A/N: Another chapter coming much too late. Man, I really have to get better at this. Well, I had a lot of fun writing this chapter, and I hope you have even more fun reading it!


Hadvar knew that he was certainly not the bravest of men. He had always cowered at the idea of death and felt his knees shake and heart sink at the eve of battle. Even as a child, the idea of draugr crawling through his window near made him soil himself. Some men even called him craven.

The king of cowards, a childhood friend had once called him.

Strangely enough, when a dragon arrived and began raining death down upon them, Hadvar did not flee or hide as so many of his fellow soldiers did. Maybe he was too terrified to run. For a moment, Hadvar could only stare up in horror at the dragon, watching it fly through the air in a deadly dance of fire and destruction. Was this some sort of dream? This destruction - this devastation - it couldn't possibly be real.

The cry of a child broke him from his trance.

Behind him, he saw little Haming bending over his father. Poor Torolf had no chance of getting out of Helgen alive, as the lower half of his body was horrifically mangled, half of his left leg missing completely. Just that morning he had played with Haming, talked to his father about old times. They were kind, wonderful people. Why did such misfortune have to befall them?

Hadvar felt his heart break at the scene. Matlara was nowhere in sight. He knew that the woman would never leave her only son even if the world was burning around them, which it certainly was now. Poor Haming was to become an orphan today; an agony Hadvar knew all too well. But the soldier also knew that becoming an orphan was a much better fate than dying young. If Torolf couldn't get Haming out of Helgen, Hadvar would. He would do it or die trying.

Torolf, eyes overflowing with tears from his agony and the sight of his despairing young son, saw Hadvar and quickly looked back to his son. "I'm finished, little cub. Run for it." The boy shook his head and let out another sob, holding his father's bloody hand tightly as a drowning man in a raging sea. Leaving his father appeared to be the last thing the boy would - or could - ever do.

To Hadvar's horror, he saw the dragon land just before Torolf and Haming, on the opposite end of the pathway. The beast was huge, more menacing and terrifying up close. Nothing in its eyes suggested it would grant the grieving child and his dying father mercy, no, the vast, dark emptiness of the monster's eyes revealed only an insatiable hunger for death and destruction. The thing shook its massive black head and snapped its jaw at the boy, missing by inches. A booming laugh erupted from the dragon's maw, and it dug its legs into the ground, preparing to let out a burst of fire.

Haming, beyond terrified, clung even tighter to his father and let out a loud, despairing wail.

"Haming!" Hadvar shouted, reaching a hand towards the boy, "You need to get over here..." He looked desperately at the boy, praying that the boy would see reason and run to safety. The dragon's chest was burning a bright red, and the flames danced between its teeth. "Now!" Finally, the boy broke away from Torolf and ran towards Hadvar. The soldier flashed a reassuring smile at the child and said, "That-a boy! You're doing gr-

"Gods, get back!"

Just as the boy neared Hadvar, the soldier swept the boy up into his arms and leapt behind the ruins of Haming's house. The dragonfire blasted into a pile of rubble and engulfed the ruins of the house, both effectively shielding Hadvar and Haming from the flames. The incredible heat of the roaring inferno swept over the soldier in a harsh wave of hot air, causing him to cry out and Haming to let out another pained wail. But the heat passed the two as quickly as it had come, and the dragon leapt back up to the skies and continued its horrible rampage.

Hadvar looked down at Haming and felt his heart wrench. The boy was sobbing even harder now, as the pain of a burned body had been added to the agony of a broken heart. Hadvar, wincing at his own growing blisters, hugged the boy close to him.

He had three healing potions on his person. Once they got somewhere safe he and the boy would be fine. But where would be safe from a dragon's wrath? Every building had been blown to bits by dragonfire, and the building and rubble had only borne the brunt of a relatively small burst of flame. Was even the keep still standing?

The keep. Helgen's keep was a marvel of Imperial engineering and ingenuity; it could withstand even the mightiest of siege weaponry. Maybe it could withstand a barrage of dragonfire? It was his best shot.

After he was sure the dragon was busy immolating another section of the town, Hadvar ran out of his hiding place and down the road. He shielded Haming's eyes and averted his own from the charred corpse that had once been Torolf. The pounding of his boots against the ground seemed to echo throughout his body, each shaking breath roaring in his ears like a deafening gale. But even louder than Hadvar's running feet or his labored breathing were his frantic thoughts.

They screamed at him in a thousand incomprehensible voices, muffling each other out and creating one long shriek of white noise. Some broke through now and then, screeching at him to drop the boy and run, others to just accept his fate and die as so many others had.

After what seemed like an eternity, Hadvar stepped down from the ruins of a charred building and leaned against a wall, exhausted physically and mentally. Just how long had he been running? He looked to where he had begun and balked. He had run not forty yards!

Suddenly, a giant black limb sank into the ground next to him with a thud. Hadvar bit back an alarmed shout and clamped a hand over Haming's mouth. Just above them, the dragon reared back its head and sent forth a column of fire, burning the Imperial archer before it to another unrecognizable corpse. The poor man's screams echoed in Hadvar's mind like a swarm of angry hornets.

Once the dragon had leapt from the wall and soared back into the sky, Hadvar dared leave the safety of the wall and made his way through another ruined building towards the northern square. Some brave, and very lucky, souls still fought the beast, sending arrows at the thing and charging at it with swords when it landed. Civilians, both injured and dead, lie scattered about the soldiers. None noticed Hadvar and the boy. Their eyes were on the herald of their doom that flew high in the clouds.

