Unbound - Part 2

Well, here's the next part of my Skyrim fanfic. I am really enjoying doing this just for the fun of it. I kind of drifted from what actually happened in the game because most of it was just gore.

I hope you enjoy!

An earth-shaking roar makes my heart leap into my throat. Wind whips past my face. My neck still across the block, I look up. Something swoops past. The shadow of the tower looms above me.

“What in Oblivion is that?!” General Tulius cries.

The headsman's ax is raised to strike, dark eyes meeting mine from beneath the black mask. His arms are tensed for the blow.

Suddenly, a huge, scaled creature lands on the tower above us, making the ground rumble. The headsman falters, looking back and gaping. The serpentine creature's huge wings fall down over the tower, gripping the sides. Bits of stone give away beneath its claws. From beneath the rows and rows of sharp, silver scales, two red orbs pierce into the company. Above that are two horns bending back toward its long spine. I hear the sounds of weaponry sliding from its casing. Shouts and screams all around.

A woman shrieks, “Dragon!”

Hadvar stands in front of the block, sword at the ready. “Archers!” he bellows.

Then the dragon opens its mouth, issuing a sound like thunder. A quick wave of light blasts toward us. The impact knocks me back. My face smashes into the ground. Someone steps on me. Moss and cobblestones flash in front of my eyes. Shouts. Screams. Black spots speckle my vision. I hear another roar and a crash like an avalanche from the mountains.

Gulping air, I heave to my knees. Blood runs down one arm from a nasty scrape.

Pandemonium. The tower is a flaming heap of rock across the road toward the gate. People run here and there. Imperials rally on one side of the fort, shooting at the black shadow flitting across the sky.

A rough hand closes around my arm, “Hey, kinsman! Get up! The gods won't give us another chance!”

I look up at Ralof's dirty face. His bindings have been cut. He looks strangely calm though he has to shout to be heard over the tumult. I nod, struggling to my feet.

“This way!” he dashes toward a tower opposite the one that had collapsed. The heavy wooden door is open. The dragon swoops above, blasting a house to the right into a pile of ash.

The moment we enter the tower, the door is slammed shut behind us. I gasp for air. A thick scent of blood chokes me. Several Stormcloaks lie on the floor, clutching bloody wounds, some crying out loudly and others lying still. Ulfric stands nearby, watching several people try to get the wounded on their feet.

“Jarl Ulfric!” Ralof pants. “What is that thing?! Could the legends be true?!”

Ulfric's voice rumbles deep in his throat, “Legends don't burn down villages.” Then he orders, “We need to move! Now!”

Ralof dashes up the circular staircase, calling back to me, “Up to the tower! Let's go!”

I hurry after him, my heart pounding inside my chest. “Where are we supposed to go?! There's no way out!”

We come to the landing. A second later, the wall bursts open. Ralof leaps back toward me, pressing himself against the wall to avoid the large chunks of flying rock. I see the dragon's huge head a moment before it sends a blast of fire through the hole. I duck down behind Ralof, heat filling the tower. The fire stops, leaving the rock charred and blackened.

Ralof peers around the corner, then hurries to the hole and looks out. Most of Helgen is visible from here, the houses aflame, rocks flung about, people crouching in corners like rats hiding from the light.

Ralof points, “See the inn on the other side?!”

I look down. The inn is only partially aflame, most of the roof fallen in. It lies several feet below. “Yeah!”

“Jump through the roof and keep going!”

Without hesitation I leap from the hole. For a long moment, I am suspended in the air, my surroundings rushing past. Then my feet slam into the floor, and I topple over, unable to catch myself with my wrists bound. Heat presses in on every side. I scramble to my feet and hurry over to a hole in the floor. Then I drop through and emerge back in the street, on the other side of the fallen tower.

“Haming! You need to get over here! Now!” I see Hadvar crouching near the wall of a house.

A boy stands in the road, backing away from a fallen form. To my horror, the enormous form of the dragon looms on the street close behind the form, watching. I remember the boy that had been told to wait inside by his father – this must be him.

“That's it, little cub,” the fallen man rasps as the boy inches back. “Make me proud.”

The dragon opens its mouth.

“Gods, everyone get back!” he grabs the boy and pulls him behind the house as the dragon sends a blast of fire toward him. I throw myself down next to them, the flame singeing my clothing. The fallen man is engulfed. “Torolf!” Hadvar shouts.

I cover my mouth, letting out a choked yelp. Memories of my father flash before my eyes.

The dragon spreads its wings and swoops back into the sky, still circling the fort.

Hadvar looks back at me, one side of his face bloody. A stricken look is frozen on his expression. “Still alive, prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to say that way.” He looks back at an Imperial standing near the sobbing boy, “Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tulius and join the defense.” Then he runs out across the cobblestones.

