A/N: After seeing a prompt about a teenaged Dovahkiin – one about thirteen to fifteen – I decided that I wanted to write it. Stid is fourteen. This will be a series of one-shots.

Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim.

"You're awake." Staid heard as consciousness returned to him. He carefully opened his eyes and tried to turn around to see who had spoken to him. Some sort of restraints held him back and he groaned in pain as the rough ropes rubbed his skin.

Staid made do with turning his head. He saw a haggard, yet proud, man with lank blonde hair and shadowed eyes. Although he had never seen the man before, he could tell that the man hadn't been treated very well. Unfortunately, any desire to know of the man's treatment was overshadowed by his fear and confusion.

"Where in Oblivion am I?" Staid asked groggily as he squinted at the blonde man. The man seemed taken aback by him for some reason and looked at him with pity.

"How young are you?" The blonde man asked. Staid just snorted in annoyance and glared at him.

"Fourteen. Now answer my question."

"Have the Imperials fallen so low as to execute children?" The man muttered before turning back to Staid. "You were caught in an Imperial ambush set for Ulfric Stormcloak. Now you're being taken to Helgen to be executed."

Staid froze and the blood drained from his face. He had just been chasing after that damn horse-thief when he had suddenly been knocked unconscious. How in Azura's name did that lead to his bloody execution?

The man – Staid never bothered to learn his name – continued to chatter along, making minor observations about the small town they found themselves in. Staid recognized it as Helgen, although he had already known that thanks to the man's answer. He had been here several times during his life, although he'd never bothered traveling so far to the north after his parents had been killed in the war, leaving him as a wanderer.

He was only brought back to reality when the cart suddenly stopped in the town square. Staid shivered as he was led down from the cart – much more gently than other prisoners, he noticed. The town square was a semi-familiar sight to him. A small watch tower loomed above them, the imposing stone warning away any attackers. Soldiers dressed in the familiar red and leather armor he had come to associate with safety and strength.

Now, however, they represented his upcoming death. Staid had heard the blonde man say something about him being captured with Ulfric Stormcloak. He certainly wasn't stupid enough to assume that the Empire wouldn't be willing to kill him along with the leader of the rebellion. They couldn't know that he was innocent.

The Imperial thought about making a run for it. He wasn't ready to die, not this young. Fortunately, however, that notion was quickly quashed as a scrawny man attempted to sprint away. Staid recognized him as the bastard that had tried to steal his horse, although his indignation was replaced by shock and fear when the man was suddenly killed by a barrage of arrows.

Silence reigned throughout the town as the thief's corpse limply fell to the ground. One of the Imperials began to pull it away as the silence began to break. The captured Stormcloaks slowly had their names and crimes read out by a soldier before being sent over to an area just a few feet away from the executioner's block.

Staid was silent as he was pulled in front of a stern Imperial captain. She didn't even look up from her list as he was placed in front of her. A soldier kept a good grip on him as the man looked up with wide eyes, clearly horrified by his age.

"How old are you." He asked quietly. Staid could barely hear him over the howling wind.

"Fourteen. My name's Staid." The teenager answered curtly. He stared straight ahead, not allowing his eyes to meet the man's lest he show the terror he was feeling. The legionnaire looked over his list with troubled eyes, although he seemed relieved when Staid's name didn't come up.

"Captain." The legionnaire said, respectfully addressing the tall woman. "His name's not on the list. What should we do?"

"Send him in with the rest." She answered coldly, not even bothering to glance at Staid. "I don't care how young he is. I'm not letting a Stormcloak go free."

"I'm sorry." The legionnaire told him in a troubled tone, regret etched into his features. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil."

While Staid could certainly appreciate the sentiment, it wasn't much of a comfort at the moment. He stiffly nodded at the legionnaire and allowed himself to be pulled away by his guard. Staid ignored the world around him, too terrified of the coming axe.

Only a strange roar snapped him out of it. The powerful call echoed through the mountains of Skyrim. Almost everyone but the captain looked apprehensive from the roar. It belonged to no beast Staid had ever encountered, but it still seemed familiar somehow. Whatever had made the roar was alien to everyone, both Stormcloak and Imperial.

