#vilakias

[bachimagines]

Chapter 1: Bound By Fate

"Vilakias at your service." The khajiit purred from one of the benches in the wagon. His bright emerald eyes were shifting between his current traveling companions. The one closest to the edge of the wagon was the elf. Her skin was greyish blue, with an occasional purple tint here and there. Her crimson eyes would have normally spoken of fear and hostility, but instead they were light and amused, friendly even. Her hair was pitch black and hung to her shoulders, several broken twigs were knotted in it.

The argonian was dark, her scales such a dark green that they could almost pass for black. Two horns curled neatly away from either side of her head, both a yellowish color from long travels and little time for bathing. Vilakias wasn't sure what he found himself staring at more on her, the bright piercing sky blue that was her entire eye, or the three long gashes that crossed over her left eye. Had it not been for the muck that covered both girls, Vilakias might have been embarrassed by his own dirt encrusted fur. Or even from the musty smell that came from him being caught in the rain and not drying properly. Though neither of them seemed to mind his smell. In fact they both had peculiar odors about them. From one an odd forestry smell, that brought to mind images of manure. The other rotten flesh, and stale waters. Vilakias shuddered.

"Miora." The elf extended her hand toward the khajiit. He placed his palm against her wrist and gripped it tightly. With some dismay he felt her wrap her own fingers around his arm, though what peeked his discomfort were her nails. As they released grips he gazed at her nails. They were longer than most, and he was almost certain they could be just as dangerous as his claws. Miora leaned back against the carriage seat. Both her and Vilakias turned to look at the argonian. Her eyes were locked on the floorboards beneath them, her hands clasped tightly in her lap.

"Did you come from the Black Marsh?" Miora questioned, her own interest mildly running about. The lizard looked up slowly, her bright eyes passing over Vilakias to land on the elf. She studied her for a moment.

"Aye. And ye from Morrowind I suspect?" She replied. The elf smiled faintly and nodded. She'd never met an argonian before, sure she had read about them. But there was something about the gravelly undertone of her voice that was pleasant to hear.

"Wow... what are you two doing so far from home?" Vilakias spoke up. He'd never strayed too far from his path. It was a simple routine. He lived up in Whiterun with his family, worked in the Dark Water mines, and sold most of his supplies down in Riften.

"Aren't you from Elsweyr?" Miora chimed in. He looked back at her and shook his head.

"Nye, I've lived in Skyrim most of my life."

"Oh, well... Have you ever been to Morrowind? It's dreadful there, so I decided to leave." Miora shrugged as if it was an everyday thing, and it was. Elves often left their homeland to seek a better life.

"What about ye?" Miora nudged the argonian with her boot. The lizard had fallen silent again, content to watch the two of them chatter.

"The Black Marsh is a hostile place, not fit for someone looking to live a long life." She replied calmly, more amused by the question then she let on.

"So you want to live a long time then?" Vilakias asked. The argonian smiled, her sharp pointed teeth pressed together. She chuckled amused, though the sound was raspy.

"I do not... I am simply seeking a new home." She paused. "Sylvion." She stated simply. She extended her arm to the khajiit, gripping his firmly before turning and gripping the elf's hand equally tightly.

"It means fire." Sylvion stated idly. Miora perked up, turning slightly in her seat to look at her companion.

"I like fire." She smiled widely. Miora held out both of her hands, and bright orange flames formed in her palms. They curled around one another, acting like snakes rather than flames.

"I don't." Both girls turned to face Vilakias. His eyes had narrowed to slits, and he was glaring at the fire in Miora's hand. She rose an eyebrow and extended a hand toward him slowly, the flames cupped in between her fingers. Vilakias hissed, his fur beginning to stand on end as the flames drew close to him. Sylvion shifted uncomfortably as the air in the back of the wagon grew colder. Small flakes of snow were floating around the cat, his eyes locked on the ball of fire.

"OW!"

"EEK!" Both Miora and Vilakias jumped as though they had been shocked. Though the chill in the air vanished, and the ball of fire shriveled into a small wisp before going out.

