AN: Feel free to skip this extended author's note. I'm providing a little context for new or returning readers..
When I first began writing this story the year was 2011. I was just a kid who was utterly obsessed with Skyrim. As a longtime Oblivion fan I was rocked by a game that was so much greater and it easily became my favorite game of all time. I wrote this adaptation on and off until 2014 when I lost a whole chapter of work due to technical problems. This combined with college, the death of my grandfather and general life issues, prompted a writing hiatus from which I never returned. Flash forward to 2023 and a lot has changed. I've been married for seven years, have two kids, with one more on the way, while working as a Pastor (three full years!). I've moved twice, worked plenty of jobs and watched the world change around me.
When I picked up Skyrim again in 2023 on a whim, I was drawn right back in. It was like a home I'd never left. So, I went back to the old story I'd written on and reread it. While I cringed a whole lot at some early chapters, clearly I was in the stage where I would rather die than write the word "said," I was impressed by the heart and ideas I had. So, feeling I owed the kid who wrote it, and anyone left from the old days who still has the story in their subscriptions, I decided to pick it up again. I've edited these early chapters, rewriting some extensively, and I'm powering on to new content as well. I've improved so much as a writer since then (see my Fallout work for a better take on my current abilities) and I'm really excited to take my decade of improvement and apply it to this old passion project. Who knows, maybe I'll write that trilogy (Dawnguard and then Dragonborn) after all. While the original, unaltered version of this story, along with authors' notes that are no longer applicable, exists on my computer as a monument to what was, this new version will remain the only version viewable online. I'll be trying to get a rewritten chapter up once a week for the first 18 chapters and maintain a similar pace for the new content. We'll see however.
Mists on the Mountains is part narration and part novelization of the Skyrim main story. We'll see Hammel Greymist wrestle with being Dragonborn. However, other OC's, most based on my siblings' characters from the old days, will have plenty to do as well. This is a story beyond the Dragonborn himself, with POV's from these other characters alongside beloved NPC's like Aela the Huntress and Lydia.
If you are reading this story for the first time, welcome. I hope you enjoy it. If you've been waiting for a decade for an update, welcome back my friend. It's good to see you again. Sorry for the long wait.
-Alec
Chapter 1
Returning Home.
"Though I wander fair Tamriel slaying monsters, looting dungeons and saving maidens, those achievements pale in comparison to returning home. There's nothing quite like returning to that special someone and hanging your helmet over the fire before sitting down to a nice bowl of warm stew. I wish all homes were as welcoming as mine."-Tharafin Odmar, the Dunmer adventurer and later count of Bruma, often called, "The Hero of Kvatch." Quote circa 4E 5, recorded in a private journal.
A spray of frigid water struck Hammel Greymist's face, waking him from his stupor. The unpleasant sensation was immediately followed by a sharp drop which aggressively bounced the rickety cart. Smacking his head against the bench, Hammel cursed.
One moment he was crossing the border from Cyrodiil into Skyrim, the next he'd blundered into a skirmish between the Imperial Legion and Stormcloak rebels. He hadn't had the chance to identify himself before being struck in the back of the head. He'd woken up in the cart, cold, damp, and sore. As the sensation slowly came back to his body, Hammel realised he was in dull, but significant, pain and his hands were bound with thick hempen rope.
At least I'm home.
Skyrim. It was a funny thing returning to his homeland after so long. Hammel had spent so much time in Elsweyr, her rolling sands and sweltering jungles so different from Skyrim, that he'd almost forgotten what it looked like. The ache in his heart for the towering mountains, open tundras, and massive pine forests had never left. Often at night, laying in his bedroll gazing up at unfamiliar constellations, he'd dream of Skyrim.
It was just as beautiful as he remembered. The snow capped mountains, crisp air, and gently falling snow granted him a sense of peace he wasn't expecting. He could hear the birds singing their old familiar songs over the squeaking of wheels. At least if he died, he would die at home..
"Hey, you're finally awake." The voice was thick and laced with a strong Nordic accent. Hammel lifted his head slowly, mindful of the growing headache, and saw the man across from him. Like Hammel, he was a Nord with a face covered in grime and scars. Unlike Hammel, his hair was blond and ran to his shoulders while a full beard sitting proudly on his chin. He was dressed in chainmail armor covered by a blue tunic. His hands were bound and, judging from the bloody stains on his wrist, he'd tried unsuccessfully to twist free. Hammel felt the thickness of his own bonds and judged nothing short of a blade would remove them.