Staid felt the icy terror flowing through his veins increase in strength as the first Stormcloak was executed. The rash man was quickly and efficiently executed by the hooded executioner. His head was severed by the powerful swing of the executioner's axe and fell into a small basket. The Stormcloak's body went limp as blood poured out of the open neck.

One of the soldiers pulled the corpse away, making way for the next of the condemned men. Blood pounded through his head as he heard the captain call out his name. He frantically tried to think of any way he could possibly escape this fate, but came up blank. There was no escape.

He was slack as the guard carefully brought him over to the block, gently forcing him down and laying his head down on the bloody wood. The block was slick against his neck as he was forced down. Staid felt the shameful tears begin to gather in his eyes as he heard the priestess begin to bless him in the name of Arkay.

Suddenly there was the roar again. It struck deep in the cords of his soul, seeming to echo in his mind. Staid still felt as though he knew it from somewhere, although the call didn't comfort him. Instead of strengthening him with its familiarity he felt pure terror, even worse than what he was already feeling.

Staid closed his eyes. Although he could see the watch tower and the assorted legionnaires, they were no comfort to him. He prepared himself for death as the blessing ended. The sound of the executioner pulling his massive axe out of the ground was all he heard in the cruel silence.

Even as he envisioned the headsman lifting his axe high into the air in preparation of decapitating him the sound of powerful wings beating greeted his ears. Staid's eyes snapped open as screams tore through the air, although he wished he had been content to await his death.

A massive black creature was perched on top of the watchtower, glaring down at the assorted men and mer with malevolent red eyes. Staid couldn't help but gasp as it turned its eyes to him and glared with as much hatred as Staid had ever seen.

Suddenly, it acted. The creature – Staid recognized it as a dragon from the descriptions in the old tales he had heard when he and his father had ventured into Skyrim – opened its maw, revealing a line of thick, dangerously curved fangs larger than Staid's forearm. Its powerful roar seemed to have some magical quality to it, as the sheer force caused most of the soldiers to stumble backwards a few feet.

That wasn't what terrified him. The dragon took advantage of their weakness and suddenly spoke. It wasn't any language that Staid had ever heard, however. Something about the words struck some chord in Staid. Although he didn't know what they meant, he felt as though the meaning were just out of reach, hidden behind some sort of mental haze.

His ponderings were erased when he realized that this was his chance. Staid began to pull himself up, but was aided by the blonde man from the wagon.

"Come on!" The man shouted above the din of the storm that had suddenly begun to gather. "This is our chance to escape. Follow me."

With that the blonde man sprinted to the watch tower. Staid followed as fast as he could, barely avoiding a hunk of flaming stone that fell from the sky. His bound wrists made running difficult and awkward, but he overcame the irritation and managed to get to the watchtower.

Staid didn't bother waiting on the other prisoners. They were speaking to each other on the bottom floor of the watch tower, but he didn't want any part with the Stormcloaks. He simply ran up the stairs as fast as he could, although he yelped and nearly fell backwards when a section of the wall burst inwards in an implosion of stone.

The dragon's massive head burst in through the hole, the long, curved horns barely missing Staid. He froze as the dragon pulled its head back out and said, "YOL TOOR SHUL!" in a powerful, deep voice.

He couldn't hold back the yelp as a stream of flame erupted from the beast's maw and washed over the stone of the tower. The corpse of a man killed by the stone was completely incinerated, leaving nothing more than blackened bone with scraps of charred flesh hanging on. Staid couldn't hold back the growing sense of nausea and turned his head to the side. Even as the dragon flew away Staid began to vomit.

When he was done he tiredly wiped his mouth. He could see the dragon flying above the town, leisurely picking the soldiers resisting it up from the ground and devouring them. Steel and leather were of little hindrance to the dragon's fangs, and the dragon easily tore the screaming men and women to bits.

Staid barely held back another surge of nausea. He realized that the dragon would eventually come back for the people in the watchtower, although that logical thought wasn't at the forefront of his mind. The terrible thought of being roasted alive while the dragon filled the tower with flame was.

He eyed the burned house just a few feet away and made his decision. Drawing upon some of the last vestiges of strength he possessed he leapt from the tower's new window and heavily landed upon the fragile wood of the home, collapsing and rolling through the weakened structure. Staid screamed as the wood collapsed underneath him, dropping him to the first floor.

