Herewe was brought to the pen of prisoners and was quickly chained up to a post beside two others, both of whom were much larger than him.

"You lied," Herewe said as the imperial soldier, Quaestor Maxmillion, attached the shackle to Herewe's ankle.

"I promised to do nothing more than bring you to the Legate, I never said I believed you," the Quaestor said, kicking at one of the men who was chained to the same post as the big man spit at him.

"Why in Talos name are ya putting the Knife Ears near us? Little piss skin looks like he's pissed himself in fear," rumbled the biggest of the two prisoners near them, the one who had spit.

"Stuff off your Talos shit Stone-Fist," the Quaestor said as he walked away.

"He looks more like a Bosmer than an Altmer, it's in the shape of his face and body plus his skin is too white," the other prisoner said.

"Does it fucking matter Ralof? Tree Climber or High Bitch Priss he's still a fucking Knife Ears," Stone-Fist said.

"No I suppose it don't matter to a racist prick like you, Galmar," Ralof said, "But one might think you'd look beyond the fact that he's a Mer and ask why the fuck he's imprisoned with us Stormcloaks considering he's not one."

"Probably a fucking Thalmor spy. Torturing our brother's and sisters in arms isn't enough since none of us will give up the locations of the war camps so they sent the little Piss Skin in to see if we'd reveal something to a fellow prisoner," Stone-Fist.

"He's not a spy," Ralof said.

"That's what I tried to tell them," Herewe said, speaking for the first time.

"That's what a spy would say now ain't it," Stone-Fist boomed drawing more attention from the other prisoners and some from the guards. "And how in Talos's name would you know what the fuck he is Ralof?"

"Cause the Thalmor might be inbred fuckers but they ain't stupid. They'd send a fucking Nord or at the very least a human if they wanted information via infiltration," Ralof answered back like it was the most obvious thing ever, and even though Herewe didn't really understand what was going on between the Stormcloaks, Imperials and Thalmor it was already obvious to him that the Stormcloaks were unlikely to tell him fuck all because of his race, and their seemingly inherent racism even if neither of the two Stormcloaks had actually gotten his exact race right yet, Ralof's words made sense.

A male voice called out a curse and Herewe turned thinking the man was cursing him out only for all of the prisoners to call out curses and begin a rumbling growl as a prisoner was half carried half dragged to the pole beside Herewe, Ralof and Galmar Stone-Fist's. The prisoner was worse for wear and barely conscious. Unlike the others he wasn't wearing a blue fur curriass, but was instead naked from the waist up. It was clear that he had been tortured and recently. Burn patterns, some of which Herewe recognized as electrical burns similar to those that appeared if one severely overpowered a stinging hex, dotted the man's chest. Herewe was also intimately familiar with the criss cross pattern of wounds that marked up the man's back, from some kind of belt or similar weapon used as a whip. Bruises also covered the length of the man's side, centering around the ribs and even though the man was barely conscious, Herewe could see the difficulty and pain the man was having in drawing breath.

The man was chained, rather unnecessarily considering his near inability to move on his own, in the same fashion as Herewe and the other prisoners and left leaning heavily on the post that he was chained to, the soldiers who had dragged him there not even giving him a backwards glance. Herewe crept as close as he could to the near unconscious man. Though his implanted memories as Herewe were definitely clear, his memories as Harry had very much molded who he was in both personality and character wise. He knew the feeling of being beaten within an inch of your life and hoping and praying for just a small bit of kindness, just a little bit of respite. Though his shackled ankle restricted his movement somewhat, Herewe was able to touch gently the beaten soldier's forehead.

Even an inch away from the man's skin Herewe could feel the heat of the man's fever. Herewe bit his lip. Herewe was unsure just how common magicka use was in this world. Yes he knew his family was well acquainted with magicka use but other than his father who on very rare occasions might interact with a hunter who was in the region, his family lived entirely off the grid and apart from everyone. His parents' families had once lived together but both were only children and once their own parents had passed they'd been on their own, the last of their people that they knew to be alive. Even had Herewe have not been Harry he wouldn't know how widespread the use of magicka in the greater world around him was. He probably wouldn't be questioning himself before using it either however. Herewe was naive, sheltered and likely would have died alongside his parents when their cave home was attacked. This Herewe however was Harry in addition to Herewe and had the instincts of a twelve year old who had been abused all his life for having magic, and although he was still naive to much of the ways of the world, he was nowhere near as sheltered as Hemeaous Mora had made Herewe's memories out to be.

In the end Herewe decided that healing the soldier was the right thing to do, even if magicka wasn't common and placed his hands gently on the soldier as he slowly drew on his magicka and directed it into the only spell he knew might possibly be able to help. His mother had called it Healing Hands, and though Herewe had never actually mastered it he did know Healing, which was a self healing spell, and understood the theory of pushing magic out of oneself, generally via the hand, as several of the other spells he had mastered utilized the process. With one hand touching the man's forehead and visible to everyone as it glowed a soft gold. The irony of Herewe being injured himself but helping another first would not have been lost on anyone who had known Harry.

Though it was tiring, Herewe was able to slowly heal the soldier, not of all his wounds, but the bruising on his side faded to a sickly green and yellow rather than the deep black and blue it had been and the man's breathing became visibly easier. The burn wounds from what looked like some kind of electricity scabbed over but still looked shiny and the wounds on the man's back that wrapped, almost delicately over his shoulders and sides, stopped weeping so heavily and slowly began to close. Herewe never got the opportunity to see if he could heal the man entirely as something slammed heavily into the back of his head and the world went black.

Herewe woke slowly, dizzy, nauseous and with a burgeoning headache that radiated from a spot that throbbed at the back of his head along with the pain in his dislocated arm. Gradually as Herewe blinked his eyes open in small increments, he sat up, finding himself in a wooden carriage. His hands were bound with sigil marked leather bindings that seemed to be the centerpoint of where he could feel his magicka slowly but constantly draining.

"You're awake little elf," one of the men in the cart said redundantly as Herewe sat up. It took his eyes a minute to see properly due to the throbbing pain in his head before the large blond man came into focus and Herewe recognized the man as Ralof, one of the two prisoners that Herewe had been chained beside. "Was a stupid thing you did trying to heal Gunnar in front of the Imperials. Ballsy, and kind, but stupid."

