shoulders.
"There is only one way to know for sure, isn't there?"
"Val, quit it. He's playing again and we can't give in to this scheme. Please, just-"
"Okay Bird; my answer is Bird," Percival spoke swiftly, desperation in every word.
"Of course it is, ass," Aine snapped, angry, but not the least surprised. Apart from that moment of cold doubt, she agreed with Meara; Stychus wasn't about to do what Percival wanted, it was all a game to him, "Now that you've had your moment of pathetic worthlessness, can we get going?"
"Do not be so hasty - Bird, yes? Percival made his choice. Tell me, would you do the same?"
Aine only hesitated a moment and felt the heat of Meara's look.
"As tempting as it is right now, no, I wouldn't. I can't - No, no, Meara's right. We're not playing this game."
Stychus looked very disappointed for a brief moment and then he nodded his head.
"Fair enough. I suppose one cannot win them all. But, Percival, I am in the habit of rewarding raw honesty when I hear it and I intend to do so now."
Aine was struck absolutely speechless as her body tensed for the blow. Meara's lips parted and Stychus' hand moved so fast it was nothing but a blur. Aine squeezed her eyes shut, but opened them a moment later when Percival let out a hoarse 'no'. Her gaze went to him first and then to Meara when she crumpled. She was on her knees, her shocked eyes on the elaborate hilt jutting from her chest. Her hands made a weak gesture as though to pull the blade free and then she lost whatever reserves of strength that kept her upright. She collapsed to the frozen ground and went still.
"You bastard! You lousy little bastard!"
Aine's sudden dive at Stychus even threw Bosta. He lost his grip on her and she tackled the Imperial. He was caught off-guard and staggered back under her weight. She pummeled anything she could reach, still shouting, and everything seemed absolute chaos for a moment. She could hear Percival saying Meara's name rather indistinctly, felt tears staining her cheeks, and then something hard crashed into her skull and everything went black.
Aine's first thought was that she was on a boat; until there was a tremendous lurch that set off fireworks in her head. She could hear the horses' hooves then and the soothing command of their handler. Bits and pieces were coming back to her now, the prominent one Meara's pale, lifeless face… and she jerked upright.
The fireworks exploded into blinding stars and she swore roundly, sinking back down and reaching up to cradle her head. Her wrists were bound and the ties dug painfully into her skin, but she hardly felt it. Her best friend was dead, she was gone forever, snuffed out like she was nothing, and that was all that mattered. The wagon lurched again, the stars brightening, and she felt tears burn in her eyes. She pressed her palms to her face and shifted in an attempt to ease some of the pain. Blood pounded in her ears and she slowly started upright.
"Easy, girl, that's a nasty lump on your head," The man's voice was deep and calm, "You won't be doing yourself any favors."
She opened her eyes and met the man's gaze, leaning back against the short wagon-wall behind her. He was older than her by about five or maybe ten years with dirty blond hair, dark blue eyes, and broad heavy shoulders. He was most clearly a Nord and his despondent expression somehow didn't suit him. Aine shifted her attention to their surroundings; anything to distract from the pain.
They were winding along the dirt road around piles of boulders, towering firs and cedars, and tangled clumps of snowberries and other shrubs. Snow clung to the shaded areas between the rocks and under the trees, and the sky was piled with menacing grey clouds over the nearby mountain range. Two soldiers followed the wagon on horseback and that prevented any of them jumping out, despite the fact that it would be a very simple task. The wagon was open, two benches facing each other. Aine was across from the Nord, close to the coachman. Next to him was a small-framed Breton with wild dark hair and very nervous eyes; on Aine's side another Nord sat, hunched forward. His hair was darker than the other's, his eyes deep brown, and his face roughly handsome. His once fine armor was dusty and dirty and the gag over his mouth made Aine frown. She found herself looking more closely at him and noticed that the bindings on his wrists looped through a sturdy belt around his waist, preventing him from lifting his hands more than a few inches.
"Don't know him, do you, girl?"
