It took a moment for Brim's eyes to adjust to the relative low-light inside of the keep, after which she found herself in a wide, round room. There were two stone archways leading out into other parts of the fortified building, both of which were closed off with sturdy steel gates. She hurried towards the back wall to get as far away from the entrance as she could and turned just in time to see Ralof dart inside after her and slam the door.

"That dragon doesn't give up," he panted, and then his eyes fell on something close to her feet. She looked down to see the body of one of the Stormcloak soldiers laying in a fetal position nearby in a puddle of congealing blood. A jagged spar of wood protruded from his abdomen, and now she noticed the blood trail leading from the door. Poor bugger had dragged himself in here to die. Ralof hurried over and knelt down, checking in vain for signs of life, and then sighed. Brim watched him close the dead man's eyes in a gesture of respect. "We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother."

He stood and turned to her, his expression easing very slightly.

"Are you alright? I admit, I didn't think to see you again."

Because you chucked me out of a burning tower or because you thought I might actually have gotten away? she thought, but held up her hands with as casual a shrug as she could muster under the circumstances."I'd be a lot better if I weren't still trussed up like a chicken.

"Let's get you free," he said, drawing a knife from his belt. She moved closer to him and he started to saw on the stubborn ropes. "What's your name?"

"Call me Brim," she said, wincing as he cut through the last of the cords and she rubbed the circulation back into her wrists. She had considered giving a false name, but she had no patience or energy to keep up the ruse at the moment and, anyway, she doubted he would peach on her if they managed to find their way out of here alive. Neither of them appeared to be on good terms with the law of the land at the moment.

"Well, Brim, you might as well take Gunjar's gear there," he told her, gesturing to the dead man. "You're going to need more protection than those rags, if I had to guess. I'll see if I can find a way out of here."

Brim looked down at her clothes, which had not been rags when she had left Cyrodiil but which now looked like something that had been fished out of the rubbish pile at a slaughter house, and then at the complicated looking layers of the Stormcloak's armor. She had never needed anything more formidable than the thick leathers she sometimes wore to avoid taking a dagger in the vitals while executing some of the Guild's more confrontational business and she had not the slightest idea how actual armor was supposed to go on. The Nord had a point, though. If nothing else, the Stormcloak's armor would be warmer.

Quickly, she stripped the chainmail and fur wraps off of the corpse and wriggled into them as best she could. Brim was rather tall as women went, but the armor had been made for someone bigger than her and of a distinctly different shape. It bunched and folded in the wrong places and stretched uncomfortably across others. How does anyone fight in this? Brim wondered, as she picked up the iron hand-axe that was lying near the body. Giving it an experimental swing, she found herself wishing that the man had been wielding a proper blade like a real soldier. Axes, as far as she was concerned were for chopping firewood. And necks in this part of the world, looks like, she reminded herself, thinking of the headsman.

"Damn, they're both locked," Ralof said, as he stepped back from one of the doors, looking around with a frown for any release mechanism nearby that might unlock them. Brim was about to ask him if he had a bit of metal she could use as a pick when the echo of distant voices filtered down the hall way. They looked at each other and the big man shook his head and stepped quickly back to one side of the doorway, pulling his axe. Brim pressed herself to the cold stone on the opposite side and listened, her eyes trained on Ralof's awaiting further instructions.

"We need to get out of here," a precise female voice rapped out, footsteps coming closer now. Oh, that's just perfect, Brim thought, recognizing the voice as an incredulous and malicious smile spread over her face. Isn't that just a coup? She raised her axe with a questioning look and Ralof nodded, readying his own to let loose on the Imperials once they came through the door. There was a metallic fumbling at the lock, and she could hear the shuffling of two sets of feet on the stones. "We'll go down through the tunnels. There were the guards and the torturer still down in the dungeons…"

As soon as the Imperials had passed the threshold, Ralof attacked, drawing their attention with a battle-cry. Brim waited a split second for the two soldiers to turn instinctively to counter the threat and then, wielding her axe like a billy-club, brought it down hard on the female officer's head. Even through the steel helmet, that was bound to ring her bell, and in actuality it seemed to stun the woman long enough for Ralof to bury his axe into the narrow chink between her pauldron and the lower guard of her helmet, splitting the flesh of her neck. Brim's axe found its mark next in the unprotected face of the second soldier, putting an end to his confusion at once.

