thevoiceofthebard

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 15 - Irileth I: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last See 4E201 Early Evening

Irileth

"One last thing, Irileth. This isn't a death or glory mission. I need to know what we're dealing with here."

Balgruuf's last words to me echo within my mind. It isn't the first time he had said them to me. I doubt it shall be the last either. And my response was also the same as ever. "Don't worry, my Jarl. I am the very soul of caution." An exchange as old as our partnership in the Imperial Army.

And yet... The very nature of my mission causes me to wonder if this might indeed be the last time this exchange passes between us. This eve, I fight no man, no mer, but an ancient beast older than civilization itself, one not fought since the First Era, when myths and legend roamed Nirn freely. Is it possible for mere mortals to fell such a creature?

Well, there is a skull in Dragonsreach that claimed such was indeed possible. And, more importantly, it is my job to convince the dozen guardsmen arrayed in front of me that we are not all marching to an early grave. Perhaps easier said than done. While none would call the Nordic peoples faint of heart, the men and women before me are guards, not soldiers, I doubt many have seen more action than the occasional bandit raid.

The guards are on-edge already; no doubt they're aware of the situation at least somewhat. "Here's the situation, men. A dragon is attacking the Western Watchtower." Exclamations of shock rippled through their ranks. "You heard right! I said a dragon!" I raise my voice to grab their attention and restore what little order they possess. "I don't much care where it came from or who sent it. What I do know is that it's made the mistake of attacking Whiterun!"

"But housecarl, how can we fight a dragon?"

"That's a fair question. None of us have ever seen a dragon before, let alone expected to face one in battle. But! We are honorbound to fight it, even if we fail. This dragon is threatening our homes... Our families! Could you call yourselves Nords if you ran from this monster? Are you going to let me face this thing alone?"

"We are so dead."

I had hoped to inspire them all with my impassioned words, but for every glimmer of defiance I saw, I also noticed as many with fear in their eyes, the kind that led to deserters in the midst of battle; far more dangerous than any tangible foe.

"Housecarl?" Behind me is Talao, along with the woman he had returned with. "If I may?"

"Why are you here?" I ask him in an undertone.

"Well, Uthgerd and I are following you to the watchtower, so that..."

"No. I mean, why are you here?" I reply bitingly. "We are about to possibly engage in battle with an ancient beast of destruction. I need no liabilities on the field of battle, lest your weakness cause another's death."

Uthgerd scowls, but rather than cowing the Breton with my words, his eyes harden and he whispers back, "I may be no warrior, nor a soldier of your experience, but I am far from helpless on the battlefield, I assure you. I am also the only civilian in this city to have seen a dragon in action, and can give you information during a fight with such a foe, unless you would prefer to lose your guards while you learn how to best fight it. But, more importantly, right this moment, your speech has hardly inspired your guards, and that is definitely something I have a gift for."

Well. I certainly prefer this Breton to the silver-tongued fop I met a few days past. I should almost question if he were the same man, did I not remember him so clearly. And he was right. To lead the guards with such a mindset would be dangerous. I nodded to Talao and stood aside, leaving him to address the men.

"Guards of Whiterun! You don't know me, but my name is Talao. I'm a Breton and a bard. But more importantly, I'm one of the few survivors from when the town of Helgen was razed to the ground by a dragon. And I will tell you that I have never been as afraid as I had been then. A beast from eras past, the size of twenty men, raining fire upon an unsuspecting town, destroying walls with a flick of its mighty tail. I was helpless, a prisoner with hands bound, running to survive. I watched that town crumble.

"And unless we are successful today, someone else will tell the same story about Whiterun."

The muttering among the guards grows heated as he pauses briefly, ad I almost stop Talao before he scares them all the the hills. But I hold out hope that he will turn the tides yet.

"I tell you this not to frighten you, but to ensure you do not underestimate what may await us out there, thought I doubt you would regardless. And also because of what else I saw that day; men and women fighting for their lives. Saving one another, and driving the dragon back! I could stand here and try to convince you that you could become the next Olaf One-Eye, slaying dragons like the heroes of eld. But what truly drives us to greatness is not glory for glory's sake. It is to fight for those who cannot, to save those you care for! Helgen was taken by surprise, unarmed but for a regiment of soldiers who had no recourse but to save those they could and retreat to safety. We are forewarned and forearmed, ready to fight.

"You ask how you shall fight a dragon? The same way you fight a bandit or a bear. You fight with fire in your hearts and pride in your home. You fight for your spouses, your children, your friends, and your Jarl. You fight so that no person shall e'er feel an ounce more loss than they must! And every one of them shall remember your name, no matter the outcome!"

The change in the mood of the crowd is astounding, as though lightning coursed through every man's veins. Myself included. I jump atop a low wall nearby and shout, "Now what do you say? Shall we go kill us a dragon?" The roar of assent was deafening as we charged through the gates. I find Talao's eyes and give him a brief salute before we are all swept away. I only hope the triumph in his eyes lasts the day.

Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising x Chapter 16 - Menrig I: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising

Fredas 22nd of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

Farengar

It grates on my nerves, sometimes, how often I have to interact with simpletons during the course of my research. If I could, I'd simply sit in my study, and have a runner retrieve books for me until my voice disappeared from disuse. Luckily, with most of the people, using small words and stroking their ego is enough to get what I need, and I need never speak with them again once our business is concluded.. The ones I can't stand are the brutes with just enough brains to be knowledgeable in one thing they desire, but care for naught else.

Such as Delphine.

"You see? The terminology is clearly First Era or even earlier. I'm convinced this is a copy of a much older text. Perhaps dating to just after the Dragon War. If so, I could use this to cross-reference the names with other, later texts." The text in question - The Holding of Jarl Gjalund - wasn't... completely useless. It was certainly valuable thanks to its age, but the only insight it gave was a loose translation of old places that could help decipher other texts. Useful only in conjunction with other texts, but no real intrinsic value to speak of.

But, of course, none of this matter to Delphine. She requires direct answers, careless of such subtext, unless it informs exactly what she wants to hear. "Good. I'm glad to see you're making progress. My employers are anxious to have some tangible answers."

Ah, yes. Delphine's mysterious 'employers.' People with an odd number of old, supposedly lost, manuscripts and information. Would I could meet them in person rather than work through this willfully ignorant intermediary, but she insists that they insist that secrecy is imperative for their survival. Imagine how much progress I'd actually make then. Ah well, I suppose not every scholar can count on a Jarl to guarantee their safety. "Oh, have no fear. The Jarl himself has finally taken an interest, so I'm now able to devote most of my time to this research." No more inventing cantrips to keep skeevers out of the food stores. Thank Julianos.

"Time is running, Farengar, don't forget. This isn't some theoretical question. Dragons have come back." I frown. Another thing I don't like about Delphine; while her employers might have a wealth of knowledge, she herself is more than abrasive and ignorant. I can tell she has no interest in the actual research itself. No interest in knowledge for understanding's sake. So why pursue it? Doubtless for destructive purposes, like so many of her kind. I worry what she personally might do with that information. Not until I myself understand more.

"Yes, yes. Don't worry. Although the chance to see a living dragon up close would be tremendously valuable..." A few loud voices from the hall distract me, but only for a moment. "Now, let me show you something else I found... Very intriguing." I duck beneath my desk, looking for that scroll with the Dragon Cult information. I could have sworn I left it here... "I think your employers may be interested as well."

"Farengar," Delphine says suddenly. "You have visitors."

"Hmm?" By the Eight, can't I have a single meeting uninterrupted? The price of my research finally being important, I suppose. "Who is it?"

"Cheers, Farengar!"

That voice. I bang my head against the desk standing up, but sure enough, standing in the doorway is... Blast, I knew I'd forget his name. "Ah, yes, the Jarl's protégé! Back from Bleak Falls Barrow? You didn't die, it seems."

"Never felt more alive, Farengar. Thought the same can't be said for that necromancer we found in Brittleshin Pass, eh Uthgerd?"

The woman standing beside him, who I vaguely remember from the inn a few weeks back, scoffs, "Please, the man was dead inside long before we stumbled upon him. Didn't stop you from screaming like a child when you saw those skeletons."

"They startled me! And of course you wouldn't mention those ice runes I saved your hide from."

"You're just upset that I let him spark your ass once because you wouldn't stop trying to tell me how to fight."

They both laugh, and I notice Delphine seems amused by their banter. However, more important things are at play here. "Did you retrieve what I sent you for?"

Still chuckling, the woman reaches into her bag and pulls out a tablet. One look confirms it, if Delphine's suddenly hungry look hadn't. Old artefacts always have a certain gravitas about them. "Aaahhh, the Dragonstone of Bleak Falls Barrow. Seems you are a cut above the usual brutes the Jarl sends my way."

She places the tablet on my desk, as I pull out a roll of parchment and charcoal. Tracings are more useful for casual investigation; no need to lug the tablet to and fro to see this or that detail. And I'm sure Delphine's employers would love a copy as well.

"What about our reward?"

"You'll have to see the Jarl about that," I say, eyes not leaving my half-finished tracing. "Perhaps his steward, Avenicci. I'm sure one of them will pay you appropriately. My... associate here," I use the term for Delphine for lack of a better one, "will be pleased to see your handiwork. She discovered its location, by means she has so far declined to share with me." Delphine, naturally, pointedly ignores my glare as I continue. "So your information was correct after all. And we have our friends here to thank for recovering it for us."

For her part, Delphine looks appreciatively at the pair, though she seems more focused on Uthgerd than... The bard. Tedo? No, that's not it. "So you went into Bleak Falls Barrow and got that? Nice work."

She starts to speak again, but out of nowhere Irileth suddenly runs into my study, shouting my name. We all stop, and I notice a commotion in the throne room, guards scurrying everywhere. What in Tamriel could have sent the ants into such a flurry? "Farengar, you need to come at once. A dragon's been sighted nearby. You should come too." The last part is said to the adventurers, as if an afterthought, but I hardly care. My pulse quickens. A dragon!

"A dragon! How exciting! Where was it seen? What was it doing?"

Irileth, ever the stick in the mud, replies, "I'd take this a bit more seriously if I were you. If a dragon decides to attack Whiterun, I don't know if we can stop it." Always the pessimist. There's a skull staring at us right this moment that shows us it's possible. Rather than respond, I follow Irileth up a set of stairs to the Jarl's map room. The crowd is short of overwhelming, a dozen people all vying for attention at once, but I simply must find out more.

The Jarl finally manages to quieten the room, and addresses a guard sitting near the table, guzzling a skein of water. His face was pale as snow, as though he'd seen a ghost. Or, I suppose, a dragon. Much more intimidating and accurate. The guard's conversation with the Jarl was short and informative; a dragon sighted near the Western Watchtower, circling it, but not attacking it. Though, if that behaviour is aught to go by, that might easily have changed since then. I could better tell if I had been there, or had the information been more detailed. But still. A live dragon. That's all I need to hear.

When the Jarl finishes informing his housecarl to rally the guards, I approach him with purpose. "My Jarl, I should come along. I would very much like to see this dragon myself."

"No." His response is instantaneous and sharp. "I can't afford to risk both of you. I need you here working on ways to defend the city against this dragon."

I almost retort a number of rebuttals; my need to know better firsthand the capabilities of dragons, the inaccuracy of secondary accounts, the usefulness of my own knowledge to help the guards. But his words to Irileth, about coming back alive and not becoming a martyr, give me pause. Delphine mentioned before that my research is no longer merely academic. A dragon, full of fire, sharp fangs and claws, and possibly rage, is just outside the Hold's borders. Perhaps my observations would be done best from a safer distance. I nod to the Jarl, to show my agreement with him, and head out. I had best find a suitable vantage point from the ramparts to oversee the events unfolding. And, with any luck, perhaps I'll have more than mere bones to examine once all this is over.

Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 15 - Irileth I: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

Uthgerd

"I still can't believe how... Messy that trap was."

Talao, head still in the journal we lifted from the... Remains of the bandit, looked queasy still. "Can't say I disagree with you on that one." The sight of a man pinned against a wall, impaled by wooden spikes was... Gristly, to say the least.

He sighed, turning a page. "Shame. I did try to warn him there could be more traps, albeit subtly. I suppose I'll have to be more direct in the future."

"You did?"

"When I mentioned the puzzle trap from earlier."

"Ah." Frankly, the coward was asking for it, barreling through a ruin the way he did. Who wouldn't expect something to happen? He might've been able to outrun Draugr, but one dead end and he would have been helpless. Not to mention his obvious attempt at escaping. Served him right. Talao grunted, distracted again by the book in front of him. For some reason, I found myself comparing the two of them, what little I knew at least. They were both small and skinny, obviously, with no talent for fighting, but that was it. The dark elf had run at the first sign of danger, where Talao had stayed, despite his weakness. No to mention how he saved me at the entrance earlier. And the bandit was fool enough to run into a trap despite being warned, whereas Talao...

Hang on. Talao was smart enough to realize there would be traps, and to warn the bandit about them. Was he naive enough to just tell a possible enemy that, and expect him to not take the selfish route of taking the treasure for himself? Or did he do it to give the elf a choice to stay with us, safe, or run off and die? It seemed at odds with the peaceful presence he usually put forth. Seems there's more to this man than first I thought.

"We're here."

My thoughts cut short, I look up at an imposing wall. Nordic designs cover it, and there are large circular plates with pictures on them, as well as an odd dish in the center, with three holes set in it. But most importantly, it was a dead end. "So where's the door? You sure this is it?"

"Yes. The 'Hall of Stories.'" Rather than the wall ahead of us, Talao stares at some of the murals on the side walls. "Fascinating bas-relief sculptures. Very early Nordic, nearly Nedic. I suppose it is a Hall of Stories, after all. I wonder what this one tells of."

