Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim, that little puppy belongs to Bethesda, the lucky gits. Characters that you do not recognise and have been created for the purposes of this story are, however, mine.
Chapter one
The clattering of wooden wheels on stone cobble mixed with the jarring rock of the wagon on its steep tilt down finally woke the young Breton. The uncomfortable sleep was made nearly impossible with the constant motion of the cart but as she had found out, rather painfully, concussions appeared to be spectacularly sedative.
Groaning with the intense agony only a combination of head trauma and light sensitivity could cause she opened her eyes to take in her surroundings.
The first thing she saw staring at her lap were her hands securely tied and whilst this in itself is a rather peculiar thing, it certainly wasn't the first time she had felt hemp rope bound to her wrists. However the second sight she took in, which did a better job of unsettling her, was the back of an Imperial soldiers head and serious as this seemed the searing fog rattling in her mind prevented it from meaning too much. Her eyes then moved on to take in the tall pines and evergreens scattered thickly on either side of the road in between the rocky outcroppings and slopes of the hills. The climate was cold and everything was covered in a thick dusting of snow leaving the girl confused about where she could now be.
There were three others in the cart with her, all Nord men and all similarly bound. Two of them seemed to be arguing whilst the other kept silent, no doubt due to the cloth gag placed around his mouth. She heard a gruff, strongly accented voice which seemed intent on gaining her attention. She turned to look at the man talking to her but the consuming mist of pain that had established itself made it even harder to understand what the Nord was trying to say.
"You were trying to cross the border right?" the blonde Nord asked gently, as if fully aware of how her head throbbed. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush same as us and that thief over there."
"Damn you Stormcloaks," the dirty, dark haired thief groused "if they hadn't been looking for you I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there," now looking at the young Breton "you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the Nord guard spat.
"Shut up back there!" shouted the Imperial driver.
The silence that fell remained for some time, which to the girl was only a partial blessing. With the quiet her mind turned to her own thoughts of things she had heard. This situation made no sense what so ever. Where was she? And who were these "Stormcloaks" the thief seemed so intent on blaming for his misfortune? As these questions came to her she was not so sure she could trust any of these men to answer them, so she let the dead air remain. However the thief, it seemed, had his own line of questions to pose and lapsed back into his annoying chatter.
"What's wrong with him?" tilting his head towards the gagged man sat next to her.
"Watch your tongue," snapped the gruff voiced Stormcloak. "You are speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
At any other time the Breton would be impressed by the presence this Ulfric exuded. What she could see of his face was fairly handsome, if aging in years and whilst fair like most Nords his hair looked matted with sweat, further caked with dirt leaving it limply plastered to his scalp. But what struck her was how even bound and silenced he appeared imposing, fearless and to an extent bored. This recklessness didn't seem to fit the title "True High King" but certainly fit more truly to a self serving opportunist than most.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion, but if they've captured you..." the thief's face suddenly fell with realization, the panic and fear clear in his eyes. "Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?"
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," The Stormcloak said solemnly.
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!"
The thief's agitation grew more frenzied at the Stormcloaks statement. The Breton knew enough of Nord beliefs to know that Sovngarde only called to those doomed to die.
"What village are you from horse thief?"
"Why do you care?" the thief asked harshly.
"A Nords last thoughts should be of home," the Stormcloak said simply.
"Rorikstead," the thief answered after calming slightly "I'm from Rorikstead."
"General Tullius, sir!" a sudden call came from the Imperial driver "the headsmen is waiting!"
The Breton turned to the front of the cart in time to see the man in the flesh. The general sat gracefully on his horse, hands clasping the reigns tightly. He was clad in the traditional, gilt leather armour befitting a man of his station; it was well used and worn with honour. The man himself was obviously Imperial and well built for a man nearing his twilight years, his grey hair cropped close to the head in a military cut.
"Good, let's get this over with," the old general said grimly.
A fresh wave of panic swept over the thief again, inspiring an obviously less than devout man to call upon the Gods as they rode through the town gate now rearing overhead.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!"
