Chapter 5: Voice of Fate
I wondered what would happen if I fled?
Would Ralof leap at me and drag me back? Would Stormcloak Shout at me, sending me crashing into the tent wall? Was there any chance that I would make it to the door - but, then what? Escape through an army of Stormcloaks outside?
No. If I ran, I was dead. I had to face this. I had to fix this.
I held my chin up a little higher. I was not, as they assumed, a spy for the Imperial Legion. No matter what they accused me of, they could not prove something that simply wasn't true.
Ulfric's ice-blue eyes flickered across the pages of my journal as he read; his face set in a brooding half-scowl.
I could no longer remain silent. I had to try and tell them the truth.
Well, some of it.
"I was at the Blue Palace that night," I admitted; my voice scratchy as my throat trembled. "You are reading the tormented thoughts of a girl whose parents were just murdered, not a report for the Legion," I tried to reign back a snarl.
Ulfric glanced up to me swiftly, unemotional. I froze, like a startled deer, and my strength fled.
"Ah, that sounds more like a voice of truth," Ralof broke the silence with a mutter. His firm hand landed on my shoulder as he said it.
I startled, and the lapse broke the hold Ulfric Stormcloak had over me.
"I always told you the truth," I implored, glancing to the soldier. His eyes were also blue, but not as piercing as his leader's, so I could bear the weight. "I am a bard. My lute was broken. I am travelling to find someone to fix it," I turned back to Ulfric Stormcloak and squared him with a flat look, "as it was destroyed the night my parents were killed."
Ulfric had either finished reading, or had read enough. He closed my journal calmly – too calmly – and placed it on the table before him. Idly, he rested his hand on top of it.
"What did you say her name was again?" he asked Ralof in that infuriatingly measured baritone. It was a tone that both gave away nothing, and at the same time sealed my fate.
"Aleine."
I clenched my jaw, determined not to react. Why had I given them my mother's name?
"I see."
I couldn't bare it. I swallowed my fear, but closed my eyes. The sounds of movement drifted to my ears as heavy defeat settled over me.
"You think what I did was wrong," Ulfric stated.
He was close; I startled as my eyes shot open.
I was face-to-face with Jarl Stormcloak. He was leaning down to me; inspecting me. He was close enough that I could see flecks of grey in his hair and beard, and smell his dinner on his breath. Ralof's hold tightened when I instinctively leaned back.
"Answer me," he spoke again, but was still too calm. He withdrew and stood, looming over me at his full height.
I stared up and up as his form cast a shadow over me. I was too afraid to refuse - but why did he need me to confirm what he had found in my journal?
"You have read what I think," I stammered. The words poured out of me with a fearful quaver. "Your men cut my parents down as you fled Solitude. You say you fight for the people of Skyrim but the value of their lives, and who their deaths might impact, didn't cross your mind."
My words somehow loaned me courage, despite the meekness I felt.
"So, yes. I believe what you did was wrong. Any who witnessed what I saw would think the same," I concluded in a lowered tone.
"And you were bound for Cyrodiil?" Ulfric continued smoothly, unaffected.
Had he not been moved at all by what I had said? Crestfallen, I nodded.
"I was alone in Solitude," would playing the weeping maiden win me any mercy? It was all I had left to try; the truth had won me no favour. "I am travelling to what remains of my family. My grandparents are all I have left."
Ulfric eyes flickered back and forth over my face as he listened and weighed me. He reached a hand out; one as large as my face. I held a breath and flinched when he grasped my chin in just two of his fingers. His grip was harder than necessary, but I bore it without a sound, too frightened to cry out, while he turned my head from side to side.
He released my face quickly and his hands were then on the neckline of my dress, shifting it aside to tug at the necklace I had placed my father's – my - ring on. Ulfric turned the Passero seal; tiny in his hands; wearing a thoughtful frown as he examined it.
The seconds ticked by, and I agonised over my fate while I remained perfectly still.
Did it matter if he believed me or not? He knew who I was. I had been brought into his hidden camp and seen his strategy map. He would be a fool to let me walk out of here.
Releasing my ring, the mass of muscle and fur leaned back with a burdened sigh.
"She is the daughter of one of Torygg's Thanes," he told Ralof in a bored voice. "If she is not a spy now," he strode around the table to where he had been positioned when we had arrived, "she will become one, should we set her free."
Tears pooled in my eyes. You're a prisoner of war, now. Well done, Celeste.
Ulfric wasn't finished.
"I leave it to you, Ralof, to extract what you can from her to aid our cause," his eyes settled on me with cold determination, and a challenge. "Dispose of what's left of the body. We can't have them finding her."
What?
"As you wish, my Jarl."
I was turned by Ralof, but felt nothing. Fear consumed me, muting all else. I glanced up to the blonde Stormcloak in earnest.
"Please, Ralof no," I begged, my voice choked and weak and desperate. "I know nothing. I don't want anything to do with this war."
