Agmund awoke shivering to the sound of hoof-beats and the creaking of a carriage. His head was throbbing; this mercenary was no stranger to hangovers, skooma withdrawals, and battle wounds…this one felt like the latter. He tried to raise his hand to rub the sore spot, where there would no doubt be a bruised lump, that is when he realized his hands were bound together. He looked confused at the rope on his wrists, trying to piece together what he could of the night before.
“Ah, you’re finally awake.” A thickly accented Nord called out. Agmund shifted his head lifting it to meet the voice. A burly fair haired man looked back at him, his tired blue eyes smiling. “You were at Darkwater Crossing, walked right into that Imperial ambush…same as us, and that thief over there.” He said as if he could sense Agmund’s confusion. His words brought back fuzzy memories in Agmund’s mind. He had consumed quite a bit of mead to help take off the edge of the side-effects of having no skooma in his blood but that wasn’t quite the source of his splitting headache. In his foggy recollection Agmund remembered the small mining camp overrun by horses and shouting men as sounds of battle rang out into the night. His memory ended when an Imperial soldier knocked him over the head with a mace from atop a horse.
“That’s right, I stole a horse and would have been halfway to Hammerfell if it wasn’t for you damned rebels!” the spindly, nervous looking man exclaimed, addressing the blonde one. The thief turned his head to meet Agmund’s gaze. “You there, we shouldn’t be here, it’s these Stormcloaks the empire wants.” His gaze almost pleading, as if Agmund could do anything about their situation. “What’s wrong with him?” The thief asked as he scrunched his brow in curiosity at the man to Agmund’s right. Agmund followed his gaze to see a very regally dressed and gagged man. Something about this man made Agmund’s hair stand on end. Every seasoned combat veteran develops a well honed sixth sense that helps save their lives in battle, and Agmund’s was urging him to be on his gaurd. The man did not look anywhere but straight head, at the blonde man, his dark eyes trying to convey some sort of message…as if their owner knew something the rest of the carriage did not. Agmund was uneasy about that look.
“Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king of Skyrim!” The blonde man snapped at the thief, his face flush with anger and his bound hands clenching into fists. Agmund was taken aback. The Ulfric Stormcloak, the Bear of Windhelm, Jarl of Eastmarch in the flesh. No wonder he made Agmund nervous. After the Great War when the empire surrendered to the Aldmeri Dominion they signed the White Gold Concordat which banned the worship of Talos, mankind’s most revered god for he rose into his godhood. This sent a wave of uproar through Skyrim, where Talos was from, but no one was more enraged about this than Ulfric Stormcloak. Over the years, as an uprising stirred, Ulfric bided his time until he rallied all those who were angry with the empire under one banner and marched on Solitude. There he challenged High King Toryg to a fight to the death…rumor has it he used the ancient art of the Voice to shout Toryg to pieces. That’s when the empire intervened and the war broke out sending Skyrim into upheaval and bringing Agmund back to the motherland. There is no promise for gold to a sellsword like war.
“Shut up back there!” The Imperial soldier driving the carriage barked, his glare making it unmistakable that he was not afraid to beat his prisoners senseless. The rest of the ride passed in silence, with Agmund looking around to see if he could gain his bearings. Nothing. Just snow and pine tree’s over rocky and mountainous terrain. Much of Skyrim was like this, except the Rift, where he was from. Agmund hadn’t been home to Skyrim in nearly fifteen years so it was not likely he would recognize the terrain much anyway.
An hour passed in silence before the blonde man spoke out again as the stone walls of a town came into view, pulling Agmund from his introspection. “This is Helgen…I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making his mead with juniper berries.” He said as a dreamy look glossed over his eyes. The man let out a longing sigh as he looked over the stone “Funny…when I was a child Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.” The caravan crossed under the barricades into Helgen where just inside a man in gilded armor with a red cape sat atop a horse speaking to two black cloaked figures. As the caravan passed one of the figures looked over and Agmund could just barely make out the gold skin of an Altmer, a High Elf.
“General Tullius the military governor,” The blonde man spat out with obvious disdain in his voice, “And the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves! I bet they had a part in this.” He said turning to address his commander, Ulfric Stormcloak.
“B…but if the Thalmor are here…Gods where are they taking us!?” The thief said, his anxiety boiling up inside of him causing him to jitter and look around frantically for a way out.
The blonde man sighed “Hey, what village are you from horse thief?” He asked.
“What do you care!?” The thief snapped back like a cornered cat.
“A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.” The blonde one replied solemnly.
There was a long pause before the thief replied, “Rorikstead…I…I’m from Rorikstead.”
“What about you friend? Where are you from?” He asked Agmund.
