Skyrim: A Tale of Two Dragons


Chapter 1: The Burning of Helgen


The clopping of horse hooves rattled in his brain like thunder, ripping him back into the conscious world. The sun overhead burned at his eyes, worsening the pain in his head. Thick bindings chaffed his wrists and his hands we coated in a crusty layer of dried blood. Voices, incomprehensibly loud, spoke around him.

So far Skyrim was nothing like the place his parents had always spoken of.

With a groan, he sat up and took in his surroundings.

He was in a carriage, an old shoddy one from the feel of it, with three other men. Each was covered in dirt and grime. A quick glance down at himself saw that he was much the same, even his clothes having been taken and replaced with scratchy rags fitting of a beggar that were stretched beyond reason across his frame. His golden blonde hair and beard, normally kept clean and out of the way with tight braids, had been ripped loose and were matted with mud and grime. Head still ringing, he pushed himself from the floor of the carriage to a seat and took a better look around.

There were on a road through a forest, well-traveled but rough. A quick look out the front and back of their wagon made it clear that they just one in procession. There was a man at the head of the carriage, driving it and decked head to toe in red and brown armor. A member of the Imperial Army no doubt, though a low ranking one based on his armor.

The man sitting across to his right was haggard and pale, with ill-fitting linen trying to pass for clothes. The desperate, wild look in his eyes made something clear immediately; he was a criminal and he had been caught.

"…finally awake?"

A clear voice finally pierced the haze that surrounded his mind. He glanced over at the man speaking. He was clearly a Nord, clad in blue dyed cloths and armor with chainmail extending down to his biceps. His hair was ragged and dirty but his voice was firm and his eyes bright.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there," he nodded at the man in rags beside him.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the apparent thief spat. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If that hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

Slowly the fog began to lift from his mind, memories trickling back in. He had been crossing the border. He had planned to go directly from Morrowind to the Wrothgar region of High Rock, returning home to visit his parents before setting up shop for himself. There had been a rush of motion immediately followed by blackness.

"…should be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." Apparently, the thief was speaking to him.

He ignored him and took in the man to his right. He was dressed much differently than the other two, draped in thick, fine furs. Though smeared with dirt and grime like the rest of them, it was clear that this was man of importance and wealth. He also the only one of them to have a gag in his mouth. Even at a quick glance, it was clear that the gag had been knotted several times for some reason. That he was being transported with a wealthy man, a horse thief and some sort of rebel did not bold well.

"We're all brothers in binds now," the man in blue said grimly.

"Shut up back there!" Their driver bellowed back at them.

They were silent for a moment before the thief spoke again, gesturing at the man in fine robes. "What's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue," the man in blue, apparently a Stormcloak, snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!"

Oh, Shor's balls.

The thief had put it together too. "Ulric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion…if they captured you," the thief's panic became palpable. "Oh Gods, where are they taking us?!"

"I don't know where we're going," the Stormcloak soldier spoke solemnly. "But Sovengarde awaits."

The thief began to ramble to himself. The Stormcloak turned to him. "Stranger, where are you from?"

For the first time he spoke, mouth dry and throat raspy. "Wrothgar," His mouth tasted of dirt and blood. With a grimace he spat and spoke again. "Wrothgar of High Rock. My parents were from Whiterun…I was passing by Skyrim on my way home. I wanted to see the Sky Forge."

The Stormcloak nodded in understanding. "It is magnificent to behold. I am sorry you will not get to see it." He turned to the thief. "And what about you, horse thief? What village are you from?"

The thief stopped his mumbling, snapping at the Stormcloak. "Why? Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," the soldier said, grim acceptance in his tone.

"Rorikstead," the thief said at length. While already pale, all color seemed to have fled the gaunt man entirely. "I-I'm from Rorikstead."

The four of them fell into a long silence. The unease felt suffocating. Still, if he kept his head, he could explain his situation and be released. He was a blacksmith, not a Stormcloak! He had news of some sort of rebellion in the north but they had just been quiet rumblings in Morrowind. The war in Hammerfell had been much bigger news from what he remembered hearing about at the various taverns and inns as he traveled.

As they came upon a village, one of the stationed Imperial soldiers called out. "General Tulluis, sir, the headsmen is waiting."