"We're here." The wagon drive spoke clearly, turning in his seat to look at the three passengers. Carefully Miora slid out of the back, landing lightly on the ground. Vilakias followed her out, his worn out bag strapped to his back. Sylvion followed them, dropping to the ground and watching as the wagon pulled away, heading back toward Riften.

"Where will you be heading now?" Vilakias questioned looking between the two girls. There was silence between them for a moment before they exchanged glances.

"I'm... not sure."

"I'll be heading to Winterhold by weeks end, if you'd like to accompany me back perhaps we could find you some work." He offered.

"HALT!" The small group turned as a small group of soldiers on horses came into view, several men and women dressed in blue and brown garments were bound and loaded into the backs of two wagons.

"What's going on?" The soldier in the front commanded.

"We've just arrived from Riften." Vilakias spoke up. His gaze drifted from soldier to soldier until his eyes landed on one of the prisoners.

"Who are you?" Sylvion asked looking between them. At her side she felt Miora take a step back, her hands gripping Sylvion's forearm.

"That's no concern of yours lizard." The man in the front spoke bitterly.

"What's your purpose here?" He addressed Vilakias. The khajiit looked up confused.

"I work in the mines near here." He answered softly.

"You expect me to believe that you three just happened to arrive here when Ulfric was?" The soldier snarled. Sylvion turned slightly to look at Miora.

"Whom is Ulfric?" She whispered uncertainly. Miora rose her shoulders.

"SPEAK WHEN SPOKEN TO LIZARD!" The soldier barked.

"Bite me, human." She hissed in response. There was a brief moment of silence before he lunged forward, the back of his hand connecting with her jaw. Sylvion crumpled to the ground, motionless. Miora and Vilakias both dropped to their knees, attempting to check on her.

"Load them up with the others." The soldier ordered. There was a brief moment of madness where two men rushed Miora, taking her to the ground and binding her wrists tightly behind her. Vilakias watched, but didn't attempt to resist as they wrapped his wrists as well. The soldiers led Vilakias and Miora to a cart where three men were already sitting. Another soldier carried Sylvion to the cart and dropped her onto the bottom boards, among the prisoners feet.

"Who are you lot? Mixed up in this mess as well?" A nord questioned, his shaggy blonde hair came to his shoulders. His eyes a bright blue, and added kindness to his face. Splatters of stubble coated his upper lip and chin.

"Aye apparently so..." Vilakias responded, kneeling the best he could to drag Sylvion into a sitting position. The man leaned over, grabbing one of her arms and assisting him. Miora was silent, her eyes locked on the blonde man, her heart hammering in her chest. Sure she was an elf who preferred her own companionship, but recently she seemed to have taken a liking to these strange people. Well... most of them. She shot a nasty look toward one of the horse riders behind their cart.

"What's going on?" Miora whispered softly, her voice cracking. The blonde man studied her for a minute before glancing at the other two nords. One was scrawny with dark hair and bags under his eyes, the other a proud looking man. A cloth was tied around his mouth, silencing him.

"We'll wait for your companion to wake up first." He responded meeting Miora's eyes and offering her a quick smile.

"Raylof's the name. I'd offer you my hand, but..." He lifted his bound wrists. Miora nodded slightly, before turning her attention to Sylvion.

"Will she be alright?" She asked.

"I think so. I'm pretty sure he just caught her with the steel part of his gauntlet." Vilakias replied leaning forward to pressed his fingertips against her throat. There was a faint jumpy pulse under the pressure he applied. The small group fell into silence. Listening instead to their own thoughts, accompanied by the steady clip clop of horse hooves and the rattling of their transportation.

A soft groan drew them all from their separate worlds. Sylvion stirred slightly, straightening up between the two benches. There was a horrid pounding in the side of her head, though she couldn't quite tell if it was where she'd been struck or rather where she'd fallen.

"I wasn't aware speaking was a foul thing in your land..." She rasped rubbing the tender spot methodically.