The town was rather large but it was not familiar to the Breton. Rows of houses all made of wood and thatch lined up one against the other behind the stone towers and walls that circled the centre of the town. All the residents, it seemed, had come out of their homes to see the procession of rebels marched before the block. The blonde Stormcloak paid them no heed however and turned back to sneer at the general.
"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor and it looks like the Thalmor are with him," he all but spat at the mention of the Altmer "Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this."
Whilst the general looked like a man to be respected if not feared, the mere mention of the word Thalmor sent a chill up the Bretons spine. Why, she did not know, but this instant fear of them must have some basis. The Thalmor riding with the general didn't seem to follow him; instead they turned and rode towards the gate, exiting the town as haughtily as only Altmer can. She refocused on the Nord, watching his face soften with recognition as he finally regarded the town.
"This is Helgen," he sighed "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He huffed a small laugh "It's funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
The townsfolk had gathered to watch the impeding executions and had begun to chatter loudly amongst themselves. The Breton overheard a child loudly asking his father who were these new arrivals and where were they going? The child was sent inside, much to his disappointment at not getting to watch the soldiers, and told to wait there. The cart began to slow and even the young Breton was beginning to feel the fear seep in and settle itself deep in the pit of her stomach.
As the Imperial captain began bellowing orders to have the prisoners removed from the carts, the horse thief beat the girl in asking the dreaded question.
"Why are we stopping?"
"Why do you think?" the Stormcloak replied "end of the line."
The thief's eyes grew wide with terror but the other Nords seemed resigned to their fate, if not willing to be sent to it.
"Let's go," the Stormcloak said wearily "shouldn't keep the Gods waiting for us."
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the thief wailed as he jumped off the wagon.
"Face your death with some courage thief!"
The dark haired Nord spun around to his kinsman. "You've got to tell them! We weren't with you, this is a mistake!"
Whilst the Breton was in agreement with the desperate thief, she saw what he didn't in that this close the block an extra, partially innocent head mattered little to these folk. A fact made much clearer when the captain resumed barking orders for prisoners to step forward when they had been called by name.
"Empire loves their damn lists," the Stormcloak murmured.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric!" called the Stormcloak as the Jarl marched to the block.
"Ralof of Riverwood."
The blonde Nord walked away to join his condemned brothers in arms. It was strange to only just be putting names to these faces, but the Breton she would carry them with her for as long as she could.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" the thief howled. His panic overtook him and in a desperate bid for freedom, he bolted up the cobbled road to the gate of the town.
"Halt!" the captain screeched.
"You're not going to kill me!" Lokir shouted over his shoulder.
The captain impatiently called for the archers to fire. Only one did, but the arrow struck Lokir deep in the side of his chest, burying itself up to the fletching. He fell to the ground heavily, choking on his own blood as he was left to die where he lay.
"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain demanded.
No reply came. However, all eyes now turned to the Breton girl. Hiding at the back of the queue seemed less of an amazing strategy at this point.
"Wait! You there, step forward," the list administrator beckoned. She did as she was told, forcing her fear and reluctance down along with the building nausea and deep seated migraine.
"Who are you?" the administrator asked.
"Alunaaz," the Breton stated simply. She wondered what she must look like to these people, stood there in tattered, dirt stained clothes. Barely a slip of a thing, since even she could feel her bones pressing too closely to her skin, her pale blue eyes dulled with pain and pitch coloured hair only just beginning to re-grow from where it's had been shaved clean off. The shadows under her eyes were dark but even more so in comparison to her pale skin, which had begun to take on sickly, sallow tone. She was also rather aware of the confused look on the administrators face, trying to figure out if the androgynous waif was actually a young boy rather than a girl. She often used this bewilderment to her advantage when such awkward situations arose, but she saw little point in flustering him further when being sent to her death.
"You from Daggerfell Breton? Fleeing some court intrigue?"
"I don't remember," Alunaaz said truthfully. She knew she was running, but what or who seemed a little fuzzy at this point. Head trauma was just funny like that, it seemed.
"Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list," the administrator asked.
"Forget the list, she goes to the block same as everyone else," the captain said with barely restrained impatience.
"By your orders, captain. I'm sorry, we'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock. Now follow the captain, prisoner."
Whilst loathe to be told what to do, sensing she had little choice Alunaaz did as instructed, resisting the urge to kick the leather plated arse of the captain marching in front of her. As she was placed into the mob of rebels she stood close to Ralof, being the only one she recognised and turned to regard General Tullius as he addressed Ulfric in front of the gathered crowd.
"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 an usurp his throne."
The only reply that came was a muffled groan of disdain, as that was all Ulfric could summon.
"You started this war," the general raged "plunged Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!"
Whatever the general had to say next was cut short as a subtle but terrible cry seemed to emanate from the sky itself.
"What was that?" someone asked.
"It's nothing," Tullius interjected "carry on."
As the priestess began to sermonize the last rites to the condemned, one particular Stormcloak seemed to take offense at the blessings of the "Eight Divines" and demanded, for the love of Talos, that they get one with the execution. The priestess looked decidedly unimpressed but the captain was more than accommodating to soldier now standing in front of the headsman.
"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" he exclaimed as the captains booted foot pushed his neck to the block. The executioner raised his wickedly jagged axe as the soldier ranted.
"My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?"
The axe was dropped viciously on the soldiers neck, severing it cleanly but no less brutally, leaving only blood pouring from the stump where his head had sat. Some cheered as his lifeless body bled, others screamed and even some spat at the corpse. Alunaaz was too busy trying to keep her stomach from pitching violently upwards into her throat.
"Next, the Breton!" the captain called over the surge of the crowds' noise. Being the only Breton in the crown Alunaaz knew what it meant. But the echoing cry that silenced the crowd once again could be heard more keenly this time, almost felt, as if it was drawing nearer.
"There it is again, did you hear that?"
"I said next prisoner!"
Unable to hide any longer she walked towards to the block, trying not to look at the headless body by her feet. She heard the captain move behind her, feeling her place a hand on her shoulder and pushing her to her knees. She then felt a cruel boot heel digging harshly into her neck as it was pinned to the block. The blood that lingered from the soldier before her was still warm as was smeared against her skin. She craned her neck to look at the executioner and with ever growing fear she saw him raise his axe, but with surprise reserved solely for impossible things, she regarded a massive shadow flying over the mountain range and into the village.
"What in Oblivion is that?" cried Tullius.
With a rumble, the shadow landed heavily on the tower behind the headsman, shaking the ground with such force that it knocked everyone to their knees. The hulking, black mass seemed to absorb sunlight, as none reflected off it, wings clinging to the tower ledge as it bent its head down to observe the now hysterical crowd.
"Dragon!" someone screamed "it's a dragon!"
The creature let forth a piercing roar that darkened the sky, smothering it with black cloud laden with fire, which began falling with impunity, destroying anything it struck. The dragon let forth another roar that knocked everything to the grounded, even flinging Alunaaz a great distance from the block. Dazed and winded, but very much alive, the Breton made to stand when Ralof grabbed her by the crook of her arm and dragged her to her feet and towards the open door of a guard tower.
"Come on Breton, keep moving," he shouted above the storm of noise "the Gods won't give us another chance! This way!"
She was barely able to keep her feet on the ground as he forcefully pulled her along, the urgency in his voice spurring her on as they tumbled through the archway of the tower only stopping to slam the wooden door behind them. The gesture was useless, considering, but done out of panic in a bid to block out this unknown creature. Others had also made it to the towers shelter, all Stormcloak soldiers but the Jarl was also among them. Two of the rebels lay on the ground, writhing in pain and from the looks of it likely bleeding to death. Times like these made Alunaaz regret not studying restoration more closely.
"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing?" Ralof asked, barely able to believe what was happening. "Could the legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric scoffed at his companion. "We need to move, now!"
