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Escape
The wind was howling. The sky had gone mad, a swiftly churning maelstrom that rained a storm of fireballs upon the town. All around me, Helgen burned – so great was the heat that even the stone walls themselves shrieked and cracked and blistered as easily as thatch roofs and Imperial banners were set aflame. The air was filled with choking fumes, the screams of the injured, and the rank smell of burning fat. In the distance I could hear the shouting of soldiers and the swift flight of arrows – aimed at the dragon no doubt, though the thick smoke behind it made it impossible to see whether any of the projectiles found their mark. Alone in the square I faced the monster, one small figure against the great father of all reptiles itself. I prayed then to the Hist, to Sithis, to any Daedras or Divines that might be listening for aid (because this was no time to be picky, blasphemy be damned). In comparison the dragon, who at the moment did not require any divine intervention, simply looked straight at me with all of its malice (and by my scales I swear I saw dark curls of smoke and flame twisting around its teeth as it drew breath). There was nothing around me, not a single meager bit of cover to duck behind. Nothing. And nothing short of a miracle would see me survive this.
“And then what happened?” Dorthe gasped, eyes wide as saucers, bowl of stew long since forgotten by the side (even though her mother Sigrid was, by all estimations, an excellent cook). “By the Gods I still can’t believe it. A real live dragon, in Helgen! And Imperials! And Stormcloaks! And a dragon!” she exclaimed, looking at her father. "Just like in the stories, Papa!" Despite my lurid descriptions her obvious excitement was infectious; Alvor had a wry grin on his face as he rubbed his beard thoughtfully. A stocky Nord, he still bore the signs of his work, wearing a dark leather blacksmith’s apron and a soot-stained countenance. In contrast, his wife, a lean woman with long auburn hair, appeared far less pleased at my account, merely helping Hadvar to another serving in silence.
Dorthe turned back to me. “So, how did you escape?” she demanded impatiently. “Did the Divines answer your call?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?” I laughed, tearing off a crusty chunk of bread and swiping it through my own bowl. I took a deep bite, savoring every mouthful – it was warm and rich. A mixture of rabbit, potatoes, leeks, and carrots. To be honest, having only just arrived in the town of Riverwood, I’d hadn’t expected to be greeted with such generosity.
The meal itself was a great gift, one I that felt obligated to repay. But I had to answer Dorthe’s question first. “Well, perhaps someone did answer my prayers. For you see-”
So there I was. Face to face with the dragon. From deep within its toothy maw I heard the beginnings of a great, rumbling “Yol-“ and I knew at that moment I faced my death itself.
But today was not the day I would die. Whether by grace or by happenstance, a sudden gust of wind blew a cloud of soot over the square, right between me and the beast. Dark as my scales, it blanketed the ground in an obscuring haze. I didn’t hesitate for a moment, running towards the watchtower that we had passed earlier just as the soot cloud around me turned a deep orange. Then it erupted into fire.
Tongues of the dragon's flames licked my back as I dove into the watchtower, but just before they enveloped me someone slammed the oaken door shut behind with a thud, and upon the blessedly cool floor I heaved an enormous sigh of relief. “By the gods, you’re one lucky bastard,” said a voice above me.
Coughing and smoking, I got to my feet, Covered-in-Ash. "Well-" I croaked weakly, having cheated death for the third time that day. “That's one way to look at it.”
“Kyne herself!” Dorthe yelped in excitement before her mother could hush her. “She must have sent that wind to save you!”
“Maybe, maybe,” I mused, taking another bite. I wasn’t too certain about the members of the Nordic pantheon, but it would certainly be a funny old world if the gods took an active interest in us mere mortals. Or at least, in mortals outside of legend and song. Or rather, as I corrected myself yet again, in ordinary people. That never happened.
Hmm.
As I was contemplating this thought, Sigrid spoke up. “Dorthe, I think it’s time for bed.” Seems like she'd had enough of my story.
“But Mama-!”
“Go on now. Downstairs and change,” Sigrid replied, brooking no dissent. “You know how late it is. Besides, our guests must be exhausted from their journey.” She looked at me then and for her sake I stifled an exaggerated yawn.
“And that’s when I met Footfalls,” continued Hadvar as a dismal Dorthe headed down below with Sigrid. “Of course, having a dragon attack changed things somewhat. I knew the Argonian didn’t deserve to be executed, so I cut his bonds, and we managed to scrounge up some armor and supplies in the tower. After that we found a tunnel, fought our way out of Helgen. The dragon had gone by then too, we saw it flying off towards Bleak Falls Barrow just as we left the cave. Then we traveled here, to Riverwood.”
“And I am most grateful for meeting you both and for your kind hospitality.” I said appreciatively to Sigrid’s smile as she returned. “I never expected to receive such a warm welcome as a complete stranger.”
“… and that’s the long and short of it,” finished Hadvar. He fell silent then, leaving us listening to the crackle of the fireplace and the creaking wooden floor of the cottage.
Alvor was the first to break the silence. “Mara’s mercy,” he started slowly, rubbing his brows. “What a story. Who could imagine after all these years that dragons would return to Skyrim? Those ancient tales of legend…” He paused, shaking his head. “I’m not sure what else there is to say. One thing is certain, though. Riverwood is defenseless – we need to get word of this to Jarl Barlgruuf in Whiterun immediately. I’m just not sure how we’re going to do it. We’re a small town, with barely enough guards as it is, and the courier from Whiterun only comes down once a week.”
I hesitated. On one hand, I had been intending to wash myself of Skyrim as soon as possible. But Alvor’s words rung true. Someone had to go. It was a shame that Hadvar couldn’t, as he had earlier made clear his plans to relay the events of Helgen to his superiors in Solitude as soon as possible. And besides, to the best of my knowledge Whiterun was only few days journey away. I sighed inwardly. I owed them this much. A few more days couldn’t hurt.
“As I said, I am most grateful for your hospitality,” I started. “And I’d be more than happy to deliver this message.”
“Would you?” exclaimed Alvor, surprised. “I mean, we’ve only just met. We may have shared bread, but you don’t have to do this for us.”
I inclined my head. “Please. Allow me to repay you for your kindness – it’s the least I can do.” After all, one gift deserves another.
“I’d vouch for him, Alvor,” interjected Hadvar with surprising fervor. “He’s a resilient one – and he saved my life in those tunnels. Believe me, we wouldn’t be here talking if it weren’t for him.”
I nodded modestly. “It is no trouble.”
“Well then,” said Alvor. “I guess it’s settled.” He got up, helping us to clear the plates. “The both of you can stay here for the night; I’m sure we have a spare bedroll of two lying around.” Sigrid nodded and started rummaging through a nearby chest as we tidied up the table. “And if you need anything for your journey, or have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask.”
“Thank you,” I replied simply. And with the dishes cleared and the fire on its last logs, we were all soon lying in our respective beds and bedrolls. It was pleasantly warm in the cottage; the flames’ dying embers cast long shadows around the room. I closed my eyes. Outside, I could barely hear the soft night-songs of the wilds – with the dragon gone, they had returned.
At peace, I drifted off into the realm of sleep.
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Comments
You handled the conversation well, it flows naturally and fits the scene.