Chapter 2
Helgen.
The cart bumped along the uneven road, the sound of rocks being move from beneath the wheel came to him as he listened intently. He was waiting for some clue as to where he was. He would open his eyes, but it wouldn't matter, they were sightless, been that way for as long as he could remember. He scowled as he thought of the hit on the back of his head and the one word that had been uttered by an unknown man - traitor. That one word still irked him, but he knew he would probably never figure out who had called him that. Sure he could listen for the voice, try and escape and then kill the man for the slur, but something told him that plan wouldn't be easy. He shook his head, he was no traitor. He maybe a bastard, or so his mother told him, but not a traitor. He was a man coming back to his homelands after being banished when he was a babe. It was time he wandered his homeland, learnt about the people here.
Mikael scowled as he turned his face towards the man sitting off to his right. No one needed to tell him this man had wealth. The rich, soft furs of his cloak or the quality wool of his heavy shirt brushed against his bare arms. Then there was the lacking scent of overbearing sweat. This one smelled cleaner than any of the other occupants of the cart. But what was really off, the presence of the man was large, larger than the size of the man himself, and that told him he had to be a leader of some type. He didn't know who this man was or why he was captured, and he didn't want to know.
He sightless gaze turned towards the man sitting in front of him. This man smelled like he hadn't seen a bath in a very long while, and spoke like a warrior. He didn't need to know anything else, he had all the knowledge of that man he needed. But what confused him the most was the last occupant of the cart, he didn't have a presence of any type. It was almost as if he small, meek. His voice always held the same fear Mikael could smell off of him. None of the other occupants smelled as strongly of fear, the meek man scent of fear burned his eyes. Mikael turned his way once more when he spoke, he could hear desperation, terror, in his voice, but what caused those emotions he wasn't sure.
He leaned his head back once more, thinking back to when he was younger. It hadn't been easy, not being able to see, it had been damn difficult. But his adoptive father never gave up on him, nor did his mother. They both forced him to learn how to use all his senses. If he didn't try, no one helped him, and if they didn't believe he was doing a good enough job he was left alone having to find his own way back to the house, or sleep outside if he couldn't find the door. The sad part, they lived in the main city, and not one person dared to interceded and help him or face the wrath his father. He was on the high council, close friends to the high king. When he developed enough muscle to swing a wooden blade he learnt how to fight. The training was grueling, sometimes lasting all day. He was never allowed to give up. When he could finally take a break his mother had him in the kitchen with the maids learning to cook. He didn't know how many times he had to be healed because he burned himself.
Then came the time where his father couldn't teach him anymore, another person was brought in to teach him. Half his day was spent with that man and the rest of his day was spent the mages tower. No one took it easy on him, it didn't matter what he was doing. In a way he still held a grudge, but in another way he was glad of it. It made him strong and self-sufficient to a point. It taught him one important thing, his senses gave him sight.
Idly, he wondered if he had made it past the border, if he was actually in Skyrim and not somewhere else. He was almost positive that he was in Skyrim; the accents of two of the men in the wagon were definitely Skyrim origin. Though the rich man hadn't said a word, which made him wonder what his problem was. There was also the change in scent from the trees and air told him as much. Plus there was the cold that bit at his skin, cooling his warm breath with each exhale.
He glanced up automatically when they passed beneath something. He was betting it was a gate of some type. The cool touch of a shadow that had fell across his face said as much.
He listened to the man across from him as he spoke. They were now in a town called Helgen, he could feel anger, confusion, and satisfaction on the air. He could tell that some of this village supported what was going on, while others didn't.
He wondered if the man across from him was right, they were being sent to their deaths. He hoped not, but he wouldn't be surprised.
He smirked as the fear escalated, answering his question, they were heading to their death. He heard a bow string become taunt, listen to the string being let go, and the arrow whistle through the air. No sooner he heard the thud of body, the man who has reeked of desperation was dead. He could smell the blood on the air and it made him leery also.