Aine was too slow in looking away from the man and his dark eyes, intelligent and very intense, found hers. She fought the urge to drop her gaze, her stubborn nature taking over her grief for a moment, and she gave him a nod. His eyes may have given a little flicker, but he looked away and she couldn't be sure. She met the other Nord's almost amused glance and started to shake her head. The stabs of pain stopped her short and she closed her eyes.
"No," She answered and heard how hoarse her voice was, "And I don't think I care. What happened to Percival?"
The Nord blinked at her when she looked at him again. He glanced at the other two and then lifted his shoulders.
"I'm not sure what you're talking about, girl. When we got caught, you were already on board, alone. The way these dogs have been talking, you were caught stealing across the border. They're claiming you're a deserter," He held up his hands to stop her arguments and actually smiled a little, "I don't believe it, girl, even though you are an Imperial. You don't look the dog type."
Impossibly, Aine felt a smile curve her mouth. It was humorless, but a smile none-the-less; she enjoyed his blunt honesty.
"Aine, my name is Aine."
He arched his brows a bit and studied her with a thoroughness that made her feel self-conscious.
"Ralof."
She gave him a nod; those hurt a little less than the head shakes.
"Shut up back there!"
The coachman's order was harsh and the little Breton ignored it. He had been studying the Nord across from him while Aine and Ralof talked and now he glanced at Ralof.
"What do you mean, Nord? Who is this?"
"You haven't been paying much attention, have you, horse thief?" Ralof's voice was dripping with disdain, never mind Aine herself hadn't known who the Nord was, "To think that a man of the proper fighting age doesn't recognize Ulfric Stormcloak."
The Breton reeled back as though Ralof physically struck him and his nervous eyes were suddenly terrified.
"Ulfric St-Stormcloak? But that means-"
"Helgen will be as far you go, thief."
Aine welcomed the distraction that Ralof's curious morals brought about. He was an old-fashioned Nord which interested her; the kind that disapproved of women fighting and had a funny quirk that told him thievery was worse than desertion. Not true. A little voice in her head murmured. He doesn't believe the desertion story. Besides, if he did, he'd probably approve of an Imperial deserting the Imperials… She shook it away. The voice sounded too much like Meara and she glanced over at Ulfric.
The Breton's fear was entirely understandable. Here was the man that had killed Skyrim's high king with just his voice and that was not a good sign for the rest of them. No matter what else happened, wherever this wagon came to a stop, it meant the axe for Ulfric Stormcloak and the Breton was now trembling. Aine and her cohorts hadn't paid much attention to the political upheaval in the country, save that it made some of their more questionable exploits easier to pull off, but even they had known that Ulfric's blood would be the only thing to satisfy the Imperials in Skyrim. Thoughts of past exploits were painful, terribly painful, and she closed her eyes on those burning tears. At this precise moment, she didn't give a damn about dying. Unless, of course, she was given an impossible opportunity to tear Stychus and Percival apart piece by piece, but Percival was undoubtedly dead and Stychus was torturing other travelers attempting the border.
"And here we are," Ralof spoke almost dreamily, "I used to be sweet on a girl here… Hilde, her name was. Huh, wonder if the tavern is still serving that mead with juniper berries…"
Aine opened her eyes and felt her heart begin to thump with dread, never mind her conviction. The Breton was frantically praying to any deity he could name and Ulfric remained still and passive.
"Is General Tullius ready?" Their coachman called as the wagon bounced down the road and through the thick stone wall surrounding Helgen.
"Been waiting for you, Lucas, go on through."
Helgen was quaint and compact. The small fort sat in the center of the walled town, its tower stark against the sky. Private homes were to the east while businesses were to the west and the wagon moved past these to an open courtyard in front of the tower and barracks. Another wagon was already there, its prisoners, mostly Nords which led Aine to believe they were more Stormcloaks, grouped with their guards. Townsfolk milled about, waiting with morbid curiousity for the outcome of the morning's execution. Aine heard a father order his son home to his mother and an elderly woman beseeched her daughter to get her back to the house. Her heart was fluttering madly within her and the wagon came to a stop near its counterpart. The pain in her head was no longer a priority, fear was and it was tangible.