The Legion officer's dark eyes stared up in disbelief at Brim's face as she scrabbled weakly at the wound that gaped like a second screaming mouth in her throat. It was the same woman that had condemned Brim to death not an hour or so before, Brim was certain of it. And that's sodding justice if I've ever seen it, she thought, smiling.

"Don't worry, your honor. I'm sure you've done something to earn it." Brim observed with mock sobriety, visiting the curse of the dying woman's own words back on her. It was the last thing the officer would hear before she exhaled a rattling breath and died, with Brim's hands already helping themselves to the better steel of her Legion sword and belt dagger.

"Does she have the key on her?" Ralof asked, urgently, and Brim rummaged around on the corpses, finding a ring of iron keys and a small handful of gold coins. She tossed the keys up to Ralof, who hurried over to the far door, and dropped the coins surreptitiously into the belt pouch she had picked off of the deceased Stormcloak. All of her belongings had been either left where she fell or confiscated when she had been captured. She would need the coin to see her on her way when she left this place. When, not if anymore, she thought. While she knew they were still not out of the woods, and afterwards there would be the business of figuring out where to go next, the interlude had cheered her up immensely. Much obliged, she said in her mind to whichever trickster god or spirit had thrown her enemy back into her path.

"It worked. Come on, before that dragon brings this place down around us," her traveling companion called back to her and Brim straightened and trotted after him, securing her newly liberated weapons onto her baldric. This might just work out after all.

~~0~~

High on the Throat of the World, Master Arngeir contemplated the sky, as he had every day of his adult life. In good weather or bad, it was his long standing habit to visit the overlook in the monastery training yard and he spent a great deal of his time in meditation there, communing with his beloved Kyne, Lady of Storm and Sky. Today, She was at peace, stretching around him like an empty canvas of vibrant blue, save for a single, large column of white smoke that drifted up from the landscape below.

The great black dragon roared its fury, a sound that echoed all the way up to the highest peak of the Throat's spire, as it circled the unfortunate town miles below. To Arngeir, it seemed like a speck of concentrated darkness, a piece of the Void made flesh. And the Scrolls have foretold of black wings in the cold that, when brothers' wage war, come unfurled. He recited the ancient verse in his mind as he observed the destruction, a passive witness and nothing more. Alduin, Firstborn of Akatosh, World-Eater and harbinger of doom. Like all Nords, he had heard the legends and stories at the knees of his elders, though in his meditations and studies since then he had come to view such things as both distraction and dangerous nuisance. Still, he could feel the subtle shift of the world, the movement of the threads of Time as they tangled and unraveled themselves, and he did not doubt that the prophecies had been correct. And so it has come.

He turned away from the spectacle and walked sedately back to the main building of the monastery. The end of the world did not concern him. All things with a beginning must also have an end. That was the proper order of reality. To all things that live, death must come, so that life may begin anew. Perhaps in the death of this world, other worlds waited to be born.

One thing did concern him, however. It was commonly believed that a Dragonborn, a mortal uniquely gifted by the god Akatosh with the immortal soul of a dragon, would arise in the last days to do battle with Alduin. Not a single Dragonborn had surfaced in the centuries since Tiber Septim had marched away to glory and godhood in the Imperial south, though Arngeir did not doubt that the seed of Dragon Blood remained in the world, hidden away until necessity or chance caused it them germinate again. And it was the responsibility of his order, the Greybeards, ordained upon them by Kyne who first taught the gift of the Voice to Man, to initiate and guide the newly fledged Dragonborn when he or she was revealed.

His fellow brothers were waiting in the hall of meditation when Arngeir arrived. Few young students had come to study at the monastery in recent years, but the old masters…Bolli, Wulfgar, and Einarth…remained as steadfast as the pillars of the stone building itself. He looked into their silent, expectant faces in turn, and realized that they, too, had felt the changing of the world-tides. Finding it unnecessary to speak the thing that they all understood to be true, he nodded. Watch, and wait. It will not be long now.