Hadvar looked down at Haming and saw him staring at the civilians, his eyes recognizing neighbors and friends among both the dead and dying. The soldier inhaled sharply and turned towards the keep, now in sight. It was still intact, if a tad bit worse for wear. Scorch marks covered the stone, and some stones had flown loose, but, amazingly, it seemed as though it could bear the weight of a dragon attack. Hadvar ran towards it, eager to be free of the threat of being dragon fodder.

Just as he reached the keep, someone jumped through an opening in a distant wall. A man in deep blue and a mop of bright blond hair carried a man in rags upon his back, who was bleeding and bruised and apparently unconscious. Hadvar ran to the two, but scowled once he saw who it was.

Ralof stood with another of the prisoners, the King in Rags, or whoever he was upon his back. Ralof, who had been his best friend throughout childhood. Ralof, the young man he had once idolized and dreamt of emulating. Ralof, the Stormcloak soldier whom he now hated with every fiber of his being.

"Ralof, you damn traitor!" spat Hadvar, adjusting Haming in his arms, "Outta my way!"

The Stormcloak rolled his eyes and adjusted the man on his back. He replied with equal hostility, "This isn't the best time for arguing, Hadvar!" He ran to the far side of the keep and wrenched open the door. Looking back to Hadvar, he jerked his head towards the door.

Was he… holding open the door for him?

"Stop lollygagging and get inside, Hadvar!"

Hadvar wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Without another moment's hesitation, he ran towards the door and inside the keep. The Imperial barracks were still intact, thank the gods.

Hadvar breathed a sigh of relief and walked quickly to one of the beds, setting little Haming on the pallet. At the contact of straw against his burned body, Haming let out an agonized cry and whimpered pathetically, unable to do anything to soothe his seared flesh. Hadvar looked down to the pouch at his side and quickly withdrew a bottle of precious healing potion.

The Imperial took Haming's chin and pulled the boy's clenched mouth open, and before the boy could cry out in protest the bottle was at his lips. The shining red liquid, infused with magicked healing properties, did its work almost instantly. Blisters vanished and seared red skin faded to a healthy pink. Haming's eyes widened at the sudden transformation. However, the joy was short-lived, as the pain of losing his parents was greater than any physical pain. He was crying again, but Hadvar was thankful. At least the boy would live now.

"Healing potions?" Hadvar jumped at the voice, but quickly remembered Ralof, King in Rags in tow, had entered with them. Ralof set his own cargo down on one of the beds and reached out a hand to Hadvar. The Imperial looked at Ralof inquisitively. Ralof sighed and said quickly, "Look, he needs one, too. He got slammed into a wall and nearly smashed his head open; he just might die if he doesn't get patched up soon."

Hadvar furrowed his brow, not believing the traitor's words at all. He pulled the stopper from a bottle of potion and took a quick swig to heal his own burns before saying, "What do you care, Ralof? You Stormcloaks have never given a second thought about collateral damage before." Ralof grunted at Hadvar's cutting words and snatched the half-emptied bottle from the Imperial's grasp. Hadvar could barely protest before Ralof had poured what remained the potion into the King's bloodied mouth.

A moment passed before the man in rags coughed violently and sat up, rubbing what surely had to be a throbbing head. He looked around with dazed blue eyes, trying to discern his surroundings. His golden hair was matted with his blood and stuck to a strong but youthful face, and newly formed scars ran all over a surprisingly toned body. His eyes slowly adjusted, and his brow furrowed in confusion at what he saw.

"Where… where are we?" he mumbled, wincing at the sound of his own voice.

Ralof bent down to the King and said, "The Imperial barracks in Helgen Keep, it seems." He glanced back at Hadvar, the hostility from his gaze lessened considerably. "Safe, for now. But we have to get moving."

That was one thing Hadvar could agree with. He looked to Haming and put a hand on the boy's shoulder. The boy sniffed and looked up at Hadvar, dark brown eyes large and dulled with grief. "Haming," said Hadvar, "We're going to get you out of here and get you to safety. Don't worry, that dragon won't get you."

The boy's eyes teared up again. "B-but it already g-g-got Mommy and Daddy…!"

Hadvar bit his lip. That had definitely been the wrong thing to say. "A-ah, Haming! Don't cry!" But there was no stopping him. And there wouldn't be; the child had just lost both of his parents; he had even watched his father die. And had then been his mother lying on the ground as they ran towards the keep? Hadvar shook his head. He didn't want to think about it.

Ralof frowned. "The boy lost both his parents?"

Hadvar tried to shush Ralof. Haming, hearing the words, cried harder. With a sigh, the soldier hissed, "Yes, yes he did. Thank you for your sensitivity." He let out a sigh and stood, looking to Ralof and the King in Rags. "We need to get out of here before the dragon brings the keep down on top of us. Grab anything you can and let's get moving. Quickly. Also, if you want to survive, get rid of those Stormcloak blues. You're deep in Imperial territory."

Much to Hadvar's surprise, the Stormcloak seemed to be more than eager to rid himself of his blue cuirass. Ralof was as loyal a man could get, and he was even prouder than he was loyal. The Ralof he knew would have never taken off the uniform. No, you'd have to rip it off his cold, dead body. Ulfric was nearly a god to the stubborn Nord, that Hadvar had learned long ago. And so when Ralof willingly donned Imperial leathers, he couldn't help but stare.

The Stormcloak saw Hadvar's stare and grunted curtly as he put on his bracers, "I want to save an innocent man from certain death-" He jerked his head to the King in Rags, who was apparently having trouble getting his armor on, and continued, "- and Ulfric leaves us both for dead. I serve and fight for him for years and what do I get? Ha, nothing less a knife in the back! The cause is worth fighting for, no, dying for. The man behind it, it seems, is not."