"Good," acknowledged a broad man with a tanned face and faded gray hair from atop a horse. He was dressed in impressive golden armor, displaying his status to all. He held his helm under one arm as his eyes swept across them with a resolute determination. "Let's get this over with."

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh," the thief prayed. "Divines, please help me!"

The Stormcloak glared at the general. "Look at him," he spat. "General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

Sure enough, standing near the road was an agent of the Aldmeri Dominion; a Thalmor High Elf. They had built themselves quite a reputation through all of Tamriel, most it unfavorable. He had dealt with them in the pass. It had been more enjoyable when he'd crushed him thumb with a forge hammer during his apprenticeship.

The Thalmor agent caught his eye and eyed him like he was little more than dirt beneath his boot. He glared right back. Rebel or not, he had no love for the Dominion and their policies.

"This is Helgen," the Stormcloak continued. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

He sighed wistfully and glanced over at the gagged man. "It's funny…when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

The procession began to slow. Most of the townsfolk began to scurry inside their homes, while a few of the bolder ones came out and tossed curses at the captured Stormcloaks. It was clear that there was definitely a rebellion in the works and that not all favored it.

He felt his pulse began to race a bit as he noticed the amount of Imperial soldiers in the village. Surely he would get a chance to plead his case.

He felt his stomach drop as they came to a stop directly next to a rust colored chopping block, a bucket placed next to it. "Oh shit,"

"Why are they stopping?" The panicking thief asked.

"Why do you think?" the Stormcloak asked with a grim smile. "End of the line."

The prisoners were quickly ushered out their wagons and forced into a row. As he jumped to the ground he stumbled briefly, his vision swimming and a sharp pain lanced through his skull. An Imperial soldier grabbed him and forced him to his feet. The soldier quickly back away when he realized the size of his prisoner.

The man towered over his captors and fellow prisoners alike, most men's heads not even reaching his chin. His blue eyes took in his surrounds carefully, but twitching in pain from the pain in his head.

Behind him the Stormcloak he had been riding him let out a low whistle. "I wasn't aware that Nords came in your size. You sure you're not just a pale Orc?"

"Not the first time I've heard that," he answered back with a grimace. Looking to the soldier, he asked. "Where is your commander? There's been a mistake and I need to speak with him."

"Silence!"

A female Imperial Soldier, this one a captain based on her armor and plumed helmet, stormed up to them. Brandishing her sword, she barked. "In line now!"

With a heavy frown, he fell in line with the other prisoners. The thief, however, had refused to exit the wagon.

"No, I'm not rebel!" he cried. "You can't do this to me!"

The Imperial Captain rounded on him and placed her sword to his throat. "Get out now!" When he didn't move immediately, she pressed the sword enough to draw a trickle of blood down his neck. Terror in his eyes, the thief scrambled from the sword and stumbled out of the wagon, landing in a heap. Two more soldiers appeared and hauled him to his feet, pushing him in line with everyone else.

The gagged man, Ulfric Stormcloak, was guided out in front on everyone, a soldier on both sides of him. General Tullius approached him, an air of arrogance around him, like a cat who finally caught a particularly crafty mouse.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he began. "Some here in Helgen call you as hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

That caused his eyes to widen. What in Oblivion had Ulfric done with his voice to murder the High King of Skyrim? It explained why he alone was gagged though.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!" Tullius crowed.

In the distance, a strange sound echoed out, bouncing off the nearby mountains. Murmurs rippled through the camp from soldiers and rebels alike.

"It was nothing," Tullius spoke, quieting them. "Get on with it."

The female captain marched into the opening, sheathing her sword as she did. "Step toward the block when we call your name! One at a time!" A man with a ruddy face and blonde hair stepped up beside her, holding small leather book and ink pen.

The armored captain crossed her arms. "Begin, Hadvar."

"Yes, Captain," said the ruddy man, Hadvar. He cleared his throat read from his book. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Guilty of murder and high treason. Sentenced to death."

A roar of approval came from the Imperial soldiers. The Stormcloaks looked murderously at them. Tullius held up a hand to silence them.

"Ulric will be going last," he declared to his troops. "Let him see the results of rebelling against the Empire!" The general turned to Hadvar. "Next name!"

