A/N: Finally, we approach the end of the Prologue. As happy as I am with following the rails set down by the initial plot, I'll be glad to have a bit more wiggle room as far as pacing is concerned in the coming chapters as more agency is given to the player. While Unbound is a fine quest and all that, it is still (intentionally) a very controlled environment, seeing as how it's the player's introduction to the game.

That aside, it's time for a bit of griping. I've always had a problem with Hadvar just after the Unbound quest, after the player leaves the cave for the first time. Someone in Bethesda got it into their head that even though they'd coded and added a whole bunch of flavor text in the walk to Riverwood, not least of which is the introduction to the Guardian Stones and the first dungeon of the main questline, it would be a good idea for him to tell the player to part ways with him before said flavor text. I suppose that's Bethesda Logic for you.

The stench of dried blood and vomit assaulted my nostrils as Hadvar and descended into the prison of the keep, as denoted by the cages. Some of the cells were occupied, but none of the occupants were in a state to do much more than decompose.

Two Stormcloaks were presently fighting with two Legionnaires. Hadvar immediately threw himself into the fray and, in one strike, sliced through the neck of one of the rebels. I swung at the legs of the other while his back was turned; his armor stopped my blade, but did not stop him from tumbling to the ground. The legionnaire he had been fighting swiftly took the opportunity to brain him with a mace. I wiped sweat from my brow, still mentally recoiling from the stench of the room, and looked up at the men we had just saved.

The man Hadvar had helped spoke up. "You fellows happened along just in time," he drawled. "These boys seemed a bit upset at how I've been entertaining their comrades."

I stared. The withered old man looked as if he had just been dragged out of a crypt. Pale, wrinkled skin hung from him like curtains, displaying every knobbly joint he owned. His eyes were sunken into his skull, and the black hood that covered his head was stained was clumsily patched. His armor was at least two sizes too large, and it was stained with miscellaneous juices that could just as easily have been leftovers from breakfast as it could have been blood from an enthusiastic bit of…whatever he got up to in here. He may as well have worn a nameplate that read "torturer".

"Don't you even know what's going on?" I asked him. The torturer raised an eyebrow at me.

"A dragon is attacking Helgen!" Hadvar explained.

"A dragon? Please. Don't make up nonsense," the old man said. I wondered if the look of withering contempt on his face was specific to the subject of dragons or if it had simply stuck there out of decades of general malevolence.

Hadvar set his jaw. "Come with us. We need to get out of here."

At that, the torturer sneered. I had to silently admit that the withered old cretin was a natural at sneering. He could have curdled milk with the expression he had on his face right now. "You have no authority over me, boy."

The other Legionnaire slammed his hand on a table, causing everyone to jump. "Forget the old man," he barked. "I'm coming with you."

That seemed to settle the matter. The three of us made our way out of the prison without bothering to visit with the old so-and-so any longer. I had to stop myself from taking a gasp of the relatively fresh basement air when we finally left the sickening odors of state-inflicted agony. As we made our way deeper into the dark underside of the keep, the walls gradually changed from brick and mortar to rough stone. The terrible roars of the dragon above faded into silence, muffled by the increasingly large barrier of rock between us. In its place came the sound of water.

Voices ahead caused us all to slow as we cautiously made our way toward the end of a corridor. "Where are we supposed to go?" someone said, loudly. Several Stormcloak rebels were there to greet us as we emerged into a large room that was as much a cavern as it was a continuation of the Keep's foundations. Upon sight of us, four of them charged, weapons drawn. "Freedom or Sovngarde!" one bellowed.

"Oh, shit!" I shouted as I locked swords with one of them. It wasn't the most inspiring of battle cries, but I like to think that it helped, in some small way. Unfortunately, it didn't make up for muscle mass; the warrior opposite me was much stronger than me, and he had nearly overwhelmed me when Hadvar lunged from the side and impaled my enemy with his sword.