The King, after finally figuring out how to put on armor, furrowed his brow at Ralof. In a strange, unfamiliar accent he said, "Why did you save me? I'm thankful for you doing it, absolutely, but… you could easily have left me like your leader told you to."

Ralof opened his mouth to answer the man but quickly found he had no answer for him. The only thing that broke the subsequent silence was Haming's loud, pathetic sobs.

After a moment or two of baffled silence, Ralof turned from the King and grumbled to himself. Letting out a frustrated snarl, he whipped a sword and scabbard off the weapon rack and fastened it to his waist. "That is a question to be answered another time. Right now, we have to get out of here!"

There was no questioning that statement.

Hadvar followed Ralof and removed a sheathed sword from the rack. He tossed it back at the King. Surprised, the young man caught the weapon awkwardly, catching it in his arms rather than in his hands. The Imperial raised a brow at the King and asked, "Can you fight, uh, your Majesty?"

After adjusting his grip and testing its edge, he nodded. "Yes, I can."

"Alright, your Majesty, you're going to be in the back, protecting Haming," the Imperial said, walking to the far side of the barracks. He then yanked down on a chain, which caused a small portcullis to rise. "Okay, we need to get through here, farther into the keep."

The King knelt by Haming, and finding the boy not at all willing to move, scooped him up into his arms. The boy screamed and cried against being moved, thrashing about in the man's arms wildly. He didn't want to move, he didn't want to leave… he just wanted his parents. Watching the display, Hadvar hoped the King would be able to handle the poor boy.

The Imperial began walking through the tunnels, but immediately stopped at the sound of voices. He stepped lightly towards the next portcullis. He looked carefully through the holes of the gate, and what he saw made him quickly shrink back into the shadows.

Two Stormcloaks stood arguing in the main room of the keep. Hadvar looked back to Ralof. "Stormcloaks! Maybe we can reason with them." Ralof nodded and gestured towards the pull to open the gate. Hadvar obliged and pulled the chain. At the sound of the raising gate, the Stormcloaks drew their weapons and readied themselves for attack. Hadvar walked out into the room, holding his hands far from his sheathed sword. "Look, we're-"

Without warning, they charged. Hadvar quickly drew his blade and parried the powerful swing of a waraxe. The Stormcloak bore down heavily on the Imperial, driving the shaft of axe down on the flat of his blade. The deadly sharp head loomed a mere hairsbreath from his nose. Hadvar grunted with the exertion, and he could feel his muscles scream with the effort of preventingthe blow. He looked to Ralof desperately, hoping he might be able to calm them. What he saw made his heart sink.

Ralof was barely able to dodge the gigantic warhammer of a raging berserker. "Sonja!" he shouted, weaving and ducking from her swings, "It's me, Ralof! I'm a fellow guard!" If anything, she only swung harder. Her ears were deaf to his words.

Hadvar felt the weight loosen on his sword, and he turned in alarm towards his own attacker. The man seemed to have the same madness as the woman Sonja, as there seemed to be nothing human in his eyes. He held up his axe and swung it in a horizontal slice right at Hadvar's head. Instinctively, Hadvar ducked. He felt a rush of air as the blade barely missed his face. He continued to dodge and weave, not wanting to harm the Stormcloaks who might become allies.

He heard a distinct and sickening snap, and both Imperial and Stormcloak looked to the the other scuffle to see what had caused it. Ralof, with a might cleave of his sword, had sliced the head of the berserker's hammer clean off its wooden shaft. The berserker stared at what remained of her hammer dumbly. "I don't want to fight you!" said Ralof, panting as he lowered his sword. "I'm a friend! I'm Ralof of Riverwood-!" He was cut off suddenly when the berserker let out an enraged shriek and lunged forward with the splintered wood. Ralof, surprised by her continued hostility, didn't move quick enough.

The shaft dug deep into his right shoulder, just beneath the protection of his leather pauldrons. Ralof let out a pained groan and his sword fell from a now useless hand. An ugly, dark bloom began to stain his armor.

A sudden rage flared up within Hadvar. Ralof might have been a traitorous Stormcloak, but deep down the Imperial knew that they were friends - no, brothers - despite the sides they had chosen.

Without another moment's hesitation, Hadvar turned back to his own opponent and slashed with his sword in a blind rage. A scream rang in the small room and Hadvar knew his blade had found its mark. He whirled towards the berserker and prepared to charge, but someone else got to her first.

The King in Rags was charging the berserker. The berserker, her makeshift pike stuck firmly in Ralof, was completely defenseless. This strangely enough did not daunt her whatsoever, and in her battle-madness ran straight back at her assailant with a chilling screech. The King was startled by the bizarre and truly terrifying suicide charge, but he held his ground and thrust out with his blade a moment too early. The berserker realized what he had done a moment too late, or perhaps, had never realized it at all.

The woman ran straight into the sword like a charging boar, her abdomen sliding up from point to cross-guard. Despite being nothing short of impaled, she still clawed and shrieked like a thing out of hell. Arthur let out a groan when her nails raked across his face, and not wasting another moment jerked the blade with a violent twist before wrenching it back out. The berserker let out a tiny, weak cry that would have elicited some small shred of pity in Hadvar, had she not injured his companions. She doubled over her grievous wound and crumpled to the ground. After one final frenzied spasm, she was still.

An agonized groan broke Hadvar's focus on the woman. Ralof lay on the ground, the shaft of the warhammer still jutting out of his shoulder. His left hand fumbled for the wood, and when he finally found the thing, attempted to pull it out. A pained cry escaped the man's lips, and his grip loosened. "Gods!" Ralof panted, looking towards the now lifeless woman beside him, "Sonja! Why?" He let out what sounded like a sob.

