Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters, places, etc. I only own my OC!

Handsome Faces

Thalia's first thought was not of her pending death, or of just where she was as she awoke in the small carriage; no, it was something more on the line of just how handsome the two Nords around her were. She had always been a sort of fanatic about such, and she certainly wasn't new to the idea of just fantasizing about unrealistic lives to herself.

The beauty of this pair, though, was that they were both just sitting and watching her, all of their hands bound. Altogether, four were placed in the carriage, one of the interested ones placed directly in front of her, and the other beside her, gagged. Diagonal to her sat a man in rags, just as her own when she looked down. He merely stared solemnly at the wood bench right in front of him.

"You're awake," the one in front of her said, his voice deeply accented, rolling with a pleasing tone. He was crowned by a yellow head of hair, lengthening down to rest on his shoulders and complementing his electric blue eyes, entrancing and mesmerizing with their sure spirit and the absolute intensity to them. "Good. You've been out since we left Solitude. We were getting worried that Sovngarde had taken you in your sleep." A tiny flash of a smile hit the edges of his mouth, but disappeared as quickly as it came. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked straight into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." She herself chuckled at the ironic memory, shaking her head easily. She opened her mouth to speak.

The diagonal one stole her time, though.

"Damn you Stormcloaks to Oblivion!" he said in disgust, looking over the blonde without retribution. Thalia's eyebrows raised at the unfamiliar term. "If the Imperials hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now!"

Thalia turned to regard the man. He was very slight for a Nordic man, with poorly cut brown hair and a rather dull face, made even more so by his dark, lazy eyes. From what she could tell, the duo were soldiers, their bodies honed and ridiculously defined with almost a uniform bestowed on them, while this one was a common man. The secondary soldier to her right was extraordinarily large, with amber hair to the touch, the motion of it having a very kempt style, though it was very greased back.

The blonde's eyes flashed with fiery anger, and for the first time her broke his stare from her. However, she was in no mood for arguments. Before he could speak, she leaned in at her honest lack of knowledge.

"Stormcloaks?" she asked, her eyes showing her ignorance at the meaning behind the word. Instantly, she felt all eyes on her, staring with surprised expressions and all but the gagged one having their jaws hanging. The one with the amber locks looked most intently at her, incredulously, his eyes indicating his awe at her innocent looks that she offered. She finally shrugged, leaning back as far as the bench would allow and sighed, watching the bright sky pass. However, being herself and feeling the bewildered eyes centered on her. Finally, she groaned, shifting forward once more with narrowed eyes. "What?" she inquired sharply.

The blonde shook himself from his daze, eyes searching up and down her form once more and taking her in once more very carefully. "How long were you on foreign soil, kinsman?" The thief looked away, now disinterested, but the intensity of the gagged man seemed to almost increase.

"I have lived in Morrowind," she explained, emphasizing the place, for it was not where she had tried to cross the border, "since I was of five years of age. My parents and I were separated two years later, and a lone black elf took me in, raising me of pure heart and teaching me the proper ways of swordsmanship. He taught me much of the ancient lore of Skyrim, and everything I know today." She paused, biting her teeth as she looked upon the man's face for any signs of interest; he nodded, bidding her continue. "I parted with him but a month ago, making my way across Cyrodiil before coming to the border where I initially left Skyrim. I figured it would be a pleasant homecoming. Apparently, I was wrong." She smirked with a shrug, stretching her spine as she recalled the events that had so played forth in her life, each and every detail.

The blonde nodded, his countenance understanding but his eyes heavy and solemn. "You would not know of us, then." His face turned somewhat to pride, looking over to the amber every so often, but mostly keeping to her face. He spoke in hushed, somber tones, as if trying to hide it from the Imperial who drove the cart. He, however, either didn't care about or couldn't hear the conversation, and Thalia had a feeling she should be thankful for this.

The entire time the Nord spoke, Thalia could still feel the stare of the amber-haired man boring into her skull. It was certainly uncomfortable for her, and she was almost certain that he could tell her tense nature for himself. Regardless, she held her current position, nodding every-so-often to tell the blonde that she was listening. The fact was, these people were apart of a rebellion for the liberation of Skyrim from the Empire, under the rule and guide of Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm.