"It isn't, unless you are to outspeak the Empire and the Thalmor. Which I'm afraid is what you managed to do." Raylof responded scooting closer to the worn looking man. Slowly Sylvion pulled herself onto the bench beside him and looked up. Her eyes lingered on Vilakias for a moment before drifting to Miora.

"You two alright?" She asked. Miora gazed back at her with disbelief.

"You're the one who was hit!" She exclaimed. Sylvion offered her a wry smile.

"Aye..."

"Won't you tell us what's going on now?" Miora once again questioned Raylof. His eyes shifted to meet hers.

"You've been mistaken for Stormcloaks, and Sovngarde awaits at the end of our journey, I am sure." He stated. Vilakias audibly groaned.

"I was afraid of that. You are Ulfric aren't you?" Vilakias turned his gaze to the silenced man. He sat slightly hunched over, a thick fur coat hanging from his shoulders. Ulfric's gaze turned to the khajiit, before returning to the floor boards.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" Sylvion's gaze drifted to one of the soldiers.

"Headsman??" She questioned, fear churned in her belly. In front of her, she could visibly see Miora's body shaking.

"Good let's get this over with." The general replied.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines help me!" The worn man bowed his head, his lips moving as he uttered prayer after prayer.

"Where are we?" Vilakias questioned. He turned in his seat, they had entered a small town. Buildings surrounded them on every side.

"Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl here... I wonder if Vilod is still making that mean with Juniper berries in it." Raylof mused. He sighed softly. "Funny, when I was a boy Imperial towers and walls used to make me feel safe." Sylvion watched as a man ushered his children into the house behind him.

"Why are we stopping?" The worn man questioned.

"Why do you think?" Raylof replied softly, "End of the line." The cart rumbled to a stop beside the first one.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." One by one the prisoners stood, dropping down from the cart. Sylvion jumped down last, landing between Vilakias and Miora.

"Step toward the block when we call your name." A woman called out from the front of our line.

"Oh divines please help..." Miora whispered fidgeting with the ropes behind her back. Sylvion lightly bumped her with her hip.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." Raylof spoke allowed. Sylvion, Vilakias and Miora all glanced at him, pulling back somewhat in their own small group.

"Guess you won't live long a life here either, or get that home." Vilakias murmured to Sylvion. She snorted softly.

"Raylof of Riverwood." He sighed briefly before heading toward the block.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"NO! You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!" He cried out. Then he ran. He sprinted down the cobblestone street, back the way they had come.

"Archers!" The woman called out. It was like magic, one moment he was running toward freedom. The next an arrow sprouted from his back and down he went.

"You three aren't on the list. Who are you?" One of the soldiers questioned.

"Vilakias of Windhelm."

"Sylvion of Black Marsh."

"Miora of Morrowind."

"Capitain what should we do? None of them are on the list." He questioned turning to face the woman at his side. She gazed at the odd three, her eyes scanning them one at a time.

"Forget the list. They go to the block." She replied folding her arms across her chest. Miora felt her knees begin to tremble. She wanted to leave, but it wasn't an option unless she wanted an arrow in her. Vilakias felt as though he was wading into water. Icy water, that was stealing his breath away and freezing him to the core. As much as he enjoyed the cold, this was a feeling he loathed. Sylvion's heartbeat thumped painfully in her chest.

"Shall we?" She asked softly before leading the three of them toward the chopping block. They joined the group of prisoners.

"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." General Tullius spoke calmly. There was a prickle that ran down Sylvion's spine, as some strange noise echoed around the mountains.

"What was that?" Miora whispered looking up at Vilakias. He shrugged.

"I'm not certain, I've never heard it before." He whispered back.

"Give them their last rites." One of the generals ordered. The priestess nodded and held out her arms, but before she spoke more than a few words one of the Stormcloaks cut her off. He stepped up to the block and dropped down, resting his neck on the blood splattered wood. The executioner raised his axe and brought it down with a thump. The stormcloak's head dropped into the basket, his body slumping to the side.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life." Raylof spoke softly from somewhere to the left.

