Dragon of the East - Arc 1, Chapter 7

• Posted by Okan-Zeeus February 14, 2014 - 922 views

  Chases-The-Wind
  

  ~ ~ ~

  A lake widened in the distance with beautiful backdrop mountain peaks. The sun was settled at a high tilt above a partly clouded sky. Ralof and I slowly limped our way along a forest path toward the town of Riverwood. Not a patch of snow lay in sight. Green trees, cool grass, and brushes thick with plant life presided instead. The air smelled of pine sap.

  “You know I’m going to ask you eventually,” Ralof said.

  “I am not carrying you,” I replied. Ralof’s expression scrunched.

  “What makes you think I’d let you?” he mocked. “That wasn’t my question anyway.”

  “Then ask. I may answer.”

  “What were you doing in Helgen? Why go through all that trouble to save me?”

  “That’s two questions.”

  “Shor’s bones… if you don’t want to answer, just say so.”

  I paused. A cold breeze blew through the air, carrying dust and needles from trees. The keep in Helgen had led to an exit – a natural cave formation connected to the lower dungeons deeper within. By the time we made our way out the dragon was nowhere to be found. The only sounds that lingered were of the wind and surrounding fauna, along with a distant crackling of wood fueled fires. Footprints clustered near the mouth of the cave revealed that others had escaped not long before us, though by no means in large numbers.

  Of the dozens gathered in Helgen, only a handful including Ralof and I must have survived… or had at least come out the same way.

  “Forgive me,” I said. “I cannot say I have a good reason for coming to Helgen. I saw the carriages transporting you back near the mountains. It was a curious sight, so I followed.”

  “You were following us?” Ralof sounded skeptical. “We never saw you… ”

  “I am good at keeping unseen when I choose to,” I said, debatably masking a hint of pride. I decided to leave out the fact that I had watched the beginning of their executions.

  “That’s… uh… I’m not sure what to say to that.”

  “Best to say nothing, then. As for why I saved you…”

  I stopped to scratch my scars. They were itching.

  “…you already know. The words I spoke to the Imperial soldiers were true. You were in danger. It wouldn’t have felt right to stand idly by.”

  “Really? That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I repeated. Traveling would often cross my path with those needing aid or protection. I always tried to do what I could, giving my time and strength to others. It was how I chose to live my life after leaving Black Marsh. It was my act of defiance.

  “Huh… That right?” Ralof mumbled, soaking in my words. “Well, can’t say I’m not happy you were there. If you hadn’t been I’d be crossing the bridge to Sovngarde right now.”

  “Indeed,” I muttered, “I only hope your sister is as hospitable as you claim she is. Your leg will need a place to rest soon.”

  “No worries there, friend. I’m sure she’ll help us out. She’s probably watching her mill workers right now. We’ll see the town just down the road. ”

  Onward we went, descending a twisted slope that straightened into a stone studded pathway. Rushing water from Skyrim’s White River flowed at our left, with cliffs beyond and trees on our right. Mountain flowers lined the edges of the road, soil beneath them sprayed with mist from the rapids. Salmon jumped briskly upstream, while dragonflies hummed and glistened in the sun. I would have given almost anything at that moment to drop Ralof and swim. The river looked achingly pleasant.

  Further along, true to the Nord’s word, a village appeared. Its make was similar to Helgen’s, with lodgings of stone and thatch. The river split around a small landmass, one arm stretched away from the town and another passing through like a gully. A large water wheel churned slowly from the flow of the inner stream, supplying hydropower to a sawmill. Wooden bridges stitched the river island to the riverside. Each home had its own small garden, growing fresh crops for the autumn season. Sounds of hammering metal, wood cutting, dogs barking, and children playing came into hearing.

  I took in the whole of the place. To my eyes, it was a far more tranquil sight than the rigid bulwarks of Helgen. Riverwood lent to itself a sort of calming quality, a homeliness that one seldom sees.

  All I could picture was the dragon burning it down. The thought left chills.      

