Chapter 2 – Die In Here
Ragnar awoke with a groan. His vision was blurred, and the faintest bit of light was like a hot blade held to his eyes. It took him a moment to realise he was in sack clothing, armor and weapons gone. He felt naked without his armor, and it wasn't the good kind of naked either. To Ragnar there were two kinds of naked, the lucky with company and the degrading kind. Even with clothes on he felt like a little boy, with no form of defence against the monsters his skooma plagued mind could conjure up. His mind had once been clean; it had once been free of the pleasure and pain of the drug. In the beginning he had been strong enough to resist, unlike other fighters around him. He had been strong enough to resist the offers in his ear. Then he had switched companies to discover he secret, and he had intended to be a hero. Instead he had fallen into a drug ring, and had taken the drug. It made him stronger, faster, better. At first his mind had been strong enough to resist the negative side effects of the Skooma but after time he had begun to experience negative side effects. He had stopped dead, making him irritable and sloppy. His strength had begun to fail him, his mind played tricks and he could go days and think he had only been a few minutes. One bad habit had followed another, and he had gone from Skooma to alcohol. At first he had resisted that too, but the need for something to make him feel good had become an overpowering force and he had ended up drinking himself into a stupor. Naturally when a long term visitor had been found dead he had been blamed, and arrested. That was… days, months? No. That was years ago.
Recently he had been moved to a new section of the prison, a new cell. It was smaller than his last, with the roof curving into a straight wall with a curious looking arch. The single window, his only source of light and fresh air, was tiny and double his height in the air. There was a small table, with a single chair sitting rather miserably next to it. There was a plate on the table, along with a cup and pitcher. In another corner there was a rather miserable looking bucket that had been provided for him to do his business in. The lack of a bedroll was the reason he was sleeping against the wall of his cell near the door, desperately waiting for something to eat to get rid of his awful headache and stomach ache.
"My, my you're a big one. A Nord I guess, right? So strong, but you can't bend steel can you? You can't do anything to get out. All those big muscles, they're going to waste away. When the End comes you won't even have the strength to dry your tears. That's right. You're going to die in here. You hear me Nord? You're going to die!" The dark Elf across the hall taunted, standing at his bars casually. From what Ragnar could see he was a skimpy Dark Elf, wasted away from his time in the cell. Ragnar growled, grabbing the chain dangling from the roof before he pulled himself to his feet. He was not a small man, and with the hangover he had pulling himself up felt like trying to lift a Dragon, or what he imagined lifting a dragon would feel like. He stumbled forwards, leaning against the bars. He wrapped his large hands around two bars, in part to intimidate the Elf and in part to hold himself up. He was tempted to try to bend the steal, to perform a feat worthy of legend but even drunk or drugged he wasn't that stupid.
"Shut up, Grey Skin" he snarled, tugging on the bars to emphasise his words. The bars made a clang sound as his shackles hit them, but the Elf across the hall didn't look concerned at all. He tilted his head, apparently listening to something that Ragnar couldn't hear. Then, slowly the sounds of footsteps came down the stairs along with muffled voices. His eyes went wide for a moment before he turned his attention back to the Elf, who seemed to be waiting for his attention.
"Hey, you hear that? The guards are coming. For you." The Elf said before laughing like a maniac. His chuckle was evil yet somehow it didn't intimidate. It was the chuckle of a madman, hoping to pin his insanity on another as well as a death sentence. Ragnar didn't retreat from the bars; instead he pressed his face closer and tried to see the Guards. Something was wrong about it. The time didn't feel right, the air was tense and the Guards were not shouting. Instead the conversations were hushed and hurried, desperate even.
"My job right now is to get you to safety" A strong woman's voice said. Ragnar blinked in alarm. He wasn't in his strongest state of mind but a prison didn't seem like a safe place to hide. If anything, it was a trap with no escape. He pushed against the bars, trying to get closer to the conversation. His eyes widened in alarm as he caught sight of the people walking in. Three of them were warriors, with strange looking swords and fancy armor. The armor was dark with golden trim, and he swore he saw touches of greenish blue mixed in as well. There were two men and a woman, and from what he could tell the woman was the commanding officer. What shocked him however was the man walking in the middle of their group. He wore robes, robes that were fancier than anything Ragnar had ever seen in his life. His robes put the Counts and Countesses to shame. His eyes were drawn from fur trim to the large red stone on his chest. The large Diamond shaped red stone was shining in the light, yet it seemed to be sad. With a sudden rush of clarity he realised just who this man was.
"The Emperor"
"I know this man. The Prisoner" The Emperor whispered in his deep, wise tone. The sound was so soft Ragnar wasn't sure whether he had heard it or dreamed it, but it was enough to shake him to the core. The Blades seemed unaffected by the Emperors words, and the female didn't budge when the Emperor stepped closer. She kept herself between him and Ragnar, which only managed to make the Nord angry. He pulled on the bars again, proving his point that he wanted out. His wrists were itchy under the metal, yet he couldn't scratch them. His skin was rubbed raw from the harsh edges of iron yet nobody would bandage the small cuts and scrapes. He was stiff and sore from not having a bed to sleep on, or even a bedroll. Overall he had been treated like an animal, and now the Emperor dared say he knew him and the Blades did nothing. There was no apology or motion to free him.
"What's this prisoner doing here? This cell is supposed to be off limits!" The female asked in a firm, annoyed tone of voice. She had raised her voice to a shout as she turned to glare at the other blades. The men looked afraid suddenly, and the older one looked rather sheepish, as if he had personally made the mistake.
