Author's Note:
Loosely follows MQ, College of Winterhold, Markarth, and Dragonborn questlines (game spoilers).
The Elder Scrolls Series is owned by Bethesda; I take no credit for their hard work or excellently crafted lore that I'm leaning so heavily against to create this fan fiction.
1: Unbound
"Hurry up Breton, the gods won't give us another chance!" a voice shouted.
Sorelle struggled to her feet. Her face and neck were smeared with blood from the previous execution. The acrid smell of brimstone was so thick it constricted her breath as she tried to shake herself out of shock. It seemed like a horrific dream and yet she realized how real the scene before her was as a great, black dragon flew overhead with a furious roar: the very ground beneath her feet trembled in fear. Embers pelted her from the sky, burning holes through the filthy sackcloth robe that she was dressed in and singeing her hair and skin. Sorelle's vision finally focused on the man calling to her: the blonde Nord from the prisoner's cart. He was shouting and motioning for her to take cover with him in one of the keep towers: she ran.
"Hurry!" he urged, slamming the door behind her.
"As if that would keep the beast at bay," Sorelle thought, snorting at the fallacy. The snort earned her a derisive look from the tower's scant occupants, which consisted of one Ulfric Stormcloak, a couple of dying Stormcloak soldiers, and her savior whom Ulfric just addressed as 'Ralof'. All of which had been lined up to the execution block with her not moments before: none of them looked particularly criminal.
"... legends don't burn down villages..." Ulfric was saying to Ralof when Sorelle turned her attention back to the two men.
The dragon roared again causing a storm of crumbling mortar to rain upon the refugees.
"We need to move now!" Ulfric shouted.
"Up through the tower, come on!" Ralof said turning to Sorelle.
Nodding, she took off up the stairs up the stairs as fast as possible, a soldier was attempting to clear a path. Sorelle ground to a halt abruptly and Ralof collided into her as the wall of the tower imploded, the dragon screaming fire into the opening. As swiftly as he had inserted himself, the dragon was gone again, leaving a charred soldier and a gaping hole in his wake. The smell of burnt flesh assaulted her senses: Sorelle thought she might be ill but Ralof grabbed her arm and drug her to the edge of the hole before she had time to further process any of it.
"See that inn over there? Jump through the roof and keep going, for Talos sake don't stop!"
Sorelle looked at Ralof like he had suddenly grown horns out of his head,
"Go!" he yelled, "We'll follow when we can."
"Fine!" Sorelle snapped and with a running start she took a wild leap out the side of the
building. She landed roughly on the second story of the inn, wrenching her leg in the process. Adrenaline had taken over her body though and pain was forgotten as she dropped through the charred boards to the first floor and ran for all she was worth.
Exiting the inn she came face to face with an Imperial soldier and the dragon. It was the soldier that had read off the names of those slated for execution at Helgen. For a brief moment Sorelle felt that perhaps, if the dragon decided to roast the man alive, justice might be well served. The coward had barely batted an eyelash when his captain told him to send her to the block despite the absence of her name on the execution list. The thought passed almost immediately as she witnessed him herding a child out of harms way,
"Hamming, you need to get over here!" the soldier shouted, guiding him from the dragon's path and behind the smoldering remains of a house just in time, "That a boy. You're doing great."
The dragon burned everything left in it's path, including the boy's father who had stumbled over the cobblestones, Sorelle barely had time to duck to behind the house with them.
The dragon took to the air again and soldier noticed her presence, he looked weary: his eyes greatly pained,
"Still alive prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy, I'm going to find General Tullius and join the defense."
"Gods guide you Hadvar," Gunnar responded before turning and running with Hamming.
Sorelle stumbled after Hadvar,
"Stick close to the wall," he yelled, the dragon perched himself on the wall above her head not a moment later. Sorelle marveled at the strength in the black wing that inadvertently shielded her from the heat where she crouched, and then it was gone again.
"Let's keep moving," Hadvar urged as he began threading his way through the wreckage of the town. Imperial archers and mages were firing projectiles overhead as they made their way towards the keep.
"Ralof! You damn traitor!" Hadvar yelled over the chaos around them.
"We're escaping this time Hadvar, and you're not stopping us," Ralof yelled back.