"And Jarl Ufric so rides with us today!" he finally concluded, looking over to the amber and nodding deeply, though in what manifestations Thalia could only barely begin to guess. All she knew was that she couldn't help it when she turned her head to fully scan her for the first time. He was absolutely massive, and she was almost positive that she had never seen anyone so big in her life, even by the standards of the other soldiers piled in carts around her. Being elves her entire life probably didn't help that conclusion, though. His hair bore two duel blades, each swiftly moving down his head with the same trajectory and lengths as the rest of the body. His eyes were a very pale, but still distinctly vivid moss green, though they caught her in a story haze.

She heard the other two start to bicker, but the specific words were not befallen to her mind; no, Ulfric held her attention, with each of their studies seemingly unable to be impaired by the world around. His fascination with her fascinated her, and she found herself unable to tear her gaze away. The cart was small, so she could feel his knees digging into her own, could feel and almost taste his breath on her face.

"Get the prisoners out of the carts!" The gruff voice was feminine as she thrust out orders, and brought Thalia from her trance. She lifted her head, though Ulfric still held the same position. The city walls around them were strong, stone, but the town was relatively small.

"This is Helgen," the blonde said. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here." Thalia pursed her lips, trying to roll her head around to get a full development of the entire place. Maybe her thin self and lack of noticeable attire, she could slip into the shadows and get out of here. She doubted it, but it was always a possibility to keep in the back of her mind.

The carriage pulled into the town square, where she could already make out the block the Imperial soldiers had set up, and the masked executioner that stood with the largest, cruelest axe she had ever seen in her life propped up against his side. The impression desired was sheer panic; the received was trepidation.

Slowly, their cart came to a halt next to the others, who were already unloaded. They all seemed to be Stormcloaks, from the garments they so wore.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief stammered, the terror in his eyes complete and very, very obvious.

"Why do you think?" the blonde inquired, his accent rolling beautifully. "End of the line."

She looked over to Ulfric one last time, still convinced that he had not moved at all. However, this time, he blinked and, very subtly, brought his head down and closed his eyes. As he came back up, he stood up, just as the others did. She followed, right behind Ulfric and right in front of the blonde, her mind racing as to figure out whether that had been a nod or a bow.

The wood shook under their weight, and one of the Imperial guards shouted something about stepping towards the block when they were so summoned. Thalia wasn't really listening at that point. She just made her way on light feet behind the thief, leaning haphazardly to her side, bored eyes looking to the Imperial. He rose a list from his belt, as well as a quill, and the way this was all going to work became very apparent in Thalia's quick-working mind.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Ulfric slowly made his way past them and to his destination, his cloak of feathers rippling behind him at the movement and in the wind there. Then, as he stopped, he stood tall, proud, and unafraid of his pending doom. Thalia commemorated him for it.

"Ralof of Riverwood." The blonde stepped forward, a grim smirk on his face as the presentation of his spirit as he made his way to the other side of Ulfric, leaving room for two more between them. Thalia raised her eyebrows in a quick acknowledgement. She supposed it was one way to learn someone's name.

"Lokir of Rorikstead." The horse thief stepped up, but without the proud aura of the former two. He begged for mercy, trying to explain how he was not a rebel. It made Thalia want to laugh, the pathetic way he shuffled back and forth, looking to the children of the village for some form of mercy. Finally, he bolted, running for the edge of town, though not quite out of Imperial reach. Archers followed quick orders, and he was shot, dead to the ground.

So much for that plan.

"You." Thalia looked up from the thief, twitching at the fact that they wasted no time on any thought. She took a step forward, her heels biting heavily into the ground with distinct attitude lining them. She was not about to face death without any emotion at all. Ralof, Ulfric, and several of the others looked up, obviously intrigued that the Empire knew not of someone. "Who are you?"

Her black bangs flittered against her pale skin, a dark ponytail holding the rest in place as she cocked her head to the side. Her irises inspected the man with their hyacinth-violet hues, being out her fair complexion and her red lips. She was slightly short and thin, but the fact was of a good to her own abilities. Her skin had a velveteen element to it, and that bolded the dark purple color of her warpaint, which cobwebbed with a nearly electric aspect to it over her eyes.

