Those Whom the Gods Forsake - Chapter 17

• Posted by Accursed December 1, 2015 - 1,044 views

  Ulfric met my gaze, and he knew; he could tell that he was the cause for so much of my suppressed pain. It seemed to make him uncomfortable, and it damn well should have.

  The one who first mentioned my awaking continued back and forth with yet a fourth prisoner, who insisted time and time again that he was innocent. The convoy entered the small town’s gates. The General at the head turned to the right, though we continued left. When my wagon passed through the walls I looked across to where he went.

  And met the gaze of another despicable person; Elenwen, the damned she-elf who issued the warrant. It wasn't the first time we had met, either. Gods, no; we had met often in Alinor after the War.Her expressionless face followed me until she could see us no more, and presumably she turned around and crawled back into whatever pit she had come from.

  We pulled up to a wall and were ordered out. Us prisoners piled out and lined up in front of a Legate and a man with a ledger. He called out the names, starting with Ulfric, then the man who had sat across from me. The fourth person in my wagon tried to run, but there was no hesitation to shoot him in the back with a bow. It didn't kill him; merely broke his back, paralyzing him. After a moment, one of the archers had the mercy to shoot him in the head.

  “Wait, who are you? Ah, yes; the Thalmor’s prisoner. Unidentified name and crime… male Altmer… age? Old, let's say. Alright, join the others.”

  For such a systematic way of executing us, they certainly didn't bother with accuracy.

  As I stepped up to the other prisoners, a loud echo rang out in the valleys. It was impossible to make out whether it was a beast’s roar or not, but it sounded vaguely familiar.

  “Krosis.”

  There was more to it, but Krosis caught my attention. Where had I heard that before?

  The Imperials dismissed it and continued with our Last Rites. Before the priestess finished even the first sentence, some idiot Nord stepped right up to the block and practically forced them to begin the decapitations. I found it quite a shame; I wanted to at least have my Last Rites.

  After his bloodied head lay in a basket, there was another echo, similar to the first.

  “Zeyliik.” Again, only a slight bit was audible to me, and it too was familiar.

  “Let's get this done. The Dominion’s prisoner!” She pointed to me, though I didn't move; I was not about to cooperate with my murderers. Two soldiers grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me forward. Again, I resisted to bend my knee before the block. The Legate kicked the back of my knee to force me down, and only then did I comply. The stone block was stained red and undoubtedly covered in the sweat, blood, and tears it reeked of.

  The Headsman lined up the blade of his axe with my neck, and raised it.

  A second later, I was dead; at least, I thought I was.

  A loud rumble shook the very earth, followed by screams and heat and brimstone falling from the heavens.

  “Hey, you! C’mon, the Gods won't give us another chance!”

  I was helped up by the man from my cart, and I confusedly jogged into the tower he was motioning to.

  “Jarl Ulfric, could the legends be true?”

  “Legends don't burn down villages.”

  I continued to be confused. Ulfric walked over to me and pulled my gag down.

  “Have we met? Why do you resent me so?”

  Straight to business, then.

  “I lived in Whiterun.”

  He closed his eyes and sighed.

  “Then blame your Jarl for not surrendering earlier.”

  “Your ‘Stormcloaks’ killed my wife, for no reason aside from her being an Altmer. I have two sons without a mother and now they damn well might grow up with a father either.”

  “Don not blame the actions of my men on me.”

  “THEY ARE YOUR MEN. THEY REPRESENT YOU!”

  He appeared surprised at my sudden outburst, though he maintained his controlling posture.

  “They represent themselves.”

  And with that, he walked away.

  “Ralof, take your friend and leave. Up through the tower, before we all die!” He ordered as he tended to a wounded soldier.

  We jogged up the stairs but the way was blocked by the fallen roof. Another Stormcloak was desperately trying to remove the rubble when the wall blew in, crushing his legs. After a deep chuckle from just outside the new window, a large blast of fire scorched the young boy, leaving me to gaze onward in shock at what I had just seen.

  “What was that thing? Some sort of siege machine?”

  Ralof shook his head.

  “See that inn on the other side? Jump onto the roof and keep running!”

  “Are you crazy! I'll break a leg!”

  Ralof looked me right in the eyes. They were blue as the sky, and young; very young. But at the same time, very knowing. Eyes one felt one could trust.

