The first thing that Berin noticed upon regaining consciousness was that he was moving. The creaking of wood and the sound of horses said that he was in a wagon.
The second thing he noticed was that he had a headache the size of a mammoth, which wasn't helped when the wagon hit a hole and caused his head to slam against the wooden seat he was lying on.
When he tried to open his eyes, he was forced to close them tightly again to block out the bright light of the sun.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake." A male voice said.
Am I? Berin thought, grimacing. That would explain how much pain I'm in.
Opening his eyes again he was at least successful in keeping them open, though he was so dizzy and light-headed that his sight remained unfocused.
Blinking quickly to dispel the fog in his eyes, he could finally see where he was. He was in the back of a cart with three men, Nords by the look of them, whose hands were bound. Berin quickly glanced down at his own hands to find them equally bound.
He could see at least one other wagon as well as several men on horseback, all of them soldiers in Imperial Legion armor.
What in Oblivion?! He wondered, eyes widening in surprise and alarm. What in the name of the Divines is going on?!
"Ugh," He finally groaned. "What happened to me?"
"You were trying to cross the border, right?" The man sitting across from him, who was apparently the man who had spoken earlier, asked. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
Thief? He thought, glancing around.
"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!"
Stormcloaks huh? Ugh. That explains how I'm here, not why though. I'm not a Stormcloak.
"You there." Berin looked up at the horse thief. "You and me- we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The man threw in, seeming to spit the word thief.
"Shut up back there!" Called the soldier driving the cart.
In the short silence that followed Berin took the time to look at the other men in the cart.
The man sitting across from him look to be in his late twenties or early thirties, with shoulder-length blonde hair that had a loose braid along the left side of his face. With his trimmed beard, humorous blue eyes, and muscular build he looked every inch the typical Nord male. He was wearing what appeared to be chainmail and leather armor with a blue cloth covering his shoulders, which Berin assumed to be the Stormcloak uniform.
The horse thief sat to the Stormcloak's right. He was almost the complete opposite of the Stormcloak, looking a few years younger with dark, reddish brown hair that he had combed away from his face with his hands. His face was clean shaven but covered in dirt that made his brown eyes seem darker than they actually were. He was wearing a shirt that looked as if it would be put to better use as a rag and Berin figured that the soldiers had given it to him when they captured him, as a quick glance at his own body showed that he had been similarly appareled.
The man sitting next to Berin had been silent up to this point, probably because he had a gag in his mouth, though Berin couldn't think of a reason why. He looked to be the oldest in the small group, around forty years old, with dark blonde hair past his shoulders with a small, tight braid down the left side of his head. The gag covered most of the lower half of his face, but Berin could see the intense green eyes above the gag and the hint of a beard below. Wearing a combination of chainmail with two steel shoulder plates and a fur cloak he was dressed finer than anyone else in the wagon.
Wanting to stop referring to them as "the Stormcloak", "the horse thief", and "the gagged man" in his mind, but wanting to avoid bringing the soldier's attention to himself, Berin took a small breath and whispered an introduction.
"My name's Berin. I'm from Cheydinhal in Cyrodiil."
The Stormcloak looked at him with a raised brow and smirked.
"From Cyrodiil, eh? Decided you'd had enough of the Empire? Great! We could always use a good man in Skyrim. Name's Ralof. I come from the small village of Riverwood, near Whiterun. Joined the Stormcloaks 'cause I refuse to bow down to those who turn their backs on Talos! You come here to join?"
Berin glared at him for a long moment before answering.
"No, I did not come here to join the Stormcloaks."
Ralof's curiosity seemed awakened, as he rather rudely asked, "Why did you come then?"
"My reasons are my own." Berin snapped, his tone and expression effectively putting an end to the conversation.
Taking a deep breath to calm his emotions, he turned to the thief and asked, "What about you?"
"Lokir." The man mumbled.
Berin nodded in greeting and turned slightly to his right. And that leaves...
"And what's wrong with him, huh?" Lokir's voice interrupted the thought.
"Watch your tongue!" Ralof snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
Berin's eyes widened in surprise, but quickly narrowed in disgust.
Stuck in the back of a wagon with the leader of the Stormcloaks. Great. He thought sarcastically as he shifted slightly away from the man, disgust plain on his face, though no-one noticed.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you..." Lokir's voice stopped as he realized what that meant. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"
"I don't know where we're going," Ralof's voice answered quietly. "but Sovngarde awaits."
"No! This can't be happening. This isn't happening!" Lokir's voice rang with fear and desperation.
For the next few minutes the only sounds to be heard were the creaking of the wheels and the quiet, desperate whispers of Lokir. Suddenly, Ralof spoke out.
