Skyrim: The Unlikely Companions – Chapter 1
By the time Cirilonde woke up, it was almost morning and she found herself in the company of the Dark Elf, who sat shackled on the cart's bench. She too, was shackled and lay on the cart's bottom. "Try not to strain yourself and stay down. They hit you hard," the Dark Elf said. "I'm sorry for what happened, I never meant to get you into trouble."
"Shut up back there!" One of the soldier's at the front of the horse-drawn, caged car snapped.
"Surely they will understand if-,"
"They won't." The Dark Elf had lowered his voice so only they could hear each other. "This is Skyrim. You tried to help me. They saw you tried to help me. And that's enough for them."
Cirilonde grew quiet and she wanted to be angry with the Dark Elf, but what was the point? Who would believe her?
"I'm sorry." The Dark Elf sounded genuinely remorseful. "I know you meant well."
"I never should have left home." Cirilonde hissed in pain and reached for her head as her vision grew hazy and it wasn't just the remorse and dread that made her nauseous. A concussion. Bastards!
"I'd be careful if I were you." The Dark Elf warned. "I doubt they'll take kindly to you trying to use magic."
Much to her chagrin, she knew he was right. Nevertheless, she knew she had to tend to this injury and she used her fur mantle to cover up the glow of her healing incantation. Feeling better, she looked at the Dark Elf, who had made sure no one saw her as well. "What is your name?"
"Ganir Mathendis," he replied. "And yours?"
"Cirilonde. Cirilonde Valanocke. Not that the name means anything here, apparently."
"Will you shut up? I'm trying to sleep!" Cirilonde was only now aware of the fact that they hadn't been the only ones in the cart, but were accompanied by six other men and women who were clad in blue armour. Bear or wolf fur capes and cloaks kept them warm.
How long had she been out for?!
"Fucking knife-ears." The same man grumbled as he pulled his fur hood further over his eyes and leaned against a comrade to catch some sleep.
"Don't mind Jorik. We had a rough night, just like you, as you can no doubt tell." Cirilonde looked up at the Nord who sat across from Ganir. His blond hair and beard were caked with mud and blood. His bright blue eyes were far too merry for one who was riding a prison carriage. "Your friend here told me all about your little mishap."
Cirilonde locked eyes with Ganir and wondered what he'd said.
"Good job on taking some of that Thalmor filth down." Ralof said.
"So, you're Stormcloaks?" Cirilonde asked, sitting upright at long last once she felt confident enough. "What happened to you that you got captured?"
"Aye lass, that's right. I, Ralof, am proud to call myself one of them. Us Stormcloaks are Jarl Ulfric's loyal men in the fight to free Skyrim!" Ralof beamed with pride.
One of the Imperial soldiers who drove the cart suddenly spun and cracked the whip at them. "If I hear another word from any of you I'll have your tongues ripped from your mouths!"
Ganir, like the others, had raised his hands in defence. The Dark Elf's eyes had narrowed into thin slits as he glared daggers at the guard's back. "I'm assuming that's your Jarl?" Ganir asked in a hushed tone, nodding at the dark-blond Nord whose face was caged in a crude, metal construct to gag him. Cirilonde did not only find it brutish, but wondered why such a barbaric method was needed only for this man. But rather than ask, she kept listening.
The man clearly had to be their Jarl given that while his ornate armour was still functional for battle, it was adorned with white bear fur and ornaments.
"Surely you can recognize our Jarl, the great Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim, my friend?!" Ralof exclaimed his disbelief as quietly as he could.
"One wouldn't think it, but we're not exactly from around here," Ganir replied dryly.
But Cirilonde felt her stomach churn and her body freeze over. Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion against the Empire! Granted, there was no way she could've expected this of all outcomes, but it certainly did not bode well for any of them. Just why hadn't she stayed at home?!
"Where….Where are they taking us?" she managed to choke out.
"The fuck does it matter to you, knife-ear?" The Nord to her right sneered. "The Thalmor will probably pardon you."
"I'm not with the Thalmor!" Her tone was more vicious than she looked and it took the Nord off-guard for a brief moment. "Do you think I would've been here otherwise? Has the frost gotten to your brain that you forgot how I got here to begin with?"