  I closed my eyes tight and breathed in deeply. The next I knew, I was sailing through the air.

  The roof held my weight for a split second, but soon the smoldering planks and straw gave way and I collapsed in a heap on the second story floor. Tandano, I am not sure if you have ever attempted to get up with your hands bound behind you, but I can assure you it is quite difficult. After finally using a support pillar to lean against, I managed to get up. There was a set of crumbling stairs, which I took down to ground level and then left the ruined building through a hole in the wall.

  And then I caught the first glimpse of what was causing so much commotion. A black scaly creature soared through the sky, breathing fire down upon the village. Soldiers were shooting it with arrows and magic, slashing at it when it landed, but nothing could even penetrate the scales.

  A dragon.

  Even as the cries of battle and the crackle of dragon-fire raged on around me, I could see the beast as nothing less than gorgeous. Yes, it was deadly, not to mention terribly frightening, but to see such majesty soaring through the winds as if but a feather...

  I felt a bond between us, a common link; and apparently so did it.

  It turned its mighty head and cast it's gaze upon me, landing on what was once a scout tower.

  “Dovahkiin? Fahliil los faal Dovahkiin?”

  With a mighty laugh and and a great roar, it took off once more and continued to terrorize the people and the soldiers. I ran past the burning houses, past charred remains, and came upon the man who entered me into the execution log book. He told me to join him if I wanted to live, which to me sounded a fairly good deal. We jogged into a space in between a ruined house and a thick wall of the Keep’s courtyard. An Imperial archer was standing ahead of us on what was somebody’s front porch while attempting to shoot the monstrosity. Suddenly a loud thud landed on the wall above us and I looked up to the huge black head directly over mine, it's wings on either side of us. I am certain it was aware of my presence there, though it concerned itself only with the archer, who promptly had his flesh melted from his body.

  The man and I scrambled past where he was standing and into the main area of the town. Fighting soldiers and the wounded were all around us, though most were either dead or dying. Finally the Imperial General ordered a retreat, but over the shouts and roars very few people heard him. The log keeper motioned to the Keep and we both ran over to it, though there we met the same Stormcloak that told me to jump. The two men squabbled, apparently having known each other prior to the executions, and both ran to different entrances to the Keep, and both expected me to follow them.

  It was not easy, making that decision. One had tried to behead me on nothing other than the Thalmor’s word; the other had slaughtered my wife and destroyed everything I had built for myself. Going with neither was not an option, as doing so would be certain death. Ultimately, I went with the Imperial.

  He held the door for me and bolted it behind us.

  “Don't want the rebels following us. Now then, come here; let's see if we can get those bindings off.”

  He unsheathed a dagger and cut the ropes that bound me. I thanked him and rubbed my rope-burned wrists.

  “Check these chests. There should be some armor you can wear. There is a sword on the rack over there, as well.”

  All I was able to procure was some Imperial armor that failed to even cover my knee caps and was far too wide at the shoulders. The boots crushed my toes, and the leather armbands were the only article that fit semi-well. I checked the other chests, but all there was was a helmet, far too small for my ears.

  “Well, how do I look?”

  The man looked at me and busted out laughing.

  “Like a damn Giant wearing a girl’s dress!”

  It would have to do, until we got to a town, of course.

  “I'm Hadvar. You?”

  I made a split second decision to use my birth name instead of Caranthir. Kept me anonymous, in case he knew about the College. I couldn't risk him telling the Thalmor, even though they would know both of my names.

  “Sorcalmo.”

  We continued down the halls of the Keep and came upon a room with three Stormcloak corpses inside. Two had lacerations at the neck and one had the knife still lodged in his stomach.

  “Suicide, it seems. Looks like they only had the one knife, and so one killed the others then himself.”

  Hadvar grunted and opened a gate.

  “Through here.”

  We walked down a flight of stairs and were about to cross through a long hallway when debris from the ceiling collapsed, blocking the path. With the way blocked, we walked through a doorway and into a storeroom where two Stormcloaks were working to pry open a barrel. One of them spotted us and drew a large claymore, alerting the other. I put my hands up to indicate peace.

  “We don't want to harm you… let's work together to get out of here. Deal?”

  One of them furrowed their brow.

  “I'd rather die than fight with an Imperial!”

  He charged at me in a very predictable manner that allowed me ample time to move out of the way while drawing the sword I salvaged, running him through the ribs. Hadvar took care of the other one, we grabbed the potions they were after, and we continued on our way.

