The Disclaimer: This work wouldn't be possible without Rick Riordan and Bethesda and thus all canon material belong to them.
Chapter I: Fried Fish
I awoke from deep slumber. It had been a winded night at the lake but I was close to my father's domain and thus the harpies wouldn't find me. Chiron himself, through all the years that he had lived, probably didn't even consider that a rock outcropping could exist just below the surface of the water, lined with dimly sparkling gems and hard, gritty rock.
Sometimes I lay here with Annabeth, just us two gazing at the stars in the heavens and talking about inconsequential stuff until we both fell asleep under the moonlight. Usually; however, I just lay here by myself and thought about the future. Now with both the Titan War and the Giant War ended with for good, what would I do in life? Would I marry Annabeth and live a peaceful life somewhere in the States? Or... or do something else. What was it that I wanted? What should I do with the rest of my life?
These days I barely even saw her. Annabeth was smart. She was always out there, doing something with someone, thinking ahead. She would graduate from a prestigious university and after a time start her own architect firm, maybe move continents and design to her heart's content. She would start a family, sight-see the world and maybe even enter the field of local politics when she was ready to settle down for good. Annabeth's entire life was planned out. The question was – how did I fit into those plans?
We would surly not be in the same university, then there was a PhD that Annabeth would definitely do, then there was work and life and... peace?
I shivered. My eyes flew open.
It was as if I was transported right into the middle of Alaska. Frost clung to my eye lids, solidifying until my forehead felt numb from the cold. My hands were frozen in place. Shouldn't I have an immunity to the cold what with me being a Son of Poseidon and all?
In fact, it was strange but... I think that I did have an immunity to the cold. I fought atop glaciers in a tee-shirt and jeans against the bane of Hades and his legions of the undead. What gives?
A glance around revealed me to be in a cart with three other men, all of whom were much older than me. I tried to calm myself down from panicking by thinking about how this was all a bad dream. Demigod dreams could get very vivid afterall. Then again, I had the sneaking suspicion that this was not a dream at all and I didn't like that one bit because it only spelled trouble and with the giant's war having only just concluded, a third war was not exactly what one wanted to hear about.
The last thing I remembered was... nothing. Nothing but snow, lots and lots of snow. I was sure that there was a horse or two as well and some kind of people in armour had approached me. I could vaguely remember the word 'trespasser' being thrown around a lot. Had I trespassed somewhere? Was I drunk? Maybe I was in Canada? But then again, why would I be on a cart with my hands tied up with rope in the middle of freaking Canada? It didn't make sense. Nothing did. Where was I, Hades dammit?!
Up front, there was a soldier wearing light leather armour with interlocking chain-mail underneath, sitting atop the horse that pulled the creaky cart along, on which I and the other occupants sat. It looked as if we were travelling in a convoy of four carts with over a dozen soldiers on stallions surrounding us. All of them were outfitted in a unusual mix of Roman and Norse armour and all were riding at a similar pace while simultaneously steering clear of each other's paths along the very narrow dirt road that we travelled. It was as clear to see as day that these soldiers knew what they were doing.
In the distance loomed a town, its inhabitants perhaps awaiting our arrival or perhaps not. Nevertheless, I gave the town a second look for I was sure that no one lived in thatched houses anymore. Even renaissance week on Long Island, where he got to laugh as Clarisse was forced into an ancient greek dress, was meeker and never went to such lengths as this did.
What was I doing in this cart anyways? Being escorted by soldiers, having my hands tied up and wearing rough rags made me feel like some sort of criminal. Well I did trespass... somewhere. Thankfully I wasn't a criminal. The Gateway arch didn't count, or stealing from mortals while they were asleep, or killing monsters, or stealing from monsters, or getting into perceived firefights, or travelling to foreign countries without a Visa. Taking away two statues from Hoover Dam was also not a crime, or driving without a license (it was just one time with Rachael. Honest!). So yeah, I wasn't a criminal. There were just many... unfortunate circumstances that reared their heads during my life.
"Hey you! Finally awake? You were trying to cross the border right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us and that thief over there," the blonde guy sitting across from me started off out of nowhere.
