Chapter Text
What woke her, oddly enough, wasn’t the rattling of the carriage or the nervous voices of the men around her. It was a bit of snow, jostled free from the branches above them as the procession passed underneath.
The cold slush splattered onto her exposed neck and the cold shot through to her bones. She woke with a start, bolting upright, though her vision was slow to clear. She tried to regain her bearings as the ringing in her ears subsided. She looked around, and as she moved, she felt the coarseness of rope binding her wrists together, and the tattered edges of nothing but rags over her shoulders.
Shaking like a leaf against the freezing wind, she raised her eyes and locked gazes with a blond man sitting in military garb across from her. His blue eyes were piercing and curious.
“Hey, you. You’re finally awake.”
Awake? Yes. She could agree with that. Though she wasn’t yet grounded enough to realize what was going on, nor clear-headed enough to find words on her lips. The cart tilted downward beneath them as it traveled over a wide cobbled road and she struggled to stay upright. He seemed to realize she wasn’t going to be answering and continued, his words hard to hear over the wind.
“You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush. Same as us. And that thief over there.”
Border? Ambush? Thief? What — oh, yes, there were two more men in the back of the carriage with them. One of them was gagged and staring off into the distance, ignoring all of them and bearing an angry, smoldering stare.
The one named as a thief spat, “Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell.”
Stormcloaks. Imperials. The Civil War. She knew of it only for how it had impacted the trade of the caravan she had been traveling with since she was young. She had been near the border, but had she crossed it? She remembered going to fetch water…
“You there - you and me - we shouldn’t be here! It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”
“Well we’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” The first man shot back, his impatience rising.
Suddenly, the thoughts swirling about her head coalesced, her confusion clearing. This was an arrest! She was a prisoner along with a thief, and rebels against the empire. She must have strayed too far when gathering supplies for the camp.
Biting back tears, she raised her eyes to the man with the blond hair and blue eyes again, but felt unable to speak. He met her gaze and seemed concerned; his expression taking on that familiar look of pity that she’d often taken advantage of in opportune moments. She was small, so very small for her 22 years, and had a bearing much like a child. As first an orphan, then a beggar, and finally a caravan servant, she had mostly depended on the pity of others for necessities like shelter and food. But this man who now looked on her was not her jailer but a fellow prisoner, and could do nothing for her. She returned her eyes to her feet and tried to quell the panic rising up inside her.
The men continued to speak, and through listening to their exchange, she learned a little more about what awaited them. The gagged man sitting next to her was the leader of the rebellion and, having captured him, their final destination was surely the chopping block. She closed her eyes once more and embraced the darkness, refusing to look at or acknowledge the other prisoners lest she become overwhelmed with terror, but the thief had no such qualms as he began crying out to the Divines for their rescue.
As if fate itself had some edge of cruelty, Skyrim was her native land; her parents had both been Nords. But she herself had never set foot in the province before now. With the realization that this would be her last day, her last breaths, her last view of the clear bright sky and the yawning earth, she couldn’t really bring herself to think long on it. She let the tears come, roll down her thin and grimy cheeks as she pulled absently at the binds around her wrists. It wouldn’t matter that she was merely an unlucky bystander. There was no protest she could make in her defense, no witness to attest to her innocence. She was going to die here. Soon.
As the carriage drew to a stop and the prisoners rose to climb out, she was dimly aware of the thief continuing to beg for his life and plead his loyalty to the Empire. She knew it would be useless; the rebels had made quite a name for themselves for some time now, and the Empire was surely eager to end it as quickly as possible. They wouldn’t have an interest in separating the rebels from the other criminals. Those were mere complications and easily dismissed ones at that.
But maybe terror is never so easily quelled. The man broke away from the group and ran for his life. A call for archers, and he fell, dead in his desperate flight.
She flinched away from the bloody mess, a soft gasp breaking from her before she could stop it. Her life had, truthfully, never been wonderful, but she had overcome the worst of her struggles long ago, and she always had thought that maybe, even for her, there might exist some path to a brighter place down the road.
Please, I don’t want to die. The prayer rose up, unbidden, and it took her by surprise. Please. I don’t want to die.
“Wait! You there, step forward.”
She turned to a man holding a list and a quill as he looked her over with something akin to horror. And yes, there was that valuable pity again. She tried not to let hope surge within her. She felt in her heart that his pity surely wouldn’t be enough.
“Who are you?”
Somehow, she found her voice, trembling though it was. “Loelya. My name is Loelya.”
"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland."
She thought, bitterly, that she had just been resenting that very fact.
The man turned, and spoke to the woman standing at his right shoulder. “Captain, what should we do? She’s not on the list.”
The Captain snorted. “Forget the list. She goes to the block.”
There it was, and with a few words all hope was erased. She tried to compose her thoughts, tried to face her death with what little dignity she could muster, but rather than feeling brave, she just felt… hollow. Suddenly the world began to lose its color around her and the parts of her that she’d always cherished felt like they were slipping away.