"Which one?" I look. "Seems to be about a local Dragon Priest."

"Really? How can you tell?"

Something the 'bard' doesn't know. What a novel experience. "Well, see this figure here is the Dragon Priest. They all were depicted as having some special mask, which supposedly held great power within them, and were part of the source of their own powers. The first panel shows him performing some feat of magic, and the Nords below are cowering in fear. This second one shows them worshiping the Priest, and tithing gifts to him. And this last one," a picture full of the screaming and dying, "shows those same people being destroyed by their supposed deity."

"Huh. I'm impressed."

"Really?" Is he making fun of me?

"Well, the Dragon Cult isn't the most widespread of stories. Few have heard tell of it, or its adherents."

"Maybe not in High Rock, but all of Skyrim was once under their rule," I say, gesturing to the wall. "You bards sometimes seem to forget that all stories have some person's history wrapped up in it."

"I would never..." he stops.

Did I just render him speechless? That'd be a first, and I feel quite a bit of pride for it. For all Talao's bluster, he's human too. "Come on, let's get this door open. Does the journal say anything about it?"

"Um... Ah yes. The bandit, Arvel, writes about 'the power of the ancient Nordic heroes,' as well as the man he stole it from - a Lucan Valerius? Let's see," he ruffles the pages again, as if searching for a specific spot. "Key, Bleak Falls Barrow, Hall of Stories, legend... A test to 'keep the unworthy away." I'd desperately like to know where he heard all this. Ah, here. 'When you hold the golden claw, the solution is in the palm of your hands.'"

I wait a moment, until it's clear no further information is coming from Talao. "Well that's frustratingly vague." And therefore probably accurate. No one would call the Nords a subtle race, but we're as fond of our wordplay as any other. I hold out the claw, talons pointed away from me, inspecting it against the wall. Three nails, three holes. Clearly where the "key" goes, so I try placing it within, and twist it as if it were an actual key. No response. It doesn't budge at all. However, I notice that the gold of the claw isn't completely smooth. "There's a bunch of odd runes on it. Nothing I can understand."

"Let me see. Hm, it seems to be late Nedic. All traits they valued, I suppose. This one says 'pride,' and this is 'valor.' Nothing about a door."

"What about those carvings on the door itself? What do those mean?"

"Odd... These aren't runes at all, but pictographs. Just animal murals with no deeper meaning."

I'm stumped, and so is Talao, if the strange look on his face is anything to go by. What did that bandit know that we don't? "'The solution is in the palm of your hands,'" I mutter.

"The palm... Wait. What if it's meant literally?" Talao exclaims. "We keep holding it like this, with the talons pointed away so we don't stab ourselves. What if the solution is in the palm of the claw, where our own palms have been?"

He turns it over, and we both look. While Talao is translating more of the runes, I notice something out of place. "Look there, in the middle. Three of those pictographs, hidden in the runes."

"By Y'ffre, you're right. The empty space makes out the animals. Good eye, Uthgerd. I see... From top to bottom a bear, a... Butterfly? Maybe a moth? Then an owl."

I look at the wall again. "The pictures up here are out of order, though."

"They probably move or rotate." He's right; the large circular segments run along some kind of rail, grinding smoothly, despite their age. "So... Bear, then moth, then owl." Each one clicks into place. "Now, try the claw."

Again I insert the claw into the central disk, pushing it in. I feel something catch, and it twists to the right. I expect some kind of door, but instead the entire wall begins to slowly descend into the floor. "Amazing."

"Magnificent." It's quite exciting. But, oddly, every inch the wall falls, I feel more... Fearful. As though I'd forgotten something. Something... dangerous.

"Uthgerd." Talao says. "You don't suppose... Might there be a Dragon Priest interred here?"

Now that was a frightening thought.. "The mural."

"Aye. It suddenly occurred to me how simple getting here was. The traps were definitely to deter intruders, but this wall... It seems built more to keep something in rather than out.

"And maybe the 'ancient power' buried here is not some artifact, but a being of power instead."

CLUNK

We both jump, as the wall hits the floor. Beyond is a cavernous chamber, muted moonlight flowing in from holes in the ceiling, illuminating a large, stony structure in the back. The awe-inspiring sight is spoiled by the sudden tension in the air. After a moment's hesitation, I draw my blade, and Talao holds his staff in front of him. We move slowly into the cavern. An underground brook gurgles by. A colony of bats screeches by after we startle them. The structure, a semi-circular wall, stands upon a worn podium. Along with an ornate treasure chest. A table.

And a coffin.

My heart jumps. Something is here. I can feel it. Nothing happens as we mount the stairs. The coffin remains still. Don't plan to let it out of my sight, though.

"Did you hear that? Talao says.

The wind. The stream. A falling rock. "...hear what?"

"I can hear... It's like it's both within and without me at once. Bum... Bum bum. Like drums."

Bum... Bum bum

Faintly, I hear it. Or... Feel it. Everywhere at once like Talao said. I could feel it in my bones, in my lungs.

Bum... Bum bum

Where is it coming from? Every step I take, it builds, louder and louder.

Bum... Bum bum

"The wall," I say. "Look at it." The moonlight falls directly on it, standing like a monolith. But it seems to glow brighter than it should. Magic?

Bum... Bum bum

"These markings..."

They don't look like the ones on the claw," I say. We move closer to the wall, the drums pounding through my body. "Just... Scratches."

BUM... BUM BUM

"No. This isn't a human language at all. Or mer, or beast. It's much older." He looks at me, eyes wide with wonder.

BUM... BUM BUM

"It's dragon."

...

"The drums have stopped." Talao ignores me, set on the wall in front of him, even more than with the journal. We're close enough to touch it, but it feels... Irreverent to do so, somehow. "Dragon, you said?"

"Aye," he responds. His eyes move back and forth in short bursts. "The oldest language recorded. Except for perhaps the Elder Scrolls themselves."

"Can you read it, then?"

"Words here and there. I've never actually seen the language written properly, only glossaries or dictionaries. Dragons never wrote on parchment, after all."

"Why?"

"Why?! He scoffs incredulously. "Do those markings look to be written in ink? No. They were carved into the stone by claw. This... This is a living testament to the existence of dragons. One stood, once, right where we stand now. And it left this. For us."

By Ysmir. I can hardly wrap my mind around the idea. "So... What does it say? Is this the 'Dragonstone'?"

"It'd be rather difficult to return to Farengar if 'twere. But no. I don't see any... Directions or anything related to burials. Except maybe this line. 'Het nok faal vahlok.' Here lies the... Something, but it's not 'dragon.' 'Deinmaar' is keeper, or holder. 'Dovahgolz,' dragon... something. Maybe stone? Yes, it must be 'Dragonstone.' 'Unslaad' I know means 'unending' or 'innumerable.' Rahgol ahrk vulom'... Anger and black? Dark?"

"Well, that's not foreboding at all." Sounds like our treasure is here. But where? And what is "keeping" it? Oh please, please, please don't be a Dragon Priest.

"Hang on, there's another word here... It's like my eyes slipped over it before. Hmm. FUS."

It happens quickly. The gentle breeze becomes a whirlwind, screaming through the cave, blowing me off balance. I see Talao, standing tall within the wind, as though it were focused around him. And then I see the wind, full of energy and colours somehow, stream into his nose and mouth, as he breathes in so much, I fear he may burst from the volume of it all.

And then it ends. The air falls silent once more, and Talao falls to his hands and knees with a mighty gasp. But only air.

"What in the..."

He breathes in.

A loud crash echoes behind me, and I turn to see the lid of the coffin fall aside. A hand reaches out, pulling with it a large Draugr, blue eyes glowing beneath an ornate helm. Well, at least it's not a Dragon Priest, thank Kyne. Small victories.

I can hear Talao breathing raggedly behind me as I size up the enemy. The good thing about Draugr, to me and anyone else, is that they're slow. All I have to do is dodge its swings, and strike while it recovers. They might fight on without legs, but so long as...

"FUS!"

I stumble backwards, barely avoiding catching myself on the wall. Did that thing just... shout at me? And force me back? It staggers toward me much quicker than I anticipated, but its attack is so widely telegraphed, I avoid it with ease. A shower of sparks flies from where his blade meets stone, and I regain my bearing, carving into its left arm. The wound does nothing. It doesn't bleed, or feel pain. Nothing short of cutting body parts off will do anything to stop it.

So, that's what I do. I close distance, keeping it from using its strange magic upon me again, and keep hacking away. Its left arm is first to go, dropping to the floor. Then I sever its legs. I few more swipes and I disarm it as well, then behead it with one fell swoop. The blue glow flickers and dies. Anti-climactic, maybe. But I think I've had enough thrills for the day.

I turn back to Talao. He sits, back against the wall, staff lying by his side. Staring into the distance, and quieter than I'd ever seen him. His breath has gone back to normal. "Talao? Are you alright?"

He looks at me, and I nearly flinch away. I feel... Utterly intimidated. There is a power behind his gaze that wasn't before. "I am. Alright, that is. At least, I think so."

"What happened? I mean... What... happened to you?"

"I'm not sure. I read that last word and then... It was like I was being filled with... I don't know. Like potential... Fus." He stared back into the darkness, his eyes unfocused. I wonder if he's in shock.

"Fus... The Draugr yelled that at me as well. Wonder what it means."

"Force. It means force."

I looks at him oddly. "How do you know?"

"I don't know. I just... Know. Or maybe I always knew, and I remembered it just now."

"Well, is that all you 'remember?'"

He rubs his face, then covers all but his mouth and recites:

Here lies the guardian, Keeper of the Dragonstone. A FORCE of unending Rage and darkness.

"The writing on the wall?" I ask.

"Yes. It's like it's imprinted in my brain. The knowledge. Maybe FUS was like a key that unlocked it."

I stand, running my hand along the word that Talao had touched. It wasn't only because I was feeling uncomfortable keeping eye contact. Fus... It resonates in my toes, sends a shiver down my spine. "Why didn't it happen to me as well, then?" Not that I was terrible interested or jealous in the same thing happening to me.

"Who know? Maybe only the first person who touches it is granted the knowledge. Someone who already knows some of it. Or some other criteria unbeknownst to us. This is beyond my stories."

A moment of silence. Talao stands up and moves to the now empty coffin stepping over the re-deceased corpse "I'll wager our treasure was interred with our dead friend here. A-ha. A bit bigger than I'd imagined." With a heave, he lifts a large five-sided stone tablet from within the coffin, and places it on what I suppose is (or was) an embalming table. "Yes, it's an actual physical map of Skyrim," he says as I lean in beside him. "Not to scale, clearly, but you can see the relation between the burial sites and nearby landmarks. Probably not exact in order to keep it somewhat secret, were it to fall into the wrong hands. Such as ours, most likely."

"Fascinating, I'm sure." It wasn't much to look at. But valuable enough to Farengar; he can have it. I open the chest I'd noticed earlier - I'd killed the guardian of the ruins, so by right of trial by combat, its treasures were now mine - but it was disappointingly sparse of any valuables. A handful of old Nordic gold and silver coins. Not Septims, but they might fetch a decent price from the right person. An old axe, corroded beyond repair, and at the bottom, a horned helm, similar to the one worm by the Draugr. A trophy fit for my victory, if nothing else. Talao had better have been truthful about the Jarl's reward.

"We'd best be going, Uthgerd." Talao scans the back wall. "These ruins usually have a secret exit that leads to the entrance or out the back. With luck, we can make it back to Whiterun, and our reward, within two sundowns."

Well. That sort of zeal is new. But welcome, compared to his usual sober pace. I shoulder my pack, heavier one Dragonstone, and catch him up near the back wall. All in all, our trek seems to have been a resounding success, and I'll be glad to return to Whiterun to tell everyone of the tale.

But...

I glance at Talao again, his eyes shining with confidence. Things have changed by our being here. I wonder if it will be for good or ill. I suppose only time will tell in the long run.

Even considering the accepted idea that the Dragon Claw keys were only meant to keep the Draugr IN their tombs, I always found the puzzles overly simplistic; I sincerely doubt the Dragon Cult or their imprisoners wanted the Lords/Priests released by any Joe Schmoe. So I made them slightly more interesting, at least in my mind. Putting the solution within the negative space created by the runes gives the Claws a bit more substance as a ritualistic or decorative piece, and makes it actually quite easy to overlook. I will hold off on any commentary regarding the Word Wall for now, but hope you enjoyed the scene; it was one I was very much looking forward to and, as Uthgerd unconsciously notices, marks a significant turning point in Talao's development. Suffice to say, "game mechanics" will be very much different in my fic.

Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 14 - Farengar II: Dragon Rising

[thevoiceofthebard]

My frickin dashboard must be broken because I haven't seen anything past chapter 2! SO HAPPY to finally read more!

Enjoy the sudden glut of chapters then!

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Arvel Swiftpinch

I wasn't always a bandit, you know. I used to be a merchant on Solstheim. Successful. Respectable.

Boring.

So I ran off to Skyrim, hoping to find something interesting to do. Nothing too adventurous, but anything beat counting Septims behind a counter, I thought. But all I found in Windhelm were a bunch of racists with anger issues. At best, I was ignored. At worst... Well, let's just say I joined this group of bandits mostly so I could get back at every Nord I could find.

If I'd known I was going to end up as a spider's diner, maybe I'd have stayed in Solstheim. It was my own damned fault, I suppose. A Draugr popped out of nowhere, and I panicked before Harknir or Bjorn could even react. I'm no bloody fighter; just a gossipmonger with a talent for picking up valuables, which is how I got this damned key in the first place. Its terrifying, rattling breath and strange language unsettled me enough without them jumping off the damn walls, and when I looked over my shoulder to see if it was following me, I ran straight into the largest web I'd seen in my life. The more I struggled, the worse it covered me, so I resigned myself to waiting for my compatriots. So I waited.

