This is a re-write of the first chapter - it's more than double the length and has a lot of extra details! Reviews will absolutely make my day, and I'm always open to new ideas.
Be aware that this is slash, so if you don't like, don't read.
Disclaimer: Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda, and I am making no profit from writing this. The only things I own are the plot, and a handful of OC's thrown in.
The air smelt of ash and snow. The distinct smell hovered around Kyra, reminding her of home. She must be close.
The coldness was sharp in her nose as she breathed in. The crisp quality of the iciness could only be found here - in Skyrim. Despite the time that had passed, it felt as familiar as ever.
Quickening her pace in anticipation, she shrugged her pack further onto her shoulders and took note of the gradual change in the surrounding nature. Snow started to dot the ground - the product of last night's gentle fall - and blue mountain flowers grew like weeds, their vivid colour stark against the grass.
Voices caught her attention. She paused, hand hovering over her sword in caution as her fingers twitched. Chances were, it was a simple traveler like her. But by now, she knew not to make such assumptions - it could as easily be a bandit or necromancer.
She edged her way to the side of the path, taking cover in the dappled shade shed by the trees. With careful steps, she moved towards the source of sound.
A flicker of artificial blue caught her eye - clothing, perhaps?
She ducked behind a rotting tree stump just as two armoured figures emerged from the trees - soldiers. One was male, the other female. They were talking in low undertones and although they didn't seem to be particularly aggressive, she wasn't taking any chances. She probably could defeat them if forced into it, but she didn't want to step into her old home cloaked in blood and violence. That was how she had left - she was determined that things would go differently this time.
She became aware of a presence behind her an instance before a twig snapped. She started to whirl round, muscles tensing and hand reaching for her swords, but the contact of metal against her throat stilled the motion. The ghosting touch was as cold as ice.
"Place your hands on your head," a male voice said.
Internally cursing herself for letting her guard down, she let the hilt of her sword slip through her fingers and did as she was told.
"Stand up and face me. No sudden moves, mind." The voice spoke again as the spear swayed against her throat. The polished edge nicked her skin slightly and she felt a trickle of blood form.
Moving slowly, she stood up and turned around, aware that the two soldiers had spotted the commotion and were now jogging over.
The soldier she was facing held his spear with practiced ease, his stance both light and ready despite his short height. He was dressed in the same blue armour the other soldiers were, although his was stained by dirt and drops of old blood.
She didn't dare move as the two other soldiers reached them, their breath sounding loud in the motionless morning air.
"Who are you?" the female soldier bit out, drawing her sword and aiming it at Kyra's chest. "An Imperial spy?"
Kyra frowned and opened her mouth to answer but evidently she had taken too long because the female soldier stepped forward aggressively.
"I said, who the hell are you? You'd better start talking, stranger!" she snarled, brandishing her sword.
The male soldier who had been with her put his hand on her arm. "Careful Freyja. She might be just a civilian." He turned to her. "What are you doing here?" Although his tone still held steel, there was more sympathy present than the female.
She swallowed. "I'm just a traveler heading back into Skyrim. Is that illegal all of a sudden?" She tossed out a quick laugh and then looked closer at them when the short male opposite her shifted position. "You're Stormcloaks, aren't you?" she said in realisation.
"And where are you from if you didn't immediately recognise us?" the short male said softly, his spear still hovering at her throat.
"I've been…travelling," she said, hating her lame excuse.
Freyja scoffed. "Oh, how convenient! And you actually expect us to believe that?"
The taller soldier shot her a glance and Freyja bristled. "Don't look at me like that, Ralof. There's every chance she's a spy and I'm not taking any risks."
Ralof sighed. "Do you know anything of our plans?" he asked, addressing Kyra.
"Of course I don't! Even if I was a spy, it's not like I'd tell you." She immediately snapped her mouth shut, knowing she had said the wrong thing.
"So you are a spy!" Freyja snarled, her face triumphant. "You just admitted to it."
"No, she didn't," the unnamed soldier said. He lowered his spear but kept it at the ready. "But it's better to be safe than sorry. We'll take her back to the main force and Ulfric can have the final say. She doesn't look like spy material but this pass isn't well known. Agreed?"
Ralof nodded immediately but it took Freyja a few seconds before she gave a curt inclination. "Drop your swords on the ground," she commanded. "No sudden moves or you'll regret it. Drop your pack too."
Kyra inwardly sighed, wondering whether was worth trying to fight her way out of this, but decided against it. It was too risky. She shrugged out of her pack and dropped her swords on the floor, gritting her teeth when Freyja picked them up and twirled them carelessly.
When they were satisfied she was no longer a threat, they set off at a brisk run, Freyja's sword still lingering behind her in case she caught any ideas.