The general, General Tullius as the Captain had addressed him, launched into a speech directed at the gagged prisoner, Jarl Ulfric. “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. You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”
Everything was fading to the background. She saw the Priestess coming forward, saw one of her fellow prisoners stride confidently to the block and lay out his neck for the headsman. He seemed almost eager to die. And, suddenly, came a noise like thunder that everyone paused to listen to, to question…
No, it wasn’t quite like thunder. Rougher, courser, but just as loud and booming. What was…
But, no, it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. It was her turn. Her turn.
She lifted her eyes just briefly to lock glances once more with the man who had tried to spare her, just long enough to see the pity that couldn’t save her in his gaze, as she crossed the courtyard and knelt down, her breath coming in gasps, feeling like her life was already draining away.
Almost without meaning to, she laid her head down, thinking for a moment that it was like going to sleep, but she didn’t close her eyes.
Close your eyes. She thought. It will be just like going to sleep…
…..
…
..
“WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT!”
The shout from the general startled her so that her eyes snapped opem, and in her terrified view, a dark, scaly shadow swooped down to land on the tower across from the block. Its red eyes glowed with hatred and its booming voice filled the sky, sending fire raining down. A shockwave shook the earth and knocked the headsman aside just as he began the downward swing that would have ended her life.
The same force sent her tumbling back as well, but she ground her fists into the dirt, trying to find purchase, trying to shake the blurry edges from her vision.
“Come on, get up!”
Someone was shouting at her. She had heard his name from the list, before, and finally she could give a name to those sharp blue eyes. Ralof.
“Come on, the Gods aren’t going to give us another chance!”
His hand was reaching for her, and before she knew it, she had grasped it and been hauled to her feet. They ran for their lives, not looking back as the dark shadow terrorized and burned the village around them. A word, a name for the shadow bounced around inside her mind, but it took all of her focus to hold it down, to grasp it.
A dragon?
They ducked inside a small tower, already crumbling from the force of the attack, but it would cover them momentarily while they caught their breath and grasped the disaster before them.
She fell, stumbling to the foot of the stairs while she tried to suck air into her lungs, already stinging from the smoke. Dirt covered her hands, her face, her bare feet. The rags offered little in the way of protection.
"Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?"
Ulfric, the gag torn away from his face, turned to his fellow soldier and in a strong, authoritative tone, replied, "Legends don't burn down villages.”
She still hadn’t caught her breath when Ralof grabbed her roughly by her shoulder and pushed her dutifully up the stairs ahead of himself. “We need to move, now! Up through the tower, let’s go!”
The stones scraped her bare feet as she ran, but run she did, and left her swirling thoughts behind to deal with later. She couldn’t savor her newfound freedom if she didn’t survive the dragon. Alive. I’m alive. This isn’t the end.
The monstrous creature broke through onto the second floor, spraying fire and ash from its gaping maw, as words foreign to her ripped through the air and ignited it. She and Ralof threw themselves agains the stone, bracing against it until the dragon pulled back and flew away.
“Right, see the inn on the other side?” And now Ralof was pointing, and she turned to see where exactly he wanted her to look. “Jump through the roof and keep going! We’ll follow when we can!”
She stared at him. He couldn’t be serious. But all he did was give her a firm nod and rush back down the stairs.
Jump?… she gripped the jagged bricks with her toes and crouched, then launched through the air, tumbling forwards as her feet made contact with the splintered wood.
And again, she was running.
The sky was raining brimstone. The villagers around her screamed, their terror palpable, and she was seized with a nearly overwhelming urge to cover her ears, to block out the sounds of nightmares. But she ran, staggering across the scorched earth with bruised and bloodied feet.
She stumbled to a halt just before she collided with another body. It was one of the imperial soliders, the man with the list. The one who had tried to spare her. He towered over her and shouted at her. But his words were far from unwelcome.
“Still alive, prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to stay that way!”
A small part of her mind that was strangely absent with reason protested, Why would you ask my name if you weren’t going to use it? But she clamped down on that moment of absurdity and followed him closely.
After narrowly escaping the fire and the very teeth of the dragon itself, they fled towards the keep/ She caught a glimpse of Ralof again, heard him and the man behind her shout angrily at one another, and then she was swept past the heavy wooden door and heard it bolt shut behind her.
For one long, sweet moment, everything was silent. She took a deep breath, then another. Her ears were ringing again, and her eyes watering from the smoke. Her limbs were trembling. Her rescuer listened at the door for a moment before speaking.
“Looks like we’re the only ones that made it. Was that really a dragon? Bringer of the end times?”
She looked up at the man as he turned and held her gaze. “We should keep moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off.” He slid a small blade into his hand.
She hesitated, then moved forward, and he carefully cut the ropes. Her wrists came away bleeding, and he looked sorrowfully at her. “Loelya. Pretty name.”
“Thank you.” Her voice was hoarse from the burning air. She wiped the dust from her hands and brushed her fingertips across the abrasions on her arms, hissing under her breath at the searing sensation.