"Thalia of Riften," she answered honestly, remembering her birth city. She had never actually been within its walls, living on a farm barely within its borders, but she supposed it was her home. And yet, she knew nothing of its folds.

The man muttered something she cared little to make out, and turned to another Imperial beside him, the apparent Captain here. "What do we do, sir? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list," the woman replied, "she goes to the block."

Thalia nodded, expecting as much from the woman, and made her own way to stand between Ralof and Ulfric, and allowed her mind to travel to Morrowind for the last time. She wondered of her mentor, of his reaction when he found out about this. Disappointment? Anger? Sorrow? All would not be pretty.

Then it came. It was faint at first, like nothing but a ghost whispering on the wind, but it echoed so that the other prisoners and Imperials could hear it as well. More than anything, it sounded like a roar, but from no creature she could recognize. Probably something native to Skyrim, she supposed.

Ulfric was then confronted by the general of the Imperial Legion, a man of short stock by the apparent name of Tullius. She could not hear beyond that, though, could not hear his accusations, nor the rest of the sounds around her as her own blood started to circle, pounding through her body with incredible speed, awakening every muscle, every sense to their absolute extents. She could hear her heart beating like a drum, coursing the liquid faster and faster through her body than she could comprehend.

She had no idea what the sudden circle meant, but it made her shake, almost like her body and soul were anticipating something her mind had no true comprehension of. She tingled like needles were caressing her skin, and involuntarily her eyes opened wide, watching the skies with the start of a smirk touching her face.

Then, breaking away her concentration, a Stormcloak soldier stepped forth, a young man with bright red hair and a hardened spirit from what she could tell, considering the looks the Captain and the priest there shot him. He fell to his knees, facing the block, before the Captain dropped a foot on him, lowering his neck to the block. The executioner's axe was immediately brought up, and brought down with the strong muscles of the black-clad man, producing a clean cut that sent his head, his expression still proud, tumbling to the basket below, red liquid still bursting out from his neck. As it started to only drizzle instead of gush, the Captain kicked the man's body aside, seeming slightly satisfied. As his side hit the dirt, the pounding stopped.

The Captain then looked up to her. "Next! The Nord in the rags!" I did say my name, Thalia thought irritably, thinking that the last phrase she would every hear was that of a disconcerted Imperial that Thalia honestly thought could go impale herself on her own sword in a burning pit of flames.

Then, the roar sounded off again, much closer this time. A sweat took Thalia this time, her stomach clenching up as she tried to control her breathing, making sure that her aura was confidence in this place, not that of fear or of bloody masochism as she stepped to her death.

"What is that?" someone asked from the town's audience that had started to gather around to watch.

The Captain audibly growled, obviously frustrated at having to incline this beheading with such little fluidity. "I said, next prisoner!" The words came ravenously through her teeth. Thalia slowly stepped forward, her form exaggerated as to insult the Captain's precious swiftness through her execution. Out of the corner of her eye, she could have swore that she saw Ulfric's form tense, and then release almost as easily, as if he had some desperate realization. She shrugged it away, controlling herself from turning about her heels and watching him again, and fell to her knees in the same place the preceding Nord had been, and felt her own neck lowered to the bloody wood below. The substance stuck to her inner throat, and the stench of death on her acute senses was almost too much for her. The flies were already swarming, and the fact that she was within a half-foot of a decapitated man's head made her queasy, and for a moment she actually thought she was going to vomit on the executioner, right then and there.

Finally, the roar sounded once more just as the man started to bring up his axe, but this time with a body attached to it. A black, sleek, soaring body that passed over the mountains, landing on the tower above her head, the creature's sheer size nearly crushing the building below its talons and the force of its landing making the man fall to the side. Its eyes, red and absolutely bloodthirsty, looked directly onto Thalia, as if they knew something she did not, and again it roared, though words seemed to form from its massive mouth-full of white, incredibly large and sharp teeth, she did not fail to note-as the skies started to blacken, and her own vision blurred. Dizzy, helpless, she rolled off the block. Through all of it, though, she could recognize the creature from legends told long ago-a dragon.

Then, hands were around her neck, bound, but lifting her form by the back of her tunic. Her form barely stayed on her feet, and luckily the hands held on, keeping her up.