Names were called; he could hear the uncertainty in the man's voice as he called a name. He was now positive he was in Skyrim; the names he had heard so far were nord origin.
The man paused before calling one man's name, the hesitation said a lot, but the tone of his voice said even more when he finally spoke. Ralof was the one word he spoke, a person's name. Fear, remorse, and then finally acceptance that he was about to send a person he knew to the block. He didn't need to be told they knew each other; he didn't need to be told they had been friends, good ones at some point. He ached for the man, but there was nothing for it.
"Who are you?" He knew he was being spoken to, but he was surprised by the confusion in the man's voice.
"Mikael," The answer was short, it didn't matter what he said in the end, it wouldn't change anything. He would be heading to the block too.
"Captain, his name is not on the list," The man said, his voice filled with uncertainty. Mikael couldn't believe what he was hearing - this man was uncertain of sending a blind man to the block? It made no sense.
He raised a brow and shook his head when he heard other people being called and shuffling away. How many people were there here? He didn't know, but if there were as many as it sounded like, it looked like the General had his morning booked full for beheadings.
"It doesn't matter, he goes to the block too," The captain growled, her voice was firm, cold, devoid of all emotions. He could detect a trace of hate in those words. He shook his head, that this woman would be put in charge. It seemed as if she had it out for everyone.
"Looks like you picked the wrong time to come home," the man who had been reading off the list stated. Mikhail could hear that he was trying to keep his voice normal, but he hadn't succeeded. There was regret, compassion, and anger in his voice. He hadn't like giving the order.
Mikael chuckled at his words, "You don't say," he mocked, before turning towards where he heard the rustle of the other prisoners. His back stiffened when he felt the other man following him. It irked him having someone at his back and he couldn't do anything about it.
He stopped walking when he felt the warmth of bodies around him, each body shifting nervously. Then he gasped, he couldn't help it, it had slipped out as soon as he had heard the words Ulfric Stormcloak. Every nord, even the ones that don't live here knew that name. If his hands had been free, he would have hit himself for coming to Skyrim in the middle of a civil war. That was his stupidest mistake.
"So General, tell me, does crossing the border now constitute a beheading?" Mikael asked, cutting across his triad to Ulfric.
"Silence!" he was commanded. Yeah that one wasn't happening. Not in this lifetime, Mikael thought shaking his head.
"No, I don't think so. I wondered what the Emperor, would say to these vulgarities? Or better yet, what would he say that you are now about to make a martyr to the one person who you hate the most? I didn't know the Thalmor controlled you that much. That collar of their that you wear must be awfully tight," He spat and grinned when he heard grinding teeth.
"You crossed the border illegally," the general spat at him. Mikael could feel the man standing very close to him, his words spraying him. He could feel the hate and frustration coming off of him in waves.
"Illegally? I didn't know a person who had papers was crossing illegally. Interesting, so you make the rules to your own purpose and fuck those that don't fall in line. It's funny, the papers I had, bore the emperor's seal on them and you are disregarding that fact. So I guess all the rumors in Cyrodill are true, that the legion is the Thalmor's lackeys. No wonder they won war." Mikael sneered disgustedly.
"So where are these papers you claim to have?" The man sneered at him, he heard rage and doubt in his voice. What he wanted to do was so different than what he did.
"Wherever the armor I came in is, and my possessions are," He answered, shrugging off the man's ire. "And when you release me, I want those possessions back."
Mikael strained to listen for a sound of some type from this man, but there was no sounded. The last sound he heard was rustling of armor. Now he waited to see what was going to happen. The tension in the air was thick, it seemed as if everyone was waiting for something, or someone one. He wondered if the General left or the Thalmor left, but he didn't think so. His luck wasn't that good.
"It looks like they found that letter," the man he had been sitting in the wagon with. He was pretty sure it was the warrior that had whispered, since Ulfric hadn't said a word as of yet.