He had a chiselled face and drawn-out, almost hungry, eyes. A downward scar sat prominently on display just next to his nose, showing that he was a veteran of battle or that he had gotten extremely careless while shaving.
"Yeah that was me. The names Percy. Woke up to the sight of guards in the middle of nowhere. Next thing I know, here I am," I started to tap my foot against the wood underneath.
The man grinned. "Name's Rolof. I would greet you but..." he lifted his tied-up hands.
"Yeah, these things are scratchy as hell."
"Hell?" Rolof asked with his brows drawn in confusion.
"Just a... a random word that I picked up along my travels," I replied.
Rolof didn't know what hell was? How could that be? Just where am I? Then again – Canadians. It was as if that one word could explain anything in life. A guy apologized to you because you crashed into his car? Canadian. You got lost and got ambushed by squirrels? Then you must be in Canada. A Canadian didn't shake your hand? Canadian Thug Life.
"Oh. So you're a traveller then?" asked Rolof.
"Yeah, I travel the world. See the sights. Meet new people. It's a very busy life," I said.
A very busy life pissing off immortal beings and saving the world from other, more pissed off at me, immortal beings.
"That must be noble. To be able to taste the drinks from every province in Tamriel, in their birthplaces to boot, must surely be an experience and a great tale to tell around the fire. I'll give you that!"
The chirping of birds washed over our cart as the convoy passed a natural creek creeping across the mountain side with a lone wild goat leaning next to it, sipping from the creek's clear waters. The air was fresh, chilly and crisp; I liked it, though it was still too damn cold.
"Say, where are you from?" asked Rolof.
I was about to say 'NYC' when a word mysteriously popped up inside of my mind instead, as if by magic.
"I'm from the Empire – and you?" I replied.
Was someone reading my mind? Were they the ones that brought me here? So many questions, so little answers. If it was Ares then I would kick the god's arse forward into the twenty-third century. No lightening thundered across the sky – this was worrying.
"I am a Nord hailing from Skyrim, this Talos-blessed land. You're from the Empire?" inquired Rolof with a scrunched-up face, as if it was supposed to mean something that I was from the Empire and that I was here of all places.
My brain hit a deep freeze, realizing that maybe the Empire didn't exist or maybe the dude never heard of it or maybe there were too many Empires and I had to specify which one? I started rubbing my fingers together as they begun to dull a bit from the weather and also because I didn't like being restrained, I needed to move, to breathe.
Rolof's expression lifted. "Ah, I see you are worried. Don't worry. I do not discriminate. Afterall, you're not part of the Imperial Army, are you?" Rolof asked with a raised brow as if this was some secret joke.
Then again, I was in the same cart as criminals and I mentioned being a traveller so... "No, no, no. I'm just a civilian minding my own business."
So we had an 'Empire', well this was about to get interesting real fast. Stone forts, an empire, leather and mail armour, thatched houses, carts pulling along criminals, wild goats, no lightening and the guards were carrying swords. Call me crazy but I was not sure that I was in my own time anymore.
The trees here were dwindling, both in number and size, so we would most likely be out of the small forest that we were passing through in a couple of minutes. Next to Rolof, a man in rags woke.
The man stared at me as if there was a blood-thirsty hound right behind me before he opened his mouth and out spewed the blame, "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was just fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy, if they had not been looking for you, I would have already stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"
"You stranger, you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloaks that the Empire wants! They with their war that devastates the normal people!" the rag-man cried out to me in a broken voice, as if not believing that this had actually happened.
He looked broken: his rags ragged, his breaths quick and shallow while his pale brown eyes darted from side to side. I couldn't help but feel pity for the man. He looked like every day he was haunted by the very worst demons from the Fields of Punishments.
A detail brought itself before my attention. The Stormcloaks were in a conflict against the Empire. A place where I supposedly came from was in conflict with the people sitting right next to me. Now I got where that discrimination comment came from. Yet the Stormcloak didn't seem to hate me so far while the Empire had arrested me and put me in bindings. Then again, just because I was from a particular place didn't mean that my loyalty lay with them. Many defected demigods proved this when they swore loyalty to the Titans during the Titan War.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief!" Rolof snapped back.
