Chapter I A Paraded Execution

"W-where are they taking us?"

"...I don't know...but...Sovngarde awaits."

"No! That's impossible, I'm...I'm not..."

"Shut up back there!"

Fehn's head was ringing. She could hear the sound of rushing water and agitated birds chirping, but the most prominent and rude noise was the wooden wheels of the cart josteling along the uneven mountain path. Cracking open one of her dark eyes, her gaze fell silently on a fair haired Nord man. Keeping her peace, she watched him. He was donned in Stormcloak livery and his hands were bound, restraining his muscular arms. Quietly still she watched as he conversed with a smaller man. The smaller one had a more gaunt appearance. His face was contorted in fear, ringing his hands nervously in their binds. His shaggy brown hair was pulled back behind his ears revealing an open - if not dirty - face. His little mouth was set like a trap as he eyed the Nord who asked him thickly,

"Where are you from, horse-thief?"

The thief's brow furrowed at the question. Fehn guessed the Nord was trying to be sentimental and keep the little fool quiet. She watched as the thief's eyes roamed the floor of the cart, he replied a little shakily.

"Rorikstead...I-I'm from Rorikstead."

The Nord nodded and bowed his head.

"Why?"

Asked the thief curtly.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

Lowering her gaze, Fehn felt a pang of homesickness. She was no Nord and hadn't even meant to be in this mess. It was that damned Maro's fault. If he hadn't of caught her...With a sigh, she relented in her harsh thoughts. There was no use crying over spilt milk. It was obvious from the moment she defended that Jarl, what was his name? Ulfric? She hadn't even recognised the cad when she had strewn her sword arm out between him and the Imperials - her brethren. She was pulled back to reality by a pair of dark blue eyes gazing at her.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

Returning her attention to the Nord, she blinked slowly. Remaining silent, he continued in a curiously friendly tone.

"You were caught trying to cross the border, yes?"

Fehn nodded mutely. She had already gotten herself into enough trouble conversing with these Nords. The thief piped up, addressing her,

"You! You and I, we shouldn't be here!"

She agreed.

"It's these damned Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

Again, she concurred.

"Everything was fine until you all showed up! Empire was nice and lazy."

Couldn't argue with that.

The Nord chuckled at the thief's vehemence. Returning his attention to her, he looked over Fehn again. She averted her gaze and allowed him to continue staring, he was obviously coming to the realisation that she was an Imperial, and that even her status as such was no cause for sparing of the noose.

"Wait, I know you..."

He began. Fehn shook her head,

"You're mistaken."

Was all she said, as the thief continued his hateful barrage of the Stormcloaks. She noticed the Nord didn't take his eyes off of her while the thief lamented at his difortune.

"...Could have been half-way to Hammerfell by now! What's wrong with him?"

"Hey! Watch your tongue, that's Ulfric Stormcloak. High King of Skyrim!"

The thief snapped his head around to glare at the fourth passenger in their cart. Fehn followed their gaze and stared blandly at Ulfric Stormcloak. He was gagged and seemed to be very disheartened. Turning his head away, he refused to meet the thief's accusing glare. Fehn was trying to resist the urge to throw her bound hands around his neck and strangle him with the rope which had them all. With a sigh, she looked away as the thief began to panic pathetically.

"Ulfric? Jarl of Windhelm? Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

The Nord man kept his own gaze locked on the road.

"Like I said, I don't know. Sovngarde awaits, horse thief."

Fehn scoffed softly, warranting the three of them to look in her direction. She refused to meet any of their eyes, instead keeping her own gaze fixed on the gates which welcomed them to Helgen. She could feel the binds on her wrists beginning to burn as the cold bit into her skin, mixed with the constant jolting, the rope was really starting to hurt her. Grimacing slightly, she tried to stretch her back, but she was coiled so tight - like a bowstring over strung - she had been hunching herself over to fight back the frost which seemed to bury itself deep inside her very bones. Shivering in her homespun tunic, Fehn watched as they drew closer and closer to Helgen.

"There's that damned General Tullius, we must be deemed important spectating if that milk-drinker's here to watch over us."

Said the Nord as the cart slowly minced past the Imperial general. Fehn locked eyes with him. His tanned skin was even more so in comparison to his almost white surroundings. His hair was even more gray than she remembered it to be back in Cyrodiil. These Nords must be keeping him busy, she thought coolly as she wheeled past him.

"Helgen. This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here..."

The Nord mused as the villagers all milled out of their quaint little cottages to see the condemned on their final journey. Fehn wondered if they would be allowed a final sip of wine before their demise, her throat was parched after the long journey. She brushed the thought away after she remembered just who was in the cart. There was no way they would allow Ulfric Stormcloak any pleasantry, she guessed that they would just want to kill him quickly to end the conflict which had been ravaging the land for so long. More horses hooves joined the din, looking back, she saw that Tullius had joined their train and was trotting along behind them - no doubt he would perform some sort of speech before overseeing their execution.

"W-why have we stopped?"

The thief enquired with tears in his eyes. The Nord replied coldly,

"Why do you think? End of the line."

Turning to her, he said with a ghost of a smile on his face,

"Come on, don't want to keep the gods waiting."

With that, he stood up behind the thief. Ulfric jumped down first, landing nimbly on his feet. A suppressed grunt could be heard from behind his gag. Next the thief, who landed flat on his chest. The Imperial guards tutted and roughly hauled him to his wandering feet.

"Get up!"

The Nord man was quick to follow, like his liege, he landed just as easily and stood proud and ready. Fehn was last to get off the cart. Standing next to the Nord, she hoped that her shivering would not be mistaken for cowardice before the mass of people who had come to watch her die.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!"

