Sundas, 17th of Last Seed, 4E 201
Yngve woke with his hands bound, being taken someplace in a wagon. He could only vaguely remember the ambush, and supposed that he must have been knocked unconscious; his head was still achey and spinning. Looking around, he recognized at least some of the other occupants: his own father, the Jarl of Windhelm; and one of his father's militia men, Ralof of Riverwood. The other two occupants were unknown to Yngve, though something about them seemed to tell him that they were both thieves.
As the small group of carriages rolled into the village of Helgen, it passed by General Tullius, who appeared to be conferring with some Thalmor officials. Bastard! Yngve thought instinctively at the sight of them. As they passed, he could scarcely hear the word "headsman" being said. While he wasn't surprised about it, it still managed to strike him as surreal. Ralof had some choice words on the matter, along with his grim reminiscences for the road through town. Yngve himself had never been to Helgen; it didn't make a good impression.
There were perhaps four wagons in their grim caravan to the executioner's block. As the prisoners were being unloaded, named, and accounted for one of the thieves in Yngve's company began babbling madly, desperately pleading to be reconsidered. Although he was admittedly getting a raw deal, being paraded off to the chopping block with the Stormcloak soldiers, Yngve found his groveling and begging embarrassing, and thought he ought to have maintained a bit of composure. It might or might not have helped his case, but Yngve thought it a pitifully undignified way for a Nord to face his own death. And in the end, all the thief got for his trouble was an even sooner death than anyone else would receive that day – by firing squad.
The Imperial legate called his father's name, then Ralof's, and then Yngve's own name, snapping his attention back to the present situation. Then, after what felt like much longer than it probably was, all the names were called and the legionnaires could finally get on with their big, symbolic display. General Tullius even took the opportunity to lecture and condescend the bound and gagged Jarl of Windhelm. That General would never face his father without the benefit of some sort of handicap, Yngve was sure.
As the priestess began to deliver the last rights to all the captives, a great, far off shriek echoed in the sky. One of the militia men, whose name Yngve would regret that he couldn't remember at the time, interrupted just as she uttered the words, "eight divines." The soldier strode directly over to the chopping block, demanding to just get it over with. Although the anticipation was certainly unnerving, Yngve couldn't imagine strolling so coolly into his own death, and inwardly admired the soldier's bravery. And yet, Yngve would later realize, if that soldier had only waited another few moments, he could have been saved from his fate.
When the headsman's axe came hurtling down on the soldier's head, Yngve had to avert his eyes to the ground. Even now, in his fourteenth year, he couldn't bear to watch an execution. He hoped his father didn't notice that he was all but petrified in his fear to die this way – as a failure, as a captive, before his father, and surrounded by the jeering voices of a town full of boot-licking traitors. He was unready to face his mortality that day. Luckily, however, he wouldn't have to.
The legate summoned Yngve next to the block, and as she did so another baleful screech sounded from the clouds. Yngve stepped forward hesitantly, and was roughly manhandled onto the chopping block. He thought he could even feel the tread of her boot in his back and she used her foot to force him to bend. He looked half-heartedly up at the executioner, readying that dreadful axe, when the sky let out another menacing cry, and suddenly everything changed.
A shadow was seen gliding through the clouds, and then, a second later, a dragon swooped in and perched on top of a low tower behind the chopping block. The ground shook, the headsman's swing faltered, and Yngve, along with everyone else, was knocked back by the dragon's shout. It was disorienting, and Yngve's head was swimming. He couldn't see straight. Somehow, over the din, he could hear Ralof's voice beckoning him, and then Ralof was at his side helping him get back onto his feet. Yngve followed Ralof and the others into a nearby tower and the bindings were cut off of his wrists, as the Stormcloak faction regrouped.
Yngve's ears were still ringing, and he was unable to make out what was being said in the tower. Ralof started up into the tower as Yngve looked to his father uncertainly. That was when, all at once, his hearing seemed to come back in full force.
"What are you waiting for!? Up the stairs! Now!"
Yngve was immediately, almost unthinkingly, compelled to act, even through all the confusion in the tower. It was automatic, for it wasn't the voice of the Jarl of Windhelm that commanded him, but instead the voice of his father.
As Yngve followed Ralof up the tower steps, looking for a way out, they were headed off by a dragon head, pushing through the stony wall, breathing fire into the room. Yngve nearly fell down the stairs when he stumbled back in surprise, but managed to catch his balance and avoid the fiery breath. Eventually, the dragon moved on, and at Ralof's instruction Yngve leapt from the burning tower down into a burning inn. The other thief Yngve remembered from the wagon ride into Helgen jumped down as well, but like everyone else Yngve lost track of him. Escaping the burning inn, Yngve decided to make a break for it, before any of the scattered Imperial soldiers could recapture him, although in all honesty Yngve suspected that they were too preoccupied to really be trying to.
Eventually, Yngve was reunited with Ralof, although his father was nowhere to be found. Ralof urged Yngve to go with him, confident that his father could handle himself. Generally struggling to control his rising panic level, Yngve had no real option but to do as instructed by Ralof – who he was sure he could trust, at least. As the two ran for the entrance to the keep, they nearly ran headlong into an Imperial solder, with the mysterious thief in tow. At Ralof's encouragement, the thief rejoined them as they entered the keep, rather than stay with the legionnaire – a wise move, Yngve thought to himself, the Imperials probably wouldn't even have cut his hands free.
Yngve was somewhat taken aback that, even in such a time of crisis, they were having to fight their way through Imperial soldiers for evacuation through the keep. Everyone present was staring death in agony in the face. And yet, many of the legionnaires were concerned with making kills.