"Next, the lizard!" Sylvion suddenly felt like she didn't have a stomach, like she'd left it somewhere in the Black Marsh.

"Ion...." Sylvion heard the end of her name, whispered by Miora as she walked toward the block. Slowly she sank to her knees, and prayed that it would be over soon. She laid her head into the worn wood, and swallowed a hard lump in her throat. The noise echoed around the mountains again, and she suddenly would have given anything to know what it was. She closed her eyes to avoid looking at the severed head below her. A loud screeching noise ran through her head, increasing the migraine she'd had.

"What in Oblivion is that?" Someone called out. Still she didn't open her eyes. She felt the ground shake under the impact of... something. Miora's voice rang out through the sudden commotion.

"SYLVION!" The lizard opened her eyes and looked toward the elf. There were stones falling from the sky behind her, both of her companion running toward her. She struggled to her feet and glanced in the other direction, her heart stopped. A large black dragon was perched on top of a guard tower, looming down at the gathering.

"This way!" Raylof called out. The trio didn't hesitate to run toward him. He turned and headed for another guard tower where several of the stormcloak prisoners were already scrambling inside.

"What is that?!" She called out.

"Do we really want to know?" Miora questioned in response as they slipped into the guard tower. A wooden door was slammed shut behind them, sealing them into the building.

"No... Oh Divines above..." She whispered swallowing again.

"We have to keep moving." Vilakias darted toward the staircase that spiraled up. Miora and Sylvion followed him. He slid to a stop as the dragon's head slammed through the stone wall, hot flames spurted from it's maw, lighting the entire building up for a moment. It let out a loud roar before abandoning the hole and flying away from the building.

"There's a house beside us, I think we could make it!" Vilakias called out peering through the hole.

"Jump, you mean jump across the building?!" Miora called out. He glanced back at her and nodded, though he didn't move either.

"I'll take that chance." Sylvion slipped around Vilakias and darted the few feet to the ledge before jumping across the gap and landing heavily onto the second floor of the building. She stumbled and fell rolling several feet. As she scrambled to her feet Vilakias landed down on the floor. He stumbled into her but neither fell. They looked back up as the elf darted toward the edge, unwilling to stay behind. Vilakias and Sylvion steadied her the best they could as she landed.

"I'm becoming more and more grateful that I met you two." She stated leaning into Sylvion for a moment.

"Aye, I'll second that." Sylvion smiled weakly at the two of them.

"Thirdly. Can we leave now?" Vilakias asked glancing nervously at the sky, none of them were too sure where the dragon had landed. But one thing was certain. From the sounds outside, he hadn't left the town yet.

"C'mon over here!" Sylvion darted toward a hole that dropped straight down to the first floor. She jumped down and backed away to make room for Vilakias and Miora. This time the elf followed her first, dropping down and scrambling off to the side. Vilakias dropped down heavily before standing and looking around.

"This way!" He led the way through the front door and around the back of a house that was missing it's roof. He led the way through, ducking involuntarily as he heard the swooping sounds of the dragon's wings. They darted into the middle of town where all chaos was raining. Bodies littered the ground, buildings were mere smoking ruins and people were screaming and shooting arrows after the dragon.

"Through the archway!" Miora called out. The three of them sprinted toward the arch, but stumbled as the ground shook. Behind them the dragon cried out, a fierce growl. Ignoring it they bolted toward the keep.

"You, hurry into the keep!"

"RAYLOF!" Miora cried out, surprised to see the nord running toward them. He darted past them to a heavy wooden door. He slammed his shoulder into it, forcing it open. Vilakias, Miora and Sylvion poured in after him. He slid the door shut before turning to face them, his face was covered in ash.

"I'm surprised to see you three." He chuckled darkly before heading to each on in turn and cutting off their bindings.

"Aye, we could say the same." Sylvion watched him carefully, rubbing her wrists where the ropes had dug in.