The King in Rags bent down to Ralof and lightly touched the wound. Ralof was hardly able to bite back a scream at the unwanted touch. Quickly withdrawing his hand, the King looked back at Hadvar. For some reason, the Imperial tensed at the young man's gaze. It was almost as if General Tullius or the Emperor himself was staring him down. But, no, this man was just some strange man in rags who claimed to be a king of some place called Camelot. He was severely confused, that was for sure. But those blue eyes held all the authority of a leader, a commander… a monarch.

The eyes Hadvar saw were those of a man worth following.

"... hello?" said the King in Rags, his brow furrowed in confusion, "Do you or do you not have anything to help this man?"

"Oh, ah, yes," stammered Hadvar, not at all sure what to think about the man before him. But now was not the time to think about that, now was it? The Imperial quickly withdrew his last healing potion and handed it to the King. "It'll help stop the bleeding, but not much else. That potion isn't near strong enough to completely heal that wound…" As he looked down at the wound, he wasn't even sure if even with the best of healers the wound would ever really heal at all.

The King stared at the little vial in his hand and turned it over, evidently confused by it. "So this will heal him?" He looked up incredulously at Hadvar, holding up what was little more than a mouthful of bright red liquid. "This?"

Did this man live under a rock his entire life? "Of course. It's a healing potion." The King's expression still did not change. "It's an herbal tonic infused with a healing spell, but this one isn't very powerful." The King stared at the vial, his eyebrows raised in what seemed to be alarm. Hadvar quickly continued, "It's for burns and minor cuts, not for… for anything remotely like this. But it'll help, even if only a little. But it won't help him at all if he doesn't drink it soon." The King nodded in reluctant understanding and set the vial down on the floor and quickly tore away a large portion of his tunic.

"Ralof," said the King, tapping the man on the face to get his attention, "I'm going to pull this thing out."

Ralof, face drenched in sweat and quite possibly tears, attempted a laugh. "A-… About damn time."

"It's going to hurt like hell, friend."

Ralof only smiled. "Bring… bring it on."

The King nodded and wrapped his hands around the hammer's shaft. Ralof bit back an agonized scream when the shaft was removed and tears spilled from his wide, bloodshot eyes. The bleeding, steady before, was now profuse. The King immediately pressed the shredded cloth to the wound, which quickly became drenched and dyed even redder than it had been before.

Hadvar quickly scrambled for the healing potion and after hastily pulling out the stopper, dumped its contents between Ralof's lips. The potion overflowed and spilled out the corners of his mouth. He wasn't swallowing; the potion wouldn't do anything for him like that. And then, much to the men's dismay, Ralof's head rolled to the side, spilling all of the precious liquid onto the floor.

Hadvar stared at the puddle of potion, knowing that Ralof's last chance of survival was gone. Ralof was going to die. The man who had been his childhood friend, his brother, his most hated enemy. Even when Ralof had joined up with the Stormcloaks, even when Hadvar had wished death upon every last Stormcloak, he never could really imagine Ralof sharing their fate. He wouldn't be able to bear it.

"You'd better be right about that potion," said the King, evidently still finding hope in the situation. He quickly removed the cloth from the wound and quickly wrung it out, sending blood splashing down onto the cobblestones. Once it was no longer soaked through, he pressed it against the puddle, soaking up the potion.

Hadvar let out a hopeless sigh and said, "No, that won't work, he has to drink it-!"

"Well there's no harm in trying, now, is there?" said the King, promptly shutting Hadvar up. He placed the soaked cloth back on the wound, and a strange light erupted from the wound, shining with the amazing brilliance of the brightest aurora. The King lifted his hands from the cloth, just as alarmed by the light as Hadvar was.

The light vanished as quickly as it had come, and Ralof's groans quieted. The Stormcloak looked up at the King, his eyes wide and searching. They were free of pain. Looking at the wound, Hadvar saw with amazement that there seemed to have been no wound at all.

"You… who are you…?" asked Ralof, his eyes never once leaving the King's.

A muffled roar and a shudder of stone silenced the men. They had nearly forgotten the dragon outside.

"We have to keep moving," said the King, "Ralof, can you stand?"

A pause. "I… I can't move my right arm."

Hadvar quickly bent down to Ralof and offered a hand. The Stormcloak stared at the offered hand in shock, not too sure what to think. Reluctantly he took it and stood, wobbling slightly. To be honest, Hadvar was shocked that Ralof was still conscious, what with all that blood he'd lost. Unless the strange light beneath the King's hands had replaced lost blood as well as healing the wound. Just who was this King in Rags?

The man in question looked to Ralof and held out the axe one of the Stormcloaks had wielded. "Can you fight?"

Ralof stared down at his useless right arm sadly, and then back up to the King. The younger man appeared as though he had not just asked a question, but given a command. Ralof smirked and took the sword somewhat awkwardly in his left hand. "I'm no milkdrinker, I can fight." The King smiled back at Ralof and picked up his own sword. Before the King turned away, Ralof said, "I trust we'll be trading places then?"

They all looked back to Haming, who stood silently just behind them and stared straight ahead, lost in fear and grief. "Poor lad," said Ralof, and gently nudged Haming forward. He shuffled forward obediently, but said nothing.

The King turned from the boy "... It'd be the wisest thing to do, yes," he said, testing the door on the way down into the keep. It held fast. "Ah, Hadvar, was it? Do you by any chance have a key to this door?"