Hadvar began reading off name of the captured Stormcloaks. Each one was hauled in front of Hadvar, who confirmed their identities before having them shoved back into small, more organized lines. With each name, the cheers of the Imperial soldiers became louder.

'This is more a mob than an army.' he thought. 'These soldiers want blood.'

Raising his voice over them, Hadvar announced. "Lokir of Rorikstead,"

The thief he had been traveling with stepped forward with a shiver. He eyes were wild and panicked. "This is a mistake. I swear I'm not a rebel. I shouldn't be here!"

It was true. He stuck out like a snowberry in a pile a jazbay grapes. He had no uniform and was not a Nord, like nearly every other Stormcloak rebel. Where each Stormcloak held their heads high, Lokir was clearly frightened out of his mind. The idea that he was a rebel was laughable at best.

"Lokir of Rorikstead?" Hadvar confirmed.

Lokir nodded, pleading Hadvar to see the mistake. "I'm not one of them!"

"Then I'm afraid you are a rebel. It says so right here. 'Stormcloak. Guilty of insurrection. Sentenced to death.'" Hadvar held up his book.

Lokir looked like he'd eaten spoiled meat as the blood drained from his face. He started shaking his head, lifting his bound hands in a supplicating gesture. "No! This is a mistake! I swear I—"

A chill raced down his spine at the implications. Lokir was no more a Stormcloak than he was an Imperial solider. Clearly the Empire just wanted the rebellion stopped, damned anyone caught in the cross hairs. He began to search for a way, anyway, out of this situation.

'Maybe I could make a run for it,' he thought. 'Just get behind these houses and get my hands free…'

"Take him away!" the captain ordered, snapping her fingers at a soldier. But Lokir dodged the soldier's grasping hand, stepping back and shaking his head more fervently. If nothing else, he was a nimble thief.

"I'm not a rebel! I'm not a rebel!"

More soldiers raced toward him. Lokir's eyes darted like a trapped rabbit's, panicked and wild. He jerked out of the path of the next soldier's lunge and took off, sprinting down the road that had brought them here.

"Archers!" screamed the captain.

In seconds a dozen bows were drawn throughout the company, arrows nocked. With a quiet whistle, the arrows flew and six found their target. Lokir dropped to the ground instantly with a slight thud, the muddied linen he wore now stained red.

Apparently running was not going to be an option.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the captain challenged, spinning to face them with a sneer on her face. No one answered.

Hadvar turned back to his book as if nothing had happened. "Next in line." He flipped a page and after a brief glance looked at him.

'Well, shit.'

Confusion furrowed Hadvar brow. He looked at his book again before looking back up at him. "Captain, this prisoner is not on the list."

"What?" the captain demanded, marched over to the ruddy faced man. "What do you mean he is not on the list?"

"We only have three male rebels left," Hadvar explained, gesturing to the men standing behind him in line. "All three of them are from Windhelm and well known supporters of Ulfric. We have no record of this man. He is not on the list."

"That's because I'm not a rebel," he interjected. Gods, his mouth still tasted like he'd suckled on a goat's hoof. He spat and continued. "My name is Wulfric White-Wind. I'm traveling from Morrowind to High Rock."

"High Rock?" the captain sneered at him. "Why would you be heading there?

"Because I'm from Wrothgar of High Rock," Wulfric explained. "I'm a blacksmith."

"And yet you are a Nord," the captain continued. She glanced at book in Hadvar's hands. "And you were captured at Darkwater Crossing with Ulfric while wearing blue."

She drew here sword and approached him. Her plumed helm barely reached his chin but she stared him down fearlessly.

'Easy to do when you're armed and I'm bound.' Wulfric thought. This was not going at all how he had hoped.

"I was not aware that being a Nord or wearing blue were crimes in Skyrim," Wulfric said as evenly as he could. It would not help his case to be antagonistic here. He'd delt with ornery Orcs in the past, he could deal with an angry Imperial.

He leaned down to stare the captain directly in the face, highlighting the difference in size between them. Her eyes flickered with uncertainty for a moment, taking the slightest step back. A point for him. "I'm not a rebel nor would I choose to be one. I am a blacksmith and I would like to leave now."

The captain looked towards the general for direction. "General Tullius," she asked. "What would you like us to do?"

