Cycle I: Life Is Short In Skyrim
Chapter 4: Helpless Like a Child
— Riverwood, 19th of Rain's Hand 4E 179
All was quiet on the riverside farm, save for the humming of the sawmill by the running water and the sniffles of a small child. The boy knelt beside his dying companion with tears welling in his eyes. He placed a tiny hand over the sheep's thick wool covered in warm blood as its eviscerated bowels spilled in lumps of pink and red onto the crimson stained pasture. Its breathing turned shallow, coming out in faint bleats that its friend recognized as pain, even at his tender age. The boy sobbed, desperately trying to arrange the shredded mounds of flesh back into the mauled cavity of the animal. Then, his father approached with an axe in hand.
"Papa, no! You can't kill Luddig!" The boy wailed.
"Son, what did I tell you about naming the livestock?" His father scolded him. "This is what happens."
"We have to save him, Papa!"
His father knelt down to his level, and he wiped the boy's tears with his calloused thumb, lifting up his tender chin.
"Dry your tears, boy. A true Nord must be brave," his father told him. Then, he leaned over towards the sheep. "Look at him, the pitiful thing. Every breath he struggles to take is suffering."
He swiftly took his axe and cleaved through the animal's throat, ending its last breath as the little boy gasped. More blood stained the wool and more tears welled in the child's eyes. The father put an arm around his son's shoulder, steadying him with the comfort of his weight, and their blue eyes met in understanding.
"At this point, there's nothing else we can do," the father explained. "We're doing the animal a favor. A quick release from its pain."
The little boy tried to hold back his tears, still struggling to make sense of his father's words. He looked up at his father with a wide frown. The father stood up, and he walked over to the hacked up body of a wolf, strewn across the dirt along a nearby fence.
"And that wolf who killed your Luddig, do you not shed tears for it, boy?" His father asked, motioning towards the wolf's carcass.
The boy shook his head, rubbing the tears from his eyes. He felt nothing for the monster that ate his friend.
"If I didn't kill the wolf with my axe, it would've eaten all our sheep," the father motioned to the animal. "And if I didn't kill the dying sheep, we would only leave it to suffer. Do you understand, boy?"
"Yes, Papa," the boy nodded slowly, drying off the last of his tears with his sleeve.
Then, he looked up to his father with wide, innocent eyes. "Is Luddig going to Sovngarde?"
"My dear Ralof," his father chuckled lightly, ruffling his little blonde head. "Luddig is a sheep. Sovngarde is for Nords like you and me. One day we shall all meet there with our forefathers. And our forefathers' fathers!"
"Is Grandpa in Sovngarde?" He asked in excitement.
"Aye, and one day we shall all feast together in the Hall of Valor!" His father proudly declared, and little Ralof cheered by his side with a big smile. He raised his tiny fists high in the air alongside his father's axe.
꧁꧂
— Helgen Keep, 17th of Last Seed, 4E 201
It didn't take much effort on his part, but Ralof finally managed to pry the renegade from Cyrodiil's sweaty, yet stubborn, hands from the door. As she screamed in protest, Ralof forced the entrance shut, just in time, before more rubble collapsed right in front of it. He swore under his breath, as they had one less way out of the death trap that was Helgen Keep. He turned back to look for another way, and he saw the body of his comrade strewn across a wooden chair.
"Gunjar!" Ralof called out, running to him, and he placed two fingertips on Gunjar's neck to check his pulse. And, he was lifeless.
"We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother," Ralof briefly mourned the loss of his comrade, gently closing the lids over Gunjar's clouded eyes with his hand. But, the noise from his brother-in-binds interrupted the solemn moment.
"What in Oblivion is wrong with you, woman?" The horse thief yelled at the Imperial, grabbing her by the shoulders from behind, shaking her frantically. "If you hadn't grabbed me like that, I could've escaped with the soldiers by now!"
The woman ignored his ranting, as if the noise just buzzed through her ears like a tunnel. She remained frozen, staring at the door. It looked like she was waiting for for someone. Or perhaps, she was trying to make sense of the events that had transpired, finally taking a moment to process her shock in the harrowing chase. Ralof couldn't blame her, as the dragon was a shock to everybody.
"Watch yourself, thief. You'd be burned alive if she hadn't stepped in," Ralof shut him up. "Besides, how weak do you have to be to be dragged by a someone that size? No offense, sister."
"None taken," she finally turned around, slowly, with her body and voice still trembling from the rush. Then, she looked at the thief. "Listen, I didn't mean to grab you, I thought you were someone else."