She was at the end of her ropes. How could her name, or Taurmillan's for that matter, save her now? Who would believe her? Especially all the way out here.
"It doesn't matter. Either way, I made a huge mistake coming here…" Cirilonde looked down at her trembling bound hands and shaking knees.
"Don't we all make mistakes?" Ralof said with a wry grin. "Don't dwell on it and let your thoughts be at home, lass. Sovngarde awaits us."
Cirilonde could only nod. Her body had gone completely numb. She'd already known, but the confirmation was nevertheless one that made everyone grow grim and quiet.
She buried her face in her hands and chided herself. Why did I have to come here?! Wondering how he felt, she looked up at Ganir. In the light of the setting sun, she could now see his face properly. He was a rough, handsome-looking Dark Elf. His face was gaunt, with high cheekbones and a beard graced his sharp jawline. His thick, black hair was half-bound back into a ponytail. The golden earrings that pierced his ears glimmered in the sun.
What was going through his mind? For someone about to die he looked oddly at peace with the idea. But she asked no questions and instead began to pray. Auri-El, have mercy on me. Stendarr, forgive me. Mara, look out for my parents and ease their grief. This foolish choice was my own!
After an hour or so, a village appeared in the distance and Ralof seemed to perk up a little, albeit with a bitter smile. "Helgen…" Ralof reminisced. "Used to be sweet on a girl from here." His lips curled in a smile as he no doubt recalled a most fond memory. "Wonder if they still make the Juniper Berry mead."
"Open the gates!" yelled the Imperial horseman that led the caravan, which consisted of multiple horsemen and two carriages full of Stormcloak rebels and the two elves. Everyone was broken from their self-pitying train of thoughts and prayers.
Helgen was a simple village but the Imperials had turned it into a military outpost. A fortress, a pair of watch towers and walkways had been built to surround and protect the village. Some of the villagers, who had been up and about early for work, looked on as the caravan rode in but didn't look at the prisoners, averting their eyes.
"Why am I not surprised to see the Thalmor are involved in this?" Ralof narrowed his eyes and many heads turned to look at the three High Elves on horseback just past the gates. The leader of the caravan, an Imperial General broke away from the caravan and led his horse to the three elves. "General Tullius, the Thalmor's personal bootlicker." Ralof sneered.
Two of the Thalmor soldiers were men, clad in the typical, black and golden, polished, Elven armour. But the one amidst them was an Altmer woman clad in more elaborate black and gold, leather robes that were decorated with a variety of insignias. She had to be a high-ranking Thalmor. Her long, dark-blonde hair reached just past her shoulders and she briefly frowned upon the sight of two elves on the cart with the Stormcloaks. She then turned her attention to General Tullius.
Cirilonde looked at Ganir, not sure if she was looking for comfort or answers, but as the cart came to a halt, the realization they would all die, hit her hard.
"Move it! Get your asses up!" A female, Imperial captain snapped her orders like a fisherman's wife. Sore and exhausted from the journey, knowing how it was about to end, made them all rise reluctantly and do as they were told.
Cirilonde stood shaking in her boots from both the cold and fear. Her mouth was clamped shut and her jaw was clenched. She was outright terrified and looked at the ground, all too aware of how pathetic and miserable she looked.
"Chin up, lass. Even an elf deserves to die with some dignity." Ralof tried to comfort her.
"When Hadvar here calls your name, line up!" The Imperial captain continued. "Wouldn't want to keep the headsman waiting now, would we?!" she added with a malicious smile as some of the men swallowed when they looked at the headsman; a huge, hooded man who was sharpening his massive executioner's axe.
Hadvar was a young Nord with messy, brown hair. He read the names of the Stormcloaks from a booklet in his hand. In passing, the Stormcloaks shot their glares and spat on the ground at Hadvar's feet, which earned them a kick or a shove from the guards, but they held their heads high. But with each name, Cirilonde only grew more anxious and though she didn't think it possible, she began to shake more.
"-Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof defiantly raised his chin at Hadvar before he was shoved towards the line-up. Cirilonde noticed that Hadvar then looked at the two elves in front of him that remained. Not only were these two an odd pair to remain, but they weren't on the list either… "Captain. What about these two?"