“Gods guide you, Hadvar,” the Imperial murmurs.

I run after him. Sounds and images flash before my eyes, blurred and confused. Burnt bodies strewn across the ground. Cries of pain. Arrows flying. Fire everywhere. We pass men shooting at the dragon as it flies by.

We are going by a wall when Hadvar ducks down, bellowing, “Stay close to the wall!”

I lunge against the wall just as the dragon lands on top of it. Its wings grip the stones above us. A house in front of us bursts into flames. It takes flight again.

Hadvar tosses words over his shoulder, weaving his way through the ruins of the fort, “Quickly! Follow me! It's you and me, prisoner!”

The gate that leads out of the fort is blocked by another fallen tower. We work our way past it, ducking to avoid falling wreckage and the cursing, screaming people. We are near the middle of the fort, passing under an arc of stone. Two small, stone buildings lie next to the wall. Ralof comes from another archway, standing in front of Hadvar with his sword drawn.

“Ralof, you damned traitor!” Hadvar's voice is thick with fury. “Out of my way!”

Ralof's eyes are narrowed and yet triumphant, “We're escaping, Hadvar! You're not stopping us this time!”

Hadvar snaps, “Fine! I hope the dragon takes all of you to Sovngarde!” He runs past.

Ralof gestures toward me, heading for a door in one of the stone buildings, “You! Come on! Into the keep!”

I dash after him, waiting in an agony of impatience as he fumbles to open it. Dragon fire rushes toward us as we slam the door shut and bolt it.

Then there is only silence. I gasp for air, feeling the cold air chill my hot, sweaty body. After a moment, I look around at the small, circular room. Moss grows in cracks between the stones that make up the walls. The floor is muddy. A gate-like door lies on either side of the room. Next to a small table lies the still bodies of two Stormcloaks.

I shiver.

Ralof kneels down beside them, closing their eyes. His voice is soft, “We'll meet again in Sovngarde, brother.” After a long moment, he stands, wiping his eyes. He looks back at me, “Looks like we're the only ones that made it. That thing was a dragon! Just like the children's tales and legends! The harbingers of the End times.”

“I thought...” my voice quavers, “I thought that they were gone for good.”

“As did I.” He takes a deep breath as if to calm himself. “We had better get moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off.”

I offer my bound wrists. He cuts the rope with the blade of his sword.

“There you go,” he forces a weak smile and gestures to the fallen Stormcloaks. “You may as well take their gear. They won't be needing it anymore.”

I nod and kneel down beside them. They are both men; I take the armor from the smaller of the two. The chain-mail falls heavily across my shoulders, reaching past my knees and elbows. After pulling on the blue cotton tunic, I strap the leather vest over it.

Ralof walks over to the door on the right, “I'm going to see if there's another way out of here.” He tries the door, but it is locked.

I pick up an iron sword. The rough grip feels so familiar, so comforting.

Shouts echo through the place, coming toward the room from the left door. “Someone's coming!” I look at Ralof.

Ralof hisses, ducking next to the door, “It's the Imperials. Take cover.”

I press myself against the wall on the other side, holding the sword at the ready and listening.

Anger boils inside me as I hear the sharp voice of the Imperial Captain ordering, “Come on! Get this gate open!”

The gate slides open. Ralof strikes down the first Imperial that comes through.

The Captain shouts, “Stormcloaks! Don't let them get away!”

I lunge forward away from the wall so that I will have room. The Captain charges past Ralof – who is locked into battle with another Imperial – and swings her sword at me. I block the blow with my sword, the impact jarring my arm. I have trained with weaponry all my life, but then, I bet she has too. And she has a shield.

She holds her shield at the ready, dark eyes narrowed.

I feint toward the left, then swing the sword toward the weak spot in her armor, above the hip and under her arm. She knocks my sword away from her, counter attacking with her own. I duck under the blow. My hand locks around her wrist, jerking her to the side and stabbing my sword into her back beneath the armor. She cries out, then falls limp to the floor in a pool of her own blood.

I shudder, looking away.

Ralof slides his sword into its sheath, searching the pockets of the Imperials. “Maybe one of these Imperials had the key.”

As he searches, I pull the shield from the Captain's slack arm and strap it to my own. “Find anything?” I ask.

“Aha, here it is,” he pulls the key out and walks over to the other door, unlocking it. “Come on.”

We weave our way through the dark place, groping. The occasional crack in the ceiling sheds a cold ray of light. After a while, we find a few torches, and Ralof lights one. The orange light casts on eerie glow over the stone walls. A musty smell chokes me as we go farther and farther. Except the occasional shelf next to the wall or crumpled bedroll in adjoining rooms, the place is completely bare.