"Then think twice, before grabbing at every man within arm's reach like a damn harlot!" The thief snapped, grabbing her by the wrist.
"Harlot?! You think I'm just going take that? You chauvinist, medieval pig!" The woman snarled at the thief, raising her hand like a claw at his face. Both Ralof and the horse thief widened their eyes in surprise at her feisty reaction as the thief loosened his grip on her.
"Enough! Both of you!" Ralof scolded. "We're all stuck here together, so you're either with us, or against us."
"I'm with you," the woman approached him without hesitation, and she held her arm out with an open hand towards the floor. Ralof looked at her in confusion, and she shrugged away the gesture.
"I guess I don't have any other choice," the horse thief whined, crossing his arms.
"Good, now let's find a way out of here," Ralof addressed them. He walked across the small area of the tower to check the only other door. But, the metal grate wouldn't budge. "Damn, it's locked from the inside."
"What do we do now?" The horse thief, who had shown him and the Stormcloaks nothing but scorn until that moment, desperately looked up to Ralof for guidance, hunching over in fear like a spineless rat.
"See if you could find a key, somewhere. You're good at skeeving around, aren't you?" Ralof replied as he turned away.
He checked the barrels and tables for anything of use, while the thief scampered across the enclosure, checking every nook and cranny for a key. The woman stood still in the center of the room, lost. She watched as the two desperately scoured the floor for a way out. Then, the sound of voices and metal footsteps came from the other side of the wall.
"Someone's coming," the woman said as she retreated behind the shadows of a barrel, crouching as low as she could behind it.
Ralof saw her grab an iron dagger from the top of the barrel, clutching it in both her hands and holding it against her chest with the blade pointing out. Her whole body trembled like a quake, and her dark eyes focused vigilantly on the iron gate. The thief tried to follow her lead, but there was no other place to hide in the narrow tower. Instead, he played dead, splaying himself right under Gunjar's body as he smeared his own skin with the Stormcloak's blood. Ralof scowled in disgust at his dishonor. Then, he approached the gate, leaning against the wall next to the entrance as his cover. Peering into the opening, he saw three armored figures marching towards the entrance.
"Imperials," Ralof said under his breath as he held up his axe, ready to strike.
Rusty hinges squeaked as the gate slowly opened. And when the first soldier set foot in the tower, he immediately fell to Ralof's axe cleaving into the back of his neck. Then, the Imperial Captain stepped in, heavily armored with a sword in her hand, coming at him with a slash. He parried the strike with his weapon, but another soldier came from his side. Ralof dodged the strike of his blade. Trapped in a battle of two-against-one, he quickly looked over his shoulder and saw that the horse thief hadn't moved a muscle, completely dedicated to his act. Then, Ralof gave a heavy kick to the lightly armored soldier at his side, knocking him away, towards the wall, before he continued to trade parries and blows with the Captain.
Laira watched them fight from behind the shadows. She tightly held on the the knife in her slippery hands, unsure what to do with it. When Ralof kicked the soldier away, Laira saw the soldier fall to his knees as his back was knocked against the stone wall. He quickly came to his senses, clutching the sword that had loosened in his hand. She almost pissed herself in fear as she saw the man's eyes gaze up from under his leather helm to meet hers. Her cover was blown.
The soldier shambled onto his boots and swiftly approached her as soon as he could stand. Unable to move, Laira held her breath, still clutching the knife to her chest. As the soldier raised his sword above her head, she closed her eyes, waiting for the end. Then, she heard the thud of leather and the clang of metal against the stone. The sword never came. She reluctantly opened her eyes and saw the horse thief, panting heavily like an animal, with his eyes wide open. He stood right in front of her with his feet planted in a broad stance, holding a broken, wooden chair in his hands. He wasn't wounded, but his clothes were covered in blood.
As the Captain began to get winded, moving around in heavy steel, Ralof continued to engage in the fight. With an exhausted swing of her blade, he countered, cleaving a deep gash into her sword arm. She dropped her weapon, and he kicked it away from reach, making the steel blade screech against the stone. With the Captain's guard down, he grabbed her by the helm, twisting her head to the side, and he went for a fatal strike at the side of her neck, where her steel couldn't protect her. Blood spurted on the walls as she fell, and Ralof cleaned his blade with the rag on his belt.
He looked back, and he saw the horse thief holding the chair in his hands, standing over the woman, still huddled in the shadow. The soldier, who was about to kill her, dropped his blade as he collapsed to the floor, hitting the side of his skull against a huge stone by the wall. Not even his helmet was enough to cushion the blow, as a little pool of blood began to form where he had fallen on his head.
