Unbound

His hands were bound in front of him. Among him stood men and women cloaked in blue and tan - the colors of Ulfric Stormcloak's army. The lot of them had been transported here in the back of wooden carriages, surrounded by soldiers of the Imperial Legion. He was innocent in all this, but they didn't believe him and had no reason to. He was an immigrant from Cyrodiil, and so his name held no weight or credibility here in Skyrim. For all they knew, he was an undercover Stormcloak trying to evade capture.

Only a few feet away from him stood the man himself - Ulfric Stormcloak. He didn't know it yet, but Ulfric was responsible for the death of Torygg, the High King of Skyrim. Ulfric's hands were bound as well, but there was a handkerchief covering his mouth as well, preventing him from speaking.

A man with greyed hair dressed in fancier armor than the rest began to speak - it was General Tullius.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he began. "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 low grumble sounded through the cloth covering Ulfric's mouth, but the General continued with his speech. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!"

In the distance, a mysterious roar was heard echoing through the mountains.

"What was that?" questioned an Imperial soldier standing nearby.

"It's nothing. Carry on," ordered the General, crossing over to the executioner.

The first Stormcloak in line to be executed was ushered to the chopping block and forced to his knees. He made some remark as he was pushed down, and a Priestess stood nearby, ready to perform her duty. "As we commend your soul to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you!"

"Oh for the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," growled the nameless Stormcloak, his head turned defiantly to the General.

The boy watched with an uncomfortable knot in his stomach as a large blade cut through the flesh and bone of the man's neck, his severed head now covered in a pool of his blood. Flies were gathering around, feasting on the dripping red meat. He was sure he was going to be sick, especially when he heard Legate Rikke ordering him to approach the chopping block next.

"Next, the Nord in the rags!"

This was it. He had only just gotten to Skyrim, and now he was going to die a nameless death. He had uneasily accepted this ever since he'd gotten off the wagon, but now the moment was here and coming much too fast.

One of the Legionnaires was kinder than the others, and seemed to be in a quiet protest at the young man's presence here. "To the block, prisoner… Nice and easy." His voice was tinged with obvious regret, but there wasn't anything he could do in this situation. There was a kindred agreement between them both as he met eyes with the soldier and he quietly nodded, ready to accept his fate, untimely as it was. Perhaps he'd go to Sovngarde, today, and be welcomed by his ancestors like a hero, even if he didn't feel like one.

He knelt down willingly and turned his head away from the rotting victim before him. He was sending a silent prayer to the Gods for his mother and father back home in Bruma, but his thoughts were interrupted when he saw a giant creature with scaled wings and red eyes preparing to land on the tower just to his side.

"What in Oblivion is that?" shouted General Tullius.

"Dragon!" shouted another lady in terror.

For a moment, he met eyes with this creature. There was a hostile kinship that he didn't understand, almost like a pair of estranged brothers. His eye contact broke when the dragon opened its maw and a roar louder than thunder itself cracked through the sky, sending fire and stone crashing down from the sky.

Hell broke loose, and chaos ensued.

As he looked up, one of the Stormcloaks was urging him to come with. Ralof, he thought his name was. Clumsily pushing himself to his knees, he ran for his life, straight into the tower. Ulfric was in there as well, but he wasn't wasting his time talking. He was here because of that man, and he was going to get out alive, one way or another.

There was a window up the curved steps, which he ran up. Another Stormcloak was up there, and he watched in horror as the dragon broke a large section of the wall in, incinerating the man before his very eyes. The dragon flew off away from the window and he risked the steps again, peeking out the destroyed wall. There was a wooden house across the way from him. He was sure he could jump the distance and make his way down if he tried. His mother had always scolded him for his 'athleticism' as a child, afraid he might hurt himself someday. Perhaps today his mischief would be his saving grace.

Focusing on the wooden floor below him, he ran and pushed himself off the ledge, flying to the other building and landing with a hard thud. It was a painful landing, but the adrenaline rushing through his veins made him ignorant to that fact in just a few moments. He was a Nord, and Nords were hardier folk than most. They could take damage just as well as they dealt it.

Another hole was in the floor but the drop was smaller this time. He slipped down through the large space and fell to his feet, bracing himself with his hands. All this running and jumping was hard when his bound hands were hindering his balance. He managed to catch up with the kind Imperial soldier from earlier, who seemed relieved he was still with them.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way," he ordered. A young boy no older than twelve was in the mix, and his heart broke at the thought of the young lad losing his parents to this beast. The soldier turned to an older man. "Gunmar! Stay here and take care of the boy! I have to find General Tullius and join the defense!"

"Gods be with you, Hadvar."

Hadvar, that was his name. He followed Hadvar through the burning wreckage of the village. In only a couple minutes, the entire place had been completely destroyed by the dragon and it would only get worse from here. Burnt bodies were everywhere he looked, skin marred with charcoal and blood. Soldiers in every direction were trying to fight the dragon to no avail. Some were picked up in its maw, sword-like teeth cutting into their bodies as they were thrown several feet away, while others were burned or thrown aside with the sheer power of its Thu'um.

He could hear General Tullius yelling to Hadvar. The General had to get what soldiers he could back to Solitude, so now it was just him and Hadvar, trying to find their way out of here before they ended up like the others. Helgen Keep was straight ahead, and he followed the Legionnaire inside.

Once they were both in, Hadvar beckoned him over. "Come here and let me see if I can get those bindings off. Your name is Andrel, yes?"

"Yes…" he replied quietly, rubbing his wrists once the ropes were cut away.

"My name is Hadvar. Good to see you're alright. Go look in that chest and on that wall. There should be something you can use. I'm sorry that you lost the things you had before you came here… I know it must feel that way but it was nothing personal."

"Thanks," he replied again. As for now, Andrel wasn't a man of many words. His brain was still trying to process the horrors he'd just seen. He rummaged through the chest and found a set of Imperial armor, plus an old but sharp iron sword hanging from a rack on the wall. It wasn't much but it'd be enough for now. He pulled on the armor and fastened a sheath for the sword to his belt. Grabbing a knapsack he'd seen in the corner, he observed it for holes and anything else that might have hindered its use. When he found things to be in working condition, he pulled it on. He would need this, later.

Together the pair pushed through the network of hallways and rooms, cutting down any Stormcloaks they came across - most of them attacked him and Hadvar on sight, so it was kill or be killed. Eventually they found the natural caves connected to Helgen Keep and followed through until they were in a grotto with a sleeping bear.

The two men were crouched down, and Hadvar gave his bow and quiver of arrows to Andrel. "We can sneak past, or you can try and take it down from here," he whispered.

Andrel needed the leather to make new armor for himself, but he hadn't the energy to carry an entire bear from wherever they were to a place he could skin it and process the meat for food. The animal would be spared, this time. He and Hadvar quietly crept on the other side of the stream from the bear, hurrying to make it past before they woke the sleeping omnivore.

Ahead, there was an opening and they could feel the breeze from outside. This was the way out, and hopefully meant freedom for him. As they exited, the dragon swooped overhead but didn't seem to notice them and flew off into the distance.

Andrel knew from the moment he met eyes with that dragon, that his life was never going to be the same and far from over. He should have been dead by now, but the Gods were keeping him alive. But for what purpose? His answers would wait for him in Whiterun.