"Up through the tower, let's go!" Ralof said to Alunaaz
Wasting no time they climbed the stairs only to find it blocked by fallen debris, a lone soldier trying to move it aside. No sooner had she moved to help an undeniably powerful force smashed though the wall behind her and as she turned to see, Alunaaz looked straight into the face of the dragon. Her eyes grew wide with panic and her muscles paralyzed with fear, caught like a rabbit in a trap. The dragon snarled, baring long fangs at her as its head rose back to unleash fire that would burn her to ash. Ralof grabbed her by the arm once again, pulling her from the gout of flame the erupted from the monstrosities mouth and pressing her to the wall next to him. Once the fire expired the dragon took flight to wreak further havoc on the village of Helgen.
Ralof pushed his back off the wall taking Alunaaz with him, pointing to the balcony just below them through the hole in the wall.
"See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going."
The only look she gave him was one that asked if he had lost his mind and did she look like an acrobat that she could readily fling herself from building to burning building? He frowned and gently urged her closer to the edge.
"Go! We'll follow when we can," he shouted as he ran back down the stairs to find an alternate path around.
Left with few options and now alone, she took the plunge and threw herself as hard as she could through the thatched roof. She landed hard, twisting her ankle under enough to strain the tendons but not enough to break. She stumbled forward through the pain, dropping through another hole in the roof and falling to the ground floor. The man who had called the names of the condemned was pulling a child out of an impending path of fire, much as Ralof had to her and in a moment of madness, Alunaaz threw herself passed it. She heard the administrator scream at her to keep pressed to the wall, as he followed behind her but she didn't stop for him. The panic, fear and adrenaline were too potent to ignore, hastening her speed. She dare not stop for anything lest she pause for too long enough to allow the dragon to swoop down and catch her in his powerful talons.
Weaving through the husks of burned houses, she found her path through the destruction, running full pelt towards the barracks now in sight. Sprinting as her life depended on it to the nearest door she noted, with some relief, that Ralof had come through a break in the stone wall on the other side of the keep and was intent on doing the same as her. She waved wildly to grab his attention, trying to direct him to the same door she stood at and to her credit her frantic display certainly worked. Barrelling towards her with all the strength he could muster Ralof flung himself through the open door nearly knocking the both of them over. Turning on her heel Alunaaz grabbed the door handle and slammed the heavy wooden door which muffled the ensuing chaos outside taking advantage of the brief respite to catch her breath. Gulping down air into burning lungs, she realised that this situation really wasn't getting much better. They were still stuck with a dragon over head.
How were they going to get out of this? How does anyone even begin to plan escaping from a dragon?
The keep was built of cold stone, crumbling with age and slicked with damp moss, the walls decorated with the heads of dead game. Ralof ran to the other side of the room, kneeling beside a fallen brother. Alunaaz kept her distance, standing awkwardly in the centre of the room as he paid his respects. He placed his hands over the corpses eyes and closed them gently.
"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother."
As Ralof stood he turned to the Breton, still breathing hard from the desperate run to safety.
"Looks like we're the only ones who made it," he said. "That thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just like in the children stories and the legends, the 'Harbingers of the End Times.'"
Neither of them could truly believe this was happening; dragons had be extinct for centuries. The tales that did exist were of their fall before the founding of the Empire, leaving at least four ages of myth and mystery.
"We better get moving," Ralof announce, pulling a knife from the strap of his boot. "Come here, let me see if I can get those binds off."
Alunaaz didn't even hesitate and stood in front of him. He gripped her wrists and held them still as he swiftly cut the rope, letting it fall to the ground.
"There you go, you may as well take Gunjars gear," indicating the dead man "he won't be needing it anymore."
The thought of looting the departed wasn't a massively appealing prospect, but with the impending danger wearing a ragged tunic and cloth foot wrappings would do little to protect her from the slings of arrows and the bite of blades. Ralof helped her strip his kinsman of his armour, boots and axe.
"All right, get that armour on and give that axe a few swings. I'm going to see if I can find some way out of here."