"Ah, yes…" Hadvar quickly took his keyring from his belt and unlocked the door, holding it open for the others. The odd party made their way through the corridors, finding some blocked by rubble, others filled with the bodies of both Stormcloaks and Imperials. Some crushed by rubble, others felled by each other. After a while of wandering they came upon what appeared to be a torture room. It was littered with bodies from both sides, as well as some other rotting in cages.

Many bodies in the torture room reeked with the vile aroma of cooked flesh.

Hadvar was floored. He had never seen this room before, or if he had, had done his best to forget about it. "Gods, we have a torture room?"

Ralof looked at Hadvar questioningly but said nothing.

The King audibly gagged at the sight and seemed to have trouble entering the room at first. Trying not to look at the bodies, he walked into what appeared to be where the torturer kept his tools and removed what appeared to be a shield from the wall. He tested its weight and appeared to be satisfied. "Better than nothing, I suppose," he said and quickly stepped over bodies to another corridor.

They soon found another small cavern , this one with four Imperial soldiers milling about. He was about to shrink back into the shadows when he recognized some of the soldiers. Stepping into the ligh, Hadvar sheathed his sword and held out his arm in salute to his fellow soldiers. They did the same. Among the men gathered, Hadvar focused in on one face in particular.

"Varius! You're alive!" said Hadvar with a smile, happy to see one of the few of his friends had survived. The man Varius nodded in response and glanced to the men following Hadvar, narrowing his eyes in confusion and caution.

"Who are these people with you?" said Varius warily, his hand reaching up to lightly grasp the hilt of his sword. Haming, seeing this subtle act of hostility, hid behind Ralof. Varius saw this, but held his stance.

"Two men in need of a healer and a child," said Hadvar, "I hope to take them to Riverwood, where they should be safe."

Varius did not move. "They're not any soldiers I've seen." He drew his sword and pointed it straight at Ralof. Haming let out a squeak in terror. "That one I can very well see is one of the prisoners. A Stormcloak prisoner." He looked to the King, and a smile tugged at Varius's thin lips. "Ah, and I see you've royal company as well. The King of Rags one. And look, he's gone and made rags out of the proud Imperial uniform. Disgusting.

"But even more disgusting is the thought of my friend and brother-in-arms aiding Stormcloak scum." Varius spat in Ralof's direction, and Hadvar saw the ex-Stormcloak's knuckles turn white on the handle of his axe. The Imperial soldier looked back to Hadvar and inched closer with his blade. "Give me a good reason not to kill you all where you stand, Hadvar."

Hadvar clenched his jaw. Varius was a loyal man, and Hadvar had been foolish enough to think their friendship might save them. But Varius was the kind of man that was loyal to the Empire above all else. Even friends. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the rest of the soldiers reach for their swords, others for an arrow.

"You're really considering killing me? For saving lives?" said Hadvar incredulously.

Varius stared coolly at Hadvar. "The wrong lives. And you've just given me the wrong answer." He backed away towards his own men, keeping his sword pointed at Hadvar. "Men! Kill the traitors!"

One of the men, an archer, lowered his bow slightly and said quietly to Varius, "Even the boy?"

Varius was silent for a moment, staring Haming down. The boy hid farther behind Ralof. Seeing this, Varius's gaze hardened. "... did I not give an order, Marcus?"

Hadvar looked between Haming and Varius and drew his sword. "Varius! You'd not kill a child! This is Haming, Varius! You know Haming!"

"And I thought I knew you," said Varius before nodding to the archer, Marcus. Marcus, his face dark, loosed his arrow. Hadvar felt the arrow whiz past him towards Ralof behind him. A thunk and a scream rang through the cavern. The King held his shield before Ralof and Haming, the arrow jutting from the wood, its head buried deep. The King looked up from his shield and glared at the archer.

Hadvar and the King charged the Imperials, The King diving in front of Hadvar to catch each arrow in his shield. The two men distracted attention away from Ralof and Haming, who snuck around the fray towards what appeared to be a small drawbridge. The King targeted Marcus first, who had fired upon the boy Haming. The soldier was fumbling for his sword when Arthur's shield bashed into his face, knocking him to the cobblestones unconscious. Hadvar, on the other hand, had his eyes on Varius.

The two friends stared each other down, swords drawn and brandished. Hadvar left the King to deal with the other two; the prisoner had shown his competence when fighting. The Imperial took a step forward, letting Varius take the first move. And take the first move he did, as the man charged forward, his eyes revealing a soul consumed by the need for personal glory and honor. The two locked blades, each pressing against each other with all their being. Hadvar, being larger and stronger as a Nord, easily pushed the smaller Imperial Varius away, but did not take advantage of a killing blow. He merely assumed a defensive stance, watching Varius quietly and carefully.

The Imperial stumbled back into a proper fighting stance and shot a furious glare at Hadvar. Nostrils flaring, he ran again, this time anticipating Hadvar to block and feinted a stab but quickly brought his blade up, a blow which Hadvar barely avoided. But not a moment was wasted before Varius's blade was back in a flurry of wild slashes and stabs. He was a master swordsman, that Hadvar knew as his former sparring partner. But he also knew, having been his sparring partner, all his moves. When Varius lunged forward once more, Hadvar dodged to the side and slid his own sword beneath Varius's and flicked up, sending his sword flying across the cavern to clatter on the opposite wall.

Varius stared, stunned, at his empty hand and then shifted his gaze to Hadvar. He stood and glared, waiting.

"Well, Hadvar? Aren't you going to kill me?" he hissed, his eyes filled with hate.

Hadvar looked at Varius sadly. What had ambition done to the man who had been his friend? What had happened to make brothers want to kill each other? Empire? Stormcloaks? What did it matter in the end? "You know I'm not like that, Varius. I could never kill you."