  At the end of the hall that had collapsed was a torture chamber where the last seconds of a fierce fight was playing out. While an elderly torturer warded off blows, his assistant came up behind the rebel attacker and bashed her head with a mace, ending the fight in swift justice.

  Hadvar and I tried to tell him that a dragon was attacking the Keep, though he didn't believe such “ridiculous claims”. His assistant, however, gratefully joined us and we left the old man alone with his instruments of pain.

  The room we eventually came upon was crawling with Stormcloaks who left us no choice but to fight. When the last of them was incapacitated, the three of us began to press on, but the assistant decided to go back and make sure the torturer was okay.

  Hadvar and I crossed a small bridge into a cavernous room. It was dark, though the sound of a running creek filled the air along with the smell of moldy, burning wood from the braziers. Behind us, another pile of debris came down and broke the bridge into pieces.

  “The others will have to find some other way out.”

  “If this is a way out at all.”

  We followed the creek for a few steps and then turned right, which landed us in a room filled with Frostbite Spiders. Being careful to avoid being poisoned, we killed them and harvested a few drops of poison into a stamina potion bottle we emptied out.

  We crossed into another cave-like room and spotted on the other side something neither of us wanted to see; a cave bear.

  “Let's just sneak past her, nice and quite. I'd rather not tangle with her right now.”

  We did as he suggested, and made it past the creature without any complications. After a few more steps, an exit was in sight.

  “I knew we'd make it!”

  We squeezed through a crack in the rock face and made it back out into Skyrim’s vast – and peaceful – Pine Forest. We began down a small game trail when Hadvar gripped my shoulder and pointed skywards. I looked up to see the dragon soaring above us, over a mountain, and above the tundra of Whiterun.

  “Looks like he's gone… my uncle lives in a village not far from here. I'm sure he'd help us; supplies, a place to stay.”

  “I'll only stay the night, if he takes us in. I have two boys I need to get back to. Not to mention an entire college to run.”

  “You mean the one up in Winterhold? Damn. I heard about that place collapsing and the rebuilding going on.”

  “Yes… not exactly good for attracting students.”

  I followed him down a road that lay next to a river until we came upon a quaint little village, no bigger than Winterhold, and watched the people as they went about their day; enjoyed their normal lives.

  “Nephew! Are you on leave from… Shor's Bones, boy! What happened; and who is this?”

  “Ah, Sorcalmo, at your service.”

  “Uncle Alvor, we should go inside.”

  “If… if you say so. Sigrid will get something for you and your friend to eat and you can tell us your story.”

  We went inside he house; shack, really, but house all the same; and sat at the dining table as Alvor yelled for his wife to bring food for us. She yelled back a greeting to Hadvar and came up a few minutes later with some salmon for us.

  “So, why do you look like you lost an argument with a bear?”

  Hadvar rubbed his eyes and yawned.

  “Right… you know I was assigned to General Tullius’ personal guard. We were stationed in Helgen, about to execute Ulfric Stormcloak, when we were attacked… by a dragon.”

  “A dragon! That's ridiculous. Are you drunk, boy?”

  “Husband.” Sigrid interfered. “Let him tell his tale.”

  “Well, Sorcalmo here and I made our way into the Keep, and got out a back way. We came here, hoping you might be able to give us some food and a place to rest up before we leave.”

  “Of course! Stay as long as you need. A dragon…”

  Alvor got an odd longing look in his eye. I interpreted it as imagining such a creature, but to this day I know not what he was possibly thinking.

  “Oh, there is one thing you can do for us in Riverwood. The Jarl needs to know if there is a dragon loose. Could you make your way to Whiterun and ask him to send a few soldiers our way?”

  More travel was not high on my list of priorities, but I agreed to set off for Whiterun the next day.

  “One question, however. Is Balgruuf still our gracious Jarl?”

  “Aye. He surrendered early enough in the Siege. Ulfric let him stay as long as he didn't help the Imperials further. Damned traitor, he is.”

  “He does have his children to think about.”

  “I suppose.”

  Alvor seemed surprised, and I could tell he hadn't thought of the surrender that way. He shook his head to dismiss the thought and pointed me in the direction of a spare bed I could sleep in. I took off the extra protective parts of the armor and lay down, stretched, and fell asleep.

