I was moving. That's the first thing I remember.
It was bright. Too bright. My eyes adjusted to a narrow path lined by the swell of the mountains that I knew so well. Their steep rises cut out patches of the serene sky, tipped in crags that were clearer to me in their distance than my bound hands in front of me. A sense of dread flooded my consciousness. I was aware of the cold; it was a stark reminder of where I was. Home. Was it home anymore? It had become inhospitable, even more so than the place I had been leaving it for.
It was overwhelming. I couldn't take it all in at once. Parts of my body alerted me to each of their unique achings individually. The threadbare trousers I was wearing rubbed my bruised legs, and my arms were raw from the bitter wind swirling around me. I smelled the rich wood of the evergreens that line the road solely through my left nostril as my right was clotted with blood. The creak of the wagons in the convoy and the rowdy male voices made light flash on the edges of my vision. My fingertips were purple from the leather strap that held my hands in a position of piety in my lap. As my head swiveled upon my neck, taking in my surroundings, it throbbed so painfully that my vision turned black momentarily, despite the brightness of the midday sun. Even the nerves behind my eyes ached.
I was aware that there were others seated around me. "One… Two… Three." Four with the carriage driver. My thoughts were sluggish. My head swam as I made out the yellow haired man in front of me. He was thickly muscled, and wore braids in his hair. A Nord warrior. I knew the colors he was wearing. The sight of his cuirass sent a flood of recollection through my mind, though it carried no specific memory. I could not recall why the colors were of importance, but it made my swollen hands sweat. I detected danger. I tensed the muscles in my legs, an animalistic guard taking hold of my weakened awareness. I was ready to launch myself away from any threat presented by this man, or either of the two seated next to me. My heart pounded. I couldn't form words yet. I breathed heavily through my nostril, gritted my teeth, and waited for him to make the first move.
We made eye contact. Maybe he'd heard my heart beating, because he wearily smiled at me.
"Hey, You! You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there."
I relaxed at the strange cordiality of the man's words. I looked to the indicated figure on my diagonal right. He was dressed in the same peasant clothing I was. He looked as rough as I supposed I did, too. He was thin. He had been living on the edge for far longer than I had, from the looks of it.
"Damn you Stormcloaks! Everything was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice, and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You, there!"
I blinked experimentally, then again to acknowledge him.
"We shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
I blinked several more times in lieu of a response. The yellow haired man spoke instead.
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
"Shut up back there!" grumbled the coachmen. The yellow haired man scoffed.
I looked once more at the one I knew as thief, then at the man on the same side of the carriage as myself. His only movement was the swaying that unified all of us. He hadn't yet spoken, and I realized a cloth was tied around the lower portion of his face. I turned back to the man with yellow hair. I had regained most of my awareness, and although I could tell the aching in my body wouldn't let up, I felt capable of speaking. I studied the man, whose garb still sent a wave of chills down my back. I now remembered why. A tear found its way through my self- restraint, and the salt stung a particularly large gash across my cheek bone. The dread became heavier. I knew not where in Skyrim we were, but it didn't matter; I knew the fate we were headed for. The pain in my body began to dull; it was replaced slowly by leaden acceptance. I hung my head, and spoke to my hands as I addressed the soldier across from me.
"Have you a name, Stormcloak?" I questioned, my voice stronger than I could have hoped. A long sigh accompanied his answer.
"Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood. And yours?"
The traditional inclusion of his town made the tears collected in my eyes flow more freely. My throat constricted with each tear, and the answer fell from my mouth in a small whisper.
"Tanella Wearhard of Winterhold."
I raised my head and looked proudly at the man called Ralof. I hadn't used my full name in so long, yet the shape of it on my lips felt as satisfying as it had in my past life. A look of understanding passed between us. I felt though I had done something immodest by bearing my tears with inhibition, and the man seemed to respect it. Nothing was said of my tear shed, and Ralof turned back to the thief. The thief spoke first.
"What's wrong with him, huh?" He said, nodding to the silent figure.
Ralof's face went from neutral to scowling.
"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"
"Ulfric… Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! If they've captured you… Oh gods! Where are they taking us?"
Ralof spoke again.
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."
"This can't be happening. This isn't happening!"
Ralof looked at the thief in disdain. He obviously held a kind of resentment toward the man, but there was a strange look cutting the hardness in his eyes. It might have been pity. Whatever it was, he addressed the thief again.
"What village are you from, horse thief?"
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thoughts… should be of home."
"Rorikstead… I'm… I'm from Rorikstead."
A voice with a strange accent called out.