He felt the silence thickening and worried that he was still heading for the chopping block. "What's going on?" Mikael whispered to the man beside him.
"Look for yourself," the man whispered back.
Mikael couldn't help it, he laughed mockingly. "Would love to look, but it would be more helpful if I could see."
"Damn…" He heard the general whisper and smirked. "Untie him, I want a guard protecting him at all times until we leave this place."
Mikeal fought not to shake his head. He hadn't expected that outcome, but he shouldn't be surprised, not with this war. Since those documents name his real father as the Jarl of Whiterun, but from rumors his father was dead. Wouldn't it be amusing if he told them that those papers were false and he was a bastard? If he could see he would do it just for amusement sake. One of the rumors his mother told him was that his brother was now ruling Whiterun. The other rumor had it his brother hadn't chosen a side in the war. It didn't surprise him in the least. The last time his foster father had taken him to Skyrim, he had learnt that he had a brother, and that brother had no love for either faction. From what he understood, his brother was loyal to the Imperials up to a point, but that was about it. Now these Thalmor were a different story, rumors had it that his brother hated them. Rightfully so, as far as he concerned.
"Once we are finished with the beheadings, we will escort you to Whiterun," the General offered.
Mikael laughed at the change in attitude, "Thank you for the offer, but I decline. I wouldn't want you to get the idea that I can sway my brother into siding with you in this war." Mikael shook his head, he couldn't believe they would use him as a pawn. He had never met his brother, only knew about him because of his foster father. All he knew of his brother was he was the Jarl of Whiterun, had another brother. Oh and they didn't share the same father, they only shared the same mother. She was sent away with him when he was but a babe, after he found out that she cuckold him. So his mother and their family had lived in Cyrodill until recently. Marauders had come and decimated his village. They had only lived there for a year, but obviously it had been too long. He knew they should have stayed in the main city, but it hadn't mattered what he thought. So now he was alone, his family dead. Now he needed to come to Skyrim, needed to know the people, the land.
"It's not up for debate, you will have a soldier accompanying you until they receive further orders," The general stated firmly, breaking him from his thoughts.
"Whatever, but it doesn't change the fact that I will still not help you gain my brother's support," Mikael snapped coldly.
"You dying under our protection will not help matters either," the general argued.
"As I said, do what you think you have to," Mikael sighed tiredly.
~oooooooooooooooo~
He was in the castle of Helgen still able to hear the roars of the dragon outside. Yep, that right a damnable dragon was flying around. He still couldn't wrap his mind around that one. A flying lizard that was supposed to be long dead was now razing the town. If someone had told him this story, he would have scoffed at the man and thought he was not right in the mind.
He flinched when the dragon roared once more, the ground trembled, beneath his feet, the walls shuddered, silt falling down around their heads. He wasn't sure if they were safer in here or out there. Here they were liable to get buried alive, out there they were liable to get roasted. It just depended on which way you wanted to die, preferably he didn't want to die, but that wasn't looking hopeful at the moment.
"So tell me Hadvar, that roaring is actually from a living, breathing, dragon and I am not going insane right?" Mikael asked cheekily.
"Yeah that was a real, live, fire breathing dragon just like in the legends," Hadvar answered still in awe. He had every right to be in awe. He was still in awe and shaking in his boots slightly, but no one needed to know that.
"So do you have any clue as to how to get out of here without us getting buried alive?" Mikael asked with a calm he didn't feel. What he wanted to do - if there wasn't the possibility he would run into a wall - was run out of here screaming. A little dramatic, but his nerves were already frayed, and he could hear others screaming, so he should fit right in. The only thing stopping him was the possibility of running straight into a wall, or falling off of some ledge. Neither of those sounded good to him, so he forced himself to be calm and focus on his partner's footsteps. Not an easy feat, but minutely manageable when he ignored all else. His focus at the moment wasn't the greatest, so he stayed close to his partner.