"Didn't know that they'd hit me like that," Herewe said quietly. The gagged man that Herewe had seen separate from the other prisoners when he'd first arrived at the war camp and who was now sitting in the cart beside him, snorted.

"Imperials and Nord don't need a reason to hit things, stick with a Breton like me and I can teach you things like that," said the third man in the cart, one Herewe had never seen before, and was wearing rags that were even more worn and torn than Harry's own.

"Shut it horse-thief," Ralof snapped. "The only thing you could teach the elf is the sheer amount of folly it takes to attempt to steal a Legate's horse from the middle of a war camp when half the damn imperial army is standing guard." Herewe couldn't help but let loose a quick laugh at the sheer look of vivid red embarrassment that flushed across the horse-thief's face.

"Shut up back there!" the cart driver shouted and Herewe flinched slightly but quickly fell silent.

"And what's wrong with him?" the horse-thief asked Ralof quietly nodding towards the gagged man.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High

King," Ralof said with obvious deference to the gagged man.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if

they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?" the horse-thief exclaimed with obvious fear.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits," Ralof resolutely as he looked towards the sky. Herewe looked towards the sky as well, he doubted that the gods and goddesses of this world had brought him here simply to die. He was surprised to see the vague impressions of two moons, both much larger than the moon of earth, and surprisingly visible despite it clearly being late morning.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening," the horse-thief denied, mostly to himself, becoming near hysterical in his gasps for air between words.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?," Ralof asked suddenly, breaking through to the man who was rapidly descending towards a panic attack.

"Why do you care?" the horse-thief asked with heavy resignation.

"A man's last thoughts should be of home, even if you are a Breton," Ralof said.

"Rorikstead. I'm…I'm from Rorikstead," the horse-thief answered quietly. Herewe took the opportunity to glance towards the carts that were following. There were at least ten more, all with four or five prisoners in each. They hit a rock and Herewe winced in pain as his dislocated arm was jarred. He had practice in ignoring his pain, but the straining burn of the muscles and ligaments were still quite debilitating. The cart continued down the cobbled road, and Herewe could easily tell they were going downwards. Evidently they had crossed over a mountain pass at some point while Herewe was unconscious and for the first time Herewe wondered just how long he'd been unconscious. The rounded a slight bend in the road and Herewe saw stone walls and towers rising up to the sky not far along the road. Beyond the sound of wooden wheels and hooves on cobbles Herewe could hear the sounds of merchants hawking their wares, the barks of hounds, laughter of children, and the ching of metal hitting metal coming from the walled city.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" called a soldier who was standing guard at the gate as the carts entered. Herewe felt a strange flutter against his ankle and glanced down towards his bare feet. He couldn't see the light blush colored pink butterfly tattoo on his ankle as his dirty trousers covered it but for a moment Herewe could have sworn he felt the wings of an actual butterfly flitter across his skin.

"Good. Let's get this over with," answered a gray haired man riding a horse only a few paces in front of the cart. Several tall golden skin and golden haired men were with him. One of them turned and her near golden eyes caught Herewe's own as she sneered disdainfully over the carts. The sneer changed to a look of confusion and then intrigue as she studied Herewe for a moment before she turned away and Herewe caught a glimpse of a sharp leaf shaped ear, very much like his own only more gold colored peeking out from beneath her golden hair. The horse-thief's sudden burst of prayer caused Herewe to look away.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me," the thief prayed. Herewe was about to silently add his own prayers but Ralof interrupted his thoughts.

"Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this," Ralof said. Herewe glanced back up at the regally dressed golden elves realizing that these were the Thalmor, made up of elves of the Altmer race. Herewe could see some of the similarities between himself and them, their height definitely and the sharp cheekbones, though Herewe's certainly had more softness to them, and the slanting and yet still intense shape of their eyes. Herewe could certainly see why he'd be mistaken as an Altmer, at least if there were no other Altmer around to directly compare him too. But Herewe could see the gagged man, Ulfric, looking back and forth between the Thalmor and Herewe, quite obviously seeing the differences.

"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny…when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe," Ralof said, voice filled with rumination and reminiscence. Herewe watched as a boy looking to be only two or three years younger than Herewe himself was ushered back into the house, and felt an odd sense of want at the father's term of endearment for his son; 'little cub'.

The carts entered a large square set in front of one of the bigger towers in the city and the soldier who was driving the cart that Herewe was in pulled back on the reins and called out,

"Woah!"

"Get these prisoners out of the carts. Move it!" a female imperial soldier ordered with authority.

"Why are we stopping?" the horse-thief asked, rather stupidly in Herewe's opinion given the obviousness of the answer.

"Why do you think? End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us," Ralof answered."

"Nocturnal," Herewe whispered near imperceptibly, his words unheard by those around him. "I really hope the luck you gave me will be enough to get out of this."

"No!" the horse-thief gasped, hysteria rearing its ugly head once again. "We're not rebels!" the thief protested futilely. Privately Herewe wondered what the man hoped to accomplish. Even if the horse-thief wasn't a rebel he had attempted to steal a horse, and not just any horse, but a horse that belonged to a war faction. That alone technically constituted rebel behavior.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," Ralof said with a sigh but the horse-thief didn't care, too caught up in his hysteria.

"You've got to tell them! I wasn't with you! This is a mistake!" the horse-thief begged.

"They don't really care," Herewe said. "I stumbled onto the imperial camp and was put in chains for being a spy without even any evidence. They don't even care that I'm just a kid. Guess twelve year old orphans don't matter much," Herewe continued, not noticing the looks his words garnered from the prisoners around him or the three imperial soldiers close enough to hear. The female imperial soldier from before called out in a voice that could be heard amongst all the prisoners, as one of the imperial soldiers who had heard Herewe's words strode purposefully towards the gray haired and well groomed General Tullius.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time," the female soldier ordered. There were several lines of prisoners and a small foldable wooden table set up with an inkwell and a scroll of paper on it. A soldier stood behind it and read off the first name. A prisoner stepped forward and their name was marked off once their next of kin and preferred burial was noted down. Herewe shook his ankle lightly, the fluttering feeling back.

"The Empire loves their damn lists," Ralof scoffed. Herewe raised his eyebrow. He may not have had many dreams about being Tiber Septim but the man had been a logistician as much as a warrior and Herewe certainly understood the necessity of good bookkeeping.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," the soldier behind the table called. The gagged prisoner that Herewe had been sitting beside in the cart moved forward as calls of loyalty were echoed across the square from various other prisoners. While the gag wasn't removed from Ulfric's mouth which Harry found strange, options for burial were written out and the large man showed his agreement with a positive nod. The man's ashes were to be buried in a city called Markarth beside his father.