Next to the Stormcloak sat an exotic looking elf woman, Altmer, if Hammel had to guess. Her hair was midnight black contrasted by eyes of typical High Elf gold. Streaked across her face was dark blue warpaint, done in a Nordic style. Despite her height, pointed ears and golden skin tone, she was dressed in the same blue tunic and chainmail as the man beside her.
"You were trying to cross the border right?" the blond Stormcloak continued. "You aren't a Stormcloak like us." He nodded at the woman beside him, "You've picked a bad time to come home kinsman."
"Shut up Ralof," the Elf hissed, "Don't tell him anything." A gust of wind coated her midnight hair with flecks of snow but didn't change her ice-cold expression.
"What does it matter, Lianna?" The man responded casually, "He's not one of them either." The Altmer snorted, but didn't argue. As Hammel's vision fully cleared, he noticed Ralof and the Elf were holding hands as best they could despite the bindings.
Lovers perhaps?
"What's your story, friend?"
The cart continued its forward march scattering the snow and water before it, leading the prisoners ever closer to their unknown destination.
Hammel Greymist didn't particularly feel like giving that story to a complete stranger. "Wrong place, wrong time." His words were rough, burrowing up through his throat like a pickaxe. It had been so long since he'd spoken; it felt unnatural.
"Ah, you're like the thief." Ralof pointed towards the end of the cart. Turning his head, Hammel realised there were three others he hadn't noticed. One was a scrawny Nord dressed in rags, obviously the thief. Next to him sat an Orc, dressed in the robes of a mage. He was bound, gagged and likely magically Silenced. Lastly, there was another Stormcloak, except he wore a fur-lined cape instead of a simple tunic. He was tall and proud with noble features. His mouth was gagged but nothing hid the look of pure hate directed towards the Legionary driver.
"Blasted Stormcloaks," the thief muttered, "Skyrim was fine until you started your little war. The Empire was nice and lazy." He signed. "I could have been on that horse and halfway to Hammerfell by now. Instead of a rich payday and warm bed I'm stuck here with you." Glancing across at the gagged Stormcloak, the thief asked casually, "Who's this anyway?"
"Watch your tongue," Ralof commanded. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhlem and true High King."
Lianna, the Altmer, inclined her head towards the bound Jarl, murmuring, "Talos' blessings on you, Jarl Ulfric."
"Shut up back there!" The driver ordered before snapping his reins and increasing the horse's pace.
At the mention of Ulfric's name,the thief turned ghostly pale. "Wait, if that's Ulfric, then where are we headed?" He began looking about desperately, as if searching for some obvious exit he'd previously missed.
"I don't know where exactly we're headed, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof said causally despite an undercurrent of sorrow. Next to him Lianna closed her eyes and bowed her head, muttering something in a solemn tone.
"Sovngarde..." the thief whispered. Clearly terrified with the prospect of facing the afterlife he began to panic. "No, no, no, no!" He looked across at Hammel, fighting to hold back tears, "This isn't right! We aren't rebels! We don't deserve to die!"
No one responded and, after a few whimperers, the thief settled into a grief-charged silence.
The cart's wheels protested loudly as they turned another bend, slamming Hammel against his seat. Thick stone walls loomed in the distance, the guards barely visible atop them. Several flags flew from towers evenly placed along the walls, Imperial ones judging from the pattern.
"Hey," Ralof asked the thief, "Where are you from, horse-thief?"
The panicking man blinked. "What?"
Smiling, Ralof said, "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"Rorikstead." The thief's words were so soft Hammel had to strain his ears to hear them, "I'm from Rorikstead."
"Summerset Isle," Lianna said crisply, "Though, my true home is Riverwood."
"Riverwood," Ralof murmured, closing his eyes, "I can smell the pines now." After a moment of reflection he asked, "And what of you, brother Nord?" The cart rolled under the town's gateway. "Where is your home?"
Images flashed before Hammel's eyes, wars, drinks, exotic women with one in particular. He'd had a birthplace, a family, a purpose but now he had nothing. "I was born in Solitude." The images were hard to drag up after having been thoroughly buried for so many years. "But...it's been so long."
"Hey," Ralof encouraged, "I understand. At least we're all going to the same place right?" He glanced around the village, noticing a trio of Altmer in dark robes speaking with a distinguished looking older Imperial. "Look, it's General Tullius and his masters. They must be glad to see he's being a good dog." Ralof spat. "Bloody Thalmor, figures they'd have something to do with this."
