Chapter One: Helgen Burned
Seventeenth of Last Seed, 4E 201.
For perhaps the first time ever, Father has decided to allow me to make a delivery run on my own. Part of that is likely due to the passing of Mother a few weeks ago, in addition to the fact that I am now an adult in every sense of the word.
With my birthday now behind me, maybe things will finally change for the better. Things at the farm have been tough for the past couple of years. Between Mother's death and the cold that seems to be spreading even further inland than ever, things have been rapidly declining with no sign of stopping. This is the first shipment that we've managed to get out in months.
With some luck, hopefully things will change for the better.
Soll could see Helgen in the distance, the vague outline of the town visible through the fog. All in all, the delivery run had gone about as perfectly as one could hope. Even the predators had mostly stayed hidden away in whatever alcoves they called home.
Soll was left imaging just how proud his father would be. Maybe after today, he would be trusted with even more responsibility, which might help with his father's illness.
No amount of prayer, which Soll had done plenty of, had helped. Soll had prayed to anyone who would listen, yet nothing had worked. Perhaps the Divines were testing him, but he honestly only felt bitterness towards the higher powers.
Still, Soll did his best to remain in high spirit. After all, he was about to complete his first successful delivery. The first of many, Soll mused as the horse, Charger, pulled the carriage closer to the gate of Helgen.
Now Soll could see the unusually thick presence of the Imperial Legion here. Twelve soldiers stood outside of the gate, with half as many archers standing atop the wall. If there were this many guarding the walls, how many were inside?
It should make him feel safer, and to a certain extent it did, but the thick presence of the Legion didn't make much sense. Yes, there were bandits in the area, but not enough to justify all of this.
One of the guards opened the gate, able to tell that Soll posed no threat. While he was armed, he certainly wouldn't be capable of fighting what seemed like multiple garrisons worth of soldiers.
Charger neighed as he pulled the cart past a man who wore rather ornate armor. Perhaps he was a general? But then, why would a general be this far away from the active war zones of Skyrim?
Next to the general was a woman who wore the helmet of a captain. She, too, seemed out of place in this seemingly unimportant area of Imperial control.
It wasn't too much longer before Soll had arrived, a sign with a beheaded boar signalling that this was the place. The sign said: The Headless Boar.
They had ordered grapes, likely intended to be turned into wine. There were many, but in a settlement this large, Soll was sure there were many who came to drink. Besides, it was good for business.
Soll entered the tavern, searching for the owner. It was a rather large establishment, but the man seemed to be the owner sat behind a counter, bossing around a waiter, who seemed a little young to be working at a tavern. Maybe it was his son?
Soll willed the question out of his mind as he approached the owner. "Hail, traveler!" the owner said, taking a break from barking orders to wave him over. "What brings you in?"
"I'm here for a delivery of grapes, from the Goldwood Farm," Soll said, suddenly noticing the owner staring at his pointed ears, one of the traits he had gotten from his father. His mother, who had served in the Great War, was a Nord, and he got his looks from her. Outside of his brown hair and his pointed ears, he didn't really get much from his dad. Hell, he was even built like a Nord.
"Ah, you must be old Wesel's kid, eh?" the owner asked, to which Soll nodded. "You look a hell of a lot like your mother. Sorry for your loss, by the way."
"She's in Sovngarde now," Soll said simply.
The barkeep nodded, "Aye. Well, let's go get the goods."
The two of them walked outside. While they were unloading the barrels full of grapes, Soll's mind moved back to the incredibly heavy military presence. "So, what's with all of this?" Soll asked, gesturing to a tower, which had about thirty archers atop it.
"Well, I don't know whether this is true or not," said the barkeep, "But there have been some travelers coming in from the pass, saying there was a group of prisoners coming here. Supposedly, Ulfric Stormcloak himself is with them."
That would definitely explain the reason behind all of the additional Legion soldiers present. As they brought in the barrels, Soll mused on the fact that, if what those travelers said was true, today could mark the end of the rebellion.
Soll, for only the briefest of moments, considered leaving before the arrival of the Stormcloaks, but decided he wanted to see this monumental day. One day, he would be able to tell his kids that he was there to witness the end of the Civil War.
Soll would get his payment for the delivery, roughly five hundred septims. After that, Soll ended up celebrating the oncoming demise of the Stormcloaks.
Eventually, a traveler came in, shouting that the Imperials were coming. So, Soll stumbled his way out, a little tipsy after a couple of drinks.
The sun was high in the sky now, shining through the mist of the cold day. The mountain air was blowing in, bringing a bitter breeze that made the weather all the more miserable.
The gates to the east swung open, and in came a convoy of soldiers, many prisoners in tow. There was roughly ten carts, each with six Stormcloaks. The cart with Ulfric himself also had a man that seemed out of place. He wore rags, not the traditional blue of the rebellion.
Perhaps he had nothing to do with the rebellion, but Soll figured he had done something to earn his place on that cart.
Soll watched as the criminals were lined up in the middle of the town center, which had been set up for an execution with an impressive efficiency. The front of The Headless Boar offered an amazing view of the event, so Soll decided to sit outside of the tavern and spectate.
The soldiers of the rebellion were checked off one by one. The man in rags, upon getting his name checked off, attempted running. He was given one warning to stop until...
"Archers!" called the captain. Within the next three seconds, ten arrows ended up in his back. He fell to the ground, dead.
