Disclaimer: Skyrim is not mine. Characters you do not recognize were created by me for the purposes of this tale. I got Skyrim the day it came out and have been playing religiously ever since...even when I should really be doing homework lol

Some quests/dialogue have been changed, so do not expect a word-by-word account taken completely from the game. Rated M for violence, gore, sexual themes and much more. Thank you for taking the time to read and for any and all reviews left – they keep the fire lit under me! - Fallon.

Chapter One

"Our hero, our hero, claims a warrior's heart

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes

With a voice-wielding power of the ancient Nord art

Believe, Believe, the Dragonborn comes..."

17th of Last Seed, 4E 201

Helgen, Skyrim

A procession of carriages and Imperial guards made it's way down the long cobble-stone path to Helgen. The Imperials had snatched a group of Stormcloak rebels making for the border, the leader himself included, and were eager to begin the chopping. Word had even been sent ahead, and the most experienced of executioners had been reserved.

It was certain to be a well-attended event - the promise of blood had a way of drawing the crowds.

The carriage stuck in the middle of the group hit a bump in the road and Idalyn was jerked awake. With heavy hands, she tried to brush her dark hair from her eyes, but the bindings around her wrists prevented it. The coarse rope cut into the delicate flesh of her wrists and she hissed.

"You're awake, little elf," a deep voice stated calmly, "that's good."

Idalyn peered up, her vision still blurred from sleep, "W-Where are we?" Her voice cracked, like she had not used it in some time.

The man shrugged. His hair was mussed, the braid having long since lost it's form, and his clothes were caked in dirt and filth. He was calm, like a man at peace with his destiny, "They caught us near the border. From what I can see, we're being taken to Helgen."

"Helgen?" Gasped the terrified man next to him, "Why Helgen? I've done nothing wrong!"

"Hush up, horse thief," snapped the blond man, "face the end with some dignity!"

Idalyn sat up on the bench, only for another bump in the road to send her off-kilter, "What is your name?" She asked quietly, mindful of the guard at the reins.

The man smiled warmly, "Ralof...of Riverwood."

She nodded, "I'd shake your hand, Ralof of Riverwood, but..." Her voice trailed off and she held up her tightly bound hands for emphasis.

Ralof chuckled, "You're forgiven."

The nervous man beside Ralof shifted wildly in his seat, "I shouldn't be here! I'm no rebel – no Stormcloak!"

Ralof glared at him, having no patience for cowardice, "Neither is she," he pointed to Idalyn, "but you don't hear her complaining about it! By the Gods, man, have some honor!"

"Not my fault...not...my...fault..."

"Shut it back there!" A guard demanded, striking the side of the carriage with the blunt of his blade.

The nervous man jumped, "This is all Ulfric Stormcloak's fault...not mine!"

Ralof stomped on the man's foot as hard as he could, "Watch your tongue!" He gestured to the man sitting gagged beside Idalyn, "That is Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, rightful High King of Skyrim, and you will show some respect, thief!"

"Ulfric?" The man's eyes opened wide, "Then...by the Gods what are they going to do to us!"

The man began rocking back and forth, murmuring broken prayers to the Divines, seemingly retreating into the safety of his mind.

"I didn't get your name," Ralof said, turning his attention back to her.

"Idalyn." She said simply, not knowing where she was from. She thought hard, hoping to remember, but nothing was coming to her. In fact, the more she thought about it the more she realized she knew little beyond her name. Chunks of her mind felt blank, like pieces of a charcoal drawing that had been washed away.

Ralof stared off into the distance, "Well, Idalyn, it looks like Sovngarde awaits us..."

Sovngarde...she knew of that place, and she certainly did not want to go there. While an honor for the Nords, Idalyn heard a strange voice in the wind that told her this was not the end. It unnerved her, as it did not speak any distinguishable language and had a sinister tone about it, but she felt compelled to hear it out.

The carriage pulled into the village and Idalyn saw the townspeople glaring at her from the corner of her eye.

She was a wood elf, a foreigner in the snow-capped lands, and they looked at her with hate in their eyes. The Great War had left many a Nord with a general dislike for anyone or anything elven.

Ralof sighed, "I used to be sweet on a girl from Helgen..."

Idalyn smiled sadly "I can't recall much of anything before a few moments ago...you are blessed to have such memories, Ralof of Riverwood."

He stared at her solemnly, then nodded, "Very blessed, my friend."

"Friend?" Idalyn questioned, "but have we not just met?" Surely more time was needed to call one a friend?

Ralof shrugged, "If you have no memories, and no future beyond this day, I think you should at least go to Sovngarde with one you can call friend."

Idalyn eyed Ralof intently, not sure if he was being truthful. His eyes seemed calm, despite the chaos happening around him, and there was no hint of anxiety over the rest of his body. He was completely relaxed where he sat, content to go to Sovngarde if this would prove to be the day.

Certain of his genuineness, though not entirely sure why, Idalyn gave a quick nod. The harshness of Skyrim was not restricted to the land. She knew the people were often just as harsh, she could feel it in the air around her, which was why his apparent honesty surprised her so.

Still, if this was to be her final day, it likely mattered little.

The carriage came to a stop and the guards demanded that they get out. Idalyn followed the nervous man and the one Ralof had identified as Ulfric Stormcloak. The name sounded familiar but it, like everything else, was muddied in her mind.

She landed on her feet and looked up. Wood elves were not known for their height, and Idalyn was the shortest of all the people in the courtyard.

Her turn before the guards came and she raised her chin as she approached, determined not to show any degree of weakness to the Imperials. Her amber eyes glowed, reflecting the setting sun and giving the guard something he could not miss.

