AN: I'm so sorry for the long wait! This was supposed to be out ages ago. In this chapter we meet Eira, Dal'Sleek, Konstantin, Corrin, and our Dragonborn.
He was moving. He could feel the bounce of wheels against stones and the rocking of a cart. There was dull ache in his temples. The longer he was aware of it, the worse the pain became, and he scrunched his eyes in an effort to relieve it. It was dark behind his eyelids, and a cool air sent chills through his body.
A rough palm was placed on his forehead, then taken away. There was a voice, "Is he, uh, okay?"
There was shifting beside his head, but no response. The cart hit a bump and his head cracked against the wood beneath him. Sharp pain shot through his head, and he groaned and curled his arms up to protect himself from any other bumps. His hands were stuck together, for some reason. The first voice said something else, strained.
It took a lot of effort to focus on the voice, and even with all of his brain power he still couldn't understand what it was saying. He curled in on himself more. It was so cold. There was still talking, but he decided that it was not worth the effort to listen. He let himself fall back into a restless sleep.
He couldn't tell how much later it was when he woke up, but this time light was glaring behind his eyelids. It was morning. His head still hurt, but it was easier to focus than before. The cart was still moving, but the two people who were there before were not talking at all now. It was so quiet - save for the sound of horses hooves on cobblestone - that it was hard to tell if anyone else was actually there. Perhaps the voices been a hallucination, courtesy of the evident head injury he'd suffered.
Experimentally, he blinked his eyes. Pain flashed through his forehead at the bright, white light, and he clenched them shut again. "He's awake!" The voice from before hissed from across the cart, breaking the serene silence. Not a hallucination, then.
There was no point in hiding the fact that he was, indeed, awake. Keeping his eyes clenched shut, he started pushing himself into a sitting position. He went cover his eyes with his hands so that he could open them, but found them tied together. Instead, he squinted his eyes open.
"How are you feeling?" He jumped in surprise at the new voice. Not only was it much deeper than the other, but it was also right beside him. He looked over to find an absolute giant of a man watching at him with deep brown eyes. His mouth and nose were hidden by a cloth mask, but his dark brown hair framed the rest of his thin face.
"I-I'm okay," He lied.
The man next to him grunted, and the other voice actually laughed. The boy swung his head around at the noise. Of course they didn't believe him. He could barely open his eyes, for Talos' sake!
Calling the person who had laughed a man would be a stretch, even by his standards. Sure, he had a light stubble, and most of his face was covered by a hood, but his cocky grin, and the way he was sitting in what looked like the most uncomfortable position ever just gave him an air of youth and immaturity. He too was tall, but he was also lithe and had not grown into his height quite yet. His hands were also bound.
"Mate," the young man grinned, "You look like one of those draugr things came back to life and got into some skooma."
The boy furrowed his brow, not really quite sure if that was an insult or not. The man next to him rolled his eyes, and held out one of his bound hands. "Konstantin," he greeted.
The boy lifted his own hand to shake Konstantin's. "It's nice to meet you. I'm..." He trailed off.
What was his name? He didn't know his name! "I'm Marcus," He he lied instinctually.
He forced himself to keep his breathing even as he considered the implications of this discovery. He didn't know who he was. He concentrated, trying to remember everything he could. He had no idea how old he was, where he lived, if he had family or not. He scowled at the thought of family. For some reason it just felt wrong. Maybe he was an orphan. The truth was that he had no idea, and it scared him. "You still with us, mate?" The hooded kid interrupted his thoughts.
Both the men were watching him. "Yeah..." He coughed slightly, avoiding eye contact.
They exchanged a glance, and he wondered if they knew each other. Konstantin hadn't introduced Hood, and they weren't exactly acting chummy, but maybe there was a connection.
"Right," Hood said, "Name's Corrin. Does anyone know where the hell we're going? I was due back in Riften two days ago, but right now we're headed west." He glanced at the sun's rising position in the east.
Konstantin raised an eyebrow, and scoffed.
"Is there a problem?"