As he walked to the wrought iron gate that lead, no doubt, further underneath the keep, she used the opportunity of his turned back to change into her newly acquired armaments. Armour of any kind had felt strange to the Breton, light or heavy, she always felt more comfortable in robes or clothing. But for now she didn't have the luxury of choice and perhaps being forced to become accustomed to wearing armour would later serve her well.
She heard him trying to force the lock of the gate, but with frustration he merely announced it was locked. Spying the other doorway on the opposite side of the room, he hurried to try his luck with that gate, but proved just as futile. The sudden awareness of being fully trapped in a burning village didn't inspire much hope in her. However, the sudden clattering, door slamming and order issuing from the other side of the wooden grate did. Peering through to see who else could have survived, she was pulled back out of sight as Ralof viciously whispered to her that they were Imperial soldiers.
"Get this gate open!" one of them shouted.
More out of reflex than fear, Alunaaz summoned flames into both of her hands as Ralof similarly armed himself with his axe. As the gate opened and unwary soldiers filed through she unleashed the fire from her outstretched arms, taking care not to catch Ralof in the process. The Imperial captain screeched with rage and pain, drawing her blade and turned on the Breton. She kept the blazing heat constant, standing her ground even as the other woman advanced on her, eventually falling to her knees as the blistering heat took its toll
As Ralof wrenched his hand axe from the back of a fallen Imperial he whirled to help his new companion only to find that she stood above the other Legionnaire.
It was a shocking sight, her face contorted with hatred and cruelty, as she grasped the captains head between her hands and channelled the magical flare to burn her face. Ignoring the screams she focused her will with such intensity all that remained was blackened, scorched bone. She released the charred corpse unceremoniously, her face now devoid of any emotion.
Ralof didn't understand how such a previously meek person could hold such maliciousness, but as she turned to look at him her eyes softened and something akin to confusion knitted her brow, as if suddenly aware of herself.
"Maybe one of these imperials has a key," Ralof said cautiously as he checked the captains pocket. The smell of burned fat and skin lingered heavily in the air. "Here we are, found a key," he exclaimed triumphantly "let's see if it opens that door."
Working the key into the lock, Ralof couldn't restrain the smile that broke on his face
"That's it! Come on, let's get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on our heads!"
Alunaaz followed behind and as they descended the staircase further underneath the hold she made a mental note to tell Ralof not to give the dragon ideas. With a muffled roar from outside, the corridor they were just about to travel down collapsed with a force that shook the floor, sending the pair stumbling to the ground. She merely gave an exasperated sigh and an accusatory look to the Nord.
Walking through the only unblocked door leading into guard towers kitchen, the duo were faced with more Imperial soldiers. The battle that ensued was short but bloody, Alunaaz throwing fire where it could do most damage and Ralof swinging his axe with experienced ease. At the suggestion of looking for potions the Breton raided the cupboards, storage bins and sacks for anything useful, also pausing to switch her axe with a sword the soldier had no use for. Grabbing a leather satchel from the table, she stuffed the bottles inside, slinging the strap over her shoulder.
"Done?" Ralof asked. Nodding her head, they both made for the door. The long stone corridor lead further downward, probably away into the mountainside rather than further under the keep. A commotion could be heard further down the hall and Alunaaz was want to ignore it. The constant conflict was beginning to take its toll on her nutrient deprived body, but Ralof stormed ahead, leaving her with little choice but to chase after.
"Trolls blood! It's a torture room!" came his surprised gasp. Running to aid his Stormcloak brethren in fending off the torturer and his assistant, he unsheathed his axe and joined the fray. Not wanting Ralof hurt, the Breton joined suit, drawing magicka forth to incinerate the foes before them. Only barely had they won, saving the two Stormcloaks who had been searching for a way out the same as them.
"Was Jarl Ulfric with you?" Ralof asked them.
"No," replied the female Nord. "I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up."