The general rolled his eyes. "He was caught at the border with the man who murdered the High King. That's good enough for me. Let's hurry this along, Ria."

Outrage exploded from the captive Stormcloaks.

"That man isn't one of us!" the rebel he had traveled with – Ralof of Riverwood according to his sentencing – shouted though the uproar. "But I suppose the Empire doesn't care what innocents it crushes on the way to domination!"

An Imperial solider clubbed him in the back of the head, dropping him to his knees with unfocused eyes.

"Hadvar, you heard the General!" the captain, Ria, shouted. She gestured to the crowd. "In fact, let's make an example out of those who lie to the Empire." She spun back towards Wulfric. "He can be the first to go to the block!"

Impotent rage filled Wulfric's eyes, glaring down the Imperial captain. He knew that this was a battle he had lost and there was simply no way out. Attack and die, run and die, stay and die.

Wulfric glanced at the still protesting crowd around him. They were broken down, bloodied and facing imminent death. Yet, they did not look afraid, shouting and mocking their captors with every breath. Still separated from the rest of them, Ulfric looked downright murderous as if he were trying to conjure flames from his eyes.

These were a brave, bold group of rebels. Whatever their cause was, they believed in it with all they had. They feared nothing. If this was to be his end, then he would face it with the same bravery.

For the second time a strange sound boomed throughout the village, this one causing the glass windows of the nearby homes to rattle. Tullius gave a nervous whinny and began to fidget. Imperials and Stormcloaks alike began to look around in confusion.

"There it is again!" said one the Imperials. "Did you hear that?"

"It's nothing!" Ria shouted. "Bring him to the block!"

Two soldiers stepped forward on each side to guide him to the block. Wulfric dug his heels in. Even with his arms bound, the two soldiers couldn't move him.

"You're going to have to do better than that." He sneered at them as they struggled to move him.

It wasn't until two more joined in that he was finally dragged to the block. A swift kick to the back of his knees from Ria caused them to buckle. He slammed them to the ground with a grunt as the captain placed a boot to his back, trying to force his head into a curved niche in the stained wood before him.

He resisted for a moment before two more boots joined the first, forcing his head into the niche and pulling the back of his neck taught.

In his peripheral, he could see the headsman shift his weight and begin to raise the axe. A woman clad in robes behind droned in a monotone as a prayer to the Gods.

He was about to close his eye when a massive black shape ripped across the sky. "What the…"

A third boom shook the entire village, echoing like a thunder crack and making Wulfric's ears ring. The ground beneath him shook like an earthquake as a massive black…thing landed on the watch tower next to him. The impact threw the headsmen off his feet and Wulfric stared into the crimson eyes of a monster.

"What in Oblivion is THAT?"

Screams bombarded the air. It was mountain of black spikes and bared teeth, screaming a deafening cry at the soldier below. Shock numbed Wulfric's body. This couldn't be real.

It was.

"DRAGON!" someone shrieked.

All Oblivion broke loose as the dragon, a beast of myth, shot a torrent of fire at the humans below. In seconds several buildings were set ablaze while the humans in them screamed and then fell silent.

It actually took Wulfric a moment to realize that he was no longer being pressed down. He hurriedly stumbled to his feet and began to run. Adrenalin suffocated the pain in his head. Another plume of fire shot somewhere behind him as he heard Tullius shout at his troops to attack. He could feel the heat even from this distance. The entire village was burning now; bodies smoldered in the streets.

"Hey!"

Wulfric spun and found a Stormcloak rebel running at him. It was the soldier he been traveling with to Helgen. He already managed to cut his bindings and free himself, finding an axe along the way. "Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance!"

With a quick slice, Wulfric's binds fell to the ground and the two raced into a stone tower. Another Stormcloak staggered in behind them and slammed a large wooden door shut before collapsing against it.

Inside the room were a few other Stormcloaks who had made a break for it in the chaos, including their leader, Ulfric. Many of the rebels sported large cuts or burns and several seemed unable to stand. Ulfric, however, remained calm and poised, like this was something that happened every other day. He'd also removed the gag that Imperials had given him.

'It's clear to see why he's the leader,' Wulfric thought. 'How is he this calm?!'

"Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing?" one of the Stormcloaks asked. "Could the legends be true?"