And waited

...And waited.

Did the Draugr kill them? I'd never been inside a Nordic ruin before, but surely no undead was sturdy or strong enough to kill two Nords. Every moment that passes is another closer to a pair of pincers in my neck. Was the spider still alive? The web seems recent enough. But why hasn't it come to check on the movement? And where are those bloody Nords?!... What if there was another path? They might have completely missed me. My heart starts beating furiously. I could die down here. No! I will not let Dagon have me! I will survive.

As if by providence, I suddenly hear footsteps from the hall, and voices - live ones. "Is... Is someone coming? Harknir, Bjorn, is that you?" The voices dim, but I can hear them moving about, more hesitant than before. "Look, I know I ran ahead, but the Draugr... I need help!"

Finally, two people appear in the doorway. But neither of them are Harknir or Bjorn. One is a skinny man in robes, and the other is... The biggest bloody Nord woman I've ever seen. Shit. Dagon is truly testing me this day. "Who are you? Oh, never mind. Cut me down before that thing comes back for us!"

"Us?" the Nord scoffs. "The only one I see in trouble here is you, bandit."

I shove aside the numerous curses running through my head; this could all turn to ash if I can't take control of the situation. "What happened to those idiots I left behind? I don't suppose you've killed them." The Nord continued to sneer at me, but the other one acted more neutrally. Whatever they were here for, he was my ticket to living... Or at least to keep the woman from running me through. "I won't lie and say they forced me to help them or anything, but I never hurt anyone! I was just an ear. The worst I ever did was palm a few items from a villager or two."

"Really? Such as a certain golden claw?"

For the love of... Can I not catch a single break? "Yes, yes, the claw. I know how it works, the claw, the markings, the door. I know how they all fit together. Just help me down, and I'll show you."

"Why don't you just tell us now, ash-face?"

Ash-face. How unoriginal. "Because I don't fancy you leaving me to die here while you run off. And the claw is in my pocket anyway."

"He has a point."

"Talao..."

The man - Talao, I suppose - pulls a dagger from his belt and approaches me. "He's one mer, Uthgerd. And covered in webbing. I doubt he'll be any trouble even if he wanted to be." Smug little n'wah. The Nord joins him after a moment, but the webs are absurdly thick, taking much longer to cut than I would have thought. "So," the... Talao says, "I'm a bit curious how you made it through that puzzle trap earlier. It was locked when we came through."

Puzzle? "I've no clue what you're on about. There was no gate or anything when I came through." Although I do remember a loud crash soon after I took off. I'd assumed it was the Draugr knocking over a pot or something.

"Hm. Perhaps it was rigged to close behind the first person to come through. I'm sorry to say it actually killed one of your fellows. Perhaps the last one of them, unless any escaped that Draugr. Nasty buggers, aren't they?" he asks me.

"Uh... Yeah. I was running from one, like I mentioned. Got me stuck here. Frightened the life out of me."

"Is that so? Well, you seem plenty alive to me. Stick with us, and we'll keep you that way," he says, grinning. Charming fellow. I feel calmer already. Another moment passes, and I feel the last rope release me. Finally.

Now, to figure out how best to ditch these fools.

Click-click.

Azura be praised.

I don't even need to fake the fear as a monstrous spider descends from the ceiling, finally drawn to the struggling of its trap. I scream "oh gods, don't let it get me! Kill it!" They both turn to face it, the woman drawing her weapon. When she charges forward, I accidentally trip Talao as I run further into the ruin, screaming loudly. Perfect. I keep my eyes firmly ahead, searching for any more webs I might run into. Now all that's left is to get to the wall, open it, and find out how to lock it behind me. Then I'll have all the time in the world to...

Snap

What was tha

Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 13 - Uthgerd IV: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow

Middas, 20th of Last Seed 4E201 Afternoon

Uthgerd

"Any ideas?"

Talao ducks back behind our overlook of the entrance to Bleak Falls Barrow, where four bandits stand on guard. If their associates from the outpost down the mountain were anything to go by, they wouldn't be much trouble, but for their superior numbers.

"A few," he says. "Surprise will be to our advantage here. So try not to go yelling at them first this time."

I grimace, despite his neutral tone. The bandits at the outpost hadn't attacked us, but when one had called me a mud-crab lover as we left... Well, I suppose I was lucky there had been only one unseen bandit. I can still feel the sting in my side from the mace blow, despite my steel plate armour. "Of course. They're likely on alert in the first place, and we won't be able to approach too closely.

"Can we wait for nightfall?"

"Not possible. There's a storm on the way, within the next hour." In truth, probably sooner. The air is already more bitterly cold than it was just an hour ago. The sky is completely covered by dark, flat clouds, and the wind is picking up. "We need to be inside that barrow before it hits."

Talao crosses his arms, a thoughtful look on his face. "We can't go 'round the other side, thanks to that cliff, and they've two guards watching the path. Do you think the brush will cover us long enough to get within bow range?"

Another peek over the ridge. "If they aren't focused on it, yes. If I can make it to that tree, I'll have enough cover to draw.

Talao nods. "Likely our best choice. The guard overlooking the valley is isolated, and if you're lucky, his death won't alert the other three."

"Aye, if I'm lucky. I'd prefer another bow-hand rather than relying on luck." Blast, my mouth got away from me again. I don't really blame him, but it's frustrating enough.

"The only strings I've plucked are instruments', as I've told you before," he responds crossly. "My hands create art, not violence."

I notice snowflakes drifting into my vision. Damn. "No time. We can figure out how you've not died yet later, but it's now or never. Wait here; I don't need you getting in the way." And before he can reply, I slip over the ridge and slide into the sparse brush along the path. The coming winter has killed most of the foliage, but these shrubs stubbornly hang on to their leaves. No movement from the path guards, thankfully. They seem to be looking out on the plains, to the oncoming storm. My armour blends in a bit with the rocks as well, which helps.

The tree, when I reach it, is near a hundred yards from the guard, at my estimate. Not terribly far, but nothing to scoff at. I stand, nocking a steel arrow on my Orcish bow. Cost me quite a few Septims, but worth every one. I keep a second arrow held between my fingers as well, for quicker access. Two is all the time I'll get. The wind hasn't picked up yet, but there's a small steady breeze coming from the plains. I adjust my aim. The bandits are all wearing fur, so I go for a safe body shot.

Inhale. Pull.

Hold. Steady.

Exhale. Release.

The arrow is thrown through the air, and my second is nocked even before the first reaches its target. It lands true, punching deep into the bandit's chest, and he collapses without a sound. I quickly set up my second shot for the closest guard, before any of them notice. Just as I let it fly, I feel a slight gust, and curse as the arrow moves from its path, striking the guard in his left arm.

His screams of pain are clear over the wind, and I duck behind the tree once again. Is it worth drawing another arrow, or do I charge now? They're sure to know my general position now, but three on one odds are not easy to go against, however unskilled they might be. The longer I stall, the more organized they'll be, so I decide to drop the bow and charge the guards before they can rally.

I've always wondered what goes through the minds of bandits when they see a Nord woman as tall as they, sprinting at them in full plate armour, greatsword waving above. The first always seems surprised more than anything. This one is no different. The yards disappear and I finish the job my arrow started, driving my blade into the injured guard's gut before he can draw his weapon. He falls to the ground, silenced, and I move on.

Two left.

The last have finally drawn their weapons, though too late to save their fellow. They're also smart enough to approach me spread out so that I can't move them into each others' paths. No matter. Before they can attack, I shout a battle-cry, swinging at the guard on my right. Despite their shock and fear, he manages to deflect the cut with his own sword, though the force drives him to a knee. I send him sprawling back with a kick to the chest, turning just in time to parry a cut from the other guard's axe. I take the momentum into a downward cut, hoping to cleave off his arm, which he blocks with his shield. Surprisingly, both he and the shield hold steady, and he scores a solid hit to my already injured side. I lose my breath, pain shooting through my side, but I can tell the armor has held strong. I feint to his side, then flip my sword around his guard and thrust the tip through his neck.

The second always dies with fire in their eyes, cocky in the face of danger.

A shout from behind draws my attention back to the other guard I'd been fighting. I manage to dodge a wild thrust from his blade, but he tackles me, and I lose hold on my blade as he forces me to the ground. Still unrecovered from my last injury, losing my breath again so quickly after the last, I struggle to take in any breath at all, stars dancing in my vision. The bandit rips off my helmet somehow, or maybe it fell off from the impact on the stone ground, and he punches me in the face once, twice, sword seemingly forgotten, and I can see the terror in his eyes as I grab his forearm to stop him, even though I can't gain any leverage against him. Suddenly his free hand is on my throat and I still can't breathe, my vision is going black from the edge, and my ears sound filled with cotton, so I can faintly hear a shout, as the bandit looks up and then a dagger is sticking out of his eye

All at once I can hear and see and feel pain again. I yank the dagger out of his eye, and plunge it under his arm where I know his heart lies, and then the world is blessedly silent again but for the ragged gasps of my own breathing.

The last one always dies in fear, a coward to the end.

"Uthgerd! Uthgerd! Are you alright?!" Gods, that bloody bard will be the death of me, I can tell.

"I'll... I'll live," I gasp. He appears in my vision, offering an arm up. I wave it off and sit up, a wave of curses rolling off my tongue that would've had me over my mother's knee for the rest of my life. Okay, pain. Where? Side, obviously. That needs some attention right away. Throat, sore, will bruise terribly, but not life-threatening. Face, couple of knocks. Some blood from my mouth. I spit. Shit, there goes another tooth. That makes... Three now? Well, I've had worse scraps.

Talao is kneeling over the dead bandit by my side, and the details of the fight click in my head. "Did you throw that dagger?"

He starts, as though I'd interrupted some deep thought. "I... Yes, I did." He acts even more surprised than I feel, as if he doesn't believe it himself.

"Well... Damned fine aim there, I guess. Suppose you aren't useless in a fight after all." Slightly less useless, at least.

"But... No, I didn't mean to... I was only trying to distract him, not... It was an accident."

"Accident or not... You saved my life, Talao. For that, I'm grateful."

He perks up at this. "Yes, you're right. He wouldn't have hesitated to kill us both." A pause, the wind echoing around us, slightly muted by the towering entrance of the barrow. "Do you suppose they're here for the same reason as us? The artifact?"

I struggle to remember what Talao had told me about the treasure - bit difficult to think at the moment - the "Dragonstone." "A map of ancient dragon burial grounds? Highly doubtful, I should think. They aren't after something with no clear value like that. I imagine only the Jarl's wizard knows anything about it, let alone have any interest in it. They'd be after burial tributes. Gold and valuable buried with the deceased."

"Then why post so many guards? It's like they expected people to follow them... Perhaps there's some other treasure down there?"

Hmm. It's an interesting idea. But the light is quickly dying as the storm picks up. "We can discuss this further inside if we need to. Right now we need to take shelter."

"Right," Talao replies. "I'll grab the packs and your bow, and meet you at the door." I stand, grunting, as he heads back toward the ridge. I look out toward the plains of Whiterun Hold. On any other day, the sight would have been beautiful, but the oncoming storm robbed the vision of anything but dread. I've never really thought of the weather as anything great than that, or the influence of Kyne upon Nirn, but I can't help but feel as if this is a terrible sign - of terrible things to come. A herald of truly dark times.

Chapter 10 - Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 12 - Arvel I: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 10 - Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow

Tirdas, 19th of Last Seed 4E201 Early Morning

Uthgerd

I've never understood why some people play jokes on others. Once, when I was seven, some kids my age gave me a stick, telling me it was a magic wand that would make my mother give me extra treats. Needless to say, it didn't work, and the boys laughed at me when I told them of the spanking my mother gave me when I ordered her to give me another sweetroll after dinner. They stopped laughing when I broke one's tooth and blacked the other's eye. So no, "pranking" has never been a past time of mine.

Why, then, did I feel such joy over the sight of Talao leaping out of his bed, drenched in water? Revenge, maybe. Well, not my problem he hadn't woken up earlier. I toss the now empty pail at him while he sputters away. "You overslept. Get into your traveling gear, get your pack, then meet me at the gates of the city in ten minutes, or I'm leaving without you."

The sound of his hurried steps follow me until I exit the inn. Then nothing. It's always bothered me just how quiet a city can be before dawn. Out in the wilderness, you're surrounded by noise. Insects buzzing, elk bleating, rivers flowing. Here, not even the most optimistic vendor has yet set up. I wrap my cloak more tightly around my armour, and set out to the gates, boots crunching against the frosty ground. Whiterun is warmer than most of Skyrim, but the province's famous chill is never far off, especially at night. I learned that the hard way a long time ago...

A patrol passes me by, and talks to the guard standing beside the gate. Shift change, most likely. I can see them throwing glances my way from inside their helmets, like they're expecting me to attack them. I ignore them, leaning against the wall. No doubt they recognize me and... What I did. I suppose getting out of town is the best I could do. Give the rumours time to die off, like the bard said, and for me to put it to rest in my own soul.

Before long, I see Talao walking swiftly toward the gates. I notice an odd hitch in his step, and a cane or staff in his hand, as if he were hobbled. Great, he's a cripple too. That's going to increase our travel time. I seriously cannot catch a break.

"You said we were to leave at dawn! It's well before then!"

Hmph. "I said dawn, not sunrise. There's light enough in the sky to see the path, and the sooner we leave, the sooner we can get to... Wait, where in Kyne's name are we headed?"

"Oh." He seems embarrassed at his oversight, as the gates close behind us. "Bleak Fall Barrow, just overlooking Riverwood. It'll take us most of the day to reach Riverwood, so we should spend the night there, or make camp near the base of the mountain."

