Hiya! After going on a recent Skyrim binge and seeing all the amazing stories on here I decided, to hell with it, I'm going to make one myself. This is a bit of a work in progress, but I'm proud of it none the less.
It's a rather short chapter, and I promise my next ones shall be much longer.
Reviews and whatnot would be much appreciated, cause, y'know, it makes us writers feel pretty damn good. Even if it's saying how much it sucks. At least you put in the energy to tell me! You could also send me a cup of coffee. And a pet dragon. That'd be amazing.

Bethesda owns everything in Skyrim, even all the dragons and bad ass weapons. :/
I own nothing but my characters, yadda yadda yadda...

Enjoy!

Bonds Forged From Dust and Blood

"Once upon a time, a legend preserved in ink and tongue flew from the pages to reek terror upon the land. With it, the legend brought tales of a hero and his heart; The world was forever changed."

Chapter One:
Chance Encounters

Winters piercing breath sailed across the winds of North Tamriel, slithering over the land of Skyrim with an indefinite course. Traveling over the vast mountains, untouchable by those of mortal strength, and the flat lands of the south, it left in it's wake a solemn song. It's moving melody whispered over the hills and brush, lending a sad story to those willing to listen.

Occasionally a hunter would tilt their heads in wonder, immersed in a short span of honed curiosity, only to dismiss it with a shrug. A wolf lifted it's muzzle to the sky to sing along with the grieving news of what has yet to pass. A terrible tale was destined to unfold; the wind being it's messenger, the land it's stage, and the inhabitants, it's prey.

Nothing could stop it. So on the wind traveled, warning those it could.

It was this wind that caught Ralof's attention, it's cold claws digging into his flesh as he sat, bound in the back of the carriage. He flinched at the sudden harshness, his exposed limbs, usually adept for handling such temperatures, now felt like a freshly plucked chickens. The unexplainable feeling of sorrow settled in the pit of his stomach, it's sudden appearance and surprising depth of the emotion caught him off guard.

The assault, and the act of how easily it overcame him, sparked a flame of anger. His hands instinctively twitched for the familiar feel of his trusty blade in his left palm, When his fist only gripped empty air, the spark grew into a wild fire. Blasted Imperials. Ralof thought with contempt. The thought alone sent his Nord blood warm. It was they that took his sword, killed his fellow brothers and sisters and captured his fearless leader. Glancing to his left he saw Ulfric Stormcloack resting on the bench opposite of him.

His head was bent low, face concealed by tattered brown locks. He wore a noble robe wrapped with rich furs, it's former beauty hidden beneath the layers of dirt and blood. The amount of fabric coating his form only added to his hulking frame. Ulfric's hands were bound as Ralof's, though unlike he, the Imperials gifted him with a gag. It was not a necessity, but an act of disrespect. He was Yarl of Winterhold, leader of the Stormcloack rebellion. He did not deserve such shameful wind again ripped across the air, piercing even Ulfric through his fur.

A sharp gasp grabbed Ralof's attention, forcing his gaze to the woman across from him. Her eyes darted back and forth in surprise, her breath coming out in shallow gasps. She appeared utterly startled. "Hey you, you're finally awake."

Two warm orbs snapped to meet his stare. The unique color of her eyes made his head shift slightly in a tilt. They were the strangest thing he'd ever seen. If he raised a diamond towards the setting sun and captured it's blazing light into the crystal, then maybe he would achieve the fiery glaze in her eyes. The strangest he'd ever seen were on the elves and Kajhit, which she certainly was not.

No sharp ears peeked between her long midnight strands, nor did she harbor the high cheek bones or fur limbs. Her face was soft and exotic, traits not found among the common maiden. A stern look held onto her features. It was the face of someone who's seen many battles and satisfied her weapons thirst with the blood of her enemies. She was a fellow warrior like he. "You were trying to cross the border, right?" She gave a slight nod. "Yes." A dull pain radiated from her skull. She went to gingerly rub the abused area only to find her hands tied. A moment of confusion, then her last memories of consciousness came rushing back.

