Chapter Text
It seemed that Lucien and Inigo had come to the consensus that they should act as though it were any other morning when they met with Gwynileth and Kaidan for breakfast. They were their cheery selves all throughout the meal, exchanging tales of interesting studies or misadventures.
While Gwynileth appreciated their attempts to act as though nothing significant was happening, she still caught onto the tiny bits of tension they could not entirely eradicate from their faces: hints of forced smiles, a false brightness to their eyes.
Kaidan, it appeared, did not choose to partake in the same activity. He had been the last one to arrive at the table, and the first words he said were, "Are you still going to go through with this, then?" with his gaze pointed towards Gwynileth.
She had done some thinking, as Kaidan had requested the previous night. There was no denying that there was horrible temptation to stay… she already had friends in Skyrim, most obviously. And she had enjoyed their days of adventuring, even if they would often smell of draugr for hours after they emerged from some of the old Nordic crypts. It was exhilarating, to fight back-to-back with people whom she could trust, and then be rewarded with beautiful gemstones or ancient relics for her efforts. It was a whole different meaning to 'honest work.'
And that was without mentioning the cons of running away again. Gwynileth was frightened of what she might find in Cyrodiil. While she trusted that it was a country of good repute, there was no telling whether her luck on meeting friendly people would hold. For all she knew, the first person she might wave to in the Imperial City would be a cutpurse, and then what would she do? Then there was also the horrific thought of the assassins catching onto her ruse, and following her flight all the way from Skyrim even unto Cyrodiil. There was no guarantee that Gwynileth would lose her pursuers by simply hopping across the border.
But then she would think on what might happen to Lucien, Inigo, or Kaidan if she stayed. She had already seen the handiwork of the Thalmor done onto Kaidan but a fortnight past, and the Morag Tong were not particularly known for their merciful methods of killing. There would be no telling what they would do to her friends, if they ever decided to eliminate them in order to reach her with more ease.
So it was that Gwynileth finally replied to Kaidan's question with the words, "Yes. I am. I… have to go."
Kaidan sighed at her words and sank into his chair. There was a more defeated energy about him now than there had been the previous night. "All right, then. I won't argue with you. Just… know that if you ever need to come back to Skyrim, I'll be here, all right?"
After breakfast was concluded—Lucien had decided to treat as a final 'going-away' present for Gwynileth, and had thus splurged on fluffy pancakes with juniper berry preserves—they set out from Whiterun, back onto the roads from which they came. A few other denizens of the city nodded politely at them as they passed, for Gwynileth and her friends had become acquainted with many of the folk in Whiterun even over the last two days.
It was a beautiful day for traveling: the sun was partially hidden behind the clouds while still providing warm rays, there was little to no wind of bitter late-winter, and birds were singing overhead now that they were migrating north again. Gwynileth found it a shame to disturb the peace of the day… but as usual, Lucien eventually grew weary of the silence, and started humming to himself again.
The difference was that now, Inigo was whistling along to the songs. While Kaidan merely shook his head as the two of them began enacting a two-part harmony to 'The Dragonborn Comes,' Gwynileth could not help but laugh aloud at their creativity.
Apparently encouraged by her reactions, they soon switched to other songs that they knew she was more familiar with—drunk with the joy of the docile afternoon and the good company, Lucien even began making up new lyrics such as, "There once was a hero named Lucien Flavius, whose singing and writing and looks were just marvelous."
His words made the Dunmer laugh, but Kaidan just sighed and, almost accusatorily, asked, "Isn't that the tune to 'Ragnar the Red?'"
"Yes," said Lucien.
"Why are you making up new lyrics to a song that already exists?"
"Well, 'Ragnar the Red' is a good song, isn't it? Why reinvent the wheel if it isn't broken?"
Gwynileth laughed again and glanced over to Lucien, who was on her right side while Kaidan took her left. Trying not to grin too widely, she asked, "Isn't the phrase 'if it isn't broken, don't fix it?' Did you mix the two up?"
"Not at all! That was a malaphor."
Inigo shot Lucien a funny look. "That sounds like a disease."
As Gwynileth began laughing again—even Kaidan seemed amused by this simple remark—Lucien spluttered in indignation. "Well, I…! Of course it isn't, it's a literary invention! It's what combining two phrases together is called: one of the most popular is 'we'll burn that bridge when we get to it,' which is a bastardization of the expressions—"
But Lucien abruptly stopped speaking. Gwynileth didn't need to ask why.
