Chapter Text
So this is going to be her end. Knees inches deep in muddy soil, cheek pressed to a sodden tree stump and eyes facing Skyrim's cold, blue sky. Funny, it looks so much like her mother's eyes. She can almost hear her voice, playfully pestering her after an alchemical experiment gone wrong.
The memory prompts a sting of homesickness in her chest. If she concentrates really hard, she can almost imagine being home in High Rock. Closing her eyes, she does her best to ignore the scent of copper and the slippery, warm, liquid beneath her head. She takes a deep breath through her nose.
Snowberries and mountain flowers. Metal and wet, salty earth.
''Nice and easy prisoner.'' - the sentence takes her out of the frail safe space she has created for herself. She squints through wet lashes and spots the headman getting ready to swing.
This is it, the Breton thinks, this the end. Panic rises in her throat, but she swallows it, it won't help her now. If she faces her end, she will face it with courage.
A roar. Loud and violent, like nothing she's ever heard before. Then, a black shape takes form beneath the headman. A giant shape- no, a monster with wings as big as a house and a head the size of a horse, flies towards the tower. It lands on top of it and she can see its chest glow.
The impact of its body makes the ground shake. The man in front of her topples over, his axe ready to split her skull, and she rolls away at the last second. The roaring pulsates in her ears and skull, her head pounds and her vision is shaky.
Then, fire. The beast takes deep breaths, chest glowing like embers, and spews hot, liquid flames over the opening. The headman who tried to end her life a few seconds ago is hit in the back. In mere seconds, he's engulfed in flames. She looks at his face and sees his silent terror, watches him try to scream with burned vocal cords.
Death is everywhere. The fire spreads rapidly from building to building, spitting hot ash on the citizens below. Parents scream after their children, the imperial generals yell for their archers and in the sky, above it all is the giant black monster roaring.
''Hey you! Breton!'', the blonde Stormcloak from the cart earlier yells at her, ''Come on, get up!'' He grabs her arm and hoists her onto her feet. He has blood smeared over his armor and face, and one side of his tunic is slightly charred.
''This way!'', he screams and pulls her with him. Together they make their way to another tower of the keep, though it is hard to determine which with ash falling from the sky and the village in flames. The blonde pulls her through the door before slamming it shut and turning around.
They are not the only ones who used this tower as a refuge. Two injured Stormcloaks are huddled on top of some sleeping rolls, while another tall man stands above. Jarl Ulfric from Windhelm, if she remembers correctly.
''Jarl Ulfric!'' her blonde companion walks up to him, ''What in Oblivion is that thing? Could the legends be true?" The panic in his voice is eminent.
The other man, Ulfric, seems to be entirely unfaced by this whole ordeal. ''Legends don't burn down villages." he replies with a low, calm voice. Even earlier on the cart, he had exuded a sense of calmness and authority, despite being gagged. Now, he had gotten rid of his binds, and his voice cuts through the room like a knife, ''We need to move, now!'' The last sentence was an order barked to the two injured soldiers in the room. The blonde soldier quickly helps his comrades stand up, and she tries to help, well, as best as she can with her hands still bound.
She is about to ask one of them to cut her loose, but Jarl Ulfric interrupts her, ''Up through the tower!", he barks, ''Let's go!''
They sprint up the stone steps, supporting the injured soldiers as they go. One of them gathers all the strength he has left and presses forward. Without warning, the stone wall next to him combusts in a fiery explosion. A cobblestone the size of his head smashes his breastplate in, which is the last thing she sees before his body is buried beneath tons and tons of hot stone. She tumbles a few steps backwards, nearly falls before she catches her balance and presses her back to the wall. Not a second too late. The black dragon spits a burst of flames though the hole in the wall. She feels the unbearably hot air on her face and screams, turning her face away and against the wall. Then, the monster leaves again, ready to look for other victims.
Carefully, her and her blond companion ascend the few steps until they reach the man-sized hole in the tower. He throws a grim look her way. ''I fear there's no other way.'', his expression hardens, ''See the inn over there? You need to jump on the roof and keep going.''
Fear rises in her throat. The roof is surely 10 feet away from the hole, and the hole in the tower is much higher than the inn's roof. There's no guarantee she'll survive a jump from this height, especially with her hands tied. Her companion seems to sense her fear and gently lays a hand on her shoulder,
''I'll join you down there as soon as I get Ulfric and me out of here. You can do this, Breton.''. So, she takes all the courage she has left and jumps.
The fall feels like it lasts a lifetime, even though it can't be longer than a few seconds. The impact punches the air from her lungs. She can hear something crack and an intense, hot pain runs from her ankle up to her knee. Screaming, she topples over and barely manages to catch herself on her bound hands.
