The walls were already red and black by the time he made it to the house. A curse was murmured under his breath, and he ripped a Stormcloak banner from the wall. Wrapping the fabric around his hand, he tried the handle. It didn't open, despite the hinges showing it did indeed swing inward. It wasn't locked, either. Preparing himself, he dug his left foot into the ground and kicked just below the handle, where the door would be weakest.
The door shook slightly but did not open. Licking his lips, he tried again and again. With each kick, the door moved a bit more. Kicking one last time, the door flew inward. He saw why it had been so difficult to get the door to move; a pile of burning furniture had been stuck just behind it.
The smoke burned his eyes, but he ignored it in favor of searching the house as quickly as he could. He held the banner over his nose and mouth to filter the air. One of the rooms was completely destroyed, and he guessed it had been the origin of the fire. A body on the floor bled from the throat, a wound he recognized as a sword puncture. After a moment of worry, he made out the form as that of a male's. The smoke obscured his vision.
A few steps to the north end of the house, closer to the back, a slumped form on the floor came into sight. He quickened his gait and breathed a sigh of relief upon seeing that it was Alessia. Before doing anything else, he slipped his right hand underneath the crook of her legs while the other went under her neck. Her raven-black hair hung messily as he hoisted her up into his arms. He took no notice of the embers falling from the ceiling, instead rushed out the front door without abandon.
Running down the street, he plopped her down unceremoniously into a large patch of snow. Her burns weren't severe, but she'd certainly feel them when she awoke. Patches of her tunic had been eaten away by the flames, showing more of her skin than when he'd checked her for cuts. His surveillance of her wasn't of any intimate or sexual nature; keeping her alive at this point was the main goal. Sure, she could be irritating and naïve, but he wouldn't want her to die.
Somewhere in the back of his mind, a twinge of shame pricked at him for trying to leave.