"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?"
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." He said softly.
"Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."
Silence reigned once more as each man lost himself in his own thoughts. Berin took a good look at his surroundings to pass the time. It was a beautiful place, this Skyrim. They were currently riding through a dense forest high in the mountains where everything was covered in a thin layer of snow. Looking ahead of the wagon, he noticed that a fortified stone gate with Imperial guards patrolling the walkway was coming into view.
They had arrived.
"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" One of the soldiers called down to the man leading the wagons.
"Good." The General grunted. "Let's get this over with."
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" Lokir cried, hearing the exchange.
The gates groaned as they opened to allow the party into the town. As the general entered, he steered his horse over to where a small group of High Elves were waiting.
As the wagon passed the group, Ralof glared at them in disgust.
"Look at him," He spat. "General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves." Here Berin shot a glare at him, though he was too concentrated on the General to notice. "I bet they had something to do with this."
Looking around at the stone towers and log houses, a flash of recognition showed on his face. "This is Helgen." He said with a sigh. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He stopped, his voice suddenly taking a slightly sorrowful tone. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
Seeing the forlorn expression on Ralof's face, Berin quickly looked away only to have his gaze caught on a small family on the porch of one of the houses. A young boy, appearing around ten years old, was watching the soldiers go by with an awe-struck look on his face. Berin was quickly lost to a memory where he was that little boy.
Berin was standing in the doorway holding his father's helmet as he watched him grimly put on his armor. Seeing that Berin was watching, he quickly put a bright smile on his face as he knelt down in front of him. He gently took his helmet from his son's clenched hands and placed it on his head before embracing Berin.
"Make sure you take care of your mother and sister for me, okay?"
The young Berin nodded and clasped a fist to his chest in a salute. Grinning, his father returned the salute, saying "For the Empire." before walking out the door of their house.
Berin was snapped back to the present when he heard the little boy's voice.
"Who are they, daddy?" He asked, looking at the prisoners in the back of the carts. "Where are they going?"
Looking around quickly, Berin noticed the headsman heading toward the chopping block. Eyes widening in alarm, he turned back to look at the boy. Sweet Divines! He thought. Don't let him see this!
The boy's father seemed to share this feeling, as he soon turned to his son.
"You need to go inside, little cub." He said in a slightly strained voice.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers!" The lad argued.
"Inside the house. Now."
"Yes, papa."
Berin closed his eyes and let out a sigh of relief. No-one so young should see this.
"Whoa!"
His eyes snapped open and he whipped his head around to see that the other wagon had stopped and was being unloaded.
"Get these prisoners out of the carts! Move it!" The Captain shouted angrily.
Lokir looked around despairingly. "Why are we stopping?"
"Why do you think?" Ralof answered. "End of the line."
He looked at Berin with a grim smile. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
Berin smiled brightly, too brightly for one about to be executed, stunning the other Nord.
"Guess we shouldn't!" He said cheerily. Or anyone else.
"No! Wait!" Lokir called to the guards. "We're not rebels!"
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof muttered.
"You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!"
The Imperial Captain glared at them as they jumped out of the cart.
"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" She shouted.
For the love of the Divines, woman! We are right here! Stop shouting! Berin thought with a grimace, his headache only getting worse.
The young soldier standing beside her grimly began to read the names on the list.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm." He called, glancing up at the man.
Ulfric kept his head held high as he walked quickly to where the other prisoners were gathered around the block.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof called to him.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The man refused to look up after reading this name and Berin noticed that he seemed to grow tense, his hand gripping the feather quill with unnecessary force. Ralof glared at him fiercely as he walked past.
Strange. Berin mused, glancing between the two of them. Perhaps they knew each other before the war.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
"No!" Lokir screamed, running up to the Captain. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"
When the woman simply stared at him, Lokir lost control completely, quickly dodging around her and trying to run for the gate.
"Halt!" She screamed. Upon seeing that he had no intention of stopping, she quickly called out orders. "Archers!"
Berin turned away, not wishing to see his death. Stupid. That was so stupid! He had to have known that he would never make it!
Berin's thoughts were interrupted by the Captain.
"Anyone else feel like running?" She asked, glaring at him. Berin grimly shook his head and she nodded, satisfied.
"Wait." The man holding the list said. He looked between Berin and the list several times before calling out, "You there. Step forward."
Berin walked forward until he was only a few feet away.
"Who are you?"
"My name is Berin Velandus."
The soldier looked surprised for a moment, probably because of the last name. Berin discretely rolled his eyes. Everyone always reacted like this when he introduced himself, "That's an unusual name last name for a Nord." they always say. Maybe because it's not a Nordic last name. Berin thought, annoyed beyond belief.