"Ralof of Riverwood," the soldier called, with an odd note of something in his voice and Ralof stepped forwards. Despite the large number of prisoners the line was moving rather swiftly.

"Lokir of Rorikstead," the soldier called out and Herewe saw the horse-thief flinch bodily.

"No!" the horse-thief, Lokir, protested. "I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Soldiers began to move towards the twitchy hyperventilating man. Suddenly Lokir took off running.

"Halt!" cried the female soldier. Lokir ignored the order screaming out,

"You're not going to kill me!" Yes they are, Herewe thought as he watched two archers draw their bows and string arrows, the steel arrowheads glinting sharply in the sun. Herewe scratched one ankle against the other trying to itch at that same fluttering feeling across the skin of his ankle.

"Archers!" The female soldier gave the order. Both arrows flew true, one thunking heavily as though carving through wet wood as it entered through his back into his chest, the other lodging itself through the back of Lokir's knee. The second would have ensured that Lokir could no longer run if the first hadn't been deadly.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the female soldier asked, her voice filled with sardonic sadism. The soldier behind the table continued on, crossing name after name off the list. Herewe was last. The soldier frowned looking over the list before glancing up at Herewe.

"You there, step forward," the soldier ordered. "Who are you?"

"Herewe sir," Herewe answered quietly. "Herewe Nordas." The soldier's frown grew deeper as he looked over the list again. Looking for Herewe's name.

"Captain," the soldier called and the female soldier, the Captain strode to the table.

"What's the hold up Hadvar? Cross him off and put him with the others so we can get on with it," the Captain ordered.

"He's not on the list Captain," the male soldier, Hadvar answered. The female Captain looked Herewe over pausing when she saw his bindings with their burnt in sigils that somehow locked his magicka in an endless cycle of draining regeneration.

"Forget the list, he goes to the block," the Captain ordered and Herewe's eyes widened. He thought for sure that once they realized he wasn't on the list they'd let him go. His ankle itched and he mentally cursed the god Akatosh had called Sheo out the tattoo fluttering wildly as though the god could hear it. Either the tattoo was spelled to do its best to be annoying or the god was doing what he could to let Herewe know that it was him at fault for this situation, or even more likely, both options were true.

"By your order Captain," Hadvar said, his voice sounding resigned. "Who would you like for your remains to be delivered, or where?" the soldier asked.

"Um," Herewe paused for a moment. There was little likelihood that he was going to escape this. Mentally he apologized to the gods for failing to live after they'd given him all of their gifts. "Can I be buried under lily flowers?" Herewe whispered quietly.

"Don't you have any family you'd like to be given too?" Hadvar asked. Herewe just nodded a negative. "Alright go stand with the rest."

Herewe reached the lineup of the other prisoners as the gray haired general stepped away from Ulfric. Herewe's ankle fluttered again and his audible curse at the god who'd given him the butterfly was drowned out by a loud roar.

"What was that?" Hadvar asked from somewhere behind Herewe.

"It's nothing to carry on," General Tullius ordered before turning to listen to something one of his soldiers was trying to tell him. Herewe blocked out everything around him as his own panic began to encroach. Herewe felt faint as he watched the headsman's ax as it came down heavily on the neck of the first prisoner to be executed. His field vision narrowed as he watched nauseously the blood spurt from the stump of the dead man.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof said, quietly beside Herewe.

"Next!" the female Captain called out looking towards the line of prisoners with cruel eyes. "The elf!"

"Nice and easy now," Hadvar said behind Herewe. Herewe could feel vomit in his throat and swallowed thickly before shuffling a step forward, nearly unable to move.

"What is this?" General Tullius called out as he approached Herewe. Herewe's ankle fluttered again and a roar sounded out across the sky. Everyone paused for a moment but nothing followed. "I asked a question, Captain."

"I do not understand the question General Tullius sir," the Captain said.

"Do we execute children now Captain?" General Tullius asked.

"He was on the wagon sir, and is tied with magicka binds," the Captain said.

"And what was his crime?" General Tullius asked.

"Sir? He was with the rebels," the Captain answered unsure. A third roar rang out. Everyone froze again, the roar having been much closer than the first two.

"Permission to speak General Tullius sir?" Hadvar asked behind Herewe.

"Permission granted soldier," General Tullius granted.

"The boy was not on the list sir. When I alerted Captain Devrias of this I was given the order to forget the list that he was for the block," Hadvar said. The immediate reaction to Hadvar's words was visible amongst all of the soldiers, even the prisoners.

"Consider yourself demoted to Auxiliary, pending review," General Tullius said to the former Captain before turning to Herewe. "I am very sorry for your suffering child," General Tullius continued, but before he could order someone to remove Herewe's binds, a monster fell from the sky with a boom.

"Mah Lok Golz!" the black monster shouted, 'Fall, Sky, Stone' the boon of Julianos translated in Herewe's head, and the sky seemed to split apart as great hunks of rock fell from the empty expanse above. Herewe's eyes widened. He knew what those words meant, at least their direct translation but the sheer power behind them and their ability to reshape reality to frighten him. It took just over a second for Herewe to put together the tattered black wings, horned head, reptilian scales and lizard-like shape and come up with 'dragon'. That single second was enough and the dragon shouted three more words. "Fus Ro Dah," the dragon shouted, 'Force, Balance, Push' and the headsman went flying and Herewe stumbled to fall on his butt.

"Soldiers! Don't just stand there! Kill that thing! Guards! Get the townspeople to safety!" General Tullius shouted. Herewe was pulled up suddenly to his feet and Ralof dragged him stumbling shouting,

"Come on elf! The gods won't give us another chance!" Herewe glanced back once more before Ralof shoved him into the tower he had dragged the snow elf towards. Golden eyes were locked on green before the Thalmor elf lifted a white bottle to her lips, her two golden armored men beside her copying her actions. All three elves disappeared from sight, becoming invisible and then the door of the tower was closed tightly.

The main floor of the tower was large and well lit by multiple torches and braizers and there were already several blue clad soldiers inside. No longer were they bound prisoners but many of them were already armed having grabbed whatever weapon they could get their hands on once they'd made it into the tower.

"Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof shouted suddenly, pushing his way through the group of soldiers, one hand still around Herewe's wrists as he pulled the young elf after him. "What was that thing? Could the legends be true?" The other Stormcloaks briefly fell silent as they waited for Ulfric's answer.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric said, his voice rumbling and low, like the shifting of mountain rock. His words were punctuated by a fierce roar only slightly muffled by the stones of the tower. "We need to move now!"

"Up through the tower, come on!" Ralof shouted dragging Herewe up behind him and five other Stormcloaks. The tower shook and there was a crash of rock against rock somewhere above.

"Talos's balls," one of the stormcloaks shouted as they reached a landing. Chunks of the tower had fallen from above and blocked the way up.

"We just have to get these stones out of the way," another shouted and then the side of the tower crumbled as a reptilian head burst through and lit the world on fire with three new words 'Yol, Toor Shul' 'Fire, Inferno, Sun'. The smell of molten steel and stone was covered by the scent of burnt hair and meat, and Herewe had to fight off puking yet again. Fresh air flooded into the tower, cool and sweet but it was far too late for four of the five stormcloak soldiers that had been in front of Ralof and Herewe, they were all very clearly dead curled in around themselves and cooked like suckling pigs on a spit. The fifth had heavy burns all along his side, bad enough that his arm was little more than charcoal meat on a stick of bone.

"Alright, see that inn on the other side? Jump through that roof and keep going, I've got to get Kieran some help, we'll follow when we can," Ralof said, letting go of Herewe to catch Kieran before he passed out from pain. As Ralof attempted to get Kieran back down the tower, Herewe approached the hole in the wall. He wished Ralof had at least cut his bonds loose before he'd left but there was nothing for it now. Backing up slightly, Herewe gave himself a running start, before leaping, rather gracefully despite his injured and bound state, through the air towards the inn roof. His landing however was not so graceful, and he screamed shrilly as he landed heavily on his injured arm and fell through the straw roof to the second floor of the burning building.

It took only a moment for Herewe to pick himself up and continue moving. To stay still now would likely spell death, a reality only punctuated by the inn crashing down into a pile of burning timber only seconds after Herewe managed to exit it.

"Haming, you need to get over here. Now!" called out an imperial soldier to the young boy Herewe had seen earlier with his father. As the soldier turned to shout orders at a small contingent of soldiers shooting arrows Herewe caught his profile. It was Hadvar. "Gods… Everyone get back!" Hadvar shouted as he dove to the right, covering the boy's body with his own. Herewe followed suit, barely rolling away as the dragon shouted the same three words as earlier and scorched the cobbled stone of the roadway. The boy's father was not so lucky and his scream was quickly cut off, the fire hot enough to kill him quickly. The boy was passed off to another soldier as he cried out for his father. The soldier took off in a run with the child tossed over his shoulder. Hadvar ordered the archers to reform and continue firing before he saw Herewe finding his feet once more.

"Still alive boy? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way," Hadvar called and Herewe was quick to run up beside the strawberry blond nordic man.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar," one of the imperial archers called out as Hadvar led Herewe into an alley. Suddenly Herewe was being shoved into the wall with Hadvar hissing quietly in his ear,

"Stay close to the wall!" Herewe stopped breathing as the ground shook and the wall they were pressed against shuddered and a shadow sat over them, the dragon literally close enough for the both of them to touch if they reached out. Hadvar had to pull Herewe after him by his tied wrists, reminiscent of the way Ralof had pulled him, in order to have Herewe follow once the dragon leapt back into the sky. Herewe was running on pure adrenaline at this point and he would soon come crashing down. They traversed alleyway after alleyway crouched but moving quickly before moving into the open of a small courtyard where several imperial soldiers were doing what they could to harry the black demon in the sky.

"Hadvar, Rikke, Gerard into the keep soldiers, we're leaving! " General Tullius shouted, backing up towards the main keep. "Full retreat!"

"Come on now boy," Hadvar insisted, pulling Herewe after him only to stop short as another familiar soldier, this one dressed in blue crossed the small courtyard.

"Ralof! You damned traitor, out of our way!" Havar shouted.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," Ralof said, indicating behind himself where a group of stormcloaks including Ulfric were nearing the main gate.

"Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar cursed at Ralof.

"Boy come on follow me!" Ralof shouted before jogging to where Ulfric and the other stormcloaks were. The same words that the dragon had used to throw the headsman without touching him came out of Ulfric's mouth and blew the gate to pieces and the stormcloaks began to escape, though they scattered into the woods when the dragon dove down into a sudden strafing run.

"Come on kid, into the keep," Hadvar said, pulling Herewe who was happy to follow, not wanting to have to continue dodging dragon fire.

They were not the only ones in the foyer of the keep when they entered. Tullius a female soldier, not the same female soldier from before thankfully and two others were in the keep. Unfortunately one of the soldiers was not in good shape and quite obviously close to death, both burnt and sporting a large head wound that was likely from either being thrown with that shout or perhaps being clonked in the head with the falling space rocks.

"The kid's alive," Tullius said, sounding both breathless and relieved. "Good. Let's get you out of those bindings and take a moment for a breather. The dragon is likely to take a couple minutes to chase after the rebels before returning to finish his work with the city. The keep has an escape tunnel thank the gods, but we only keep the area just beyond the dungeons patrolled so there's no telling what's moved in further on. We all need to take a moment to breathe while we can." Tullius continued and Hadvar approached Herewe with an iron dagger that Herewe could see had similar sigils to those on his bindings, engraved directly into the metal. The bindings were easily cut free and Herewe sighed in relief as his magicka began to refill without draining.

"General sir, Maximilian isn't going to make it, sir," the female soldier said. Herewe bit his lip as he realized exactly who the soldier, sitting on the ground leaning heavily against the wall as he died, was. Pushing forward Herewe pulled what little magicka had regenerated already and pushed it into his Healing Hands spell directing the power into the soldier who had dislocated his still injured shoulder and well not tricked him, but still had believed he was a spy in the first place. Herewe didn't have enough magicka in him to heal the man all the way but he wasn't in danger of immediately dying, having focused on the more fatal damage of the head wound.