“Riften.” Was all Agmund replied, but the very name conjured up images of hunting in the forest surrounding the city, playing near the Shadow Stone with the other children, beating them up when they would make comments about his mother’s occupation, the Honorhall Orphanage, burning the late night hours away with the Thieves’ Guild before joining the city guard. The very name brought images and memories of home to Agmund and he realized the truth in the blonde man’s words; A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.
The carriage rounded the corner and Agmund saw a group of people, citizens and Imperial soldiers alike gathered in front of a tower, all standing next to a monster of a man in a black executioner’s hood. “What’s going on papa?” A young boy’s voice sounded causing Agmund to turn his head to a nearby house. On its porch was the young boy and his father.
“Go inside little bear.” He said meeting Agmund’s gaze with a look of pity.
“But I want to watch the soldiers!” The child protested.
“Inside. Now.” His father said sternly, knowing what was to come. The boy reluctantly complied.
The caravan moved to the courtyard in front of the tower and creaked to a halt. “Why are we stopping?” The thief asked nervously. The blonde Stormcloak snorted his reply.
“Why do you think? End of the line.” He said as some soldiers came to the back of the cart motioning for them to unload. As the thief stood he started calling upon the divines in a panic fueled last resort prayer. The blonde man gave him a look of contempt, “Face your death with some courage thief.” He chided. The thief quieted but Agmund could see he was still unsettled.
They unloaded to meet an all-business looking Imperial woman clad in the heavy plate armor of an Imperial captain and a dark haired Nord in boiled Imperial leather, a list and quill in his hands. “Step forward towards the headsman’s block when your name is called.” He instructed them.
“Imperials love their damned lists.” The blonde Stormcloak muttered under his breath. The Imperial holding the list gave him a scornful look but ignored his comment and began reading off the list.
“Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.” He called out, scrapping his inked quill over the parchment as Ulfric stepped forward and began towards the block.
“It has been an honor Jarl Ulfric…” The blonde man said a sorrowful tone in his voice. Like someone saying goodbye to a dying friend or loved one.
“Ralof of Riverwood.” The blonde man, Ralof, stepped forward only looking at the Imperials long enough to spit at their feet and convey his hatred for them with a glare. “Lokir of Rorikstead.” The thief stepped forward and immediately pleaded his case.
“No, we’re not rebels! You can’t do this!” He screamed, causing such an uproar that two gaurds grabbed his arms to try and restrain him. Lokir shook himself free from their grasp and began running. “You’re not going to kill me!” he called dodging the attempts of several Imperial soldiers to subdue him.
“Halt!” the captain called out, when Lokir ignored she held up her hand, “Archers!” when she dropped her hand six archers let loose a volley of arrows, none of them missing their mark. The thief was dead before he hit the ground, arrows jutting from his back. “Anyone else feel like running?” the captain asked turning to the group of Stormcloak prisoners and Agmund letting her stern glare fall over each and every one of them.
Agmund looked at the Lokir’s dead body and then turned his attention to the list bearing soldier, narrowing his eyes. The soldier looked over the list again and again, his face twisting in confusion. “You there, who are you?” He asked his question directed at Agmund.
“Agmund of Riften.” Agmund replied saying his name proudly. He was no soldier, nor did he have a surname, but he was a proud Nord, and if he was to face his death he would not be shaken like a leaf in the autumn wind, like the thief was.
“Captain…what do I do? He’s not on the list.” He asked, turning to the Imperial captain. She looked Agmund over with disdain, crinkling her nose in disgust.
“Forget the list. He goes to the block.” She spat, the venom dripping from her words. The Nord soldier looked shocked but stayed his tongue and nodded.
“By your orders captain.” He said turning back towards Agmund and giving him a sympathetic look. “I’m sorry prisoner, but at least you’ll die here in your homeland. I will make sure your remains are returned to Riften.” He told Agmund, the sorrow heavy in his voice.
Agmund joined the group of Stormcloak prisoners in front of the headsman’s block. General Tullius had Ulfric brought to the center where he could address him. “Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero,” Tullius started. He was an old man, in his late fifties but still very spry. Countless military battles have instilled in him a fierce knowledge of war and a confidence that carried in his aquiline face. The way he walked made one aware that though he was old he still had deadly skill with the sword at his hip. “But a hero doesn’t use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne.” His voice growing louder as ever word was sent echoing off the walls of the courtyard. “You’ve started this war and plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!”
As he finished an odd noise rang out through the air causing everyone to look up, everyone except Ulfric.
Murmurs broke through the crowd and the soldier with the list asked “What was that?” Ulfric turned his attention to the black robed figures behind General Tullius, then brought his gaze to the general himself. His eyes lit up and his face twisted into what smile he could make with a gag tied in his mouth as if he knew the answer to that question. Ulfric let out a muffled grunt, a last spiteful challenge, and Tullius narrowed his eyes in rage at the Jarl but kept his composure, waiving at the captain to continue.
