A/N: This does NOT follow the intro to a T. The dialogue has been changed a bit, so you won't have to read through the same thing for the tenth time. ;) This also does NOT follow the story line as you see it in the game. This fiction IS rated M for later chapters. Yes, this WILL be a F-Dragonborn/Ulfric fic. Please enjoy ^^
A Different Kind of Fate
Chapter 1
The loud cacophony of wooden wheels across hard ground and stone, horses hoof beat, and the constant jostling made Lucia stir from her unconscious state. Her head throbbed with every beat of her heart, and her vision swam in a blurry chaos when she opened her eyes. Gingerly she lifted her head from the wood boards she was lying on, the sounds of the wagon dying down to a tolerable level as her head was distanced from surface. A pair of black boots was in front of her face, and her eyes followed them up the body they adorned. The man she saw was a large Nord with dirty blond hair. He was gagged, and watching her as she fully woke.
She pushed herself up to the free spot on the bench beside him, struggling all the while with her hands bound tight together. Taking a look around, she couldn't fight the chill that sunk into her bones as she saw the snowy pines and birch trees surrounding the trail the wagon followed. The snowy landscape was the last thing she had expected to see when she awoke.
There were three men in the cart with her, and she noticed they were all bound at the wrists like her, all looking worse for wear. They were all dirtied and bloodied from either battle or struggle. Immediately she looked down to her wrists in a vain attempt at wriggling free of her bonds, as a light panic set in.
"You're finally awake. You've been out for a long time."
The voice surprised her, and she looked up. The light haired Nord dressed in chain and leather armor adorned with blue in front of her was looking at her, almost amusedly as he watched her try to free her hands. Her mind calmed slightly when she realized her efforts were no good, and probably foolish. If she was captured that meant there would be guards, soldiers, bandits, or slavers ready to take her out if she attempted escape. As her mind settled on resigning her struggle, she finally processed the Nord's words.
"Where-" she asked, her voice sounded strangled from lack of use. After clearing her throat she tried again. "Where am I?"
"You were captured like us at Skyrim's border. The Imperials had a trap waiting." His voice was thick with the Nordic accent; a sound so familiar, yet so different to what she was used to...
What he said didn't make sense. There was no reason for her to be anywhere near Skyrim, let alone trying to make it into the cold land. Her head was still swimming, and she couldn't make sense of what was happening. This place wasn't where she was meant to be. She should still be at home with her father, and Markor, back in Cyrodiil.
The pounding in her head forced her to give up on solving the puzzle at hand. All the time in the world existed for her to figure out what happened. The top priority was to get back home, and that is what she would focus on.
"I would have made it out free if it wasn't for you stormcloaks," accused the third man, who was dressed in simple tan clothing.
"Yes, we know, you've already told us of how you would have made it away so successfully on that stolen horse, thief," ground out the man in armor. Turning from the horse thief, he looked at Lucia once again. "What is your name?"
"Lucia," she answered.
"I am Ralof. This coward over here is Lokir," he said indicating the man to his left. "The man next to you is Ulfric, the true high king of Skyrim!"
"Ulfric? The leader of the stormcloaks? If they've captured you, then surely we're-"
Ralof cut off Lokir's sentence, "What awaits us is Sovngarde."
The cold air was settling into Lucia's body, and the captive's words did nothing to fight off the chill. It wasn't long before she began shivering. She tried to huddle into herself the best she could while bound and sitting on the wagon bench. True to her memories, she was still wearing the simple, thin clothing she wore at her home in Cyrodiil, and only proved to add to her befuddlement of the situation.
Her shivering caught the attention of Ralof, who eyed her curiously. "Aren't you a Nord? I thought I heard the accent when you spoke."
"I am a Nord," she said hotly, almost insulted at the disbelief she heard in his voice.
"All Nords are born with a resistance to Skyrim's cold weather. Yet here you are, shivering like a leaf." Ralof gave her an odd look before continuing. "And your accent isn't very strong."
"I was raised in Cyrodiil for most of my life."
"That explains the accent, but not the shivering. Ah, but who am I to question. In a short while, it won't matter what, or who we are in this world."