Honestly, the man didn't look like one. He reminded me more of a skeleton than a living, breathing human being.
"Shut up back there!" the soldier snarled at us from his high position atop the stallion that was leading the cart.
The conversation dulled for a few minutes as our cart finally left the small forest and was now maybe a mere kilometre from the town up ahead. The land was vast and much more beautiful than even Long Island and the camp combined. Fields of wild flowers stretched across the landscape while herds of clouds lazily drifted by, as white and fluffy as sea foam. Expect for the convoy, there was not a single soul visible in all of this greenery.
"What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked Rolof, breaking the silence as he nodded at the man on their cart whom was dressed in expensive clothes and whose mouth was covered by a filthy brown gag.
"Watch your tongue thief, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of all of Skyrim," said Rolof.
My luck was astronomically down the drain, thank you Tyche, you have been ever so helpful.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!"
Rebellion? What rebellion? I thought it was a war. A civil war perhaps? I needed to listen more.
"But if they've captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us!" the thief exclaimed.
"I do not know where we are going but Sovengarde awaits," stated Rolof in a grave voice.
I couldn't help myself but ask, "Sovengarde?"
Rolof turned his gaze onto me, "the afterlife of the Nords created by Shor himself! Only those Nords that fall valiantly in battle can join the warriors afterlife where the legends drink mead and live for all eternity!"
Sounded like Elysium. So we were doomed. Where ever did I hear those words before?
"No! This can't be happening. This isn't happening," protested the haggard thief half-heartedly.
We all fell silent as the fortified town came ever closer in our line of sight, its shadow falling over us like a blanket of darkness. Every word, every whisper suddenly had all that much more meaning.
"What village are you from, horse thief?" Rolof asked.
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thought should be of home," was all that Rolof said in return as he seemed to await an answer.
"Rorikstead. I'm… I'm from Rorikstead," the thief said in a heartbroken voice, his own eyes sizing up the tall walls of stone.
Our cart was now approaching the open wooden gates. We were so close that the voices from the other side could be clearly heard now - one of which stood out above all the others.
"General Tullius, sir. The headsman is waiting," What sounded like a soldier told this… general?
Surely not Atlas? No it could not be, this man's name was Tullius. Well in that case I was glad that I had a general conducting my execution, what an honour indeed. There was now another name to file in my mind in the never-ending list of who wanted me dead, one General Tullius.
"Good. Let's get this over with," the General's tone of voice left nothing to be misunderstood.
"Yes sir!" saluted the soldier before he scurried off into the depths of the town.
These people wanted to execute us right away it seemed and a headsman? I wasn't going to be hanged then but instead I would have my head chopped right off from my very pretty neck. These were the moments when I really regretted crossing the River Tiber while carrying Hera. Whether out of coincidence or because Hera was pissed, the cart shook as it rode over cow manure.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines. Please help me," the thief muttered silently, praying to these foreign entities of his.
Maybe I should pray too? But then again, I was out of their reach. I was sure that the gods wouldn't hear so much as a whisper of my prayers should I even dare to attempt them. Unless it was they that had sent me here in the first place.
I and the other carts occupants, which consisted of: a thief, a rebel and a noble in revolt mode, stumbled around as the cart went over a shallow pothole upon its entrance into the fortified town before at last, it advanced through the tall, inviting and spread wide open gates and down the orderly laid out stone path that stood in stark contrast to the dirt road that we had been travelling on for the past half-hour or so.
The cart continued to tumble along the other carts in the convoy and there, in the corner of the gates, was General Tullius himself with a bunch of… what were those? By the Olympians! Green skinned, big-headed, wide-eyed… were those truly aliens?
"Look at him. General Tullius, the military governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with all of this – including the ambush," said the ever helpful Stormcloak that sat opposite of me.
There were elves? Honestly, I shouldn't be surprised by this discovery considering the gods were real but I still was for which I could not fault myself because, seriously? Elves? These guys were nothing alike to those immortal, white-skinned, blonde-haired, always-beautiful elves from the Lord of the Rings. Legolas would have a lot less fans if he was a green-skinned and wide-eyed alien.