"Unusual mix up with the watch. There was a woman here distracting them all, I…" The Older Redguard began. Ragnar's eyes drifted to the Blade's sword, which was within his reach if he could move quick enough. He put his hand through the bars, stretching his arm as far as he could as he tried to grasp the hilt. It was his freedom if he could just grab it. He could fight through the Blades, retrieve his gear and then flee. He could travel to Skyrim, his birthplace. He could join the Companions, start all over again. He just had to grab that weapon. Just as his finger brushed it the woman began to turn around. Faced with the choice of possibly losing his hand or his freedom he froze. Then, holding back every emotion of regret and rage he could, he yanked his hand back to the bars. His shackles made another clang as metal connected with metal.
"Nevermind. Get that gate open" she said as she turned. Her expression went hard and aggressive as she placed her hand on her sword, as if warning Ragnar away. His eyes narrowed at the woman, daring her to draw her weapon. Ragnar had always considered women the weaker sex, it was the way he had seen things since his father had beaten his mother down. He respected women had their strengths, but when it came to a fight he would rather have a man at his back. This hadn't sat well with his fellow Fighters Guild members, who were led by a woman.
"Stand back prisoner! We won't hesitate to kill you if you get in our way" The woman growled in a firm, commanding tone of voice. Ragnar scoffed softly.
"Yeah? You'll hit me over the head with your cooking pots? Or poke me with that stick?" He wanted to say, his thoughts and body language screamed. If he had his armor and sword the woman would mean nothing to him. Her sword would break, her armor would be useless and her corpse would be lying on the floor for her threat. As it was he was not about to jump at her command and obey her like a faithful hound. Instead he stood at the bars, glaring into her eyes ferociously. She was surprised he resisted, he could see the emotions in her eyes, but she didn't seem intimidated. Why would she be? He was an unarmed prisoner with shackles on. But there was no guarantee that she wouldn't kill him the moment they were inside the cell. It was perfectly like a woman to break her word; the sirens would only bring him pain or pleasure. They were not cut out for his world of savagery and madness. This one was threatening him as if he was a normal Nord, instead of a warrior.
"You, prisoner! Stand aside! Over by the window. Stay out of our way and you won't get hurt" The older Redguard spoke up, pointing towards the window. His voice carried more authority, wisdom from age and experience. He was the kind of man Ragnar would want at his back, the kind of man he respected. With the promise of not being killed coming from a man he nodded, stepping back wards slowly. His midnight blue eyes were narrowed dangerously, silently warning the Blades not to break their word. He soon felt the stone against his back, and the Blades walked in. He remained silent, ignoring their words and warnings as they spoke among themselves and threatened him. Just as the Woman reached the strange archway the Emperor looked at him in alarm.
"You... I've seen you. Let me see your face. You are the one from my dreams… The stars were right, and this is the day. Gods give me strength. Assassins attacked my sons, and I am next. My Blades are leading me out of the city along a secret escape route. By chance, the entrance to that escape route leads through your cell" Emperor Uriel Septim spoke in that wise voice that left Ragnar feeling like a child under a kind fathers supervision. His aged face was equally as wise as his voice, and Ragnar found himself bowing his head slightly in respect. Ragnar had never willingly bowed his head to anyone, but this man inspired him to lower his challenging gaze in respect.
"Then why the Oblivion am I in this cell?" He demanded. He wasn't unhappy about it, the complete opposite. If the Blades didn't kill him then he would have a chance at escaping. A chance for freedom. The Emperor looked thoughtful for a moment, raising a withered hand to his chin and rubbing it in thought.
"Perhaps the gods have placed you here so that we may meet. As for what you have done… it does not matter. That is not what you will be remembered for. You are a citizen of Tamriel, and you, too, shall serve her in your own way"
"I make my own way!" Ragnar said in a heated tone of voice. The older Redguard Blade tensed, but Uriel raised his hand and shook his head, ordering his Blade to stand down. Ragnar stood with his fists ready, large muscles tensed and singing for the fight. Without the alcohol in his system the fight seemed less entertaining, less exciting and more like a stupid death wish. Still, he would rather die and be true to himself than to change into a bootlicking milk drinker to please another.
"So do we all. But what path can be avoided whose end is fixed by the almighty Gods?" The Emperor inquired, forcing Ragnar to pause. He had no answer. He barely registered the Blades talking, and the stone arch sliding away to reveal the entrance to a passage. He stood staring blankly into space, even as the Emperor was guided through the entrance. Ragnar saw the wise old man's eyes for the last time as he passed through the entrance, and he instantly felt the loss of the Emperor. Something bad was going to happen, he just knew it. Determination flooded his veins. He had to help protect this man who took the time to address a man he didn't know. A man who could see so much with his dreams.
"I guess this is your lucky day, prisoner. Just stay out of our way" The younger Redguard spoke for the first time before he sprinted after the group. Ragnar blinked for a moment, his thoughts still haunted by the Emperors words.
"Who can deny their gods?"
AN: I know its usual for me to write longer chapters, but for this story I've decided to have an attempt at keeping the chapters to around 2000 words (half my usual word count for a chapter)
The Next chapter of Lineage will have some reference to This story so yeah. Funtimes. Hoping to see some Skyrim Alliance people come and give this some love for Ragnar and his shadowy friend to be.