"Thank-you boy," General Tullius said clapping Herewe heavily on his wounded shoulder causing the elf to yelp. "You're injured," the General realized. It took only a minute for Herewe's shoulder to be reset and then his arm to be tied to his chest to stabilize it with spare rags ripped from the fabric of a nearby tapestry. Boots that fit Herewe were also acquired as the soldiers made quick work of searching the room for anything that could be used before they had to move on. One soldier watched with half a head out the door to let them know when the dragon returned from trying to harry the stormcloaks and to see if there were any stragglers visible in the city proper that could be saved. Herewe armed himself with a small dagger and a single bracer that he relied on Hadvar's help to strap on, the man momentarily pausing at the inky black eye that was tattooed on the back of Herewe's left hand, the man making a claw like sigil with his hand over his heart and pushing away the moment he was finished.

"We gotta go," the soldier at the door called out and General Tullius quickly led the way through the halls, as they made their way down halls and stairways. Herewe caught Hadvar glancing back at him strangely more than once, the man seemingly taking more in depth looks at the two scar like tattoos that covered his forehead and temples. Herewe felt almost self-conscious and fought not to let his hair cover his face for fear it would also compromise his sight. Dibella had been gracious in the creation of this body and even before Hircine had added to Herewe's senses Herewe had far better sight than he'd ever had as Harry, even with his glasses.

"Pull the lever, Hadvar," Tullius ordered. "Everyone else be on the lookout, one of the other towers connects to the keep just beyond here and unless they have the key they'll not have been able to get further than the next room." Tullius was right to call out warning because even as the metal portcullis opened a stormcloak man leapt forward an ax aimed directly for Hadvar's throat. Tullius's short sword intercepted the blow as Hadvar drew his own blade and a second stormcloak joined the fight. The hallway was too narrow for more than two one on one fights and the stormcloaks had pushed them all back far enough with their surprise attacks that they weren't able to easily push them into the room beyond porculus.

Herewe stayed back and out of the way beside Quaestor Maximilian who was also unable to fight. Herewe did however keep the small steel dagger he'd picked up ready just in case, though it was awkward to hold with his left hand. General Tullius was able to dispatch his opponent first, and it was beyond obvious that his skill had not dulled with age. As the stormcloak man swung his ax wildly at the General, the man had simply stepped just out of reach before stepping back in too close as the stormcloak fought to regain his balance that had been lost due to his wild swing. Before he could, the short arming sword the General fought with had found its home in the stormcloaks neck, piercing it through to the other side as Tullius stepped further forward. The movement of the blade was smoother than Herewe would have thought, having expected the blade to catch on the bones that made up the stormcloaks spine. The man slumped dead before he even fully hit the ground, and his companion joined him swiftly when Hadvar's blade disemboweled him before sliding slickly across his throat.

The bodies were left unceremoniously where they lay as the group proceeded on, General Tullius having a key that opened the locked door leading deeper into the bowels. As they reached the bottom of a large stairwell the castle shook and there was a crashing sound as a portion of the keep collapsed in a way that was becoming somewhat familiar. When the dust cleared it was obvious that there was only one way they could go. Thankfully, according to the General who was to only one intimately familiar with Helgen Keep to know, it was the way they needed to go anyways.

"The storeroom and then the torture chambers are just beyond this doorway, and the escape tunnels are just beyond that," Tullius said. Herewe flinched at the mention of torture chambers but no one seemed to notice, or perhaps be bothered by it. "There should be a good amount of healing potions in the storeroom, and maybe a few magicka ones too for the boy," the General said speaking more to Hadvar and the female soldier than Herewe, Quaestor Maximillion or the soldier that was supporting the Quaestor. There was also a bench and both Herewe and the Quaestor were directed to sit on it while potions were poured down their mouths. For Herewe there was a sludgy burnt yellow looking potion in a red glass flask that was marked as healing with a tag and wax. Thankfully it tasted yeasty and not as bad as Herewe expected. The Quaestor was forced to drink three full flasks of health potion and was looking much better if still clearly quite tired. As for Herewe, he felt quite good, the little cuts on his feet from having been barefoot for so long, and the blister that had been forming on his heel had disappeared, and when Hadvar untied the sling that his arm had been forced into, Herewe was amazed that it felt perfectly fine, if perhaps a little stiff.

Herewe was also given two more potions in blue glass flasks that verged close to a violet color. They were marked each with their own labels, one claiming to be a magicka regeneration potion and the other a magicka restoration potion. Herewe wondered the difference, beyond looks and taste. Directed to drink half of each Herewe found the regeneration potion, which was an oily purple color with what looked like tapioca pearls inside it to taste oddly like a grape wine gummy with an odd meaty aftertaste that seemed to coat the mouth. The restoration potion which was a vivid orange that seemed almost fiery, tasted like roasted mushrooms and was actually quite delicious. Herewe was also forced to take a sip of a glowing golden colored potion with swirling white mixed in that had been housed in a deep green glass flask. It tasted of honey and something cold almost like spearmint.

The two potions that Herewe had only drank half of were placed inside one of several spare packs that had been found in the store room, along with three apples, a hunk of cheese, a small flask of wine, and a hardtack loaf of bread as well as several rather large completely fabric surcoats, one of which Herewe had been directed to change into, his robe having been worn for a week straight through the elements and become quite ragged and ratty. Hadvar once again made the claw-like warding hand sigil over his heart when he saw the smoky gray skeleton key sigil on the skin on Herewe's chest. Another health potion had found its way into the pack courtesy of General Tullius. Several more packs were made up until each of them had one and Herewe quickly strapped the one with the magicka potions to his back.

It took probably another two hours before they managed to get back out underneath the sky rather than the earth and they were accompanied by a contingent of soldiers who had been guarding the bowels of the castle and had been unaware of the dragon attack entirely. There was an earth shattering roar and they all ducked back towards the mouth of the cave to hide in the shadows of the larger rocks as the great black dragon flew with speed above them towards a large mountain range.

"The closest town from here is Riverwood, which should be directly north from here, maybe a three hour walk, possibly four since we're all tired," Hadvar said. "We could all use some rest. My uncle lives there. It might be tight but he might be able to shelter a couple of us inside while the rest of us can sleep by the forge or along the river but inside the town proper. Riverwood may not have stone walls but the wooden palisades provide at least some protection from the denizens that make our beautiful land their home."

"Sounds like a plan Legate," General Tullius said.

"I'm only Auxiliary, General Tullius sir," Hadvar protested the use of the title rank.