Hammel expected some kind of outburst from Lianna but she looked just as furious as Ralof. "How'd you get on the wrong side of your people?" The Nord's attempt to make conversation didn't garner quite the response he expected.
"They aren't my people." She said with cold resolve. "I'm a daughter of the snow." She gestured to the war paint smeared across her face like a badge of honour.
Shrugging his shoulders, Hammel didn't respond prisoners sat in silence for a moment, the cart's wheels squeaking loudly, its axles groaning. "Ah, Helgen," Ralof murmured, glancing around at the village now surrounding the wagons. "I used to be sweet on a girl here once." Lianna coughed loudly and Ralof smiled at her. "Before I met you, of course." She returned the smile, rubbing her bound hands against his.
"It's good we're together in the end." Her words were without regret.
"Always so full of hope," Ralof laughed, ignoring the driver's order to quiet down. He sniffed the air once. "Juniper berries, I wonder if Thalga is still making that mead I loved. She always puts just the right amount in. Too many berries dilutes the flavour but too few and that sharp aftertaste isn't there. Gods I miss it..." Voice trailing off, Ralof became quiet, realising he'd never taste that mead, or any other drink, again.
He glanced up at one of the towers after a moment. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls always made me feel so safe." Ralof snorted a little, punctuated by the sudden stop of the cart. Hammel saw a second wagon, also loaded with prisoners, pull up against the wall adjacent to them. There was nowhere to run.
"Why are we stopping?" The thief asked, pausing his frantic prayers to the Divines.
"Why do you think?" Lianna spat, eyeing the thief with contempt.
"It's the end of the line." Ralof's words were kinder in tone if not intent. "A one-way journey to Sovngarde."
"No!" The thief howled, throwing himself against the sides of the cart. "You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!" The guards ignored his desperate screams, going about their tasks with bored expressions.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof's reply was firm, as unyielding as Skyrim itself.
"Everyone out!" The cart driver ordered as the cart's ramp dropped. Glancing at the adjacent wagon, Hammel saw its occupants climb down with their heads held high. On his own cart it was much the same. The Orc disembarked as proudly as any of the Stormcloaks. Ulfric, despite his gag and bindings, resembled a figure of myth, his stance showing power and horse-thief with teeth chattering, wet himself in terror as he stumbled down the ramp. The thief's tears ran down, leaving clear streaks in his grimy face, as his feet connected with the mud. Hammel followed them, his shoulders slumped.
The entire village seemed to surround the square where they stood. People lined the balconies and porches, some smiling, others weeping, but all remained silent. Before them the central watchtower soared over the keep, other towers, and every other building in the village. An Imperial banner flapped triumphantly in the wind atop it, glaring down at the prisoners.
None of this held Hammel's attention. Instead, his eyes focused squarely on the simple stone block, stained with fresh blood. It sat contentedly in the middle of the village square with a bucket of dirty straw for company. Behind it was a masked executioner who stood quiet as death itself. At that moment he seemed as tall as a giant.
Six legionaries armed with spears guarded the road out of the village. Four archers stood at the path's bend with bows at the ready. Several other soldiers milled about trying to look like they were doing their jobs instead of watching the execution. Standing directly on the path before the block was a Nord legionnaire carrying the logbook of a clerk and a short, female Imperial. While her armor marked her as a captain, the barking tone in her voice confirmed it.
The prisoners were herded into a semi-circle, all looking at that simple stone block, imagining how their necks would feel stretched across it.
General Tullius strode brazenly towards Ulfric with a Thalmor agent at either side. Looking Ulfric up and down, Tullius said, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!" Tullius' accusation clearly angered Ulfric, who growled furiously from behind his gag in response. Tullius didn't humor him. "You started this war! Plunged the Empire into chaos. Now we're going to finish it, by putting you down and restoring the peace!" Facing the stern-faced woman, Tullius commanded in a softer voice, "Carry on, Captain."
Pounding a fist against her breastplate in salute she responded, " Yes, general." Looking over the gathered rebels she addressed them coldly. "When we call your name step forward!"
The legionnaire clerk looked down at his notes, "Ulfric Stormcloak."
The leader of the rebellion strode fearlessly towards the block. "It's been an honour, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof muttered, his gaze lowered.
"Talos' blessings on you, my Jarl," Lianna whispered, her eyes shut and head bowed in respect. Hammel heard the other Stormcloaks give various blessings, along with some of the grieving villagers.
"Lokir of Rorikstead," the clerk continued while looking directly at the horse-thief. Courage failed Lokir who ran for the city gates. He howled something about escaping that Hammel didn't hear.