"Fair enough." The road out of Whiterun is smooth, from the thousand of wheels, horses, and feet that use it every day. I see, out of the corner of my eye, Talao keeping pace with me, no difficulty despite his odd gait. An old injury then, one he's spent a long time with. Somehow I doubt I'll see him sprinting anytime soon, but at the least, we won't take threefold the time to get anywhere. Hopefully, he holds up as well on the mountain.

The Khajiit are up and moving as well, the fire from their camp burning brightly. I eye them with a cautious respect. I've bought supplies from their caravans many a time to make my travels easier, and it takes some guys to wander a country during a war. But I drew my cloak tighter around myself anyway, not from the chill. They aren't allowed within the city walls for a reason, after all.

"Wares for the weary traveler?" A grey-ish brown cat asks me, his eyelids half-open, but attentive. A sign he's relaxed. At least, I think that's what it means. All I really remember about Khajiit behaviors is that you should run if they "smile" at you, unless you like bite marks on your ass. "Ah, but this Breton Ri'saad remembers. It is Talao, yes?"

"Aye. Pleasure to see you, Ri'saad." He waves to the other caravanners, who return the gesture. Interesting how at ease he acts with them.

"Ri'saad is please to see Talao as well this morning."

"Is it morning?" he grumbles. "It still feels like night to me."

The cat - Ri'saad, I try to remember - hums, like a purr almost. "Ah, the Breton does not enjoy losing his rest. Khajiit finds dawn most invigorating. The slow rise of the sun, and of the sounds of the day, the smell of the dew upon the grass."

"Just smells strange to me."

We're getting off track. "We need to get moving if we want to reach Riverwood by nightfall, Talao." My pack is still rather full from my last outing, but I buy a few potions and some hardtack, just in case. Talao does the same, also grabbing a flask of wine, happily chatting about how alcohol can be just as helpful as a fire on a cold night.

Despite my best efforts, the chatty Khajiit drags Talao into another conversation. "Ri'saad has noticed that Talao is no longer wearing the robes sold by this one. Did the bard forget them in some fair maid's home?"

"Nothing quite so titillating, Ri'saad, but infinitely more interesting," Talao chuckles. "I was capture by Imperials, but then saved by a dragon!" The cats murmur in the background, as Talao spreads his arms wide. "Picture it: A misty dawn in Falkreath Hold. The sleepy town of Helgen awakened by a brigade of imprisoned Stormcloaks, preparing for sentence from their Imperials captors. Among them, a lone innocent, a victim of circumstance. He awaits, hopelessly, his inexorable fate. The chopping block taunting him with freshly spilled blood. But fate has other plans, unbeknownst to him as he is forced upon the block. A great roar resounds through the valley. The innocent looks up, past the gleaming executioner's blade, and a monstrous beast descends, clad in armor darker than blackest night, gleaming in the first rays of the morning, as if from Aetherius itself! Saving the innocent from the cold bite of death by mere seconds, and the chaos affords him the opportunity to escape."

"Hmm. Ri'saad believes this is the most outlandish story Talao has yet shared."

Silently, I agree. The man has a way with words that makes Mikael seem a brutish oaf in comparison, but the story is absurd. Although, there must be a reason the Jarl entrusted... A man like him with such an important task. Unless he's embellishing that as well.

"Outlandish, yes. But every word true."

The Khajiit strokes his chin, continuing, "This one has, however, heard rumours of the return of the winged lizards, few though these rumours may be."

"I've only seen the one," Talao responds, "but if one dragon survived supposed extinction, there could be more. And one is more than enough, if that one was anything to go by. It destroyed an entire town, holding an Imperial garrison, by itself. I'd hate for our next meeting to be with a burnt corpse, so eyes to the sky."

"A life without risk is not one worth living, friend. But then, it is best to remain alive to witness it in its entirety. Khajiit will take precautions."

"That is all I ask." Enough of this drivel. I nudge Talao sharply and begin walking off. He spits out a hasty farewell, "May your roads lead you to warm sands," and catches up.

The sky has brightened a bit, though the sun has yet to rise. I notice the head of Talao's cane, shaped like a dragon. A staff then, not a cane. "You a mage, Breton?" I ask, gesturing at the staff.

"Ah, no. A gift from Farengar. Sadly, I have very little aptitude for magickal arts."

Now that was odd. "A Breton with no magicka?"

"Aye, strange, I know." He grins ruefully. "I'm a bard. I don't think I mentioned."

"No, but after your story, I might have guessed. Still..." The question was still burning in my mind, so I decided just to ask. "Why would the Jarl choose you to go into a Barrow, famous for active Draugr sightings, if you have no combat expertise?"

"A fair question," he replies, shrugging. "I suppose I did think it odd how quickly he trusted me, but given the direness of the situation, perhaps he thought there was not enough time to find a more suitable person. Farengar did mention not wanting to spread rumours, and seeing as I was one of the survivors at Helgen... Hold up."

"What?" We've reached the bend at the White River, just at the bounds of Whiterun's farmland. Talao stops, staring up the hilly road to the south, but I see nothing. "What? Is it the hill? You can't expect me to believe..."

"We should get off the road."

"What are you...?"

"Now!" He shoves me toward a bush - or at least tries to, considering I'm twice his size - on the side of the road, before hiding himself in it. I sigh wearily, looking up the path. Still nothing. So now he's a coward as well as defenseless. Or possibly insane. I settle into the bushes, lamenting the fact that it is going to take us until the next era to reach Riverwood at this rate.

A moment passes. Then another. A few torchbugs buzz around our heads. A wolf bays in the distance. And still nothing stirs along the path.

"Talao..." He places a hand on my mouth, the other pointing. And then I see it. Or something. A hazy blue glow, still far in the distance, swiftly approaching. Mage light, perhaps? The closer it gets, the more I feel a sense of dread creep over me, and I understand why Talao had us hide. Whatever was approaching, it wasn't natural. My hand clutches the grip of my sword, ready to draw the instant anything happens.

Finally, the blue haze is defined enough to make it out, and my blood freezes. I've seen ghosts before, but this... An armor-clad specter, astride an equally spectral horse, flying across the ground faster than anything I've seen, fog trailing in its wake. And most unnerving, the ghost faced forward... But with no face to speak of, nor any head at all.

The specter is still heading directly toward us down the path, at an impossible pace. Then it slows. My breath catches, and my anxiety jumps. Some ghosts were weak to steel, but I doubted this one would be, were it to come to blows. The horse halts at the crossroads, and the headless figure shifted in its seat, as if checking its direction. My hand aches from its painfully tight grip upon my sword, but I dare not make the slightest move.

Suddenly, a piercing pain rips through my skull, and the ghost faces our hiding spot. Talao is yelling beside me, as the horse walks forward slowly, the figure pulling a large axe off its back. I try to do the same, but I'm paralyzed, held in place, unable to move or even fall from the pain. The horse whinnies loudly, as if laughing, and the ghost lifts the axe high. This can't be how it ends!

Suddenly, a blazing shaft of light bursts through the specter's body. He halts, his form slowly dissipating. At once, the presence lifts, and I fall forward, gasping for air. The sun finally peeks up from down the White River. Dawn has arrived.

A haunting laugh echoes through my head, and a phrase lingers in my mind as the ghost vanishes; "Such an abrupt end to our game." A chill runs down my spine, despite the warmth of the sun upon my face. A game? One I'd rather never play again.

Talao is a few feet away, on his hands and knees, retching. I can hardly blame him. Makes me glad that I skipped an early meal, else I'd likely be joining him. "By the blood of Orkey, what was... that?"

"I... I don't know. I've never heard of any tale like this." He stands shakily, heaving great breaths of air. "It was so... angry. Vengeful. I heard... 'All living shall fear the dead.'"

"What did we wander into?"

"A legend." Talao whispers. "One I'm not sure I want to be part of. But one I'll definitely write about. Someday."

One last stretch unravels the knots in my back, and I shoulder my pack once more. A quick glance around, but all seems quiet now. Without words, we set off down the path, the sun lifting our spirits. But I know that feeling at the base of my spine will stay with me for a while yet.

For once, I was looking forward to an uneventful trip.

For the curious, Uthgerd worships the traditional Nordic Pantheon, rather than the Eight Divines. Kyne is, obviously, the parallel of Kynareth. Orkey is generally considered the parallel to the Daedric Prince Malacath (rather than Arkay as you might think) and an enemy of the ancient Nords, hence its use as a curse.

Chapter 9 - Uthgerd I: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 11 - Uthgerd III: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

*sweats nervously* couldn't be me

just so you know, you have some followers who enjoy/write fanfiction. not saying their urls rn bc i don’t wanna air out dirty laundry in public but if you want them so you can block and report, just say the word and i’ll dm you a list

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 9 - Uthgerd I: Bleak Falls Barrow

Morndas 18th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Evening

Uthgerd

The name's Uthgerd. The Unbroken. It's a good, strong name that I earned because of my unbreakable will. No beast has broken it. No woman, either. And certainly no bloody man.

So then why'm I five tankards in for the fourth night in a row?... Oh right, I killed a man. No, not a man, a boy. A whelp with a big mouth and no arm. Fuck. What's the point of all the mead if I can still remember my sins at the end of the night. I guzzle down the last swig, and slam the tankard down. "Hulda. 'Nother."

Within a minute, the barmaid pours more mead into my tankard. And there's a queer look on her face. Worry? Disappointment? Can't tell. That's good. Not that I care anyway. I've enough coin from my last jobs to sit here for the next fortnight. Well, maybe less at this rate. Maybe I'll switch over to Honningbrew... Black-Briar is expensive.

It's a decent night at the Bannered Mare. Busy, but not packed. Meek... Mack... The bard is making eyes at some girl while he plays his flute. Saadia is serving people. Thankfully, no one has tried to invade my lone corner tonight. Better that way...

"Do you mind if I sit here?

Shor's bloody bones, why do I jinx myself? "Yes, I bloody well do mind." I can see him clearly, despite my drinking. A waif of a man, not an ounce of muscle on him. Wearing robes, too. And he's pretty short. Then again, I'm damn tall myself... And he's still here. "Move along, softgut. I'm more woman than you can handle."

He grins. "You thought I was coming over here to... What, proposition you?"

"Why else? I'll have you know I've fended off advances from men who were twice the man as you. Literally." For some reason, he laughs at this, then takes a seat at my table. Grumbling, I wonder if it'd be worth it to ignore Hulda's warnings about scaring off any more of her customers.

"I was just curious."

"Curious?"

"Aye." He waves down Saadia and orders a glass of Alto wine. Pah. Can't stomach a real drink, I suppose. "A woman alone at a tavern in a corner, whilst reveling occurs all 'round."

"Never seen a woman drowning her sorrows before?"

"Of course I have. But stories are my trade." He smiles at me again. I do hope he's not thinking it's comforting. "I'd like to hear yours, that's all. I've a sense for these things."

"Really?" He nods... To Oblivion with Hulda, I'll find somewhere else to stay. "You want to hear how I ran through a boy of fourteen summers?" The look of shock on his face goads me on. "How the Companions thought it funny to face me against a child for entrance into their little club? How I watched the light fade from his eyes because he couldn't hold a guard? Or maybe when they cried I was too hot-headed, the weak pathetic cowards!?" I stand, then fall back in my seat, head throbbing.

And then I notice now the tavern has gone silent but for the fire. Guess I was too loud. Damn it. Sure enough, Hulda is storming toward me, yelling. "Shor's Bones, this is the last straw, Uthgerd! I told you..."

"Please! Don't, not on my account." The hell? Why is this skinny bastard arguing for me? "It was my fault, I antagonized her."

Hulda glares at me. I turn away. "Fine. Be that way. But if she causes trouble again, I'm tossing you both out. Clear?"

"As a summer's day, Mistress."

She throws one last glare my way before leaving, and the tavern starts breathing again. Bastards. As if I were some bloody entertainment. "You didn't have to do that."

"Of course I did. I felt awful." A pause. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

I scoff. "Cant've been in town long then. It's all these gossips can talk about."

"Only arrived today. And don't mind them. They'll forget all about it once the next juicy story comes along. Like goblins upon meat."

"Aye." I know he's right. I try to go back to drinking, but it's no use; I can feel the angry tears pushing themselves out. "Godsdamnit!" I nearly slam my tankard down once more, just catching myself. "It was an accident. I told them. Why wouldn't they believe me?" To his credit, the scrawny git doesn't try to comfort me or anything. Just sips his nancy wine.

Once I get a hold of myself, he speaks up again. "I suppose I should admit it wasn't solely curiosity that brought me over here. I do have a proposition for you, thought not the kind you accused me of."

"Would you get to the point already?" My anger seems to have burnt out.

"As you wish. I don't suppose you've heard about the dragons?"

What? "Those old fairy tales? Is spooky ol' Farengar drumming up his 'research' again?"

"And then some. Those old fairy tales? Destroyed Helgen."

I give a hearty laugh. Just one. Until I notice the haunted look on his face. Like... The one I saw this morning in my washbasin. My own. "Kyne's word?" He nods. By the gods. Dragons? Helgen destroyed? That's... Shit.

"The Jarl has contracted me to assist Farengar by retrieving an artifact of some value from a nearby Nordic ruin. But, as I'm sure you've noticed," he says, with his wry grin returning, "this 'softgut' is no fighter. I need help, and protection."

"So what, you're looking for a bodyguard?"

"I'd prefer someone who can think for themselves."

Hah. A good answer. "And what's in this for me? I don't do charity work."

"Nor does the Jarl, I assure you. He's promised me a reward for doing this. If he doesn't extend you the same, I'll gladly share with you what he gives me. But..." he leans closer to me, a fierce gleam in his eye. "More than anything, you'll earn the Jarl's gratitude and favor. And that can open more doors than a thousand Septims. Like the doors of Joorvaskr."