Lucia was thankful that signaled the end to his questioning, albeit in a slightly morbid way. One of her greatest failings as a Nord was her inability to handle cold weather. As a child she was incurably ill, and weak to the cold. Living in Skyrim at the time caused many complications. Her father was forced to take her far from the rest of her family, into the warmer climate of Cyrodiil to live out their lives. As she grew, winters became less hard on her, but she could still never shake the cold that seemed to pierce into her very soul, and whisper out the other side of her, leaving her feeling hollow.
She would never admit that to the prying Nord. There was no reason he needed to know such an intimate detail about her.
Before long they were inside of a small village surrounded by stone walls, and made their way to the center of the town.
"Oh Gods, please, help me. I don't belong here!" shouted Lokir, franticly looking all around him.
"Have some courage in your last moments. A Nord should be proud of how he faces death," Ralof tried to encourage the other captive.
"Easy for you to say! You're the ones who deserve to be here. Me and her, we didn't do anything wrong!"
"Stealing a horse isn't a crime anymore? I guess I need to get out more," jested Ralof dryly.
Lokir flustered for a moment at the retort. "Not deserving death, you cur!"
The stormcloak gave no response but laughter, earning a glare from the thief.
The wagons rolled to a stop, and imperial officers came to the backs of the wagons. A woman wearing bright shining steel armor over brown leather, as opposed to the simple leather of the other soldiers, shouted at the captives. "Everyone step down from the wagons, and wait for your name to be called."
"No, this can't be happening-this isn't happening!" said Lokir as Ralof forced him to stand. Ulfric was the first to the ground, and walked forward with his head held high, despite his sentence awaiting. Ralof shoved Lokir down from the wagon when the man refused to go any further. "No, I won't go- Please just tell them we weren't with you. We aren't rebels, I swear!"
"Shut your mouth!" the woman in charge yelled at Lokir, in a voice that commanded obedience. Somehow his mouth stilled as he stumbled forward to wait.
Ralof hopped down, and helped Lucia to the ground. She made an undignified noise as her knees trembled as feet met the earth, and would have collapsed underneath her had it not been for Ralof's shoulder helping her stay steady. Her body was clearly still not completely under her control from her extended time spent unconscious.
She caught the looks of Lokir and Ulfric looking at her, amused. Slightly embarrassed, she shot Ralof a quick look to express her thanks, and felt her cheeks burn hotly.
Ulfric and Ralof were called, and they each made their way to the execution area when their names were said. When Lokir's name was called, the jittery man shouted something incomprehensible before jumping from his place and making a run for the town entrance.
"Archers!" yelled the imperial captain.
Lucia felt herself cringe with sympathy as the archers standing guard loosed their arrows into the retreating back of the man. Coward or not, it was a sad way to die. The body fell hard to the ground, and she saw no further movement from him. She was once again reminded of the cold hollowing out the inside of her body, as the soldier with the list returned to his paper. "You there, who are you?"
The question felt odd and out of place. He was the one with the list, wouldn't he know?
"Lucia Dae, of Cyrodiil."
"Captain, she isn't on the list. What do we do with her?" he asked the commanding woman in steel armor.
"Damn the list, she goes to the block like everyone else," she ordered without hesitation.
The soldier appeared to hesitate with the order, perhaps something akin to empathy. "I-I'm sorry," he said, now speaking to Lucia. "We'll be sure to return your remains to Cyrodiil." With that he nodded over towards the gathering of prisoners around the execution block.
When everyone was gathered, an imperial man in highly ornamental bronze and gold armor stepped forward to face Ulfric Stormcloak. "While many may call you a hero, even some here in Helgen, no hero uses a power like the Voice to kill his king and usurp the throne. You are a disgrace to your ancestors, and all those who once believed in you."
Ulfric muttered something behind the bind around his mouth that couldn't be heard.
The man continued, "And now you'll die here today, with nothing to show for your efforts. Oh how I'm sure you've disappointed your people."
Anger shone in the stormcloak leader's eyes, but he made no attempt to rebuke, but rather stood stoically against the barrage of insults.
"General Tullius," the woman captain prompted the man speaking to Ulfric.
