I've been playing the crap out of Skyrim (dear god it's SO much better than Oblivion) and have tried to start several different fics for it, but other than the one-shot, but I never got into them enough to post anything. Please comment if you like it so far, I've started the next chapter and I'll hopefully get it done and posted soon! ^^

*Edit: Ok so I added more to this chapter, rather than make another really short one.

So this is how it's going to end, Falcon grunted as the Imperial captain pushed him down onto the chopping block with her boot, I escaped the Thalmor, only to be caught by the Empire for being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

He had many regrets, but all of them fled his mind as the executioner readied his axe, only to be replaced by smiling faces of his parents and sister. Well, at least I'll finally be able to see them again, he smiled sadly down at the pool of blood left behind by the first man to be beheaded. The bosmer heard a labored huff as the hooded man hefted his axe up and braced himself for the pain sure to come, but what he got was very different. Instead of the bite of cold steel, the elf felt like he'd been hit by an angry horse. The force of the blow knocked him off the stone block into the cooling body of the dead Nord beside him. He looked up in shock as screams echoed around him, a massive black dragon sat perched atop the watchtower as fire fell from the sky. The beast roared, causing the very ground to shake before taking off, the downdraft from its wings slamming Falcon to the ground again.

"Hey Wood Elf! Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance!"

Shaking himself, Falcon peered through the smoke to see the speaker, the blonde Nord from the wagon, waving frantically at him. Disentangling himself from the beheaded corpse, he ran with the man, Ralof was his name, right? to the safety of a stone tower. Just before he'd reached the door, the ground erupted beside him, and for a second, all he could see was flame. The elf roared in pain, as the explosion threw him to the ground and where he writhed in the dirt as the flames caught on his shirt and licked over his torso. It seemed like an eternity before he managed to smother the flames, and by then he was in agony. Another roar sounded above him, providing another burst of adrenaline, just enough to get him back on his feet and scrambling through the ruined wall of a house before the area where he was only seconds before was set ablaze. Falcon was struggling to catch his breath just inside the door of the cottage, when he recognized the figure of the Nord Legionnaire from before, the one with the list. Falcon glanced at the sky before jogging awkwardly over to the Nord who was dragging a young boy out of the way of the dragon's fire.

Noticing the half-charred elf's approach, Hadvar felt a bit of relief that the bosmer had made it. To be honest, he really hadn't thought it fair that the man was going to be executed just for being unlucky enough to stumble into their caravan of prisoners; at least one good thing might come of this mess. "Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." Giving a nod, Falcon trailed him as they made their way through the chaos.

"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar bellowed, and not a moment too soon as the great beast descended upon the wall and landed heavily, using its wings to steady itself. For a moment, Falcon didn't dare breath as he crouched by the wall, the beast's talons barely an inch from his burnt face, before the monster took off again and Hadvar was dragging him through a burning house and into the courtyard.

As they tore towards the keep Falcon noticed the blue clad form of Ralof, and so it seemed did Hadvar as he snarled insults at his kinsman. For a moment the elf thought they were going to duke it out right there while the village burned around them, but the looming shape of the dragon thankfully snapped them out of their glare contest and reminded them of the situation. Ripping his gaze from the blonde Nord, Hadvar sprinted towards the heavy oak door of the keep, "With me prisoner, let's go!"

Falcon faltered for a moment when he heard Ralof call out to him as well, but he'd come too far with the red-headed Legionnaire to just abandon him now. His legs shook as exhaustion threatened to drop him before he could make it, but as Hadvar heaved the door open, the bosmer somehow found the strength to make it the last few meters and throw himself through the door.

After slamming the door shut and barricading it, Hadvar took a moment to breathe. From the looks of things they were in the barracks, a row of beds and chests lined one wall and some shelves and tables were arranged on the other side of the room. His gaze flicked down to the elf at his feet, who hadn't moved since he had flung himself through the door. The man was painfully thin, his shoulders and hips jutting up against the rough fabric of his prison issue tunic and breeches. As a wood elf, it wasn't unusual for him to be extremely slim and on the short side, but the lad looked like he hadn't eaten in weeks. He was pale, as far as Bosmer went, with blue war paint smeared around his eyes. If it wasn't covered in dirt and soot, his hair might be red; it was cropped close to his scalp on the sides, and allowed to grow in the middle into a long and unruly mohawk. His left side was badly burned, and now that Hadvar could get a decent look at him, he could see the elf was trembling slightly.

Poor man, probably in shock from those wounds. Hadvar quickly dug through his pack and retrieved a healing potion he saved for emergencies. "Hey, Falcon right? Drink this, you'll feel better." He reached for the elf's head only for him to snap to life, hiss, and scuttle away on the floor, eyes wild and unseeing. "Falcon! Calm yourself, man! I'm here to help you!" Hadvar said urgently, slowly followed him on his knees, trying to seem nonthreatening to the shaking Bosmer. A flicker of recognition passed across his gold eyes and he relaxed a bit, just enough for Hadvar reach him and coax him into drinking the crimson potion.

The effects were almost immediate as Falcon slumped with relief, his blistered skin returning to its previous state as the several gashes he'd received while running closed. He quickly climbed to his feet and ran his fingers through his hair, trying to push certain thoughts from his mind, lest he lose himself again. The burning village outside was far too similar to his own home's fate and it was bringing back old memories.

Deciding the elf had recovered from his strange fit, Hadvar stood as well. "You'd better find some armor and suit up. We're in the guards' barracks so you should be able to find something."

Falcon nodded and began searching through the room. He quickly found some armor in a chest by the wall and after wriggling out of the prison rags, he slipped it on. The leather imperial armor sagged pathetically over his body, having obviously been made to fit a much larger man. He snatched a sword belt from a nearby table and fastened it around his waist to keep his greaves from sliding off and pulled an equally massive pair of boots on. All in all he was quite sure he looked like a little boy wearing his father's armor, and that was further validated when Hadvar looked back at him and had to stifle his laughter. With an irritated grumble he grabbed a sword off the rack and followed the Nord down the hallway and into the next room.