"Not anymore," General Tullius said. "You righted a wrong when you spoke for this boy here, I saw you giving commands to the men during the midst of the madness and fighting and you are also one of the few to have survived Helgen. I plan on seeing to the fact that those of you who were up on the ground when that dragon attacked all receive a promotion. Nonetheless we need to haul ass if we want to get to Riverwood before nightfall."

Herewe was forced into taking another sip of the stamina restoring potion but he still began to stumble about two hours into the walk. While healing potions dealt with the physical wounds and their effects, they could make one tired, sometimes even more tired than what natural healing would have caused. Stamina potions on the other hand were artificial energy boosters and eventually even they couldn't be used to hold off exhaustion any longer. Coming down off of an adrenaline high, after a good amount of healing and the strain that his magicka had undergone, Herewe was near collapse and he wasn't the only one. Quaestor Maxmillion was clearly flagging as well.

Another hour in an Herewe was suddenly lifted into the air as a soldier who had been patrolling the area where the escape tunnel met the castle lifted Herewe to carry him for the last hour. At first Herewe held himself stiffly, but the rocking motion accompanied by the crashing realization that he was safe had him nodding off. Herewe was drifting in and out when the sounds of commerce alerted him to the fact that they were once again approaching a town, Riverwood. Though he didn't open his eyes, Herewe drifted a little closer to conscious rather than unconscious.

"I'm just saying it's a little strange, especially on top of everything else," Hadvar said.

"And as I said soldier, your suspicion is noted, but hair that vaguely glows or not, the elf is just a kid, everything that happened is just a coincidence. Besides it's probably just the moon reflecting off of it. It is rather white after all," General Tullius said.

"It's not just the hair, or the still unbelievable fact that a dragon attacked an execution he shouldn't have even been at, or even the fact that despite clearly being some kind of mer he certainly ain't got the look of any mer I know. He has markings, sigils on his skin, two of which are recognizable sigils of two princes. Like he's some kind of champion of theirs," Hadvar said. "Just makes me a little nervous, that's all. Like there's more than just what we can immediately see."

"Sigils?" the soldier who was carrying Herewe asked.

"Back of his left hand, that's Hemaeus', and the one on his chest that's Nocturnal. Neither prince is all that bad but still. Plus not every prince has a known sigil like that. I'm still trying to figure out if those scars on his head are really scars or something more," Hadvar said. Herewe blinked open his eyes and looked towards Hadvar.

"Meridia and Malacath," Herewe whispered, and wiggled slightly to let the soldier carrying him know he wished to be put down. His mind was racing, he couldn't tell them that he was from another world entirely but he'd have to tell them something. If only the princes hadn't been so possessive, Hadvar wasn't going to be the only one who'd be able to recognize the marks of the various Daedric Princes decorating his body. "The starburst," Herewe touched his right temple, long pale fingers brushing along the even whiter colored skin. "Meridia, and the lightning," Herewe's fingers shifted to the left temple, "Malacath."

"What are you saying?" General Tullius said, his hand moving to the hilt of his sword, mirroring the move of his men.

"When the Betrayed attacked my family, my mom and dad told me to run. I wasn't fast enough," Herewe said, doing his best to make up a story on the fly. Sticking as close to the truth as possible would be best, making it easier to remember the story later. "But instead of seeing my family when I died, I was surrounded by beings I had never seen before. They gave me a choice, they were only giving it to me because the person Akatosh picked the first time had died and my soul was moldable. Some of them gave me gifts and some of them left marks. Then they told me to find the Imperial Camp and learn how to survive until I could meet my destiny, which I didn't really understand."

"Okay, interference from the Aedra and Daedra aside, what or who are the forsaken?" Tullius asked.

"Um, the blind ones," Herewe said, confused as to how to answer the question. Even in the memories of being Herewe he only knew them by a few names. The soldiers still didn't seem to understand. "They live underground and have become twisted." Herewe closed his eyes and tried to remember anything his parents ever said about the Betrayed. "They are all that's left of those who were tricked and enslaved with the Dwemer who were once our allies and they hate all of those who live above ground because of this betrayal but most especially they hate us, those of us left of the Ancient Falmer because we weren't tricked into becoming like them," Herewe quoted his father.

"Are you talking about the Falmer? Wait, you're a snow elf!" Hadvar suddenly shouted. Herewe's eyes widened, perhaps if he'd had led with that piece of information they wouldn't have asked as many questions.

"Yes," Herewe answered.

"So there are more of you? Those that escaped the Dwemer, that didn't become Falmer? Are there still Snow Elves in the mountains? You said you lived in a cave, are there others?" Tullius asked.

"There might be, I guess?" Herewe answered. "My parents didn't know any others and my grandparents died a long time ago, but maybe there were others. I never really went far from our cave."

"Got anymore Nirn shattering revelations you'd like to share with us kid?" the General asked.

"I don't think so," Herewe answered, wrinkling his nose.

They bedded down in Riverwood for a single night before the majority of the imperial soldiers were ready to travel on to Whiterun, the nearest large city. Several of the soldiers had been left behind to bolster the Jarl's guard forces for all that the Jarl of Whiterun was apparently neutral. Herewe had to refrain from mentioning that it hadn't seemed to matter how many men there had been to defend Helgen; it had still fallen. It was unspoken that Herewe was going to be traveling with those continuing on, all the way to Solitude, which was apparently the capital of Skyrim. Herewe had been feeling a bit like an imposter as he was peppered with questions as they walked the road to Whiterun. Still the memories that Hermaeus Mora had gifted him had served him well and Herewe had been able answer most of the questions he'd been posed about his fictional life. He did his best to be a bit more vague about the gifts that he'd been given especially when he learned that the Imperials had to uphold a ban on the worship of Talos who had given Herewe a boon of his own. Instead he brought up tiny details of the memories of Herewe's life to distract the soldier's attention the best he could.

The memories from Hermaeus were not the only ones that filled his thoughts. While he'd been unconscious from the blow to the head, which he'd later learned was from Quaestor Maxmillion, who Herewe had, well not truly forgiven or forgotten, but decided not to retaliate against, he'd been unable to dream of being Talos. However the night spent in Riverwood had been productive. Instead of being a young Talos learning from the various Nordic Chieftains, Herewe had experienced a battle, the first of Talos's military career.