~~0~~

"Thank the gods, I was beginning to think we'd never get out of there," Ralof puffed, as he climbed the last few feet of broken rocks and gravel that lead out of the cavernous tunnels and into the sunlight. Brim hefted herself up behind him and looked around, swiveling her head to make sure that they had not walked into any possible danger before adding her agreement. Only trees and rocks and rippling hills bounded by higher mountains in the distance greeted her eyes, and she relaxed.

"Aye, too right," she replied, and sheathed her sword. After the two of them had worked their way down through the basement and cut through a small handful of Legion stragglers, not to mention a clutch of spiders the size of large dogs that had set up in one of the tunnels, the going had been remarkably easy if rather long. Ralof had proved to be a valuable partner, though, and she was pleased that she had not had to brave the escape on her own. It wasn't the same without Eagill, of course, but this Nord was quick enough with his axe and seemed to have a bit more between the ears than her former business partner could have claimed on his best day.

A roar rent the air, and instinctively Brim ducked and hurried behind a large rock. How does this thing keep finding me? Ralof dropped down beside her, and they watched the forbidding, serpentine form of the dragon ride the air currents through the valley and swing away to the north east. When it was out of sight, Ralof rose and breathed a sigh of relief, and Brim followed suit more hesitantly. She had already been careless with keeping track of her foes once. She would not make the same mistake twice.

"I don't know about you, but I don't think we should stay here and see if it comes back," Ralof told her, and turned to start down the path that led away from the cave entrance. Brim fell in next to him, keeping a wary eye on the sky. "This place will be swarming with Imperials soon enough, anyway, and we don't want to be here when that happens."

"What's this business with your people and the Legion, eh?" she asked, finally, as they walked. She had made the connection between Ulfric Stormcloak, the supposed king, and the soldiers of the same name, but what that had to do with the price of ale she had not the slightest idea. Obviously, they had upset someone somewhere.

"You really don't know?" he replied, frowning. "Surely, word of the civil war has reached Cyrodiil…"

"I'm not much for politics," she interrupted, pre-empting him. Not the kind your lot seemed to be wrapped up in anyways. He nodded at that, as if understanding. It was a common attitude everywhere, no doubt. Most of the people she knew couldn't care less about the goings on of kings and soldiers, so long as they had a bit of gold in their own pockets and a meal on their plates come nightfall.

"The true Nords of Skyrim have had enough of the Empire's boot on our necks. We're fighting for our freedom. Jarl Ulfric challenged the High King and beat him in fair combat, and now the Empire accuses him of murder and calls for his head."

"Ain't that just bleeding typical." Brim commented conversationally, as if sharing his outrage. In all honesty, she didn't give a toss about Skyrim or Nords or the Empire, for that matter, but it was always good policy to be agreeable towards people who did. He looked up at her, then, surprised.

"I hadn't expected an Imperial like you to…not that…I mean..."

"Oh, aye. It's just the same down in the cities. Bloody Legion. Crashing around so as decent people can't hear themselves think, cutting the heads off folk without so much as a 'by your leave'. You lads have the right idea, and no mistake."

"If you feel that way, you should come with me and join the fight," Ralof replied, earnestly. "We always need more recruits, and someone like you could really make a difference. I haven't seen many women who could wield a sword like you did back there in the tunnels."

"I just might at that," she replied, noncommittally, and he looked anxiously around them.

"For now, we should head to Riverwood. My sister runs the mill there, and I'm sure she'll be able to give us shelter while we decide what to do next. We're in Imperial-held territory here, but if we get to the village ahead of the news of Helgen, it should be safe enough. If any soldiers turn up, just let me do the talking."

Brim nodded her assent, and they set off at a jog along the path. Insects hummed through the wildflowers that were scattered along the sides of the dirt road, the sun shone down and warmed the otherwise cool air, and she could hear the soothing susurrus of rushing water in the distance. If she had not been covered in dirt and grime, smelling to high heavens, and expecting a scaly bringer of a fiery death to show back up at any instant, it would have been a rather nice day.