"Hit Y'er head, did you? You walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Ralof nudged his head to the tattered man beside him, At the mention of his acts the thief turned to find both pairs of eyes on him. He grimaced, "Damn you, Stormcloacks. Skyrim was fine until you came along," his voice was slick, it alone giving way to his enjoyment of thievery. "Empire was nice and lazy." He took on a sharper tone. "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell." At that Ralof gave a snort of disgust, Thievery was not looked highly upon in Skyrim. The thief glanced at the guard driving their mobile prison before turning wide-eyed to the woman, "You and me. We shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloacks the Empire wants." His voice rose to that of petty desperation, as if he were voicing a plea in attempts to reconsider his capture. Which he undoubtedly was.

She narrowed her gaze. She didn't like him. At all. Apparently Ralof shared her views, for his words fell with disdain, "We're all brothers and sister's in binds now, thief."

Although his pathetic plea was one of a coward, she could not deny him the truth of it. She did not belong in these bindings. At least not for anything in this land. She was innocent by visitation, a traveler roaming these lands to find her kin. If they were still alive, that is. "Shut up back their." One of the soldiers yelled.

The thief looked at the man cloaked in robes, who had kept a calculating gaze on the strange woman since her waking. "And what's wrong with him, huh?" "Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloack, the true High King." At the mention of Ulfric, the woman's eyes zeroed in on the Rebellion leader. His gaze never wavered.

"Ulfric? Yarl of Windhelm? You're the leader.." That was all she wanted to hear. Turning towards the front she watched as the small village grew closer. As soon as the first carriage entered Villagers crowded their porches and paths, ogling at the view of freshly caught prisoners. Was there honestly nothing more entertaining than watching the death of their fellow people?

The thought sickened her.

Some turned their heads in shame or simply retreated to their wooden homes, but those of fair moral were vastly out numbered. Her attention was brought to that of a boy, no more than twelve Winters, who sat upon a wooden porch with his father beside him. "Father, why are all those guards here, and where are they taking the prisoners?"

His father was not old, but the years had taken a toll on his appearance. With a hollow tone he replied, "It is nothing young cub, go inside with your mother."

"But father, I want to watch what happens."

There was no malice in his words, only the pure curiosity of a young child. His interest was innocent, spared by the tainted hand of life. His father fought to preserve that innocence. "Go, now." He said, not unkindly.

With a final whine, he complied to his fathers wish. By the time the insignificant conversation ended the carts found themselves at their destination. A chopping block awaited along with more guards and bound prisoners. One by one they excited the vehicle, some accepting their fate with heavy steps, others scheming their escape. A few words transpired, the regular protocol. When called forward, the woman gave her name, "Esma," The soldier paused his quill, waiting for her to finish. When she did not, he spoke, "Where do you hail from?" For the first time since he laid eyes on her Ralof saw a cold steel enter her eyes.

Flames became frozen orbs of hatred. "My home was destroyed long ago."

Not noticing the icy chill in her words, the guard dismissed her. The thief, Lokir, as it said from the imperials list, made one more chance at life. He never got past the tree. An arrow embedded itself in his back, making a fatal home within his flesh. Foolish. Esma thought as she glanced at the now lifeless body.

At the sight of Lokir's still form, any ideas of escaping were whipped from the prisoners hearts. Another joined Lokir in death, though this one at the chopping block. "You, the Nord in the rags. Step up." It took Esma a moment to realize it was her the caption was referring to. As she made her way to the block, never did panic set in. A sense of calmness and self-control entered her limbs. She was not going to die. Her legs were fast, to fast for an arrow to catch her. She was strong as well, abnormally strong. None of them could stop her. As she kneeled before the bloodied stone one of her bindings loosened as if undone by invisible hands.