"C'mmon kinsman!" She could tell the voice as Ralof's, even with its current intensity. "The Gods won't give us another chance!" She felt him nearly dragging her, but she did take off some of his workload and tried to force her feet to run after him. He kept her clutched in his palms, and pulled her into one of the stone towers near there. She rolled out of his grasp once she could hear her feet clicking against the stone, leaning up against the wall and blinking with shakes of her head as to clear away the clouds in her eyes. Eventually, it worked, and as she listened, the falling men screamed around her, the dragon raging above still and what seemed to be massive hunks of stone falling from the skies above.

As she assessed her current situation, she noticed that several of the other Stormcloak soldiers sat here, a few injured, others pacing. All their hands unbound. She noticed a small pile of ropes on the ground, though nothing sharp was in her own eyesight. Desperate for ability and freedom, she pulled up her hands, starting to work on pulling the knot out with twists of her wrists and her teeth.

"Are the legends true then, Ulfric?" As her hands came free and she spat out the rope, she looked up to see Ralof next to Ulfric, unbound himself and no longer gagged. "Is that really a dragon? The bringer of the End-Times?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric replied, his tones deep, though not as accented as she had expected. Another roar tore through Helgen, and all of the troops shook a bit, disoriented for a few seconds before regaining their balance. The grounds were in heavy flames, littered with bodies, char-boiled to a crisp. As she leapt up, she scanned the area, a large staircase being the only visible exit besides that of the main door.

"We need to move. Now!" Ulfric's order held enough reasoning for Thalia to nod her approval. She slid around to the very side of the doorway, not watching the men as they stared at just what she was doing. Then, she ripped into a sprint, meaning to go right when she felt her tunic tug back from a hand grasping it hard, choking it as she flew back inside. Before she hit the ground on her back, she could see Ulfric's hand release her, apparently knowing her momentum.

"You are not going anywhere without me or Ralof!" he snarled, sensing Ralof nod understandingly at his side. Breathing hard, Thalia came up to her elbows, tensing her abdomen and legs. She narrowed her eyes at his, projecting her own intentions. She was not about to sneak through a burning village and the wilderness with a group that probably had no idea how to, and were seen as renegades in this hostile territory. He could see by his sudden blink that he had gotten the message, but was surprised by it. His obvious stubbornness would be a mere obstacle she would have to move past right now.

Lightning-fast, she kicked herself into a roll that passed both men through the doorway and over a dead Imperial, his body squishing beneath her own. She came off of the man, sprinting into the shadowed ruins of blazing straw houses, zigzagging across whenever the chance presented itself so that she would not risk getting caught in only one place, and so that she would not get truly pinpointed by more than one enemy. Imperials stood, casting barrages of arrows the dragon's way, but none of them seemed to more than merely bounce off its scaled hide. Bodies lined the ground, some scorched beyond remembrance, casting off putrid, acrid odors of burning flesh with their skin still sounding off, sizzling, and others lying in ever-stricken agony, mutilated and bloody whilst twisted in distortion on the ground.

Then, as she made her way across the main path to the other side, the dragon noticed her, a growling laughter coming from the pits of his stomach. Its flames shot for her, erupting forth and forcing to roll backwards to keep her own body intact. However, she was not unscathed-she felt the fire lick into her right calf, with no other reaction than her own screaming of bloody murder. Never had she felt such a sheer agony! Blood oozed down, the heat making its way up her in shots of white lightning. Instincts taking over, she forced herself to continue, dragging the leg along. Her face was wet, and all she could think about was the pain as her vision blurred once more. Her own consciousness was fading, but she still near-crawled as quickly as her body would permit after the juncture of her injury.

The skin was bubbling, and she could feel every single little boiling pop. All the battles she had endured, all the injuries she had suffered, nothing could compare to this. From what she could tell, she was at the end of town. With one final thrust, she threw herself into the bushes, protecting her leg as she recuperated her breathing for a few seconds, the tears near streaming down her face to soothe the burn on her face and stretch down to her leg. She refused to look right now, seeing the sounds of destruction still far too close for her comfort.

She took off again, limping through the woods until the battle was long-since gone from all her senses.

And then she limped some more.