As they rounded a bend in the trail, Brim spotted an odd collection of stones ahead just off of the path. They were clearly set up there by people, arranged in a triangle on a low stone and clay platform and worn smooth by age or touch. As they approached, she could see the intricate carvings that laced in regular patterns across their surface.

"The Guardian Stones," Ralof informed her, guessing at her next question. He stopped, taking the opportunity to rest for a moment. "The ancient Nords set them up here ages ago. The stories say that they're supposed to impart a blessing on those who touch them. Go ahead, see for yourself."

Skeptically, Brim stepped up onto the platform and studied the three oblong objects. Most of the carvings made no sense to her, but she could see the definite outline of figures carved into the front of each stone. One wielded an axe as if just about to cleave an enemy in two. Another, very clearly a mage of some kind, raised a staff in one hand and threw the other hand forward as if to cast a spell. The last bore a figure that Brim found familiar immediately and she smile. She reached out to caress the grooves of the cloaked, crouched form, tracing the rudimentary face and the dagger in its hand, and felt the briefest tingle in her palm as the stone warmed to her touch. We understand each other then. Good.

"The Thief, huh?" she heard Ralof say, as she turned back to him. He did not appear to disapprove of her choice, exactly, though his expression seemed reserved. "It's not too late to take charge of your own fate, you know."

"Aye, I suppose that's why I'm here," she retorted, lightly. She watched as he moved forward and brushed his fingers over the Warrior Stone for good luck, and they continued on. He eyed her carefully as they loped side by side along the road, which had turned to follow the bank of a fast-moving river.

"Smuggler, then? That's the only reason I can think of for anyone to be up in those mountains at this time of year."

"My mate was running sugar," she lied, casually, weaving Eagill's actual history into the cover she was spinning for herself on the fly, "I was just along to make sure he didn't get stiffed when he delivered the goods. Not too bright, you know. Poor sod."

"I'm sorry. We lost good men out there as well," he replied, apologetically, as if sorry he had brought it up. "Still, it sounds like a fresh start in Skyrim might not be the worst thing that could happen to you. I'm glad to have you along, anyway. I don't think I would have made it out alone."

Brim flashed a smile at him. She was beginning to like the Nord. He was uncomplicated, said what was on his mind, and seemed easy enough to get along with. All fine traits in a man, even if he did reek of honesty. If this village he was leading her to had a tavern, she might make bold enough to buy him a drink out of the coin she had collected while they were making their way down through the fort cellars. He had pulled her off of the block and fought at her back, it was the least she could do. And then, she would sort herself out and be on her way. Before she had stopped writing, Evylie's letters had come from Windhelm, wherever that was. Hopefully, she would still be living there, and would see fit to extend a measure of hospitality to a younger sister in need until Brim could figure out where to go next.

~~0~~

The sight of Riverwood was almost enough to make Ralof shed tears of relief, but he remained cautious. He was so tired that he felt like he would just collapse, snoring, in the road at any moment, but there was no telling what news had already come ahead of them and they needed to be careful. If the Imperials got their hands on him, he would find himself in a prison cell or back at the block before the day was out, and Brim would most likely meet the same fate by association. He cast a glance at the Imperial girl beside him, her face dirty and her dark hair hanging in wild, matted tresses around her shoulders. Neither of them looked like good, upstanding citizens at the moment.

"My sister is around here somewhere. Probably at the mill," he told her, slowing to a casual walk as they entered the gates and he turned onto the footbridge than ran across the river towards the sawmill. "It looks like we're ahead of any soldiers, but we need to talk to Gerdur first and get undercover as soon as possible. Stay close to me."

Brim nodded and hurried after him as they skirted the long structure of the mill. She was a sharp one, and he was beginning to hope that she would stick around awhile and follow him back to Windhelm. First, though, they would have to get out of enemy territory. Mercifully, he spotted Gerdur quickly, sharpening axes for her woodcutters at her workbench, and hurried towards her.

"Brother!" she exclaimed, her eyes widening as she noticed him and stood from her grindstone, looking him up and down, "Are you on leave? What happened to you? And who is this? One of your comrades?"