"And you're a coward for it!" Varius spat, "You always have been!"

"Perhaps I am a coward," replied Hadvar thoughtfully. Suddenly, he slammed the hilt of his blade against Varius's head, knocking him cold. He stared down at the unconscious Varius and sighed. "But is that truly a bad thing, my friend?"

The King, having dispatched the two remaining soldiers in a similar manner, walked towards Hadvar and nodded in approval. "Well-fought and wisely put, Hadvar."

Hadvar looked to the man beside him. "Ah, well, thank you… your, uh, Majesty."

The King let out a chuckle and replied, "Please, friend, the time for formality has long since passed between us. Call me Arthur, if you will."

Arthur. For some reason, the very name seemed to fill him with awe, as if he was facing Tiber Septim himself. He had never heard such a name, and he had no idea why such a man might be so awe-inspiring to him. Then he remembered the look of his eyes, the way he bore himself, the way he fought. Just who was this King in Rags, this Arthur?

The man named Arthur stepped forward towards Ralof and Haming, the latter reaching out to touch an arrow in Arthur's trusty shield. The King laughed and said something to Haming, and the boy tried to yank an arrow from the wood. It held fast, and the two men laughed. The boy, indignant and determined, pulled again, this time managing to loose the arrow. Impressed, Arthur patted the boy on the head as the boy marvelled at his own strength and at his new prize.

Hadvar couldn't help but smile at the scene. So Arthur was a good-hearted young man, and a charismatic one at that. After losing both of his parents at once - to a dragon, of all things - Hadvar had doubted the boy would smile soon, if at all. But already the boy had laughed and been happy, even for a short time.

Hadvar walked up to the rest of the group and quickly pulled the lever that lowered the drawbridge. A larger cavern lay beyond, leading off to gods know where. Arthur walked ahead and scouted a nearby tunnel with Haming following closely behind, still holding his arrow tightly.

Suddenly, a roar echoed throughout the cavern and the tunnel behind them caved in, crushing the little drawbridge beneath it.

"Well, no going back that way now, eh?" said Ralof with a sigh. The two men walked towards Arthur and Haming, who waited for them at the mouth of yet another tunnel. The four walked on, silent. After a minute or two of silence, Ralof said, "So, Arthur, where is this Camelot of yours?"

"Ah, it's in Albion. In the central plains between the Kingdom of Cenred and that of Caerleon. A beautiful place, really. You should visit sometime." Arthur stopped and turned to Hadvar and Ralof, "Actually, do you by any chance know where Albion is, well, in relation to this Skyrim place?"

Hadvar and Ralof stared dumbly at Arthur. Albion? Surely, there was no such place. The man was talking gibberish, that was for sure. If Hadvar remembered correctly, Ralof had said Arthur had been slammed against a stone wall during the dragon attack. Maybe that had confused him. But, if that were the case, he needed a healer before the damage was permanent.

They found another large cavern, but what they found there was very disconcerting. The walls were covered in spider webs, and ugly, grotesque sacs of something hung from the ceiling by spider's silk. Arthur, evidently having dealt with similar creatures, drew his sword and looked to the ceiling. Hadvar did the same. He blanched at what he saw.

Countless eyes, glittering like gemstones, stared back down at him amongst a tangle of hairy legs. One by one the giant spiders dropped and fell to the ground, one almost crushing nearby Ralof. Each spider scuttled about their prospective prey, jaws clacking and dripping with dangerous venom. One of them, seeing the crippled Ralof, gradually made its way towards him. And alof, not at all wanting to be a spider's lunch, readied his axe until the creature was close enough to kill. Hadvar held Haming close, brandishing the point of his sword at the eyes of two smaller spiders. Arthur stared down the mother, which was a beast almost three times as large as the already large man.

Then, all at once, they attacked. Hadvar's two spiders lunged forward, and Hadvar slashed out at them, slicing out several eyes of the beasts. The spider's screeched in agony and spun around, blindly looking for a way to escape. Hadvar, however, wasn't about to let that happen. He charged one of the spiders, driving his sword deep into its large body and slicing it open. A vile stink emanated from spider body, and Hadvar struggled not to gag before turning to the other spider. It was already making its way up the wall. It was struggling to find a footing in its web, and moved slowly. Hadvar readjusted the grip on his sword, holding the heavy weapon as if it were a little throwing knife. And like a throwing knife he hurled the sword at the beast, striking it through its body as if a target had been painted on it. The spider fell to the ground, sending the sword straight through its body and back to the ground with a clatter. It curled in on itself and was still.

Hadvar retrieved his sword and grimaced at the sliminess of it. Maybe his method of dispatching the creatures hadn't been the best of ideas. He looked to his companions and saw to his relief that Ralof had killed his spider and was now attempting to free his waraxe from the head of a spider. But Arthur, however, lie pinned to the ground, somehow holding the giant spider's massive jaws snapping nearly inches from his neck. And, much to his dismay, he saw little Haming running towards it, arrow in hand.

"Haming! Haming, no, come back here!" Hadvar ran towards the boy, but it was too late. The boy was climbing up one of the spider's giant legs, arrow clenched between his teeth. Arthur saw this too, and with a renewed strength, kicked the spider's head and slid out from beneath its jaws, retrieving his fallen sword and shield. He hit his sword against his shield wildly, apparently trying to keep the mother's attention away from Haming. The spider quickly scuttled towards Arthur, jaws dripping and snapping with frenzied anticipation. Haming was now on the spider's massive, hairy abdomen still holding the arrow and, luckily, out of the spider's reach.

