The young man parked his behind in his office chair excitedly as he spun around to face his computer; the moment he had been waiting for ever since he had started installing the game last night had arrived. It was time. Double clicking the Steam icon in his system tray, launching Skyrim for the first time, waiting for that soundtrack to start. He had awoken in a hurry, devoured his breakfast, ignored his roommates' requests and come straight to his computer. He had waited long enough.
A few hours had passed and he was deeply enthralled in the game, he had ignored anyone who had tried to interrupt his session and was journeying across the vast tundra of Winterhold on his way to Windhelm to join up with the Stormcloaks. Throughout his playtime, he had already fought the Draugr, killed a dragon, joined the Companions and learned of the evil that was the Empire. He knew that the Stormcloaks were the people to back in this Civil War, no one else would come out on top. His character reached the crest of a hill, Windhelm coming into view as he did so and he leaned away from his computer screen and looked at his clock; it was already gone midnight. "Fuck." All he had had to eat that day was a sandwich someone had left beside him at some point. He stretched his arms above his head, brushing a lock of his hair off of his forehead as he did so and closed his eyes.
Suddenly something changed; there was a strange noise, then he shivered. A draft? But his window was closed. He opened his eyes to find himself, not in his room, but on the edge of a large forest clearing with a campsite situated in the middle. What the hell had just happened? Did he really fall asleep that fast? He headed towards the encampment, shaking his head to clear it as he did so; if this was a dream, it was the the most intense, most real, dream he had ever had, he might as well go with it. Trudging through the snow, he thought about how, if this was a dream surely he wouldn't be wearing the exact same clothes that he had been wearing before and he would be wearing something more appropriate for the snow than socks, though at this point he may as well have been barefoot. The wind whistled through the trees and voices reached his ears as he neared the camp, thick accents that he couldn't quite place. He walked around a tent to find himself in the middle of what looked like a medieval reenactment; dyed blue leather armour, swords and shields, bows and arrows.
"Excuse me gents, I don't suppose you could inform me whereabouts we are?" Suddenly the air was alive with the sounds of weapons being drawn and loud yells as he was surrounded by at least a dozen soldiers, men and women. "Woah woah woah people, calm down, there's no need for this now is there?" A burly soldier stepped up to him and placed his sword underneath the young man's chin. "Ouch, that hur-"
"Silence!" The soldier pressed the sword against his throat. "Who are you and what are you doing here?!"
"Well, I was just out for a leisurely walk when I misplaced my shoes and stumbled across your camp here." The young man chuckled, instantly regretting that decision as he winced from the pain of the swordpoint pressing deeper into his throat, feeling a trickle of blood start to run down his neck.
"Lies! The truth, or I will be the last thing you see before I run this sword through your neck!" The young man's mind raced, this sword was really sharp. And it hurt. A lot. But you aren't supposed to get hurt in dreams, that whole "pinch yourself to see if you're dreaming thing", which means that if this wasn't a dream, it must be…
"Okay, listen, I don't know how I got here, one minute I was at home and the next I was on the edge of the clearing. Honest!" His eyes darted around looking for a friendly face, maybe someone would take pity on him, when they caught a glimpse of a symbol on one of the shields being pointed at him; it was a bear, just like the one the Stormcloaks used in Skyrim. Then the stupidest idea he had ever had entered his head: "I want to join!" A murmur rippled around the circle as another soldier entered the area.
"Rorngar! What is the meaning of this?!" This soldier's armour was different, there was more to it and with the way the other soldiers regarded him, it was clear that this man was some kind of officer.
"This man infiltrated the camp and claims he wants to join our cause, sir." The first soldier withdrew his sword as he stood to attention.
"Is that so?" The second man walked over to the young man and peered at him. "What is your name man?"
"Steven. And I do wish to join your cause sir."
"Steven… What kind of name is Steven?" He laughed out loud before resuming the interrogation. "And where did you come from Steven?"
"England sir." He gulped, hoping that his hunch was correct. It was the best chance he had of getting out of this alive.
"Never heard of it, somewhere in High Rock I presume." He took one last glance at the quivering figure and walked out of the circle. "Lock him up, I'll take him to Windhelm when I leave at first light." Steven sighed with relief before being rough housed into a tent and having shackles thrust onto his wrists; being locked up was better than having a sword shoved through your throat any day of the week. He leaned against one of the hide sides of the tent and sighed; this was, apparently, really happening; he was in Skyrim, a captive of the Stormcloaks. How on Earth had this happened? Sighing, he decided to try and get some sleep, he was going to need it. As voices once again filled the air as tents flapped in the wind and an animal bleated in the distance, Steven slipped into a restless sleep on the hard ground, in wet socks.
Rorngar and the officer sat by the fire discussing the strange man in the tent, and his strange attire. He had no visible weapons and certainly did not dress like a mage. Mayhaps he was an assassin? No, he had made himself far too obvious for that. One thing was clear though, he was a threat now that he knew of this camp. If the Imperials learned of it's whereabouts and it's purpose, it could be the end of the entire operation.
A white fox happened across the trail through the snow heading to the camp and followed the strange scent back to the edge of the clearing where it stopped dead before turning and bolting in the opposite direction; a shadowy figure stood just out of sight of the camp, in the treeline, cursing. At least his spell had worked, but the damn Stormcloaks had taken the fool of a man prisoner, and now he had to deal with him.