"Come on, now, out."
The soldier removed the sliding panel and kicked a small step-stool to the wagon. Ulfric was the first to move and his presence caused a tremor to roll through the gathered throng. People began murmuring and one man was brave enough to call out.
"Long live Ulfric, true king of Skyrim!"
Save a few black looks and no doubt promises to make his life hell later, the comment went ignored. The Imperials kept their attention on their prisoners. The Breton went next, his eyes on the two Legion officers that had moved closer to their wagon. One was a small, sturdy woman whose helm gleamed even in the grey light of the day over her hard face. The man beside her was tall and strongly built, his reddish hair free of the Imperial helm. He was making notations in a leather bound ledger as the prisoners left the wagon and he had just parted his lips to speak when the Breton snapped.
"No, no, this isn't happening! I'm not getting slaughtered like a pig, I won't!"
Aine had clumsily made it to the stool, Ralof's hands steadying her, and they both watched in shocked surprise as the little man took off. Shouts went up and the woman officer took control immediately.
"Archers!"
The Breton never had a chance. Aine slipped to the ground, afraid she was going to loose her balance on that stool, and two arrows sank into the Breton's back, dropping him. Ralof was beside her.
"Coward," He muttered darkly.
The male Legion officer turned back to them and the archers moved to take care of the Breton's body. He lifted his ledger.
"Still the same Ralof, huh? Truth be told, I think I'm rather disappointed this will be the last time I see you, but I suppose all good things must come to an…" His voice trailed off and he frowned at Aine, "What's this? Who are you?"
She blinked, glancing quickly at Ralof who looked as surprised as she felt. Even Ulfric, over his shoulder, watched with a furrowed brow. Aine's skin prickled as those intense eyes moved over her and then she focused on the Imperial. Two more soldiers had moved in, standing at the officer's elbow, and this whole thing seemed suddenly ridiculous; pointless, and Aine felt her temper flare.
"Brilliant, just brilliant. If this is how the Imperial Legion handles a simple execution, why I simply can't imagine why the Nords want to be rid of you. Very competent, well done."
One of the two soldiers stepped forward, slapping her across the face before she had a chance to blink. The blow sent her reeling back into Ralof who caught her as well as he could. Her head throbbed angrily and she could taste blood where her teeth caught her tongue.
"You will show the Empire respect!"
"That's enough, Gauis, I won't stand for that behavior," The officer spoke firmly, not in the mood to be trifled with. His eyes found Aine's, "The point was made, lady, now answer my question."
Aine stepped away from Ralof, touching her cheek with her bound hands. She gave the one who hit her a black look and faced the officer, holding her head high.
"My name is Aine, I was sneaking across the border into Cyrodiil and caught by a special bastard named Markos Stychus. And here I am. If you would like further details, I would suggest asking him. As long as he's not too busy torching homes for fun and torturing innocents."
The Imperial's eyes flickered a little and he gave her a nod.
"I'm very familiar with Captain Stychus' methods," He replied and for the briefest moment, Aine was almost hopeful, "I appreciate your honesty; I had no notice. Let's get this over with."
The guards moved in then, ushering them closer to the stained block where the woman officer stood with the executioner. A priestess broke from the crowd and stood forward, beginning what promised to be a long, drawn-out blessing-scolding for the prisoners' souls. Her orange and yellow robes shimmered in a way that said they possessed some enchantment, and Aine studied the gleam as her thoughts wandered. She saw Meara's pretty face, that warm smile she'd worn when they first met on Solitude's streets on Aine's twelfth birthday. She had been fourteen, an urchin like Aine, and they were inseparable from then on. Meara had been maternal, patient, that loving protection Aine had always craved; and Aine's impulsive nature had given Meara the chance to play mother hen which was what she had wanted. The Altmer had been Aine's dearest friend for so long, her voice of reason and compass, and now…
One of the Nords finally lost patience with the priestess and he broke up Aine's recollections.