Soll didn't feel very good about that moment, but life went on.
After being read their rights, the first Stormcloak was put on the block. "My ancestors are smiling on me, Imperials, can you say the same?" came the voice of the man on the block. The only answer he received was the swing of an axe.
There was a loud mixture of cheers and jeers from the townspeople and Stormcloaks. Soll remained silent, watching wordlessly.
The captain called for the next prisoner to come to the block. At that moment, a roar echoed down, seeming to come from the Throat of the World. "Did you hear that?" asked the one who had helped the captain in writing down names.
The captain, however, seemed to not care. "I said. Next. Prisoner."
"By your orders, captain," the name taker said.
The next one to be executed went to the block. He was forced down to the ground while another roar came from somewhere in the mountains. After a brief pause, the axe fell once more.
That was when it happened.
There was a third roar, but it was now accompanied by the arrival of a black, winged beast. It took all of one second for Soll to realize that it was a dragon, which hadn't been seen on Tamriel for thousands of years, at least.
This was a nightmare, it had to be.
He had half a mind to slap himself as the beast landed on a tower behind the execution block. It roared once more, and this time, the sky darkened, gray clouds blocking out the rays of light from the sun.
It began to rain, but it wasn't water. Meteors descended from the heavens, screaming as they hit the ground and burst into flames. At that moment, chaos ensued.
The soldiers tried their best to defend the town against the dragon and prevent the Stormcloaks from escaping, but that was a tall order.
They took advantage of the chaos, fleeing in the heat of the battle. Soll saw a rebel fall down right in front of him, a meteor parting the clouds over him as it fell.
At times like this, there were no sides, so Soll charged forward, tackling him out of the way. "Thank you," the blonde man said breathlessly. "I owe you my life."
"It's nothing," Soll said, shaking his head as he helped the man up. "The name's Soll."
"Ralof," the rebel said. "Come on, the gods aren't going to give us another chance!" Ralof ran to a nearby tower, the door being held open by another rebel. Soll followed behind, avoiding the chaos as the screams of burning men and women filled the air.
The door was shut behind him, and now Soll could see the people in the room. In the corner, a rebel tended to a wounded soldier, but that wasn't what he focused on.
Right next to him was Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion himself. It was almost surreal. Ulfric was the type of person you hear legends about, definitely not the kind of person you would expect to see on a delivery run.
Then again, dragons didn't usually return from the dead on a delivery run either.
"Who is this?" Ulfric asked, a hostile edge in his tone.
"Don't worry, Jarl Ulfric. He saved my life, he's with me," Ralof said.
"Any friend of Ralof is a friend of mine," Ulfric greeted, shaking Soll's hand. Today truly was a strange day.
"We can't stay here, keep moving! Up the tower, let's go!" Ulfric ordered. Even if he wasn't a Stormcloak, Soll listened. Ralof and Soll led the search upstairs.
Another rebel was sorting through the mess on the second floor. Right before Soll was going to tell him of the new orders, the dragon busted a hold in the wall.
Oddly enough, the dragon seemed to stare at him for a moment, its red eyes staring directly into his soul. Then, it opened its mouth, flames spewing forth, incinerating the rebel. With that, the dragon flew away to terrorize the rest of Helgen.
Ralof looked out the hold left from the dragon, the tower beginning to shake from the structural damage that had been done. "See that house over there?" he asked, to which Soll nodded. "Jump across, I'll meet up with you later!"
Soll knew it was dangerous, but at the moment, he didn't quite care. He least from the tower to the burning home below, landing in a rather clean roll that negated most of the pain. He didn't have time to stay in the building, which was burning down around him.
He descended to the first floor of tho home, bursting out of the front door. He then took in the scene around him. There was a boy huddled over his father, who was clearly dying. The scene brought back some memories Soll did his best to push back down.
The Legionare who had been taking names rushed over, picking up the boy and running away. At first, Soll was confusesd, but then the dragon landed in front of the injured man. Again, it seemed to make eye contact with him. Chills went down his spine as the boy's father went up in flames.
"I'll watch the boy," said an aging man who had witnessed the scene. The name taker nodded in thanks.
"You, come on!" the name taker yelled, running into an alleyway alongside the wall of Helgen. "Stay close to the wall!"
It was a good thing he listened, because the dragon landed on said wall, killing a soldier in a fiery blaze.
When the dragon flew away, the two of them ran, not stopping until they came upon the entrance to Helgen that Soll had came in from hours ago. It looked so much different now that the town was under siege from a dragon.
The general was there, commanding soldiers as they fought a pointless battle against the beast. "Hadvar, come on soldier!" he called. "We are leaving!"
The name taker, Hadvar, continued running, leading Soll to a courtyard in front of the settlement's keep. Ralof came running in at the same time, now wielding an axe he had managed to find in the midst of all the chaos.
"Hadvar, we're escaping! There's no stopping us this time!" Ralof yelled, spitting in his direction.
"I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" Hadvar shouted. Just as a fight was about to break out, the dragon landed in between the three of them.
"You are no dovah, and for that you will die!" the dragon roared. Soll took off running for the entrance to the keep. Ralof made it first, swinging the door open for the two of them. Soll ran inside, Ralof not far behind. The door slammed shut just as the dragon unleashed his fiery breath.
They were safe.