They had just reached the top of a hill, and were able to see the village of Helgen only a couple hundred meters below. It was being burned to the ground; flames were consuming the thatched rooftops of the houses. The stone watchtower that would've had the best chance at withstanding any sort of attack was crumbling to pieces before Gwynileth's very eyes… and when she saw what was perched atop it, her heart nearly stopped.
It was a dragon; a great black beast with spikes protruding from its neck and eyes the color of molten lava. Even as she stared at it, it opened its mouth and spewed more flames from its maw, catching more buildings in its warpath. Screams—human screams—followed the sound of crackling sparks and collapsing timber.
One of the few studies that Gwynileth had actually paid attention to when she was young was how to lead her people during a crisis. How to keep calm under the pressure of a natural emergency, or one of war.
This was no different. She took a deep breath and seized both Lucien's and Kaidan's arms, her fingernails digging into their sleeves. Without sparing a look in any of their directions, she exclaimed, "There are still people in the village! We must go help them!"
"Gwyn, wait!" exclaimed Kaidan.
He was unheard, for Gwynileth was already barreling down the hilltop, towards the large wooden gate that led into the village. All of the weight she was carrying seemed to melt off of her body as she sprinted, taking deep and full breaths in steady rhythm to avoid tiring herself out.
People were shrieking for help; Gwynileth could hear their pleads for Stendarr's mercy or for Talos to save them. A few arrows emerged from the city gate ramparts, but none of them stuck in the great dragon's scales. Orders of conflicting nature were being barked left, right, and center.
Gwynileth burst through the gates with her shoulder, not even wincing at the impact. Her crimson eyes darted around, searching for someone—anyone—that she might be able to save.
A small boy was standing alone in the street, tears trailing down his face as he stared at a wooden toy that was wreathed in flame. She ran directly to the boy and plucked him off of the street—not a moment too soon. A trail of dragon-fire was spat directly after them, so close that Gwynileth could feel its heat caress her back.
The boy screamed as his gaze was redirected to the flames. His arms launched around Gwynileth's neck so tight, she was afraid he would pull them both to the ground.
As soon as they took refuge behind a building of stone, Gwynileth set him down and placed a hand upon the side of his face. "Where is your family?"
"Home." The boy pointed towards a burning building along the same street. It was not yet so overrun by the fire that escape was impossible…
"Stay here," said Gwynileth. She tried to smile at him and hoped the gesture wasn't as fearful as she felt, with her blood rushing, pounding, maniacally across her body. "I'll make sure to get you a new toy sword after all this is over, okay? I'm going to get your family."
Without waiting for a response from the child, she bolted out of the safety that the stone building provided. Her lungs were burning from the smoke that infested the air, but she would not give up so easily—
She dove into the house. The heat was so intense, it set Gwynileth to choking. She placed one hand ahead of her eyes in a futile attempt to block the ash; her voice was scratchy as she screamed, never mind how dry her throat had become, "Is anyone still here? Hello?"
For one intense and fearful second, there was nothing. And then—
"Help! Please, help me!"
It was a woman's voice, a young woman's. Gwynileth whirled towards the source and saw her trapped underneath a collapsed bookcase. Tendrils of flame were beginning to eat away at the edges of the furniture and were steadily making their way towards the young woman pinned upon the floor. Her eyes were green like the leaves upon the oaken trees, and they were filled with tears of fright as she met Gwynileth's gaze. "Please, help me! I can't breathe!"
Gwynileth dove towards the floor, her fingers lodged underneath the heavy case. She centered herself the way she did when chopping firewood, took a deep breath, and lifted.
The bookcase began to raise from the ground—it was not much, but it was enough to allow the woman to begin scrambling forward, out of range of the case. Gwynileth's muscles were sore, and it was hard to get a good breath in; gasping, she cried, "Are you safe?"
"Yes!"
She released the bookcase. It collapsed against the weakened floor with such force that it broke through the floor panels—Gwynileth then placed a hand upon the young woman's shoulder and shouted, "Let's go! Your brother is outside!"
"Hadil? He's alive?"
A horrid, spine-chilling crrraaacck filled the air; one of the supporting beams upon the ceiling had been burned through and was beginning to give way. If it fell before they left the house, they would be trapped inside.
Gwynileth seized the woman's hand and sprinted, sprinted as fast as she could. Her eyes were watering, she could barely see—but she had to believe they would make it, they had to make it, but now the beam was cracking, splintering—
She pushed the young woman out of the house just as the beam began its descent towards the earth. While her charge landed upon the stone street outside, coughing and gasping for breath, Gwynileth fell to the floor of the house, unable to make it out herself.
