Chapter Text
Middas, 11:23am, 9th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 257
Falkreath Marketplace
The hooded elf glanced at the heavily armoured man across the marketplace. He was trying his hardest to make it look like he hadn’t been staring at her, shifting his weight from each foot. She turned away from the small food stall, briefly thanking the owner, and hoisted the bag of essentials over her shoulder.
She quickly strode away from the centre of the town, not needing another reason for the villagers to be suspicious, and this confrontation, was best had in private. The man, of course, did his best to follow without drawing the notice of his target. Her sharp ears picked up every footfall, every shift of the plate armour. Was he trying to give himself away to everyone within the village? By comparison, she was silent, her bare feet masking the sound that his plate could not.
The small stable on the edge of Falkreath held the restless mare, eager to be on her way. The elf tied the bag to the saddle before walking to the horse’s head. She stroked the long nose of the mighty beast, carefully checking the enchantments were still in place on the horse’s eyes, just one more guard to protect her identity from any overeager villager. Her right hand came to rest between the mare’s eyes, her left, carefully hidden inside the cloak, made the simple motions, heightening her awareness to all life around her.
The man had stopped just inside the gates, waiting for her to leave. His breathing was loud, heavy on her ears, the subtle purple glow through the wall shifting with every breath. Calmly mounting the midnight black mare, she started down the road, making no effort to put distance between them and her pursuer, even waiting slightly, to ensure they wouldn’t lose her. She could feel him exit the town and follow, careful to be out of her sight, but not lose her trail.
She started north, following the well-worn road through the trees. The subtle sound of a spell and the horses’ hooves, the only break to the silence of nature. She veered off the road, onto the all-too familiar path, this one vastly less travelled. The man followed, trying to quiet his horse’s protests at the change of terrain. She smiled, enjoying herself at this man’s obvious inexperience at following a target unseen and unheard. This was going to be too easy.
Finally reaching the modest house, she led the mare into the small stable, before going inside and closing the door just loud enough so that he would have heard it. She strung her bow and donned the mask, before striding up the stairs.
Torbald dismounted some distance from the house visible through the trees, tying the old thin mare to a low branch. “You really need to learn to be quiet, almost got us caught”. The horse snorted in response, eagerly snapping up the offered apple. “Well, here goes nothing.”
The Nord straightened his armour, doing his best to look as intimidating as possible, before marching up to the door. He knocked loudly, fully aware that this was the stupidest idea he had ever had. Only the songs of birds, and the gentle lapping of the lake on its shores was the response. He knocked again, louder this time, hopefully getting a different response from the inhabitant. Nothing, not even a footstep or the creak of a floorboard from within.
He prepared to knock a third time, but stopped his hand halfway, the snap of a bow string startling him, before the arrow reached its mark, striking his helmet.
The elf stared down from her perch on the tree branch at the visitor knocking on her front door. She’d been wrong. This was no man. He was barely old enough to grow his first beard, let alone be here to kill her. This was a boy. His armour poorly fitting his too-thin frame, the shield slung across his back clearly too heavy, the sword on his hip, an uncomfortable weight, forcing one shoulder slightly lower than the other. All she’d need was a warning to send him packing back to his mother.
Making the final adjustments to her mask, she notched an arrow, sighting down slightly off centre. The arrow found its mark, scraping the side of the boy’s helmet, an almighty sound of metal on bone her reward. It embedded itself in her door frame, the shaft straight across his vision.
“Please don’t kill me!” the boy yelped, his hands flying upwards.
“You’ve got 5 seconds to start running” her voiced boomed over the clearing, notching a second arrow, drawing the string back, “Or the next one hits somewhere you won’t walk away from.”
“Wait, please! I’m just here to talk!” He slowly turned, keeping his hands as far up as his armour would allow. He was greeted with the sight of the woman he’d come to see. Dressed in black-purple leather armour, she made for an intimidating sight, expertly balanced on a thin tree branch. “I...I... I mean we, need your help.”
“Oh? And who is we? Explain to me why my next arrow shouldn’t pierce between those pretty little eyes of yours. And also, explain how you knew where to find me, because from how you’re talking, I’m going to assume you know who I am, even though I don’t remember telling anyone in town.”
Slowly lowering his hands, he unslung his shield, the wooden disk now the only thing that may save his life. The shield had been crudely painted with a symbol, a flaming shield across a black background. “I’m part of the Dawnguard, and I was sent to ask for your help”.
Not even lowering her bow slightly, “And pray tell, what does this Dawnguard want with me?”
“They need your help to stop these vampire attacks, find out where they’re coming from”, his arms trembled under the weight of the shield and the threat of the arrow that could be launched at any moment, “and my grandfather told me where to find you, Dragonborn.”
She tensed up at the mention of her title, pulling her bow string a little further, “And who the fuck is your grandfather, that he would not only know who I am, but where to find me?” Her anger was plain in her voice, but the boy was not deterred.
“His name is Ralof. He said to say, ‘Never forget your fists, they’re always there to help’”. The name gave her pause, lowering her bow and loosening the tension on the weapon. “Weird saying, but he said you’d know what it meant.”