They were only running for around five minutes before more soldiers dressed in blue came into sight, forming a winding column of armoured figures. There weren't many - the force perhaps numbered twenty in total, including one astride a black horse at the front of the group. Two wagons rolled in the middle and something metal glinted deep within.
The four of them headed to the figure on horseback, who glanced at them suspiciously but didn't stop his horse. They were forced to maintain a quick pace in order to keep up.
"Jarl Ulfric." The still unnamed soldier offered a quick bow of his head.
"Who's she?" Ulfric asked brusquely, narrowing his eyes.
"We found her some distance away," he said, gesturing at Kyra. "She claims she's a traveler simply heading back into Skyrim and doesn't seem to be an Imperial spy, but I wanted to report it to you anyway, sir."
Ulfric gave her a considering look before turning back. "Well done soldier. You did the right thing." The unnamed soldier swelled in pride as Ulfric continued speaking. "Did she have any recognisable documents on her? Imperial or otherwise."
"None sir," Freyja interjected. "But the pass isn't commonly used and she was hiding from us when we discovered her."
Ulfric nodded slowly, fingering his sword hilt in thought. "Very well. I thank you all for your caution but not everyone we pass is a direct threat. And I won't allow Tullius to discover we accused one of our own of being a spy." He turned directly to her, sun reflecting off his armour and making her squint. "I will allow you to continue on your way and as long as you make no effort to impede our progress, we will do the same for you."
She nodded quickly, muttering a thanks and inwardly grinning when Freyja looked even more sour than usual. No doubt she had been expecting Ulfric to order her immediate execution. But unfortunately for Freyja, no execution attempts were to occur in the immediate future.
Ulfric waved his hand in a dismissive motion at the nameless soldier and Ralof, who snapped to attention briefly before turning and disappearing among the group of Stormcloaks.
"I'll have my pack and swords back please," she said cheekily to Freyja and raised an eyebrow when she hesitated and glanced towards Ulfric. He nodded distractedly as he craned his neck to see beyond the horizon.
With a look that could kill, Freyja dropped her swords carelessly on the ground along with her pack. Kyra quickly knelt to pick them up and smiled as the familiar weight of her dual swords settled in her hands.
Rising to her feet once more, she rolled her shoulders to get rid of the excess tension and noted the expression on Freyja's face had suddenly become expressionless, almost slack. It was a vivid contrast to the simmering mistrust that had lay there before and she frowned, a fluttering feeling beginning in her chest.
But before Kyra could move, Freyja started to slowly pitch forwards, making no effort to catch herself. Even as Kyra watched, she fell to the ground with a soft thump, her limbs askew. She lay motionless, face down, an arrow standing tall between her shoulder blades.
A high-pitched whine sounded from behind her and she ducked out the way as another arrow shot forwards from within the undergrowth. And then another arrow was released, and another, and another. Two Stormcloaks let out pained cries as the deadly metal made contact with them.
A tangible wave of panic rippled through the Stormcloak troops as voices were raised and weapons were drawn. They tried to form themselves into organised lines but it was chaos - solders tripped over each other in an effort to escape the swarm of arrows.
Kyra stayed low, gripping onto her swords tightly but was forced to jump out the way to avoid Ulfric's horse, which reared up in terror as an arrow nicked its ear. Ulfric tried to bring it under control but lost his grip on the reigns and fell to the ground as the horse galloped off. Kyra darted over to help, trying to avoid the arrows whistling around her.
She reached him and offered him a hand but jumped back to avoid a vicious punch. Ulfric leapt to his feet and turned on her, his face wild with anger.
"You traitor! You would sacrifice your brothers and sisters for the false cause of the Imperials? I should have killed you on sight!" The air rippled with power as Ulfric roared and she recognised it as the thu'um, instantly becoming more wary.
She opened her mouth to respond, to say she wasn't part of the Imperials, that she had no wish to be, but before the words emerged, she became aware of someone behind her, their presence heavy and foreboding. She whirled around, trying to control the adrenaline that was flooding through her, and was met with an Imperial soldier, his heavy battleaxe raised high and a mad anger in his eyes.
The metal was stark against the pale blue of the sky as it started to descend on her, seemingly in slow motion. She managed to drag her swords up into a clumsy block, forming a v-shape. As the weapons met, vibrations echoed up her arms and they trembled as she struggled against the brute force of the Imperial.
Muscles cording on his arms, he forced her back a few steps, the axe edge gradually creeping closer to her head. Realising it was futile, she swung her swords on the side and twisted to avoid his weapon as it plunged towards the ground. Luck was on her side. It became embedded in the ground and the Imperial was forced to wrench it from the ground, giving her valuable time to recover. Even as he raised his axe once again to try and attack her, she darted forwards, feinting with one of her swords and slicing the other in a quick motion across his throat.