  Nobody noticed our arrival at first. As we passed beneath the town’s gateway, Ralof caught sight of his sister near the mill. She was speaking to a wood elf with a pile of split lumber in his arms. The woman wore long skirted clothes covered in dirt near the lower hem. She had workman’s gloves and kept the sides of her yellow hair braided back.

  “Gerdur!” Ralof called out.

  Turning her head toward a familiar voice, the woman saw us and rushed over. We were a sorry sight, covered in dirt, grime and dried blood.

  “Brother!” Gerdur exclaimed. “Mara’s mercy, what happened to you!?”

  The woman came close enough for me to hand over Ralof. She took her brother’s arm and held him up while I rubbed my shoulder.

  “Gerdur, I–” Ralof managed to say.

  “Is it safe for you to be here?” his sister interrupted. “We’d heard Ulfric had been captured…”

  “Gerdur, I’m fine!” Ralof insisted, raising his voice. “At least now I will be.”

  “What’s going on? And who is this…?”

  The woman trailed off, looking at me with puzzled confusion. It sounded as though she meant to continue speaking. Or call me something. I was unsure which.

  “Don’t worry. He’s a friend,” Ralof said, grinning at me. “I owe him my life, in fact.”

  I tried to smile in turn, though an Argonian’s smile is not so obvious to men or mer. It might have looked more like a snarl. At least if it did no one seemed to be bothered.

  “Is there some place we can talk?” Ralof asked his sister.                                                    

  “You should rest first,” I said, “your leg is swelling up badly.”

  “No,” Ralof contested, turning to Gerdur, “This is too important. I need to tell you what’s happened, and I don’t have to stand to do that.”

  Passing a glance at the woman, my silent expression gave credence to Ralof’s words. She deserved to hear of Helgen’s fate.

  “Alright,” his sister said. “Come, this way.”

  The three of us crossed a river bridge. To our right, a wooden ramp lead up to the sawmill. A brawny looking Nord in a dirty wool shirt was busy siccing a hook into a massive pine log, lifting it onto a conveyor that led toward the mill’s whipsaw.

  “Hod!” Gerdur called to the man. “Come here a minute! I need your help with something.”

  “What is it woman?” he replied, still engrossed on his work. “Embry drunk on the job again?”

  “Hod, just come here,” Gerdur insisted, her voice implying all seriousness.

  The man, her husband, came over to the rope hand railing along the mill’s edge. His light hair was cropped back in a ponytail, with a bushy mustache on his face. He quickly saw what the fuss was about.

  “Ralof!” Hod exclaimed. “What are you doing here!?”

  Ralof looked up to his in-law, motioning his head toward the other end of the river island, where we were heading.

  “Ah… I’ll be right down!” Hod stammered as he made for the ramp.

  Gerdur helped rest her brother onto a large tree stump to sit. He brushed ants off of the wood. A steady stream of runoff trickled and splashed down the scarp of a cliff base across the river. It was a beautiful locale for such a troubling occasion. I stood under the shadow of a tree, arms folded. The sun’s reflection distracted me, captured in the river’s diffracting flow.

  “Ralof, what’s going on?” Hod asked as he walked over. “You look pretty well done in.”

  “I feel done in,” Ralof sighed. “Can’t remember when I last slept…”

  Before the Nord could speak further, a young boy ran toward our gathering. His hair hinted a common ancestry to Hod. A mangy looking dog followed in tow.

  “Uncle Ralof, you’re here!” he shouted excitedly. “Can I see your axe? You promised you would–”

  The young one’s attention quickly shifted to the sight of a strange, red-scaled stranger standing in the shade. I speak of myself, of course. Judging from his look of bewilderment, I presumed that the boy had never seen an Argonian before. Not unlikely, considering how few of my kin would bother to travel in this cold northern land.

  I could not help but chuckle in response to his gape.

  “Am I such an odd sight to you?” I said. “Or do you always gawk at outsiders?”

  He didn’t respond. His eyes were held on something moving back and forth. I think he was watching my tail sway.

  “Frodnar, this is no time for your games,” Gerdur chided. “Your uncle and I need to talk. Go run along.”

  “Aw, momma,” the boy whimpered, “I want to stay with uncle Ralof!”