Slinging the bow over her back, she leapt from the tree, gracefully landing with bare feet on the ground metres below. The boy all but dropped the shield, his arms finally giving out under the weight of it. He stared as the woman approached him, her face hidden by an intricately carved black mask with matching hood. He swallowed hard when she stopped in front of him. The large height difference did nothing to ease the boy’s nervousness.
“Take off your helmet.”
“Sorry, I umm...”
“I said, Take. Off. Your. Helmet.” He obliged, the shield dropping completely, and slowly removed the helmet to reveal the boy she knew him to be, the bright spark of youth not quite gone from his eyes, despite Skyrim’s harshness. The blond hair was almost the same as the man from Helgen all those years ago, and the face so close they could be brothers, without the decades of aging that her friend had. He couldn't have been more than 20. “Well, you do certainly look like him, I’ll give you that” She started toward the house, brushing past him. “And that ‘weird saying’, is the best piece of advice he ever gave me, you’d do well to remember it.”
Reaching the door, she turned to see that the boy hadn’t moved from the spot, seemingly rooted. “Are you coming? Cause I’m not going to talk out here. Get inside.” He turned, almost tripping over his dropped shield as he moved inside.
The Dragonborn’s home was simple, a table in the centre of the main room, doors branching off the side and a staircase leading to the second floor. She shut the door behind her, locking it and tucking the key into a side pocket on her leg.
“Right, vampire attacks. Why would you come looking for me specifically and why should I help you? Right now, the only reason you’re standing here is because of your grandfather.”
“Well, surely you’ve heard about all these attacks? They’ve been going on for a good few months. As for why I came for you, Ralof said you’re the best archer and mage he’s ever seen, and your skill with a sword is a sight to behold as well.” Torbald’s eyes wandered up the elf’s body, her right arm bare, save for an archers two-fingered glove and runic symbols following the curve of the outside, her left covered in leather all the way down slightly past her elbow, where the most menacing gauntlet he’d ever seen covered the rest of it, “So, why not you? We need all the skilled warriors we can get to face these monsters, and if even half of what he told me is true, you’re our best option.”
Reaching up, she unfastened her mask, pulling her hood down with it and shook her long greying auburn hair out. Placing the mask carefully on the table, she raised and slammed both fists down, small sparks pulsing out from the impact, “Did he also tell you, that I specifically told him to never tell anyone where I am, no matter the reason, to make the world think I’m dead, to stop relying on me to fix every single fucking problem this godforsaken land has?! Did he tell you that I’m done with Skyrim? That I just want to live out my remaining years without everyone thinking I owe it to them to help them?! Just because old bearded men said I’m special, that makes everyone’s problems, my problems?! DOES IT?!”
Torbald had retreated as far as he could, pressing his back to the door while the Dragonborn’s yelling seemed to be getting louder with every syllable. The runes down her arm had begun glowing faintly blue, sparks of lightning crackling between them, “But but but…”
“BUT NOTHING!” she whirled to face him, the glow becoming more pronounced, her forest green eyes piercing, “I’m tired of this. Tired of fighting. I thought I could avoid it all by staying away, but no, it always finds a way to bring me back in!”
“Please, you may not want to help, but we need you, Skyrim needs you. One last time.” Torbald’s voice trembled with every word, not wanting to anger the most powerful person in Skyrim any further than he already had.
“Last time? You think this will be the last time?” she scoffed, “There’s always a next time. And the one after that, and after that! The last time will be the one that kills me, and I have no intention of dying just yet!” The glow had begun to fade from her arm, the lightning retreating inside her palm. She ran her hands through her hair, the gauntlet rattling as the metal plates scraped together. “Where is this Dawnguard anyway? I assume there’s some sort of base if you’re intending to fight a full-scale war against these things.”
“We do, Fort Dawnguard. It’s down near Riften. In Dayspring Canyon.”
“Right.” The Dragonborn ran her hands down her face, collecting her thoughts, “Well, off to Riverwood then.”
The boy’s face creased in confusion, “Wait, what? That’s in the opposite direction.”
“I have a bone to pick with my old friend Ralof. I’m sure you wouldn’t mind seeing your grandfather, and I feel the need for a, shall we say, friendly chat, with the old man.” She grinned at him, holding out her hand, “Natalie by the way. Should know each other’s name if we’re going to be travelling together.”
“Umm, Torbald.” He shook her hand nervously, unsure of what her sudden change in demeanour meant. She sauntered away from him into a side room, closing the door behind her. Torbald released a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding. Breathing hard, he collapsed next to the front door, putting his head between his knees. “Akatosh’s balls, what the fuck was that. Isran better appreciate this…”
Closing the door behind her, she leaned her head against it, exhaling roughly. Why her? Couldn’t they just leave her alone for once? But no, it was always her. Always the all-powerful Dragonborn that had to save the day. She looked down at her left hand, flexing the painful joints. She grimaced, the reminder every day of what she had sacrificed for Skyrim and for all Tamriel.
Taking her bow off her shoulder, she walked to the enchanting bench, laying her arm down and carefully restructuring the gauntlets magic, lessening the pain slowly. Leaning on the bench she toyed with the gauntlet’s plates by way of habit, its daedric metal glowing faintly red in the dim light of the magic brazier. Flexing her fingers back and forth, the pain now absent, she strode across the room to her equipment.