"Archers! Take him!" The captain snarled, jabbing an armoured hand at Lokir. The bowmen took aim and released a flight of arrows. Four struck the horse-thief's back. With a gargle, Lokir crumpled in a rapidly expanding pool of blood. "Anyone else feel like running?" The captain asked, shooting a warning glare at the gathered prisoners. No one did.
"Wait," The clerk said while looking directly at Hammel, "Step forward please." For a split second Hammel considered running but seeing Lokir's rapidly cooling corpse ended that idea. Hammel's wild unkempt beard and rough cloth shirt offered no protection against arrows. His bare feet crushing snow and mud underneath Hammel advanced, standing before the clerk. The clerk asked, "Who are you?"
"Hammel Greymist," Hammel answered plainly. "Born in Solitude. I served in the Imperial Legion, most recently in northern Elsweyr. I fought the bandit army there as part of the 16th Legion's expedition. I'm returning home to Skyrim for much-needed rest." Smiling a little, he said, "My Imperial Legion service number is 829-730."
Baffled, the clerk glanced across to his captain. "What should we do? He isn't on the list and it's a valid serial number."
The captain looked Hammel up and down, appraising him for a moment before making her decision. "Hang the list. He goes to the block."
That wasn't the response Hammel expected.
"You bastards!" He roared while lunging at the captain, fully intending to bludgeon her to death despite his bound of the nearby legionaries grabbed him before he'd made it half a step. They managed to hold him back despite all his struggling. "I shed my blood for the Empire!" Hammel screamed, spittle flying from his lips. "Does that mean nothing?"
"Add him to the others," the captain ordered, waving her hand towards the captured rebels. She pointedly ignored Hammel's attempts to break free. Turning towards a woman whose dark robes were embroidered with the symbols of Arkay, the captain said, "Give them their last rites."
The priestess began the appropriate ritual for fallen criminals, holding her hands outward in a simple blessing. "As we commit your souls to Aetherius, may the Eight Divines bless you and have mercy on..."
"Oh for the love of Talos, shut up already and just get on with it!" A dark-haired male Stormcloak shouted, shoving his way past the others.
The priestess stopped abruptly, apparently shocked to both hear the name Talos and be interrupted in the middle of the rite. She froze, looking oddly comical as she stood there awkwardly. "As you wish," the captain snapped. Waving the Stormcloak over with a vicious smile, she continued, "Glad to have a volunteer."
The Stormcloak walked forward, head held high. "Good, I haven't got all morning." He knelt at the executioner's block without a fight, laying his head across it. Even as the captain pinned him there beneath her steel boot, the Stormcloak was defiant, "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can you say the same?"
The executioner raised and dropped his heavy axe in one fluid motion. It was a clean cut. With a spray of blood it was over. The head fell into the waiting basket and the body went limp. The captain kicked his body away derisively, ignoring the calls of several villagers.
"You Imperial bastards!"
"We demand justice!"
"Kill another!"
"Death to the Stormcloaks!"
"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof murmured softly, looking at his fallen comrade, "You have entered the halls of Sovngarde."
Jabbing her finger at Hammel, the captain ordered, "Next, bring him."
The trio of legionaries shoved Hammel forward, their hands resting on sword hilts. Hammel approached the block without a fight, without a word. Kneeling at the stone, his neck wet with the warm blood of the previous Nord to die upon it, Hammel waited for the axe. He gazed up into the clear blue skies, so close they could touch the mountains. The snow fell gently, as if Kynareth herself was weeping for her sons.
At least I saw the sky one last time.
Then he heard the roar.
It came echoing down from the distant mountains. Like a sabre cat but richer, deeper, deadlier. "What was that?" The clerk asked nervously, wrapping his free hand around the hilt of his sword.
"Nothing, just a bear." The captain gestured authoritatively at the executioner, "Continue."
"That's the biggest bear I've ever heard," Lianna muttered, her expression unreadable.
The Orc suddenly seemed very nervous, yellow eyes darting from side to side, shrinking inside his battered robes. The dirty fur collar looked like it had swallowed his head.
All of this hardly mattered to Hammel as the executioner drew closer, axe gleaming with a deadly light. Hammel kept gazing into Skyrim's sky, wanting it to be the last thing he saw before the end. The sky around Helgen was so clear that he saw it. His eyes were open but he didn't believe what they beheld.
It was a dragon. Black as death.
A dragon in Skyrim? A living dragon? I'm going crazy.
