Survivor (A Skyrim Fan-Fiction)

Chapter Thirteen

The party had made much better time than expected, thus we were camped outside of Morthal by the murky marshes and miserable-looking trees.

A legion of tents was scattered about along the dry bits of land and slopes, all apart from three. The three that weren't intended for one man were the meal tent where everybody gathered to eat, drink and socialize, the Senior Officers' tent where Galmar, Ralof and Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced were staying, and finally Ulfric and my tent, raised up on a small hill.

The sun had sunk down past the mountains, radiating gold and orange beams of light from behind, whilst the stars started to appear up on high. Most of the Stormcloak men, as well as Ulfric, were in the meal tent so I was out under the watchful stars and moon alone.

After finishing sharpening my sword and fletching two dozen arrows, I grew bored so trudged up the hill to go to our tent. The soft ground beneath my feet squelched and left imprints of my muddied shoes, making a trail of my short travel uphill.

I pulled open the curtain and entered where mine and Ulfric's make-shift room lied. A ight wooden bed with its thin posts sunken into the ground was in the middle with two braziers burning bright either side. A small set of drawers and a desk were in the corner, even though neither of us would be using it.

Evening was descending quickly, and the sun disappeared entirely behind the horizon taking the little warmth it provided with it. The constant murmur coming from the food tent had lowered significantly, the men deciding to retire for the night.

I undressed and folded the clothes Ulfric had given to me and put them in the dresser, then lied down on the bed grateful to be able to sleep on something comfortable unlike the poor men sleeping on mats outside.

The long days ride had given me a dreadful backache and the saddle had given me sores on my inner thighs, so the opportunity to get to bed early truly delighted me.

I had tried to wait and stay up for Ulfric, but my eyes became heavier with every passing moment and my body started to relax. It wasn't long until sleep took me.

The tall stone tower of Helgen loomed over us: me, the thief, the Stormcloaks and the Imperials. The headsman's block was stained with the blood of the previous man to be taken by the sweet kiss of the axe.

The distant roar of Alduin echoed through the valley, piercing fear into the heart of all who heard. Everyone curiously watched the skies, hesitant from the foreign noise that they had just been heard.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the Imperial who had read the list said.

"I said, next prisoner!"

"To the block prisoner, nice and easy."

My body walked to the block reluctantly, though my mind knew that I would be saved by Alduin's timely arrival, causing havoc and giving me, Ulfric and Ralof the perfect opportunity to escape and live until the Gods decided our time is up.

Shoved down, I rested my head against the cold stone and stared idly at the headsman's peeling black leather shoes. Anticipation for the wind of Alduin's landing ran through my mind, his threatening growl as he prepared to reap chaos among the village.

The glimmering axe hovered over the heavily-built man's head, leaning slowly back forward. I waited, and waited, and waited. Seconds turned into hours in my mind, yet no dragon swooped down.

The shadow of the axe darkened my surroundings, just before the whisper filled my ears and I felt the steely embrace of death.

I woke up suddenly, jolting up covered in a layer of shining sweat. The tent was dark, apart from the light hue of the moon peeking through gaps and the glowing embers left in the braziers. Ulfric was snoring loudly next to me, clasping the furs tightly against his chest.