"Insurgent scum that killed Thalmor officers near the border," the female captain spat on the ground at Ganir's feet. The Dark Elf raised his brow at her. "Tullius said to the block with them."
Cirilonde had already known there would be no way out of this. It was nevertheless cruel to her that any glimmer of hope she had held was brutally shattered. Her mouth moved to protest but no sound came and she and Ganir were shoved to the line-up for execution.
Only the sound of a breeze sweeping through the village was heard. The villagers ushered their children inside and closed the shutters of their windows. Only a few remained to watch. Tears left Cirilonde's eyes as so many regrets washed over her and she closed her eyes to bask in the sunlight a final time. Mother. Father. Forgive me…Mara, preserve and guard them.
She looked at General Tullius, who approached Ulfric. The two men stared each other down for a brief moment but it was Tullius who had the final laugh. He shook his head. "Jarl Ulfric of Windhelm. A great many call you a true hero of Skyrim. But no hero would abuse his power by plunging his homeland in chaos by murdering their High King in an attempt to usurp the throne. Today, the reign of terror you and your 'Stormcloaks' left in their wake, comes to an end. Any last words?"
Ulfric's face contorted with pure rage as the wicked, iron contraption around his head prevented him from speaking. All that came from him, was a muffled growl of frustration.
The General savoured the humiliation of his foe and turned to the headsman, who had been joined by a priestess who had emerged from the tower. "Then without further ado, let's get started then…Priestess. You are free to give them their last rites."
The priestess was clad in a humble and hooded, brown robe. She fearfully glanced at the headsman and his axe before stepping forward with raised hands, looking at the miserable lot that was about to meet their demise. "May this solemn hour be filled with peace as we commend your souls-,"
"Just shut it, you wretch!" One of the Stormcloaks spat on her robes. " We're not a bunch of milk-drinking dogs. We are the true sons and daughters of Skyrim! We do not fear-,!"
The Nord's voice was cut short as an Imperial Legionnaire impaled the Stormcloak on his sword from behind. Blood spattered from the Nord's wound and his mouth was open wide with a silenced cry of pain and disbelief. He desperately gasped for the air which had been knocked from his lungs that also filled up with blood. Morbid gurgling came from his throat as blood poured out of his mouth and from his wound.
"Justice!" Yelled one of the villagers with a raised fist.
"You cowardly Imperial dogs!" Snarled a female, battle-scared Stormcloak. Her face was tear-stained in helpless rage over the injustice that befell her comrade, but she was held back by the other Stormcloaks.
The Nord frantically clawed at the slippery and bloodied blade protruding from his torso and though no more was heard than horrible, gurgling noises, the Nord finally collapsed dead to the ground in a pool of his own blood.
"Anyone else feeling talkative?" Tullius' eyes swept over the Stormcloaks who glared at him, seething with silent, helpless rage. Cirilonde was aware how she'd jumped to Ganir as if he could keep her safe. She was repulsed by Tullius who seemed to enjoy this. She couldn't even tear her eyes from the dead Nord who lay face down in the mud and blood that pooled under him.
Savages and squabbling apes…She recalled Taurmillan's words and she tried so desperately to shake it from her mind but this was outright, blatant slaughter! She never thought she'd ever see so much blood again or witness something so horrible.
A sudden strange and terrible, bone-chilling inhuman screech echoed through the skies and Ganir's eyes shot towards the sky like everyone else's'. What in Oblivion could that have been?
"It's nothing." Tullius snapped and then pointed at Ganir. "Get the Dark Elf on the block."
The young Imperial legionnaire who'd shoved Ganir forward immediately backed off when the Dark Elf glared at him. After briefly locking eyes with Cirilonde, Ganir then walked towards the block. He was so serene it was almost unnatural.
The Dark Elf even looked the headsman straight in the eye before giving him a nod of acknowledgement. He then knelt down after moving his own hair out of the way to bare his neck and rested his head on the stone block, which was stained with old blood.
When the headsman raised his axe and Ganir closed his eyes, Cirilonde turned her head away, unable to watch. But that horrible sound of steel cleaving flesh never came. Instead, cries of utter fear rung in her sensitive ears and the ground shook. When she looked, she, nor the headsman or anyone else could believe their eyes.