“My name is Hadvar.” He informed her, then immediately questioned, “How old are you?”
“I’m well of age. Two tens of winters, and a couple more besides.”
“Can’t be. You’re barely bigger than my niece.”
She inclined her head. “I’ve always been small. I’m oft mistaken for a child. Not unusual for me.”
“Yes.. well. I have to wonder what you could have done that would’ve necessitated your capture.” He didn’t bother to mask his suspicion.
She decided to answer him, after all, he had saved her life. “I was near the border with my caravan, from Cyrodiil. I was searching for a stream to collect water for our journey back to the Imperial city.”
Hadvar’s eyes clouded. “Not even one the Stormcloaks to begin with then? Why didn’t you say anything?”
She gazed back at him, sadly, steadily. “Would anyone have listened?”
He sighed, then laughed dismally. “You’re right. I suppose they wouldn’t have. Anyway, now that we’re here, you might try searching these chests for some gear. Armor, a weapon if you can find one. If we’re going to make it out alive we’re going to have to scrounge for whatever advantages we can get.”
Now scrounging, she was good at. Loelya turned then, glancing around the room now that her eyes had adjusted to the dimness. There were beds along both walls, each accompanied by a chest. A hallway led out of the room behind them before turning a corner.
She looked back to Hadvar. “I’ve never lifted a sword in my life,” she told him plainly.
“I believe it. But you’ll be safer with some armor anyway, and better to have a sword and not need it than be caught without one.”
After a quick search of the room, she had boots on her feet, a light but strong cuirass resting on her shoulders, and a helmet of the same material protecting her head and neck. The armor was loose and could only be cinched in so much with the leather straps, but she supposed it was better than rags. Clumsily, she slid an iron sword into the sheath on her hip, and turned to face Hadvar as he led the way into the hallway.
“Ready?” He asked. “Come on, then.”
The hallway opened to a gate that led into a round room. As Hadvar leaned down to unlock the gate, they both froze as they heard voices on the other side. Three people from the sounds of it, all out of breath, all terrified and yet thunderstruck by the presence of the dragon.
“Hear that? Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them.” Hadvar whispered as he lifted the gate. Raising his voice to be heard across the room, he spread his hands in supplication towards the rebel soldiers as he entreated, “Hold on now, we only want to-“
Whatever momentary reassurance Loelya had felt in the face of Hadvar’s diplomacy was quickly erased as the Stormcloaks’ expressions twisted with hatred and all three drew their weapons. The following moments descended into a madness where reason and logic had no place. Blood soon soaked the floor, traveling in rivulets between the stones.
Iron and steel clashed as Hadvar drew his sword and fended off two of the soldiers. The third charged, and it was moments later that Loelya realized he was coming for her. Without thinking she drew the sword hanging at her waist, then was driven back, her borrowed boots scraping along the stone floor. She heard a horrible, guttural noise, then the hilt twisted in her hands and wrenched from her grasp.
She could only stand still, and breathe. The body on the ground before her didn’t look quite real. She was alive, she knew that much. She could smell death on the air.
She wondered when things would start feeling real again.
- - -
Hadvar turned, swearing under his breath and wiping sweat from his brow as he delivered the killing blow to his second assailant, having dispatched the first moments before. He located the girl, white as snow and trembling. Her hands were slightly extended and shaking in front of her, the third rebel impaled on her sword and dead at her feet. With a sinking feeling, registering the faraway look on her face, he realized what must have happened.
Sending a quick protest of Why me? heavenwards towards the Divines, he strode over, retrieved the sword and folded one of her hands around it. Her hollow eyes were intensely focused on a point beyond the room itself.
“Never killed anyone before?”
No answer.
“Hey, look at me.”
Resigning himself to the inevitable, he placed a hand on her cheek and turned her face toward himself. She startled, but she did look at him.
“Listen to me. I know you’re going through a lot right now. But we don’t have the luxury of taking this slowly. Out there, right outside those doors, a dragon, a creature of legend, is tearing apart this city. A lot of people will die today, and you have to decide that one of them isn’t going to be you.”
He saw her swallow and take a deep breath but he pressed on, “The rebels aren’t going to think twice about killing you either if they think you’re a threat. We can try to reason with them, but that’s all we can do. If they force our hand, it’s either them or us. And we have to make sure it’s us.”
A tiny nod. She was coming back, the color returning to her face.
“I know you think you can’t be a fighter, but you have to be. I want to make it out of here too. And I can only do that if you’re ready to defend yourself, and me if it comes to it. Can you do that? Can I count on you?”
As he hoped it would, this brought a stronger resolve to her expression. She grasped the sword more tightly and returned it to the sheathe on her belt. She lifted her head and breathed deeply, dashing the moisture from her eyes. “Yes.”
“Come on. Let me see if I can get this door open.” He gave her a moment longer to collect herself, then turned and walked away, sighing in relief as she fell into step behind him.