Earlier

Ralof couldn't believe his eyes. The stranger, who had been sentenced to death by the Imperials not even half an hour ago, had just chosen to rush headfirst into the arms of his captors. And it hadn't been a conditioned reaction, oh no. Ralof had seen it in his lone eye, the internal debate, the look of judgement and scorn cast his way. He'd deliberately chosen the side of the Imperials, and had the audacity to see himself as superior to Ralof. To the Stormcloaks. To Ulfric.

Ralof clenched his teeth, watching the stranger and Hadvar disappear inside the keep. Fine, then. Let the bastard follow the bootlicker. But Ralof had set out to save someone once he'd been set free. And by the Nine, he would do so.

He ducked back down the street he'd come from, searching the ruined city for other survivors. Not the Imperials, who were still hellbent on their fruitless efforts of holding off the dragon. Not the townspeople either, who had already chosen their side. No, he had to worry about the other Stormcloaks, since no one else would.

Now

Bradley and Hadvar emerged into the light, Hadvar sighing with relief as they did.

Then they heard the sound of wing flaps above.

"Wait," Hadvar said as they both took cover behind a rock.

The dragon flew overhead, roaring again as it headed off, over distant ruins on the mountain.

Hadvar sighed again, getting to his feet. "Looks like it's gone for good, this time," he said, turning towards Bradley. "But I don't think we should stick around to see if he comes back."

Bradley nodded, standing straight. "I suppose you know where we should go, then?"

"Probably not," Hadvar admitted, "But I do have an idea."

Bradley chuckled warmly. "That's more than what I have, soldier. Where to?"

"Well," Hadvar muttered, stroking his chin in thought. "The closest town from here's Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there. I'm sure he'd help you out."

"I see, Bradley replied. "And yourself?"

"Oh, that's a given," Hadvar scoffed, waving a hand. "The man and his family love me, and I love them. We'd do anything for each other."

"You're quite fortunate," Bradley praised. "All of you."

"I suppose." Hadvar glanced to the skies over the distant mountain, grimacing. "It's probably best if we split up," he said, starting down the dirt path ahead of them. "Good luck, I wouldn't have made it without your help today."

Bradley gave him a wave, then sighed, sitting down on the rock. He had one final test to make. Slowly, he drew one of his new blades, peering at his reflection in the flat surface along its side.

His eyepatch was back. Odd, how he hadn't noticed that before. Still, he'd become quite used to wearing it over the years, so it wasn't that surprising. Still, if it was back...

He peeled the leather back, opening the scarred eyelids behind it. Though it was distorted by the sword's unpolished metal, the unmistakable serpent mark of the homunculi stared back at him.

This perplexed him more than anything thus far. More than the execution, the dragon, hell, more than his newfound ability in magic. All alchemists who passed into the Gate had something taken from them, and most often that thing was their flesh and bone. So why had he been spared?

Or, perhaps the question was what had been taken from Bradley?

He shook his head, sheathing his blade and getting back to his feet. Perhaps he could find others who'd seen the Gate here. Someone who'd know the answers to his questions.

He replaced the patch and walked down the path. To his surprise, he found Hadvar by the side of a stone road. Bradley paused a few paces behind him, pointedly clearing his throat.

The soldier hopped to his feet, clearing his throat and turning pink. "I, uh," he muttered, adjusting his belt. "Wasn't waiting for you, just, uh. Catching my breath, is all."

Bradley couldn't help but smirk. "Undoubtedly. But since I am here, and know next to nothing about this country, perhaps we could continue our journey together, for a time."

"Right," Hadvar nodded, turning away, perhaps a tad too quickly, and marching down the road.

Bradley rolled his eyes (good to have it confirmed there were indeed two), and followed the soldier, silently wondering how his wife was.

The Stormcloaks found sporadically through the keep were one thing. The torturer Ralof had personally decapitated was another. But this was a massacre.

Ralof and the two Stormcloaks he'd manage to rescue from the town above stood before a chamber littered with dead Stormcloaks. To the right, it seemed more like an actual battle; it even had a dead Imperial as a consolation prize down there. But to the left, under the bridge, and near the tunnel to the rear...

"What in Oblivion happened here?" asked one of his companions, the woman who'd put to words what horror had come down to Helgen.

Ralof snorted. "Nothing as bad as the dragon attack," he answered, though, he too, was worried. "But whoever did this was clever. Too clever for my liking."

His other companion, a heavyset, thickly bearded man, drew his battleaxe from his back. "They might still be here, Ralof."

"I doubt it, Throrn," Ralof answered, shaking his head. "They were clever, but this was desperate. "They're probably halfway to Whiterun by now."

He heard a weak cough from beneath the first bridge and looked down. One of the dead had not quite shuffled off the mortal coil, but he was damned close to it. He lay under two of the corpses, a trail of blood led from his feet all the way to the closest set of stairs.