"General Tullius, stop! By the authority of the Thalmor, I'm taking custody of these prisoners."
"Not on my watch, First Emissary Elenwen. These prisoners are under Imperial Jurisdiction!" the general scoffed.
"Your Emperor will hear of this. By the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, I operate with full Imperial authority!"
"Nowhere in the treaty does it state that you can take control over prisoners of war!"
"You're making a terrible mistake!" the elf exclaimed.
General Tullius appeared to ignore the elf as he and his entourage left the fuming First Emissary Elenwen behind and rode in the opposite direction that the cart was heading in.
Finally, we rode on into the town proper, passing by different wooden houses and even a primitive smithy.
"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod still makes that mead with juniper berries mixed in it," Rolof said in a tender voice, gazing longingly at an inn surrounded with violet mountain flowers that grew wildly outside the structure. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
We rode on, past the smithy and heading straight into the heart of Helgen. Some people were crowding around the carts and he could just about discern one of the conversations happening not five paces away from him.
"Who are they dad? Where are they going?" the son asked his father.
"You need to get inside, little cub," ordered the father.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers," the boy pleaded with a glaze in his eyes as he watched the soldiers ride down the street on their stallions.
"Inside the house. Now!" the father said sternly, clearly not wanting the boy to see what was about to happen and having run out of patience himself.
That did not reassure me one bit. Just how gory were these executions? Well, I was about to find out.
"Yes, father," was the sons response as he headed back inside, of course not before he once more stared dejectedly at the heavily armoured convoy that was transporting me and the crew to our eventual head-rolling festival.
I lost sight of the boy as with a fluid turn through a stone ark, our convoy entered something akin to a parking lot made specifically to house old-fashioned carts as people were brought in for their joyful decapitation parties. At least that's what I thought they made them for. Maybe it was just the town square? That would make this even more poetic considering it would probably be awash with bloody by the time this was all over.
"Whoa," signalled the soldier to his horse while pulling back on the reigns.
With a gentle stop, the cart to the north-east of us stopped moving and was immediately swarmed by guards who were making sure that no one escaped their inevitable fate.
"Get yourselves out of the carts. Now! Move it!" an officer yelled in the distance to the other unmoving cart that was even further down the line from us.
"Why are we stopping?" asked the haggard thief.
"Why do you think? End of the line," stated Rolof with a stone-like expression as the realization finally sunk in that we were all about to die.
Finally the cart came to a resounding stop.
"Let us go, shouldn't keep the guards waiting for us," Rolof told the rest of us in the cart as he gracefully hopped out before the guards swarmed this cart too.
"No! No! Wait! We are not rebels!" pleaded the horse thief as he was forcefully brought down the cart's creaky steps.
"Face your death with some courage, thief," Rolof spit out.
We were now on the ground and stood in a semi-circle in front of our captors. Two guards stood particularly near the thief while another one, the size of a giant, stood just next to the king-in-chains – making sure that nothing happened that shouldn't happen.
"You've got to tell them. We were not with you. This is a mistake," the thief tried again, struggling against one of the two guards around him as his attempt at escape failed, yet again.
"Step towards the bloke when we call your name, one at a time," commanded a male officer to the right of us.
A female captain stood to the groups left. Obviously, overseeing the process personally, what with the infamous Ulfric Stormcloak here.
"The Empire sure does love their damned lists," Rolof muttered under his breath, too low for anybody but me to hear.
Suddenly, I snorted with laughter, the people around me staring at me as if I was out of my mind. I gave them a mirth-filled smile.
The Empire, the rebels, an evil general, aliens, starting off with me being captured by the Empire and held for execution while waiting for someone to save me – classical Star Wars. What next... Yoda?
The male officer started off, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm"
Seemed like they wanted to deal with the highest valued among us first. The pearly eyed aristocrat, leader of the so-called rebellion, stepped aside and made his way silently to the crowd of people standing idly around the chopping block, the giant of a guard shadowing his every footstep.