"No!"
The beam stopped falling: it was Kaidan—Kaidan had thrown himself underneath the beam to grab it and prevent it from falling, preventing the remainder of the supports from collapsing as well. He groaned in great pain and effort as he struggled to belay its inevitable fall.
"We've got you, Gwynileth!" shouted Lucien's voice from somewhere outside. Two lines of frost magic appeared: one was directed towards the path in front of Gwynileth, extinguishing the flames that had popped up ahead of her, while the other was directed towards Kaidan's hands, which were dangerously close to the burning wood.
Kaidan hissed through his teeth and shot Lucien a withering look. "What in Oblivion are you doing?"
"Keeping your hands from burning!"
"You're freezing my damn fingers off!"
"Well, ex-cuse me for trying to help!"
Gwynileth had managed to scramble to her feet and launch out of the house by this point, though she was gasping and choking for breath. Her eyes searched wildly for any sign of Inigo, for he had not been present—she saw him drawing his bow at the great dragon whirling above, shouting, "Come here, you big smelly gas bag!"
As soon as she was clear, Kaidan released the beam with a roar—the supports of the house began caving in on themselves, and the entire roof followed soon after, sending countless splinters of wood and cinders flying through the air.
"Time to go!" shouted Kaidan. He didn't even wait for Gwynileth to regather her breath—he merely scooped her up from where she knelt upon the ground and began running towards the exit of the village, holding her tightly against his chest. Even his armor, which was normally so cold due to Skyrim's frigid temperature, was hot to the touch. "Lucien, grab the kids! Inigo, let's move!"
"N-no!" wheezed Gwynileth, who was still expelling smoke from her lungs. "There are others—there could be others!"
She wriggled in Kaidan's grasp; now that she was out of the worst of the chaos, she was able to see again. Jogging behind herself and Kaidan was Lucien, who was grabbing the hands of both the young woman and the boy that she had spared from the dragon's attack. Each of her charges were sobbing relentlessly, totally oblivious to the words of comfort that Lucien was attempting to bestow upon them. Inigo was directly behind, covering their backs with an arrow nocked in his bow, one yellow eye scanning the skies.
"The village is lost," Kaidan said, regathering Gwynileth's attention. He glanced down at her, unpausing in his stride. "There isn't anyone else. And if there is… then they're beyond helping now."
Gwynileth's eyes stung again, but this time, it wasn't due to heated ash.
The village's exit was far away enough from the flames that they were no longer in immediate danger. Gwynileth exhaled sharply, restraining a hiccup, and freed herself from Kaidan's careful hold. She placed a hand upon his arm, choosing to share with him one significant nod of thanks instead of words.
Her eyes trailed over the village, which was now so complete in its destruction that she could barely see the outlines of the houses that, only moments before, had been perfectly still and standing. There were no more screams, no more orders: now, there was only crackling and bone-chilling silence.
A gust of powerful wind met the six bodies standing on the village outskirts—and then the black dragon responsible for the carnage appeared. It landed directly upon the top of Helgen's gate and glared unmistakably at Gwynileth.
The two children screamed at its appearance; Lucien whimpered and held them both close, staggering away. Kaidan and Inigo both drew their bows, preparing to fire an arrow…
But Gwynileth extended a hand to stop them. Her eyes were locked upon the dragon, just as its own gaze was fastened upon her. She took a singular step forward, as fascinated as she was terrified, for this was a creature of myth and legend, not one that she would've expected to ever see in the flesh…
The dragon roared once, its mouth opened straight at her. Gwynileth's eyes widened as she seized her own bow—
It was not flame that met her, but some sort of… shout. She staggered against the raw power of its voice but maintained her footing; the rest of those whom she traveled with bellowed and screamed as they were blown off their feet and into the surrounding brush. Gwynileth gasped and looked over her shoulder—but no one was seriously hurt. They were already staggering to their feet, groaning all the while.
Comforted by this small fact, she whirled back around to glare resolutely at the creature. She withdrew an arrow from her quiver—if this was to be her end, then it would be such an end as to be worthy of remembrance.
But the dragon merely scoffed, as if it could… and then spoke. "Hmph. Dovahkiin. Mu fen grind ahst grah gein sul."