He felt her eyes slide past him to Brim, and held up his hands. There would be time to explain, but not here. He could already see her assistant, that elf Faendal, eying them suspiciously.

"Gerdur, I'm fine. But we need to talk. Somewhere safe."

"Of course, come with me." Gerdur had always been the sensible one in the family. He could see the worry beginning in her eyes, but she was practical enough to know when to hold her questions. She turned and started towards a grassy knoll by river, far enough away from the mill and the main part of the town where they would not attract attention. "Hod, get down here."

Ralof looked up to see his brother-in-law lean over the railing of the mill and peer down at them. He had always gotten along well with the man and had spent more than one evening laughing over a pint of mead with him at the inn, which was fortunate now that he was imposing himself on their home.

"Uncle Ralof!" a boy shouted, joyfully, as he pelted across the footbridge and Ralof winced, looking around. It was Gerdur's son Frodnar, his nephew, bigger by a handspan now than the last time he had seen him. The child stared up with an almost worshipful glint in his eyes, his scruffy grey dog panting behind him. "Can I see your axe? How many Imperials have you killed?"

"Go and watch the road. Come and tell us if you see any soldiers." his mother told him, sharply, and the boy looked crestfallen.

"But, mama, I want to stay and talk to Uncle Ralof…"

"Frodnar…" Gerdur warned, and Ralof decided to intervene with a more subtle tactic. Glancing at his sister's pursed lips and stormy expression, he hunkered down in front of his nephew, grinning.

"Look at you. Almost a man," he said, approvingly, and the boy grinned back brightly, delighted at the praise from his favorite uncle. "You'll be big enough to join the fight yourself soon."

"That's right! Don't worry, Uncle Ralof, I won't let any of those soldiers get you!" Frodnar exclaimed and raced away back into town. Ralof stood, grunting as his sore muscles straightened, and returned his sister's half-smile. You get more flies with honey than vinager. Hod arrived at that moment, and so the explanations began. Gerdur listened, her expression shifting from doubt to serious concern as he told her about the dragon and his escape from Helgen. He saw her glance around the open sky, as if expecting to see the dragon at any moment. Of course she's worried, she has a village and people to protect, he thought.

"I hate to put your family in danger, Gerdur, but…"

"Nonsense." She replied, quickly, in a tone that brooked no disagreement. She glanced up at Brim, who had stood silently by during the conversation, watching the road nervously, and nodded. "You and your friend are welcome to stay as long as you need to. Any friend of my brother's is welcome here."

He saw Brim smile, and relaxed. He would have to find some way to repay his sister for this. It really was more of a risk than he would ever have felt comfortable asking of them before. If the Imperials found out that Gerdur had harbored fugitives, she and her husband would be in serious trouble. The Legion had cracked down hard on sympathizers recently, and the results were not easy to stomach.

"There is something you could do for me, though," she said to Brim, who cocked her head in surprise at having been put on the spot, "The Jarl in Whiterun needs to know about the dragon. If it attacks, Riverwood is defenseless and we need to request additional guards from the city. Ralof is too well-known around here, they would know him for a Stormcloak on sight, but you…it can wait until after you've both had some food and rest, of course."

"I think that can just about be arranged. I'd be an awful ingrate otherwise, eh? Just point me in the right direction." Brim replied, completely unruffled, and Ralof smiled, relieved. He was beginning to like the Imperial. Maybe she had been involved with some dishonest types before, but she seemed like a decent person to him and pleasant enough. There was always time to change, and maybe some better company and getting involved in a good cause would put her on the right track. His sister smiled, too, and nodded.

"I'll take them to the house. Show them where everything is," Hod said and, gratefully, Ralof fell in behind him with Brim picking up the rear. He could not remember the last time he had eaten anything or slept, and he had no doubt that the same was true for his companion. After her jaunt into Whiterun tomorrow to deliver the news to Jarl Balgruuf, they could make further plans. For now, it was enough to know they would soon have some food and warm place to sleep.