The general seemed to bore with Ulfric's lack of response, and instead turned to a priestess dressed in golden yellow robes.
"Sister, you may begin," he ordered.
The woman began to speak a passing, but was cut short by a stormcloak soldier's voice. "Enough already! Let's just get this over with." As the man approached the block, what sounded like a roar escaped across the landscape, and stilled everyone's movements as they looked around the sky and horizon for the sound.
"Continue!" Tullius shouted, breaking everyone from the stray moment of confusion.
An imperial soldier came behind the stormcloak and pushed him to kneel before the block, and rested a foot upon his back to keep him secure. "My ancestors are smiling upon me. Can you say the same, Imperial scum?" As soon as the words were out of his mouth, his head was done away from his body with the executioner's axe.
Lucia felt the chill in her body become greater, as she witnessed the man's life taken forcefully. She had tried to suppress her shivering and had succeeded for the most part, but now it was beyond her control. The captain ordered her to approach the block. Her mind froze as cold as her body felt at the order. In that moment after her fate was sealed with the command, another ragged roar seared its way across the sky, louder this time.
"Come on!"
Her limbs felt as though they moved of their own accord. Facing the stone slab, rough hands pushed on her shoulders as she was forced to her knees the same as the man whose head now rested where hers soon would. Blood coated the slab thickly, and she felt bile rise in her throat as she caught her first scent of death. Soon her head was pressed down into that wet, warm puddle of blood, and that putrid smell was all her senses could register.
A large black figure crossed the sky, but she couldn't concentrate well enough to see it before it was gone. Another, ear-piercing roar ripped through the air as a giant dark figure landed gracelessly upon the tower behind her executioner. Just as the axe was wielded above his head, it clambered uselessly from his hands as the ground shook with a tremor.
Lucia's eyes widened in horror as the large black figure, resembling what all the myths described as a dragon, stared from its crumbling perch, and bore its infinitely black eyes into Lucia's. It arched its long neck into the air and screamed something, as fire tore forth from its maw, all the while clouds in the sky swirled ominously with the color of blood.
She found her body frozen in place, unable to move, unable to look away. Fire was being swirled around her to every surface it could lick. In a sudden recollection, she couldn't see the world around her, but only the flood of memories, and the faces of her father and her good friend Markor doused in flames that charred the skin from their faces. The scent of death and burning flesh flooded forth from her memories and hypnotically left her unable to do anything but recall the pain she had forgotten. The pain and fear wrecked itself over her, as clearly as it had that same day, and she remembered why she was in Skyrim.
Her home was burning down around her when she woke. The two people she held dear in her life smoldering away in the fire. She didn't even have a chance to collect her thoughts from what she witnessed, when she felt a firm body press up against her from behind. Strong arms reached around her chest to hold her secure, as a dark figure stepped out from the flames and pressed a bitter smelling cloth to her mouth. In an instant she was unconscious. She didn't even have time to scream.
She recalled waking up briefly in a caravan, two dark cloaked figures beside her. Her first glimpses of the snowy Skyrim landscape could be seen from the parted fabric at the back of the caravan. When she began to stir, she felt a cloth once again pressed to her face, as everything washed away to darkness once more.
The images swirled around her head like a biting madness, but she felt a strong body against her back, and an arm wrap around her chest to haul her up to her feet. Irrational panic set in, a result of her memories. It was happening again: a man was grabbing her again from her home, and would soon capture her, just as he did before. She tried to buck against the body, but could only manage so weakly. A hand gripped her upper arm and began pulling her forward. Things weren't happening as they did before...
"Hey now, come on, we have to get out of here," came the familiar voice of Ralof. Her vision suddenly cleared of the memories, no longer plaguing her. He was behind her, and shoving her in the direction of an open tower doorway, Ulfric pulling her by her arm.
When they made it inside, the door was shut. The hands holding her released her, and she fell to her knees, extremely conflicted by what was happening, and what she just remembered had happened.
"Are you okay?"
She looked up to see Ralof staring at her with concern.