"All right, enough of this nonsense," He interrupted the endless flow of words in a raspy voice, striding forward with his head held high, "Ready your axe, dog, Sovngarde awaits."
There was something hauntingly beautiful in this man's sacrifice and Aine couldn't help but wish his soul on to his Sovngarde when the axe whistled down. A predictable gasp escaped a few of the women gathered, but it was the sound that came after that had them all looking about. It was close to the roar of a cave bear, but this was larger and much louder. The guards exchanged glances and Aine looked at Ralof when he said Ulfric's name. Ulfric had tensed, his eyes fixed on the mountain range. The only one to remain untouched was the woman officer and her grating voice was entirely too loud.
"You next, girl. Now."
Aine's heart beat uncomfortably fast and she worried her legs would fail her when she moved forward. One of the guards kicked the Nord's body out of the way and the roar echoed again. It still came from the mountains, but seemed somehow higher. The echoes faded slowly and Aine met the gaze of the Imperial with the ledger. He looked apologetic, but didn't speak.
"On your knees," The woman barked, still ignoring the strange roars, "You do not want us to make you."
Aine looked down at the block. The Nord's blood glistened and she thought of Meara again, slaughtered on some asshole's whim, drunk on his own power… She dropped to her knees, hardly feeling the pain from the frozen ground. As she put her head on the block a few mutinous tears escaped her. Before she could squeeze her eyes shut on them, a dark shape swooped overhead. It disappeared from view, the executioner raised his axe, and then something huge landed on the tower behind the Legion officers.
Everything slowed. Aine was sure she heard the ridiculous shout of 'dragon' and then the sky erupted with flames. The woman officer and executioner began screaming and she felt heat scorch over her. Chaos now reigned and she took full advantage. She rolled away from the killing field and froze when the dragon - an actual, huge dragon - lifted from the tower and took to the skies.
More screams sounded and people were running madly in all directions. Fires burned both in the thatched roofs and in large patches on the ground and the dragon's roars were deafening. The horses panicked, bolting for the open gate in the wall, the wagons bouncing wildly and soldiers scrambled to put up whatever defenses they could. Their expressions were terrified, but at least they were acting which prompted Aine. She struggled to her feet, seeing Ulfric surrounded by some of the other Nords, and then more fire came down and she ducked away.
The flames danced crazily in the down-draft of the dragon's wings and Aine could just barely make out Ralof's shout. He stood silhouetted in the tower's doorway and she ran toward him, her movements clumsy because of the ties on her wrists. She heard that ominous sound of wings behind her and dove through the doorway, fire at her heels.
Ralof shoved the door closed, jumping back when it began smoking. Aine scrambled up and barely registered the other two in the room with them.
"Come on," Ralof motioned to the spiral stairs where one of the men was already standing, "There's a way to the next building up here. Keep moving."
They were half-way up the steps, Aine was just about to turn and ask Ralof to cut her free, when the side of the tower burst inward. The man she followed was crushed under the heavy stones and Ralof grabbed her roughly, yanking her against the wall and sheltering her from the flames that spewed in front of them. He pushed her forward again as soon as they ceased.
"Keep going, Aine, it's just ahead."
She felt everything within her protest this action, but she did as he said. The rubble made the going a bit more difficult, but fear was helpful here and she reached another gaping hole in the tower wall. This one looked like it had once been a doorway, rubble blocked the rest of the stairs leading up, and through the hole, she could see the building that had connected here. It was roughly fifteen or twenty feet ahead and a good drop below. The roof had caught fire and part of it caved inward, revealing what looked like a sound floor beneath… for now.
Aine looked at Ralof rather helplessly.
"Now what?"
"Now we jump," Ralof spoke calmly, like they were carrying on a normal conversation. The man behind him looked impatient, but remained silent. The Nord went on when Aine blanched, "No choice, Aine, jump. Now."