Hadvar joined in Arthur's noise-making, and a now desperate Ralof still tried to free the axe with his one good arm. Hadvar watched Haming crawl down the spider's body to its head. The spider then realized something was on top of it and raised its legs to reach for the strange thing. Seeing this, Ralof yanked up on his axe and finally freed it. He charged the spider and swung his axe at one of its reaching legs, severing it completely from its body. At the loss of its leg the spider screamed and instead went for Ralof, its jaws snapping at the ex-Stormcloak and one remaining foreleg reaching and swatting.

It was Arthur who followed Ralof's example and severed the other reaching leg, causing the spider to scream in agony. Haming, seeing his chance, drove the arrow into the spider's head. Another scream echoed throughout the cavern, but the spider was not yet dead.

Hadvar, seeing that Haming was the only one able to kill the thing, called out to the boy, "Keep doing it! You're doing good, Haming!" The boy wrenched the arrow from the spider's head and stabbed again, and again, and again. With each blow the spider screamed and bellowed, wobbling to and fro until finally its remaining six legs could not keep it up. Haming jumped off its head and fell sprawling to the ground just as the beast fell and its legs curled in on its body. The great spider was dead.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, Hadvar bent down to a beaming Haming and scowled. "What were you thinking, climbing on that thing? You could've died!"

"But I didn't, and I even helped kill it!" said Haming, smiling at Arthur and Ralof. However, he was dismayed to find that Arthur and Ralof shared Hadvar's stern gaze. "Well, I… I…!" His lip quivered and his eyes welled up with tears.

Hadvar smiled and tousled the boy's hair. "Good job, Haming. I don't think we could have killed it if you hadn't been so brave." As quickly as the tears had come, the boy was all smiles once more.

Arthur wiped spider guts from his uniform and shuddered, disgusted by the spiders. "Ugh, let's get out of here," he said, wiping his sword on a nearby fern, "before more show up."

That suggestion was not argued.

The party continued on, weary from all the fighting and anxious to finally find an exit. They found themselves in yet another cavern, where Hadvar felt a sudden chill. His soul soared at the feeling. "Do you feel that?" he said to Ralof, a smile lighting up his face, "A breeze. We're close to an exit! We're finally-"

A loud, long growl interrupted Hadvar. All immediately froze, as all were immediately able to place the source of the sound. On the opposite end of the cavern was a lounging brown bear, round ears pricked for the slightest noise. Slowly, after the beast believed it was alone, it laid down its head and fell asleep.

"Gods, what is this cave?" whispered Ralof, glaring at the bear, "Can't we get a break?"

Arthur let out an amused snort at that. "Well, I'm in no mood at all for a tussle with a bear. How about the rest of you?" There was general agreement, and they walked carefully by the bear, managing to sneak by it. Once they were out of earshot, there was a collective sigh of relief.

"Oh, look at that!" cried Haming, pointing down a tunnel towards what appeared to be light. The men cautiously walked towards it and squinted against the bright light of day. Evidently they had spent quite some time in the tunnels beneath Helgen, as the sun was now quite low in the sky.

An otherwise breathtaking view was soured by the stench of nearby death and devastation.

Hadvar shielded his eyes from the light of the dying sun and searched the skies for any sign of the dragon. A roar behind them sent the party scrambling for cover. They watched as the great black drake flew back to the mountains, letting out one last laughing, triumphant bellow before vanishing into the clouds.


Ever since I had learned of my dragon blood, it seems, I have sought the refuge of the mountaintops. Perhaps it made me think myself as one of my dragon brothers, or perhaps I simply enjoyed the clarity and peace of mind the crisp mountain air gave me. And so, on my favorite mountaintop, I sat and meditated alone upon the past, the present, and the future, letting the snow and ice be my only company.

I preferred it this way now: solitude. It was peaceful, tranquil, and I could think and speak without the fear of prosecution. There was another who felt the same, yes, one very familiar being that had winked out of existence so very long ago. The firstborn, Alduin. He had been more like myself than I had cared to admit, or at least he had been more like whatever I had become when I had hatched him. No, Alduin was nothing like than the man I had used to be, the man I so longed to be.

The little dragonling I had hatched in the icy wastes of Atmora had quickly grown into a handsome young drake, showing more power than I had ever dreamed of seeing in him. His mastery of the ancient dragon magic quickly surpassed Kilgharrah's and even my own. And like a fool, a total fool, all I ever did was encourage him. While he grew I had showered him with praise, I fed his ego and allowed it to grow like a vile cancer that would one day consume him body and soul.

I broke away from those thoughts of Alduin and looked up to the increasing darkness, slowly turning my eyes to the horizon to watch the sun wink out and die. How I wished I could do the same: wink out and die. But no, I was doomed to live out the rest of eternity in immortality, forced to watch the products of my arrogance and mistakes play out again and again for all of time.

I was doomed to wait forever for a man who would never return.

Oh, how I wished to wink out and die, so I might see my friends from so many eons ago, so I might see the man who meant more to me than anything. I let out a sigh and looked back up to the stars, watching as a ribbon of starlight danced across the sky, growing bigger and bigger until… no. It was coming closer. I stood and watched the descending aurora until it reached down before me and touched down on the summit. The ribbon of light shifted and morphed, taking the form of what appeared to be a woman made of stars.

My aged eyes softened at the beautiful sight, and I thought for a fleeting moment that my prayers have been answered. "Frey…a," I said softly, my tongue almost forgetting how to say the beloved name.

The aurora-woman nodded slowly and touched a small hand to my old, rough cheek. I leaned my face into her warm touch, but found that I could not touch her. Her eyes, burning with the light a million stars, held no discernable emotion, nor does her face. With a seemingly infinite slowness, she opened her mouth and whispered, "All is not lost, Emrys." She paused, and with the barest hint of a smile added, "Merlin."