  “Hey, we’ll have plenty of time to catch up,” Ralof spoke to his nephew. “I need you to do something for me...”

  He motioned Frodnar to come closer, speaking in hushed tones.

  “Go to the south gate and watch the road,” Ralof said, “The Imperials are out there looking for me! I need you to make sure they don’t sneak up on us. If you see the red of their leather, run straight back here and warn me.”

  The tired looking Stormcloak sat up.

  “Well? Can you do that?”

  “I’ll do it!” the lad yipped with renewed excitement. “Don’t worry uncle Ralof, I won’t let those Imperials get past me!”

  Frodnar ran off to perform his duty. Gerdur, on the other hand, looked less than pleased.

  “The Imperials are after you?” she asked, even more concerned.

  “Don’t know. They’re in the same lot as us,” Ralof shrugged. “It’s a long story. Where to start…?”

  After a brief moment of thought, Ralof began to recount his tale. New information was gleamed. Skyrim was in the midst of a civil war between two factions: the Imperials, loyalists to the southern Cyrodiilic Empire, and the Stormcloak rebels, led under the banner of Ulfric Stormcloak, who sought Skyrim’s independence from the Empire’s regime.

  Ralof had been traveling with Ulfric some days ago, along with a band of body guards – the other captives I encountered. They were traveling to a place called Darkwater Crossing, somewhere in Skyrim’s eastern region. The Imperials ambushed them along the way, forcing their surrender.

  “I thought they were taking us to Cyrodiil. Parade us in front of the Emperor,” Ralof muttered. “But we stopped in Helgen. Had us lined up to headsman’s block and ready to start chopping.”

  “The cowards!” Gerdur spat.

  “They wouldn’t dare give Ulfric a fair trial. Treason, for fighting for your own people! All of Skyrim would’ve seen the truth then!”

  “So what happened?” Hod prodded.

  There was a lapse of silence.

  “A dragon attacked,” Ralof said with a stern frown.

  The other’s expressions bore disbelief.

  “You don’t mean a real, live…?” Gerdur trailed away.

  “I can hardly believe it myself,” Ralof exclaimed, “and I was there!”

  “A dragon… by the Gods,” Hod spoke, his voice rising in fervor. “Tell us, what was it like? As big as a house?”

  “Bigger,” I replied. “The beast had to have been at least thirty feet in span. Its scales were black as night, and it flew with the grace of a hawk.”

  “Well I’ll be,” Hod murmured, his eyes wide, “that’d be a sight to see!”

  “Pray that you never see it, lest you find yourself humbled,” I hissed.

  “How did you escape?” Gerdur asked her brother.

  “Now there’s a tale,” Ralof laughed sadly to himself. “As crazy as it sounds, I’d be dead if not for that dragon. In the confusion I managed to slip away.”

  He turned in my direction.

  “With the help of this scaleback, of course. I owe him as much as the dragon. Maybe more.”

  Ralof went on to detail our flee from Helgen, omitting no details. By the end, Gerdur and Hod lent warm gazes to me. 

  “I don’t know why you acted to save my brother… but you have my thanks,” Gerdur spoke with newfound respect. “Any friend of Ralof’s is a friend of mine.”

  I nodded in response.                                                                                                            

   “Your kind words are appreciated,” I said, “but I fear your brother is not yet safe. None of us are.” My face hung a troubled glare. “That dragon still flies. If it comes to this village…”

  “He’s right,” Hod exclaimed, “we’re completely defenseless! The Jarl has his entire guard rallied at Whiterun.”

  “Then we need to get word to Balgruuf to send whatever soldiers he can,” Gerdur replied. “The Jarl needs to know there’s a dragon on the loose.”

  She pondered a moment, exchanging concerned looks with her brother. This woman suddenly had many burdens to deal with. I felt the weight of her worry, as though it were mine.

  “None of us can make the trip,” she said to me. “We’ve enough to take care of here as it is. After everything you’ve been through, I hate to ask–”

  “Do not trouble yourself,” I interrupted, unfolding my arms as I attempting another smile. “Tell me where I need to go.”

  Table of Contents

  Previous   ~*~   Following

  Leave a 'like' if you've enjoyed reading!