If my glare could shoot flames, the man would do a fine reenactment of King Olaf. But he ignores me, sipping his wine, as though he hadn't just casually offered me my life's dream by helping him. How long had I dreamed of joining the Companions? Five years? Ten? Their deeds, old and new, are known throughout Tamriel. To join their ranks... Few things could match that honor. To be given a second chance...

But still... Dragons. Just thinking about the word sends a chill down my spine. As if I were remembering something long forgotten. It was... Exciting. And truly, what else was holding me here now? "What's your name?"

"Talao. And yours?"

"It's Uthgerd. And you, Talao, shall have my sword at your side. We leave at dawn." His grin near splits his face as we grasp each others' forearms. I can't help but mirror it.

At least until I overcorrect and fall clear off my chair. Damn mead, I think, as Talao guffaws in his chair. Gods, there aren't enough drinks in the world.

Chapter 8 - Farengar I: Bleak Falls Barrow x Chapter 10 - Uthgerd II: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 8 - Farengar I: Bleak Falls Barrow

Morndas, 18th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Farengar

I am Farengar, of the Secret-Fire. No, my name is not the result of idle gossip over a flame I harbour for this or that maid in town - or man, as some for some reason think. But it is true I have a secret obsession.

Dragons.

Ever since my youth, the Nord tales of dragon-killing legends held me like no other. Who care for the sordid exploits of Ragnar the Dead when massive scaled beasts who razed towns with their fiery breath still existed in legend? Why listen to the affairs of Daedra when one could envision taking to the skies astride a dragon? Yes, that was what inspired me; the magic of eld.

How disappointing, then, to discover nearly all Tamriel's information regarding them was oral and apocryphal. The College of Winterhold held scant few books on the topic. And of course, the College of Whispers and the Synods are too busy jockeying for power to share what little they recovered over the years. I even petitioned the Greybeards atop the Throat of the World for their help, but my query was ignored by the recluses. I suppose with their supposed extinction, nobody saw fit to keep records about dragons. Nothing on physiology, or migratory patterns, or even behaviour. (Unless you believe the stories that paint them all as mindless harbingers of death. Which I don't.) All I could find when I began was the fact that dragons had their own language, spoken and written, and that these words gave dragons the powers told of in stories. I even stumbled upon an alphabet, but no dictionary of words. That was it.

A dozen seasons I spent, following the most minuscule of leads, expanding what little knowledge I had of the fell beasts. Comparing stories to find common links. Looking for vague references in unrelated texts from three eras ago.

Along the way, I suppose I became a mage of some renown, and wound up court wizard to the Jarl of Whiterun. Would I were not tied down, but man cannot live by will alone. And I suppose the extra influence from my position is useful when requesting some obscure text from a private collection. But even then, my obsession was largely ridiculed for its seeming uselessness. Not that I cared what others might have thought; knowledge for my own personal desires was more than enough for me.

Well, at least until yesterday. I suppose some legends aren't to remain solely legends. And suddenly, my amusing hobby has made me the most valuable citizen under the Jarl's employ.

Thus, I find myself poring over my notes, all the information I've gathered in an effort to prepare for... Well, whatever may come. Destruction, most likely. Weaknesses to exploit, strengths to defend against. But there is still so little we know. If only the Jarl would let me complete this recent request, but no, I'm locked up here and...

I feel a tug at the ward I placed upon my door, signaling that someone has entered my rooms. And more importantly, disrupting my concentration. It's annoying, if necessary. I once ignored Avenicci for five minutes once, I was so engrossed in my own thoughts. Doesn't help that the man is more dull than Heimskr's incessant babbling.

Where was I again? Right, visitors.

I step out into the receiving area, and find Balgruuf himself waiting for me. Along with... Some other man? Gods, I hope I haven't met him before; I hate forgetting names and faces. Note to self, look into perhaps making a journal to record people's names and characteristics, so I'm not clueless about every person who walks in.

"My Jarl."

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill Talao in on the details." Odd. The Jarl usually wastes time on pleasantries when he visits. Well, I suppose the current situation has everyone a bit off-kilter, even Balgruuf.

The man in question seems a bit... Shrimpy. Nothing in particular stands out to me; he seems rather bland. "So, the Jarl thinks you can be of use to me?" Certainly no warrior, no armor, no weapons. "He must be referring to my research into the dragons. Yes, I could use someone to fetch something for me."

"That's it?" he asks.

I hesitate for a second. But the Jarl seems convinced, if his look is anything to go by. I suppose it's on him if the unlucky bastard dies. "Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there."

He blinks. Stunned and confused, if I read his expression correctly. "And this has, uh, what to do with dragons, exactly?"

Damn. Definitely spooked him. Maybe I shouldn't have been so blunt with him. My doubts grow, but again, Balgruuf must have chosen him for a reason. Perhaps if I try stroking his ego; I find that works wonders. "Ah, no mere brute mercenary, but a thinker - perhaps even a scholar?"

"Of a sort, I suppose. I'm a bard by profession."

We're doomed.

No, stop that. Find the common ground... Stories! "You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons a while back - where had they gone all those years ago? And where could they be coming from now?"

He nods, his earlier hesitation gone. "To be sure, our own history is often the key to understanding the present." Smart man. I truly hope he comes back alive. "What do you hope to find in this ruin?"

"Of course. I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed within Bleak Falls Barrow - a "Dragonstone," - said to contain a map of dragon burial sites."

"Burial sites? Are you planning to exhume a corpse? Or..." His eyes widen, "Perhaps they're, what, being resurrected."

"Possible. I highly doubt it flew here from Akavir, since all sources seem to agree they all left en masse. Necromancy is an option, though it begs the question why only now has such a thing happened. We don't know, which is where you come in. Go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred within the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

"This is a priority now," Balgruuf interjects. Obviously. "Anything we can use to fight this dragon, or dragons. We need it, quickly. Before it's too late."

"Of course, Jarl Balgruuf." Of course, it only took the imminent destruction of Whiterun to inspire interest in my work. Silver linings. "You seem to have found me an able assistant. I'm sure he will prove most useful." And I suppose I do mean it. A little.

"Succeed at this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be truly in your debt. Speak to Proventus if you should need any supplies for your trip, as I'm sure you're running low after your ordeal at Helgen." With that declaration, which I'm sure he thought very grand, Balgruuf exits, leaving Talao and myself alone. I can't help but sigh heavily. Working with others can be so tedious. But sadly necessary. Back to my research then. Based on the shape of the skull of the dragon above the Jarl's throne, (how ghastly) it seems clear that...

"Ahem."

The sound startles me, and it take a moment to realize it's Talao. Standing in the same place. "You're still here?"

"Yes," he replies with a grimace. "See, while I'm indeed grateful for the trust your Jarl has placed in me, I'm... Well, not a terribly seasoned fighter. In fact, you could say I'm utter rubbish in a fight."

"Your point?"

"I'm about to dive into a Nordic ruin, which from past experience can often house Draugr, bandits, and other things that would gladly tear the flesh from my bones. I need some manner of protection beyond whatever supplies I can gather in town."

Reasonable enough. Smart not to go barreling to his death, at least. "Well, I do have a small collection of spell tomes for sale here, but I doubt you would be able to learn anything of value overnight. You could always find some easily swayed mercenary at the local tavern that's daring or dull enough to join you. Though I would prefer you keep my research between as few people as possible. It wouldn't do to worry the locals about something so trivial as our utter lack of understanding of dragons."

"No, certainly not," he laughs. "Thank you for the information."

As he turns to leave, I'm struck by a bout of inspiration. "Wait a moment." I dash into a side-room I use to store things on which I'm not currently working, to grab... Damn where is it? Aha! There. An old staff, carved into the likeness of a golden dragon. Though it's faded so thoroughly it seems mere yellow now. I return and present it to him. "This is an old staff of mine, back from when my research was... Less sedate. It's enchanted with a basic Fireball spell. Perfect for combating undead and bandits alike. I keep it charged, but old as it is I don't know how many casts it will last for. Better than anything you'll find at Belethor's, though, I guarantee."

He takes it reverently. Or maybe fearfully, as if he's afraid it might explode. Hmm, that's a frightful thought, can staves explode under certain conditions? Add it to the research list. "Thank you, Farengar. I shall treat it well."

"See that you do. I would like it back in one piece, if possible, but better if it should help you complete my task." Strange that I'd part with it after so long, but I suppose it's been gathering dust anyway. Besides, my history is locked safely within my own mind. I wave farewell to... By Julianos, I've already forgotten his name. I'll just check with Balgruuf at some point. Now... All dragon stories feature fire-breathing, so we'll need to stockpile reservoirs of water. Perhaps we can ward against it? Or is their magic so different that they'll be ineffective? What about...

Chapter 7 - Balgruuf I: Before The Storm x Chapter 9 - Uthgerd I: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 7 - Balgruuf I: Before The Storm

Morndas, 18th of Last Seed 4E201 Evening

Balgruuf

I am the Jarl of Whiterun, Balgruuf the Greater. I enjoy my place, caring for my people as best I can. However, nothing could have prepared me for the headache I face this day. Nothing my father taught me could have prepared me for dragons.

When the reports first came in, I admit I scoffed at the lone scout. Paranoid ramblings, I thought, the product of an overworked soldier's mind. At least until I spotted one of the damned things myself from my balcony during my midday meal. I heard it scream, and felt fire burn in my veins, the fear and desire to fight bursting forth from my soul.

Pity then, my place requires such tedium as this.

"My Lord, please, you must listen. I only counsel caution."

The words of my advisor, Avenicci. Smart enough, and truly a political genius, but at times - like now - his cowardly Imperial blood shows through. Not that I would ever say so to his face.

"If the news from Helgen is true... Well, there's no telling what it means."

Inaction is Avenicci's favorite strategy. Not that action is always the better option, but standing idly by has never been the Nord way. "What would you have me do, then? Nothing?!"

"My Lord, this is no time for rash action. I just think we need more information before we act. I just..."

Inaction again. Even the rumour of the kind of destruction reported at Helgen should be enough to warrant some kind of measure, defensive or otherwise. Politics be damned if it cost me the lives of my people. This is just like the Giant incident from last Frostfall. I look around for some distraction, that the Nine... Eight might grant me the patience to endure this farce of a meeting. Much to my surprise as I find one. Two, in fact. A pair of strangers, stopped at the head of the dining hall by my Housecarl, Irileth. A Dunmer, and the most loyal fighter I've had the fortune to battle alongside, who showed me the true meaning of the phrase, "the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb."

"Who's this then?"

The two strangers sink to their knees and state their names, as Irileth whispiers to me what little she had been told.

"Sven, of Riverwood."

"Talao, of High Rock."

Hmm, a Nord and a Breton. Sven I vaguely recall having entertained at the Huntsman a while back, on one of my nighttime jaunts. The Breton is not familiar to me, though both seem quite comfortable at court. And odd combination, the two of them. Hardly the time for reminiscing, though.

"So, Irileth tells me you were at Helgen. You saw this dragon with you own eyes?" An eyewitness account of the destruction is all I need to convince Avenicci to act... Or more likely, enough to properly overrule his counsel.

Sven shifts slightly; "Not I, my Jarl, but Talao here was present. I merely guided him to you, out of concern for our town's safety."

"Yes, I had a great view of it as the Empire was about to chop off my head. I do a terrible chicken impression."

I blink. "You're certainly..." Blunt, I wish to say. But that would be blunt of me. "Forthcoming about your criminal past."

The Breton grins in response. "Nay, I said they wished to execute me, not that I was guilty of any crime. Regardless, I imagine the threat of a dragon capable of razing an entire town filled with Imperial troops would take precedence over the circumstances of my capture."

Kynareth save me, the man's tongue is inlaid with more silver than my cutlery. But he is certainly correct. "What do you say now, Proventus? Shall we continue to trust in the strength of our walls? Against a dragon?"

"My Lord," Irileth says, "We should send troops to Riverwood at once. It's in the most immediate danger." A dark look crosses her face, and I can imagine the scene playing in her mind. "If that dragon is still lurking in the mounains..."

Surprisingly, Avenicci interject once again, "The Jarl of Falkreath will view that as a provocation! He'll assume we're preparing to join Ulfric's side and attack him. We should not..."

"ENOUGH!" The vehemence in my voice didn't truly match my emotions. Perhaps it was the thought that anyone would think I would join Ulfric the Storm Cloak. Maybe it was my frustration at practically having to babysit my own counselors instead of mediate an actual discussion. More likely, it's to prevent Irileth from murdering Avenicci where he stands, if the murderous mask on her her face is aught to go by. "I'll not stand idly by while a dragon burns my hold and slaughters my people. Irileth, send a detachment to Riverwood at once."

"Yes, my Jarl." To my relief, she salutes and leaves without further issue.

Avenicci, however, looks as though someone had run a rancid potion underneath his nose. "If you'll excuse me, I have other duties to attend."

"That would be best." To be sure, the man is invaluable to my court, and has a knack for thinking through any negative reactions from others. For certain, I'll have him draw up a missive to the Jarl of Falkreath to reassure him of my neutrality and warn him of the dragon. But my first duty is, was, and will always be the safety of those under my banner. Speaking of which...

"Well done. You sought me out, on your own initiative. You've done Whiterun a service, and I won't forget it. As a reward, I shall grant each of you a small token of my esteem.." They both smile, and I lean forward in anticipation of their answers... Well, one of them at least. Sven seems a loyal but simple Nord, but the steel within Talao intrigues me. It did not escape my gaze, the gleam within his eye as he mentioned the dragon. Perhaps there is truth to the idea that Bretons have Nordic blood within them.