"Your cowardice brings dishonour to your family, Celeste Passero," Ulfric called from the back of the tent. "What would your ancestors make of you?"
Ralof gave me a stern, sideways glance, but said nothing.
Then before I could couple together another plea for my life, a keening whistle cut through the air. The tent collapsed in on one side, then burst into flames.
Ralof threw me behind him and drew his sword and I screamed, landing hard on my knees. My hands flew forward; my palms, rather than my face, met the hard-packed earth, and I winced as my wrists throbbed from the sudden impact.
"For the Emperor!" a roar sounded over the destruction.
"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof raced to the back of the tent. Screams and battle-cries erupted beyond the crackle and roar of the roasting canvas. My vision swam when I glanced up, as though I was watching the rippling fire and bodies darting by the tent's opening from underwater.
Another whistle pierced the air, and another section of Ulfric's tent collapsed in a heap of flames. Silhouettes of armed figures clouded the doorway, and in a flash of movement that startled me anew, Ralof and Ulfric raced past me.
"FUS."
The tent wavered as air rushed forward in a curling shock-wave. The bodies at the entrance to the burning tent were flung aside by the force.
Force. Again, the word bounced between my ears, hissing as it echoed. The sound managed to do what the unfurling attack and blazing fire had not been able to; it urged me to move.
I grabbed my pack but left the journal on the table - it was too far away - and darted for the door. Whatever was happening, it couldn't have been better timed. All I had to do was keep out of everyone's way and find the horses.
Ralof and Jarl Stormcloak stopped when they reached the exit and Ulfric Shouted at whatever was beyond. I halted three paces behind them, silently urging them to hurry up as the tent canvas blazed around us. My desire to remain unseen and forgotten would do me no good if the tent collapsed on top of us.
When they ran on, I leapt into action after them. Perhaps I could use the path Ulfric was forging through the fracas to make my own escape.
But they had not taken more than a step outside when a legion of Imperial guards fell onto them. Ralof was restrained and his sword was torn from him and cast aside. Ulfric was tackled to the ground; pressed to the earth by five Imperial soldiers. I remained two steps inside the burning tent, out of sight, praying frantically for them to go so I could flee before the flames consumed me.
Ulfric roared in anger then tried to Shout the Legion off him. It didn't work; a heavy punch landed on his temple and Fus pushed at the earth beneath them, rocking the soldiers but not enough to let Stormcloak go. They had been ready for him this time, and even as the soldiers reinforced their hold to keep him down, one of them wound a piece of cloth around his head, tightening it over his mouth and forcing it between his teeth.
"We have him!" an Imperial officer cheered. I watched, wide-eyed and victorious as Ralof and Ulfric were lifted and moved away, before I rushed out of the tent, to make myself known to the Empire.
A smile played on my lips as I realised that I wasn't going to die tonight, after all.
"Thank the Divines you-"
I was surrounded by Imperial soldiers with their swords drawn and pointed toward me.
"Yield!" one of them cried. "Arms up where I can see them!"
I screamed and raised my hands in surrender.
"We have captured your leader! It's over!" another shouted at the same moment.
"You don't understand, I'm their prisoner!" I insisted.
One of the soldiers lowered his sword, but only to restrain me. "A likely story," he pulled my pack from my shoulders and looped a rope around my wrists. "You're under arrest, by the authority of the Imperial Legion."
"No, you don't need to do this," I licked my lips and crossed my brows at the man binding my hands. "My name is Celeste Passero. I'm not a Stormcloak!"
"Passero, eh?" the man tugged on my bindings to secure the knot, then stepped back, nodding to one of his comrades and handing her my pack.
I nodded emphatically.
The one who'd been instructed to take me spoke. "What are you doing with the Stormcloaks?"
My eyes darted to her and I opened my mouth to tell them, again, that I was a prisoner.
But the soldier who had tied my bindings spoke before I could. "If Ulfric has one of the Passero daughters on his side it would certainly explain how he managed to get in and out of Solitude."
"What?" I stammered. A flash of anger surged through me like a bolt of lightning. "He killed my father, for Shor's sake!"
"She's wearing his colours, and there are no signs of torture," the woman restraining me replied.
I whipped my head to her in horror. My head thumped, jarred from the aghast turning I was doing to keep up with their conversation.
"And she emerged from his tent. If she's not his spy, she's his doxy," the other flashed me a dark look.
"How dare you!" I shouted, struggling to break free. "I'm a member of the Passero family and a loyal citizen of the Empire!"
"Stormcloak probably promised to legitimise her if she helped him," he shook his head as his dark look persisted. "We don't take kindly to treason in the Empire, girl."
Was I speaking another language?!
"Won't you listen to me?" I cried out. "I despise Stormcloak - I want him dead!" fury was making me livid; my words blurted out of me in a staccato of barely controlled sentences. How could the Empire – my Empire – accuse me of being the whore of Ulfric Stormcloak?!