Through some incredible stroke of luck he wasn't harmed by the fall aside from a few scrapes and bruises. Staid wasted no time in pulling himself up and running away as the dragon flew over the collapsed house again, blasting a small stream of flame at it. Staid barely evaded the fire and was lucky enough for the dragon to not simply swoop down and capture him in its powerful jaws.

As he aimlessly ran through the streets in the blind hope of surviving the horrific ordeal, Staid felt a strong hand grab his arm and pull. He prepared to fight off the attacker with everything he had – including a few rather nasty spells that he had paid quite a bit for – until he saw that his captor was the legionnaire.

"Calm down, boy." The young man hissed. "We need to get out of here. That thing won't stop until we're all dead."

Staid took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm down. "How do we get out of here?" He asked fearfully.

"The fortress." The legionnaire stated, nodding to a large structure that was just barely visible over the ruined, smoking houses and shattered stone wall. "It goes underground, so we should be safe. Let's go."

"What's your name?" Staid gasped out as they ran through the wreckage and chaos as fast as they were able. The legionnaire was carefully leading him through the destroyed town, completely ignoring the Stormcloaks that had appeared out of seemingly nowhere. Staid assumed they were here to save Ulfric.

"Hadvar." The legionnaire grunted as he pushed through a bit of rubble blocking their path. "Stay close."

Staid was more than happy to comply as they ran through the destroyed town. He nearly tripped over some of the charred and broken bodies that littered the area, but managed to stay upright. The worst of the scares with the dragon occurred when they were running past a section of the wall that was still standing. As they carefully ran past it, heedless of any exhaustion or fatigue, the dragon landed atop the wall and began to blast the group of archers that had congregated nearby with a stream of unnaturally hot flame. Its hook at the end of the wing nearly eviscerated Staid, but he pressed himself up against the wall and took slow, deep breaths.

Soon after the legionnaires had been slaughtered the dragon took to the air again and picked off the few remaining men and mer. The duo took that as their chance to restart their mad rush for freedom, although they were hindered by Hadvar taking them past General Tullius.

"General Tullius, what should we do?" Hadvar shouted over the din of the slaughter. Tullius glanced over at them with annoyance.

"Get out of here, soldier! Take the prisoner with you." Tullius shouted as he and more than a dozen legionnaires retreated. Hadvar nodded and looked at Staid.

"Follow me. We're close."

With that they set off. Staid's eyes were blurry from the smoke and ash that pervaded the air and his lung were burning. He was coughing as Hadvar pushed open a set of heavy wooden doors and pulled him in.

Staid coughed for a few more moments until he could finally appreciate the fresh air. It was cold, but it was a blessed relief against the blistering heat they had just been in. His eyes cleared up and he began to feel much better, although the thoughts of the mutilated bodies outside of this haven made him feel sick.

He was no stranger to death. Wandering the land since you were but a child tended to introduce you to the concept quite often, as did the harsh life everyone in the north shared. But he had only seen a few quietly murdered men and women – several by his own hand – with a single, quick cut that quickly killed them. The slaughter outside was a completely different thing.

Hadvar interrupted his quiet musings. "Your hands are still bound?" The legionnaire asked incredulously. "I thought one of the others had cut them."

"Yes." Staid replied tiredly. "Could you get these off? I won't be of much use to you with them on."

The legionnaire nodded and withdrew a small, sharp dagger from his belt. He efficiently sawed through the thick, coarse ropes and freed Staid's hands. He hissed in pain as the blood began to flow back into his hands, but ignored it.

"Go search for anything useful." Hadvar ordered as he began to scavenge through a chest in the corner of the room. "Weapons, armor, gold – anything that could help us get through this place. I don't know if any of the Stormcloaks managed to get here first."

Staid didn't say anything, instead focusing on scrounging through the dirty room. A weapon rack was on the other side of the room and held an assortment of knives, swords, and hammers. The Imperial was too small to effectively use a sword or hammer – they were too heavy for him to use for very long, and he could barely even lift a war hammer – so he browsed through the small selection of knives.