“It’s nothing, carry on!” He said. The captain gave word and the ceremony began as a priestess started the last rights.
“As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the eight divines upon thee…” She was cut off short though by a young red headed Stormcloak soldier who’s fiery personality was matched by only by the hue of his hair.
“Oh for the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with.” He said impatiently as he stalked towards the block starring at the headsman with unwavering stubbornness.
“As you wish.” The priestess said gritting her teeth. Whether it was from the soldier insolence, or from his blasphemy for invoking the former ninth divine’s name Agmund couldn’t tell.
"Come on! I haven't got all morning." The red headed soldier kneeled in front of the block and the captain put her boot to his back pushing his neck out over the wood. He turned his face upwards to see the executioner raise his axe. “My ancestor’s are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?” He asked with a sneer that stayed on his face even after the axe came down and severed his head.
“Justice!” One voice in the crowd rang out.
“Death to the Stormcloaks!” another shouted as the soldiers head rolled across the ground stopping as a pool of blood formed around it making his hair indistinguishable from the red liquid. To his right Agmund saw Ralof bow his head.
“As fearless in death as he was in life.” Ralof said softly.
“Next! The Nord in the Rags!” the captain called out. The noise flitted out through the air again, this time louder.
“There it is again.” The list bearing soldier said, his comment was met with a glare from the captain.
“I said next prisoner.” She growled, emphasizing each individual word.
“To the block prisoner, nice and easy.” The soldier said with a sad tone.
Agmund moved forward and knelt at the block, feeling the captain’s boot on his back pushing him forward. Agmund turned his gaze upwards to the executioner, the noise sounded again, this time it sounded much closer, and much like a roar. Agmund had hunted all manner of beasts from Skyrim to Elseweyr and never heard a call like this. He thought it strange that a man was standing over him lifting an axe overhead and all he could think about was what made that noise, and…what was that?
Between the mountains and the tower a black shape flittered in and out of sight in a split second. Whispers broke through the crowd, Agmund could hear the captain’s voice. “What is it!? Sentries, what do you see?!”
“It’s in the clouds!” a frantic call from atop the tower called. Agmund could see the imperial at the top of the tower his gaze turned upward and the black shape descending from the gray white clouds. “Dragon!” he called out as the beast landed, perched on top of the tower crushing the sentry and ending his alarm. Before anyone could react the black beast opened its maw and let out a roar that sounded vaguely like it was shouting something and a blast of energy knocked everyone to the ground. The dragon lifted its head to the sky and let out another roar as fire and brimstone rained from the clouds overhead, then, with a few mighty beats of its wings, it took to the air to avoid the incoming arrows.
A dazed Agmund awkwardly pushed himself up from the ground with bound hands. Looking around to try and discern exactly what just happened. Chaos had erupted in the few short seconds this dragon showed up. Imperial soldiers ran in every direction trying to usher citizens into safer places that weren’t out in the open under falling meteors that set everything they collided with ablaze, the result was the same as if they were to try herding cats. The ones who weren’t trying to save people, and those that weren’t dead, took up arms to try and fight the dragon, doing little more than providing amusement and fodder for the beast’s fiery breath and razor sharp teeth.
“Hey kinsman!” Ralof’s familiar voice sounded in Agmund’s ears over the the shouts, roars, and explosions, “Come on get up the God’s won’t give us another chance!” He shouted as he turned towards a nearby tower and began running for cover. Agmund looked up to see the flaming brimstone that was raining down and decided that Ralof had a very good idea. He ran as fast as he could dodging the falling meteors and ducking out of the way of the flaming rocks they sent flying through the air when they collided into the ground, diving through the door to the tower as Ralof slammed it shut. Just in time too, no sooner did he close the door did a meteor slam directly in front of the door pelting the reinforced wood with its flaming rock shrapnel. Agmund slowly brought himself back up to his feet to see both Ralof and Ulfric Stormcloak standing near the door both breathing heavily, Agmund noted that somehow they had cut their bindings as he looked enviously at their freed hands.
“Jarl Ulfric,” Ralof started, “what is that thing? Could the legends be true?” He asked between breaths, his voice had an astonished tone to it. Jarl Ulfric remained calm as he looked over his soldier.
“Legends don’t burn down villages.” The Jarl’s voice was surprisingly deep, and powerful. So much so that Agmund couldn’t tell if it was the assailing dragon that caused the rumble in the tower walls, or Ulfric’s words. A roar sounded overhead drawing everyone’s attention upward before Agmund could figure it out. “We need to move, now!” Ulfric shouted in the commanding voice of a born leader.
“Agmund, come on, up through the tower!” Ralof called. Agmund turned on his heels and began making his way up the winding tower steps with Ralof close behind. They rounded the spiraled stairway to the second floor where a Stormcloak soldier was working quickly to move pieces of the partially collapsed tower out of the way.