"Not bad, kinsman," Ralof commended his brother-in-binds as he approached. Then, he grabbed Gunjar's axe from his lifeless hand and passed the blade to his fellow Nord. "You were willing to borrow his blood. Take his axe, instead."
The thief reluctantly accepted the weapon, carefully grasping it by its hang.
"You should take the rest of Gunjar's gear, too. He's not going to need it anymore," Ralof continued. Then, he addressed the woman, motioning to the Captain's body on the floor. "You too, sister. This one looks about your size."
Laira looked across the room at the pile of corpses and blades. The thief was already busy scavenging the remains for loot, digging through their pockets for gold. But, the mere thought of wearing a dead woman's clothes made Laira's skin crawl. Even if that woman had given her hell and wanted her beheaded, just minutes ago. The gruesome sight and sickening smell of blood on steel did not make it any easier for her, either.
"I'll pass," she said, all queasy.
"You'll need it to protect yourself. We don't know how many more of them are out there," Ralof argued, and he took the dagger off her hands before helping her up. "And by the looks of it, you've never held a blade in your life."
"Unless you count a kitchen knife or a box cutter, then no," Laira forced a chuckle as she got out of her hiding place, accidentally nudging her foot against the fallen soldier's back.
The movement forced a guttural wheeze out of its mouth, catching her by surprise. Crouching down, she leaned over the soldier, checking for signs of life. Despite the cold and pallor of his skin, he had a faint pulse, and he was taking shallow, erratic breaths.
"Wait, I think he's still alive!" She called out.
Ralof knelt beside her, and with the sharp end of the dagger, he slit the man's throat, ending his misery.
The woman gasped audibly, covering her open mouth with both hands as she inched back towards the wall. She looked at Ralof as her eyes widened into circles, slowly beginning to well with tears. The woman reached her trembling hand towards the stranger's fatal wound, retracting it back and forth in hesitation.
"We could've saved…him," she trailed off weakly.
"At this point, there's nothing else we can do," Ralof put a hand over one of her shoulders, looking into her tearful eyes as he repeated his father's words from all those years ago. "We're doing the man a favor. A quick end to his agony."
The girl remained silent, slowly shaking her head from side to side with her hands still covering the shock on her face.
"And if we didn't kill him, he would've killed us," Ralof explained as he stood up again, helping her back on her feet. "Come on, let's get that armor on you. Kinsman, help the girl with some gear."
"Huh? Sure," the horse thief replied, startled by his command. He began to loosen the Captain's armor pieces as the girl stood there, watching. He called her over, and she dragged herself forward. "Hey, help me out with this. Sorry I called you a harlot, alright?"
"Alright," she replied quietly with a blank stare.
Laira knew that woman lying dead on the floor wasn't her old friend. She knew it was the same viscous Captain who ordered her execution. But she couldn't unsee the resemblance. And though she had wished her friend dead when she first caught her in the act, seeing what might have been, had that wish came true, was so surreal. She stared at the dead woman's face in a twisted mix of shock and satisfaction, and her mouth twitched to the metallic aftertaste of horror.
"Are you just going to stand there?" The horse thief asked as he finished undoing the fastenings on the armor. Laira blinked, and Ralof approached her.
"Here," he handed her a slightly bloodied rag. "Cleaning the stain might help you stomach it."
She took the rag and forced her hand to wipe the blood off the collar, averting her eyes from her actions. Getting up, she clumsily helped the horse thief remove the pieces from the body. Ralof couldn't bear to watch as she fumbled herself into the gear, struggling to adjust the leather fastenings with her trembling fingers. She needed so much help. He brushed past her back, and he firmly tightened the straps by her waist, securing the plate against her breast.
"It won't do you any good if doesn't fit properly," he told her, as he grabbed her by the belt on each side of her hips, adjusting the tassels of the armor.
Then, taking her forearm into his calloused grip, he tightened the steel bracer against the tender skin on her arm. Her blood rushed to her cheeks as she felt his warm breath against her skin, embarrassed that she couldn't even equip her gear properly. After he finished with her armor, he gave her a sword and a kite shield, scavenged from the other fallen soldier.
"Just remember to keep your guard up. I'll try to cover for you when I can," he said.
Laira just nodded quietly in response, helpless like a child. She lumbered through the newly opened doorway in her clunky armor, trying to stay close to Ralof's back. The horse thief, ironically dressed in Stormcloak colors, followed behind them.
つづくTo be continued...