A haunting gurgle filled the air as he spluttered. His hands lost their grip on his sword and he sunk to the ground, his eyes glazing over before he reached the earth.
Taking a quick moment to catch her breath, she glanced around at the chaos around her. Imperials had descended on the Stormcloaks and were now steadily pushing through their unprepared defenses. Bodies of Stormcloaks dotted the ground, far more than that of Imperials, and she felt anger rush through her. She started towards the nearest Imperial - only taking a moment to see that Ulfric was struggling to hold his own against a group of five soldiers- but was brought short when she realised the Imperials weren't killing any Stormcloaks. No, they were disarming them and knocking them unconscious, but seemed to be going out of their way to ensure that none were killed.
A flicker of fear ran through her before she ruthlessly crushed it down. There was no apparent reason for them not being being killed, aside from two options, each worse than the last. There was either to be a public execution, to provide an official end to the war - that is, if Ulfric was captured - or a way to extract information about the war. Neither would end well for her.
She threw herself into the nearest group of Imperials, staying cautious but trying to bring as many down as she could. She swept among them, sweat dripping down her face, and when swords failed, used kicks to bring the soldiers to their knees where they could be easily dealt with.
She was just beginning to feel the first flicker of hope as she plunged her swords into a particularly annoying Imperial, when the world suddenly tilted on its side. Her head snapped back and pain blossomed like a flower in her head.
She blinked. Somehow she was now lying on the floor. Grass was ticking her nose. Sounds of fighting were echoing around her but they seemed to come from a distance. Her thoughts worked sluggishly.
A face floated into view. An Imperial. He was grinning.
"Give Ulfric my love," he jeered, before an armoured foot descended on her face.
Blackness took her.
She felt as though she was floating, her head wrapped in a cloud. It would have been peaceful, save for the aching in her head, and the growing feeling that something was out of place.
A bird trilled, the melodic notes sounding as though they were covered by a film of water. The sound gradually cleared the haze from her head, shaking off the last remnants of unconsciousness and her eyelids fluttered as she slowly opened her eyes.
Bright light blinded her and she blinked as she tried to shield her eyes from the glaring sun, but found she couldn't. That was the first indication something was wrong. Rope viciously bound her hands together, the strands chafing away her skin and leaving her wrists raw and bloody. Instinctively, she tested the strength of them but the Imperials certainly knew what they were doing.
"I guess you're not a spy after all then."
A voice startled her and she looked up, her gaze landing on a young blond-haired man sitting opposite her. Ralof. His hands were bound, same as hers, and his expression was grim. Blood coated the side of his face.
"You figured that out then," she said sarcastically but immediately felt guilty. He had only been doing what he thought was the right thing. Kyra sighed, glancing briefly over at the person sitting next to her and frowned.
"Who are you? I didn't think you were with the Stormcloaks."
The man snorted, shaking his head. "I'm not. I only stole a horse. Don't know why they arrested me."
She started to smirk. "Was it black? Tall? White socks?"
The man frowned. "Yes, why?"
"That's the horse Ulfric was riding before it bolted." She chuckled slightly. "No wonder they arrested you."
The thief looked enraged as he started to turn a shade of mauve that perfectly complemented the sky. He turned on the final person in the carriage. "It's your fault! It's your fault I'm here! You should just take your stupid war and shove it where the sun don't shine!" he growled, spittle flying from his mouth.
For his part, Ulfric just glared at him, somehow managing to look stern and imperious despite the gag over his mouth.
The thief continued his rant as his face slowly changed from mauve to red. "You're the reason I'm here! The Empire was nice and lazy before you came along, but you had to ruin that, didn't you? And now we're all heading to our deaths but there's nothing we can do about it!"
As much as she hated to admit it, the thief was right. None of them were in a position to do anything to save themselves.
She tried to dismiss the thought unsuccessfully. She felt completely, utterly helpless. She may have been in difficult situations before, but in all of them, she had at least some resemblance of control over the outcome. Here, she was at the mercy of the gods.
Distant voices sounded from the Imperials, and hearing the word 'headsman' uttered bought bile to her throat. She swallowed, and internally sent a quick prayer to Arkay and Talos, the latter being partly for a smack in the face of the Imperials. The thief had the same idea, although his prayers grew increasingly panicked as they drew closer to the village. Helgen, she recognised it as now.
A thought struck her as she glanced at the carriage slowly trundling behind her. "Where are the rest of the Stormcloaks?"
Ralof looked at her, frowning.