"It has been an honour Jarl Ulfric," Rolof muttered under his breath as the imposing figure of a man passed by him.
Ulfric gave him a nod in response.
The male officer turned his gaze back down to the list at hand and spoke out in a loud tone, "Rolof of Riverwood"
At the mention of his name, Rolof followed his fearless leader to the crowd of Stormcloaks waiting to get their heads chopped off. For the third time the male officer announced a name, "Lokir of Rorikstead"
At the mention of his name, the now identified Lokir took three steps forward before being halted by one of the guards as he was crying out desperately, "No! I am not a rebel. You can't do this!"
Well obviously they could for otherwise Lokir wouldn't be in this situation in the first place. When silence descended and Lokir realised that he was going to die; he swung his hands into the jaw of the guard, knocking him backwards, and dashed as fast as he could towards the still open wooden gates through which we had entered, perhaps hoping to escape into the wild and start life anew.
The female captain gave the male officer a glare as she yelled out, "Halt!"
A useless command by this point.
"You are not going to kill me!" Lokir screamed, still running towards the open gates.
Lokir's escape ended before it had really began as the female captain yelled with a mighty roar, "Archers!"
Not a second later an arrow embedded itself in the thief's chest as he fell down to the ground – dead.
The female captain turned back to the prisoners that were still filtering out of the last cart and shouted out in a threatening voice, "Anyone else think of running?!"
A few seconds passed and the male officer looked at his ledger yet again as a frown settled over his face.
"Wait. You there. Step forward," he said, indicating me with his right hand that held an oddly-shaped quill.
I thought about resisting but then resolved to comply with the command and took three steps forward just as Lokir had done only moments previously... before he had died with an arrow piercing his spine.
"Who are you?" asked the male officer with his eyes boring holes into my skull.
They didn't have my name on the list. I was ready to whoop in joy. I wasn't going to be executed! Remembering the question, I hastily replied, "I am Percy Jackson from the Empire"
The male officer wrote it down in his brown journal and said, "A strange name. You are a long way away from the Imperial City. What are you doing in Skyrim?"
Without even waiting for my reply, the male officer looked at the female captain on my right and asked, "Captain! What should we do with him? He is not on the list?"
Hmm, maybe… let me go?
To which the cruel female captain ordered, "Forget the list. The prisoner goes to the block!"
My joy faltered and instantly denatured as my jaw dropped. They were going to execute me even through my name wasn't on the list? But they loved their 'damned lists'!
The male officer stood at attention, "By your orders, captain"
But I was innocent?
He then turned to me and told me his own parting words, "I am sorry. We will make sure that your remains are sent off to Cyrodill. Follow the captain, prisoner."
Well at least I got some special treatment.
I reluctantly followed the female captain into the crowd, milling around the executioner with the rest of the prisoners, temper flaring for being sentenced to death for absolutely no valid reason.
Only a few seconds after I had stepped into the gathering, General Tullius stepped out of the shadows of the keep, "Ulfric Stormcloak! Some here in Helgen call you a hero but a hero doesn't use his power, like the voice, to murder his king and usurp his throne. You started this war and brought Skyrim into chaos and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!"
Out of nowhere, a light roar sounded in the distance, sounding similar to that of an angry Nemean Lion starving for a mouth-watering delicious demigod snack.
The Imperial soldier who had manned our cart voiced out his thoughts, "What was that?"
I wondered if they even had lions in Skyrim? It wouldn't be too far-fetched in my mind but then why did the guard sound so confused?
To the comment from the soldier, General Tullius replied with a generic, "It was nothing. Carry on."
The captain, obviously wanting to calm the soldiers, quickly agreed with her superior in rank, "Yes, General Tullius, sir!"
She then proceeded to give the 'go ahead' gesture to a priestess standing beside the chopping block and behind a small alter depicting a carved woman in the nude, just barely covered by wooden clothing.
"Give them their last rites," the officer spat out at the smiling priestess.
I was severely disappointed when the priestess raised her hands in the air and started to mutter out what was pure nonsense to my ears, "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you…" and on and on it went.