"We seem to have struck a nerve," the soldier securing me said after a pause. She walked, towing me toward the gates of the now ruined encampment.
The fire pits we had woven between less than an hour earlier were scattered. Flames consumed the tents on the borders, sending bright sparks up into the night's sky. The encampment was almost quiet and empty of the living, and the ground was littered with the bodies of fallen Stormcloaks and Legionnaires alike.
I was led by so many fallen men and women wearing the Windhelm blue that I was startled to recognise Ramdir among them; bent and broken with his expression frozen in a snarl and dark blood pooling from a gouge in his neck. The sight was like a kick to the stomach. It had started and ended so quickly. My rage was quenched as tears welled in my eyes.
"Maybe you are telling the truth, lass," the soldier leading me continued in a more logical voice. "But if you have half a brain, and are for the Empire, you must understand how your presence here looks to us. You say you were their prisoner, but you weren't restrained. You walked straight out of Ulfric Stormcloak's tent. The General can decide whether you are telling the truth or not."
"Thank you," I managed to gasp, trying to shake my eyes free of tears. "I swear I am telling you the truth."
"I'm not the one you need to convince," was all the reply I got.
I huffed bleakly; had Ralof not said almost the same words to me, only hours earlier? A wariness to the woman's tone loaned me no confidence. It made me feel as though my ordeal was just beginning.
–
To my utter horror, I was placed on the cart with both Ralof and Ulfric and my pack was thrown into the hold underneath it. I had shuffled as far away as I could from them and the other prisoners as soon as I had been tethered to them, praying that the Divines would strike them where they sat.
None of the others had said anything to me, or even looked at me, at first. Stormcloak held his back straight and his head up, glaring daggers at the Legion officer driving the cart. The filthy rag around his head silencing him looked uncomfortable.
The thought of him being unable to Shout his way out of this lifted my spirits. There was satisfaction in seeing him like this. He was like a caged bear, poised and watching for any opportunity to lash out at those in his way. But I knew the Empire. They would not drop their guard. And soon, he would answer for all he had wrought; answer for the lives he had taken.
Perhaps the war would end before it began now, and there would be no more bloodshed.
"I'm sorry."
It was Ralof's voice, drifting toward me as the cart leading us to – where? - ambled along the track.
I glared along the bench seat to see the blonde Stormcloak frowning at me. His hair was thick with mud, as was one side of his face. He must have been pressed to the ground at some point. His wrists were shackled and chained to the bar that we were all chained to - the one that prevented us from leaping off the cart and disappearing into the woods in the dead of night.
"You're sorry?" I asked, my voice leaving me in monotone.
He grimaced and nodded. "If you were a Legion spy, they would not have put you in here with the rest of us."
No kidding. Frustration poured through me but I eased it with the promise the Imperial soldier had made to me; that the General - and I assumed that meant General Tullius – would decide whether or not I was telling the truth.
I did not know the General, but my father had known him. He would not let anything happen to me. I had to keep telling myself that.
I glanced away from Ralof, ensuring that my face remained expressionless. To engage with him would not serve my purposes. Instead, I focussed on the snow-tipped crags either side of the road.
Ralof sighed and shuffled, but did not speak again.
The cart carried on through the night, steadily winding down the mountain pass I had been climbing earlier that day. Legion soldiers flanked our cart, and several others trailed behind us. Most had bows out with arrows nocked and ready; to take out anything that might jump at us in the night.
Or to shoot us, if we managed to escape our bindings and tried to flee.
The descent seemed to take longer than my walk had, but perhaps it only felt that way because I had nothing to do except watch our progress and muse over my own fate.
The ride was very uncomfortable. Unable to doze, I planned what I would say to the General when I was brought to him. Fleetingly, I would panic about what I would do if he didn't believe me, and would count stars in an effort to calm down. Eventually the path levelled out and the cart turned onto the pass that led through the flat, heavily wooded area. At the crossroads, it turned toward Helgen.
Good, I thought with a sigh of relief. We were being taken to Helgen. There must have been an Imperial camp there. The General would be there. I wouldn't have to return to Solitude.
The sun glinted at us through the trees, and Ralof spoke again.
"Have you been studying at the college for long?"
I ignored him. He was trying to be kind, but I had not forgotten that, prior to the Legion attack, he had agreed to extract information from me, and then kill me. He was only trying to assuage his guilt.
"A bard?" another prisoner asked with a snarl. I glanced at him, lifting an eyebrow. He was wearing common clothes, not armour, and I crossed my brows as I looked him up and down. He was not a soldier.
"What's a bard doing messing around with the damned Stormcloaks? Singing their praises already?" he sneered.
"Better that they sing about brave men and women fighting for their country than your song, thief," Ralof replied in a dark rumble.
The man – thief – glared at Ralof. "Oh yes, because you've all made Skyrim so much safer, stirring up the Empire with your noble war, haven't you? I'd be in Hammerfell right now if it wasn't for you lot."