Konstantin shook his head, "You won't be going back to the sewers in this lifetime."
The way he said it made the boy's hairs stand up. "What do you mean?"
Konstantin looked back at the boy, Marcus, as he had unintentionally dubbed himself. His eyes were creased with sympathy. "Execution."
Corrin immediately sat up straighter, "Hell no! Brynjolf would hunt down my damn bones and burn them if he found out."
The boy – he couldn't bring himself to call himself 'Marcus' – scrunched his brow. His head still hurt, but it didn't keep him from wondering what he had done to deserve execution. "Why?" He managed.
Corrin scowled and let out a sigh. "Being caught in the same ambush as Ulfric Stormcloak may have something to do with it."
Marcus recognized the name, but he wasn't quite sure who he was. But Corrin didn't have to know that. "Seriously?" Marcus widened his eyes for effect, "I get him and all, but I didn't do anything!"
He wasn't entirely sure if that was true. He actually was getting sinking feeling it wasn't, but, again, they may not know that. Konstantin frowned, "Me neither. The those damn elves and their cronies don't seem to care." He nodded towards a group of Imperial soldiers gathered on the side of the road with a few elves. Thalmor, the boy recognized.
Corrin's mouth made a tight line, and he glanced between his bindings and the driver of the cart. "I've gotta get out of this fix."
In the distance the boy could make out a stone structure that indicated they were coming up on a town. His heart sped up when he realized it was probably the place they were being taken to be execution. "What town is this?" He asked, not really sure what he was planning to do with the information.
"Helgen," Corrin scowled.
An Argonian was leaning against one of the many wooden posts supporting the stone wall that wrapped around the town. Mud and dust was crusted on the hem of his dark red cloak from days of traveling. A caravan of wagons and carts was in the distance. Dal'Sleek was surprised that the rumors were true.
Imperial guards were milling around, whispering amongst themselves in disbelief. There was no way the war could be ended by a one night, luck driven operation. Dal'Sleek was having a hard time believing it himself. He wouldn't have even stopped by to check it out if Helgen wasn't directly on his route to Falkreath.
One of the younger guards bumped into Dal's shoulder roughly as he passed, and continued on with whatever he was carrying. Dal narrowed his eyes. The Empire didn't even have the courtesy to apologize when they treated you like shit. Not that the Stormcloaks were any better. This entire country was sick.
The Argonian felt a presence next to him. A woman, dressed casually, with her blonde hair tied up, had joined him at the town's entrance. She glanced over at him and gave a half smile. "Sorry for them. They were trained to shove their heads up their asses," She shook her head, "If they're more disciplined, they're superior, that's the bottom line."
Dal'Sleek tilted his head. "Who are you?"
"Eira. But most folks around here just call me Ketill. I can't believe they actually managed to capture Stormcloak. It's a miracle, isn't it?"
Dal scoffed as he turned back to watch the approaching caravan again. "It's something."
Ketill pushed off the wall to look at him in the eyes, "You can't have me believe you support the rebels?"
"No."
The woman blinked, but didn't say anything else. The carts were nearer now. Dal could make out the distinctive blue sashes of the Stormcloak prisoners. Towards the middle of the procession there was a cart without any soldiers in it; three figures void of any distinguishing colors were tied up in the back. As it came closer, Dal could just make out the hood of Thieves Guild armor. He let out a deep sigh. Now he was obligated to help whichever idiot in his guild was captured by the Empire. Maybe Dal could just slip away, no one would ever have to know…
Beside him, Ketill narrowed her eyes, "Why is there a child on that wagon?"
Dal'Sleek reassessed the non-Stormcloak cart. There was the thief (He was going to wring whoever's neck that was after he saved their hide), a monstrously tall man in armor, and a thin form curled into itself. It was a Nord boy, maybe fifteen. Dal shrugged in response to Ketill's question, "He probably stole some bread. The Empire would use any excuse to persecute the innocent."