He half-threw her out of the opening in the wall and she landed hard on the wooden floor of the building. She rolled across the floorboards to mitigate some of the damage and ducked her head when debris rained down on her. There was a sickening lurch as some of the building's support gave and she decided against waiting for the others. The stairs were already ablaze and she had no choice but to drop from the open landing. Heat scorched her and her body protested the second impact rather fiercely, but she shook it off and raced for the door.
Outside wasn't much better.
Fires surrounded her and she couldn't really tell up from down in the chaos. Movement ahead finally drew her and she tried to hold her breath when the heated air burned in her throat. The dragon could be heard over the crackling flames and the sounds of the buildings caving in, and the movement turned out to be the Imperial officer. His ledger was replaced with a wicked-looking mace and he stood in a fighters' stance, looking at someone who stood out of Aine's line of sight. As she drew closer, expecting to hear Ralof and the other man come behind her at any moment, she could make out the Imperial's words.
"Don't be such a damned fool, Ralof!" She perked at the Imperial's words, wondering how the hell the Nord had gotten out of the tower and over this way so quickly, "Stay out of the way!"
"Then hand her over, Hadvar, I won't ask again!"
Aine picked up the pace and finally came level with the Imperial. She could make out Ralof's figure against the orange blaze, through the haze of heat and smoke. He was alone this time and there was something rather endearing in the way he wanted to look after her. The practical side of her brain barked at her to focus and she wished for the hundredth time that her hands were free. Ralof finally spotted her and she could practically feel his relief.
"Aine! Come, this way!"
Hadvar glanced over his shoulder at her and smoothly turned himself so he could keep an eye on both of them, his expression hard. Aine started forward and then stopped, watching him warily. He hadn't made any physical move to stop her, but as she moved again, he couldn't seem to help but chastise her.
"Tie yourself to him, lady, and you'll never have a moment's peace."
"But I will with you? No thank you, sir, I'll take my chances with the Stormcloaks this time, I didn't care for the Legion's methods."
Hadvar gave her a searching look and then stepped back and lowered his mace. He looked annoyed now.
"I don't have time for this. Get out of here before I change my mind."
"Like you ever had a choice, Hadvar," Ralof actually gave the Imperial a smile, "Until next time."
Aine finally reached him and they left Hadvar to deal with his issues. Ralof led her into another of the fort's out-buildings, avoiding the fires and the dragon's deadly dives. The interior of the building was large and dim with a gated doorway directly ahead and a large wooden door to the right of it. There was also the sprawled body of a dead Stormcloak and Ralof's face darkened.
"So much for saving Ulfric. Go ahead, Aine, take what you need."
She arched her brows and lifted her hands.
"Care to make that a little easier?"
Ralof looked chagrined and stepped closer. He took her hands in his and Aine noted the gold flecks in his blue eyes. His features were handsome in the same rough way Ulfric's were and she gave herself a mental shake. He cut her loose and inspected the room while she stripped the dead Stormcloak. The armor was too big and felt awkward on her, but it was better than nothing. She missed her knives with a passion while she took up the dropped mace and swung it a few times to get a feel for it and the discomfort didn't last long. Ralof hissed for silence and motioned her to the shadows. She could hear the hurried steps and hushed voices. A moment later, the large gate rattled upward and two Imperial Legion soldiers emerged.
"What the hell's going on?" One of them said.
Neither one of them saw Aine or Ralof until the Nord stepped forward, his sword raised.
"We'll take the key to that door."
Both soldiers turned about and jumped at them without a word. Aine felt terror pool into her belly when one bore down on her. Her past exploits with Meara and Percival had involved stealth and deception; they had avoided violence because of the multiplied risks. Now though…
Her self-preservation kicked in and she threw the mace up to parry the incoming blow. She staggered under the man's weight and then danced away from him, landing a blow to his back. He was quick on his feet, turning on her, but she was ready for him. Her mace slammed into his chest and he stumbled backward into a collection of tall, heavy candlesticks. He got tangled in them and Aine didn't feel right about attacking him in the moment.