The Legionnaire driving us called over his shoulder for silence. Both Ralof and the thief obeyed. I glanced between the pair, but the diversion seemed to be at its end. Sighing, I sat back, stretching my fingertips to shift my shackles so that I could rub at the skin around them. My wrists ached where the rope was tied.
Helgen seemed to emerge from between the trees; its gates wide open, expecting us. I caught flashes of red banners beyond; the Empire's standards.
"What's wrong with this one, then?" the thief grumbled. He made to kick Ulfric Stormcloak in the boot with his own, but he was out of reach.
All of the Stormcloaks on our cart – and there were six in total, including Ralof – cried out in anger, shouting and swearing at the man.
The thief's eyes were as insolent as before, but there was no hiding his startle as he sat up tall and stared defiantly around him.
"Keep it down!" the soldier driving our cart called back again. I caught movement in the corner of my eye; my head whipped around. It was the soldiers, flanking our cart. They'd drawn closer; their bows half-risen in warning.
When the Stormcloaks closed their mouths, glaring as one at the mouthy thief, I couldn't hide my smirk. The thief must have caught it, for his eyes flashed to me in accusation.
I spoke before he could in an undertone, so as not to annoy the guards. "That's Ulfric Stormcloak. The Empire have caught him."
The thief's eyes widened. His eyes flickered between me and the gagged Ulfric.
"But...but!" he spluttered. "But that means-!"
He closed his mouth with an audible snap then, and glanced furtively around us with panic plain on his features and desperation glazing his watery eyes.
We entered Helgen, and I turned with interest to look upon the township, relieved that this horrible journey would soon be over. I spotted General Tullius on horseback a little way from the gate beside a High Elf in Thalmor regalia.
"What are the Thalmor doing here?" Ralof hissed through clenched teeth.
I had to admit that the sight of a Dominion agent had taken me back, too. The Empire's alliance with the Thalmor was perceived, by both sides, as a necessary evil. The White-Gold Concordat had brought an end to a different time of bloodshed, but the outlawing of Talos worship had never sat well in Skyrim.
The sight of the Thalmor agent with the Military Governor ruffled everybody on our cart. The Stormcloaks glared and their hands twitched convulsively, as though trying to reach for the weapons they had been relieved of during their capture. The thief shrunk back, trying to be absorbed into the wall of the cart.
The Thalmor's eerie golden gaze flit over me and I shuddered, but sat straight. I glanced to the General in the hope that he too would make eye contact. He would recognise me, I assured myself...despite never having met me. That was beside the point. He would see immediately that I was not supposed to be chained up with this rabble of thieves and murderous rebels.
But the General's eyes were narrowed and fixed on only one man; Ulfric Stormcloak.
"General Tullius sir; the headsman is waiting!" a voice cut through the air.
I froze. What?
"Good," I heard the General's sighed reply. "Let's get this over with."
"No!" the thief screamed suddenly.
My head whipped to him; he was frantically trying to tear his hands out of his shackles.
"I'm not part of this! I'm not a rebel! You have to believe me!"
Townsfolk in Helgen were gathering around a watchtower with faces both curious and solemn. Shop window shutters and doors snapped shut as we closed in on our final destination. An ocean of hazy disbelief descended over me as the cart slowed, then stopped.
The thief's terror-filled pleas continued to come, and continued to fall on deaf ears. The Legion officers were impassive and measured, and the townsfolk pointedly glanced away from our cart, as though by looking upon us they might be accused of sympathising with us.
Us, I questioned myself suddenly?
The sound of metal being unbolted caught my attention. The back of the cart was being let down.
It was a woman – a Legate, from the looks of the armour. Her face wore a scowl and given the circumstances, I couldn't blame her. Executions always brought out the worst in everybody; nobody wanted to see a person's head cut from their shoulders, but they were unfortunately, morbidly fascinating.
Execution.
The word echoed in my head and I shook myself to make it stop. There was a tug on my wrists, and I went with it. I was dragged down off the cart and once at the edge, my shackles slid off the bar that had kept us in place. My boots landed on hard-packed, dusty earth.
I glanced around desperately, but couldn't see the General anywhere any more. The Stormcloaks surrounding me blocked almost everything.
I was shoved back by a Stormcloak shifting in front of me, and large, bound hands caught me in the middle of my back.
"Face your death with courage, little one," Ralof murmured as he righted me on my feet. "Sovngarde awaits us."
I glanced over my shoulder at him, my mouth moving but not speaking. I wasn't going to Sovngarde. I – I wasn't going to die! They wouldn't just...just, cut my head off, without asking for my story, without listening to me!
"Form a line," the stern Legate commanded in a booming voice. "Walk forward as your name is called."
"Damn Empire and their queues," Ralof grumbled behind me.
As the Stormcloaks shuffled, I stepped back, behind Ralof, wondering if I could lose myself in the crowd.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," a mild accent called out.