Ulfric gave his troops and the room a once over before he spoke, voice deep and even. "Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move. Now." He pointed to the stone stairs that curved upwards around the tower.

"Up through the tower," the familiar Stormcloak confirmed. "Let's go!"

A few uninjured Stormcloaks immediately started up the tower's stone steps while a few stuck back to help the wounded. After assessing the injured once more, Ulric started up the steps himself after them, Wulfric right behind him.

He'd barley made it up a dozen steps before the tower shook violently, slamming Wulfric into a wall. There was a great cracking sound and Wulfric yanked Ulfric against the wall as well. Seconds later, an avalanche of rock came blasting down the stairs, missing the two of them by inches.

Others we not so lucky. At least three of the Stormcloaks disappeared under the crush of falling rocks.

Seconds later a gout of fire blasted into the room, nearly blinding them. Wulfric forced himself against the wall as tightly as he could, shutting his eyes from the white-hot brilliance of the flame. The heat was unbearable, hotter than any forge he'd ever tended. There were more frenzied shouts and cries before the fire disappeared as quickly as it had come.

Wulfric spared a quick glance and barely held back his bile.

What had once been a company of about twenty rebels had been reduced to maybe six. He could see bodies crushed underneath parts of the collapsed tower, leaving wet red smears across the walls and floors. Those lucky enough to have avoided the rocks had been burnt to little more than charred husks by the dragon's fire.

Ulfric shook his head and rallied his remaining men. "We will morn for them later. Next time that monster will knock this place down on our heads. Keep moving." He pushed his way past Wulfric and took the lead. They were only able to push on a few feet further before coming to a dead end.

The top of the tower had collapsed from the dragon's assault, blocking the remainder of the stairs. Instead, Ulfric approached the hole in the tower from the dragon's attack. He stared at it for a moment before delivering a firm kick to the stones nearest to the hold. The damaged rocks crumbled away from the tower, widening the hole significantly.

Ulfric looked at his remaining men, face grim but determined. "There's a building we can jump to. Let's go."

Without another word the rebel leader turned and leapt out into the open air. Wulfric stared gobsmacked at where Ulfric had just been. 'Who in Shor's name is this man?'

Without a second thought, the remaining Stormcloaks jumped out after their leader. Wulfric stared at them in disbelief. "What is wrong with everyone in this damn country?"

Wulfric cautiously approached the hole himself. While it had Ulfric and his men well enough, he was willing to bet that he outweighed even the largest of them by at least 50 pounds. When the stone still felt steady beneath his feet, he looked to where the Stormcloaks had jumped.

"He failed the mention that the building was on fire." Wulfric complained to no one.

Sure enough, the small inn that Ulfric had his men and leapt to was coated in flames. Part of the roof was missing – from the dragon or the fire Wulfric wasn't sure – but it gave enough of an opening to land on the inn's second story about 20 feet below.

With quick prayers to Talos and Malacath, the large Nord hurled himself from the crumbling tower to the burning building below.

He landed roughly and off-balanced, tumbling across the floor. Just as he managed to get his feet back underneath him, the floor groaned and collapsed, his impact and weight too much for the already fire-damaged wood. He slammed into the ground floor back-first with a grunt, charged planks and hot ash burying him.

He heard voices through the smoke and ash. The weight on his chest lessened with each second as multiple hands dug him out.

Ulfric yanked the last plank of wood off of him, tossing the still smoldering wood aside and helping him to his feet. "Anything broken?"

Wulfric shook his head and fought off a bought of nausea from pain. Everything hurt, but he said "Nothing that I can't ignore for the moment."

Ulfric clapped him on the shoulder in approval and looked at the few remaining troops he had. "We may not be able to stick together after this. Look out for yourselves and each other. Get out of here and report back to Windhelm. Talos guide you all."

He turned to Wulfric specifically. "I do not know you, Wulfric White-Wind, but thank you for your help. Should you survive today, find me in Windhelm. If nothing else, I owe you a drink aiding me in the stairwell."

He turned back to his men. "Let's go!"

Together, they raced from the burning building into the chaos as dragon shrieks ripped through the air.


Hello all!

So this is my first shot at fanfiction in about a decade. Please let me know what you think!