Finally I have plucked up enough courage to upload this. Hope you like it! Oh and this is rated T just to be on the safe side. There's going to be blood. Bwahaha.
Disclaimer: Eryka and the must-be-Dragonborn belong to me, everything else belongs to Bethesda.
The first thing to come to my mind is "Why on Earth have I fallen asleep outside?"
A cold breeze is stroking my hair, obviously trying to prove that I'm not in my own bed. I can see sunlight through my eyelids and hear faint creaks as the whatever thing I am on – a wagon, a pickup truck, a wheelbarrow – keeps slowly going onwards.
I figure that I can't pretend to be asleep forever so I open my eyes. Bad mistake. The sunlight triggers the dull ache whose existence I haven't noticed before in the back of my head. It feels like a little explosion in-between my ears: for a few seconds I can see only white. I groan in pain and struggle to lift my other hand to cover my eyes. Sadly I don't realize my hands are bound together before I accidentally hit myself right at the corner of my right eye.
"Hey, you alright?" says a low voice somewhere on the right. I open my eyes slightly to see a man sitting next to me.
"What... What happened?" I splutter. My throat feels sore and my head is still hurting. I feel like I've been hit with a log and then run over with a two or three trucks. Several times.
"You got quite a slosh." The man looks almost worried. "I was beginning to think that Sovngarde had taken you."
It takes a few seconds before his words sink into my mind. Did he say 'Sovngarde'?
"Where are we?" I ask as calmly as I can. No need to panic, girl. There's a reasonable explanation for this situation. People are sucked into video games only in books. Although it does look really Skyrim-ish here. Lots of trees and snow. If only I could think more clearly. My head feels like it's full of porridge.
The man shrugs. "I'm not really sure, but my guess is that we're quite close to Helgen now. Should be at the border in a day or so. Right?"
"I'm not so sure we're headed for the border, Gunjar", says the woman sitting opposite him, but I barely hear her. I have something else to worry about than whether we're going to Cyrodiil or not. Especially when I know we're not.
Problem number one: I have somehow been transported or moved or whatever into Skyrim. Well, maybe I should be happy that it's my favorite game of all times where I ended up, not my brother's Modern Warfare.
Problem number two: I have obviously a date with the headsman in a moment or so. Everyone else on the wagon are dressed in Stormcloak cuirasses and everyone's hands are bound.
Problem number three: Why am I on the wagon with some random Gunjar and other people I don't recognize? Where are Ralof and that horse thief and Ulfric? Oh my dear god. What if this isn't the day the Dragonborn was taken to Helgen?
Gunjar notices my worried expression. "No need to worry, lassie", he says reassuringly. "Wherever we're going, we'll sure be there soon. Right?" He shouts the last word at the man who's driving the wagon.
The Imperial doesn't even bother to look at us. "Shut up back there!"
"How did I get here?" I ask again. "I mean, I really don't remember meeting any of you..."
Gunjar chuckles mirthlessly. "No wonder. They hit you so hard I was almost sure your skull cracked." He leans back and looks at the cloudless sky. "We were setting up a camp near Darkwater Crossing when you staggered there. You were cold and lost and we let you join us for a bowlful of stew. Then suddenly the Imperials attacked... Like they knew exactly where we were. Jarl Ulfric ordered us to stop fighting... Didn't want any more of us dead, I guess. I saw one of those bastards knock you out with his shield. Then they bound us, put us on this wagon and you know the rest."
With a shield? That would explain the headache. Maybe I have a concussion. I bury my face into my hands and try to clear my mind. Finding the right memories and putting them in the right order seems to harder than it should. After a lot of thinking I can finally remember finding the Stormcloak camp and as I was desperate to see a friendly face, I approached them. I also remember what happened before that. I was about to start a new game and make a new character, a new Dovahkiin, when suddenly my Playstation didn't work when I tried to switch it on. After several attempts my TV screen suddenly turned so white it actually blinded me for a moment. I could see nothing else but bright white light all around me, and the air turned burning hot and then so cold I went numb and then hot and cold and hot...
Okay, that's something my mind doesn't seem to be able to process. Thoughts like "This can't be happening" keep popping into my mind until I have to force myself to think of something else. Finding a way home has to wait, especially with all the war and dragon business... Wait. I can't be the Dragonborn. No no no no. That's not an option. I mean, killing dragons is quite a piece of cake when you're playing the game but I'm sure I could never do that myself. The very thought makes me sick. Now I understand why the other characters in the game are always so terrified about dragons. When you're playing, you know that if you die, you can easily load the previous save but if you really die, like, for real, you don't get a second change. You're dead.
If I die now, do I really die in a not-being-able-to-go-home-anymore way?