All eyes fell to the large, glaring man as he held his chin high and stepped toward the block, utterly fearless. He stopped before the shorter, smaller General Tullius.
More names were called. Ralof's was the only one I recognised. The blonde Stormcloak strode forward to join his company with a look of determined pride on his features.
When the thief – it eventuated that his name was Lokir – heard the call, whatever remained of his sense, or courage if he'd ever had any, left him. He screamed in terror about injustice, and tried to bolt.
My eyes followed his form in mute horror as the Legate ordered him to stop. When he didn't, she ordered the soldiers to fire.
The thief Lokir was taken out by a volley of arrows before he'd made it half way to the gate.
"Anyone else feel like running?" the woman turned back and yelled at the prisoners. There was pink on her cheeks, and I wondered if she was angry, or embarrassed?
"Who are you?" someone asked in quiet confusion. It was the same voice that had called out the names of the others.
I dragged my widened eyes from Lokir's toppled form and glanced up to the young officer. His uncertainty at my appearance was very apparent, making him seem the least disengaged of the soldiers within Helgen's walls. I had the notion that he had been in charge of recording the names of those captured, and that he'd not been told of me.
"Ulfric Stormcloak," the General's voice came at a distance, and I turned to observe him. "You are charged with the murder of High King Torygg. You plunged Skyrim into chaos, and it is my duty to see that you and your kind are put down to restore the peace."
"You're not on the list," the soldier brought my attention back to him.
I shook my head as I swallowed and turned back, staring up into eyes the colour of a storm. Eyes that carried intelligence; even kindness.
He was my chance. I had to take it. I commanded myself to speak.
"N-no," I stammered. My lip shook pathetically. "My name is Celeste. Passero," I added with haste.
The Imperial officer frowned as he positioned his quill to jot my name down, then his eyes snapped back to me in recognition. He looked me up and down swiftly.
"What are you doing with the Stormcloaks?" he asked with the same edge of wariness to his tone that the others asking me had used.
"I was taken prisoner-" I began, but was cut off by a far away, echoing keen. I glanced around for the source. It had sounded like a distant – very distant – scream.
"-for using the Voice to murder the High King and usurp his throne, you are sentenced to immediate execution," the General's charges fell to my ears, and I realised that nobody else had heard the sound.
"Their prisoner?" the soldier with the list brought me back again.
Nodding, I tried to dislodge the echo of the strange noise from my mind and focused on the soldier, since he was taking the time to listen to me.
"What's the hold up, Hadvar?" the Legate appeared between us with one hand on her hip and glanced at the book he was holding.
The soldier – Hadvar – pointed his quill at me. "She's not on the list. She says-"
"Forget the list," she cut him off. "Everyone caught with the Stormcloaks goes to the block, you know the orders," her sharp eyes turned to me. "Get a move on, girl, over with the others," she ordered.
"No – wait," I brought my fingers to my neckline, withdrawing my ring. "I'm a Passero. My family has served-"
"Passero?" the Legate's eyes narrowed even more as she reached out and took the ring between her fingers. She examined it for a moment, turning it a little, then her eyes flickered back and raked over me.
"She says she was their prisoner, Legate," Hadvar spoke up. He'd craned his neck to look over his superior's shoulder to stare at my ring as well.
"I am – was," I corrected hurriedly, licking my lips. Relief filled me.
"As we command your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved-"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and get this over with!"
Our attention was caught by a commotion at the chopping block. The priestess of Arkay looked affronted, but stayed silent, and the Stormcloak soldier who had cried out and stopped her prayer strode over to the block and knelt down. The Legate continued to turn my ring between her fingers, though her eyes were trained on the action.
The Stormcloak with a death wish placed his head on the block.
I held my breath – I couldn't help it. The hooded executioner cast a swift glance General Tullius' way, out of confusion I expected.
General Tullius gave him a sharp nod in return.
The executioner raised his axe.
"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials," the Stormcloak jibed. "Can you say the same?"
THUNK.
My eyes clenched shut at the last second as I winced. There were cries of dismay from the Stormcloaks and jeers from the townsfolk who had been bold enough to stay and watch. The Imperial soldiers remained solemnly silent.
"Miss Passero," the Legate released my ring; it thudded against the front of my dress.
I opened my eyes. She was still watching the execution, despite having addressed me. I felt ill at how unfazed she seemed by the man's death.
"I find it difficult to believe that you chose to travel from the safety of Solitude, stumbled into Stormcloak's hidden encampment on the border and was taken prisoner by them, yet bear no marks indicating you have been tortured for information. However," her eyes were back on me, and the fire behind them sent fear jolting through me.
"What seems far more plausible is that you have been with the Stormcloaks all this time, using your knowledge and father's position to feed them information, including a viable escape route from the Blue Palace after the High King's murder," she concluded.
I shook my head desperately as my eyes widened – she had come to the same wrong – painfully wrong – conclusion that those who found me had. But before I could speak, the strange, echoing noise from earlier rang out again – closer this time.