  It was not hard, falling asleep; surprisingly I did not dream of the day either. No, I instead dreamed of my youth, just after the Great War, when the wine was more plentiful than water in Alinor. Aldaril and I had just gotten off the ship that brought us back, and we found ourselves celebrating the end of the war in a small alehouse that was frequented mainly by sailors called the Fox’s Cellar, quite literally built beneath the ground. It was known for not exactly legal substances (which neither of us partook in) and half the property was reserved for prostitution. The bar side, though, was filled to the brim with cheerful soldiers returning after their campaigns to tankards of ale and the touches of women. After reliving the first few drinks I had, I realized something; I could never return. Never see my family and friends, at least not using my true name. I'd be forbidden from returning and at that very moment I was almost certainly being searched for in the ashes of Helgen by Emissary Elenwen herself. They would barricade Skyrim’s borders; interrogate anyone who they thought I had dealt with.

  No! I couldn't possibly be that high on their list. I had only killed a Justiciar; a rogue one at that. No way his death was cause enough to hunt me to the ends of Nirn like they did to others. I was a minor inconvenience, like a fly that refuses to be swatted. They would leave me be.

  As the dream faded when Aldaril and I stumbled out the door, I slowly woke up. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and looked at the light coming from cracks in the wall, judging the time to be about five in the morning. I left the extra padding from the Imperial armor behind and helped myself to a wolf pelt to use for some warmth, tying the arms around my neck. It was no cloak, but it offered some heat. Exiting the house got me a glimpse of the sunrise, and I headed in the direction of Whiterun. It was a short walk, and the Jarl didn't take visitors until eight in the morning, which left me time to spare. At least I would finally see Whiterun after the battle; see what wasn't burned down. As I soon found out, Dragonsreach was largely intact, as was Jorvaskr. The Bannered Mare, Belethor’s, and the temple had also been mostly spared. Other than that, nothing was left. Just the ancient walls. Inside the walls where the houses had been was a city of tents and campfires, along with whatever could be salvaged from the remains of the ruined houses. Since much time had passed, some houses had been partially rebuilt, but the poorer members of society were still living in squalor. This is the “salvation” Ulfric brought to Skyrim.

  I reached the city about six, as I left about five-thirty, and visited first the inn to warm by the fire, then Jorvaskr to catch up with some of the men who I had healed in my time there. I was able to borrow some money from Vilkas to buy some Altmer-sized clothes from Belethor before I spoke with the Jarl, but nothing would hide the weary look upon my face, nor the bruises and burn marks upon my body.

  I entered Dragonsreach and approached the throne, announcing the reason for my plea when asked. When Balgruuf heard that I knew of Helgen, he leaned forward in his throne and looked me up and down.

  “Tell me Elf; have you ever gone boar hunting?”

  “Once or twice.”

  “A party of nobles and I are going out to kill a boar that’s been uprooting crops and maiming livestock. I want you to tell me and the other nobles then. In the meantime we’ll clean you up and get you equipped better. Agreed?”

  “Yes, my Jarl.”

  His serving staff took me to another part of the palace and allowed me to bathe and dress my minor wounds, then led me to the armory and showed me what they had in my general size. All that was available was heavy armor, so I took down a steel plate set and put it on over my garments. I chose not to wear a helmet.

  Not much time had passed when I met back up with the Jarl and was assigned a horse and a boar spear for the hunt. We rode to outside the walls to meet nobles from the Hold and the close-by Riften Hold. I told my story as we rode across the plains, answering their questions, until Balgruuf agreed to send some soldiers to Riverwood and also mentioned that he wanted me to speak with Farengar, his Court Wizard.

  One of the nobles spotted boar tracks, and we dismounted and followed them to a large bramble bush.

  “Shh. He might be inside.”

  The entire party went silent and loud snorts emanated from the bush. We formed a circle around it and dropped to our knees, bracing the bottom of our spears against the dirt and pointing the tips inward at about a boar’s head level. One of the men provoked it to charge by throwing some rocks into the brambles and it sprinted out, impaling itself on the spear of a man next to me.

  It was a rather large boar with long tusks and powerful muscles. In the end, though, nothing it could do would have saved it.

  Little did I know, that boar was me.

  Translations

  “Dovahkiin? Fahliil los faal Dovahkiin?” - Dragonborn? An Elf is the Dragonborn?