Burrowing deeper into the keep, Yngve, Ralof, and the thief came across a small group of Stormcloak soldiers. Yngve had been desperately hoping for news of his father's whereabouts in all the chaos, but when the soldiers they joined up with in the Keep didn't have any information, there still wasn't any time to wonder or worry. They simply picked up anything they could find of use and forged ahead.
The keep was crashing down all around them, and after a small skirmish in a rather large room, Yngve found himself stuck on the wrong side of a cave-in, trapped behind a pile of rocks and separated from Ralof and the thief. A rush of air caused by the cave-in extinguished the wall torches, leaving Yngve in total darkness, and for a length of time the only thing he could do was panic. When he was finally able to force the thought from his head that he was imminently going to die there, he felt along the wall until he found a torch, and relit it. At times like this, he was thankful to have the limited understanding of magic that he had – enough to light a torch, at least.
Gradually regaining his composure, Yngve inspected the caved in wall that blocked him from proceeding further into the keep. After making a number of attempts to find a loose stone or a weak point in the tightly packed wall of stone impeding his path, Yngve had to stop and reevaluate. Hoping to find a tool or weapon that might help clear his way, he decided to take the torch he had lit and turn back to explore how far back he could retreat. Walking back as far as he could, Yngve found two swords, a battle axe, and a glimmer of hope: he realized as he approached the wall of fallen stones blocking the way back out of the keep that he could feel a draft coming through from the other side. He kept the battle axe, his preferred weapon of the types available, and used the two swords he had found to help him break down the barricade, wedging the blade in between the stones and using the handle as a lever to move them. It took what felt like an eternity, but finally Yngve worked his way through the keep, back the way he came, and emerged back into the decimated village of Helgen. It was late afternoon, and the dragon had moved on. With the gate blocked by rubble, Yngve had to find another exit. He gathered together a stack of loose debris and used it to climb up the town's walls, jumping roughly down to the ground on the other side.
Helgen, Yngve knew, was on the edge between Falkreath hold and Whiterun hold. Neither hold favored his father's war, he knew, but politics, he reasoned, would have to be set aside to be revisited after this dragon crisis was sorted out. That being the case, he had a decision to make: head to Falkreath, or head to Whiterun? After a brief deliberation, he decided to go to Whiterun. It was larger, so its guard would be better equipped to respond to a dragon attack. There would also be more resources available in Whiterun, and Yngve might even be able to get a horse there. Most of all, it was on his way – after all, if Yngve had gotten out of Helgen alive, he was sure that his father had, too. Whatever the case, Yngve needed to get back to Windhelm as soon as possible.
As he was passing through what was essentially enemy territory, Yngve ditched his militia armor and traveled to Whiterun in a set of hooded mage robes, which he had thought to salvage from a wardrobe he passed by in the keep back in Helgen. After what he considered a surprisingly uneventful trek, Yngve arrived at the Whiterun city gates in the evening, almost for nothing; Whiterun, apparently, had no intention of harboring refugees. Claiming, in his most official-sounding voice, to have news of the dragon attacks, Yngve managed to talk his way into the city, though the guardsmen at the gate assured him that he was suspicious and that his actions would be monitored, and Yngve would soon find out exactly how right they were about that.
Once inside the city, Yngve made his way to its keep without hesitation. Dragonsreach was a majestic, looming structure, perched at the top of the city as if it were watching over its citizens. To Yngve, it seemed to have an air of vigilance, which it maintained when he entered it and was immediately accosted by the Jarl's housecarl. She aggressively informed him that the Jarl was not receiving anyone, but changed her mind, Yngve noticed somewhat smugly, when he told her he had survived Helgen.
Standing before Jarl Balgruuf the Greater in this context, Yngve suddenly felt very self-conscious and very small. It felt something like being a child again, somewhat like the last time he had met any of the Jarls of Skyrim other than his own father. He decided not to mention ever having been a prisoner in Helgen, but even so, to his dismay, one way or another the Jarl did recognize him.
"You must know, I can't just let you walk out of here," the Jarl said after a pause, once Yngve had told him what he had seen in Helgen.
For a few tense minutes, Yngve thought that he had escaped the headsman's axe, then death by dragon fire, only to have Jarl Balgruuf execute him in Whiterun. But quickly enough, he realized this was unlikely; Jarl Balgruuf all but openly opposed his father in the civil war, and Yngve would make a pretty worthless bargaining chip if he were already dead. After a brief, hushed conference with the Jarl, the steward of Whiterun bade Yngve follow, and he was shown to a rather lavishly furnished apartment in the keep, which, rather than the dungeon, would serve as his cell.
"Jarl Balgruuf realizes that you are still just a child," the steward said, to Yngve's clearly visible annoyance. "The Jarl does not hold you accountable for your father's crimes, but does insist on keeping you here at Dragonsreach for the time being, for your own safety," the steward continued.
Yeah, right, Yngve thought, for my safety. As his thoughts were stewing in his own disappointment, a woman clad in steel armor stepped past the steward and into his room. Her presence had taken Yngve somewhat by surprise. If she had been walking with them since the great hall, he hadn't even noticed her until that moment.
"Lydia will see to your safety during your stay here," the steward said, gesturing toward the woman, and with that he left.
As soon as the steward exited the doorway, Yngve's limbs started to feel heavy. After a few moments, one of the keep's servants came in and offered him food, which he accepted graciously, and hot water, with which he gladly indulged in bathing himself. After all this, the bed provided in his gilded cell proved far too enticing to resist, and he was asleep before he felt his body touch the bedding.