This time, others heard it too, and through the fog of the sound there were questions, then cries of alarm as the earth shook beneath us briefly.
I held my arms forward in an attempt to keep balanced, but the shaking ceased almost as soon as it had begun.
"Carry on!" General Tullius called out over the rabble.
The soldier Hadvar spoke up quickly then, surprising me, as it sounded as though he was speaking in my defence.
"If she is guilty of such a crime, it amounts to treason but warrants further questioning," he glanced to me briefly, his eyes conveying a message I didn't receive in time. The Legate turned to face him incredulously.
"To what end, Hadvar? We are ending this war, here, today. We have our orders," she fixed me with an impassive look. "Everybody caught at the Stormcloak camp goes to the block. You can go next."
She grabbed my arm and turned me, giving me a little shove toward it. I stumbled away from her as the kind-eyed Hadvar spoke up again quite hurriedly.
"Ma'am, regardless of her crime, it is clear she is not a soldier – we risk nothing by-"
"Speak out of turn again, soldier, and I'll drag you to the block after her."
I shuddered and closed my eyes. A hand fell to my bindings and led me forward.
"I'm sorry," Hadvar's reply drifted to me through my fog of defeat. He was apologising to the Legate, but, as his was likely to be the last voice of kindness that I would ever hear, I pretended that he was saying sorry to me.
Thank you, I thought in reply. My feet ambled through the mud of their own accord, and I opened my eyes only when the soldier leading me stopped and turned me.
I was before the block. A hand fell to my back, urging me to my knees. If there were commands being issued, I did not hear them. My head buzzed with consuming disbelief as a hand between my shoulder blades urged me down; my cheek landed on the blood-soaked surface.
It was sticky and cool, painted with the blood of the soldier who had gone before me. My vision fogged as I glanced sideways and up, and found the headsman. He was a very tall, thick-set man, with a black hood covering his face. He lifted a large, heavy axe above his head.
Something black shot across the cloudy sky behind him.
I wanted to close my eyes, but found myself unable to. Perhaps this was how imminent death worked; perhaps my body was no longer my own to control. I knew that I should have been praying to the Divines so that they would guide, if not save me, but couldn't summon any suitable pleas. My mind was blank, and open, and waiting.
An unearthly roar tore through the calm. The very air vibrated and hummed. The earth shook as an enormous black form crashed down onto the watchtower beyond the headsman. An unmistakably lizard-like head rose and roared in fury to the heavens; a horrific scream, piercing the void of my mind and demanding that I acknowledge – and submit to it.
I obeyed. I dragged my mind out of the pit it had retreated to in preparation for my death and took in my surrounds. There were explosions everywhere - enormous fireballs, raining down on the town - and the screams of the soldiers and villagers of Helgen joined it in terrible, agonising harmony.
The headsman dropped his axe and ran. Other blurred shapes, bodies I assumed, flit around me, darting for cover – but I remained kneeling before the execution block, lifting my head from the sticky surface to observe better.
But the black creature on the watchtower – what was unmistakably a dragon from legends – demanded all of my attention. I stared, compelled, and the tiny, fury-filled eyes in the lizard-like head found and pierced me. All of its attention was very suddenly on me.
It spoke, but through the sounds of destruction raining down on the township, the words left the maw of the enormous creature as a series of indistinguishable hisses. Its words burned through my veins, setting my soul alight. At once I felt both completely insignificant, and utterly invincible.
The black dragon opened its mouth as it leaned down. An idle, unhurried thought floated to me; it was about to attack, and I should probably move.
"Yol..." the dragon's rasp formed a word. Golden flames began to ball in its mouth.
Fire, my mind echoed, enthralled.
A strong hand gripped the back of my dress and tugged me up, onto my feet and out of the path of the fire shooting out of the creature's gaping mouth.
"Keep close to me if you want to stay alive!"
It was the soldier who had tried to speak for me - Hadvar. I stared curiously up at him. Why had he saved me? His eyes were fiercely determined, locked onto the dragon; watching, and waiting.
"Toor SHUL!"
Inferno sun.
The heat of the dragon's fire broke me free of whatever spell it had held me under. Hadvar grabbed my hand and started towing me after him toward the cluster of stone buildings on the other side of town.
"Wait, no – my lute!" I remembered suddenly. Turning, I tried to tug Hadvar back to the cart.
"Yol...Toor SHUL," the dragon screamed again. The ground before us was consumed by a steady stream of flames. Hadvar skidded back to keep us from running directly into it and, thrown off balance, I flailed to keep from being flung forward by my own momentum. Without a word, Hadvar turned and dragged me in a different direction, darting between two buildings.
"But my lute!" I repeated. It was all I had - I couldn't bear the thought of it being consumed by dragon's flames after coming so far with me! "Please, Hadvar – I must go back for it!" I tried to pull free of him.
He slowed to a stop when we reached the end of the buildings, but his grip held fast.