The woman sitting opposite me and Gunjar must have noticed my miserable expression as she suddenly says gently: "Where are you from, dear?"
"I, uh..." I hesitate. What do I say? I can't tell her where I'm really from! "...Bruma. I'm from Bruma."
I cross my fingers and hope that I've remembered the name correctly. The woman nods. "The northest city of Cyrodiil? I hear there's plenty of Nords there. Or at least there was."
The woman falls silent, probably thinking of her own home. I try not to think of mine. Hell, this would be so much easier if I was from a country where everyone spoke English, but no. I'm from Finland and, surprisingly, speak Finnish as my native language. Of course I have studied English at school for about eight or nine years but I'm still not perfect with it, especially when some of these people speak so damn weirdly, not to mention the accent. Oh well. Luckily I'm at least used to cold and snow.
And then we suddenly stop. Gunjar's face falls. "No... I thought..."
"This is it", I hear the woman say sadly as we hop off the wagon one by one. Not until now I notice what I'm wearing: A ragged shirt that's really big for me or a ragged dress that's shamefully short for me. And no shoes. Seriously, no one bothered to give me foot wraps? My toes are freezing.
Somebody might think that I'm shallow. Who complains about not having shoes when they're about to get executed? Well, I'm sure I won't die. I just can't die like this, trapped inside a freaking video game. The Dragonborn must be somewhere here. And Alduin has to come and save us both. Dying is not an option. But I'm still so afraid I could scream.
Suddenly I hear a familiar voice. "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" That horse thief from the other wagon takes off, obviously really believing that he can make it away from here. Of course he doesn't. The Imperials react quickly and the thief collapses on the road with several arrows sticking from his back. Even from here I can see bloody stains where the arrows have pierced his skin. I look away.
"And who are you?" It takes me a couple of seconds to realize that the question was pointed to me. Hadvar or whatever his name was is standing right in front of me with a long list in his hand, ready to strike through my name.
Oh dear God, I forgot to think about that! What should I call myself? Think, woman!
"Er... I...", I whisper. Fear has made my voice hoarse.
"Eryka", Hadvar repeats. I'm about to correct him when I realize that 'Eryka' doesn't sound that bad. To be honest, it sounds quite cool. A name for a self-confident strong person. Maybe I could be Eryka in Skyrim. God knows that I could use a self-confident strong alter ego.
"Captain, what should we do with her? She's not on the list either!" Hadvar informs the short woman in full Imperial armor standing next to him.
"Didn't I tell you to forget the list?" the woman barks. "They're all going to the block."
"By your orders, captain", Hadvar sighs. He looks back at me and I think I might see a glint of sadness in his eyes. "I'm sorry, little one."
Even though I'm still scared, I can't help wondering why he called me 'little one'. I'm nearly 6 feet tall, which is quite a lot for a 18-year-old girl so I'm not exactly someone you'd call 'little one'. Or maybe they call every young person 'little one' here?
I step next to a Stormcloak soldier and see several Imperial soldiers and a priestess who soon begins her speech about 'The Eight Divines' or something – I have never really paid attention to her. A distant roar can be heard from the mountains but nobody seems to care.
"Let's get this over with already!" the Stormcloak next to me groans, stepping forward. "I haven't got all morning!" He strides to the block, kneels down and quickly has his head chopped off.
I wish I could press my hands on my mouth without looking a complete wuss. The smell of the blood is thick and seeing the headless body fall lifelessly to its side makes me want to you're only playing the game, you don't realize how much blood streams from the stump that used to attach the guy's head to his neck. I inhale through my mouth and force myself to stay calm.
"As fearless in death as he was in life", says another familiar voice from my right. I turn my head and notice Ralof standing next to me. Seeing him calms me down a bit: I've always liked him. Then I realize that the Dragonborn must be somewhere near. Very near.
"Next, the Nord in the rags!"
I quickly turn to see a young man, not much older than myself, stepping forward. I have time only to get a glimpse of him but I can see that he has bright blue eyes and short blond 's about two inches taller than I am and even though he's not especially muscular, he looks hardy. A tiny part of my brain remembers that it belongs to a teenage girl and notes that the guy is actually quite good looking. In some other situation I might actually care about that fact.
The must-be-Dragonborn kneels and lays his head on the block. I can see him grimace when the blood from the previous execution sticks on his neck and hair. The headsman lifts his axe. I swallow hard and cross my fingers.
Then Alduin emerges from the mountains and lands on the tower.
Thank you for reading. If you spotted any mistakes or grammar fails, let me know, I'll gladly fix them.
/: Seriously, a fail with the first chapter? Let's admit it: I suck : D. Thank you, Solava, for letting me know! (How could I have missed that fail...)