The pain in her leg is so intense, her vision is swimming and vibrating around her as she turns on her back. To her surprise, there's no bone sticking out. A piece of wood has lodged itself in her thigh, and if the purplish bruises are any indication, she seems to have sprained her ankle.
The roaring above and the shaking ground beneath her remind her of her dire situation. Quickly she starts robbing forward, pulling her injured leg after her, until she reaches a hole in the floor. Somehow, she manages to drop through the hole without damaging her leg further (and without falling to the ground, again). After slipping through an opening in the wall, she finds herself in the middle of the village.
In front of her is the Imperial soldier who tried to stop her assassination, aiding the townsfolk and screaming orders at the Imperial archers.
''Still alive? Good.'', he yells at her and gestures with his hand, ''Stick close if you want to keep that way. Follow me, I need to join the defense.''
She isn't sure if it is even possible to defend a village from a beast like this. Nonetheless, she stays quiet and limps after him.
They make their way through the village and towards the keep, all while the dragon still terrorizes from above.
Her leg hurts. Running feels like torture, and she knows she's still losing blood.
The brunette Imperial suddenly stops in front of her, and she peeks past him. The blonde Stormcloak is in front of him, though without Jarl Ulfric. She catches herself wondering if he died during the attack.
The imperial interrupts her thoughts, ''Ralof, you damned traitor. Get out of my way!'' he seethes and unsheathes his sword. The Stormcloak, Ralof, yells back ''We're escaping Hadvar. You can't stop us! Come with me, prisoner!''
Suddenly both men stare at her. She could stay with Hadvar, who seemed to know the area and its people well. Then she remembers her execution and makes her decision. With clenched teeth, she limps over to Ralof and Hadvar grunts, ''Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!''
The first thing she notices once inside the keep is the quiet. Her ears are still rumbling from all the noise outside.
Ralof walks towards a corpse clad in Stormcloak armor. Kneeling down, he whispers a few words to him.
She uses the time to inspect the wound on her thigh. The piece of wood is still stuck in there, and it would be unwise to remove it now. If she only had her alchemy kit. But the Imperials took her belongings as they caught her crossing the borders and by now, they were probably burned to a crisp.
''That thing was a dragon. No doubt.'', Ralof sounds exhausted, ''Just like the childhood stories my mother used to tell me.''
She answers with an apologetic look. Her mother never talked of dragons, but she's sure, if any monster would fit the description she knows, it'd be the giant thing outside the keep.
''We better get going. Come here, I'll get those bindings off.'', he cuts through the bindings with a dagger, ''I'm Ralof by the way. From Riverwood.''
''I'm Vivienne,'' she answers, glad to finally have her hands freed, ''from Evermore.''
''Evermore? In High Rock?'', Ralof turns to rummage through his dead comrade's pockets, ''You're a long way from home.''
She shrugs and rips a piece of fabric off her trousers to wrap it around her thigh, ''I was on my way to the College in Winterhold when I got caught.''
''Ah, a mage then.'', Ralof answers, and she can hear a sense of apprehension in his voice. She's used to that, especially from Nords, so she ignores it.
''You can take his things,'', he gestures to the corpse, ''he won't be needing them any longer, and I think you could use something else to wear.
He turns around while she dresses, and she's thankful for it. The Stormcloak attire is way too big for her, it's so long it could count as a dress. The breeches are even larger, and Vivienne has to wrap the belt around her hips twice before they stop slipping. The boots are way too big as well, and she stuffs her linen trousers in one of them to support her sprained ankle. What she would do for a simple healing potion right now.
After she's done dressing, she takes the Iron Axe out of the corpses hand. Divines, she is horrible with blunt weapons, but she can't afford to be picky in times like these.
After she's done, her and Ralof start looking for a way out of the keep. The only door that they can open from their side is locked and Ralof tries his best at picking the lock when all of the sudden voices start to get closer and the flickering light of torches illuminates the hallway next to them.
''Imperials!'', Ralof hisses and unsheathes his sword, ''Get ready for a fight!''
Vivienne gulps. She's not a warrior. She's a mage, an alchemist sometimes but the only living beings she had killed before were wolves and the occasional mudcrab down at Iliac Bay. Not humans. There's no time for her ethical dilemma, she realizes and lifts her axe. Seconds later a squad of three soldiers open a gate across of them and then there's chaos.
Two of them immediately target Ralof, who promptly fights back while another soldiers runs towards her with a drawn sword in hand. Vivienne lifts her axe and parries his first hit. There's so much force behind his sword that she feels the impact in her clenched teeth. The soldier doesn't give up easily. Hits crackle down on her and her vision blurs.