Called one of the guards.

"Empire loves their damn lists!"

The Nord exclaimed under his breath as the Jarl moved forward with a curt nod.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric."

"Lokir of Rorikstead!"

Lokir - the thief - moved forward, protesting loudly.

"Wait, we're not rebels!"

He shouted, tossing his head back to Fehn.

"Y-You can't do this! I'm not a rebel!"

Springing forward, Lokir ran towards the road. The Legate turned and shouted loudly,

"Halt! Archers!"

Lokir retorted, his back to them as he ran for freedom.

"You're not gonna' kill me!"

He was proven wrong swiftly as an Imperial arrow embedded itself in his back. Fehn sighed, even though she could never commend cowardice - she did feel pity for the pathetic thief. Returning to the business at hand, the guards called out the Nord man,

"Ralof of Riverwood!"

Throwing her a confidant look, he winked and walked forward. She envied him, she envied his confidence in his gods and reassurance of eternal dancing and dining in Sovngarde. Wherever that may be.

"Wait, who are you? Step forward."

Keeping her expression as bland as a fish on a chopping board, she stepped forward. She was painfully aware of everyone watching her. The man with the list - and a very thick Nord accent - looked at her quite puzzled. Taking in the dusky colour of her skin, her raven black hair and equally dark eyes, he came to the conclusion she was obviously no Nord, but an Imperial. Shaking his head, he repeated,

"Who are you?"

Fehn was about to answer, but she was beaten to it by a familiar voice.

"Fehn Anonamy."

At the mention of her name, Fehn turned to the speaker. General Tullius was standing before her, his ruby livery vivid and his expression almost pained. She shirked internally. Tullius had known her from her time as a Imperial soldier in Cyrodiil, she had admired this man back then. Keeping her gaze steady, she acknowledged him gruffly,

"General."

Shaking his snowy head, he frowned.

"I heard of what you did. I heard of your mutiny, throwing your lot in with these fools...It's a sad thing when one with such prospects turns to villainy and becomes a rogue. I pity the memory of your parents, Fehn. They would be disappointed in the path you have walked. But now that path has come to an end, and you will die with your new traitorous friends, these Stormcloaks. Legate, do what you will with the Renegade."

With that, he turned his back on her. Walking over to the stalls, he stood before his prisoners and waited to see what the Legate would deem adequate for her. The Nord with the list turned to the smaller woman, her own armour blinding in the wintery sun.

"Captain, what should we do with her? She's not on the list."

The Legate looked at her with something close to utter disdain. Fehn returned the look and knew exactly what was coming.

"List or no list, she goes to the block."

Fehn's eyes burned into her back as she left to stand by Tullius' side. The man with the list looked upon her with pity, and said calmly.

"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil. Please, follow the Captain."

So that was it. She was to die with the rebels even though she had basically had nothing to do with them. Although she had just witnessed another man's misfortune first hand, Fehn still couldn't believe the lot she had been cast by the gods. Trudging behind the Captain, she stopped beside one of her Stormcloak "friends". Gazing around her, she saw Tullius making his way towards Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some men call you a hero, but a hero does not use a power such as the Voice to murder their High King. You are a traitor and condemned to die, may your death bring around the peace which this land so desperately craves, and may you find forgiveness from the gods for your folly. Legate, proceed."

Fehn could see Ulfric's hands knotting into fists as the general spoke. It was a commending little speech, one filled with forgiveness and pity, but she knew that it must have hit home to the Jarl. It was either him or Tullius that had to die to end the conflict and even she could see Tullius' smug disposition towards the Jarl. However, this had nothing to with her - well, she knew that, sad that the man who was to hack off her head did not. The priestess stood before them and began to chant some non-sensible drivel about sending their souls to whichever god they or the Nords were allowed to worship these days, Fehn rolled her eyes and shifted her weight on to her left leg. She was ready now, she didn't care what awaited, she just wanted to get it over with. Apparently she was not the only one, as one of the Stormcloak rebels barged past the priestess and declared rudely,

"For the love of Talos, shut up and lets get this over with!"

The priestess stopped her infernal chanting and said a little jilted,

"As you wish."

Fehn watched as the burly man made his way to the block. He was helped along by the little Legate as she placed an armoured foot on his back. A smile curled along Fehn's lips as she thought of the Legate's stature, her joy warranted some ill looks from the other prisoners and guards alike. They must have thought her quite mad or brave laughing in the face of her fate, or a cunning sadist laughing at the fate of the Stormcloak who now had his head on the block. It was over in with one swift swing and an explosion of crimson as the Stormcloak's body went limp and fell to one side. Fehn's eyes widened as the reality of the situation hit her. She was afraid now. Though not outwardly, she could feel fear twisting at her stomach.

"As fearless in death as he was in life..."

Suddenly a noise emerged from over the mountain. A long rippling sound which seemed to shake the very bones of everyone who was in earshot.

"What was that?"

Asked on of the guards shakily. The general shook his head, waving the noise away,

"It's nothing. Continue."

The little Legate nodded, and let go of her sword's pommel.

"Yes, general. Next, the Renegade from Cyrodiil."

It was like a death lottery, which she had won. Now was the hour of her death, in this cold forsaken wasteland amongst "friends". She could have laughed at the state her life had become in no less than a week. Before all this she was a respected soldier in the Imperial army, now she was a condemned traitor, in a burlap tunic, half-naked before all these spectators being ordered to her death by a little yappy skeever. Before she could take a step, another roar engulfed the skies. They all took their eyes to the skies, but it was empty of all things.

"I said, next prisoner!"

With one final look at the sky, Fehn returned her eyes forward and started towards the blood-stained block.