Finally, after five minutes of the random gibberish about godly blessings and the divines, a random Stormcloak right next to me interrupted the priestess, "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"
I agreed with that statement whole-heartedly for I had never wanted to die as much as I did now. That's why they had the service before the executions – the prisoners would be jumping onto the chopping block themselves just to shut up the holy lady. The female captain must have witnessed the speech so many times before that she now had it engraved in her skull. Not that I cared, the captain deserved all of it and then some more added to that as well. She had afterall ordered my death.
The priestess complied with the Stormcloak's request. "As you wish," her voice bitter, as if the Stormcloak had just broken her favourite vase.
The Stormcloak then went forward, kneeled down and put his head on the chopping block proudly, "Come on, I haven't got all morning!"
The guy had balls of steel. Before going on with the chopping-off-the-head ceremony, the female captain made sure that the Stormcloak soldier was secure in case he tried anything funny. With her inspection finished, she gave the black-masked executioner a nod to signify that he could begin at any moment.
"My ancestors are smiling upon me Imperials. Can you say the same?" the man, perhaps feeling rebellious, spit out in the General's direction.
Five seconds and one sorrow-filled swing later found the Stormcloak's lifeless head rolling around the cobbled floor, covered in squirting blood with eyes opened wide for all to see.
The sight made me flinch away and my stomach churn with vomit. It was utterly disgusting. Finally it was starting to sink in that it might be me next with my head rolling on the floor just as aimlessly. I was destined to die like a headless chicken far from friends and home. In the crowd of Stormcloaks and in the crowd of citizens of the town that were watching, shouts rang out following the valour-filled Stormcloak's death.
"You Imperial bastards!", "Justice!", "Death to the Stormcloaks!" littered all around as people voiced their opinions for the world to hear.
Rolof muttered, "As fearless in death as he was in life."
The female captain yelled, "Next! The Imperial!"
Did she have a personal grudge against me or what? Before I could comprehend the reasons on as to why the captain wanted me dead so swiftly, another roar rang throughout the air – but this one sounded closer, much closer.
The male officer stated the obvious, "There it is again. Did you hear that?"
No, nobody heard that Sherlock. The female captain, wanting some order among the widespread mutterings, yelled out in frustration, "I said next prisoner!"
You'd think with her being a captain and all that she would have just a bit more patience.
The male officer turned to look at me, "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy"
What was nice and easy about death? I walked slowly down to the chopping block and laid my head on the block, hoping it would be over soon. I would call the Fates bluff. The gamble with Gaia had proven successful with the gorgon blood so this should be a piece of cake, hopefully...
My fate didn't end here, in this alien world. It just couldn't. As I was closing my eyes, they suddenly flew open as yet another roar was heard but this one was definitely close by and it had been the boldest and the loudest so far. Whatever it was; it was very, very near.
A nervous General Tullius looked up, "What in oblivion is that?"
The female officer half-asked, half-yelled, "Sentries! What do you see?"
One of the supposed sentries screamed from atop the keep, "It's in the clouds!"
Wings as large as castles emerged flapping as a large, scale-clad, black monstrosity landed on top of the keep – nearly crumbling it to pieces.
A Stormcloak on my left announced, in an awed tone, what we all had been thinking of, "Dragon!"
Holy Hera, I wondered if Riptide would actually work on this dragon that was as big as Ladon if not bigger! I drew my bound hands around the string belt but found nothing. Riptide was missing! How could I have missed that? My sword was gone! I was defenceless amidst a crowd of crazed and armed soldiers and a freaking dragon!
The dragon bellowed and the tame weather started to develop hurricane-level winds that pounded Helgen and everything inside of it.
"Don't just stand there! Kill that thing!" shouted the General to his soldiers, "Guards, get the townspeople to safety!"
Rolof appeared as if out of thin air and helped lift me up. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!" Rolof said through gritted teeth as we sprinted towards a looming stone tower to which most of the Stormcloaks seemed to be running towards.
We managed to get inside of the safe structure, all riled up and coughing. Numerous injured littered the floor while all able-bodied Stormcloaks tended to their own wounds and those of their comrades. There were no Imperials in sight; although, they probably went to fight the beast as this was their town and they had a sudden dragon infestation problem.