She sighed and continued. "No doubt some of them died in the ambush. But the Imperials went to great lengths to only injure, not kill. Even the arrows were shot with a certain precision, aside from the first. There are only around five Stormcloaks here, not including, me, the thief, or Ulfric. Jarl Ulfric," she added. "So where are the rest?"
Ralof frowned. "I don't know. But I guess it's too late to worry about that now. It won't affect us." He ended with a heavy sigh as the carriage started to slow.
"Why are we stopping?" the thief questioned, his face pale and his eyes wide in their sockets.
"Why do you think? End of the line." Ralof replied, his voice heavy, but the attempt at black humour made Kyra chuckle a bit. She blamed it on nerves.
Ralof stood, glancing at her, his eyes softening. "Let's go, we shouldn't keep the god's waiting for us."
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the thief pleaded. Kyra ignored him. At the start, she had felt sympathetic for him, but now she needed to focus on keeping herself together and not cry. She had no time for anyone else. Ralof replied instead as she shuffled to the edge of the cart, and jumped, almost losing her balance as she fell to the ground.
Over the faint buzzing in her ears, she heard the female captain tell the prisoners to step towards the block one at a time when their names were called.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm" a stocky Imperial called out, and Ulfric moved forwards, his head held high.
"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof said, as he too was called forwards.
The horsethief's name, Lokir, was announced shortly afterwards, but as Kyra watched, his face hardened with resolve. "No! I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!"
He took off at an awkward run with his hands still bound. Kyra watched sadly, knowing he was going to his death either way.
The archers took aim on command, arrows whistling towards him. One hit its target and he kneeled over in an undignified way, becoming just another corpse. She wished he had not chosen the coward's way out, but found she couldn't truly blame him.
The female captain glared at them. "Anyone else feel like running?"
"Wait." The stocky imperial was looking at her. "You there, step forward." Kyra had no choice but to obey.
"Who are you?"
She clenched her teeth, and looked him in the eye. May as well make a lasting impression. She knew her eyes were unusual, the iris resembling that of the swirling night sky, complete with the purples and reds of the constellations. A unique form of hetrochromia, her mother used to say, but she still didn't know what that meant.
"I am Kyra Nightingale, previously known as Nightingale in the land of Morrowind," she answered formally, instinctively choosing a posher accent, and watching for any sign of recognition. There was none, but she wasn't surprised. As well as she was known in Morrowind, it was unlikely anyone here, aside from Dunmer, would recognise her. Not that it would do any good now.
Hadvar, as she later found out was his name, looked at the female captain. "What should we do? She's not on the list."
"Forget the list. She goes straight to the block."
The ringing in her ears was louder now, and she could barely hear Hadvar talking to her. She closed her eyes, focusing on stilling her shaking hands and partly succeeded.
Tullius stepped up to Ulfric, and started a lengthy monologue that Kyra started to tune out - before she was brought back into reality by a distant roar, carried on the whistling wind. She tensed, the roar seeming to pull at some primal part of her.
Tullius looked a little shaken, but recovered quickly. "It's nothing. Carry on."
She wanted to yell at him that, yes, it most definitely was something. She shook uncontrollably now, the ringing in her ears worst than ever. Her blood sang as though she was about to enter a fight, and the feeling that something was wrong worsened. Yet somehow, she knew it was nothing to do with the headsman waiting for her. No, it was something much older than that and the roar was something to do with it.
"Oh, let's just get on with this." The voice of a Stormcloak broke the tense silence as he strode forwards, limping slightly. She recognised him as the one who had first discovered her.
He knelt down, wincing but turned his head to the side so the Imperials wouldn't see his weakness. The headsman raised his axe, and with a smoothness that belied the finality of it, brought it down in a fluid motion on the Stormcloak's neck.
The Stormcloak's head gently rolled away, trailing splatters of blood that glistened dimly in the sun. Sorrow stirred within her. She didn't even know his name. It seemed important. She should have known his name - but it seemed as though he was already a ghost.
The calls of the townsfolk echoed in her ears, and she felt as though she was floating again. She couldn't take her eyes off the axe.
"Next, Kyra Nightingale!"
As though through a heavy fog, she heard herself called, and her legs moved forwards of their own accord. She was vaguely aware of people talking around her yet their voices passed over her, not leaving any impression on her brain. Her stomach contracted and she choked as another roar sounded. Or was that her imagination? Either way, it wouldn't matter now.
Kyra knelt down, the wooden block cool against her throat. The fog in her mind swirled as her stomach quivered with wrongness, making her want to throw up. Adrenaline pumped through her body, urging her to do something. Even on the verge of death, her body never stopped believing in her. What a strange thought, she idly wondered.
Above her, she was vaguely aware of the inevitable fall of the axe. She closed her eyes and waited.
So, what are your thoughts? Thanks for reading, and see you next time!