Then, before Gwynileth could possibly begin to make any sense out of what had just happened, before she could even wonder why it was not burning her and her friends alive, the dragon took to the sky upon pointed black wings and sailed away.
She could only stand and stare after its trail, her fingers numb as they grasped for dear life onto her bow. There was utter silence behind her, proving that such shock was not hers to process alone. But as soon as the dragon's silhouette was gone, faded behind the faint clouds to the far-off horizon, Gwynileth expelled a breath that had lodged in her chest and sank to her knees.
Everything in her body had turned to jelly; the reality of what she had just done, what she had just witnessed, smacked into her like a ton of sawn logs. That had been a dragon—a dragon—and it had killed an entire village without any effort or any thought.
"What… the hell… was that," said Kaidan. For the first time since Gwynileth had met him, he seemed genuinely shaken. "Was that a dragon?"
"If it was not a dragon, then that was one overgrown lizard," Inigo muttered.
While normally Gwynileth would've laughed at such a remark, she could not bring herself to do so now. She was positively zapped of energy due to the fallout of the adrenaline and the sorrow and guilt for the people that could not be saved.
Gwynileth remembered what the next step was, after facing an emergency and guiding the people who she could through it. It was to reconstruct a plan: to gain a semblance of control over the people she was responsible for.
She took a deep breath and rose to her feet once again. After setting her shoulders, she turned around and looked towards the two survivors of the dragon attack: the young boy named Hadil, and the woman whose name she did not yet know. "Are you two all right? Can you walk?"
They retreated from where their faces had been buried within Lucien's shoulders; each of them had tears welled within their eyes. It was certain they were siblings, for the color of their irises were identical.
"We can walk," said the young woman, her voice raspy. She cleared her throat and spoke further. "My name is Idara. We… thank you. For our lives. We would not have made it out of there without you."
"You're very welcome," said Gwynileth. She forced a smile upon her lips, and forced it to reach her eyes. Keeping herself as kindly as she possibly could, she asked, "Do you know if it's possible there are survivors in the keep? The stone building was not fully destroyed when I last laid eyes upon it."
Idara paused for a moment, thinking… and then, slowly, she nodded. "It's possible. There are underground tunnels underneath the keep. People might've escaped the fires there."
"Do you know where they let out?"
This time, Idara's nod was confident. "Yes. I can show you. But… what will my brother and I do? We have nothing left…"
Kaidan stepped forward—his voice was kind, just as it was when speaking to Gwynileth, as he said, "There's a village to the north: Riverwood. We will escort you there and ensure that you'll be well taken care of before we depart."
The two young survivors exchanged melancholic looks, but ended up nodding in agreement. Each person assembled upon that hillside knew they had no other choice except to hope that Riverwood would be their salvation.
At Kaidan's exclamation, however, Gwynileth paused. She had just made up her mind to flee to Cyrodiil, to leave Skyrim in hopes of safety for both herself and the people that she had become close to over the last number of weeks…
But when she glanced backwards, towards Hadil and Idara, she knew she could not just leave them on their own. She had saved them directly from the jaws of hell—it would not be right to leave them now. And that was without mentioning if she did not ascertain their safety for herself, she would always wonder what happened to the two young children from Helgen.
"All right," she sighed. Her bow was strapped back to her back as she glanced across her friends. "I'll go with you to Riverwood, too."
Lucien, Inigo, and Kaidan's reactions were instant. Inigo's tail swished—Lucien grinned—Kaidan even managed a small smile. It was not as though she had promised to stay indefinitely, but apparently this extra day was enough to bring them joy nonetheless.
The children seemed relieved as well. It was Hadil who took Gwynileth's hand and said, "Uncle Tabic always said the elves were mean, but you were the only one who helped us."
Something shattered in her heart upon hearing how devastated the boy sounded. One of her hands ran through his honey-colored hair; flecks of soot rained down his shoulders, off of his shirt and onto the ground. "And I will continue to help you and your sister, Hadil, because that is what anyone with compassion would do. Besides… I promised you a new toy sword, did I not?"
Hadil's eyes lit up at the reminder. His face was considerably brighter with a smile upon it. "Right! If you get me a new one, you'd be my favorite person in the whole world."
Gwynileth laughed at this, for it had been a long time since she was in the vicinity of children, and she had always enjoyed their company. Taking his hand, she looked between him and Idara and said, "Then let us go. The sooner we reach Riverwood, the sooner we are to getting you food and rest, and the sooner we are able to warn the Whiterun soldiers of the dragon."