The rest of her adventuring gear came together quickly. The bandolier fastened around her waist with spots for potions and small pouches for any number of things. The ebony shortsword strapped to her hip. Three daggers of varying materials, one elvish, one daedric and one dragonbone. One on each thigh with the elvish at the small of her back.
The elf’s waist length hair was carefully braided out of the way and tucked into the hood attached to her armour. The basic archer's gauntlet on her right hand was swapped out for a more armoured version, covering her outer arm to her elbow. The last piece, a small deep green crystal, tucked into a side pocket on her belt.
So, pulled once more in to the fray my sweet. Natalie instantly straightened up, eyes widening, ears twitching. The voice that echoed through her mind was not her own. Couldn’t hide forever. The voice laughed, sending chills down Natalie's back. The mighty Dragonborn called to duty once more. To save the people. Do they really deserve it?
“What do you want?” Natalie asked the Daedric Princess through gritted teeth.
Nocturnal giggled through their connection, What, I can’t check up on my favourite champion? You're still wearing my armour after all these years, my Nightingale. And you didn’t answer my question. Do they deserve it? After what they did to you? I’m sure Ralof would understand.
Natalie hung her head, furrowing her brow, “Ugh, probably not. Ralof doesn’t know what they did anyway. The only ones who did are dead, I made sure of that. I’ve got to give him a chance to explain himself, don’t I?”
That’s for you to decide. I look forward to seeing what you do. Natalie shuddered as she felt Nocturnal's presence vacate her mind. The Daedric Princess hadn’t spoken to her in years, what made what she was doing now special? What did Nocturnal know that she didn’t? Questions that’s would never be answered, as the Daedric Lords did not make a habit of telling any of their mortal allies the whole story.
Re-shouldering her Bow and quiver, tying them in place, she unlocked the door to the main room, catching Torbald holding up a dagger, which he promptly dropped, clattering against the floor. “So, I guess your grandfather didn’t teach you it’s rude to touch other people's things”. He quickly picked it up, placing it back on its holder.
He rubbed his neck sheepishly, not meeting her gaze. He quickly made his way back to door, careful not to touch or bump anything. He cleared his throat, “Sorry...who were you talking to?”
“Better if you don’t know, and don’t ask again.” She fastened a heavy midnight black travelling cloak around her shoulders, completely hiding all of her weapons, save for the top of the bow, poking out the top. She flicked the hood of her armour outside the cloak, picking up her mask from the table and hooking it on to her belt. “Let us be off then.”
The two mismatched companions rode slowly down the main road away from the Dragonborn’s house. The heavily armoured, but obviously inexperienced Nord on an underfed mare, in stark contrast to the lightly armoured Wood Elf, with far too much experience riding an imposing beast, blood red eyes glowing out.
When Natalie had taken her mare out of its stable and removed the enchantments around its eyes, the colour changing from the dark brown he was used to seeing on horses, Torbald had almost screamed in fear, the horse looking to him straight out of the stories that would scare him as a child.
“What’s its name?” Torbald cautiously asked.
“HER name, is Shadowmere.” She answered, obviously irritated by the inane question, just to fill the silence that had formed between them since leaving her home.
Torbald swallowed, unsure if he should keep asking, “And uh, why are her eyes red exactly, I’ve never seen that before.”
“I got her from the Dark Brotherhood, and they seem to like red, so maybe that’s why.” Torbald stared at her, mouth wide open, while her expression was unreadable from behind the mask she had put on soon after venturing onto the main road. No one would recognise her now, not after so many years, but old habits die hard, the mask having scared off many people in the past while protecting her identity at the same time. Some people wouldn’t believe she was the Dragonborn, until she donned the mask. Its previous owner had been a long dead priest of Alduin, a fitting piece for her to have.
“Dark Brotherhood?” Torbald managed to stammer out. “They’re a myth, aren’t they?”
“As much of a myth as I am. Just because people don’t see me, doesn’t mean I don’t exist.” Natalie was enjoying Torbald's surprise a little too much, trying hard to keep from bursting out laughing.
“You know, most people think you died years ago.”
“That was the idea. People think I’m dead, no one asks me to solve their petty little problems.”
“Everyone in the Dawnguard told me not to look for you, but I knew Ralof was right.”
“He’s one of the few people in Skyrim who would definitely know whether I was dead or not.”
Torbald stared at his saddle, wondering how much else they’d all gotten wrong about the Dragonborn. A thought popped into his mind, one he'd never thought to ask his grandfather, “You know, I don’t think Ralof has ever told me. How did you meet him? Doesn’t seem like the meeting would be particularly likely.”
Natalie shrugged, “We met when the Empire was trying to chop off our heads.”
“Wait, what? What did you do that would deserve that?”
“Ralof was part of the rebellion, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”
Sundas, 3:17pm, 16th of Last Seed, 4E 201
South-Western Skyrim
Natalie wrenched the fourth of her arrows out of the deer’s carcass, snapping the head of it off within the beast. She groaned, mumbling to herself, “I’ve really gotta get better at this, pelt barely sells for anything with this many holes in it.” Hunting all morning and most of the afternoon with only one poor kill to show for it was not how she’d planned on spending her day.