As the Stormcloaks talked amongst themselves to plan the next course of action, the Breton focused her attention on the cages that lined the room. All three of them were occupied, mostly with bones but the central pen was taken by a recently dead mage, his uniformed robes displaying his profession. Noticing the gold by the corpse Alunaaz resolved to get the door open. Turning she searched through the torturers pocket but to no avail, there was no key to be found. Searching through the knapsack on the side table proved to be more useful as she found a handful of lockpicks.
Kneeling in front of the keyhole she set the pick and small turning blade in place. Twisting and testing the lock she forced it open with ease that surprised even her. She was expecting to break at least two, maybe even three of the picks but Nocturnal, it seems, was having a funny turn. Wrenching the door open from its rusted hinges, she grabbed anything of value, including the poor mans raiment. Taking the hood for herself, she swiftly placed it on her head and joined the group of rebels as they called to move on.
As they made their way past the jail cells and strung metal cages they passed through a broken wall, which lead into what can only be described as natural caverns. The route forward was no less clear here than the barracks itself. More Imperial soldiers lay ahead and this theme was wearing very thin by now. Alunaaz didn't even wait for Ralof to charge this time.
Drawing the sword from her belt she lunged, stabbing the blade downward into the unsuspecting Legionaries chest. She left it buried there as he gurgled and choked on his own blood, instead picking the quiver of arrows and the bow from the dying mans back.
Quickly notching an arrow, she drew the string back to her ear and let it fly; hitting it's intended mark as she notched the next. Stalking forward through the room, she let the arrows fly faster and faster but saving none for the last soldier that drew upon her. Strapping the bow to her back she merely stood still as her advanced, ignoring Ralof and the other Stormcloaks roaring for her to move.
As the Imperial advanced, blade raised to strike a fatal blow, she only smirked as she summoned the fire to her hands aiming it at the oil slick her opponent had so dumbly stumbled onto. The grease ignited swiftly, engulfing the man in a wall of flame. His terrified screams didn't last long.
With all game felled, she moved forward to stand by the lever of a drawbridge which would hopefully advance them in the right direction. Ralof asked the other Stormcloaks to follow, but they refused. They would stay behind and keep an eye for Ulfric, failing that they would make their own way. Whilst he didn't agree to them staying behind, Ralof did consent to the wisdom in looking for Ulfric. Without him, the rebellion would be for nought. He bid them farewell and ran to join Alunaaz on the other side of the bridge.
The Breton was weary, wanting this adventure to end soon. So, taking the lead, she ran through the cave setting fire to anything living, with intent to stop her. Ralof had something of a time matching her pace, catching up to her only as she felled a bear that had taken residence in the cavern. They ran onwards together from there and joyously exclaiming when a sliver of light could be seen from an entrance up ahead.
"That looks like a way out," Ralof happily cried "I knew we'd make it!"
As they stumbled out into the light, they barely had a moment to breath in the fresh mountain air before a massive shadow blotted out the sky. The dragon still flew over head and Ralof pulled Alunaaz into the scrubby bush to hide. After circling and howling at the sky for some moments, it turned about and swooped over the mountain range and off into the horizon.
"There he goes," the Nord sighed with relief. "Looks like he's gone for good this time." He moved to face the young girl crouched next to him.
"No way to know if anyone else made it out alive but this place is going to be swarming with Imperials soon enough. We'd better clear out of here. My sister Gerdur runs the mill in Riverwood, just up the road. I'm sure she would help you out."
Nodding in agreement Alunaaz stood, pulling Ralof up by the wrist.
"It's probably best if we split up," he said sheepishly. "Good luck, I wouldn't have made it without your help today."
As he moved to leave, the Breton caught him by the arm, shaking her head and eyes anxious at the prospect of being abandoned. Ralof exhaled a shallow breath.
"Alright, we'll travel together. Haven't been doing too badly covering each others backs, seems foolish to stop when we're not far from our next destination."
Seemingly happy at this decision Alunaaz releases her grip on his arm, a grateful smile now on her face. Letting him set the pace, she marched behind content to let him talk at her about joining the Stormcloaks, the ruin of Bleak Falls Barrow and the history of the Standing Stones. Following the main road that follow the stream, Riverwood quickly drew up before them, the towns gated wall the first thing they saw.