Then the beast roared and everyone noticed. "What in Oblivion is that?" A guard screamed in panic.
"Dragon!" The priestess howled, throwing up a ward spell as if it could help her.
The dragon landed atop the central watchtower with shuddering force, knocking the banner to the ground. It roared, shaking the foundations of the shock-wave caused by the impact knocked the executioner clean off his feet. He'd been so absorbed with his work that he hadn't noticed the monster until it was too late. Even as the executioner fell, dropping his axe in the process, the dragon breathed out a wave of flame.
People were screaming and running in every direction, buildings were burning as the captain attempted to organise the soldiers. Most fled, abandoning their posts without a second thought.
Hammel tried to rise but the dragon howled again, beating its wings furiously against the tower. The resulting gust of wind smashed Hammel's unprotected head into the executioner's block, dazing him. "Sacred Talos!" He snarled, trying to fight the pain that made his world spin. He clutched the block tightly, attempting to focus even as his vision faded. Someone grabbed his shoulder, yanking him to his feet.
"Come on friend! We need to make it to the tower!" His voice was harsh and deep, far deeper than any Nord's. Hammel's vision returned and he found himself staring into the eyes of the Orc mage. In all the carnage he'd managed to get free. "Run! Go!"
Hammel didn't need more encouragement. His steps were shaky but the dragon burning soldiers and buildings alike motivated him to move. Stumbling over the burning corpse of a legionnaire, Hammel glanced up to see Ralof holding open the door of a nearby tower. Wasting no time, the Nord and Orc sprinted across the village square, pounding up the tower's steps. Ralof slammed the door shut as they ran past, nearly catching the tail of the mage's robes.
The dragon's roars and the screaming of villagers and soldiers alike painted a grim picture of the world outside the tower. Despite its stone construction, the tower seemed incredibly fragile, like a child's toy before a boot. It shook with the fury of dragon flames, the candles flickering as they wobbled in their horns. Only a lucky few had made it to temporary safety, one of them badly wounded. The injured woman groaned in pain while a second Stormcloak did his best to stem the bleeding, whispering encouragement in her ear.
Ulfric Stormcloak tore the gag free from his mouth. Apparently the Jarl of Windhelm was one of the lucky ones.
"What was that, Jarl Ulfric?" Lianna asked in a panic, her hands still bound and her forehead caked in blood. "Could the ancient legends be true?"
"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric's words hung in the air, nicely punctuated by another roar. "We need to move, now!" He commanded.
"We can't stay here." Hammel agreed, nodding towards the door. " That dragon will burn down this tower along with us!."
"Raina's in no condition to be moved!" The makeshift healer shouted, "We can't leave her behind!" The female Stormcloak howled in pain as if to emphasise the point.
"I will carry her." Every eye turned to look at the Orc in astonishment, they'd almost forgotten his presence. "I assume that is satisfactory?"
"Absolutely," Ralof said for everyone present. Glancing over at Hammel he shouted, "Up the stairs, the others will follow!"
Hammel went into soldier mode, ignoring all distractions except the objective. His bare feet pounded up the cold stone steps, his breath coming in ragged gasps.
Get to the top of the tower. Survey the scene. Find a way out.
Unfortunately for Hammel Greymist, a certain dragon had other ideas.
He'd just reached the second floor when the dragon's flames broke through the stone. Hammel fell back, nearly consumed by the roaring inferno blasting the tower's upper floors. The tower partially collapsed, blocking the upper stairs.
Glancing through the hole the dragon's fire made, Hammel saw the roof of the adjacent two-story house had caved in. The home was blazing but still stood. As long as it did, he could bypass the rubble and escape to Helgen's keep.
The keep might not be the safest place with the Imperials likely to attack first and question never but it seemed sturdy enough to survive the dragon fire, unlike this tower.
Despite the obvious logic, Hammel struggled with the leap from the tower to the burning house below. "You're going to have to jump!" Ralof shouted, looking down at the cottage. "It's the only way out."
"What about you?" Hammel didn't really know Ralof but the Stormcloak hadn't tried to kill him yet, that made him an ally of sorts.
Ralof shook his head. "I'm waiting for my wife, I'll catch up. Go!"
Hammel swallowed, then took a flying leap.
It was a curious feeling, jumping with his hands bound. The midair journey felt like an eternity but was no longer than a few seconds. Hammel's bare feet struck the wooden floor of the house with a painful but satisfying thud. The heat around him was oppressive, the smoke suffocating.