"What in the world is THAT?!" Tullius had drawn his sword but had backed away, his eyes wide. As black as the night, a massive, wicked shadow had swept down from the skies and perched itself on the tower that overlooked Helgen's square. The stone tower's parapets crumbled under the sheer force of the dragon's talons as it secured itself firm in place. The dragon's red, burning eyes peered down at the pitiful and terrified mortals below him.
Dragon…! Cirilonde's mind reeled to register that what she was seeing was even real and time seemed to have come to a slow. The dragon's hide and scales were pitch-black and its eyes burned bright and red like Ganir's. Thick, wicked spines protruded from the beast's back and its enormous head was adorned by a crown of dark, crooked horns. Its enormous maw donned razor-sharp teeth the size of her arm.
The headsman was the first to gather himself and swung his axe to strike at the beast's snout, but the dragon retaliated and snapped its jaws shut over the executioner. The man's cries were silenced when the dragon jerked its head and sent the lower half of the headsman's body flying while gorging down the rest. The beast's maw then opened and fearing its fiery breath as in legends, everyone dove towards the ground, covering their heads.
The dragon's roar thundered over the square and though they had no idea how it was possible, but it was as if the beast's 'voice' had commanded the clouds to gather, choking the sky black with a storm. "Gather the villagers!" Tullius cried once he gathered himself. "Rally the men!"
But all hell had broken loose as the villagers broke out in panic and cried out for everyone to run and by the time the Imperials had managed to line up into a formation, they were knocked back by the dragon who unfolded its wings and took off. They attempted to give chase, but everyone, including the prisoners, scrambled and scattered when lightning struck the square at least three times in a row before it hit the tower. The stone shattered and the rubble was sent flying everywhere.
She wasn't sure how or what, but by the time Cirilonde gathered herself, she realized she had been thrown back against the cart that had brought them here.
"There's no time to waste. Get up!"
Had she been sharp, she would've questioned how Ganir had managed to escape his bonds, but she was too dazed and confused from being slammed into the cart that she stumbled after the Dark Elf who dragged her along into the tower. Here, they found more Stormcloaks who'd made their shelter there as well.
Ulfric was there as well and they had just managed to remove the wicked, metal contraption off his head. "Just what in Oblivion is going on, Ulfric?!" Ralof exclaimed. "I mean, a dragon? A legendary harbinger of the end times?!" He made to discard the metal gag but threw it another way when he saw the two elves had made their way into the tower as well, raising a brow.
Ulfric narrowed his eyes at the two elves, not sure yet whether he could trust them or not. Though his men had been lucky to make their way here into the tower, not all of them had made it here unscathed and were injured. "Legends don't burn down villages," he said ominously. "But we need to get out of here, now."
"I'll check upstairs." Said one of the Stormcloak men and he rushed up the stone steps.
"Igritte." An old, bearded Nord knelt down at the side of a female Nord, who lay curled up in agony, clenching her stomach.
"I...won't make it. Just leave me." Igritte panted. Had she not been this injured, Cirilonde definitely wouldn't want to meet this woman in battle. The deep, old scars that marred her face and wild, bloodied white-blonde mane was no doubt a terrifying sight to meet in battle.
"Untie me." Cirilonde held her bound hands out. "Please. I can help her. I'm a healer."
Cirilonde let out a surprised, little shriek when Ulfric grabbed a knife with such speed she feared he would attack her, but her cheeks grew hot red in embarrassment when he unhinged the cuffs from her wrists by breaking the shackles apart with a dagger. "Do your best, she-elf. Igritte's one of my finest…"
Cirilonde knelt down and though Igritte protested at first, she let the High Elf push her arms away to reveal the grizzly wound she'd sustained. The woman was impaled by a splintered fragment of wood and was bleeding profusely.
This…is going to take a bit of work…
"Still think you can heal this, She-Elf?" As harsh as Igritte tried to sound, there was an unmistakable fear in her eyes.
Cirilonde bit down on her tongue. She despised being referred to as 'she-elf', but she had to focus on the task at hand. "I can, but I will need you to hold still." Stern as she sounded, her body shaking, she also felt somewhat at comfort now as she had been in this situation so many times before, doing what she was good at. Flashbacks of the injured Thalmor soldiers immediately greeted her and she pushed them away.