Ketill crossed her arms at the statement, but did not say anything. She was being very tolerant, Dal noted. However, her silence might have also been due to the fact that she was still studying the boy. "He is too young to be executed, even by Stormcloak standards."
The boy's hollow face was becoming clearer. His ivory skin clashed with a purple and yellow bruise blossoming around his eye. His eyes were scanning the small crowds of Imperial soldiers. His forehead was scrunched, as if he didn't understand what was happening. Or why. While he was not a child as Ketill had suggested, he was young. But that wasn't Dal'Sleek's problem. His only concern at the moment was to get the actual thief out of this mess. If Ketill felt so strongly about the Nord boy, she could do something about it.
"Hadvar!" Ketill suddenly called out.
An imperial soldier holding a book and pen spun around, searching for who had called his name. His eyes locked onto Ketill. "What?" He asked.
"Com'ere. Look how young this kid is."
Dal'Sleek slipped behind Ketill and back into the town. He'd rather make himself scarce than get roped into a discussion with an Imperial minion.
The boy was ninety-seven percent sure that their carriage driver was deaf. That, or he was the dumbest person in the entire Empire. Corrin and Konstantin had been discussing ways to escape for the past half hour, and the driver hadn't so much as glanced in their direction. Well, Corrin had been discussing, while Konstantin shook his head or shrugged accordingly. He was a quiet one. The boy himself wasn't paying much attention either. After Corrin had mentioned something about slipping away during the execution, and Konstantin had actually snorted in amusement, the boy decided to focus his attention more productively. The number of Imperial soldiers in this unit, the commanding officers, the layout of the approaching town of Helgen, and maybe points at which he could escape.
He had recognized General Tullius immediately. The officer was speaking to his men from his horse, and the boy couldn't stop watching him. The fact that he knew who General Tullius was, but not himself, scared the living daylights out of him. His stomach had twisted into knots. Maybe he really was a criminal, a big time criminal to recognize General Tullius on sight?
The other two in the wagon were still hatching mediocre escape plans. He briefly considered asking them about General Tullius, but decided against it. He wasn't about to mention a connection to Tullius to a possible mercenary and a thief. He had recognized the Thieves Guild armor after about half an hour of being awake. At first he thought his memory might be coming back, but then he realized that it was more likely the fact that he could finally open his eyes all the way.
Tullius glanced up, catching the boy staring at him. The boy didn't bother looking away. He knew he'd already been seen, and he was genuinely curious as to why he knew Tullius, albeit a tad nervous. The man tilted his head at the boy, deep-set eyes narrowing a fraction. They regarded each other for a few moments, and the General's jaw tightened. His eyes frowned at the boy with what could only be disappointment. Inwardly, the boy winced at the expression. He didn't want to disappoint a man who held so much wisdom. Even if he had know idea how he knew the man was wise.
Tullius turned away, saying something to one of the men near him, who glanced in the boy's direction and shrugged. His mouth was narrowed into a tight line. At least not everyone recognized him the way Tullius seemed to have.
His thoughts were interrupted by Corrin hissing, "Shit!" and Konstantin sending a quick kick to his shin for it.
He followed Corrin's line of sight. They were in town now, and the thick scents of horse dung and hot food permeated the air. Dust was no longer being kicked up by the carts, but instead there was a clacking of hooves on stone.
The thief was eyeing an Argonian who was leaning against a wall a little ways ahead. The Argonian had dark green scales with red tints here and there, and he was wearing a black tunic laden with various straps and belts and pockets that held who knows what kind of goods. The tunic went past his knees and split in the front and back, ending in points. His face was covered by a blood red hood that belonged the cloak that was wrapped around him. It seemed he wasn't quite used to Skyrim's cold yet. The Argonian was watching Corrin just as much as Corrin was watching him. "Who is that?" The boy asked.
Corrin scowled, "An associate of mine. No idea what he's doing here."
Another thief then. He certainly wasn't dressed like one, though. "He doesn't seem too happy with you," The boy observed. It was true that the other thief seemed to be glaring daggers at the prisoner.