"General Tullius Sir, the headsman is waiting!"
An imperial man I assumed to be General Tullius spoke next.
"Good. Let's get this over with."
I could have laughed at his dismissive tone. I felt numb.
The thief looked toward the sky.
"Divines, help me!" He yelled throatily.
"I know these walls," Spoke Ralof dreamily. "We're in Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilad is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in? It's funny, these Imperial walls used to make me feel so safe." He closed his eyes to let the visions of salacious beauties from the summers of his youth dance across his lids.
The people of Helgen were lining the road as it widened into the main part of the town. It was smaller than I'd have imagined it. There were few women, some old, and some young. I wondered if Ralof recognized one of them as Vilad. His eyes were still closed when I looked at him. He had a small smile on his face.
A child's mother called for it to come into the house, its protests growing quieter as we passed. My mouth tasted coppery and dry as the first carriage in the entourage circled around, and then stopped. We were third. We slowed at an agonizing pace.
When we finally stopped, the jerk of the carriage roused Ulfric Stormcloak from his meditative reverie, and the thief from his frenzied prayers to the gods that could not hear him. Ralof licked his lips and opened his eyes. He had a feral look about him.
"Better not keep the guards waiting."
Ulfric Stormcloak exited the carriage first, with a light hop. His demeanor was regal, but his expression unreadable. Next the thief, who stumbled on his way down, denying any affiliation with the rebels. Then me, after a gentle, "ladies first," from Ralof. I jumped with as much dignity as I could muster. My lower back absorbed most of the landing, and I whimpered quietly. This went unnoticed by all, save for Ralof. His jump landed him close to me. He stood exactly where he had landed.
A female captain barked orders. Even the man next to her, who towered above her, shrunk from her authoritative tone. He was classically handsome, and looked a bit too soft for army life. He was young, only slightly older than myself, but his face bore the marks of the kind of worry that could have belonged to a man far older.
"The Empire loves their damned lists." Grumbled Ralof.
The man next the captain read off the first name in a slightly feminine voice. His accent was similar to Ralof's. A Nord in the imperial army?
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm."
The Jarl stepped forward, employing the imposing air of his full height. He stood in the line of Stormcloak soldiers, centering around the chopping block. The headsman seemed to leer through the mask of his industry.
Ralof daringly spoke aloud:
"It was an honor serving you, Jarl Ulfric."
The soft lilt of the tall guard's voice called out the next name.
"Ralof of Riverwood."
Ralof winked at me, and stepped forward to join the collection of Nords to our left. I could spot his yellow hair among them. Another tear slid down my face, the salt stinging my wounds in silent bereavement. I felt physically ill.
The third name was called out. This time it was the theif's.
"Lokir of Rorikstead."
The thief did something I had been expecting since we'd exited the carriage; He pushed off of his left knee in poorly balanced wind sprints that took him as far as the last house before the gates to Helgen.
The female captain called the archers to bring him down. He fell face-first into the frozen dirt of the path we'd come in on. He lay inert, arrows sticking crookedly out of his back. One had landed itself through his throat. No one moved to get him. My eyes stayed on his motionless form as I was called forward.
"Next, step forward. You're not on the list. Who are you?" asked the effeminate guard, poising his quill above his list. He gazed at my battered face with a pair of steely eyes that contrasted strangely with his feminine voice.
"Tanella Wearhard of Winterhold."
It hadn't felt nearly as gratifying as it had when I'd spoken it to Ralof. I licked my lips.
"A Nord… crossing the border during the war? Captain, what should be done with her?" He asked softly.
"She gets the block." The captain barked.
The male guard's eyes softened slightly.
"At least… At least you'll die in your home. Step aside."
I walked toward the chopping block, stopping near Ralof's shoulder. He looked sideways at me. I could see the fear in his dark eyes, though he gave me a chivalrous smile. An unfamiliar name was called. Footsteps brought a Nord forward, and a foot in the back sent him to his knees. He was dressed in the familiar blue-green of the Stormcloaks.
"My ancestors are smiling upon me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"
I saw Ralof's pupils contract.
The headsman lifted his wicked axe with relish. I turned my head into Ralof's shoulder.
I felt the axe thud against the hay strewn ground. I flinched at the sound, and Ralof turned his head slightly toward mine.
"As brave in death as he was in life. Wait for me in Sovngarde, brother."
"Next! The Nord in rags."