"Fine, I hope the dragon takes you all to Sovngarde." Hadvar snapped, "With me prisoner! Let's go!" he called over his shoulder to Sorelle.
Sorelle probably would have laughed if the situation wasn't so dire, the exchange between the two men seemed almost childish; the two must have known each other long ago. She was beginning to feel fatigued, her legs felt heavy and her ankle throbbed in pain, the initial adrenaline rush she'd been running on began to fade.
"Hey! Pay attention, come with me!" Hadvar yelled.
Sorelle absently followed him into the keep.
"Do you think that was really a dragon, a harbinger of the end times?" Hadvar asked quietly, drawing a knife from his belt, "Here, let me get those ropes off," he motioned for Sorelle to approach.
Sorelle held her hands out and he sliced through the ropes taking care not to add any injury. She rubbed at her raw wrists and flexed her fingers waiting for her blood to begin circulating once again.
"Well," she said in a voice that cracked, her throat was parched, "I highly doubt he was a figment of our collective imaginations."
Hadvar wrinkled his nose,
"I suppose you're right there; come on, let's look around for something useful, you won't have much protection in those rags. Try to find some armor or a couple swords."
"I guess some boots would be nice," Sorelle said crossing the room. A row of beds with footlockers lined the wall, most of them were empty. She managed to dig up some armor that was far too large for her and a couple of swords. She hefted one of the swords and decided to go with the lighter, standard issue Imperial blade.
Sitting down on one of the beds she began to unwrap the cloth around her feet. Her ankle was badly swollen and a purple bruise was spreading up her leg. Carefully flexing the ankle, Sorelle checked to make sure nothing was outright broken before holding a hand over the leg and allowing the magika flowing through her veins to flare to life with a healing spell. It was never a wholly comfortable process but it was much preferred trying to limp through the keep and away from the dragon. When she was done she pulled on a set of ill fitting boots and light armor she'd found in one of the chests; she stood and met Hadvar's gaze. He bore a wary expression as if she were a snake he fully expected to strike him should lose eye contact.
"What?" she asked hoarsely.
"You a mage?" he asked tentatively.
"I've picked up a few things over the years," she replied carefully not entirely sure where this line of questioning was leading, "Why?"
Hadvar was distracted by a noise down the hall before the conversation could continue,
"Give that sword a few swings, I think we're about to run into company," he whispered, disappearing around the corner.
Sorelle followed, trying to stay close to the wall and in the shadows. They paused outside a gate there was a heated debate going on,
"Stormcloaks," Hadvar whispered his brow furrowing, "maybe we can try reasoning with them," he suggested uncertainly as he moved slowly to unlatch the gate.
The gate made a scraping noise as Hadvar opened it, before he could speak the three Stormcloaks rushed him,
"Die you Imperial dogs!" the woman yelled swinging a great warhammer at Hadvar's head.
Sorelle clumsily parried a blow from another Stormcloak while trying desperately to stay out of range of the other. The dance continued for a moment until the wind was ripped from her lungs as a blunt object connected squarely with her stomach, the blow sent her sliding across the floor in the opposite direction of her sword. Things seemed to be moving in slow motion: Hadvar was now heavily engaged with two of the soldiers while Sorelle was struggling to pull herself up only to come face to face with a burly man that planned to finish her off. Rolling to the side she summoned every last bit of her magika and ripped open a portal to Oblivion. A great spectral wolf lunged out of the portal and attached his maw to the throat of Sorelle's attacker. It was a gruesome scene but it gave her enough time scramble around for her sword. The Stormcloak fell and the wolf fell upon those attacking Hadvar, finishing them off.
Sorelle sank to the ground as the conjured familiar padded silently to her side. Hadvar eyed her and the wolf warily for moment before deciding it was safe to sheath his sword once again.
"We should keep moving," he said, edging towards the gate to the next passageway.
"Do you have something against mages Hadvar?" Sorelle asked, standing again with a groan: she was badly in need of a healing potion... or three.
"Not exactly... just... well magic isn't trusted much in Skyrim, the prejudices run deep among our people," he replied, swinging the gate open and peering into the passage, "Looks clear, lets go."