“If I can just get these rocks out of the way we can…” he stated frantically before he was cut off by a loud crash. The wall behind the soldier exploded inward, battering and covering him with hundred pound stone bricks, as the black dragon’s head smashed into it. The force of the dragon’s headbutt sent Agmund reeling backwards into Ralof, throwing both of them down the steps a bit. As if to add insult to injury on the no-doubt crushed Stormcloak the dragon loosed a torrent of flame searing the man’s body before flying away.
Agmund could feel the heat as if he were standing over a forge, and he was several yards away from the inferno making him feel a quick tinge of sorrow for the man, but a good fighter knows there’s no use grieving for the fallen at least not while there’s battle going on. He picked himself up and met Ralof at the top of the stairs, near the hole in the tower and the burning corpse, the smell of which made Agmund crinkle his nose.
Ralof extended his arm and pointed, “You see that inn on the other side?” he asked. Agmund followed his finger down to see a burning inn with a gaping hole in the roof. “Jump through the roof and keep going, we will catch up to you.” Ralof finished as Agmund looked on, stunned.
Agmund stared down at the blazing inn. He knew he only had one chance to make this jump, a fall from this height wouldn’t kill him, but it would definitely cripple him, and that is not something one wants to be when a dragon is about. Even if he did somehow escape the dragon’s notice there was the risk of landing wrong and breaking a leg in the inferno. There really was no other option though, and Agmund knew it. He gulped down his fears and insecurities, took a couple steps backward and vaulted the gap between the tower and the inn.
He sailed through the air wishing his hands weren’t still bound, making it through the gaping hole in the roof and landing, a bit awkwardly, on the second floor of the blazing inn. Agmund stood and crossed the room, the flames licking at him from off the walls and floor. On the opposite side the ceiling had caved in and Agmund followed it down and out of the inn, which promptly collapsed behind him.
He turned his head back forward from the agonizing, burning death that he narrowly avoided to see a group of people in front of him. One badly wounded man crawled slowly towards the others who were taking cover behind a fallen pillar.
“Papa!” the small boy from earlier screamed with tears in his eyes. An old man held the child back as the Imperial with the list called out for the wounded man to close the distance. Behind the crawling, bleeding man the black beast landed, shaking the ground and causing those who were standing to stumble.
“Torolf!” the Imperial soldier cried as the dragon inhaled. He realized there was no saving the man and dove behind cover with the other two before a jet of flame was released from the beast’s maw, cooking the wounded man alive. It wasn’t until the dragon flew away that they came out from behind cover and noticed Agmund. The soldier was the only one who addressed him. “You’re still alive prisoner? Good, keep close to me if you want to stay that way.” He turned back to face the old man and the boy, who was now in shock lying comatose in the old man’s arms. “Stay here with the boy.” He told the old man softly.
“God’s keep you, Hadvar.” He replied. Agmund followed the Imperial soldier crossing a blazing battlefield of collapsing structures before his companion, Hadvar, shouted at him.
“He’s coming! Stay close to the wall!” he said as he jumped towards a nearby wall. Agmund followed suit and the dragon landed atop the wall, a spine from its wing stabbing the ground between his legs. He looked up to see the dragon’s serpentine head twist and sway as an Imperial archer in the alleyway in front of it fettered the beast with arrows. The dragon retaliated by releasing its fiery breath, charring the soldier to ash and then departing. Agmund followed Hadvar through the newly cleared pathway, winding through a burning collapsed house.
On the other side a group of Imperial soldiers fought valiantly against the beast, shooting arrows at it. The priestess threw volleys of fireballs at the dragon who deftly whirled and swirled in the air dodging all the projectiles. The beast let out a guttural growling laugh as it spoke something in its draconic language. General Tullius gritted his teeth in frustration, that’s when he saw the pair approach.
“Hadvar! Get into the keep soldier!” He ordered as the dragon circled about overhead trying to find the best route to attack the group.
“Yes, sir!” Hadvar called out. He turned and ran under an archway towards a large stone fort. “This way!” he called out to Agmund, who didn’t plan on sticking around in that area anyway. Agmund too crossed under the archway into the courtyard when Ralof’s familiar face came into view. “Ralof you damned traitor!” Hadvar yelled, as the two came to a stop in front of eachother. Ralof had somehow found a war axe and time seemed to stop as the two stared eachother down with their weapons drawn and at the ready. “Out of my way!” he barked.
“We’re escaping Hadvar, and you’re not stopping us this time.” Ralof replied. Hadvar glanced back and forth between Ralof and Agmund before he glowered at the both of them.
“Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Savngarde!” he cried out before leaving Ralof and Agmund behind. Agmund wasted no time in following Ralof who continued running forward and into the door of the keep.