Herewe had rode passengers in Talos's body as he got the first person perspective of leading an attack that was against Reachmen of High Rock, before meeting and forming an alliance with King Cuhlecain. It was shortly after that point that Herewe had woken up, and although he had never actually wielded a weapon beyond his magic, and memories of being taught how to use a hunting bow and a dagger, Herewe felt as though he could pick up a sword and not immediately injure himself. In fact he felt the urge to attempt some of the swordplay moves he had experienced using as Talos. He knew however that he did not have the muscle that Talos had, and would likely never need to actually learn how to swing the same overly large style of broadsword blade the warrior had wielded. Perhaps however he could learn how to use a smaller short sword like the imperial soldiers used.

They stopped at noon to make a quick meal of their provisions and Herewe took the opportunity to dip his sore feet in the frigid waters of the White River, being careful on the slick rocks. A slip would be disastrous, especially considering the very clear speed of the moving water the closer down to the Whiterun Plains they came, gravity easily cajoling the water onwards and down the mountain. It took nearly another one and half hours after they got moving again to reach the Plains. When they reached the crossroads, Hadvar was quick to point out the ridge that the city of Whiterun was built around, telling Herewe that the giant castle that was built upon it was called Dragonsreach, not that the monstrosity of a castle was all that difficult to miss. It may not have been quite the size of Hogwarts, but much like the Wizarding School built on the cliff as it was, made the shadow it cast seem that much larger.

Hadvar continued playing tourist guide to Herewe, having great knowledge of the area having grown up as a citizen of Whiterun Hold. From the Honeybrew Meadery which was a new development according to the strawberry blond nord, to the various farms that dotted the expanse between the crossroads and the city, of which Hadvar seemed to know the family name of all of them. The anger-filled roar that crashed across the air nearly made Herewe panic before he registered the tonal differences between it and the roar that the dragon that had attacked Helgen had given.

"Hadvar, you and Rikke stay with Herewe," Tullius ordered, "Soldiers with me, archers provide support." It was then that Herewe saw the large being that moved out from behind the windmill of the farm they were passing by. It rumbled as it brought its club crashing down to the ground, trying to hit one of the two hounds that were trying to nip its ankles, likely herding dogs given the fact that the giant, for that's what it was, was in a sheep pen.

"General Tullius!" a man shouted, "A surprise to see you here." Another man and two women were with the new warrior, one of the women wearing vivid warpaint and with a bow already drawn.

"Companion," General Tullius nodded respectfully. "I take it this giant is a contract?"

"Aye," answered the war painted woman. "But giants are always easier to bring down in a group, and none of us will complain at fighting as your shield siblings."

"Very well," Tullius said before ordering his men. It took less than five minutes for the almost wiry looking giant to be brought down, first by arrows to the legs and then by blade wounds from both sword and ax as the soldiers and Companions closed in on the being. There was a quick negotiation on splitting the loot that the giant had been carrying between the Companions, the affected farmers and the imperial soldiers. The toes which were apparently alchemical ingredients with the exception of two that the Companions took went to the farmers. Apparently Fortify Health potions were useful to keep animals from catching various diseases as a sort of general vaccine. There were also two unrefined reddish orange colored gems that were tied along with various animal teeth to a hide necklace and a beautiful hide, that the female with war paint, who Herewe learned was called Aela, said was from a sabre cat. There was also a large mammoth tusk that had been strapped to the giant's back. That was given to the imperials to sell. Apparently the ivory would fetch a good price.

The four Companions accompanied the soldiers the rest of the way to the city and Herewe marveled at the outer walls and gates. They were not in the greatest condition but at the same time they didn't need to be the sheerness of the cliffline ensuring that only the most determined would be able to reach the moat gate without taking the main path. The main gate was gigantic, nearly twice as large as the gates of Hogwarts. Unfortunately guards at the gate stopped them before they could enter.

"The Jarl has decreed Whiterun to be neutral in the Civil War. Only injured soldiers may seek respite in the city," the guard said.

"We bring news of Helgen and a request of aid from Riverwood. We seek only to give these messages and purchase new supplies and then we will move on," General Tullius stated.

"I cannot break orders of the Jarl," the guard said even as the other guard wavered.

"I could go," Herewe offered. "I know not the way, but I am not a soldier and could enter the city right?" Herewe directed the question to the guard.

"Yes, but it's doubtful that the Jarl will take audience with an unknown child," the guard answered.

"Even if accompanied by a Companion?" the smaller of the two males asked rhetorically before turning to General Tullius. "If you can make up a list of the necessary supplies and have the gold, or a tradeable equivalent I will also help the boy gather them before returning."

"Very well," the General said, and in short order a list was made up of necessities, and a few extras that were only to be purchased if there was enough coin. Vilkas, the Companion who was to accompany Herewe was given the list, a small bag of gold that had been separated from a large amount that was apparently going to be used to purchase a couple of horses and passage on a cart and the mammoth tusk to trade for gold and then the much smaller group was given leave to enter the city.

"We'll make our way to Jorrvaskr and let the others know where you are, Vilkas," Aela said as they passed over the entry bridge that crossed over a small stream that hugged the inner wall of the city. Herewe could see children splashing in the water and a few women washing laundry in the near crystalline water as it flowed downwards towards what looked like a grate in the wall that must lead out of the city and likely flowed all the way to the White River.

"Sounds good, I'll let everyone know the Jarls' response to the news of Helgen when I return," Vilkas answered. Aela gave him a nod before calling to the two other companions.

"Come on Ria, Icebrain, we have tales to regale and mead to drink," she said before striding ahead quickly. Herewe and Vilkas continued on the main road at a much more sedate pace. Whiterun had a certain charm that reminded Herewe of Hogsmeade. The city was much larger however and certainly marked its place as the capital of Whiterun Hold admirably. The centerpiece of the lower district, the Plains District as Vilkas called it, having caught on to the fact that Herewe had never visited the city by his wide eyed veneration of everything around them, was the market. Set in a large courtyard that was larger than two city blocks in London. Stalls lined the areas in between storefronts, and converged in the center. Some merchants had no stalls and laid their wares out on large colorful rugs and sat cross legged hawking their wares the same as all the other merchants.

"We'll come back here after speaking to the Jarl," Vikas said as took Herewe's wrist to lead him carefully through the crowd of people traversing the market. The staircase that Vikas led Herewe up, seemed to be carved from the very stone of the mountain cliff, a fact Vikas confirmed only seconds later. They passed through another open gate, an inner wall separating the Plains District from the Wind District and as they did a soft breeze seemed to come from nowhere and Herewe felt the ring from Kynareth pulse with a brief moment of comforting heat.