Hacking painfully to clear his lungs, he staggered through the burning cottage, past a bed and over a fallen cupboard. A hole in the floor provided a way to the ground level. Hammel was so desperate to get off the burning second floor he didn't bother looking before jumping. A table covered in tankards and ugly ceramic dinnerware broke his fall. Several plates shattered beneath him, slicing his feet, ankles and arms. Cursing in pain, Hammel rolled off the table, knocking over a few mugs in the process.
Getting to his feet, he scrambled for the front door. It was hanging on one hinge, halfway between standing and falling. Hammel's shoulder proved enough to finish the job. The door exploded outward exposing a village street. The dragon flew overhead, engulfing a pair of archers with a wave of flame. They burst into flames, disintegrating before Hammel's eyes.
After the dragon moved on, Hammel darted out of the house into the open. Across the street he saw the clerk had traded his logbook for a sword. He was crouching behind some rubble waving a child over. "Come on boy, you're doing great!" The child put on a burst of speed when the dragon roared again. The young boy barely made it to cover before the gout of flame melted the stone where he'd just been standing.
Addressing an old legionnaire behind him, the Nord clerk shouted, "Take care of the boy! I've got to find General Tullius and join the defence!"
"Gods guide you Hadvar!" The old soldier responded, shielding the child with his armored body.
Hadvar looked over at Hammel with mild disdain. "Still alive prisoner? Come with me if you want to stay that way!" Considering he most certainly did, Hammel followed Hadvar as closely as he could. The legionnaire dashed through the burning village, sword in hand.
Time seemed to both dash and crawl. Hammel's feet pounded through the dirt. Smoke and fire were everywhere, further weakening already sore muscles. He passed a newly freed Stormcloak wrestling over a pike with one of the legionaries. He saw several archers firing at the dragon. He heard the furious chanting of the priestess working her spells.
Focus on getting to the safety of the keep. Worry about everything else later.
Moving through smoking skeletons that had once been homes, Hammel followed his impromptu guide as closely as he dared.
Hadvar hacked his way through the smouldering ruin of a collage, pressing on towards the keep, shouting for the archers to keep the arrows flying. Ducking his head under a charred door frame Hammel followed, making his own way towards the perceived safety of the keep.
Several prisoners clashed with auxiliaries while wall-mounted archers fired arrows at the rampaging dragon to seemingly no effect. Almost lazily, the great beast flew low over the wall, snatching up two archers in its massive claws. The men fell screaming to their deaths after the dragon dropped them.
The keep was dead ahead, an island of safety in the sea of chaos. Shoving his way past an elderly villager who stood frozen gawking at the dragon, Hammel made his way to the doors.
The keep had two visible entrances, one further to the left and the other a straight run from where he stood. Hadvar was directly ahead of him, moving for the closest door.
Someone else had the same idea.
Ralof dashed out from a burning home with an iron battleaxe in each hand. Both weapons were dripping blood, proving they'd been used. Lianna was close behind him, the shovel gripped tightly between her now unbound hands was caked in gore.
"Stand aside Imperial lapdog!" Ralof threatened, jabbing his right battleaxe menacingly at Hadvar. "You stopped us before, but not this time!"
Hadvar, knowing two against one weren't good odds, gave in, "To Oblivion with you, Ralof! I hope that dragon sends you all to Sovngarde!" The clerk fell back, heading to the far door. "Come on prisoner!" He shouted at Hammel, "You want to live don't you?"
"You would go with the Empire? After this?" Ralof shouted indignantly, "Come with me!"
Hammel looked back and forth between the two doors, between Stormcloak and Imperial. "Ralof hasn't tried to kill me today." Hammel snapped before joining the Stormcloaks.
Hadvar didn't seem pleased, his mouth opening for a, no doubt, stinging retort, but another roar from the dragon silenced him. The dragon seemed amused by the pitiful attempts to bring it down, sending another gout of flame at the men below. The priestess tried to maintain her wards but the dragon's power proved too great. Her dying screams prompted Hadvar to finally flee. Throwing open the far door, he disappeared into the inviting darkness of the keep.
"No sense waiting around to get roasted," Lianna snapped, brandishing her shovel. "Ralof, get us in!"
The Stormcloak didn't bother responding to his wife, putting his boot against the nearest door. Lianna charged through it with Hammel hot on her heels. Taking one final glance at the courtyard behind them, Ralof shut the door.
The darkness of the keep surrounded the trio, temporarily protecting them from the dragon. For how long, was another matter entirely.