Merlin? The name sounded so familiar, but I couldn't place it. I had last heard it so long ago, but whose name was it? Could it have been my own? I had long since abandoned names, as I had had so many over so long and too few people to call me by them, if I was remembered at all. Was it my name? The name filled me with an impossible sadness and flashed the image of a smile before my ancient eyes I had tried so hard to forget. Merlin. Merlin? No, that wasn't me. At least, not anymore.

Freya continued, her voice even and steady, echoing and chiming like the pealing of bells in the night sky, "I have bestowed a warrior of Avalon upon this world, the hero you have waited for." She let her hand drop back to her side. "He is something the people of this land call Dragonborn."

I looked up at Freya, trying to read her impossible eyes for any sign that she was lying.

"You think I lie, Merlin? … Or, perhaps, do you hope that I lie? Do you hope that the Dragonborn may fail so that your firstborn may live?" Freya's eyes began to burn even brighter. "Have you forgotten, Merlin, that it was you who caused Albion to fall? Have you forgotten, Merlin, that it was you who hatched the World-Eater and unleashed him upon man? Have you forgotten all that you once fought for, Merlin?"

"Stop calling me that!" I roared, furiously swatting away the image of Freya. She dissipated into stardust and began to float away to the stars. Realizing what I had done, I watched in dismay as she vanished back into the aurora. "I no longer deserve that name."

A roar echoed through the mountaintops, and for a moment I wondered if it had somehow been my own. No, that was impossible. I looked frantically between the peaks for the source with a sinking heart. It couldn't be, no, it couldn't possibly be…

"Father," hissed a familiar voice from behind me, "It has been a long time." I turned to face the huge black behemoth that was Alduin. I held my head high, trying to stand my ground against my best and brightest child. "You forget, Father, you have no power over me, even here." He laughed and slammed a clawed foot on the summit, demanding submission. I hesitantly bowed my head to him, which merely elicited more laughter. "Oh, how pleasing this is, seeing the once great Dragonlord bow to me! Seeing the one who betrayed me bow down and beg for my forgiveness."

"Beg?" said I with a snort, "Hardly."

Alduin let out a roar and quickly pinned me to ground, smoke fuming from his nostril, a word of the dov longing to be let loose. However, the World-Eater bit back the word and stepped off of me, allowing me to stand once more. "How dare you! I come offering forgiveness for what you have done, and this is what you do? I think I might retract my offer, should you keep acting this way."

"Offer?" I said with amusement as I shook the snow from my body, "What could you possibly offer me? I will accept nothing."

"Not even ruling Mundus as father and son, as we dreamt once?"

I sighed. "That was never my dream, Alduin, as that has never been your destiny."

The dragon before me trembled with rage at my words. "Of course it is my destiny, you doddering fool! It was you who gave me the name Alduin, it was you who gave me my destiny to devour the world!"

"Perhaps," said I, turning to look at the surrounding plains around my mountain. How many humans lived below, ignorant of the ancient doom that had resurfaced? "I indeed gave you the duty to consume and destroy the corruption of the world, but I see instead that it has consumed you. I may have given you the destiny to create a new world, but never to rule it." I turned to face Alduin once more, looking into his eyes for any semblance of the little dragonling I had loved so long ago. All I saw was darkness. Slowly, painfully, I continued, "The Dragonborn has returned, my son."

Alduin let out a bitter laugh and said, pained, "Oh, I see. I see you still wish me, your firstborn, dead. What have I ever done, Father, besides following the destiny you gave me? What have I done besides that to make you proud?" He let out a sigh, and then suddenly flashed a frightening dragon grin. Through his ferocious fangs he said, "Luckily, Father, that has already been taken care of. Look to the west."

I did, straining my eyes to see through the clouds. No, wait, those weren't clouds. That was smoke. No, no… it couldn't possibly be. "Alduin, what have you done?"

"The Dragonborn is dead, Father. I made sure of it." Alduin spread his wings and prepared to launch into the sky, but not before saying, "Now I'd advise you consider my offer, lest you prefer to share the Dragonborn's fate." And with a rush of wind and a devious laugh, Alduin flew off into the mountains, vanishing into the clouds.

I couldn't take my eyes off the smoking little hamlet. The Dragonborn, dead? No, it couldn't possibly be true.

But, as I denied it and strained my eyes to find some living thing in the smoldering ruin, I felt a familiar sense of crushing hopelessness and looked up to the stars for guidance. The aurora was absent, the stars silent. The very moonlight seemed to avoid my gaze.

"Please, Freya!" I cried into the night sky, pleading for anything to give me hope, "Please, tell me it isn't true! It can't be! Please, tell me!"

I received only silence.


Note: Man, this took way too long to write. Perhaps it was the start of a new semester? Maybe. Perhaps I just got caught up in playing my Nord warrior Arthur Pendragon on my xBox version of Skyrim? Much more likely. Well, anyway, another chapter done and how many more to go? Many more. But, now that I've published another chapter, I'd just like to say that this story is truly a joy to write, even if it is hard at times. But as much as it is a joy to write, another story has been screaming to be written: this one taking place in the world of Oblivion... and just Oblivion. I'll post a chapter and test the waters, maybe post a chapter once in a while interspersed with those of ODAK, but of course this story will definitely take precedence. I hope two fics won't be too much to handle!

Many thanks to my reviewers Santoka, ToSmithereens, and the kindly Guest and to all of those who take the time to read my story.

Reviews are amazing, and they help and inspire me in so many ways. Thank you so much for your continued support and comments!