An Imperial officer ran past us, covered in flames and screaming, but didn't stop running. It was so confronting that I unconsciously shuddered back and pressed against the wall of the house. Hadvar fell back as well, and it wasn't a moment too soon; with a mighty CRASH, the wall we were leaning against trembled and a huge, black tail swiped down in between the buildings. If we hadn't moved, we would have been collected by it.
There was a squeeze to my hand, and I realised that Hadvar was still holding it. Either he was trying to be comforting, or he was warning me. In acknowledgement, I squeezed back.
A huge, fiery rock crashed down at the end of our alley, rolling to block the path to the main courtyard. Despite the boom of explosion, I still heard Hadvar curse under his breath.
With another shudder to the building, the dragon launched itself over our hiding spot and into the air, speaking the words of fire and flicking its maw about, setting the houses and what ground the flames could take hold of alight in a sweeping arc.
Again, I was transfixed, and again, Hadvar propelled us into action. He hauled me after him, back in the direction we had come.
"I'm sorry, but your lute is gone," he called out over the screams and explosions as we ran into a smaller courtyard and darted across it. Hadvar veered toward a small wooden doorway in one of the watchtowers. "If we make it out of Helgen today, I'll buy you a new one."
It won't be the same, I wanted to explain. But despite my attachment to the battered and broken instrument, the decimation we had witnessed forced me to accept that it was simply impossible to go back for it.
Without warning, Hadvar whipped to the left, propelling me behind him and drawing his sword.
"Ralof, you damned traitor!" he snarled. "Get out of our way!"
It was Ralof with a number of other Stormcloak officers, running between us and the door. With him was Ulfric Stormcloak.
"Don't fight us, Hadvar – we're escaping and you can't stop us," Ralof cried out. "You should be doing the same, you fool."
Hadvar cried out in frustration and sheathed his sword, letting them pass. Swiftly, he grasped my hand and made for the keep. To our right now, the Stormcloaks disappeared through another door.
His fury at Ralof had muted me. I cast the soldier furtive glances as I did my best to keep up with him.
Even when we reached the door and Hadvar bundled us inside, there was a trace of anger on his face.
"Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki," the dragon's rasping voice cut through the destruction.
I shuddered and stopped in the dark, quiet entry chamber – a stark contrast to what was occurring outdoors. Hadvar snapped the door closed behind us.
I closed my eyes and leant against the cool stones as the cacophony of sounds faded, until all that remained was the frantic beat of my own heart in my ears, and my laboured breaths, burning from exertion.
Your soul will feed my hunger, the dragon had said. The words had made me somehow feel trapped in my own skin.
Pressing my palms firmly against the wall to ground myself, I called upon my lessons bring control my breaths, as though I was preparing to sing.
My lute is gone.
I took another deep breath, exasperated as tears welled in the corners of my squeezed-shut eyes. It is gone but you are alive. Be grateful.
The sound of Hadvar's boots shuffling on the flagstones before me encouraged me to look up.
He was visibly grim and his sword was drawn. I glanced at it, and hurriedly glanced up to meet his eyes as my own widened in terror.
He wouldn't have brought me here to carry out the Legion's orders to kill me - would he?
Snick.
The pressure on my wrists let go and I gasped in relief, sagging forward. I stared at my freed hands and scratched lightly at the red, swollen skin, avoiding the purpled bruises.
"Thank you," I murmured.
"Let me see?"
Hadvar offered me his hand. Haltingly, I extended one toward him, rife with wariness in the wake of the anger he had shown Ralof. The two must have known one another, before the war.
Sons and daughters of Skyrim, pit against one another, I thought in dismay. I watched him as he inspected my wrist, and my wariness abated. Of course it was hard for them.
He was gentler than I had expected a soldier to be, prodding and testing gingerly. I took this opportunity to really look at him. Now that death wasn't imminent, be it by the headsman's axe or a dragon's flames, I noticed more than the kind, steel-grey eyes. His hair was dark red, typical of midland Nords, and his frame carried that muscled strength that many of his kinsmen did. I placed him between my age and thirty – it was difficult to tell.
"Nothing broken. There should be healing potions around here somewhere," Hadvar released me, turning away. "You'll need to get out of Ulfric's colours if you want to make it out of here alive, too."
He cast a furtive glance back over his shoulder. The rage that had consumed him earlier was gone. "Come on, Celeste. We're safe for the moment, but we've a way to go yet."
As if to make his point for him, the walls of the keep shuddered. I could hear the dragon outside, screeching furiously, though through the thick walls of the keep, it sounded as though it was much further away.
I hastened into the room to meet him, and he pointed toward some tables and shelves by a far wall. "Try over there. Take your fill, and grab a couple for our journey while you're at it. I'll find you some armour."
"All right," I agreed uneasily.
Journey?