After a few moments of careful examination he found a nice little dagger. It was of exceptionally good quality, and the lessons drilled into him by some of the legionnaires he'd met took over. Although it wouldn't hold up in a fight against someone with real armor – it was made of mundane steel, something that would barely even scratch some of the more exotic metals – but in a fight against the ill-equipped Stormcloaks it would work quite well.

The Imperial found a bit of spare armor, but it was much too large for him. It wouldn't make sense for the Legion to spend gold on armor small enough for a fourteen year old to wear, after all. He did manage to find a pair of thin leather gloves that fit him, however.

"I'm ready." He said to Hadvar. The legionnaire had a long blade in his right hand and a round shield in his left and was standing next to a chain. Hadvar nodded and pulled on it, causing the thick iron gate blocking their path to move upwards.

They moved quickly and quietly. Staid was practically silent as he followed Hadvar through the stone halls. After a minute they arrived outside of a small, well-lit room where they could hear several people speaking.

"Stormcloaks." Hadvar muttered to Staid. "Hopefully they'll let us pass."

With that the legionnaire stood up and revealed himself, although he put his arms up in a gesture of peace. The Stormcloaks didn't seem to care and hefted up their weapons and rushed at Hadvar. Staid's eyes widened and he wasted no time in jumping out. It was clear that Hadvar wouldn't be able to get to his shield in time, so Staid had to provide a distraction.

He was too fast for the first Stormcloak, whose head had barely turned to the new threat before he plunged the dagger into the gap between her thick fur armor and helmet. She gurgled as he yanked the dagger out and spun away from her collapsing form.

Staid was moving automatically. He had never been formally trained, but the lessons from legionnaires he had stayed with flashed through his mind and the experience from numerous fights with other beggars over food and bandits thinking he was easy prey guided his movements.

Hammer swinging towards him. Too powerful to redirect. Stormcloak with sword and shield coming at his right, too fast to block if he dodged the hammer. Hadvar was moving at the Stormcloak with the hammer.

Solution: let Hadvar handle the warhammer. He wouldn't be able to beat the man due to the man's brute strength and long reach. The Stormcloak with the sword and shield was more manageable.

He ducked the powerful swing from the hammer and surged towards the Stormcloak with the sword, surprising the man with his ferocity. Staid tried to lunge towards the Stormcloak and get him in the neck, but the man was wary and expertly swung his sword at Staid.

Staid was too slow to fully dodge the blow, although he did manage to keep the worst of the damage away. The blade cut a long, shallow cut down his forearm and Staid growled as the stinging bite of the blade registered.

The Stormcloak – although only an average warrior at best, if the numerous legionnaires he had observed had taught him anything – was still far too good for him to beat. He couldn't match the man's reach or strength, and the shield gave the Stormcloak more options.

So he cheated. He moved backwards as the man swung his sharp sword and raised his empty hand. The Stormcloak's eyes widened in realization as Staid's hand was wreathed in scarlet flames. Staid forced his hand outwards and blasted the small ball of flame into the Stormcloak's armored chest.

His spell wasn't powerful enough to kill the man on its own, but it gave Staid an opening. While the man stumbled backwards and clawed at his chest in agony, Staid rushed forward with his knife raised and plunged his dagger into the Stormcloak's neck. A small spurt of blood stained his glove and his dagger, but Staid paid no heed to it.

When he yanked it out, the man stayed upright for several more seconds, clutching his neck with useless fingers before collapsing to the ground. Staid panted from the exertion before turning around. Hadvar was staring at him in astonishment, his bloody blade hanging loosely from his grip.

"That was…impressive." Hadvar stated before hefting his shield up. "Let's go."

Staid nodded and quietly followed Hadvar. They said nothing to each other as they passed through the empty halls of the fort. Both were too tense for conversation, although the silence finally broke after they snuck up on a few Stormcloaks scavenging potions and quickly killed them thanks to their stealth.

"Where did you learn to fight?" Hadvar asked as they searched the store room for any remaining potions. Several had been found on the Stormcloaks, but both of them wanted as many as possible.

"Mostly on the streets." Staid replied as he dug through a dusty wooden box. "A few legionnaires I met taught me some stuff, but I mostly learned from fighting for food or people who thought I was an easy target."