The village wasn't dissimilar to Helgen, though the layout of the town lay mostly on the through road towards the bridge that ran the width of the river. It lacked the tall stone walls of the Imperial guard barracks, the other buildings were thatched, wooden cabins. The blacksmith, general goods store and village inn could all be seen on the main road.
"Looks like nobody here knows what happened yet," Ralof muttered, almost to himself. "Come on, Gerdur's probably working in her lumber mill."
Alunaaz plodded behind him as he led the way over a little wooden bridge onto an inlet that the mill rest upon. She ignored the old woman behind her screeching about a dragon flying over the Barrow, as her migraine was beginning to flare with exhaustion, hunger and all other manner of pains that just loved to remind her they were, in fact, there. Hopefully it wouldn't be long before she could finally just lie down and sleep but she followed her companion as he called for his sister.
"Brother? Maras mercy, it's good to see you!" Gerdur cried as she took him into her arms. "But is it safe for you to be here? We heard that Ulfric had been captured."
"Gerdur, I'm fine," Ralof insisted, trying to stop her from fussing. "At least now I am."
"Are you hurt? What's happened? And who is this?" suddenly noticing the small Breton who shuffled behind his shoulder, as if trying to shield herself behind him. "One of your comrades?"
"Not a comrade yet," Ralof said hopefully "but a friend. I owe her my life in fact."
Whilst Alunaaz was grateful for the compliment, she was sure Ralof was only being kind. The Nord had helped her more than she had him in their escape from captivity. Suddenly daunted by the picture Ralof could paint of her, she coughed pointedly as if to move the subject on. It caught his attention and he moved back to the most pressing issue.
"Is there somewhere we can talk? There's no telling when the news from Helgen will reach the Imperials."
"Helgen? Has something happened?" Gerdur asked, suspicion and confusion rising with each question, but she relented with a sigh. "You're right, follow me. Hod! Frodnar!" she shouted across the mill. "Come here for a minute!"
A reply was shouted from a tall, dust covered man operating the mill saw as a young child ran across the small wooden bridge. The child threw himself at Ralof, tackling him about the waist and began bombarding him with questions about the Stormcloaks, how many Imperials he had killed and had he truly met Ulfric?
"Hush Frodnar, this is no time for your games," Gerdur chided. "Go and watch the south road. Come find us if you see any Imperial soldiers coming."
"Mamma," Frodnar whined "I want to talk to uncle Ralof!"
"Look at you, almost a grown man." Ralof beamed with pride. "Won't be long before you'll be joining the fight yourself!
"That's right! Don't worry uncle Ralof, I won't let those soldiers sneak up on you!"
The child ran off to attend to his "Stormcloak" duties, his wolfhound following gleefully behind. Hod had caught up to the group who had moved to stand by a large wooden stump.
"Now Ralof, what's going on?" Hod asked kindly. "You two look pretty well done in."
Alunaaz held her tongue, Ralof would be able to explain this tale to his family better than she...perhaps he could even fill in some blanks in her memory. He took a seat on the stump and began to inform them of the past days events.
"I can't remember when I last slept." Ralof sighed "Where to start? Well the news you heard about Ulfric was true, the Imperials ambushed us outside Darkwater Crossing, like they knew exactly where we would be. That was...two days ago now? We stopped in Helgen this morning and I thought it was all over, had us lined up to the headsmans block and ready to start chopping."
"The cowards!" Gerdur bristled with anger.
"They wouldn't dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would have seen the truth then. But then out of nowhere a dragon attacked."
"You don't mean a real live..?" the older woman could barely contain her scepticism.
"I can scarcely believe it myself and I was there! As strange as it sounds, we'd be dead if not for that dragon, in the confusion we managed to slip away. Are we really the first to make it to Riverwood?" Ralof asked, noticing how uninterrupted his story had been.
"Nobody else has come up the south road today as far as I know." Gerdur said frankly.