Rolof approached the now freed king, "Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"
This happened before? For some reason, I got the impression that this world rarely got dull; not counting the long, boring speeches while I was catching my breath. Now why would I get an impression like that? Oh right, there was a dragon torching an entire town to barbecue right outside, I had just escaped execution by a hairs width and there was a civil war going on, all at the same time.
"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric scolded Rolof.
Pretty well said actually for a man who had been mute for most of the journey. I wonder if he had spent all of that time coming up with that punch-line as it was certainly a burner, pun intended. Now to only deal with the dragon, which should be easy considering my water powers... my water powers... my water powers? I tried to sense my abilities. I stretched out my senses, tried to feel that painful tug in my gut… nothing... they were gone.
"We need to move now! Up through the tower, let's go!" was all that Rolof said to me before making his way upwards.
I felt like a robot. Walking and talking, not really comprehending the stuff around me.
I had missed the past few minutes of my life, too distraught over the loss of my birth-right to notice what was even being discussed and so I followed Rolof like a lost puppy, still thinking about Riptide... my water powers... Annabeth... my friends... my family... it had finally sunk in. It had all finally sunk in. I might very well not see any of them ever again. I might never again be able to use my sword – my Anaklusmos. I could possibly never again celebrate my birthday with my dad. I might very well just die here, burned to ash without ever being able to tell my mother how much I loved her ever again.
Then there were flames.
I and Rolof bore eye-witness to the same gigantic dragon breaking a part of the solid stone wall in front of us on the second floor and then torching everything in front of it to a fiery crisp, taking the lives of two Stormcloaks and a child that they had been healing.
I couldn't move my eyes.
So much death... so much destruction... so much misery.
As the dragon left to murder others and the fires calmed down, Rolof and I advanced towards the hole in the wall.
Rolof, after inspecting the damage, turned to me, "The path upstairs is blockaded by rocks. Damn it! If I were someone foolish I would tell you to jump through the hole but that would be pure folly. Let's get back to Ulfric and report. He will know what to do"
"Sure," I replied automatically, my eyes still glued to the charred husks flat-lined to the floor – or what used to be the floor.
Limbs filled with charcoal, eyes evaporated from the heat, the little girls face a smoking skull. Looking through the hole before departing down the stairs, my eyes steeled as I sighted the dragon breathing hellfire upon the people running before it, felling yet another child and a weathered man with a long beard to boot.
The child was consumed instantly by the flames, engulfed in the toxic substance that fought off any shadow. The old man though silently screamed in utter and obvious agony before the flames consumed his tongue and shed his skin of all of it's features, leaving only a burnt-out husk of a corpse behind after it was done with what was once a human being.
After a lifetime had passed for me but was only a mere moment for the rest, we descended the stone stairs leading down to the main hall. We made our way back to Ulfric, walking amid dozens of wounded bodies and corpses whom had all died agonizing deaths or were in the process of dying. The stench of death hung heavily in the air while the fire glowing out of the torches in the walls seemed more menacing than ever before.
After careful manoeuvring, I could spot Ulfric Stormcloak standing amidst half-a-dozen burly men and one lean woman up ahead. All in all, the group consisted of two civilians and five Stormcloaks, with the armour or lack thereof indicating their status as civilian or rebel.
Basically, we were all of the healthy people left inside the tower. Which considering the mountains of bodies left and right didn't speak for much. It seemed that dragon fire here was much more deadlier than its earthen counterparts that could be stopped by a mere steel shield, if only temporarily. I could guess that we were going to attempt an escape and most likely if you couldn't stand on your own two feet you would be left for the dragon to eat.
Nobody liked this, nobody ever would, nobody liked cowardice. It was as plain to see as a cloudless day. I was pretty sure that some of them argued but were shot down by others with reason and logic and I had to admit it was the only way to go forward, even though if I could, I would carry every single one of the people in this room out of here with me. It broke my heart inside seeing so many people in excruciating misery while the rest wasted away in eternal agony. If we were still on Earth, I hoped that the judges in the underworld would have mercy on these people.