We separated and I shifted to the cupboards, throwing open doors and yanking open draws quickly as I hunted for the tell-tale little red bottles. There were books and papers, quills and ink wells aplenty – and a strange cupboard that contained nothing but a single cabbage. Finally I found the alchemy cabinet, though its stores were already far depleted. There were three little red bottles – all of them empty. The other was green; used to increase one's stamina in the heat of battle, not heal it of its wounds.
I took the green and sighed, turning back to the room. Hadvar was approaching with an armload of red material and leather.
He deposited it on the table before me. "Is that all there is?" he nodded at the potion.
"Unfortunately yes," I handed it over to him. "And you deserve this more than I do."
Hadvar huffed humourlessly, taking the bottle and unstoppering it. "I don't think today has anything to do with what people deserve."
There was that anger again, though admittedly only a trace. He took a sip and swallowed with a distasteful wince.
"You have the rest," he handed it back with a shrug. "It's better than nothing."
"Thanks," I let the tart, gooey liquid slide down my throat, wishing that there was a skin of water nearby.
"Perhaps we save the rest," with a grimace, I stoppered the bottle and placed it idly next to the armour Hadvar had retrieved.
The walls shuddered again. Hadvar and I startled in unison and then froze, glancing to the roof. Tiny stones from above, pieces of old mortar, rattled loose, clattered down around us. As the shaking ceased, our eyes met, and his fear was plain.
"Get changed," he turned from me. I assumed it was for privacy, but the gesture also made it clear that there was no time to question him. We had to get out of here.
Not that I planned to argue. I raked my dress up and over my head, dumping it unceremoniously on the floor, then grasped the burgundy under-tunic of a Legion officer, shirking into it. It was too large; the sleeves reached my elbows and the hemline, my knees, but nobody fleeing Helgen would worry about a thing like that.
I glanced over the rest of the items he had brought, not sure where to begin. Chewing my bottom lip uncertainly, I glanced at Hadvar, and determined that now was not the time to be shy.
"Can you help me?" I asked. "I don't know what goes where..." I admitted. A flush crept along my cheeks as he turned back to me.
"What do you mean?" he seemed confused, then he raked over my appearance. "Oh."
Understanding, he returned to the table and passed me a handful of leather strips. "Kilt first," he explained.
Oh - it was kind of like a skirt. As I hurried into it he picked up two pieces of leather strapped together by thinner strips down its sides.
"Cuirass next," he laid it over the back of a chair, then picked up several smaller pieces. "Arm guards. Helmet," he indicated. "Oh, and these things," his tone shifted subtly; loftier than before. "They're called 'boots'," he motioned toward the stiff-looking leather footwear. "They go on your feet."
I barely swallowed a laugh of incredulity. "Not my ears?" I feigned innocence.
"They'd never fit," he continued, then shook his head critically at my attempt at the cuirass. Ducking beside me, he eased my hands aside, and took over.
I watched him as he worked, and again, wondered why he was helping me?
His eyes were trained, focussed, and his hands worked swiftly, pulling and tightening the strips to close the cuirass around me.
He could have fled Helgen and been half way to somewhere not being destroyed by a dragon by now, if not for me. I was an incredible hinderance to him. Yet, here he was.
He had spoken of further questioning before, to the Legate. Perhaps this was his intention; to march me home to Solitude, to answer the Legion's questions.
I had to know. "Why are you helping me?" I voiced cautiously.
He glanced up, though his hands continued tightening of their own accord. There was no falseness to his brief look, then he frowned and glanced down again.
"Can you use a sword, or an axe?"
An unexpected reply. I crossed my brows and shook my head.
"A bow?" he patted my sides deftly, then stepped back.
"No," I frowned. I didn't see his point.
"Can you use magic to fight or to heal others?" he continued, lifting his eyes to mine and passing the arm bracers.
I took them hurriedly. "I'm a bard, not a mage."
"And that, Celeste, is why I'm helping you," Hadvar passed me the boots next.
I lifted them to my ears and raised my eyebrows earnestly.
He grinned and swatted at me. "Come on," there was laughter in his tone. "We really need to leave."
I smiled as I sat to put them on. "I don't understand; you're helping me because I can't help you?"
"Well – I suppose, yes. It's my duty as a soldier of the Empire to protect those who cannot fight for themselves," he explained logically, indicating me with a hand. "It was plain to everybody that there was more to your story. It made me sick that the Legate wouldn't let you tell it."
Swallowing down a wince, I rose. Hadvar leaned over with the helmet, sticking it over my head and patting it secure. "There. One of us, as it should be. Now you at least won't be questioned on our way out of here."
His simple, easy acceptance baffled me given the layers of doubt I had experienced from every other soldier, both Legion and Stormcloak.
While I had more questions, now was not the time. If I trusted Hadvar to get us out, I might have a chance to ask them later. "I'm ready."
He offered me his hand. "Stay close," he murmured. "Let me do the talking."
I accepted his hand as he unsheathed his sword with the other.
Then we were off with Hadvar in the lead again, guiding me deeper into the keep.