Chapter Text
10 years ago
“Laelette! It’s time for breakfast.” I groaned, and rolled over in my bed, blinking my heavy eyelids, and trying to banish the last vestiges of sleep. A minute or two passed this way before I was coherent enough to reply.
“Morning, Da! Be right there!”, I half mumbled to my father as I pushed myself into a sitting position. Last nights dreams still clung to my thoughts like cobwebs and I considered going back to sleep. Instead, I stood and stretched, the oversized tunic I wore to bed riding up over my hips. A gentle breeze brushed against my bared skin, and I shivered, goose-bumps rippling across my body. I tugged the nightgown back into place, then stumbled over to my little dresser, pulling out a loose pair of pants. I tugged them on, ran my fingers through my sleep tousled hair, and padded towards breakfast on silent feet.
Breakfast was monotonous, as usual, but I really shouldn’t complain. It consisted of fresh bread, cheese, and the last of this week’s meat. My brother, Haming, rambled on about how the soldiers were marching through town today, but I did my best to tune him out. I couldn’t care less about soldiers, especially marching ones—that’s all they ever seemed to do. Instead, I was looking forward to market day.
My Da, Torolf, was a lumberjack, and it paid well enough to keep the roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Today we were going to the market in Whiterun. Da would chat with the blacksmiths, and Haming would find some kids his age to play tag with while Ma would pick out food for the week. I would have to help her with the food, but once she was done, I would have time to myself; time to wander the market and wonder at all the goods, imagining the places they had come from.
I was lost in thought, planning out my coming visit to the marketplace when my reverie was shattered by the door slamming open, and Haming’s pounding footsteps as he ran out the door.
“The soldiers are here!” he cried. “I’m going to watch”
“Haming, wait!” Da called to the vanishing boy. “Dammit. Laelette, will you go keep an eye on him? I don’t want him getting in any trouble.”
I sighed, but nodded in acquiescence, and walked back towards my dresser. I shucked out of my sleeping clothes and threw on some clean undergarments, covered by a knee length white dress. I pulled on my warm boots and coat, tucked my hair into a cap and clomped out the door to find my little brother.
I walked down the street, searching the crowd for Haming, heading for what I knew to be one of his favorite perches. The soldiers were trudging down the street now, followed by two wagons occupied by a smattering of prisoners. I found Haming on a barrel, watching the procession with obvious delight. The wagons pulled to stop in front of the Helgen’s main hall, and the first man out was a skinny nord with dirty, black hair and narrow features, protesting his innocence with every step. The second man was tall, maybe six feet, and well built, with a mane of long, golden hair. He had a gag over his mouth, and with a start, I recognized Ulfric Stormcloak, the leader of the rebellion. He was dressed in a fine fur robe, and his eyes were stern and captivating. Third came a man I assumed was one of Ulfric’s followers, a Stormcloak rebel. He wasn’t dressed as nicely as his king, but he carried himself with a surety of purpose.
The last prisoner caught me off guard. As he stepped of the wagon, I noted that he was, without a doubt, the most beautiful, most terrifying man I had ever seen. He stood a head taller than Ulfric, and I could see his muscles ripple beneath the shredded rags that passed as his clothes. Thick veins stood out on his arms, bound in front of him, and the skin I could see was covered in dark, mottled bruises. His hair was a deep auburn, falling in matted tangles to the small of his back, and his beard was likewise unkempt. Even from a distance, I could see that his hands, forearms, and face were marred with numerous, old scars, faded mostly to white. The man’s eyes were a brilliant azure, half closed and unfocused. The expression made it look like he was seeing nothing and everything at the same time; when they landed on me, the intensity made me shiver.
I heard a cry from my right, and I grimly realized the the first prisoner, the Stormcloak soldier, had been executed while I stared at the stranger. The gangly Nord, who had never stopped shouting his innocence, tried to run, but received an arrow through his back soon after. The man I had been watching stepped forward, and there was a brief discussion I could not hear, before he turned and knelt at the block. I found myself irrationally disappointed that this stranger was being executed. I had no idea who he was, or what crimes he had committed to deserve this punishment, and yet a part of me wanted to talk to him; wanted to hear about what those eyes had seen, and how he had gotten so many scars.
A furious roar split the air, and the headsman hesitated as the clearing fell silent. A couple of the imperial soldiers began muttering about “stormcloaks” and “unnatural abilities”, but they were quickly silenced by the captain. A few moments passed in silence, and the captain signaled to the headsman to continue. He raised the ax above his head once more, when an enormous black… thing… swooped out of the sky, landing on the nearby tower. It raised its head, and Spoke something in a voice so deep and infinite I could almost feel my bones resonating. The Dragon (I figured that must be what it was, based on stories I’d heard growing up) Spoke, and the sky was torn asunder.
I don’t remember much of what came next. People screamed. Haming screamed. I screamed. People died. I fell to the ground more than once. I was floundering, trying to find Haming, and stumbling over shards of ruptured earth and pieces of burning corpses. I ran towards home. If I could get Da, he could help me find Haming. He would know what to do. I turned the last corner and faltered, slumping to the ground in front of the wreckage. The air was thick with smoke and the stench of burning flesh. Da was there on the ground, his arms outstretched towards a shoe with a leg sticking out. I recognized the shoe as one of Ma’s. The lower half of Da’s body was gone. I stared, the image of my dead parents burning into my memory, and I wept. Da was dead, and probably Ma, too. Haming was gone, and I couldn’t find him. The house was gone. All of my things, everything I knew, was gone.
Sometime later a soldier found me, curled on the ground, whimpering. He put me in the back of a wagon with a couple of other children. He handed me a piece of bread and water skin, but I wasn’t hungry. I stared forward, barely noticing when the wagon lumbered into motion. Some other child took the bread from me, and I was fine with that. I couldn’t eat, not without my family. I could never eat again. Eventually, the rocking of the wagon lulled me into a fitful sleep, and I dreamed of my family… my home… gone… forever.