The place suddenly begins to rumble, bits of rock raining down on us. All at once, the ceiling behind us collapses. We dive out of the way. Dust makes it difficult to breathe.

Ralof chokes between bouts of coughing, “No going back that way now. We better push on. The rest of them will have to find another way out.”

“Right,” I choke.

The minutes drag past like eternities.

Then I hear the sounds of fighting up ahead. After a moment, the sounds fade into silence. As we round the corner, Ralof shudders, “Trolls blood! The torture room...”

But the torturer lies dead, a cowl covering his face. Several Stormcloaks are searching the empty cells.

Ralof asks, “Is Jarl Ulfric with you?”

A woman with her hair pulled back in the remnants of a braid replies, “No. I haven't seen him since the dragon showed up. But we came in through there,” she points to another door.

Ralof begins stuffing supplies into his pockets.

After a quick search, I find a small bag of gold and tie it to my belt. A bow and quiver lie near one wall, probably taken from an unlucky prisoner. I take those and strap them to my back.

I hear a groan and turn. Ralof crouches down next to a man – he leans against the wall, his wiry body tensed. There is an awful cut on his leg and several spots on side where he was obviously burned. His olive skin is smudged with dirt, his angular face scrunched. He must be a Nord, but his face seems a little too elvish. Ragged black hair hangs into his face, a braid, longer than the rest, falling to his shoulder.

“He needs treatment,” the woman looks at Ralof. “We are going to stay here to see if anyone else makes it through. Take him with you.”

Ralof nods slowly, “Shayn, are you able to walk?”

A smirk twists his lips. He's younger than most of the men I've seen today, probably only a few years older than me. “Ever since I was knee high to a Skeever,” his voice is strained.

Ralof chuckles, pulling him to his feet, “Come on, then.”

Shayn winces, leaning against him heavily.

Ralof looks back at me, “We'd better move on. We've got to get out before the dragon brings the whole place down on our heads.”

I nod, and we make our way down the hall. There are empty cells on either side. After a few minutes we come to a dead end. Ralof holds out the torch in front of him. There is a hole in the ceiling, large enough to crawl through.

“Let's see where this leads,” Ralof hands Shayn the torch. Then he jumps up, grabbing on and heaving himself up. Shayn leans against the wall, holding up the torch. His face is pallid; sweat beads on his forehead.

He looks at me, his gray eyes somehow playful, “You're not one of us, are you?”

I shake my head.

“Come on,” Ralof calls down. “This might be a way out.”

He reaches a hand down. I take the torch from Shayn, and he grips my shoulder as he limps over to the hole. Ralof pulls him up, then me. The torch reveals a narrow pathway. We follow it, our breathing loud in the heavy silence.

Voices come from up ahead. Ralof and Shayn exchange glances and we make our way forward cautiously. The narrow path broadens into a huge cavern with stalactites pointing down toward the floor. Glowing mushrooms grow on the walls. Ralof snuffs out the torch. In the middle of the cavern stands a large group of Imperials, many of them lying down, obviously wounded. Their voices are hushed, but the echo carries their words to us.

“Our orders were to wait until General Tulius arrives.”

“For Arkay's sake, we need to leave! That dragon could bring this whole place down.”

Ralof leans over, his lips near my ear, “We'd better sneak around. I'd really rather not tangle with them right now. Keep your bow ready. We'll take it nice and slow.”

I nod, making my way forward, crouched down next to the wall. As I go, I take the bow off my back and nock an arrow to it. I've always had more ability with a bow than other weapons. Fallen boulders and stalactites help to conceal us. Ralof supports Shayn, walking behind me. My heart pounds in my throat. Every time an Imperial turns in our direction I expect him to shout and draw his sword. Sweat trickles down my face. We are nearing the other end of the cavern when one man looks straight at me, standing nearby.

Hadvar.

I draw back the bowstring, aiming the arrow at his chest. Can't breathe.

He doesn't make a sound, staring at me.

Our eyes lock in one meaningful look, then he turns away, saying nothing.

I let the string go loose without releasing the arrow, continuing on. Adrenaline makes my limbs shake. He's not going to say anything. Once we reach the other end, we slip through the passage, unseen.

Ralof hisses, “What was that?”

I shrug.

The stone path begins to slope upward beneath us, the walls pressing close on every side. I grope my way forward, unable to see anything in the blackness. My breaths become labored.

Then I see a light up ahead.

“There!” Ralof points. “We're almost there!”

Our pace quickens, and, what seems like seconds later, we emerge into the sunlight. Helgen is nowhere in sight.