She felt the heat sink into her cheek as she lay her head on the sun baked stone, playing the role the imperials had set out for her. Quickly they will realize how fast the tides can change.

Just as she felt the last bind slip and see the executioners bloodied ax catch the sunlight an invasive thrum of electricity caressed her skin.

It was a feeling she thought was long lost, but to her utter shock was all too real.

This was not what she planned to find.

A distant roar. Deep call of freedom and unrelenting power. It was a cry for war.

A dark shadow was cast over Helgen, marking the beginning of the end, the plan destiny had so carefully orchestrated was now put into play.

Dirt and loose rocks swirled together in a raging wind from the beast's vicious wings, momentarily blinding those close in the open yard. Screams filled the air along with guards shouting at the prisoners to remain in bonds. From Esma's view, she caught sight of the black giant rest atop Helgens' tower. The very ground shook from the sudden impact of it's resting weight, causing the executioner to lose his footing- and drop his ax.

Now her sight of this invasive creature was unobstructed. Scaly forelegs hugged the towers roof, it's onyx claws gouging holes into the stone with unnerving ease. Wings spread over the edge in huge spans of leathery midnight. Muscles bunched under layers of black scales as the creature asserted itself with a deadly seemed as if itself were the essence of night, not one drop of light could pierce through the sheen of black that covered it's form. Wisps of smoky dark tendrils circled along it's body in a lazy manner, giving off the illusion of mist. The sight of such a powerful beast, especially one thought long buried, sent a thrill of fear and exhilaration through Esma's veins.

She knew exactly what it was before she ever laid eyes on it, though who it was, remained a mystery, until now. A dragon. Not just any dragon either. His name was sung in the great halls and palace's as mere legend, The World Eater some might say, or the God of Destruction. To Esma, one name was tied to that deadly creature, she fought under his rule in many battles and shared in much, much bloodshed; Alduin.

Alduin raised his head with an air of superiority, scanning the chaotic scene before him with smoldering gold orbs. His gaze rested on Esma a second longer than she would have liked, his piercing stare making ice form in the pit of her stomach, along with the feeling of familiarity.

His massive jaws opened to reveal threatening ivory fangs, and he spoke. A massive blue wave rippled across the air in angelic grace to land over those below, pushing them back with such power that some flew into the houses behind while most were thrown into carts and villagers. The Thu'ums mighty power clawed it's way across Esma's flesh with vicious intent, making her roll off the block and lose her breath.

From that moment Oblivion let loose. Orange flames erupted from the Dragons gaping maw, catching anything it could in it's burning embrace. Smoke quickly filled the air along with the last screams of the dying.

As Esma attempted to stand the ground shook again as meteors fell from sky to rein terror upon Helgen. A rough hand caught her shoulder and steadied her footing.

Over the thunderous tones a familiar voice caught her ear, "Hey, get up! We need to move now, the Gods wont give us another chance!"

Letting go Ralof ran towards the nearest tower with Esma in tow. Once they reached the tower one soldier closed the door behind them. Before her view to the outside world was shut Esma quickly looked back to see a glimpse of night disappear into the darkened sky, Throwing off her bonds Esma raced her hands across her barren arms. She was shaken to her very soul. Only one question raced across her mind a flurry: How could Alduin be back? She and others saw his death before their very eyes, witnessed him being thrust into oblivion and never return to this land. At least that was what it seemed like. Obviously, she was mistaken.

Looking around the room Esma decided to push the disturbing thought into the back of her mind for now. There would be a time and place for her to mull of the endless theories of Alduins return, right now she needed to get out of here. Immediately.

I wrapped that one up rather quickly. Sorry for the sudden ending, we can't all be perfect. I know I followed the dialog, a lot, but I promise it wont be like that with the rest of the story. I thought it fit well here to follow the original words.
Anyways, thanks for reading. Hope you liked it enough to leave a review? ;) No? Well... How about some candy? Please?

~ BOA. ~