"Aine!"
She glanced at Ralof and in that split-second, the guard acted. He threw himself at her, Aine shoved him back with her mace, and he fell into Ralof's ready sword. The tip jutted from his chest and she dropped her hands to her sides. Ralof's blue eyes met hers as the Imperial's body slumped to the floor.
"You can't hesitate, Aine. You really think he wouldn't take advantage of a tumble you took? That's a good way to get yourself killed, girl."
Aine knew exactly what he meant, but her old nature had taken hold of her; that nature that got waspish when confronted with something she'd rather not discuss and she tried to stem some of it at least. Ralof had been too kind to her to treat him like that.
"Should we have this conversation with the rest of the Legion when they show up? They might have some pointers. Do either of them have the key you mentioned?"
The scheme worked despite her sarcasm and Ralof came up with the key. They could hear the dragon roar outside and the building trembled around them. Ralof forgot his scolding and unlocked the door. They pressed on down the slanted hall that led into the earth. A soft glow came from what turned out to be a large kitchen whose fires still smoked through their chimneys. Ralof began rifling in the barrels and crates, unearthing a satchel he began packing with provisions. Dust and small debris kept raining down on them and they didn't tarry long. The earthen hall twisted further and Ralof suddenly held up one hand. Aine could hear voices and she readied her weapon, trying to swallow at least some of her fear. The Nord gave her a stern look she ignored and then eased into the room.
This time it was two against three and one of them was a sorcerer. Ralof immediately threw himself forward and Aine spotted a small collection of wicked-looking knives on a nearby table. She dove for them, feeling the white-hot heat from the spell that scorched over her. Before the man got a chance to cast again, she threw the knife. It sank into the sorcerer's chest and he dropped. It reminded her sharply of Meara and the thought caught her entirely off-guard. Her second throw wasn't nearly as true. The knife landed in one of the guards' thigh and his cry of agony made her shudder. Ralof dispatched both of the men and decided against speaking to Aine when he caught the pale horror on her face. Now was clearly not the time to corner her on the finer points of combat.
She felt somewhat better about her first kill when she saw they stood in a torture chamber. They gathered the few supplies they could find and Aine retrieved both knives along with scabbards to match. They moved on, the tunnels losing some of the man-made influences and becoming natural formations. More opposition greeted them and Ralof wasn't the least surprised to run into two fellow Stormcloaks. They were introduced as brothers and she learned that Ulfric's rescue had been planned for some time. The brothers were more than relieved to learn their leader had already been sprung and they agreed to go along with Ralof and Aine. The tunnel continued down and finally ended in a tumble of boulders.
"It's this way," One of the brothers offered and motioned to a small opening in the wall beside the slide. It was dank and rather cramped, but the air flowing through had a fresh undercurrent, "That caved in not long after the trouble started up above."
Ralof led the way and the sound of water greeted them. This was clearly the fort's fresh water supply and so it was not surprising to find it guarded. Between the four of them, they made quick work of the soldiers and Aine's reluctance was slowly fading. She still felt her stomach churn each time she cut one of these lives short, but it was a necessity. At least that's what she kept telling herself.
"Easy," It was the other brother this time and he reached out to take hold of Ralof's arm before the Nord could continue down the path, "We didn't see it, but there's a cave bear in a cavern not far from here. Let's not take any unnecessary risks."
Ralof gave him a nod and did not give up the lead. Aine was amused and a bit annoyed when the men jostled her to the center of their line in an attempt to keep her safe; never mind that it was rather endearing. They crossed into a huge cavern that was truly natural and the water bubbled cheerfully beside them. Ahead an opening gaped in the cavern wall and the brothers both waved at it. Ralof's hand tightened on his sword and they all tiptoed forward. Aine could smell the musty, rotten meat odor of the bear and she didn't realize she held her breath until they were clear of the cavern and standing at the base of a path that twisted up into a faint glow of daylight.
She was free.