"You're better than most with that dagger of yours." Hadvar mused as he pulled a few potions from a discarded bag. "Whatever legionnaire taught you did well."

"Thanks."

Silence reigned once more after that. They soon realized that escaping was more important than finding as many potions as possible, in no small part due to the ominous crashes coming from above them. Dust rained down from the rafters as the roof shook.

They practically fled from the room as the shakings became more and more frequent. Neither had any desire to be crushed under tons of dirt and stone. Their quick pace didn't let up until they reached the torture chamber and had to kill off the Stormcloaks threatening the Imperials there.

Their silence, however, held strong. Even with the addition to their group – a tall man whose hood obscured his face, but whose size and demeanor suggested Nordic heritage – the silence remained. Staid certainly appreciated it. He didn't want to have to fight anybody head on, not when it was so much easier to walk up behind them and slit their throats or stab them in the back.

The fact that a rear assault meant that he didn't have to see their faces as they died might have played a part in it as well.

Unfortunately, they soon found themselves in another fight. Staid and Hadvar had accepted by now that the Stormcloaks wouldn't work with them, so they didn't bother giving the rebels the advantage of knowing that they were there.

The torturer nearly blew their cover when he charged up some sort of lightning spell – it didn't seem to be very powerful, judging by the fact that Staid could barely feel magic being drawn into being – but Hadvar quickly reprimanded the man.

Hadvar had already made a plan. He and the torturer's apprentice would fight off any of the Stormcloaks that didn't have bows, while Staid would start the fight by throwing a ball of fire into a long stream of glistening oil that had likely been created by a spilled lamp. Three Stormcloaks stood around the oil spill, either unaware of the danger right next to them or uncaring.

"Now." Hadvar ordered. Staid nodded and clenched his right fist, causing bright flames to flicker into existence around it. When his spell was charged he opened his hand and sent the fireball careening over to the shining oil. The Stormcloaks had just seen the fireball when it impacted, setting the oil alight and drowning the rebels in flame.

Staid hadn't realized just how horrifying doing that would be. The rancid smell of cooking flesh and burnt hair wafted through the air, and on top of the nausea he was experiencing from the mere fact that he had just burned people alive, he emptied the contents of his stomach – now little more than bile and water – onto the cave floor.

Hadvar looked at him pityingly before turning around to face the Stormcloaks that were charging through the dark cave in the hopes of avenging their burning comrades and meet them in battle. The torturer stood back and supported Hadvar with his lightning spell. Although it didn't appear to be very strong, judging by the spasms and screams coming from the Stormcloaks it was extremely painful.

Even as Staid was beginning to recover and pull himself back up, one of his targets – one of the two Stormcloaks that had bows instead of swords or hammers – that had gone unchecked pulled back an arrow and shot it straight into the torturer's chest.

Staid recovered rather quickly after that. He hadn't known the torturer, and had to admit that he was quite glad that it hadn't been him or Hadvar killed by the archer, but the dead man had still been an ally. The teenager's pale face grew red with anger and shouted as he sheathed his dagger and blasted two fireballs at the archer, who was lining up another shot.

Twin fireballs impacted the Stormcloak's chest, causing the man to cry out in pain as the magical flames ate through his light armor and into his chest. He had no chance to react as a long shard of ice flashed through the dark cave, noticeable only due to the flickering torch light. It landed heavily into the Stormcloak's mostly exposed chest, spearing through the slightly burnt muscle and flesh.

The Imperial calmed down as the Stormcloak died and turned to the other rebel. Hadvar was doing an admirable job of keeping the two Stormcloaks attacking him at bay, showing mastery over the sword that took years of hard practice and training to build.

He didn't use fireballs this time. That ice spike had been pretty effective against the last Stormcloak, so hopefully it would work just as good on this one.

His foe was lining up a shot by the time he had prepared the spell. Staid didn't move as the woman shot an arrow at him. That killing shot by the last archer had practically been a miracle. Only khajiit and bosmer tended to be able to shoot just as well in the dark as they could in the light, and with the heavy iron helmets the Stormcloaks wore he was surprised they could even shoot straight. There was almost no threat of being hit.