He grinned as they came to an open area, though that grin was wiped off his face really quickly. What he heard sent chills up his spine and grip the sword in his hand tighter. He didn't know what was making the sound, but it was really creeping him out. He strained to listen and heard many steps, he strained harder and heard more steps, fainter, further away. Spiders? His body shuddered at the thought. He prayed that it wasn't so. Just the thought of a thing with eight legs really creep him out, and it sounded like there was quite a few of them. He edged slowly into the cavern, sword at ready.
He smirked as he felt Hadvar hesitate also, so his companion didn't want to get too near to them either. He didn't feel as bad now.
He took the last step and raised his sword. He could feel it near, so close. He slashed, the sword biting deep, but there was more. One to his left, spraying him with venom, another taking the spot of the one he just kill and two behind them. He hacked and slashed, going for where he heard sounds, where their scent was the strongest. He hoped he hit them, but with each slash he was never a hundred percent sure if his aim was true.
He heard another thud, with a hiss and knew another had died. Pride filled him that he was able to kill another without dying himself.
He stopped slashing when the cave filled with stillness. The only faint sound was Hadvar finally putting his weapon away. They had survived not one, but many spiders in that den. He was surprised that he lasted and didn't die or his companion bailed on him.
They walked further, the scent of cold, fresh air getting thicker; they were so close to the end. He could feel the change in temperature, the way the air shifted and the strong scent of trees, but that was distant.
"We're close, there is an exit nearby," he told Hadvar.
"How do you know this?" Hadvar asked.
"I can smell it. Take lead and I'll follow," Mikhail stated, as he and felt the man walk by him.
It was a routine for them now, he didn't have to tell him to take lead, but he had anyways just to make sure. He really didn't want to be walking into walls of the cave, or stepping on deep cracks that could twist his legs.
"There is a bear up ahead," Hadvor whispered.
Mikhail rolled his eyes; the man didn't need to tell him, he could smell it from here. The low rumbling growl was a dead giveaway too. He could tell by the sound the bear hadn't seen them yet. He hoped the man didn't do anything to startle the bear.
"Grab onto my belt, we're going to sneak," Hadvar ordered.
Mikhail was surprised, but didn't argue. Quickly and quietly as possible he grabbed on to the back of Hadvar's armor and moved slowly in a crouch. Sand and rock shifted beneath each step, but not loud enough to warn the bear. The smell was becoming stronger and he knew they were very close to the bear. His heart raced against his chest, his nervousness and fear escalated.
They were past the bear and freedom was so close. The outdoors was so near he could taste it now, the sweet taste of fresh air and woods. He followed close, wishing the man would hurry.
He took one step, and then another and then he was outside. The cold air rushed over him, filling his lungs, the scent of trees and dirt filled his senses, but the roar of that damn dragon froze him on the spot. He automatically ducked to a crouch and prayed the dragon didn't see him. He wished he could see what the monstrosity looked like, but his imagination was already doing a good job on giving him a picture.
"We should head to Riverwood, my uncle lives there," Hadvar said calmly. How he could be calm after seeing that dragon Mikael had no idea. Just from hearing the dragon he was shaking once again.
"Never been to Riverwood, how far is it from Whiterun?" Mikael asked.
"Quite a few hours, almost a day," Hadvar answered.
Mikael sighed, it wasn't what he wanted to hear, but it did bring him closer to Whiterun where he could finally sit back and relax. And especially where he wouldn't have to worry about wolves, bears, or bandits or anything else that likes to try and kill them. He was really starting to hate bandits, it was bad enough fighting the stormcloaks in the castle, bandits were even worse. Ulfric should have hired bandits for his army; they would have won the war by now, though it would have cost fortune in the end.
"Fine, I'll sleep the night in Riverwood and then head to Whiterun," Mikael grumbled.
"We will head to Whiterun in the morning. If you think I am going to leave a blind man alone to roam Skyrim, then you have another thing coming," Hadvar hissed, before taking lead once more.