I was about to thank him when I spied another Stormcloak fast approaching, her warhammer raised. Before she had a chance to account for me in addition to Hadvar, I ran forward and swung wildly with my weapon, which, by sheer chance, lodged itself into what felt the rebel's ribcage and caused her to hunch over in pain. Evidently, that wasn't the correct response, as the rebel's movement dislodged some vital blood vessel that I had severed and caused blood to spurt from around my blade. The spray became a torrent when I yanked the sword free, and before long blood was pooling around us and spilling into the rivulet in the center of the cavernous room.

By unspoken agreement, Hadvar and I stayed close together after those two enemies. The Stormcloaks outnumbered us, but they were disorganized in their haste to cut us down. Like Hadvar had said, they were woefully unqualified as soldiers, and their overconfidence in their strength of numbers seemed to make them that much more inefficient.

…Or so I thought until the last Stormcloak locked the hilt of his greatsword with that of my shortsword, wrenched my weapon away, and swept my legs out from under my with a slice that sent agony through one of my legs. I fell onto my side, too winded to cry out in pain. I took a shuddering gasp, but the air was again driven from my lungs when something large and heavy fell, writhing, on top of me.

It was the rebel that had nearly cut one of my legs off. A boot roughly kicked him off me. "Still alive, pris…" Hadvar started before trailing off. "All right there, Sedgwick?"

I grunted, not trusting myself to speak, and rolled onto my back. I winced at a sharp pain in my chest; either my rough fall or the weight of the Stormcloak had cracked a rib. "Pouch on my belt," I said through gritted teeth.

Through the haze of pain, I could see Hadvar's face show comprehension. One rummage later, he was tipping the contents of the red vial that I had found into my mouth. It tasted of sour wine mixed with vinegar, but I could immediately feel the reassuring burning sensation that told me that the gash in my leg was beginning to mend.

Assisted by Hadvar, I got to my feet and winced. Disappointingly, the pain in my side had only just subsided into a dull ache. "This is Legion medicine?" I asked derisively, despite myself.

The soldier barked a sharp, humorless laugh. "Legion medicine ran out in this province when the last open pass out of the province filled up with bandits," he said, turning his head to spit. He gave me a pat on the back that nearly sent me tumbling again. "Now we mix what we can from leftover wheat and bits of insects."

The assistant looked like he had had enough. "I'd better stay back and see to the old man," he said, and for a moment a ghost of a scowl appeared on his features. He nodded to me and to Hadvar. "Good luck to you."

And with that, he was gone. "I didn't know that the Legion employed torturers," I said when he was out of earshot, not quite managing to keep the disapproval out of my voice.

Hadvar looked away, his expression one of someone suddenly focused on other matters. "We don't," he said shortly.

"Then why is…"

"Leave it for now." The soldier gestured to the exit, which looked distinctly more cavernous than the entrance. "We still need to get out of here."

The keep, I discovered, had been built on top of a cave that was thoroughly infested with giant spiders. The arachnids were unpleasant, but simple compared to the soldiers that we had just killed. Still, I doubted that bloodthirsty insects under one's base was conducive to a defensive strategy, and said as much to Hadvar after prying the fifth impaled spider off of my sword.

He just grunted. "Better Frostbite Spiders than Draugrs," he said simply.

"Draugrs?" I asked, curiosity overtaking me. "What are they, then?"

Hadvar looked at me as if I had just sprouted an extra head. "You know," he said, using the slow, clear tone of voice one would use when trying to communicate to the hard of thinking. "Draugrs. Ancient, vengeful warriors reanimated from death?" he added when my questioning gaze failed to wane.

"D'you mean Zombies?" I asked after trodding heavily on the last spider, smaller than the rest. I thought of the shambling corpses that tended to crop up in caves in Cyrodiil or whenever necromancers got tetchy.

"No," Hadvar said patiently. "I mean Draugrs."

We continued through the twisting cave in thoughtful silence. Then: "What's the difference?" I asked.

The sigh Hadvar heaved carried quite a bit of weariness with it. "I should think that you'd have to see for yourself."

"Why's that, then?" I pressed, my curiosity getting the better of me. "What, are your province's zombies different from my provinces zombies because of, of…" I mentally groped for an acceptably derisive metaphor and settled for, "a uniquely unexplainable hat that they all wear?"