So he was patient as he sent his spells at her. She was fast enough to dodge the barrage of ice spikes, but her heavy armor was slowing her down and weakening her. Soon enough he landed a few hits that crippled her, which made his job much easier. Just a few more spells later and she caught a few lethal spikes to the chest.

Staid was panting as he finished. That fight had taken almost all of his magicka reserves, which had been one of the only things that was keeping him going. It was a sort of energy reserve when someone really needed it.

"How are you holding up?" Hadvar asked as he walked over to the teenager. The legionnaire had gained several new wounds. His armor looked as though it had taken a beating and was slightly dented from blows powerful enough to have shattered Staid's bones. A small cut was on his face, but it looked as though Hadvar had drunk one of the weak healing potions they'd found.

"I'm fine." He replied, pulling himself up. "Just tired. How much longer do we have to go before we're out of here?"

"Not long." The legionnaire answered. "We're about to enter the caves that'll lead us out. Be careful in there, I've heard that some animals come into it for warmth. Try not to aggravate them."

Staid nodded and followed Hadvar as the legionnaire carefully led him through the dark cave, soon leading into a section of the caves that was pitch black aside from a few solitary lanterns that littered the ground. They moved through quickly once Staid conjured up a ball of flame that allowed them to safely traverse the area.

Soon, however, disaster struck soon enough. They entered a slightly lit area – the thin beams of light descended from holes in the ceiling – that revealed that the duo had stumbled into a Frostbite Spider lair. Webs large enough to wrap ten men in hung from the walls and tightly wrapped balls of the thick web that likely held the dissolved corpses of their prey were attached to the larger webs.

Hadvar held out his shield to keep Staid from going any further. Staid looked around nervously, searching for any of the deadly arachnids. Although the Frostbites in the south of Skyrim tended to have a paralytic poison that knocked its victims unconscious instead of the lethal venom of the north, it was still far too dangerous to risk being bitten by them.

"Don't move." Hadvar murmured. "But prepare yourself. This is the only way out."

Staid nodded and readied his spells. Fire would be most effective against the spiders. It wasn't as if they needed to kill all of the Frostbite, just scare them away.

The duo carefully began to walk forward with their eyes scanning over every corner of the room. Staid wished he had learned a spell that could detect life. It would be pretty useful right now.

As Staid searched the large cavern, he missed a hidden corpse entombed in web. The teen tripped over it and cursed in indignation as he fell down onto the sticky surface of the floor. Staid pushed himself up and looked up at Hadvar in order to apologize for his clumsiness.

What he saw, however, was not an annoyed legionnaire. What he saw was a legionnaire with a face as white as a ghost and his weapons ready. Staid saw that he was looking behind him, and with a growing sense of dead turned around.

A Frostbite Spider – larger than any he had ever seen before, more than three times as large as most of its breed – was lowering itself down behind him. He had no idea how the creature had managed to hide itself from their vigilant search, but that wonder vanished when he saw that a dozen of its kin were lowering themselves to the ground as well.

Staid ignored the revulsion and fear he felt as he saw the thick hair covering legs as tall as he was and the blank, dead looking eyes that balefully stared at him. He even ignored the fangs that ominously dripped clear poison.

He knew that his ice spikes and fire bots would do little to the monster. Staid gritted his teeth and ignored his exhaustion, drawing upon his last reserves of magicka in order to form two swirling spheres of ethereal flame in his hands. This spell had cost him a great amount of septims to learn, and he truly hoped that it was worth it.

When both spells were charged up, Staid released the twin fireballs. They blasted into the floor directly underneath the massive Frostbite Spider and exploded, causing the spider and its children to screech in agony as they were bathed in flames.

Staid screamed as the wave of heat hit him as well, burning his exposed skin and causing him great pain. He saw one of the smaller spiders that had escaped the flames – now being rapidly spread by the flammable web – leap at him and dig its fangs into his arm.

There was no pain other than the bite, although the sensation of the thin venom being injected into his bloodstream was an uncomfortable sensation. He still barely felt anything, and the world seemed to be swimming around him. As blackness crept towards the edge of his vision he heard Hadvar shout and saw a shining steel sword go straight through the spider's thin exoskeleton and force the creature off of him.