"Ralof," she said to the only Nord who'd been friendly to her. The Nord nodded and knelt down at her and Igritte's side. The High Elf's eyes were a vivid green and reminded him of the plains surrounding Whiterun. "I need you to pull that wood out of her at a slow and steady pace. Don't worry about her bleeding out, I've got it, but we'll need to carry her. She's lost a great deal of blood."
"It's too risky, my Jarl," Igritte protested through grit teeth. "Leave me behind. I do not fear death."
"And leave one of my fiercest fighters behind? I think not." Ulfric nodded at Ralof and signalled for his men to guard the door. The dragon's roars still thundered overhead, along with the rumble and chaos of the storm. This racket was accompanied by the clatter of the Imperials' armour and boots and the horrified cries of the villagers.
"Come on lass, stick with me," Ralof tapped Igritte's cheek, who growled in response. "This will be over in a pinch." Ralof's eyes never left Igritte's and he held one of her hands while his other took a firm hold of the wooden stake that pierced her.
Only when Cirilonde nodded, did he pull and Igritte howled in pain. The Altmer's hands hovered over the wound and she closed her eyes to focus on channelling the magic through her body. Her incantation was song-like but shaky because of all the adrenaline surging through her. Her skin tingled ever so gently with the magic that powerfully surged through her veins. This energy emerged in a calm flow from her fingertips. Her hands grew warm and began to glow with a golden, healing energy. "Steady…" she ground out as it took effort for her to speak and cast at the same time. But she managed to guide the healing energy to weave the Nord's muscles, flesh and skin back together as the splintered wood was pulled out of Igritte's body.
"Tha…Thank you…" Igritte croaked weakly, collapsing against one of her comrades.
"I need a little help up here!" cried the Nord from upstairs. "If we clear the rubble away-,"
His voice was replaced by a terrified shriek. The whole tower shook when the dragon slammed against it, digging his claws and wing talons into the stone once again. The beast rammed the tower so hard with his head that part of the wall gave and trapped the Nord up there below the rubble. He lay there, helpless with a broken body, forced to stare into the dragon's eyes before the last thing he saw, was its burning maw. All that was heard then was the deafening roar of flames and the horrible, anguished cries of a man being burnt alive. The stench of burning, human flesh filled the tower.
The dragon didn't leave and everyone held their breath and stood frozen in fear. They could no longer even hear the racket outside as all they heard was the massive beast's breath and the scrape of its claws against the tower's exterior. The beast knew something was here and its hot sulphuric breath was as repulsive as it was suffocating for them.
After what seemed like ages, they all sighed in collective relief as the dragon kicked off against the tower, shaking it at its foundation, and flew off.
Ganir let go of Cirilonde, who he'd dragged along with him towards the doorway. He pushed it ajar so he could peer outside over the square to gage the situation outside. "We need to get out of here and fast. If we're quick, we can make our escape."
"It's not that easy, even in this chaos," Ralof argued, shaking his head. "The place is crawling with Imperials, who are no doubt cowering in Helgen's keep and we need to get through there to get out of here lest we fall prey to the dragon."
"We have to try," Ganir said. "They'll be far too occupied with the dragon and the villagers."
"The elf's got a point, Ralof. You should scout ahead with them." Ulfric then nodded at the older Nord, "Wodan and I will come after you with Igritte."
"Yes, my Jarl." And without hesitation, Ralof, Ganir and Cirilonde headed out the tower after Ganir had made sure it was safe. They had no time to specifically register what horrible fate had befallen Helgen and its inhabitants, but Cirilonde couldn't ignore the heat of the flames from the nearby houses that were ablaze. Charred bodies of men, women and children lay in the square, if not in the doorways of their home in attempt to reach out and help their beloved before that terrible fate befell them.
Not a single Imperial soldier paid them any heed as they were far too occupied with the futile attempt to regroup and either attack the dragon or defend the survivors who tried to escape. Ralof tore an axe from a nearby woodpile and ran ahead of them, across the square towards the Keep where they came to an abrupt halt. Hadvar and two, Imperial soldiers stood in the way.
"Ralof, you damned traitor!" Hadvar had his lip pulled up in a snarl and his eyes burned into Ralof's. "You won't get away this time!"