Pulling out her knife, she began to cut the animal’s skin away, only to stop at the sound of a horse whinnying. She slowly turned to find an Imperial Guardsman standing a few metres behind her, having not heard him approach. She instantly straightened up, dropping her knife, bowing her head and avoiding his gaze.
“And what exactly do you think you’re doing elf?” the guard said in a deep gruff voice.
“Hunting Sir” she muttered into the long hair covering her face.
“Speak up cur!” he yelled, marching closer, towering over her small frame.
“Hunting, Sir!” she repeated, loud enough for him to hear, eyes still downcast.
“Hunting? On the Emperor’s lands? That just won’t do, now will it. Quite a serious offence, taking the Emperor’s food without being offered it. What should I do with you?” He reached up, playing with the ends of her hair.
“But but, there’s so many deer, surely he wouldn’t miss a couple? I’ve been hunting here for months.” Her hands flew to her mouth, eyes widening, the realisation of what she’d said dawning on her.
“Months?” The back of the guard’s plated gauntlet slammed into her cheek, throwing her to the ground. “Stealing one deer might have been a small sentence, but this…this will require something more serious.”
Natalie struggled to rise, the blow had opened a long cut on her face. She barely had time to look up, before the guard had unsheathed a small wooden blackjack, and brought it down on her head, knocking her unconscious.
Morndas, 9:04am, 17th of Last Seed, 4E 201
Road to Helgen
The rhythmic rattling of cart wheels on the stony road slowly brought Natalie back from unconsciousness. Her head lolled from side to side as she struggled to open her eyes. One of them was swollen half shut from where the guardsman had struck her. It throbbed painfully with every stone the cart skipped over. Her wrists had been tied together with rough rope, scraping away layers of skin, leaving them raw, threatening to bleed at any moment.
Finally succeeding in opening her eyes, her vision slowly cleared, her three companions in shackles now vaguely registering somewhere in her mind. “Hey, you. You’re finally awake.” Natalie turned to the speaker sitting across from her, a blond muscular Nord in a blue armoured tunic. “You got caught by the guardsman back there, right? Just minding your own business? Right near the Imperial ambush we walked into, same as that thief over there”.
The thief began to speak, a malnourished Nord wearing what could barely even be called rags, “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’ve stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell.” He turned his attention to Natalie, appraising her in less than a second, “You there. You and me…we shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.”
“We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.” Natalie barely registered the two men speaking, as the true implications of what was happening dawned on her. She was in a cart, in binds, with a rebel, a thief, and a third man, who looked a noble from his clothes. They were being taken somewhere by Imperials. She was going to die. Her body rose and fell with silent sobs, tears leaving tracks down the dirt and dried blood on her face.
“Shut up back there!” The driver of the cart yelled back at them.
The two men speaking in the cart continued in more hushed tones, the ragged thief first, “And what’s wrong with him?” raising his chin towards the third man with them. A heavy piece of cloth was tied around his head, gagging him.
“Watch your tongue!” Natalie thought the blond Nord’s exclamation would make the driver yell at them again, but he seemed to pay no mind to them, “You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!”
Both the thief’s and Natalie’s heads snapped to Ulfric, mouths falling open, “Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?!”
“I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.” The blond Nord had accepted his fate, not even a hint of fear coming through in his voice, the opposite of both the thief and Natalie. Her tears fell faster now, dripping onto her hands, as painful sobs wracked her body.
“No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.” The thief was breathing harder now, struggling with the rope binding his wrists.
The blond Nord interrupted the thief’s attempts at escape, “Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?”
“Why do you care?”
“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.”
“Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.” They finally fell silent as they approached a small village. Natalie remembered it as Helgen, having stopped here a few times to sell pelts and buy supplies. The people had been nice enough, but now it seemed they would gather to watch her be executed along with the rebels surrounding her.
Natalie was vaguely aware of the Imperial at the front of the column of carts talking to some High Elves, part of the dreaded Thalmor if their garb was anything to go by. The blond Nord seemed to know who the Imperial was and that they were in Helgen, commenting he used to know someone here.
Their cart ground to a stop, each passenger standing up and filing off, Natalie coming off last. The thief was pleading with the guards, “Wait, please, I’m not a rebel, you can’t do this!”
“Face your death with some courage thief”
“Please, tell them I’m not with you! This is a mistake!” Any pleas the thief had fell on deaf ears.
The Imperial Captain marched to the front of the small crowd of prisoners, stopping next to a soldier and exchanging brief hushed words with him. Natalie’s keen hearing picked up most of what they were saying, “This has to go as planned, all of them will die today, or its your head that goes on the block.” Her next words rang out and echoed throughout the village for all to hear, “Step forward when we call your name! One at a time!”
A scoff came from the blond Nord, “Empire loves their damn lists.”
The soldier began his task, “Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.”
“It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric.” The Nord did his best to stand at attention and nod respectfully to his leader.