Corrin snorted, but didn't respond. The boy raised an eyebrow, "Will he help you out?" And, by extension, would he help the other two in the cart as well?
"He might, if he thinks I'll pay him later on. He's not exactly the kindly type."
The carts began to pull to a stop in front of a wall, and the boy's attention was turned to the very ominous chopping block in the center of the square. Corrin hadn't noticed it yet (he was still having a staring competition with the Argonian), but Konstantin swallowed next to him. "Out of the carts! Line up to be counted!" A soldier ordered.
They stood, and the boy became acutely aware of how weak he was at the moment. His legs wobbled beneath him as he took a couple steps. He stumbled out of the cart after the other two, and Konstantin stabilized him. Around them, Stormcloaks were filing out of their carts as well, gathering in small groups.
An soldier carrying a book approached them. He had shoulder length brown hair, and his face was twisted into a frown as he looked over the three prisoners. A woman was gliding between the soldiers behind the man with the book. She patted him on the shoulder as she passed, and said, "I told you, Hadvar. Too young."
The man grimaced, glancing at the boy, then back to his book. Another woman, this one clearly a captain, spoke from behind her men, "Step towards the block when your name is called."
The man with the book, Hadvar apparently, cleared his throat, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
A man laden in a rich fur cloak, Ulfric the boy recognized, made his way towards the block. The boy heard one of the Stormcloak soldiers mutter something about it, "being an honor." He watched the gagged man hold his chin up proudly as he took his final steps.
"Konstantin Wolfe, of Cyrodiil."
The boy jolted at the name. He didn't even know Konstantin, and for some reason he was still worried about the man. Konstantin swallowed, and left the boy's side to walk towards the block. Out of the corner of his eye, the boy caught a glimpse of Corrin's Argonian friend slinking closer through the shadows. He elected to ignore it. A glance at Corrin told him that he too had seen shadow. The bound thief was diligently looking anywhere else.
Names were still being called, but neither Corrin's nor the boy's had come up. It occurred to him that he wouldn't actually know if his name was called. He might have to rely on reading Hadvar's expressions as he called the names. He didn't know if he was good enough at that, though.
He didn't have to worry about that for much longer. A hand grasped his upper arm, and he was pulled away from Corrin. The person who had grabbed the boy was the same soldier that Tullius had talked to earlier. The imperial scowled as he shook the boy, "Don't even think about struggling."
The thief the boy had been torn away from looked like he wanted to protest for a brief second, but resigned himself quickly. It was in everyone's best interest if he kept quiet. The boy did as he was told and didn't struggle, letting himself be dragged along. He was pulled behind a wall and shoved away from the soldier. Arms caught him and leant him against the wall. "General Tullius, sir," The boy coughed out when he recognized the face.
The General, the boy, and the soldier were huddled in a nook where a building met one of the walls. The strong scent of bread wafting from a nearby window told him the building was a bakery. He would kill for some bread right now. "I apologize for the theatrics. We needed to make sure that the prisoners didn't think you were receiving special treatment." Tullius paused, frowning, "especially with how you were staring earlier."
How did General Tullius know him? Why did he treat him so gently? The boy bit his lip. Answers to those questions might have to wait. Instead, he opted to deal with the more immediate issue. "Am I?"
The soldier who had dragged him over raised his eyebrow as he cut the boy's bonds. The kid nodded in thanks. "Are you what, lad?"
"Receiving special treatment?"
The two men in front of him exchanged a glance. Tullius rubbed his chin, "Julius, could you find some water?"
It took the boy a moment to realize that Tullius was addressing the other imperial. The man nodded at the dismissal and headed back towards the square. Towards the execution.
As soon as Julius was out of sight, the General stood to him full height and turned to look straight at the boy. "Report."
"Pardon?"
"Re-" The General was interrupted by a long echoing screech in the distance. No animal the boy knew made that sound. He and Tullius both looked up to the sky in confusion. Tullius shook it off quicker than him. "I said report."