"I-" she honestly didn't know what to say. She was at a loss for words. Nothing could describe the turmoil that boiled inside of her; the confusion. "I'm fine," she finally choked out, though she wasn't sure the words were true. Once she managed to pull herself from the ground, Ralof untied her hands.
"Was that-Was that really something from the legends?" Ralof asked incredulously.
Ulfric, now ungagged and unbound, responded blandly. "Legends don't massacre villages."
The sound of screams and fire lingered outside of the tower, the dragon's roars sounded a little more distant.
"Now may be our only chance. We need to make a run for the dungeon entrance. I'm familiar with this town, so just follow me," Ralof said as the few other remaining ex-captives got ready to make the move. Ralof opened the tower door, and ran down the street, everyone else in tow. Lucia found herself following behind Ulfric as they dodged rubble and flaming debris. One of the stormcloaks following behind Lucia found himself crushed underneath the side of a building as it came crashing down after the dragon flew overhead and whipped its tail into the structure.
When they were finally at the dungeon entrance, Ralof cursed loudly. "It's locked!"
Hope was dashed from Lucia's heart at those words, until one of the stormcloaks stepped forward. "I think I can pick the lock."
"Thank Talos."
The time spent waiting for the woman to fumble with the lock made the world drag around them. Death seemed imminent, as any moment the dragon could swoop down and crush them all beneath its flames. Finally with a satisfying click, the woman pushed the door in. They all hurried inside and closed the door behind them. A roar from the dragon could be heard from just outside.
"We need to follow the passages down into the caverns below. They wind around a bit, but should bring us just outside of Helgen walls."
As they proceeded through the dungeons, they encountered numerous soldiers that made to stop them, but they were all disposed of. "We won't think less of you to equip yourself, and make yourself warm," said Ulfric when he caught her eying the warm garb of a fallen imperial. It felt wrong to remove the clothing of a fallen person, but she knew it might be necessary. When she had equipped the leather armor and a short sword they continued on. She didn't actually plan on using the sword, really, but held on to it just in case.
When they finally made it through the caverns and to open Skyrim air, only she, Ralof, and Ulfric were what remained of their little troop.
"Shh-shh!" Ralof hurriedly whispered. He and Ulfric pulled her down behind a large boulder, peering over at the sky as the Dragon flew off with one triumphant bout of flame across the landscape before disappearing again. "Let's go."
They stepped out from behind the rock and made their way down the path, but couldn't continue very far before the hulking mass of the dragon dropped down in front of them from seemingly nowhere. Lucia couldn't contain her scream, as they were confronted by the horrifying monster they had managed to avoid until then. This was it. They had escaped only to be cut down when they had finally grasped freedom.
Ralof and Ulfric unsheathed their weapons. Drawing in a heavy breath, Ulfric was about to yell something, "FU-" was all he managed before a black wing smashed into him and sent him to the ground.
"FOR TALOS!" shouted Ralof as he charged towards the lowered head of the beast. With a quick jerk, the dragon smashed its head into Ralof's side. He gripped the place where the sharp scales and spikes smashed through his armor and pierced his skin, grunting in pain as he tried to collect himself for another attack. For the moment, the dragon ignored the two downed men, and stared intently at Lucia. The monster inhaled deeply, she knew it was ready to cover her in flames. Fear encased her mind and heart. Fear for her life, and of the two men who had helped her get this far. She also felt rage towards the dragon, for killing so many innocent people. Such a bitter, hot rage filtered through her, as she silently protested her inevitable death at the hands of this loathsome creature. So she did the one thing her instinct was able to control her to do. She raised her palms to the dragon, and relinquished every ounce of magicka within her body to her hands. She had been taught basic magic by her friend Markor, and had always been told that magic had to be steadily moved through her body to create an effect. That magic was like a rhythm inside of you. But now she was ignoring everything he told her. In one second all of the magicka her body contained was now focused at her hands, with pure destructive force of her rage and fear.
A blinding heat permeated the frigid air around her, and she was forced to close her eyes. She could vaguely recall an inhuman shriek before every bit of her body lost control and she fell to the ground, the world quickly spinning into darkness around her. 'That was a stupid idea,' she thought dimly before her mind was at rest.