~~0~~

Brim felt that she would never again in her life underestimate the pleasure of being washed, fed, and dressed in clothing that did not smell and look like it had been drug through a pigsty twice. Ralof's sister had given her a second-hand kirtle to wear, as her old togs were fit for little else than stoking the fire. She sat with her back to the hearth and fluffed out her hair, drying back to its normal shade of dark brown now that it was clean, and smiled at Ralof, who had settled down on one of the pallets that Hod had laid out for them in front of the fire earlier.

The house had grown quiet as the family had already gone to bed, leaving the two guests to situate themselves. Ralof had opted to take the pallet closest to the door, Brim supposed, out of some sense of obligation. Isn't that right gentlemanly of him.

"You'll be heading back to your army fellows tomorrow, I suspect," she remarked, and he shrugged.

"I'll probably end up hiding out here for a few days. I'm more than a little stove up from the fight, and I want to give the Legion time to settle down before I strike out back for Windhelm."

"You're going to Windhelm?" she exclaimed, surprised. Well, that's convenient. "My sister lives in Windhelm with her husband. Was thinking of heading there to see if she would put me up for a bit."

He smiled at her, propping himself up on one elbow, as he watched her combing her fingers through her hair to untangle the knots. The kirtle was a bit more form-fitting than what she had been wearing until now, and she noticed with an inward smile that his eyes move further down her figure than her face. He wasn't a bad looking man himself in this light, with the dirt scrubbed off of him.

"You should come with me, then. It's a good city, and I could put in a good word for you, if you wanted to join up with Ulfric's men."

"You think he made it out safe, then?" she asked, more for conversations sake than real curiousity.

"I know he did," Ralof replied confidently. True believer, this one, she observed, as he continued, "Ulfric Stormcloak is a hero, it will take more than a dragon to kill him. And I know the others would have given their lives to get him to safety. He's Skyrim's only hope to throw off the Imperial oppressors."

She nodded and stretched, yawning deeply, as she leaned forward and crawled onto her own pallet. Her hair was dry enough for the purpose by now. The subtle shift from Ralof's prone form told her that her closeness, now that she looked more like a woman and less like a soldier, was having more of an effect on him that he would have liked to admit. A thought struck her, and she glanced towards the back of the darkened house, listening for the gentle snores that were starting to waft from the family's sleeping area. No better time to live a little than when you've spent the rest of the day half an inch from death.

"Well, and I never did thank you properly for saving my life, did I?" she said, smoothly, as if just remembering while she turned on her side to face him. She could almost feel his pulse quicken from where she lay, and when she reached out and laid a hand on his chest, her fingers pressing against the mat of fine hairs and flesh that showed at the top of his shirt, she felt his immediate physical response. It's been that long for you, has it? He stared at her, as unmoving as if she had turned him to stone, and she moved closer, her lips just a hair's breadth away from his now. Since she had met no resistance, she let her hand slip deeper under his shirt, her palm spreading across the firm muscles of his chest, which began to quiver almost imperceptibly. "We'll have to remedy that."

She kissed him then, because she knew she had him, and felt him respond immediately, his arms wrapping around her. He clasped her to him with the kind of raw need…for human contact, for life…that a person can only feel after they've stared death in the face, and she responded with equal zeal, pulling him back with her onto the pallet and hitching her skirts as he fumbled with the laces of his breeches, trying to be quiet despite the urgency.

When it was done, Brim smoothed her clothes back down and snuggled into his chest, falling asleep with a smile on her face. And when she woke, late in the morning but well before him, she extricated herself quietly so as not to wake him, picked up her gear, and left without a sound. She would go and have a look at this Whiterun place, at least. It was possibly too soon to risk getting nicked by the city guard, but she could scout it out all the same. She had no intention of walking into anywhere as formal as a nobleman's keep, which is what she assumed a Jarl entailed, but a city was better than a village for hiding, and she could get some information and the lay of the land there. Or at least find a few things worth pinching before she headed up to Windhelm.

I know someone was hoping for Hadvar, but Ralof made a lot more sense given the situation and the plot bunnies insisted. I should also note that the T rating for this story is for violence and sexual themes, but I'm a "fade to black" kind of writer when it comes to sex. I blame my neo-Victorian upbringing, and I always think that the stuff you have to imagine on that vein is more fun than the stuff that's actually written down.