Sorelle followed a short distance behind with the wolf still in tow, just as they reached the first door in the passage the ground quaked and the passage was filled with mortar and stone.
"Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easy," Hadvar cursed, the hall was completely collapsed in front of them, they'd have to travel deeper into the keep, "This way," he directed, opening the only door available.
It was a storeroom, containing Stormcloaks. The conjured wolf leapt into the fray that erupted as did Hadvar, Sorelle hung back with her sword drawn choosing to wait for her opponent to come to her: she didn't wait long. The soldier ran at her with his warhammer ready to smash the life out of her in one fell swing, Sorelle waited until the last possible second and then thrust her sword forward as hard as she could whilst turning to the side. The Stormcloak had been fully committed in his attack and had no time to react: he was impaled. Sorelle wrinkled her nose as she yanked her sword free once again. Hadvar was just delivering the finishing blows to the other two; the wolf had dissapated back to whichever plane of Oblivion it was that he resided on.
"See if you can find some potions in one of the barrels," Hadvar called, "I'm going to check the hall to see if we can get any further this way; be quick!"
Sorelle rummaged around and found an old knapsack which she promptly began stuffing things that could be useful into. At the end of her foray she had few loaves of stale bread, a couple wedges of goat cheese, a container of salt, every herb that hung from the rafters, some dried meat rations, a bottle of alto wine, a few septims, and three small healing potions. She slung the pack over her shoulders and joined Hadvar in the hall.
"It looks clear so far," he said, "no telling for how long though."
Sorelle handed him one of the small vials containing the healing potions and cracked one open for herself, knocking it back with a grimace.
Sorelle nodded,
"Well, as you're so fond of saying: we better keep moving," she said.
It seemed like hours before they emerged from the bowels of Helgen's keep into the blinding sunlight.
"Shhh.." Hadvar said crouching immediately down by a fir tree, as the dragon flew by overhead and then far off into the distance, "looks like he's gone for good this time."
Sorelle sat down heavily the weight of the past few days suddenly hit her like a boulder, she looked at Hadvar but without really looking at him. Images of the dragon roasting the little boy's father were replaying across her vision, the smell of singed flesh wouldn't leave her nostrils; she turned to the side and heaved.
"Hey, hey," Hadvar was saying, as he patted her back awkwardly, "come on, I have family in Riverwood not far from here, they can help us out."
"Just give me a minute," she grumbled between heaves.
After a couple minutes Hadvar commented,
"We might want to split up actually, it'll be safer that way. My uncle Alvor is the blacksmith in Riverwood, he'll help you out when you get there. Just follow this path down the mountain and then north along the river, you'll reach the village."
Sorelle nodded,
"Thanks," she said.
"Thank you my friend, I wouldn't have made it out of here if it wasn't for you. As far as I'm concerned you've more than earned your pardon but, I'd steer clear of any Imperial soldiers until General Tullius makes that official," Hadvar said standing up and shaking the pine needles from his armor.
She watched him move down the path he had indicated until he was out of sight,
"Safer to split up?" Sorelle spat in disgust, "He could have just told the truth: it's simpler not to have to explain why he's in the company of an escaped convict wearing Imperial armor. Coward."
She stripped off the filthy, blood soaked armor and pulled on a ragged robe that she'd found during their escape. It was old and musty but it reeked far less than the armor she'd been wearing the last few hours. Strapping on the sword again and shouldering her knapsack Sorelle started picking her way down the path barefooted, praying to the Divines that the smell of death and charred flesh would leave her nostrils.
It took awhile to reach the bottom of the mountain, mostly due to the fact that she had stopped to pick anything that looked like it could be used as an alchemical ingredient. At the base of the path she came to a clearing with three ornately carved stones arranged in a semi-circle. Normally she would be much more interested in examining the stones but exhaustion was beginning to fog her thoughts so she just plopped down and rested her back against the center stone. It suddenly occurred to her, as she stared into the nearby river rapids, that she hadn't eaten for the last three days. A grim foreboding had settled across her as she descended the mountain: food, and possibly several strong drinks, seemed like the best way to deal with it. She pulled out the bread and cheese she'd salvaged from Helgen and forced as much of it down as she was able. Then, still feeling nauseated, she curled back up against the stones and fell asleep.