"My Jarl," Sven begins, "I am truly grateful for your offer, but the guards you have dispatched to watch over my village is reward enough."

"Nonsense. It is my duty and privilege to protect the people under my care. I wish to honor you personally."

"Well," he looks uncomfortable, but I urge him on with a smile of my own. "In that case, my Jarl, I have just yesterday found myself promised to a beautiful young woman. In no small part thanks to my brave friend here. If you would gift us some livestock to help begin our lives, I would be forever grateful."

"A most reasonable and thoughtful request. I'll discuss the particulars with my steward, but I assure you it will be done before your wedding." A cow and several hogs should be more than sufficient.

"Many thanks, my Jarl."

"And you?" I turn to Talao. "What gift may I bestow upon you?"

"Well, sir, I am but a humble bard. Whereas my friend here is a tree about to set his roots, I am as the wind, travelling wheresoever my story goes. I have little need for material things, but I should truly enjoy performing for your court some day."

"Truly?" A bard, then. Like Sven himself. That would indeed explain much. "You wish only to ply your trade here in Dragonsreach?"

"Nothing would give me greater pleasure, Jarl. Well, once I replace my instrument, that is." At this, he ruffles his hair, looking rather sheepish for once. "I fear my old one is naught but ash by now."

Hmm. Self-serving, but not selfish... Yes, he'll do, I think. "If that is your desire, it shall be done. Kyne willing, you'll not deafen us as our last bard did, though I use the title loosely. And I imagine far as you are from your home, you'll have many tales to tell us." I stand, and they follow. "Again, I thank you for your service. My blessings on your union, Sven, and may Kyne grants you warm winds and fertile fields." I pause a moment, that my dismissal is clear, and as they turn to leave, I call out, "Talao, a word, if I may?" The two share a glance, and a brief farewell before he returns to face me.

"Yes, Jarl Balgruuf?"

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your particular talents, perhaps." To his confused look, I say, "Come, let's find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... Rumors of dragons." As I lead him to a side chamber, my mind is racing with how best to entice Talao into this errand. He may not be a warrior, but I sense that his presence may mean the difference between survival and destruction. I know the stories of what the return of the dragons signifies, but damned if I'll not do my best to avert catastrophe.

Chapter 6 - Ralof II: Before The Storm x Chapter 8 - Farengar I: Bleak Falls Barrow

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 6 - Ralof II: Before The Storm

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Afternoon

Ralof

I have a problem, a voice in my head slurs as I look into my flagon of mead. Empty. Another voice slurs, Yes, the problem is that my cup is empty. "Orgnar. Another pint."

"You sure about that pal? You're already three pints in."

I slam my cup onto the bar, perhaps harder than intended. "Are you the barkeep, or my mother? I don't see any tits on you, so fill the damn cup! If you'd seen what I'd seen this day, you'd be looking for Oblivion in the bottom of a cup as well!"

If my outburst phased the man at all, his apathetic face sure doesn't betray it as he takes my cup to the tap. "Fine. But don't blame me when you throw your septims up later outside." As he returns the full cup to me, he asks, "And what was so terrifying that it'd cause such a fine soldier as yourself to drink mead like water?"

"A dragon, you old goat!" Damn my drunken mouth, I spit it out without thinking. This at least seems to startle the stoic barkeep. His eyes widen, and I notice old Delphine stop sweeping and stiffen as well.

"A dragon, eh?" Orgnar scratches his stuffy beard. "Sure you were sober when you walked in here?"

Before I can retort, the last voice I want to hear sounds from behind me. "He's telling the truth." Bloody Hadvar. Of course. He walks in, sitting at the other end of the bar. "A gods-honest dragon appeared at Helgen. The town's little more than a pile of rubble now.

Of course, the bastards believe him immediately. I suppose an Imperial uniform gives you credibility regardless of the claim. I see Delphine turn white and dash into a sideroom, and Orgnar offers Hadvar a drink.

"Honningbrew," Hadvar responds.

"Pah, why not just order a mug of milk if you've not the stomach for a real drink." The insult has both men bristling, and I take my drink and myself to a nearby table. The stumble might have taken some of the bite away, but damned if I'll sit in the company of damned traitors.

The tavern is mercifully empty as I nurse my Black-Briar Reserve in silence. Though I know it won't last, this close to evening. It was unseasonably warm, and you could count on the locals whetting their parched throats with a mug or two after they finish their day's work. For some reason, it reminded me of my time with the Stormcloaks. We trained under a bastard of a man called Galmar Stone-Fist. Every day we trained damn near nonstop from dawn to dusk. And every day, he made sure we trained hardest when the sun was highest. Sad we'd need to be ready to fight at any time; "Your enemy won't care if you're too hot to put your shield between you and them." Spent weeks constantly exhausted before I got used to it.

Yet for all that, it seems old habits die hard. One measly dragon attack and I fall back into old patterns. It's familiar. And calming. Then someone drops on the bench beside me, interrupting the calming familiarity of my drink. "By Talos, can't you tell when a man wants to enjoy his drink alone?"

"You don't look like you're enjoying much of anything right now." Godsdamned Hadvar. Never learned to shut his mouth for anything. "The Ralof I used to know would've been blustering on about his escape from near-certain death. Regaling his story to everyone in town."

"What do you want, Imperial?"

He pauses a moment. "Company."

I scoff, but since he seems subdued now, I go back to my mug. A few moment pass in silence, the first few villagers starting to trickle in from their mills and fields. Amazing how careless they seem; even without knowing about the dragon, it's as if the sleepy town has been unaffected by the war. A bloody war, right under their noses. Blessing there, else someone might have called the Imperials to clap me in irons again. How easy it might be, just to stay here and resume the simple life I led before I enlisted under Ulfric.

"I don't hate you, you know?" It took me a second to realize Hadvar was speaking to me. The look on his face almost seems... Wistful? "For joining the rebels... Sorry, the Stormcloaks."

"What are you on about?"

He chews on his words before speaking again. "I know you probably despise me for joining the Legion. Expected me to defect once Ulfric's call went out. But I don't hate you for becoming a Stormcloak. You followed your heart and you went out to make a change. Hell, maybe I even envy you. I was always content to follow orders. Even as lads, you'd be the one making up the adventures we acted out."

Had I drunk anymore than I had already, I'd have assumed I was hallucinating. Unfortunately, I was sober enough to consider his words. A few hours ago - was it only hours? - we'd been set to tear out each others' throats. But was it truly because we hated each other?

"If you had asked me this morning," I said, "what I thought of my old childhood friend Hadvar, I would have made Talos himself blush with the obscenities to pass my lips. I considered every Imperial godless bastards, guilty of allowing or helping the damn Thalmor of every crime they committed. Hadvar's grip tightens on his mug, and I watch his face steel up.

"But... Now I remember... Or you just reminded... You're all people, same as me. You helped save all those townsfolk from that great black beast. You joined the legion to try to change things, no different than I. And you'd be an even greater traitor by betraying the oaths to your cause solely because of your cowardly commanders." I grin at Hadvar. "Come now, if I truly wanted you dead, I'd have let that dragon carry you away this morning."

I must have surprised him, as he takes a moment to retort. "And here I though you were just saving Talao and I was in the way."

"Might have helped." We chuckle together, and just like that, it's as if we are young again, sharing a mug. Only now the ale isn't snuck out from under our parents' noses. And for the next few hours, we forget that we might find each other opposite our blades on the field of battle soon.

Chapter 5 - Sven I: Before The Storm x Chapter 7 - Balgruuf I: Before The Storm

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 5 - Sven I: Before The Storm

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Early Evening

Sven

I never particularly liked my hometown of Riverwood. Perhaps it's because of the constant state of twilight the town lives in, nestled between two of the tallest mountain ridges in Skyrim. Perhaps it's the fact that I was never the rough type, like the other children I grew up with, who always wanted to play Guards and Bandits.

Maybe it's the overwhelming presence of my mother.

Whatever the cause, no one was surprised when I leapt at the chance to leave when I'd heard the Bard's College in Solitude was searching for applicants. I scrounged together all the spare septims I had earned from doing odd jobs around town, and left despite my mother's protests. Solitude and the College were beyond anything I'd ever seen before. And when I completed my training, my freedom became infinite. I would travel wherever I desired, from Markarth to Winterhold. I even travelled to High Rock and Cyrodiil. Every inn would trade me a meal and a bed from a night of revelry. And of course, the beds were plenty large enough for two; I rarely spent a night cold and alone. It was so severed from my childhood, and I loved every minute.

And I despise every minute I waste away here in Riverwood once more.

I'll admit it's hardly the worst place I've plied my trade. Winterhold comes to mind; no amount of the finest Blackbriar Reserve promised by the innkeeper could convince me to spend another bitter cold night amongst those equally bitter mages and malcontents. I look around from the porch of my mother's house. Here, at least, the weather is serene, the patrons are boisterous, and that old haggler Delphine pays me a decent wage for my nights at the inn. Good Colovian Brandy, too. Not that Honnngbrew swill from down the road. Too bad all the women in town were married and, more importantly, faithful. (Not altogether too terrible a problem, hard to avoid a cuckolded husband when you live mere houses away.)

From the corner of my eye, I notice movement at the Riverwood Trader. Lucky me, the one unattached woman in all Riverwood is arranging wares in plain view. Camila Valerius. A gorgeous Imperial woman who opened the store with her brother sometime during my absence. Despite my best efforts, and her obvious interest, I've yet to entice her into bed. I've had more than my fair share of rejection, from whispered apologies to slaps and thrown drinks. But this... This is different. I've never pined after the local tavern wench, or felt pangs of jealousy when they flirted with other men or mer. I wonder when I realized I was courting Camila rather than merely chasing her skirt.

It's due to this recent realization I find myself scowling, despite her presence nearby. Not because of Camila, but because of another man, chopping wood just across the path, thankfully out of sight. A rival of love, and the main obstacle standing between myself and Camila. Faendal. The damned pointy-eared tree-hugger somehow managed to worm his way into Camila's life. And for some gods-awful reason, she seems just as interested. I silently seeth as I furtively glare at the wood elf, working away in silence. What she sees in the waif-ish fool, I can't tell. Even now, he's lazing about, chatting up some stranger in robes. But their private conversations and shared laughter during my sets at the inn make it all too clear how close they are growing. It's unbearable.

I hear a yelling from behind me, startling me out of my silent animosity. Reluctantly I face the second roadblock to my romance. My mother.

"A dragon! I saw a dragon!" She raves, pointing to the sky.

For a moment, I'm completely puzzled. "What? What is it now, mother?"

"It was as big as the mountain, and black as night. It flew right over the barrow!"

Gods, it's getting worse. "Dragons, now, is it? Please, mother, if you keep on like this, everyone in town will think you're crazy." The fact that she undeniably was touched in the head notwithstanding. "And I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies."

With that, my mother droops her head and shuffles away, muttering under her breath petulantly; "You'll see. It was a dragon. It'll kill us all, and then you'll believe me."

My mother. The bane of my life. I'd been sojourning in Cyrodiil when a courier found me, bearing a letter that mother had contracted Brain Fever. I rushed home, expecting a funeral, but instead finding a brain-addled parent who had survived almost certain death. Whether blessing or curse, I was unsure, considering it left her incapable of caring for herself.

And so I remain.

...

"She's right, you know."

I near jump straight out of my clothes at the sudden voice behind me, turning to find the stranger from earlier standing just over my shoulder. "S...Sorry?"

"About the dragon. She did see one. I'm Talao, by the way."

I take his proffered hand instinctively. "Sven. I'm sorry, but did you just say my mother actually saw a dragon? Surely, you jest. It's not possible; dragons have been extinct since the Second Era."

"Ah, true. I suppose the flaming ruins of Helgen were assaulted by a figment of my imagination then."

I laugh nervously, but the man's expression doesn't change. "By the gods, you're serious. Helgen gone?" Visions of Riverwood going the way of Helgen flashed before my eyes, and I had to repress a shudder. "You had best tell the Jarl in Whiterun. He needs to know about this."

"Most certainly, Sven. But I need your help with something, and that fellow Faendal said you might be able to assist me." I must not have been able to disguise my disgust at the mention of the damned elf, as he continues, "Faendal made the same face before he mentioned your name. Bad blood?"

Frankly, I wasn't sure how much I should tell the man. Gossip is always less enticing when the subject is yourself. But along the same lines, my love life is hardly a secret in this town, and he'd be certain to hear about the particulars soon enough. And better he take my side than that wretched wood-elf. Mayhap he could even help me somehow. "I suppose you could say we're rivals of love. Camila Valerius knows I'm the best man in Riverwood. That elf is kidding himself if he thinks she would choose him over me. I've seen him sneaking over to the Riverwood Trader to speak with her when I'm not around. He's wasting his time."

A wry look appears on Talao's face. "Yes, two people spending time together never blossoms into courtship."

His response peeves me. "Is that sarcasm? I've heard better wisecracks from Orgnar, and I've never seen him smile." At this, Talao bursts into laughter, rather than become insulted. It puts me at ease, knowing he can take a barb in good nature. "Still, you have a point. Camila letting Faendal visit her isn't a good thing for me."

"What do you plan to do about it? Though, far be it from me to intrude on your business..."

Yes, he could definitely help me. "Perhaps... I could forge a letter filled with venemous nonsense. If you delivered it to Camila and claimed it was from Faendal, she'd be sure to spurn his advances." I almost laugh at the simplistic brilliance of it.

However, instead of agreement, I found myself faced with silence. "I do hope that wasn't your final plan."

Confusion. Irritation. "And why not?"

"You seem under the impression she'll take the letter at face value," he says, crossing his arms. "But what if she confronts Faendal about it? Or if he seeks her out?"