Later, after she already escaped, she finds she can not recall what precisely happened after that. She remembers the yells in the air, the smell of metal and copper, the sound of swords clashing, but no memory of her actions. The first thing she sees again is Ralof, impaling the soldier in front of her, and the other two corpses littered around him.
They fight their way through the keep. Well. Ralof fights his way through the keep. Vivienne tries her best to stay out of harm's way and not get hit. As they reach the kitchens, she finds a healing potion which she downs in one go. Immediately, the pain in her leg lessens.
Usually she'd be careful with the effects of a healing potion used on wounds like these. Especially minor potions could do more harm than good. The tissue had to be mended correctly and small potions like these were not made for that. Today, it didn't matter.
After fighting an Imperial torturer (Vivienne relieves him of his magicka potions, it's not like he needs them anymore), they meet more Stormcloak soldiers and together they make their way through the basement.
Vivienne tries to stay away from the fighting as much as possible. Nonetheless, as one of the Imperial archers falls, she takes his bow and arrows. Finally a weapon she might be able to use, and if only to fight off a wolf.
A shaft breaks down behind them as her and Ralof make their way through the caves below the basement and they're alone again. The only enemies they find after that are a few spiders and a bear, and this time Vivienne helps by using her bow from a distance. After that, they sprint through the remaining caves beneath Helgen Keep and then they're outside.
Vivienne can't remember a time where she was happier about seeing the sun than right now. It's cold, of course it is, but the air is fresh and she is alive, and that's what counts. She laughs, spinning in a circle and relishing in the feeling of fresh air on her face. It feels like cold water on her sweaty and dirty skin.
Then, a roar. Both of them panic, scrambling close to the rocks to hide from the monster. Vivienne tries to calm her breathing and sends a silent prayer to Mara.
The black-winged beast circles above them once, twice, before he flaps his wings and flies away. His silhouette grows smaller and smaller on the horizon.
Vivienne relaxes against the stone wall and closes her eyes. She's never been this tired before. When did she last sleep? On the carriage last, she guesses. That was this morning, now it's early evening, so it hasn't even been that long. Still, she's bone tired. And sleeping on a carriage does not really result in calm rest either.
''I think he's gone for good'', Ralof sighs and she opens her eyes again. He's still looking at the horizon, trying to make out a black shape. But there is nothing. The dragon is gone.
''No way to know if anybody else made it out alive. But this place will be swarming with Imperials soon. We should leave.''
Right, her execution. She's sure it was a mishap, that the Imperials took her for a Stormcloak and that's why she was imprisoned. Still, there's no guarantee they won't kill her now to keep her quiet.
So she nods and stands up, ''Thank you for your help, Ralof. I would be dead if it weren't for you.''
The Nord smiles at her and squeezes her shoulder, ''The same goes for you, my friend.", then he turns away, ''I think it's best if we split up for now. Imperials will likely think I turned you into a Stormcloak."
He has to supress a chuckle, "If you turn west, you might make it to Falkreath before it gets dark.''
Ralof looks at her, ''If you ever need anything, my sister runs the mill in Riverwood. She'd gladly help you out. Good luck.''
They share a last look and then Ralof jogs away and Vivienne is alone.
Skyrim is cold. She has known that before she left High Rock, of course, but to feel it in person was something else entirely.
She's unsure what she should do now. Her plan was to cross the border close to Markath and then head to Winterhold to enter the college. But then the Imperials caught her and she was arrested.
She probably spent three weeks on that damned cart. Not for the first time she wishes she was back on her mother's farm just outside of Evermore.
Vivienne keeps pushing forward, walking west until the cold, snowy forest ground turns into a cobblestone road.
What would her mother say to her now? Vivienne knows it was difficult for her to let her go. She's the only child now and her mother is all alone in that big farm with nobody but the occasional farmhand helping her out.
She's probably worried sick.
Vivienne sighs and nearly trips over a rock on the road. Are her eyes always this heavy? The sun sets behind the forest and still, no Falkreath in sight. Vivienne begins to wonder if Ralof lied to her, if he sent her in the wrong direction.
The forest grows darker and only the stars in the sky keep her company. Vivienne is freezing. Her hands feel like solid stone, and her leg throbs in the harsh cold. Blood drips out of the makeshift-bandage and runs down her calf.
Then, light in front of her. Just a glimpse of yellowish flickering. A torch perhaps?
Vivienne gathers all of the strength she has left and hurries forward. Her eyes are fixed on the light, the torch flickering in the distance and she gets faster, faster, the road curves down and she's nearly there- a rock beneath her injured foot stops her and she topples over.
The last thing she hears are hurried footsteps before she plants into the ground and her vision turns black.