His exhausted body collapsed and took his mind along with it. Staid only felt a pair of strong arms catching him before he fell into unconsciousness.

X

He awoke in an unfamiliar place. Whatever he was in was rather coarse and slightly itchy, but it was still paradise compared to the thin, ratty bedroll he usually slept on. Staid enjoyed the sensation for a few moments before opening his eyes and pushing himself up on weakened arms.

"Where am I?" He wondered aloud. The room he was in was small, and from the open doorway he could see that it led into an average looking room that had a large table and everything else a family could need in it. From the poor quality of most things, he judged that he was in the home of a peasant or some other poor person. Of course, the high quality of most of the metal instruments around him – candleholders, door latches, and a few pots made him suspect that this might be the home of a blacksmith.

"You're in my husband's home." Said a woman as she entered the room. She was pretty enough, Staid supposed, but her face was weathered from a hard life in a small village. "My husband's nephew brought you here half-dead and unconscious. You're lucky you survived."

"Thank you." He coughed through a dry throat. "But could I please have some water."

"Of course." She replied, handing him a small cup. Staid greedily gulped it down. "Now get back down. You're in no shape to be walking around. That bite wound has barely healed and there might be some leftover burns."

Staid nodded his acceptance and let himself collapse onto the bed. "Were you the one that healed me?"

"I'm the one that identified your worst injuries and gave you a few healing potions." She replied. "By the way, I'm Sigrid."

"Staid." He replied. "Well, thank you for your assistance. Could you get Hadvar?"

Sigrid nodded and walked out of the room. Staid sighed in exhaustion and closed his eyes for a moment and simply relaxed. It had been so long since he had been in a real bed.

His peace was interrupted by the heavy thuds he associated with boots. Staid opened his eyes and saw Hadvar entering the room in full Legion regalia. Hadvar's sword hung on his hip in a leather sheath and his shield was on his back.

"Are you feeling all right?" The man questioned as he sat down in a small wooden chair next to the bed. "You had some nasty injuries."

"I'm fine." Staid replied. "Where am I?"

"You're in my Uncle Alvor's house." Hadvar said. "It's in a small town called Riverwood and is just an hour or so away from Helgen."

"Did you carry me here?" Staid asked uncomfortable. He was embarrassed to have been such a load.

"Yes." The legionnaire stated. "You were too badly hurt and that poison had knocked you out. Those potions we picked up weren't strong enough to do anything, and I wasn't about to leave you after you saved my life."

"Thanks." Staid said. "Do you know how long it will be before I recover? I need to get moving again."

Hadvar scratched his chin for a moment as he thought. "Just a few days at the most. Sigrid said you were mostly healed. But," he said, his tone turning serious, "I have a job for you. Riverwood is in danger, and I have to meet up with General Tullius in Solitude to give my report. When you're ready to travel, could you report the events at Helgen to Jarl Bulgruuf at Whiterun?"

"Me?" Staid asked in surprise. "Couldn't you or one of the villagers do it? I'm just a kid."

"A kid that's proven himself to be more dangerous than most legionnaires." Hadvar corrected. "None of the men are willing to venture to Whiterun – apparently bandits have started becoming more active in the region – and I'm having to go around the Hold, through Falkreath. Although Whiterun is neutral, its guards and militia don't take kindly to soldiers of either side going through its territory. You, on the other hand, can go through freely."

The teen thought the situation over for a moment. He didn't exactly have a set goal other than to survive, so it wasn't as if the job would be too restricting. Besides, having a grateful Jarl and village could do wonders for that goal. Maybe he would actually get paid this time.

"I'll do it." Staid said, holding out his bare hand. Hadvar grasped it and shook it.

"I've got to head out." Hadvar stated somewhat sadly. "Good luck, I think you might be needing it soon. I hope you enjoy your time in Riverwood. My uncle will give you any supplies that he can."

With that, the legionnaire left the room. Staid watched him leave, somewhat frustrated by his exit. Still, his words had merit. He would certainly enjoy the time lazing about and recovering.

Staid sighed and laid back down in the bed. He suspected that things would be getting a lot more interesting in his life soon.