Ralof's eyes widened, and he jumped down to the fallen Stormcloak, kneeling by his side. "Did you find any healing potions, Faye?" he demanded, shoving the bodies off of the downed man with a grunt of effort.

The woman nodded, rushing down to them as she dug into a satchel. "Just one," she answered, pulling out the red bottle. "It had better be enough."

Ralof snatched the bottle from her hands, popping the cork off and pouring a few drops into the soldier's mouth.

The man coughed slightly, slowly swallowing it. "More," he said, his voice weak and horse. "Please."

Ralof nodded, now tilting the man's head up and putting the rim of the bottle up to his lips. "Drink slowly."

The dying man did as told, coughing again as the now empty bottle was pulled away. With a sigh, he muttered, "Thank the Divines you got here in time."

Ralof sighed with relief, smiling down at him. "Of course, brother. How bad are your wounds?"

The soldier smirked. "Oh, one of them got me good in the stomach. I swear, I was just about to see Sovngard when you came for me."

"It wasn't your time yet," Faye proclaimed with a grin. "Not on our watch."

Ralof nodded along with her words. "Have you got a name, brother?"

The soldier coughed again, grunting with effort as he sat up. He forced a grin through the pain, holding out a hand for Ralof's. "Gunern of Shor's Stone. Yours?"

Ralof shook the offered hand firmly. "Ralof of Riverwood. What happened here, Gunern?"

Gunern grimaced at that. "We were part of a rescue operation. We knew Ulfric and too many of our brothers and sisters would be executed here. We also knew of an escape route below the keep, where the walls would be thin enough to break through to it. What we didn't know was where to go after that. And, the dragon attack, of course."

Ralof nodded. "How did you know about it?"

Gunern snorted, motioning to one of the corpses under the bridge. "You could ask him. But I don't think he'll answer."

Ralof sighed, motioning to Throrn. "Make yourself useful, check his pockets."

"On it," Throrn answered, hopping down and getting straight to it.

Ralof sighed. "And once you were here? What then?"

"Right," Gunern nodded. "While we were taking a look around, I spotted the lever over in that tunnel." He vaguely motioned towards the tunnel into the cave system. "I was about to say something when three Imperials charged in. We split up, some of us going to meet the pair coming down the stairs, others to face the one heading for the bridge. I was fighting the two when I got a slash in the gut. Sort of stumbled and tripped back here."

"And got two corpses on top of you for your troubles," Ralof guessed.

Gunern chuckled darkly. "The first hit me right in the gut wound, almost immediately. I blacked out for a few seconds." His expression then hardened, his skin turning pale. "What I saw next, it made me play dead like a dog doing tricks."

Ralof frowned at that. "What do you mean? What did you see?"

Gunern took a deep breath. "An old, one eyed man. Taking on almost half of us. The other two fought fiercely, but this man..." He shuddered. "He was killing the others like... like a damned farmer slicing through wheat! He set them on fire, he froze and shocked them."

Faye spat on the ground. "Of course the Imperial used magic. Damned coward, like all mages are."

Ralof felt his frown deepen. While he could never wrap his head around magic himself, he didn't generally share his fellow Nords' superstition about mages. Sure, it was scary, but it would be much better on their side than with their enemies. Besides, Ulfric himself was a master of the Voice, like the Tongues of old, or even the Greybeards. Surely it wasn't that different.

Gunern snorted. "True, the man used magic. But I don't think he needed it. Whenever he used magic, he took his damned time killing us. Like he was playing with us. And then, he must have gotten bored, because he broke a man's neck with his bare hands and pulled out a sword. At least then they got to die quickly. Then I saw him rush forward, dodging arrows and setting the archers in the back of the room on fire." He chuckled again, adding, "They must have been standing in oil, because he didn't even aim for them."

Ralof nodded slowly, licking suddenly dry lips. That old man did all that? How did he end up in binds, then? Was it all some kind of sick game for him?

He felt a shiver run down his spine as another option set in.

What if he had summoned the dragon?

He shook his head. He had bigger things to worry about. If Hadvar and the stranger had already escaped, they were probably heading for Riverwood now. Hadvar's uncle lived there, and would absolutely help them. Ralof could hide with his sister and her husband at the mill, but that would mean abandoning these three.

He sighed, shaking his head. "Can you walk, Throrn?"

Throrn scoffed, hoisting himself up with a grunt. "I can run, if it means getting away from Helgen."

"Good," Ralof said with a nod. "Once we're out of here, I know a bandit camp we can clear out so we can rest. After that, we'll need to plan a route back to Windhelm. If that stranger really is siding with the Empire, Ulfric will need all the soldiers he can get."

Other than the near execution by both man and dragon, Bradley found this Skyrim place to be quite quaint. Hadvar had shared a few details about the countryside with him, like Bleak Falls Barrow, the ruins atop the mountain up ahead. He'd even shown him the Guardian Stones, which Bradley found interesting, but had decided against using. And when the wall of Riverwood was in sight, they'd even got to kill a pair of wolves. It was far less exciting than the escape from Helgen, and a sign to Bradley that perhaps there were overhunting issues in this country, but all in all, the trip was nice and calming.