“Ralof of Riverwood.” The Nord marched forward to the growing crowd of men and women waiting at the executioner’s block. “Lokir of Rorikstead.”
The thief Lokir stumbled forward, “No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” He rushed forward, shouldering the soldier out of the way and began running to the gate.
The scream of the Captain called the guards to attention “HALT!”
“You’re not going to kill me!” Lokir kept running, paying no mind to the bows being notched around him.
“Archers!” The order was carried out immediately, the arrow penetrating his back, sending a small spurt of blood to stain the ground. His body collapsed to the ground in a heap, the Captain whirling back to the prisoners screaming out, “ANYONE ELSE FEEL LIKE RUNNING?”
Natalie flinched, trying to hide behind the man next to her. The soldier with his list spotted the movement, “Wait, you there. Step forward. Who are you?” She glanced at the guardsman who had brought her to this point.
“N..N..Natalie Sir.” She tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, her entire future depending on what this soldier did next.
“Hmm, not many wood elves would choose to come alone to Skyrim. Far cry from Valenwood,” He scanned this list again searching for her name to no avail. Her hopes perked up, “Captain, what should we do? I can’t find her on the list anywhere.”
The Captain was in no mood for mercy, putting her face within an inch of the soldier’s, “Forget the list,” her stare brokered no argument, “She goes to the block”.
The soldier audibly swallowed, “By your orders, Captain.” He turned back to the wood elf standing in front of him, all the hopes she may have had of being released completely dashed. “I’m sorry. We’ll make sure your remains are returned to Valenwood.”
Fresh tears sprang fourth from Natalie’s eyes, “Please, I didn’t do anything! You have to believe me!” The captain stormed up to her, roughly grabbing her arm and throwing her towards the headsman’s block. Natalie’s squeal of pain was cut short as the Captain grabbed her hair, dragging her the rest of the way.
“One more step out of line, and your death will not be quick and painless. I’ll personally ensure you spend the next six months in a cell, until you’re begging for death.” The Captain hissed into Natalie’s pointed ear “And then maybe, just maybe, I’ll grant you that sweet release”, before shoving her head into the ground.
Natalie struggled to her feet, taking her place among the others to be executed. The Captain had moved to the front of the crowd, standing directly next to the headsman. A priestess was with them, attempting to ease the passing of the headsman’s victims.
The Imperial’s leader, an old man in ornate armour, had strutted up to Ulfric to gloat at his victory over the rebellion, “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 the throne.” Ulfric’s only response through the heavy gag was a grunt, his eyes burning through the Imperial’s own. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace.”
Natalie’s ears pricked up at the sound of a distant roar. It wasn’t a bear, it sounded much too large for that. The soldiers looked around, “What was that?”
The leader was unconcerned, “It’s nothing. Carry on.”
Ever the loyal solider, the Captain kept on with her orders, “Yes, General Tullius.” She nodded at the priestess, “Give them their last rites.”
“As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved—”
The priestess’ speech was cut short by a Stormcloak shoving his way to the block, “For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with.”
“As you wish…” The priestess’ irritation was plain under her hood, but she would raise no argument if the man wanted his death to go unseen by the gods.
“Come on, I haven’t got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials.” He drops to his knees, before the Captain’s boot forces his head down onto the block. A deep laugh burst forth from the dead man’s throat, “Can you say the same?”
The headsman’s axe came down with such force that it embedded itself into the block, his foot needed to steady himself before he wrenched it out. Blood gushed from where the man’s head had been, spreading out on the ground near the block. A soldier dragged the body away, preparing the space for the next prisoner.
Ralof sighed from his place nearby, “As fearless in death as he was in life.”
“Next, the wood elf!” Natalie was dragged out of the crowd and flung to the Captain’s feet.
The roar rang out again. The soldier with the list looked around in confusion. “There it is again. Did you hear that?”
“I said, the wood ELF.” The last word was spat out. Natalie was pulled to her feet before a swift kick to the back of the knees forced her down, a boot on her back pushing her face down into the previous victim’s blood. Natalie coughed and spluttered, spraying the blood forward.
Natalie stared past the headsman to the mountains beyond, praying to any god or demon that would listen. Save me. Please. I can’t die here. Once more, the roar was heard. A black shadow glided from the mountains, startling all nearby.
“What in Oblivion is that!?”
“Sentries! What do you see?”
“It’s in the clouds!”
The creature alighted on top of the tower behind the headsman. Natalie craned her neck up to see rows of sharp teeth protruding from a beast as black as night. “DRAGON!” The cry went out. The screaming began.
The dragon bellowed in a language that resonated through Natalie’s bones. The headsman fell dead on his feet, the sheer force of the dragon’s voice killing him immediately. Rocks began raining down from the sky. One impact hurled Natalie away from the tower, landing hard on the ground with a yelp.
“Hey, wood elf!” She lifted her head off the ground, spying Ralof standing in the doorway of the tower. “Get up! Come on, the gods won’t give us another chance! This way!” She picked herself off the ground, hobbling towards the tower. Ralof slammed the door once she was inside. Several other Stormcloaks had made it inside, including Ulfric.
“Jarl Ulfric! What is that thing? Could the legends be true?” Ralof was finally showing the fear appropriate for the situation.