"Stop calling them zombies," Hadvar said. "They aren't zombies." By now our pointless little debate had become an equally pointless argument.

"Oh, so they're not dead people that happen to be upright and trying to kill living people then?"

"Hold up."

"I mean, usually that's the qualifying characteristic of zombies, yes? Otherwise, it'd defeat the point of the whole…"

"Hold up, I said." I nearly walked into the soldier's outstretched arm and only just caught the insistent tone in his voice. "There's a bear just ahead. See her?"

And then I did see her. What I had taken for a rocky lump in a cavern full of rocky lumps was a huge animal, lazily reclining on the stone floor and in the warmth of sunlight that was streaming in from a large hole in the ceiling.

Hadvar kept talking, his voice now in a low whisper. "I'd rather not tangle with her just now," he said, and I silently agreed. "We might be able to sneak by. Just take it nice and slow, and watch where you step." The soldier, struck with inspiration, then grabbed something off of the ground and passed it to me. It was a longbow. "Or," he said, "If you're feeling lucky, you can take this bow. Might take her by surprise." He then proceeded to offer a couple of arrows from his quiver.

I grimaced. "We didn't escape a dragon just to get mauled by a bear because we couldn't bother with sneaking past," I hissed back at him. "No one's that lucky."

Hadvar appeared to agree, because he started to silently creep forward. I followed suit, my eyes resting warily on the hopefully slumbering animal. We slunk over the clammy stones, careful not to tread on any loose stones or puddles that might make enough noise to wake the beast. As it was, my own breath treacherously roared in my ears, and I was sure that the noise of my heart pounding in my chest could have been heard even by the dragon, doubtlessly still ravaging Helgen far behind us.

After far too long a time of creeping along the floor of the cave, Hadvar sighed in relief and exhaustion. "That was close," he breathed.

I was about to respond in kind when I caught sight of a light ahead of us. The soldier must have noticed my expression, because he turned away from me. He grinned beatifically. "That looks like the way out!" he exulted before starting forward, excitement putting a spring in his step.

"You know," I said as we approached the light at the end of the tunnel, "I was starting to get a bit worried back there."

Hadvar laughed. "You just about pissed yourself four times over," he teased, giving me another hearty slap on the back that threatened to realign my spine.

A wave of fresh, cool air nearly toppled us both as we clambered out of the dark cave and into the afternoon light. It must have been the opposite side of mountain from Helgen, as the town was nowhere to be seen. Upon reflection, that was likely a good thing. I laughed out loud, drunk with relief, not caring about my aching ribs or creaking knees. Hadvar joined in my merriment, almost falling over in his joy.

Then he elbowed me in the ribs.

My breath caught in my throat, and I saw stars. Hunching over, I began to give him a sharp retort when I noticed that his attention was focused elsewhere, on a point somewhere behind and above me.

To the west, lazily circling the peak of one of the Jerall Mountains, was a dragon. The dragon. It must have finished putting the town of Helgen to fire, and now it was just flying as if it hadn't a care in the world. I remembered it speaking in that awful voice, and my blood ran cold. It wasn't some stupid animal. It was sentient, or at least smart enough to talk. I wandered how many people it had slaughtered.

"Bastard," I mumbled, and Hadvar gave me an odd look. In the blink of an eye, the dragon was gone.

"Looks like he's gone for good this time," Hadvar finally said.

"Let's not hang about to see if he comes back," I rejoined.

Even so, we both just stood there for a while longer, staring at the mountain where the beast had just been flying. Then: "Are you a renegade?"

I blinked and looked at Hadvar. "What?" I said dumbly.

"Are you a renegade?" the soldier asked again, eyes narrowed warily. I noticed that his hand was hovering just over the hilt of his sword.

I remembered what that Legion captain had called me. The Renegade from Cyrodiil, she had said. "No," I said, "I'm not." After a second's pause to think, I added, "I'm a trader from Cyrodiil."