He blinked, then looked down to his list, "And who are you?"

"Idalyn."

Tentatively, he glanced up from the parchment, "A wood elf in Skyrim? You are far from home, little one. You must be brave or -"

"Is she on the list?" The Captain demanded of the young guard. Her eyes were angry and she radiated a hateful energy. It put off Idalyn immediately.

He shook his head, "Nay."

"All the same, she is to meet the same fate as the others!"

The guard nodded, "Aye," he sadly addressed Idalyn, "I assure you your remains will be sent to Valenwood. Please, follow the others."

His strange show of kindness did little to lift her spirits. Dead was dead, and she did not think it mattered where her remains were housed in the end. But she followed his command nonetheless, following Ralof to the gathering near the block.

A man clad in robes wielding a large axe stood next to a priest. The Captain barked an order, and the priest began to mumble, but Idalyn was not listening.

On the wind, she could hear something whispering to her. It was faint, but present nonetheless – like a feather dancing on a lazy breeze.

It was the same voice she had heard earlier.

Still she could not make it out, but it sounded hurried despite it's hushed tone...like it was desperate for something. Idalyn listened harder, straining to block out all other noise.

It sounded like a chant...a chant spoken in some ancient tongue. What that tongue was, or what it was trying to tell her, was a complete mystery.

But she could not shake the feeling that it was important.

"Come forward!" The executioner growled as he pointed a finger at his first victim.

The man next to her obeyed and approached the block with his head held high and his shoulders square. Idalyn knew nothing of these "rebels", but she could already tell they seemed to have a deep sense of honor – even at the face of death.

He knelt, cursing the Imperials once before falling silent. His features were stiff, but he did not put up any resistance as the Captain pressed her boot to his back.

The axe was heaved into the air and fell down with heavy accuracy.

The crowd jumped, some gasped, but none said anything as the man's head fell into the basket and his body slumped to the side. Blood covered the area. The nervous man whimpered as warm urine trailed down his legs and puddled around him.

Idalyn glanced over to Ralof and saw that he had close his eyes and was mumbling something.

"Next," the guard shouted to the crowd, "the wood elf!"

Idalyn faced him, knowing without a doubt it was she that was next. Surrounded by Nords, it could only be her.

She felt Ralof's eyes on her as she made the same march the dead man had before her. Her eyes remained cold as she knelt, resting her head on the bloody block. Blood matted her dark hair and touched the pale flesh of her neck. She shivered at the sudden contact – it still clung to the warmth it had once possessed in great quantities.

The executioner raised his axe and the strange voice on the air screamed out in it's harsh tongue, causing him to lower it suddenly and glance around in a panic. That time, the voice had been heard to all in Helgen and the doors of nearby homes flung open as the inhabitants searched for the source of the strange voice.

"What is that?" She heard the guard question.

"Silence," the Captain spat, "finish her, executioner!"

He raised the axe yet again and Idalyn watched as the sun bounced off the bloodied blade.

The scream echoed through the mountains again and the earth trembled.

The Captain drew her sword and looked to the sky, "What -"

A torrent of fire shot down from the sky and enveloped her. Her screams began immediately and the fire grew as the snow around her was melted.

People screamed but before Idalyn had a chance to register anything she was sent flying by a massive gust of wind. She hit another of the prisoners and they both tumbled violently to the ground.

A guard pointed to the sky, "Dragon!"

Another blast of fire ripped through the courtyard, striking the carriages and one of the buildings nearby. Idalyn struggled to get up, her head swimming and her body aching. She lazily looked up, and saw a giant, steel-coloured, winged beast circling the city. A rough hand grabbed her arm and jerked her to her feet.

She looked up and saw Ralof looking at her with panic in his eyes, "Follow me!"

He bolted forward, pushing his way through the chaos without apology. One guard stood in his path, intent on stopping his escape, and Ralof tackled him like a wild animal, smashing him with his huge fists.

By the time she caught up to him, he was back on his feet and hurrying through the rubble. The dragon's flapping wings were creating shock waves of wind that sent villagers flying and threatened to knock Idalyn off balance. It's fiery breath licked the roofs of the buildings, most of which were made of thatched hay.

Idalyn could feel her heart beat in her head.

She sprinted as fast as she could after Ralof, but her hands were still bound – something which left her feeling very vulnerable. She wondered how Ralof had managed to free himself so...

"Idalyn!"

Ralof was waving her over, having found shelter under a bridge.

She turned in his direction, rolling under the bridge just as a blast of fire came down on them. Both covered their heads with their hands, waiting desperately for the fire to stop so they could continue on their path.

Ralof grabbed her hands and began working a dull blade against the bindings, "You're no use to anyone like that..."

Finally her bindings broke free and she rubbed her sore wrists, happy to be rid of them, "Thank you."

Ralof looked out at the courtyard below, his tone a serious one, "Don't thank me just yet, little elf..."

Again they took off in a mad dash through the carnage, dodging fire and arrows as the guards shot at both the dragon and the escaping criminals. From the corner of her eye, Idalyn spotted the nervous man rushing to catch up to them. It surprised her greatly that he was moving so fast...and that he was alive, but she paused under an archway to beckon him further.

"Hurry!" She screamed, "You can make it!"

His piss stain growing across the front of his trousers, the man slipped just as the dragon swooped over head. The beast exhaled another mighty burst of fire, engulfing the poor man as he struggled to get to his feet.

Idalyn turned quickly on her heels and started after Ralof. She wanted to run away from the blood and the thick stench of charred flesh. Whether he was really good or bad mattered little – he seemed to know the way out.

And that was something.