“Legends don’t burn down villages. We need to move, now!” Ulfric’s voice was commanding, obviously used to his orders being followed to the letter.
Ralof scanned the people who’d gathered, motioning to Natalie and the others, “Up through the tower. Let’s go!” He turned to Natalie, “This way, friend! Move!”
Other Stormcloaks moved up, coming to a mound of rubble blocking their path. “We just need to move some of these rocks to clear the way!” They didn’t get a chance to start, as the dragon shattered its way through the side of the tower, sending the soldiers flying to their deaths at the bottom.
Ralof’s hand flew out, pushing Natalie into the wall, “Get back!” The dragon, once more, said something in a language Natalie felt like she should recognise, before fire streamed from its mouth, bathing the inside of the structure, leaving some of the stone glowing hot. Luckily for them, it flew off before doing any more damage.
The only ones left, Ralof and Natalie came to the hole the dragon had made, the way further up blocked by rubble. Leaning out of the opening, Ralof surveyed the surrounding area. He turned to Natalie, shouting over the noise of the battle outside, “See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going!”
Natalie shied away from Ralof and the opening, “Jump? Out of here into a flaming building? Are you crazy? If the fall doesn’t kill me the flames will!” She attempted to turn away only to have Ralof grab her by the shoulders.
“Listen, Natalie was it?” She nodded. “This is the only way, you have to get out of here, get away from Helgen. This monster doesn’t look like its going to stop, so putting as much distance between us and it is the most important thing to do right now. I’ll find you and we’ll get out of here together okay? Its only a small drop, try to roll when you land.” She hesitated again, “Go! I’ll follow you when I can!”
Before she could protest, Ralof had disappeared down the stairs, through the smoke choking the air. Natalie tries in vain to get her wrists out the binds, only succeeding in causing the skin to split and blood to well to the surface. Glancing once more out of the tower, she took a step back and leapt, sailing through the air and through the inns flaming roof. She landed awkwardly on her feet, crashing to the floor with a groan.
Coughing through the chocked air, Natalie burst out of the inn, finding the soldier who had had the list with several villagers. “Haming, you need to get over here now!” A young boy was in the open, with the dragon swooping nearby. He came running at the sound of the soldier’s voice, hiding behind a small mound of rubble. “Thataboy. You’re doing great! Torolf! Gods…everyone get back!” The dragon had made another run, fire streaming out of its maw as it passed, narrowly missing the small group and Natalie, but consuming Torolf, ashes the only indication he’d even been there. The solider noticed Natalie, “Still alive, elf? Keep close if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defence”
“Gods guide you, Hadvar.” Gunnar moved away from the dragon’s path, pulling Haming with him.
“Right, follow me, I’ll make sure your safe.” No other alternative to get out of this alive presenting itself, Natalie followed the man she now knew as Hadvar. Making their way between buildings and an inner wall of the village, the duo carefully picked their way through, watching the skies for any sign of the dragon. “Stay close to the wall!” Before Natalie could even think to act, Hadvar shoved her against a wall, the dragon perched directly above them flooding a building with fire. They carefully edged under the dragon, before it took flight. “Okay, I think we’re good for now. Quickly, this way!”
Rounding a corner, they were confronted with the carnage that was the main gate into town. Any structure nearby had been reduced to ruins, flames still smouldering on most of them. Imperials were loosing arrows at the dragon any time it was close enough, to no effect.
“Die dragon!”
“How in Oblivion do we kill this thing?! Just…die!”
Hadvar and Natalie ran past the group of soldiers, towards the keep’s courtyard at the edge of the town. Rushing into the courtyard was Ralof, axe in hand, ready to defend himself from any Imperial who dared strike him. “Ralof! You damned traitor, out of my way!”
“We’re escaping Hadvar! You’re not stopping us this time.” Ralof’s gaze dared Hadvar to challenge him.
Instead, Hadvar shook his head, “Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!”
Ralof beckoned to Natalie, “Come on Natalie! Into the keep! This is our chance.” Natalie felt almost guilty, before following Ralof into the keep, leaving the Imperials behind.
The inside of the keep was damp, Natalie’s ears picking up dripping water from almost every direction. They made their way through the entrance, finding themselves in a large atrium. Ralof led the way, hurrying across the room and crouching down. A corpse of one of his fellows was lying against the far wall, blood marring the blue of his uniform.
Reaching up, he closed the eyes of his dead comrade, “We’ll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” Rounding back to Natalie, he searched the room for a way out. “Looks like we’re the only ones who made it. Damn it. That thing was a fucking dragon. No doubt. Just like the children’s stories and the legends. The harbingers of the End Times.” He took a dagger from the table moving towards Natalie, she shied away, backing up to the wall. “Sorry, just wanted to get those bindings off you.” She relaxed, holding her arms out, Ralof cutting away the ropes easily.
Natalie rubbed her wrists gingerly, glad to be rid of the restraints. “There you go.” Ralof smiled at her. “Hopefully that’s the last time we’re in trouble like that. May as well take Gunjar’s gear…he won’t needing it anymore” He removed armour from the corpse, “Alright, get that on.” Natalie almost refused, the blood on the armour was fresh, before accepting it and dragging it on over her tattered hunting clothes.