"Good, maybe we can lay up for a while?" the question was put gently "I hate to put your family in danger Gerdur but..."
"Nonsense," his sister interrupted suddenly. "You and your friend are welcome to stay for as long as you need. Let me worry about the Imperials. Any friend of yours is a friend of mine. Here's a key to the house, stay as long as you like. If there's anything else you need just let me know."
Alunaaz flashed the kind woman a thankful smile, a weight lifted off her shoulders realizing she wouldn't need to continue running, if only for a short while. Gerdur regarded the small Breton for a second as if reluctant to say something.
"There something you could do for me, for all of us here," she started cautiously. "The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose, Riverwood is defenceless. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever troops he can, if you'll do that for me I'll be in you debt."
Alunaaz nodded her assent, after all the compassion this woman had shown her, informing their Jarl of help needed seemed like the least she could do.
"Thanks sister, I knew we could count on you."
"I'll let them into the house and, you know show them where everything is," Hod offered somewhat slyly.
"Help them drink up our mead you mean," Gerdur snorted at her husband. Walking to her brother she pulled into a fierce embrace, relief obvious that she had not lost him as feared. "Good luck brother, I'll see you later."
"Don't worry about me, I know how to lay low," he said audaciously.
His sister merely rolled her eyes and let him go, getting back to her work. Hod clapped Ralof light-heartedly on the back, with a huff of a laugh he also beckoned for Alunaaz to follow. The two men began talking amongst themselves as they led the way to their home, catching up on the events ongoing in each of their lives. Alunaaz smiled sadly to herself as she wondered if she had family left behind that she had forgotten.
Their home was well sized for a new family, warm with the hearths fire; it was an inviting and comfortable sight to the exhausted pair. Whilst Alunaaz had much to ask and say of her, she was unsure if she could even summon the energy to keep her eyelids from snapping shut. She leant against the lintel of the doorframe, unable to support her weight on her own feet anymore.
"You look about ready to drop little Breton," Ralof announced in as if reading her thoughts. "Go, take some rest. There will be time to eat and talk after. Hod? Would she be able to take your bed for the time being?"
"Of course, I see no harm in it." he said.
Alunaaz moved to stand, pushing herself off the doorframe with too much force she pitched forwards. Ralof gave a startled yelp as she fell and darted to catch her before she succeeded in slamming face first into the kitchen table. She landed heavily into Ralofs chest, forcing him to take all of her barely conscious weight nearly knocking him on his feet. If he had been anything other than a Nord soldiers he would be sprawled on the floor, but he simply lifted her legs and carried her to the bed, cradling her into his shoulder like an overtired child.
As delicately as he could manage he placed her under the covers, armour and all. Taking care not to let Hod see, lest he start gossiping (the old fish wife), he pushed her hood from her face, undoing the ties about her neck and removing it lest she strangled herself on it as she slept. Her now revealed face was spattered dirt and spotted with blood, which thankfully, was not hers. He tried unsuccessfully to remove a large smudge of dried mud from her brow with his thumb, as he removed his hand the young Breton gingerly reached out to take it, her eyes drained but pleading. Moved to sympathy, he knelt by the bed and placed his other hand back against her brow.
"No need to worry now, little Breton," he murmured. "You're safe now. No need to run yet and I won't be far. Rest yourself, for you need it more sorely than I do."
Reluctantly she let his hand go, closing her eyes as he advised. He stayed a moment longer, straightening the small frown lines that had formed on her temple.
Authors Note:
This is my first fanfiction publications EVER, so any comments and constructive criticisms would be more than welcome. I struggled with writing as it's not something that comes easily or naturally to me, I'm not a very eloquent person so I have think long and hard about what goes where. I lost count of how many times I spell checked this chapter alone XDBut either way, I hope you enjoy reading it and there will be more to come, all will be made clear in time.
The only thing that has surprised me so far is that I have enough willpower to pull myself away from playing Skyrim to actually write this story, but give me a week or so, I'm sure I'll relapse XD