I involuntarily shuddered. Who could they mean but me? The rest of the Nords were Stormcloaks. Ralof turned to me. This was it. It was over. We looked into one another's eyes, and the same mutual understanding as before passed between us. As equals; as Nords. I put all of the gratitude I could muster into that look; I wanted to thank him for the little solace he'd provided in the extremely brief time I'd known him. The last of my tears rolled away. It was my turn to be courageous.
I leaned in close.
"It was a pleasure to have known you, Ralof from Riverwood."
The ground shook as I spoke, making the bound prisoners stumble in their hindered balance. The townspeople and guards alike raise their hands to shield their eyes from the sun to search the culprit out in the great blue sky. A collective gasp rose from the crowd with a simultaneous question;
"What was that?"
"It was nothing!" The female captain shrieked uncertainly. "Continue!"
Before I could see Ralof's reaction, or let him answer my intimate whisper, I stepped forward, and on my next step was shoved by a guard. I stopped fast, and continued at the pace I had set. The headsman and a guard pulled the body of the Nord before me away from the chopping block, but left the head in the reservoir basket. I kneeled in the pool of blood, which wet my knees. I heaved dryly, but my stomach was empty and nothing passed my parched lips. My head was pushed forcefully toward the block. I turned my head toward the headsman, to save my last vision from being that of the severed head of a kinsman. I mustered all the anger I had in left, and put it into the look I sent him. My neck touched the grooved surface of the block.
The headsman menacingly raised his axe, the metal of the freshly sharpened blade glinting in the sun that cast shadows over the town. I held my breath, and hollowly prayed to the gods I'd given up on.
When all the hope had left my withered body, the Earth shook again, staggering the headsman. A great, looming shadow was cast over the town, and before my eyes descended… a dragon.
I thought I'd died without feeling the headsman's axe. I remained stationary, closing my eyes. I heard beast's screech, and felt the heat of its fire surrounding me. Screaming. Feet pounding. A thud, directly in front of me. I opened my eyes.
Before me was the headsman's burning carcass, his axe only feet from my face.
I felt a great tugging, and then I was lifted from the ground.
I was being jostled toward a stone guard tower. I was in someone's arms. I wasn't dead, because the dead couldn't feel the amount of pain that suddenly flooded back into my battered body. Smoke obscured my vision. The light from the dragon's fire illuminated the edges of my blurry sight. I could make out the archers atop the guard wall, and I saw them sent airborne by a viciously aimed swipe of the dragon's tale. I saw bodies littering the area we'd just been in, and the thatched roofs of the village houses set aflame.
I felt the change in temperature as we entered the stone guard tower. The door was shut behind me, and I was set on my feet. My knees buckled, but I was propped up by a pair of strong arms, and the binding around my wrists was cut.
"Tanella. Tanella! Look at me. Now! Can you hear me?"
I recognized Ralof's voice, although it sounded distant. He slapped lightly at my face, and gripped my cheeks. He turned my face to look at him.
"Tanella, Can you hear me?" He repeated.
I gripped his hand and to stop his frenzied tapping.
"I can hear you, I just need a moment." He released me, and I leaned over shakily and put my hands on my knees. "What's happening? Could that have been… It couldn't have been?... They're just legends…" I trailed off.
The answer came not from Ralof, but from behind me.
"Legends don't burn down villages. We need to move, now."
Ulfric Stormcloak had been the one to speak. I stood up to my full height. My palms felt sticky. I had forgotten the blood that soaked my trousers. I looked at the Jarl and nodded.
Ralof started up the spiral staircase; I followed him. I saw the dragon approaching through the small stone port in the wall, and I grabbed the back of Ralof's cuirass to stop him. The dragon burst through the stone ramparts, throwing backward a young Stormcloak soldier that had been watching out of the port. Ralof breathed heavily, but didn't stop. He reached the landing that was now gaping open as an unnerving portrait of the razed town. The dragon swooped low over the eastern end of the village; archers fired in vain, and the foot soldiers gathered into pockets and slashed at the belly of the dragon when it flew low enough. Ralof grabbed my shoulder.
"Jump on to that roof; I'll be right behind you."
He placed his hand on the small of my back and guided me to the edge of the blasted ledge. I looked at him, then back at the roof that seemed all too far away.
I was poised on the edge, when more rubble and dust was shaken loose from the ceiling.
I held my breath. And I jumped.
Edit 2/17/12: I'm adding a playlist for this chapter, and the rest. Here's the song for chapter 1:
1.) Benjamin Gibbard and Steve Fisk- Overture (This is the whole intro, up till when Alduin attacks. I think it's just really beautiful on its own, but it really conveys what I was feeling as I wrote Tanella accepting death , and kind of being in shock.)