Dawn broke over the forest with the sun's rays piercing through the trees, and Steven was awoken by a pair of boots being thrown on his face. "Get up!" The guard grunted before heading back to the fire. The young man blinked as he struggled to get up and glanced at the boots he had been given; they weren't much better than his socks honestly, thin leather things, and one had a hole it in. He sighed, and spent the next couple of minutes trying to shove his feet into them with his hands still in shackles. Still half asleep, he stumbled out of the tent to see the officer from last night readying two horses, while barking orders at his men. "Rorngar, you're to make sure the mission carries on as planned and to send a messenger the instant something happens." The burly man acknowledged the order before noticing the prisoner and nodding in his direction. The officer turned and beckoned that his second-in-command should leave. "Well now, look who decided to join us. Yours is the chestnut, we ride immediately." Jumping into the saddle, Steven attempted to do likewise and fell flat on his face resulting in the camp erupting into uproarious laughter. "Someone help the fool up." Two pairs of leather clad hands heaved Steven out of the snow and into the saddle as the officer set off, before slapping the rear of his horse and insulting him until he had left the clearing.
The path they were following through the trees was narrow and every so often, Steven glimpsed a wild animal or two disappear as they approached. There was little snow on the ground here, the canopy above them stopped any real amount from reaching the ground. For at least an hour, the man in front said nothing, the only sounds were the sounds of the horse's' footfalls on the earth, the occasional wild animal, the odd bird singing and the wind rustling the tree branches as they passed by, but suddenly he blurted out a single word. "Frield."
"Excuse me?" Steven wasn't sure if he had misheard him, or if he was even talking to him.
"My name. It's Frield." The soldier shifted in his saddle. "You told me your name, it's only fair that I should also tell you mine. Now, we're going to be on our own for a few hours at least, might as well get some things off of your chest."
"I'm… I'm not sure what you mean." He shivered. Why was it so God damned cold here?
"Well, you're obviously not a Nord. Why would a Breton want to join the Stormcloaks? How did you get out to the camp without a horse? It's clear you aren't a mage, otherwise you wouldn't of let us lock you up as easy as we did, and you definitely wouldn't have stayed over night. I have never seen an attire such as yours, and you're walking around in the snow without boots?" He laughed as they neared the edge of the forest. "Either you're the worst assassin ever, or you're the village idiot of this… Englund? You spoke of." He left the forest and trotted onto the road, heading east.
"Or I'm neither." Steven steered his horse to follow Frield's. "Maybe I'm just a lost traveller who happened to stumble across your camp." A deafening roar echoed through the mountains, shaking snow loose from the trees and causing birds to take flight. "What.. What was that?" His voice showing the slightest hint of unease.
"Shor's bones. I have no idea." The Stormcloak seemed even more unsettled by the sound than he did. "We should get to the city as soon as we can." With that, he gallopped off down the road, and Steven attempted to follow. After a couple of minutes of trying everything he could think of, his horse finally seemed to get the message when another roar shattered the still air and sent it galloping off after Frield.
They galloped past ruins, caves and shacks, eventually reaching a rushing river. They followed the water for what seemed like an eternity, every so often another roar disrupting the otherwise still air. Whatever creature was making the noise seemed to be following them, and if Steven was correct, then they did not want it to catch them. Eventually the Nord started slowing down as they approached a familiar looking group of buildings. As they reached them, Steven realised why they had looked so familiar: it was the same hill he had reached the top of before he had found himself in the clearing the night before; Windhelm sat before them, sprawled out behind it's walls along the coast. "We've made good time. I'm taking you to Jarl Ulfric, he'll know what to do with you." Frield glanced behind him at the young man who had a pained expression on his face and looked extremely uncomfortable. From the way he was acting, you'd think he had never ridden horseback before, but before the older man could process the information another roar bellowed overhead followed by the sound of wings. Huge wings. "Ysmir's beard!" Steven could barely hear the exclamation over the sound of the beast that had just crested the mountain. It was a terror to behold, huge beyond anything he could have ever imagined, even at this distance. But he had been correct; it had been a dragon chasing them all this time, except now it was heading for the city.
Frield turned to face Steven with a strange look on his face. "I assume you know how to use a sword and bow?"
Steven had a bemused look on his face l when he replied. "Well, yes, I know the concept, but I've never actually-"
"Good enough," the Nord interrupted him before he could finish his sentence. "The city guard are going to need all that help they can get, no one even thought dragons existed, let alone fought one before." He unlocked the shackles and threw them onto the side of the road, where they sank into the snow. "There will be spare weapons down there. Come." He started to head down the hill toward the city. "Let's go kill a dragon."
"So it was a success?" A wizened old elf stood upon a balcony overlooking the lake, the shadowy figure dressed in robes loomed behind him, almost completely obscured by the darkness grunted his acknowledgement. "Good, good. Where is he now?" The figure seemed unsettled by the question, murmuring and answer that the elf did not seem to hear. "You'll have to speak up, I am not as young as I once was."
"He was taken by the Stormcloaks. High chance he is being brought before Ulfric as we speak." For a moment, it seemed as though the elf had not heard him again but he turned around, slowly. There was a fire in his eyes, and suddenly he was no longer the wizened elf he had been moments before, but a powerful mage as belongings started to fly across the room. The mysterious figure had his work cut out for him just dodging the projectiles.
"The last we heard the Dovahkiin was headed for Windhelm!" His voice thundering out across the lake. "The last thing we need is for the two of them to meet!" Thunderclouds gathered above their heads as lightning struck the ground around the building. The air was alive with the buzz of magical energy, enough to knock a Giant off it's feet. Then suddenly it was gone as the old mage suddenly calmed; the clouds dissipated, the lake calmed and objects that had been in motion a second earlier dropped to the floor. He turned to face the figure standing behind him. "You know what must be done. Go."
