17 Last Seed, Sundas
I had always known that today would be a memorable one, but I had never expected it to be like this.
Aunt Faraniel and Uncle Elthras had warned me beforehand about crossing the border into Skyrim, with all the recent uproar caused by a group called the “Stormcloaks.” But the peaceful journey from the Imperial City to Bruma–not to mention the melancholy stirring deep within me as I was quietly bidding my home farewell in my own way, by taking a final glance at each of the buildings, trees, and the people I passed by on my carriage–lulled me into a sense of calm. I know I should have been more anxious, as this was my first trip by my lonesome outside the borders of Cyrodiil, but I guess all the worries that had plagued my mind days before my departure had finally taken their toll.
It was either this, pure naivety, or mere arrogance that had led me to make a mistake that almost caused me my life. The truth is–I didn’t want my “new life” to start as a Suliven. Having just come of age and brimming with a taste for adventure, I decided long ago to shed everything that had any indication of my family and their ties to the Camoran Dynasty. I wanted to explore a new country as myself, a young Bosmer with a passion for music and learning, although I am fully aware that things would be a lot easier–and today would have beeen much safer–if I had just taken the carriage all the way to my destination.
Instead, I got off at the last inn, paid the driver–who wished me luck–and trekked all the way to the other side of the border by myself.
Before I could admire the beauty of the famed Throat of the World from afar, sounds of shouting and horses galloping pierced through my senses. The next thing I knew, I was in a cart with three other fellows–Nords. I was startled by the sight of them and thoughts raced through my mind. Was I being kidnapped? But nobody knew of my plans to leave the Imperial City, except for my aunt and uncle.
Panicked, I attempted to flee only to find out that I was bound–and so were they. They weren’t my captors, but the Imperial soldiers. I could feel my face burning at this very realization. Some of my peers joined up recently, and their parents, veterans. Surely, if they knew who I am, they would let me go?
Unfortunately, I had no time to explain myself. The soldiers thought I was with this burly man called “Ulfric” who happens to be the Stormcloaks’ leader; that I was one of them. We got off the carriage and were placed in a queue, with a brown-haired Nord taking our names. He seemed sympathetic, noting that I wasn’t part of their kill-list, but his captain still asked for my head. One of us tried to flee, but to no avail.
And then, my turn came. Memories of pleasant life in the City flashed before my eyes–aunt, uncle, my dear friend Cassia, her brother Claudius, and what fun we had as kids… All the joy, ruined by one intrusive thought: should I have never left?
I was expecting a deafening silence to loom over me, signifying the end of my short existence. Instead, a deafening scream followed. I looked up and saw… a beast. A dragon! Did my death lead me to… Oblivion?
What came next was chaos. The soldiers attempted to defeat it or, at least, ward it off, while the villagers ran to safety. One of the captive Nords named Ralof successfully roused me from my confusion, and I hurriedly followed him and his master Ulfric to a keep. Unfortunately, we were separated. I didn’t know where to go. Luckily, I happened upon the same brown-haired soldier who led me to relative safety. His name is Hadvar.
I am currently writing this entry inside his uncle’s house in Riverwood. Our escape from the town of Helgen was a perilous one that no amount of training with Claudius and his father could have prepared me for. Nevertheless, I am grateful for a new lease on life. For Hadvar’s courage and protection. Should I also be thankful for the dragon?
-M.