"Sir, we are ready to start the execution, another soldier, not Julius, poked his head around the corner. He blinked at the boy, then turned his focus on the General, apparently deciding it was none of his business.
Tullius sighed, "Of course. I'll be right there." He turned towards the boy, "Stay here. We'll speak when this is over and done with. There will still be some cleaning up of Stormcloak's cult of personality to do."
The boy opened his mouth to ask what the hell he had to do with Stormcloak, but Tullius was already gone.
He took the moment of aloneness to review his options in this situation. He could wait patiently in this baker's sketchy corner for Tullius to return. He might find out more about himself and the nature of his relationship with Tullius, but the General seemed to expect him to tell him something. Did he have a message for Tullius? Was he a messenger? Regardless of what was expected, he could always attempt to bullshit it, and hope he gave somewhat realistic information. Or he could admit that he didn't have a clue about what was going on. He'd rather not risk the consequences of that, though, especially when he had so narrowly avoided execution.
Speaking of execution, if he waited he wouldn't be able to do anything to help Corrin and Konstantin, who - despite the thieving - seemed like descent enough people. The other option would be to run. Take off now and don't look back. That wouldn't be very helpful to Corrin and Konstantin, but it might be time to cut his losses. Maybe he could say a prayer for them when he was safe. There was also a possibility that the entire legion would be after him… but he might be able to disappear without an afterthought. That really depended on how valuable the information that Tullius thought he had was.
He had just about come to the conclusion that running to bullshit another day was his best option, when a woman stepped around the corner. He jumped in surprise, and she jumped at his jumping, and she nearly spilled the open waterskin she was carrying. "Damn, lad, why are you so on edge? I'm just bringing you the water the General sent for."
"Why?" He questioned defensively. He recognized her she as the woman who had mumbled something to the soldier with the list, Hadvar, earlier.
She brushed a couple loose strands of blonde hair out of her face and scowled, "Because some of us need to drink to survive. But if you think you're above it…" she raised the skin to her lips.
"No!" the boy started. He really was thirsty. The lady smirked and handed him the water. As he took a long gulp, she introduced herself. "My name is Ketill. I'm a guard here in Helgen, and," she paused to see if anyone was watching, "It would be in your best interest to follow me." The lady started to walk off in the opposite direction of the wall, towards the front of the bakery.
The boy stood grounded in place. "What?"
She spun, scowling again, "What do you mean, 'what?' Do you want to stay here and be executed?"
His forehead scrunched. He wasn't really sure if he was going to be executed or not. "I don't think–"
"Look, I get that you trust them, and you think they trust you, but let me break it down for you: They don't keep random people with that kind of knowledge just hanging around."
Again with the information. Regardless of whether he actually knew whatever information she was talking about, she had a sound argument. One thing irked him, though, "How do you know that about me?"
He might not know what she was talking about, but she certainly sounded like she did. Maybe she could shed some light on the entire situation. Another screech sounded in the distance, and both of them glanced towards the mountains. It sounded closer this time. "It doesn't matter how I know. But we need to leave now if we want enough time to disappear before General Tullius returns."
There was light thump from inside the baker's window, followed by a hissing. "Ow!" A familiar voice said, "I didn't deserve that. I was the one that got us out of there, no thanks to you."
Corrin? Wasn't he supposed to having his head removed right about now? The boy wasn't willing to risk peeking around the wall to check on the progress of the execution. "Shut up. You got yourself out of there. I did not require rescuing, as I did not get myself arrested by the Imperial Legion," A more subdued voice said.
This time Ketill spun to look in the window, turning her attention away from the boy. "You? You aren't supposed to be in there."
"Who is that?" Corrin said, "Did you have time to meet a lover while I was risking my life to escape?"
Everyone knew that the thief had been on his way to die anyway, so risking his life really wasn't much of a risk. Ketill glared at Corrin through the window, "You would do well to keep quiet."
"See? I'm not the only one who wants you to shut your mouth," the other voice said.
The boy was just about to take advantage of Ketill's distraction and make a run for it, but he didn't have the chance.