Hadvar's face went from suspicion to puzzlement. "At this time of year? Tell me that you didn't come up the Pale Pass."

I nodded. "Of course. How else would I get here?"

Hadvar was giving me that look again. It was the same look he had given me when I had asked him about Draugrs. "Then either you brought a small army or you're the luckiest bastard that I've laid eyes on." Pause. "And the stupidest."

"Haven't we gone over this?" I asked wearily. We were now walking down the mountain path, and I was just remembering that it had been two days since I had last slept properly or eaten.

"Yes," Hadvar admitted, "But we didn't quite have the time to plumb the depths of your stupidity, then." He shook his head. "Out with it, then. How many men did you bring, Mister Trader?"

I grunted. My ears were going red, and not from the chill.

"What was that?"

I sighed. "Two," I said, hating my hindsight. "Two guards to get me as far as the first settlement."

Hadvar laughed, this time with genuine amusement. It was a shame that it was at my expense. "You're a damn fool, Sedgwick, you know that?" he said. "This time of year, the Pale Pass is so thick with bandits that I hear tell they're having to pay rent."

"Where in Tamriel are we going, then?" I asked hotly, changing the subject. I thought about explaining the Understanding to Hadvar, but I suspected that he would only laugh at me some more.

"Riverwood. It's the closest town from here, and my uncle's the blacksmith." The smug bastard was still grinning. "I'm sure he'll help you out."

I paused, not sure what to say to that. I had expected us to part ways as soon as we got out of the cave, but it looked as if he was happy to introduce an escaped convict to his family. Granted, there were mitigating circumstances, coming in the form of a massive, furious reptile. I settled for "Thank you."

As we wended our way downward, we approached a collection of large stones that sat on a stone platform overlooking a lake. Hadvar stopped, and indicated that I should do the same. "These are the Guardian Stones," he told me, "three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape." He gestured encouragingly. "Go ahead. See for yourself."

I gingerly stepped onto the rocky dias, slightly intimidated by the ancient stones. Massive tree roots protruded from the rock, making the entire platform a tangled mess, but curiously did not touch the stones. The three Guardian Stones themselves were breathtaking; each stone was conical in shape, with a metal ring near the top encircling a hole that bored through the center. On each stone was also a stylized carving of, respectively, a robed man with a staff, a cowled man with a knife, and an armored man with a battle axe. Though they had to be thousands of years old, the images were as clear as they had been when they were freshly carved. I suspected that even a dragon wouldn't be able to accomplish so much as chipping one. Without really thinking about it, I rested a hand on the stone with the armored carving, feeling the ancient metal ring under my fingertips.

As I did so, the bore of the previously inert stone glowed and sparkled with energy that radiated outward, filling the ancient lines of the uppermost portion of the rock. The carved man below was screened by a series of glowing points and lines that I instantly recognized as the constellation of one of the Birthsigns.

The stone wasn't done. Once the old carvings were illuminated, a great shaft of light erupted from the top of the stone and shot skywards, piercing the heavens. I staggered backward, nearly falling off the dais.

Hadvar, amazingly, wasn't nearly as surprised as I was. In fact, he chuckled. "Warrior," he said, referring to the Birthstone constellation on the stone. "Good." He gave me another spine-shattering backslap. "I knew you shouldn't have been on that cart the minute I laid eyes on you." And with that, he turned and started walking down the path again, as if nothing had happened. It took me a full minute to get over the shock of the stone enough to run after him.

Before I could so much as mention the glowing stone, Hadvar changed the subject. "See that ruin up there?" he said, gesturing to the mountain across the river.

I looked. An ugly stone edifice protruded from the slope of the mountain. Great stone arches and tendrils heralded a great, black building of some sort. "What in Oblivion is that?" I asked, forgetting the stones entirely. The original architects of that place had apparently gone for menacing, and as far as I was concerned, they had outdone themselves.

"Bleak Falls Barrow," Hadvar said. "When I was a boy, that place always gave me nightmares."