This gives me pause, as my mind reels at the possibilities. "He might convince her he didn't write it. And I'd be the obvious suspect."

"Aye. You'd likely come off as rather childish and desperate."

"Driving Camila further into Faendal's arms." I sigh, my good mood deflating. "God's what a fool I am. What am I supposed to do?"

"Do you love her?"

Do I love her? What an asinine question. But before I fire off a witty retort, I realize his question is one I had never truly considered before. Camila was a beautiful woman, to be sure. But had I ever regarded her as... more? Someone to spend the rest of my life with, rather than a night or two of passion?

The answer came more quickly than I would have imagine. "Yes. I do."

Talao's face breaks out into a broad smile. "Then what are you waiting for? Go tell her so. As only a bard can."

As only a bard can? "Well, I had been composing a ballad for her..."

"Rubbish. Toss it."

"Pardon? You just said..."

Still the grin doesn't leave his face. "Composing is far too cerebral for a declaration of love. Save it for an anniversary or a wedding. Find your lass, and spill your heart to her. Let your emotions flow like a stream, and the sincerity will do far more than any mere couplet."

It all seems... Too simple. I want to protest, to tell him of every barrier that stands between us, but he interrupts me once more; "No, no protestations, no excuses. Whatever you may think is holding you back, it's nothing that will dissuade her if she truly returns your feelings."

Somehow, his words inspire me with the confidence I had been lacking. "If this works, you can have whatever it is that you had planned to ask me for earlier." I've never wanted to be in someone's debt more than this minute.

Chapter 4 - Hadvar II: Before The Storm x Chapter 6 - Ralof II: Before The Storm

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 4 - Hadvar II: Before The Storm

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Early Afternoon

Hadvar

Fresh air hits me in the face; a welcome relief after an hour of stale cave air. But no time to relish it yet. I keep low to the ground, dashing to a nearby rock for cover. Waiting. Listening.

There, the beat of heavy wings. A monstrous roar passes above me, but thankfully I seem to have gone unnoticed. I hope. The dragon flies swiftly to the south, passing over a nearby ridge and out of sight.

I wait another moment before I signal the all-clear behind me. Were anyone watching at the time, they'd probably have been surprised to see the ragtag group of both Imperials and Stormcloaks escaping the cave. To be frank, I know I still was. To see a Stormcloak helping out an Imperial with a broken leg. I could say it was solely the fear of the dragon forcing enemies together, rivalries forgotten in the face of survival, but in reality...

I see Talao in the middle of the group, telling a joke, bringing laughter in what was essentially the aftermath of a warzone. The man's charisma is astounding. He convinced every single soldier we met within Helgen into joining the escape effort. He pulled citizens from rubble with us, and even once physically stopping a soldier trying to stab another in the back. Then berated him so soundly, the man willingly threw away his weapon in remorse. Quite a sight.

The soldiers and townspeople laugh and whoop as they leave the cave, breathing in the midday air. Smiles surround me. But for the sight of smoke in the distance behind us, there is no sign of the hell we went through here, and it is invigorating. Cheerful goodbyes are exchanged, then the groups head out; Imperials to the west, Stormcloaks to the east. Ralof, Talao, and I, however, head north to Riverwood; my hometown, and Ralof's too. The dragon had gratefully passed it by, its bloodlust seemingly satisfied. But it was unlikely anyone had understood exactly what it was, if they had seen it at all. We needed to spread the word, and quickly. We would spend the night in Riverwood, then Talao would set off for Whiterun, the nearest city, and and trading capital of Skyrim, while Ralof and I would warn Riften and Markarth, respectively. The other holds would be passed through by returning soldiers, but for Dawnstar and Winterhold, more easily reached by boat couriers. The holds may be shored up for war, but dragons... That's beyond what anyone could have prepared for in this day and age.

In the meantime, however, the walk to Riverwood is subdued. True, Talao does ask a few questions about the area, and I am glad to point our a few of the sights, such as the infamous Bleak Falls Barrow - nasty place, that, and source of no few nightmares in my youth. Draugr sneaking in during the night, and all that. But for the most part, an icy silence lingers between Ralof and myself. He studiously ignores me, but I can't help wondering what goes through his mid.

We grew up together in Riverwood. Small town that it is, we became swift friends and rivals, bumping heads, but sharing a stolen mug of mead at the end of the night. He was always the impulsive one. Not to say I was smarter, simply more level-headed. Even at a young age, he and his family were utterly devoted in their worship of Talos. When the Empire's war with the Aldmeri Dominion came, we were too young to join the fight. Ralof's father died in the war, and his mother drank herself to an early grave, leaving him in the care of his sister. My father was a Legionnaire, and his before him, but both had died long before that war. So I couldn't relate to the anguish he felt during that time.

Then the terms of the White-Gold Concordat became known. At first, few in Skyrim paid much attention, as much from disbelief as disgust. How could you tell a people who they were allowed to worship? And how would you enforce their thoughts? But when word of Aldmeri Enforcers executing entire families for open worship of Talos started circulating, even Ralof took his faith behind closed doors. Until his cousin was spirited away one night. It wasn't hard to put two and two together then. I never saw a man run so fast as when word of Ulfric's rebellion reached Riverwood.

Knowing all this... Could I truly despise the man for joining the Stormcloaks?

The silence was getting to me, and the quiet swell of the river wasn't helping at all. "Hey, Talao." The Breton seems caught up in the scenery around him, and I have to call him again to catch his attention. Wish I could be so carefree. "What exactly were you doing at Darkwater Crossing when you stumbled in that ambush?"

"Nothing terribly extraordinary." Out of danger, I notice now how soothing the man's voice is; leagues separate from the usual harsh voices I am accustomed to hearing in Skyrim. "My companion and I were merely travelling, searching for excitement."

"You're an adventurer?" Ralof asks, somewhat skeptical. I can't help but agree with him in my mind; the man is much too wiry and... Well, of course, his injury.

"Though I might sometimes wish it, no. I ply my trade as a bard. I hire or follow adventurers around, hoping to capture some new story to tell. Randolph, the man I was travelling with, had told me he was planning something grand, so I followed to see what would occur." Talao's face showed a strange combination of disappointment and glee. "Though I doubt a man idiotic enough to charge a line of Legionnaires would have amounted to more than a pitiable laugh. Ah well, at least some good came of it."

This puzzles me. "For the life of me, I can't see any bright side to your story."

He answers with an incredulous look. "Honestly? You don't see anything fantastical about the sighting of the first dragon since the Second Era? The appearance of a long-extinct race? Something world-changing is afoot, and I intend to be there to witness it!"

"Incredible indeed," Ralof replies offhandedly. "Quite the series of events that lead you to that chopping block with us. Maybe that dragon came just for you, eh?"

...I feel like I'm missing out on something important. I almost miss the slight fall of Talao's smile, as he responds, "I highly doubt that. I'm not nearly important enough for such theatrics. Lucky happenstance to be audience, that's all." Ralof seems to be scrutinizing Talao. Again, I wonder what on Nirn is going on in his head.

For better or worse, the swiftly approaching town of Riverwood interrupts our conversation. Still standing; thank the Eight the dragon passed it by. It was jarring, passing through the gate into the sleepy town. We've only just escaped the jaws of a gods-honest dragon scant hours ago, and yet here life goes on the same as always. As if nothing happened. Which, I suppose, would be true if no one had been looking up recently. That's life, I guess. Though if that dragon is a herald for more, I doubt even Riverwood will remain so lax. Our destination reached, we split; Ralof and I to our families, and Talao to the inn. Supposedly to gather information and supplies before heading to Whiterun.

Hopefully he'll get there before any dragons do.

Chapter 3 - Hadvar I: Unbound x Chapter 5 - Sven I: Before The Storm

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 3 - Hadvar I: Unbound

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Late Morning

Hadvar

My name is Hadvar. Soldier in the Imperial Legion. A loyal Nord, despite what those in Windhelm might think. Proud citizen of the Empire. Protector of the people.

This knowledge is all that keeps me from melting into a puddle of fear from the might of the beast currently destroying Helgen. While most of my detachment fends off the beast, I do my best to bring townsfolk to what safety I can find. Not that I have much faith in doing so; even as I escort an old man under cover, I watch the dragon - a gods-honest dragon! - bash its head directly through one of the guard towers. Solid stone and mortar that took months to build and reinforce, walls that have stood up to countless bandit raids, knocked aside as though it were a shanty of sticks. Countless arrows find their marks in the dragon's hide, only to bounce off harmlessly. Unbelievable. Any delusions of fighting this beast, this demon, are shattered in my mind. Escape is the only option.

I hear a cry nearby. A man trapped beneath rubble, his son desperately shoving at the unmoving stone. I notice the dragon leap from the ramparts, heading directly for us. Fear assails me again, but I use it to power my limbs, sprinting for the pair. I grab the boy, throwing me over my shoulder, ignoring his screams as the beast lands in front of us, shaking the ground and almost causing me to fall over. The thanks in the man's face is evident, but my mind is elsewhere as he yells at me, "Go, save him!" I dive behind the wall with the old man, my boots scorched with fire as it bathes the ground where I'd been seconds earlier. Even under cover, the heat is oppressive, and the sounds the dragon is making... Would it were louder, that I could drown out the screams of dying men, but no such luck.

Shaking, I hand the now crying boy over to the old man, when movement catches my attention from the corner of my eye. My hand flies to the hilt of my sword, but when I turn, all I see is a man in rags falling to the ground from the second story of the now burnt-out inn. Where in Kyne's name did he come from? Surely he hadn't been in there since this all began? I look up to the destroyed tower behind the inn, just in time to see another figure disappear from a gaping hole in its side. He jumped? Damn. The man is brave, if nothing else.

I offer him my hand, and realize with a start that he is the Breton that arrived with the prisoners. Saved from the chopping block from the dragon, if you could call it saving. Happy coincidence, that; I'd have hated to see another innocent die because of that thrice-damned traitor, Ulfric.

"Still alive, prisoner?" I ask, more out of amazement than curiosity.

"It's Talao," he responds pointedly. Quite a lot of spunk for a man who's nearly died several times today. "I am, and if you don't mind, I'd like to remain so." He glares at my sword, which I note is bared directly at him.

I lower it hastily, but do not sheathe it. Danger, and all that. "Good. Stick with me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy."

The old man looks at me with pride and hope as he comforts the boy. "Gods guide you, Hadvar." This. This is why I am a Legionnaire. Not for praise, or adoration, or battle. I wanted to be a shield for my people. And if I save even one person from the fires of Oblivion today, I will be content.

Enough dallying. "We need to find General Tullius and join the defense." The General will know what to do. The man's a military genius.

We run, heading toward the sound of the General's voice. A roar sounds close overhead. "Stay close to the wall!" I yell, as we squeeze through a narrow alley. The ground tosses beneath us with such force that we both go tumbling down, landing on our backs. Not ten feet above us, perched on the wall next to us, sits the dragon, another gout of fire spewing forth. Surely, we'll both die now, I think, covering my face from the vicious fire and blinding light. I swear I can feel blisters popping across my uncovered skin. But again, it lifts off, granting us a reprieve, and somehow another chance to escape.

Why is it here, for gods' sake? If we knew why, we might be able to do something. Is it hungry? Angry? Is destruction its sole desire, or is it far more nefarious? Is it even intelligent?

So many questions, yet all I can do is drag Talao through the glowing wreckage to the General. Atop his horse, he frantically but deliberately issues order to the troops. "Maintain ranks! FALL BACK!" An archer on the wall is grabbed by the dragon, and let loose to plummet to his death, screaming, a mockery of the creature's flight which ends with a sickening crunch. I've seen far worse horrors committed on the battlefield, but the sheer helplessness I feel, the despair is overwhelming. The general is right; full retreat is our only option now.

"Guards, get the townspeople to safety!" The command spurs me to action once more, heading to the garrison with Talao in close pursuit. He may not have been a townsperson, but I believed in the man's innocence and knew that other soldiers likely wouldn't be as eager to protect him if they recognized him from the cart.

We're only a few dozen yards from the door when I see him, clad in blues and greys. By Ysmir, can't I catch a break? "Ralof!" He whirls around at the mention of his name, dropping into a battle stance. "You damned traitor, out of my way!"

"We're esaping, Hadvar. You won't stop us this time, milk drinker!"

My blood boils at his casual arrogance. "Like Oblivion you will. I'll send you to Sovngarde myself! That is, if they admit traitorous heathens like you."

I move toward him, ready to spill his guts on the ground, when something pulls me back. Talao is suddenly between us. "Are you both completely daft?! There's a dragon in the sky above us, raining death and destruction, and you're bickering like petty children over a sweetroll. Put aside your damn squabble until we're no longer an instant from being eaten alive!"

I nearly scoff at the notion, but astonishingly, Ralof nods and sheathes his weapon at the prisoner's words. I'm so surprised, I barely register him charge us, yelling "Get down!" He tackles Talao and myself to the ground, knocking the wind out of me. Bastard! A trick? I wrestle my sword arm free, intent on skewering him before he does the like to me, when my heart jumps into my throat. A gust of wind slams into us, and black claws grasp at the air we'd just inhabited. We'd been a split-second from the exact fate Talao had warned us of.

Ralof stands, hurriedly helping us all well. "I reckon the man's got the right of things, don't you, Imperial?"

Damn him, but he's right. And I can't truly find it in me to hate him for it. Not just now. "Truce then. Quickly, into the keep." At least there we'll only have to worry about rocks falling on us instead of dragons.

Chapter 2 - Ralof I: Unbound x Chapter 4 - Hadvar II: Unbound

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 2 - Ralof I: Unbound

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed 4E201 Morning

Ralof

My name is Ralof. I was born and raised in a small town called Riverwood. When Ulfric revolted against a traitorous Empire, I flew to his side and became a Son of Skyrim.