"Rolof, you're back! Thank the gods. What did you find?" Ulfric spoke with haste and relief as if going to the second floor was now a life threatening decision. Then I remembered the dragon. Oh yes, it was a life-ending decision alright.
"I bring grave news. If there was anything of note, it was destroyed. The dragon managed to break in and torched everyone remaining alive," Rolof replied.
"Grave news indeed. It is as I feared then. Let's move out and remember to stick together unless the dragon attacks. If it does, scatter to improve your chances of survival," Ulfric told the group before we headed out of our brutalized shelter that was previously a noble, gleaming tower of order but was now reduced to this falling apart temple of chaos, a shunk of life.
Carefully, step-by-step, we made our way silently across the street by moving through the half-burnt down houses on either sides, ensuring that the dragon never saw us. On dozens of occasions, dead bodies were moved aside and stepped over. With each body passed, I began to wonder if that was why the Fates had sent me here, to kill this abomination of nature. This monster.
We were now in a house at the end of the street, right next to a gigantic, fallen oak that was blocking our escape from reaching completion.
"The way I see it, we have only two options," whispered the unofficial leader of the escape party, Ulfric Stormcloak, "We either return back to the keep and wait this all out with a high possibility of dying," at this everybody flinched.
"Or…" here Ulfric's tone got lower, "I can use a Thu'um to tear the tree out of the way; however, this is likely to attract the attention of the dragon. If I am to do this then when it is done, we will have to run for our lives into the stone keep on the opposite end. So… what say you?"
A couple of tense moments passed by in complete and utter silence as each individual thought over the plan until the gruffest of all Stormcloak's commented, "It's now or never, I'm in my Jarl!"
"Me as well, my lord," agreed the Stormcloak left of Rolof.
After that it was a unanimous decision that we would go through with the plan and hope for the best, even though I didn't know what this Thu'um was, I was willing to give this a try. Not that there was much choice.
Everybody was in positions and I was ready to sprint for my life at a moment's notice. Ulfric took position, stepped outside of cover, opened his mouth and proceeded to change the world of Nirn forever.
"Fus! Ro! Dah!"
The words tore the trunk of the tree into the air and threw it way out of the blazing town – by the time it had started disappearing out of sight, over nine hundred meters away, the trunk was all but obliterated into ash and soot that clouded its descent with an ebony trail.
As soon as the trunk began flying everybody began to sprint towards the keep, even I, though I was doing this on instinct alone for my mind was distracted. Focusing back onto the task at hand, I realised that I was nearing the destination, a filthy old keep that didn't look like it could hold up under a dragon attack for even a single second.
The only reason the group was running towards it was because of its underground access to the tunnels underneath the town and the reassurance that it was made of strong stuff which would buy us precious minutes to escape. At least that's what the gist of it was if Rolof was to be believed.
Looking up, I jumped over a few broken branches and sticks. The door to the keep was already ajar with most of the Stormcloaks already inside; waiting for me, the only lady Stormcloak and the two civilians to enter.
A great gust of concentrated dragon fire connected with the ground centimetres away from my buttocks and scorched dead the rest of the group that was behind. Their screams echoed in my ears, over and over again. I was only spared death because at the very last moment I had front rolled through the doorway. A little problem persisted – my back was on fire!
The excruciating flames tried to eat away at my flesh but were extinguished before they had managed to complete their task by me hurriedly rolling around the stone floor and being helped out of my burning rags by the people around me.
The tunic was burnt to ashes while my jagged back hurt and burned as if I had been pushing a rock up a mountain since time immemorial. I would need something for my back so that I could walk properly. So... hot. My hands and feet were numb and charged with trapped electricity invalidating their use.
Ugh, I... I could feel my mouth being forced apart and some kind of liquid trickling down my throat, as if nectar it thankfully lessened the pain to a dull ache.
Bloody, freaking dragon. I would vanquish that abomination to the depths of Tartarus – after I found myself a new pair of pants and also preferably a shirt or something to cover my torso. But for now my whole body was aching and my back simmering from being subjected to a gaseous, agonizing acid. There were bigger fish to fry.