Ralof began to remove the dead man’s boots, Natalie stopping him before he’d got the first one off, “Oh, no thanks, don’t really wear shoes, plus, doubt they’re going to fit me. This armour is a little too big as it is.”
Ralof was going to argue, before thinking better of it and handing her an axe, “Here, give this a few swings. Might as well take his dagger as well. I’m going to see if I can find some way out of here.” He strode to the gate on one side of the room, finding it locked. “Damnit. Locked. No way to open from our side”
They both froze at the sound of voices through the locked gate, “Come on soldier! Keep moving!” The Imperial Captain had found their hiding place.
“Shit, Imperials. Take cover!” Ralof and Natalie took positions either side of the gate, out of sight of the approaching enemies. Natalie drew the dagger from her side holding it with both hands down by her waist, pressing herself as close to the wall as she could.
The gate scraped open, two Imperials walking through. Ralof is on the subordinate in an instant, axe catching him in the chest, bones crunching through his armour. A grunt is all he can make before he collapses, Ralof ripping his axe out. The Captain has made it to the centre of the room and drawn her sword. “I didn’t think I could hate you Stormcloak filth anymore. The war was bad enough, but now, helping elves?” She rounded on Natalie, “They don’t deserve it, barely people as it is.” She spat on the ground in Natalie’s direction.
With a war cry, Ralof charged, swinging his weapon with enough force to almost disarm the Captain. They exchanged a series of blows, metal ringing against metal. Natalie circled around them, moving behind the Imperial, looking for her moment to strike. Her hunting instincts had taken over, telling her to wait patiently. There. A break in the Captain’s guard. Natalie ran, jumped on the Imperial’s back, plunging her dagger into the gap between the helmet and breastplate, blood immediately welling from the wound. The Captain had just enough strength left to twist Natalie off her before making a feeble attempt to remove the blade.
The body collapsed, blood gushing from the deadly wound, pooling under it. Natalie picked herself up from where’d she’d been thrown to the floor, hands on her knees breathing slowly. “I’ve never killed anything but animals before” she said matter-of-factly.
“Trust me, not a feeling you get used to. Come on, maybe one them has the key to get out of here.” Ralof removed the dagger from the Captain’s neck, handing it back to Natalie. A brief search of the pouches on the corpse yielded his prize. “Here we are, a key. Let’s see if it opens that door.” The door clicked, allowing passage further down into the keep’s depths. “Come on, let’s get out of here before the dragon brings the whole tower down on top of our heads.”
Natalie crouched down next to the body of the dead Captain. She looked almost peaceful, the hate filled glare gone. Natalie removed the Captains metal armguards, fitting them over her forearms, a bit more protection from whatever they would face further in. Following Ralof, she descended, almost getting trapped beneath a collapsing ceiling in front.
Natalie’s ears pricked up, voices coming from a side room further on. She thrust an arm out stopping Ralof and signalling to him what she’d heard. They crept on, mindful of any movement that would cause noise to give them away. Natalie carefully poked her head around the doorframe into the room, spying two Imperial soldiers ransacking what looked to be a storeroom.
Ralof whispered to her, “We can take them by surprise, no need for a fight, you get the one on the left, I’ll take the right.” Natalie only nodded in response.
Taking Ralof’s suggestion, they quickly despatched the two of them, neither having time to even draw their weapons to defend against the Nord’s axe or the elf’s dagger. Natalie dumped the axe Ralof had given her, taking another dagger from the dead Imperials, the lighter weapon better suiting her small frame and aptitude for stealth. They were now sheathed, one on each thigh.
Searching for any supplies they could find, a scream stopped them both in their search. Exchanging a look, they moved on, finding themselves at the top of a staircase, stained with blood on nearly every step. Cages were visible near the bottom, as well as hanging from the roof. “Troll’s blood! It’s a torture room!” Sounds of battle echoed up the stairs. They took the Imperials by surprise from the rear, quickly ending the fight before more of the Stormcloaks could die.
Ralof’s short conversation with the others yielded no more information, Ulfric was missing, and none of them had a plan on how to get out aside from forward or trying their luck with the dragon.
Natalie examined one of the torture cages, a skeleton and a book lie inside. No matter what angle she stuck her arm in at, she could not reach the book or any of the gold scattered around. Ralof came up behind, holding out a lockpick, “Here, try this. Might need that gold later. Grab anything useful and let’s get going.”
“How do I…” Ralof had wandered off before Natalie could ask how to even use a lockpick. She’d had no need for one before. Sighing, she carefully inserted it, jiggling it around, until she’d somehow done the right thing, and the lock made a satisfying click. Swinging the cage open, the gold was quickly piled into a small pouch and attached to Natalie’s belt.
The skeleton was wearing what appeared to be a mages robe. Already having garments to cover her chest, she removed the hood, fastening around her neck, leaving it down for the time being. She piled her long hair into it, before collecting the book. It was a spell tome, with a stylised picture of lightning and a magic symbol Natalie couldn’t decipher on its cover.