And today, we have escaped the Empire's jaws of death.

Though perhaps the far deadlier pair of jaws flying above us may still bring about our end. When the beast appeared, there was no mistaking it. The form of Akatosh, not seen in Skyrim since the Second Era. A dragon. And then it opened its mouth, and it was as if Oblivion had come to Mundus. A shockwave, followed by flaming rocks falling from the sky. Someone cut me loose from my binds, taking advantage of one possibly deadly situation to escape another certain one.

Now I find myself grabbing the Breton prisoner, shouting, "Come on, Breton, get up! The gods won't give us another chance!" I feel more strongly about saving this man than I should, perhaps. But then, I can't shake the feeling that the timing was too perfect to be aught but divine intervention; the dragon interrupted a split-second before the man's head would have been split from his body.

I practically drag the stumbling man to the nearby watchtower, where my fellow Stormcloaks have taken refuge, slamming the heavy door shut behind us. Not that I'm convinced it would stop a dragon, of course, but at least we would be less obvious targets for the death raining around us. Jarl Ulfric is here as well, besieged by questions from all sides.

"Was that really a dragon?"

"Could the legends be true?"

Somehow, the Jarl remains unfazed, as though we had not all nearly been eaten alive, answering with a quick statement; "Legends don't burn down villages." We are surrounded by the commotion of screams and roars that reach even through the mortar of the building.

The Breton - Talao, I recall - catches my attention. "Pardon," he says, rubbing his now free wrists, "but perhaps we could discuss what it is or isn't once we're no longer in danger of becoming its lunch."

Another roar punctuates the silent agreement of the room, and Jarl Ulfric shouts over the noise, "We need to get moving, now!" I grab the prisoner once more, pulling him up the stairs. We need to get a better view of our surroundings to figure out how best to escape. Thankfully, his leg doesn't seem to slow him down overmuch. The curiosity I noticed in him earlier is gone, replaced by determination and no small amount of fear. Can't blame him for that. It happens to new recruits as well, their first battle. Or they dissolve into a blubbering pile of tears. One or the other. We reach the next level, only the find the stairway impassable, barred by rocks. Another soldier pushes past us, trying to clear the path, but as I move forward to help him, an entire section of the outer wall bursts in, sending me sprawling back against the intact wall behind me. The bloody dragon! It's entire neck is in the tower, and even more monstrous up close; it's head alone larger than my entire body. I can feel my skin heat and blister as it opens its mouth and spews a gout of fire upon the unfortunate soldier ahead of us, incinerating him. The screams are ungodly.

To be honest, I feel like I'm next. The fire stops, and the head turns directly toward us. Will it eat me whole? Roast me alive like the soldier? Damn it all to Oblivion, I don't even have a weapon to defend myself. But by Talos, I'll look my death in the eye, and hope that satisfies the gods. But then I notice, as I stare the best down, it's not even looking at me. I see intelligence in its terrifying crimson eyes. It proclaims, "Look at me. See my power and tremble before it." And that gaze, I swear, is directed straight at Talao. Then the head abruptly withdraws, and we are alone as the dragon continues to terrorize the town.

I'll admit, it takes me a moment to regain my wits. I want to interrogate Talao, find out what he knows, and why a dragon would resurrect itself from extinction just to glare at him. But right now, survival takes priority over curiosity. The stairwell is still hopelessly blocked, so I glance out of the new window in the tower instead. It's an honest to gods nightmare; flames everywhere, buildings completely destroyed, arrows flying through the air. No sign of obvious safe passage. The house directly beside us has lost its roof, but mostly seems stable. Not ideal, but it will keep us moving.

"See that roof over there? Jump through!" Talao clutches his leg, as if to remind me of his injury, but there's no time for sympathy. "Keep moving if you want to live, damn it! We'll follow as soon as we can."

He nods shakily, and I hear him mutter, "Y'ffre guide me." Before he can second-guess himself - or me - he leaps out into the air. I wince as he catches the lip of the room, but miraculously he lands in a bed. I wave him on before rushing back downstairs to retrieve my companions. Only to swear as I notice them missing. No doubt they fled when the dragon lit upon the tower.

"By the Frozen Wastes!" I hate to abandon Talao, but my comrades and my Jarl come first. And if he truly has the favor of the gods, as I'm convinced, surely someone will come to his aid.

Chapter 1 - Ulfric I: Unbound x Chapter 3 - Hadvar I: Unbound

[thevoiceofthebard]

Chapter 1 - Ulfric I: Unbound

Sundas, 17th of Last Seed. 4E201 Early Morning

Ulfric Stormcloak

I am Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm. Student of the Greybeards of High Hrothgar. Leader of the Revolution of the Sons of Skyrim.

And this is the day of my death.

Today, I leave the mortal plane behind, to join my brothers and sisters in Sovngarde. I can only hope the gods forgive the transgressions I have committed in pursuit of justice. But then the timing of the Imperial ambush that leads us now to our deaths was so perfect... Perhaps the gods have abandoned us. Although I find treachery a far more likely explanation.

Our carriage jumps around as we pass over a pothole, pulling me away from my thoughts. I look around, curiosity getting the better of me. From the multitude of pine trees around me, I know we're somewhere in the Hold of Falkreath. Nature flourishes in the south of Skyrim - mountain flowers, nightshade, and thistle abundant, deer grazing at the edge of the deep shade of the woods - but I confess it holds less grandeur for myself compared to some of my brethren. My childhood was filled with grand stone walls, surrounded by frozen tundras and volcanic fields. The Throat of the World towers above us, throwing dark shadows for miles, making the morning seem darker than it should. An ominous sign. No doubt the Greybeards still harbor resentment toward me for abandoning my studies at its peak. But no amount of meditation would cool the fire in my veins, could never satisfy my need to protect my homeland, when the call to battle came so long ago. I often wonder how the world would be had I remained a disciple of The Way of the Voice.

Another jolt. Poorly maintained roads. No doubt a result of Jarl Siddgeir diverting funds to the Empire, against me. A groan draws my attention in close to my fellow cart mates - and prisoners. Across from me, a man in rags. A thief by the look of him, and a coward. He's done naught but complain the last hour. Next to him sits a man in my own colors. Ralof, if I remember correctly. Yes... A passionate young man, though somewhat unremarkable. I want to speak, reassure him. But the cloth in my mouth prevents me from doing anything but breathe, and even that takes effort. Beside me is another man in rags. Unlike the thief, though, he has an aura of culture about him. Beneath the recent bruising and dirt, his face is angular, his hair groomed; even after being tossed unconscious into the cart with us. In the wrong place at the wrong time, and now the Empire will surely punish him for it. Bastards.

The three have been bickering while I mused. I hadn't noticed until Ralof mentioned my name, startling the others. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion!" I'm not sure to be flattered or insulted that the thief didn't recognize my face. Panic enters the man's voice as he realizes the severity of his situation; I doubt he will make it anywhere near the headsman's block. "But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

Ralof's words echo my thoughts. "I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits."

I lose interest as the soldier begins comforting the distraught thief. The other prisoner - a Breton by the name of Talao, I learn as Ralof asks - is handling the situation far better than I would have assumed, though he keeps glancing at me questioningly. Though something about his quiet confidence interests me, I ignore him in favor of watching the road ahead. All too soon, I see our destination. Helgen. Of course; there's an Imperial bastion here. I can hear the sounds of a bustling town slowly waning as our procession enters. Imperial archers line the walls, obviously dying to loose their arrows into any foolish enough to take off.

"Look at him," I hear Ralof spit, "General Tullius, the military governor." The military fop; he interests me not. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves." Though his words are heated, they turn the blood in my veins to ice. I turn, and sure enough, next to Tullius sits an Altmer in pitch black clothes. Elenwen, of all people.

Shor save us. What is that Thalmor bitch doing here?... Her presence can't possibly be coincidence. Have the Thalmor finally decided to clean up loose ends? Is she here to ensure my death, or are her machinations more devious? Through it all, I refuse to back down from her damned condescending sneer. I return her smug stare with venom. You don't own me, elf. You never have.

Finally, the carts come to a stop. The horse thief is hyperventilating now, and rambling in terror. I honestly want to punt the coward out of the cart, but it's beneath my dignity. My men look to me for composure. I must be above such pettiness. I notice the other prisoner tumble out of the cart with a cry of pain after me. I notice, as Ralof helps him up, that his leg seems oddly twisted, as if deformed. An old wound, then. Still, there is no time to reflect as the Imperials have already begun to open their lists. The names of every known dissident of the Empire are written on those lists. Surprisingly, I find the Imperial standing in front of me, condemning my soldiers, is a fellow Nord. Another traitor to his people. It disgusts me that one could renounce their ideals so freely, for mere politics.

"Ulfric Stormcloak!"

First to go, then. I shrug off the Imperial hand upon my shoulder, as he leads me away from my compatriots. Ralof calls to me, but I can barely hear him over the blood rushing through my ears as I survey the scene. The headsman stands before us, his axe well-sharpened and gleaming, the chopping block lying at the ready. I should have known better; as if the Empire would bother with a trial. Seems they've given up even the pretense of justice now. All the better. If nothing else, more and more people will soon realize the justness of our cause and fly to our banner as the Empire slowly destroys everything it stands for. Even if the leader of that banner is not myself.

A scuffle reaches my ears behind me, and glance to see the horse thief burst through the line of Imperials. His flight is short-lived, though, and he nearly instantly drops to the ground in a flurry of limbs, numerous arrows buried in his back. I knew he'd never make it to the block. A coward to the end. To Oblivion with him; I've my own date to keep.

By the time all the names had been read, a sizable crowd had formed around the yard, clearly anticipating a spectacle. Nary a friendly face to be found. Tullius walks into the yard, and faces me directly. The esteemed general had obviously been dying to make a speech. "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."

A pitiful start. And false on several counts. A retort passes my tongue, but no further, as the gag restrains me. The coward refuses me any last words as he rambles on, addressing the crowd as much as myself, clearly wanting to make some kind of example of the situation. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!" The crowd murmurs in assent, my Stormcloaks in disgust. Personally, I find the man's little speech dull beyond compare. He has no sense of eloquence, his words sounding rehearsed and flat. Even at half his age - perhaps even a third, given his graying hair - I could captivate a crowd with a few sentences, drive them into the heights of passion. I understand the souls of my fellow men, and how to inspire them.

Suddenly, a shriek pierces the mid-morning air. Everyone stirs uneasily, and I admit somewhere in the back of my mind, a twinge of primal fear appears. But it is gone as quickly as it came, and I dismiss the noise; the howl of the wind carving through the mountain pass, perhaps. The crowd swiftly settled as well; a Priestess of Arkay stepped forward to deliver our last rites. More Imperial custom than Nord, but decent of them. Or at least, it would be if their priests did not bow the whims of the Elves.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon..."

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

The Priestess sounds surprised and affronted as Bjarke - whose heart burns with a passion so great, I sometimes think it burned out his mind - interrupts her and steps fearlessly toward the headsman. I don't know why she reacted as such; one should expect vitriol when you slight a man's god, even a "heretic's." My heart fills with pride as Baldor taunts the Imperials even as they force him down upon the block. Such bravery. Bravery all my Stormcloaks possess. To die for their beliefs, fighting an unjust Empire, whether by sword or axe.

I don't look away or flinch as the axe finishes its deadly arc. I have seen far worse in my life than a body and head separated from each other. The crowd cries out as the body is unceremoniously shoved aside.

"Justice!"

"You Imperial bastards!"

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

I lock eyes with Tullius as the captain calls out, "Next, the Breton!" Of course. He wants me to go last. To watch as my men lay down their lives, knowing that I will share their fate. I would feel guilt for their deaths, but for the fact that they are not here following my banner; they are here because they followed their ideals.

Another shriek cuts through the air. Much louder than before. And much, much closer. My blood chills. There is no mistaking it for the wind this time. That howl was undeniably the call of an apex predator. Some creature that sits atop the pecking order, and knows it. But what? I've never heard anything like it in my life, though I feel an ancient part of me quail in fear before it. The crowd is visibly agitated now, but the Imperials push on. The Breton is walked to the block. Remarkably, he seems almost uninterested in his impending death, gazing around, as if curious about the sound. In my mind, I honor him. I remember Ralof's earlier words: A Nord's last thoughts should be of home. And so my own thoughts turn to Windhelm. The majesty of the Palace of Kings, where I spent my childhood, and it's storied history. The strength of its walls and its peoples, with whom I strove to make our world a better place.

As the Breton is brought painfully to his knees... I am not a man given to excessive prayer. I have always preferred to proclaim my faith through the truth of actions than through words that have no substance behind them. And yet for this man, whether fearless or foolhardy, I find myself speaking within me. Mighty Talos. I have sought in my life to honour you through battle and glory. I have fought to save your divine name from enemies who would have you struck from the annals of history, and defile all that for which you stand. Should this be my time to die, I embrace it willingly, knowing I have striven my best to achieve my goals, and knowing others will take up your banner in my absence. But I implore you; spare this innocent life before me, whose only guilt lies in poor fortune. He does not deserve to die a meaningless death by the treachery of this false Empire.

So engrossed am I, it is not until someone forces me to the ground that I notice anything wrong. The ground shakes beneath me, and all of Helgen is in an uproar. I look up and freeze from disbelief. Shock and awe bind my feet, but for a moment. Has Talos answered my prayer? Is this a blessing I have brought upon us, or a curse? Someone unties my hands, and I rip the gag from my mouth. I run from the great black beast without a second thought. I never understood the phrase "Discretion is the better part of valor" better than I have this very moment.

"DRAGON!"

Chapter 2 - Ralof I: Unbound