"Out. Of. My. WAY, Hadvar!" Ralof yelled and swung his axe as a warning that he would fight. "I won't hesitate to cut you and your friends down without a second thought."
Ganir kept his eyes on the Imperials and pushed Cirilonde behind him. Though she was quite certain she could defend herself or outrun them if needed, she didn't want to leave either of them behind. Not to mention that Ganir could easily-,
She hissed in pain and swore under her breath when Ganir threw her and himself to the ground and so did Ralof. The Imperial soldiers cried out when the dragon swooped down and grabbed them as they had been too slow to do what Hadvar, Ralof and the elves had done.
The soldiers struggled in vain to break free from the dragon's grasp and cried out when the beast let go of them and they were sent plummeting to their demise.
Ralof was the first to gather himself and stormed to the entrance of the keep with Ganir. Cirilonde hesitated, but grabbed Hadvar by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "This isn't the moment to fight!" she snapped at him when he pulled away from her in confusion and distrust, but he followed when he looked at what little remained of Helgen; the fate of this village and his comrades was sealed, and so was his if he remained.
"Tell that to Ralof. If we survive." He said to her as they ran towards the Keep's entrance. Once inside, they slammed the heavy doors shut behind them and leaned against it to catch their breaths. Cirilonde could tell that this Keep had been erected with the intent for it to be temporary as the wall was lined with bunks on the left with storage chests at the foot ends. To the right, there was a long table, littered with filthy bowls, utensils and untouched meals.
When he saw Hadvar had come as well, Ralof readied his axe but Cirilonde jumped in front of him, raising her hands in defence. "This is not the time to fight, please!"
"She's right." Ganir grabbed a hold of Ralof's arm and pushed it down. "We need to focus on getting out of here. He could help us."
"I doubt it," Ralof spat on the ground. "One. Wrong. Move…" Hadvar and he stared each other down for a moment. "But if you get us out of here, I might not kill you."
"You've always been such the reasonable sort," Hadvar sneered. "But I don't have much choice now, do I?"
"You don't, but before anything else, mind telling me where my weapons are?" Ganir asked Hadvar. "I know your little Imperial friends put them in a chest which they brought in here."
Hadvar let out a frustrated growl. He was helping three prisoners escape and arm themselves no matter how he twisted or turned it, but what choice did he have? "Over there," he nodded at the screen to the far back on the right side of the room. "That's where we store confiscated goods."
"He can get them himself." Ralof stepped forward when Hadvar made to help. "No. Sudden. Moves. Go for it, Ganir."
But the Dark Elf needn't be told as he'd made his way over there and was surprised to find the chest wasn't even locked. No doubt because of the sudden uproar from the dragon's appearance. He found his daggers and after strapping the sheaths back to his belt and inspecting his daggers, he sheathed them.
"All right," Ganir stepped aside and gestured for Hadvar to lead the way. "And like Ralof said, no funny business. These daggers aren't for decoration."
Hadvar kept his hands up as he walked past the two distrusting men towards the door, which he then opened for them. The fortress was a maze and Hadvar was their guide and as they continued their way, they found that they were not the only ones who hoped to make a desperate escape. Rather than aid their comrades, a handful of legionnaires scrapped together what they could before they ran as fast as their legs could carry them.
The odd four of them had pushed themselves against the wall until the deserters were gone, but Hadvar's sigh was not one of relief and he ran a hand through his hair. "They'll have me hanged for this…"
"It's no point in dying here because of that dragon." Ralof actually felt for the Imperial who was his sworn enemy. "And we need to warn people about this beast. No doubt, Ulfric will know what to do, so let's go."
"I can't!" Hadvar angrily tore his arm from Ralof's grasp. "Don't you understand?! I can't abandon my comrades!"
Ralof backed off and it was clear he understood. "You're on your honour then, Imperial dog, but I warn you, the next time we meet, we will fight."
"If you live to see that day." Hadvar snorted as he backed away from them even further, but he threw them a key. "This is all I can do. You'll find your way out from here, but I need to be with my comrades and hope Tullius calls for us to retreat."
Cirilonde caught the key and after thanking him, Hadvar ran back outside to join his comrades while the Stormcloak and elves continued their way.