I couldn't tear my eyes away from the ugly ruin. As a burial ground, the architecture alone seemed to be a good anti-theft measure. "Nightmares?" I asked. "Can't imagine why."

The soldier chuckled. "Draugr coming down the mountain to climb through my mountain at night, that sort of thing." He cast a dark look at it. "I admit it, I still don't much like the look of it."

We proceeded in silence, now following a river that cut through the landscape. I fancied that I could see wolves through the underbrush on our opposite side, but if they were there, then they weren't desperate enough to attack humans at the moment.

After an hour's walk, I broke the silence. "Well, Mister Soldier," I said, imitating his earlier jab, "What does my, ah, legal position look like at the moment?"

Hadvar grunted. "As far as I'm concerned, you've already earned your pardon."

"I'm sensing a 'but' somewhere in there," I said as we passed a small waterfall. Fish that I assumed to be salmon were leaping upstream.

"But," the soldier pressed on, "until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, all right?"

Memory supplied the face of a man with a permanent scowl. I didn't look forward to meeting with this general in the near future.

An hour later, we arrived in a pleasant little town on the side of, yes, a river. The scenery was largely dominated by a lumber mill that, even as we passed, had several people hard at work on the arduous process of turning fallen trees into usable wood. Just a short distance down the road from the mill was the smithy of the town, set outdoors and in the lee of a cottage.

As we passed through the gate into the sleepy little town itself, my companion exhaled. "Things look quiet enough here," Hadvar said, relief evident in his voice. "Come on. There's my uncle."

The uncle in question, sitting on a stout chair in the smithy, was a mountain of a man. Hair tumbled down his head in a manner similar to Hadvar's, but was tied up so as to avoid catching fire during the course of his work. Even though he wore a thick wool shirt and an apron besides, the muscles on his arms and chest rippled underneath. His face was permanently streaked with soot, which was better than a nameplate for identifying anyone that worked a forge or furnace.

The man's face, which looked as if it had been carved from teak, screwed up in confusion as we approached. "Hadvar?" he said, his voice gravelly from the smoke of the forge. "What are you doing here? Are you on leave from…" He trailed off as he got a better look at us.

I could hardly blame him. Hadvar looked as if someone had shoved him inside a blast furnace and tossed him into a mudpit afterwards. His hair was singed from the hail of embers at Helgen, his armor dented from the blows of Stormcloaks and stained with the entrails of spiders, his hands calloused and bleeding from the sheer number of times that he had used his weapon. I must have looked even worse; after all, I had been lying face-down in the dirt twice in the last two days, pummeled twice in the back of the head, nearly incinerated by dragonfire so close that I could reach out and touch it, and stabbed in the leg. I reflected again on the fact that I hadn't so much as had some water since the morning yesterday.

"Shor's bones," the man breathed. "What happened to you, boy?"

Hadvar shushed his uncle. "Uncle, please, keep your voice down, I'm fine." He looked sideways at the busy townspeople in such a way that would have immediately made him look suspicious to anyone that had been paying any attention. "We should go inside to talk," he said in a stage whisper that communicated the fact that he was whispering without in any way lowering the volume of what was being whispered. I suspected that Hadvar had not been among the party that had ambushed the Stormcloaks.

The blacksmith's anxiety lessened only slightly. "What's going on? And who's this?" he said, gesturing to me. From the look on his face, it was evident that he would have more than strong words for me if I was responsible for what had caused his nephew's ruffled appearance.

"He's a friend," Hadvar quickly said before I could volunteer anything. "Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything, but we need to go inside."

The blacksmith shot another look at me, this one with a hint of gratitude, or at least higher esteem. "Okay, okay," he said, giving up on any immediate answers. "Come inside, then. Sigrid will get you something to eat and you can tell me all about it."

My mouth watered at the prospect of something, anything to eat. As we turned to enter the cottage, though, I heard a frightened voice behind us.

"A dragon! "I saw a dragon!"

I forced myself not to turn and look at what sounded like an old woman.

"What? What is it now, mother?"

As the distraught old woman described the great, black beast to her unbelieving son, I followed Alvor and his uncle into the warm cottage.