But, at long last, they arrived in a town that wasn't A: trying to kill him, or B: being actively attacked by a dragon. Though, Bradley was hesitant to call it a town. More a tiny village, and barely that. There were so few buildings, seven in all, and only three weren't dedicated to a business of some kind.

As they passed through the gate, Hadvar leaned towards Bradley. "Look," he said quietly, "As far as I'm concerned, you've already earned your pardon. But until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, alright?"

Bradley shot a glare at the soldier. "I was sentenced to death by a whim of your superior officer," he reminded Hadvar harshly. "As far as I'm concerned, I never needed a pardon in the first place."

Hadvar chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. "I, uh, suppose you might be right there." He waved a hand. "In any case, I'm glad you came with me. Come on, there's my uncle."

They walked up to the second building on the right, where a tall, bearded man in red toiled away at a forge up on the balcony.

"Uncle Alvor," Hadvar called, stepping up onto the balcony with a wave. "Hello."

Alvor turned away from his work, slowly putting down his hammer as he stared in awe at the pair. "Hadvar? What are you doing here?" he asked, walking up to them. "Are you on leave from-"

He stopped in his tracks, taking a moment to examine Hadvar's wounds. On top of the slight burns, the soldier now sported a few new cuts from combat. "Shor's bones," Alvor breathed. "What happened to you, boy? Are you in some kind of trouble?"

"Shh," Hadvar said, glancing around the town. "Uncle, please, keep your voice down. I'm fine, but we should go inside to talk."

"What's going on?" Alvor demanded, then blinked at Bradley, finally noticing him. "And who's this?"

Bradley held up a finger, about to speak. But Hadvar beat him to it.

"He's a friend," Hadvar quickly said, standing between them. "Saved my life, in fact. Come on, I'll explain everything, but we need to get inside."

Alvor shook his head with a sigh. "Fine. Come on inside. Sigrid will fix you something to eat, and you can tell me all about it."

With an exchanged nod, the pair made their way to the front door. Bradley made to follow them, but was stopped by a shriek from behind.

"A dragon!" cried out an old woman on her own balcony as a young man passed by. "I saw a dragon!"

The young man sighed in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "What? What is it now, mother?"

Despite himself, Bradley turned to witness the exchange.

The old woman held her arms out wide. "It was as big as the mountain, and black as night! It flew right over the barrow!"

The young man shook his head. "Dragons, now, is it? Please, mother. If you keep on like this, everyone in town will think you're crazy. And I've got better things to do than listen to your fantasies."

As the young man turned to walk away, the old woman shook a fist at him. "You'll see! It was a dragon! It'll kill us all, and then you'll believe me!"

Bradley smirked, finally following Hadvar and Alvor inside. The son, undisciplined as he was, had one thing right: that old woman was the worst messenger of such tidings.

Later

Embershard Mine had been filled to the brim with bandits. Even though there were no true casualties, none of the Stormcloaks got out of the battle without a few new wounds.

But they were alive. And to Ralof, that was all that mattered.

He'd helped the others dump the bodies under the bridge near the entrance. Eventually, they'd set up the traps again, but for now, they would be fine. No one ever came up here, not since before the bandits had established themselves here.

They now sat around the campfire below the entry tunnel, nursing wounds and finally getting in a meal.

"So," Throrn said around a mouthful of cheese. "What now?"

Ralof sighed, looking down at his apple, which he had yet to bite into. "For now, we rest up. Heal our wounds. Plan a route back to Windhelm. There isn't much else we can do."

Faye shook her head. "I think we need to hunt down the man who almost killed Gunern, here. The Imperials shouldn't have a monster like that on their side."

"And you think we can kill him?" Gunern asked, glaring at her. "I saw how we fought against these bandits. We wouldn't stand a chance against him, even if we all ambushed him."

Ralof held up a hand. "I hear you both," he said calmly. "And you're both right. We can't face him, not on our own. But we can keep track of his movement."

"And how do you propose we do that?" Throrn asked, raising an eyebrow.

"We won't do anything, for the moment," Ralof answered, finally biting into his apple. "But my sister and her husband run the mill in Riverwood." He chewed, then swallowed. "I can see if they know anything, anyone who could follow him around and send word to Ulfric about his movements."

Faye shook her head, grumbling, "Doesn't sound like a foolproof plan."

Ralof nodded with a sigh. "No, it's not. But until we get any better ideas, it's the best one we have. That Imperial is a real threat, and he survived Helgen. We can't depend on dumb luck taking care of him for us."

Gunern shrugged. "As long as I never have to see him again, I'm good with this one."

The Stormcloaks nodded, and went back to their meal in silence.