Undoing the small clasp on the side, Natalie began to read. It detailed how to produce and send small amounts of lightning streaming out of her fingertips. Holding the book in her left, she made the jerking movements the book described with the fingers on her right hand.
The tome clattered to the floor in Natalie’s surprise, as bright blue sparks erupted from her fingers and struck the roof. A yelp had come unbidden from her mouth, drawing the attention of the Stormcloaks. Ralof came over, “A mage huh? Could be useful if we find any more Imperials.” He gave a reassuring smile, but the sentiment on magic was not shared by his comrades, the trust Natalie had seen on their faces previously all but vanished.
Spurred on by Ralof’s encouragement, Natalie stared at a training dummy on the opposite side of the room. Focusing what she felt from her centre when she’d done it before, she made the same movements, the sparks flaring out of her fingers once more, this time brighter. Adding her other hand with it, the two streams connected into true lightning, setting the dummy alight. “Oops…” She cut off the lightning, shaking her hands out, letting the power settle back down into her core. Stowing the book in a small pack she’d found, the Stormcloaks pressed on.
The keep’s dungeon gave way to a cave system. After despatching a group of Imperials, with Natalie using her new-found magical ability to great effect, they entered the caves. A small cave in cut off Natalie and Ralof from the others. “No going back now. The rest will have to find another way out. We better keep going. Hope there’s an exit this way.”
A group of giant frostbite spiders attacked and were summarily disposed of, Ralof commenting on his disdain for the creatures. After what seemed like hours, they saw the light of day around the corner of a cavern larger than any they had come across previously.
Ralof signalled for Natalie to stop, crouching down and speaking in hushed tones, “Hold up. There’s a bear just up there. See her? I’d rather not tangle with her. We could sneak by, get out before she wakes up. You said you were a hunter, right?”
Natalie grumbled, “Got arrested for it. Apparently wasn’t hunting where I was supposed to.”
“Well, you could try and catch it by surprise”, Ralof held out a bow with a small quiver, “I’ll follow your lead and watch your back.”
The bow was almost instantly taken, fixing the quiver over her back and drawing an arrow. Natalie’s mood brightened, grinning up at Ralof, “Lets hunt us some bear.”
She edged her way around the perimeter of the cavern, getting a view of the bears head. The bow was drawn back, aimed, she breathed in. And released.
The arrow struck, embedding itself deep in the bear’s neck. She rose to a standing position, only slightly fazed by the arrow now jutting out. She let out a deafening roar, turning its attention to Natalie. The second and third arrows joined the first in the bear, slowing her charge. Natalie rolled out of the way, sprinting towards Ralof. Turning, the fourth arrow struck true, downing the beast.
Natalie straightened up from her kneeling position, downcast expression on her face, “Always four arrows. Can never seem to get the first three where I want them.”
Ralof chuckled, “Got the beast down at least, even if it did take four. Pretty quick on your feet to outrun and fire the fourth.”
“Quick feet have gotten me out of trouble quite a few times. Except for from Imperial guardsmen it seems”
He pointed to the mouth of the cave, “At least we found the exit, should be easy from now.” Natalie slung the bow over her shoulder, following him out.
The bright sunlight made Natalie squint and shade her eyes. “Get down!” Ralof tackled Natalie behind a rock, a black shape flying overhead. The dragon flew on, not seeing them. He helped her back to her feet. “Looks like he’s gone for good this time. Imperials will be swarming around her soon enough, better clear out.” He looked around. “I know where we are, Riverwood is just up the road here. My sister Gerdur runs the mill, I’m sure she’ll help us.”
They made their way down to the river, following the road towards Riverwood.
Middas, 6:29pm, 9th of Sun’s Dusk, 4E 257
Road South-West of Riverwood
Natalie finished her tale just as the sun began to fall behind the mountains. “And we’ve been... friends ever since. He's definitely known me the longest at least, your grandfather. Unfortunately, knows me better than almost anyone.” A scowl formed on her face. “One of the reasons I need to have a chat with him”
Torbald was having a hard time taking in all that Natalie had said. His grandfather had almost been beheaded but had been saved by a dragon’s arrival. If it wasn’t the Dragonborn telling the story, he would have accused the person of being completely insane. “So, you and my grandfather…not only escaped an Imperial headsman, but survived an encounter with ALDUIN, the literal end of the world as we know it. In fact, he saved you both.”
Natalie cocked her head at Torbald, “Pretty much the short version yes. And you do know who you’re talking to right? I killed Alduin. I survived, oh maybe, 12 meetings with him all up? Very talkative when he wanted to be.” Shadowmere, as though she’d understood Natalie, made a noise sounding very much like laughter.
The Nord stared at the reins in his hand. How was this person real? She talked about Alduin as if it had been nothing to kill him, to save the whole world from him. Torbald wouldn’t even have been born without the elf now riding next to him. He looked over at Natalie, the mask hiding any clue as to what she was thinking.
“Might have to stay the night in Riverwood. It’s getting pretty dark; don’t think we should start the journey to the fort tonight.”
“Scared of the dark, are you?” Natalie laughed, Torbald going red in the face. “Okay, hope the inn has a free bed.”