The man recovered quickly, though, and said, "You picked a bad time to come home, kinsman." He turned to the woman. "Captain. What should we do? He's not on the list."
"Forget the list. He goes to the block."
"By your orders, Captain." Turning back to Berin, he looked at him sadly. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland."
Berin shrugged nonchalantly. "I guess." His countenance changed suddenly, becoming serious. "I just want to make one thing clear, so that no-one thinks otherwise." Berin looked him directly in the eye to make sure he understood. "I am not a Stormcloak, nor do I wish to be at all associated with them. I was trying to cross the border and somehow got tangled up in your ambush."
The man looked at him seriously for a moment, considering his words. Nodding, he said, "I understand. I wish it would change everything, but it doesn't."
"I know it doesn't." Berin said quietly. "I just wanted at least one person to know."
"Well..." He said slowly. "My name is Hadvar. I will make sure that you are not listed as a Stormcloak, but could you answer a few questions, so I can put them down in the records?"
"Sure."
"Hair color? Eye color?"
Berin looked at him strangely, trying to figure out if he was joking.
"Sorry." Hadvar said sheepishly. "Protocol."
"Alright." Berin sighed. This really wasn't helping his headache. "Hair color: black. Eye color: green."
"Height?"
"Six feet, three inches."
"Place of origin?"
"I was born in Anvil, but I lived in Cheydinhal before coming to Skyrim."
Again, Hadvar looked surprised. "Why did you come here?"
"Personal reasons." Berin muttered.
Hadvar looked curious for a moment but decided against pushing, noticing the Captain growing impatient.
"Alright, that should be good enough." He looked at Berin before nodding his head towards the Captain. "Follow the Captain, prisoner."
Bering nodded at him before turning and following the Captain to the now large group in front of the block.
Standing with the other prisoners, Berin noticed that a silent standoff seemed to be occurring between Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius. Suddenly the General began to speak.
"Ulfric Stormcloak." He snarled. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."
Ulfric grunted behind his gag.
"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."
As soon as the General had ceased to speak a distant sound was heard, causing everyone gathered to stop and look around, trying to find the source. It was silent for a while before Hadvar spoke up.
"What was that?"
"It's nothing." Tullius said. "Carry on."
"Yes, General Tullius!" The Captain said before turning to a robed woman behind her. "Give them their last rites."
The priestess raised her hands and began the prayer. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessing of the Eight Divines upon you-"
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!" A man shouted as he stomped towards the block.
The priestess glared for a moment before walking away angrily. "As you wish."
Berin stared at the man, begrudgingly admiring his courage as stood at the block impatiently.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning!"
The Captain stepped up behind him and pushed him to his knees, then planted her foot on his back and shoved his neck to the wood. The executioner readied his axe and hesitated for a moment, giving the man time to say his last words.
"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"
Berin closed his eyes as the axe swung down to its mark, making a sickening sound as it cut through flesh and bone.
One of the female Stormcloaks, overcome by grief, cried out.
"You Imperial bastards!"
This seemed to anger the crowd of citizens, who called out "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!"
Ralof looked sadly at the headless corpse that was being carried away for burial.
"As fearless in death as he was in life."
Berin opened his eyes and noticed the Captain looking at him.
"Next, the Nord in the rags!"
"Guess it's my turn." Berin muttered, getting ready to walk over to the Captain, only to stop as he heard the sound from before, though it seemed closer now. Apparently, he wasn't the only one who heard it, as Hadvar spoke again.
"There it is again. Did you hear that?"
The Captain ignored the question, angrily calling out, "I said, next prisoner!"
Hadvar slowly turned to Berin. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."
Berin walked quickly over to the Captain and turned towards the block. Upon being shoved to the ground and then kicked onto the block, he couldn't help but grimace.
Could've done that myself, thanks. He thought sarcastically.
Seeing the executioner lift his axe, he closed his eyes and whispered one last thing.
"I'm coming home, Anya."
Suddenly, a loud roaring was heard. Berin's eyes snapped open just in time to see a dark shape come from behind a mountain peak before disappearing from sight behind the tower.
"What in Oblivion is that?!" General Tullius yelled.
The captain called out to the patrolling guards, "Sentries! What do you see?!"
"It's in the clouds!"
Suddenly, the dark shape landed on top of one of the towers and glared down at the quivering group below. Berin's eyes finally focused on the creature before widening in shock and fear.
It can't be! This is impossible!
One of the Stormcloaks cried out, wiping away any doubts Berin had.
"Dragon!"
Divines help us all.
End chapter 1