"That's the Gildergreen," Vikas said, indicating the gigantic if sparsely leafed tree that sat on the small island that was the center of what had to be a man made moat that had small stream spokes that separated the Wind District into wedges. "It's sacred to worshippers of Kynareth. Kynareth's is the largest temple over there. Though it's not official, the area over there is called Devotion's Walk. Although there are only a few official temples, there are a few large tents that serve as temporary temples run by wandering priests and priestesses, along with a few small shrines for those who wish to ask a blessing to leave offerings. The tree has been sick for a while now though, some say it's because of the Civil War but no one knows for sure. It was struck by lightning a few weeks back which only made the issue worse."

"It must be beautiful when it's healthy," Herewe said, looking somewhat sadly at the tree. He felt Kynareth's ring pulse again.

"It is," Vikas said. "It's nearly constantly in bloom even during the winter months with vibrant red leaves and white blossoms."

"I hope it can grow healthy soon, I'd like to see it one day," Herewe said as they crossed another bridge.

"That's Jorrvaskr there," Vikas pointed out a building whose roof seemed to be made out of the hull of a large ship. "When you grow a little older you could come back and join the companions. Bit skinny for it now though."

"I don't think I'm any good with a sword or anything other than a bow and my magic really," Herewe said.

"Bows can be useful," Vikas said. "Aela is the best archer I know, and though the Companions tend to veer towards the more physical disciplines, we've been known to have the odd battlemage amongst our numbers, not to mention that healers are always welcome," Vikas reassured Herewe. "Alright this is the last set of stairs, Dragonsreach is at the top," Vikas told Herewe as he nodded respectfully to the guards that stood on either side of the platform of the stairs. Herewe's ears perked as he heard the shouts of a man as he began to preach to a non-existent audience in front of a large statue before he turned his attention back to climbing up the stairs.

There was another open gate in the third and final inner wall of the city. The area that the keep was built on, which included the keep itself, a large barracks, a few residences, which Vikas explained were for visiting dignitaries, a kennel, and a few other buildings, was apparently called the Cloud District. Vikas explained that had he not been with Herewe, it was unlikely that the boy would have been allowed into the Cloud District let alone Dragonsreach itself, due in large part to his age, his rather vagrant appearance, there hadn't exactly been much time to do much more than wash his face when they'd gotten back on the road at dawn after arriving in Riverwood well after moonrise and absolutely nothing that could be done about his clothing, and the fact that he was not a citizen of Whiterun Hold. To be honest however, Herewe was unsure what hold he and his family would have been considered citizens of. He supposed however it soon wouldn't matter with him going to Solitude.

As they stepped onto the Dragonsreach bridge to cross the massive moat that had been dug into the top of the ridge and was being fed who knows how, Herewe felt intimidated by the castle that was probably only half the size of Hogwarts. Guards opened one of the doors for them as they approached, needing two full grown men to push it open. The entrance hall of the castle was separated from the main hall and throne room by only a wide staircase. Herewe began to feel nervous the closer they drew to the man who sat, or rather lounged on a tall wooden throne on a raised platform at the end of the hall as a soldier in the yellow of Whiterun's sigil spoke to him.

Similar to the Great Hall of Hogwarts there were two long tables that ran half the length of the room. They were empty but for the odd one or two people, all quite clearly those of noble patronage or noble themselves going by the expensive silks and furs they wore. A firepit that was dug into the center of the room ran nearly the same length of the tables was burning merrily providing warmth to the stone hall. As they approached the dais a dark skinned elven woman with dark umber hair called out to Vikas.

"Companion, by what right do you interrupt the Jarl's meeting?" the woman asked as the Jarl seemed to dismiss a soldier who gave a deferential bow before hurrying past Herewe and Vikas with only a small glance at both.

"Irileth let them approach, I have questions," the Jarl commanded as he sat straighter, making himself seem all the more imposing. Vikas strode forward and Herewe had to force himself not to hide behind the Companions not diminutive bulk as he followed.

"My Jarl," Vikas said respectfully, giving a shallow bow and Herewe followed suit, taking his cues from the man beside him.

"So you do respect my authority," the Jarl said. "Strange as I believe I declared Whiterun neutral, and yet I have been alerted to the fact that four companions arrived with a large contingent of imperial soldiers led by none other than General Tullius himself at the front gates. I was under the impression that the Companions remained neutral during war time. I was also of the belief that any issues within the city that I would have due to Whiterun's neutrality would come from the Greymane and Battleborn families!" Herewe flinched as the man raised his voice.

"The Companions still remain neutral, my Jarl," Vikas said, meeting the Jarl's gaze head on. "Our accompaniment was merely happenstance, when we joined forces to remove the giant that had been raiding the Pelagia farmlands. They only wished to resupply and deliver news to you. As soldiers not in need of healing are not allowed in the city I have accompanied a civilian who is traveling with them, so that he could deliver their news and gather their supplies before they move on."

"I do not like it," the Jarl said after a moment. "Should the other Jarls learn of the Imperials resupplying here they will expect me to declare for the Empire. But I suppose it is within the letter of the orders I gave, if not the spirit." The Jarl took a deep breath and Herewe could almost see the literal weight of his position sitting on the man's soldiers before he readjusted and his body language became neutral once more. The Jarl turned his focus to Herewe. "Very well, you have news to deliver, deliver it."

"Helgen has been raised to the ground, uh my Jarl," Herewe said a little nervously, glancing towards Vikas with just his eyes for a bit of reassurance. The man remained stoic and Herewe swallowed thickly before forcing himself to continue. "Most of the city is dead, but some of the stormcloak prisoners got out, and they might have had some civilians with them but I didn't see anybody. The soldiers I traveled with were there too, but most of them were guarding the underground escape tunnel and didn't even know that the city was gone until our group came through." Herewe licked his dry lips.

"Helgen is part of Falkreath Hold, news of a large scale bandit attack should have been brought to Jarl Siddgeir, as I understand he is a supporter of the Empire, though I will send a small contingent of soldiers to Riverwood a to repress any such bandit attack that might come from the south," the Jarl said before turning Irileth about to give an order

"It wasn't a bandit attack," Herewe said, suddenly interrupting the man. All eyes were suddenly on him and Herewe shrunk a little. "It was a dragon."