Chapter 1

Atala

Sun's Dusk 18th, 4E 201

The prison smells of mold, mildew, rot, decay, and other smells that I'd rather not identify. The metal cuffs on my wrists cut away at my skin, leaving it raw and tender. They are so tight that my blood soaked flesh can't slip through them. I guess this really is the end. At least I can be thankful that I'm not suspended in the air like some of the other prisoners. My arms are still held up by chains but at least I can semi-comfortably kneel on the ground. I want to bury my face into my hands and just cry but I'm not going to give the Imperial scum the satisfaction of seeing me defeated. If there is one thing I'm going to do before I pass into the void, its die with my dignity still intact. There is only one thing I wish I could change, though. I've been marked a Stormcloak dog in Skyrim and that is all people will remember me as.

It's nothing more than a lie. I never was and never will be a stormcloak.

I should have known. I should have done my research before accepting the contract. Old Ralph, my mentor, would have my head had the Stormcloaks not captured me first. Had I just looked a little deeper into who my contractor was and what my target really was I wouldn't be here now. I would have realized that I was being hired by a Stormcloak general to steal information from an Imperial scout. I should have realized it the moment he told me my target was in Helgen. Ralph warned me to stay out of the war that it would only lead to my death. He was right. He's always right.

Sinking deeper into the shadows of my cell I could only imagine what my fate would be. That is, after the Imperials realize that I really don't have any information. They've been beating me senseless in their interrogations. I already told them I didn't realize who I was contracted by and what I really was stealing. But of course they refuse to listen to a word of it. Perhaps they are just bored and need something to do. Helgen hardly sees any action as the Stormcloaks wouldn't dare to go up against this impenetrable fort. No one has ever escaped and hardly any enemy comes out alive. Even the town's people who live here sometimes fear for their life. I almost cry out when my sore back brushes against the cold dungeon wall through my thin, barely modest prison shirt. It hurts, but the cool stone feels soothing at the same time. It feels so bruised from the whippings I've recieved. So far I've been lucky. They don't intend on me bleeding to death so I haven't received the cat whip, only a thick leather strap. But I can tell my time is near; there has been a great stir in the fort. The guards are all restless, some even seem excited. I've heard some distant chatter about a plot to finally capture Jarl Ulfric, the leader of the Stormcloaks. I partly feel like rejoicing with them. I favor neither side of the war, the Imperials less so, but if one of the leaders die then so does their army and that means an end to this pointless war. Skyrim can finally go back to the way it was and once again have some momentary peace.

I suddenly hear one of the dungeon gates open and the clanking of marching soldiers echoing down the hall. Cell doors started opening and captured Stormcloaks are being escorted away. Ah, so death finally comes. I just wish I could have at least seen mum one more time before I died. No, this is not the time to be thinking of home. If I do, I'll surly break down and shame myself in front of the Imperials. As I hear them approach my cell my face turns to stone and I shut out all my emotions. At least I'll put one last thing Ralph taught me to practice. I'm sure he'd at least be proud of me for that. But no, I can't think of Ralph either. I shove him in with my emotions and instead focus on the guards coming into my cell. One roughly grabs my shackled wrists while the other removes the chains. The moment the shackles are off they are quickly replaced with hard leather. Funny, it's not like I have any chance of escaping, especially in my malnourished condition. So why they feel like it will take three of them to escort me out I'll never know.

They lead me through the dark corridors and outside into the real world. Being a prisoner for so long really takes a toll on my eyes. I've grown so accustomed to the dark that as soon as the light hits my face I have to screw my eyes shut. As the guards lead me away I begin to wonder if I contracted vampirism somehow but eventually I'm able to pry my eyes open and view my surroundings. They've led me to a group of other Stormcloak soldiers, some in rags, like myself, others in full blown uniforms. Next to one of the towers I can see Stormcloaks being loaded off a prisoner cart and being placed in a line in front of one of the scout towers. Like sheep being led to the slaughter house. Suddenly I spot someone dressed in regal clothing with not only his hands being bound but a gag around his mouth too. His eyes travel over every Stormcloak here, observing them and looking at each one with pride and his eyes holding a fierce sadness in them like a general wanting to give his soldiers a farewell speech before his death. A few of the Stormcloaks murmur a few words to him before bowing their heads and returning to their place in line. It's at that moment that I finally realize who he is.

Ulfric Stormcloak.

They really did it. They caught him. The mighty rebel leader defeated and humiliated brought low to face the wrath of the Imperials and their judgment. I originally thought of Ulfric as a coward and a fool for his crimes. But I should have known better then to trust the rumors. They said Ulfric shouted the High King to his death instead of facing him in real combat. They marked him a coward and traitor. But seeing him now, I can fully understand how he was able to inspire half the county to follow him. The way he looks at every soldier here with admiration and pride, the way he is able to face General Tullius who now spits in his face without flinching, and the way he still looks powerful and intimidating in his current defeated state. The man almost has me in a trance before the sound of a sickening crack and a loud thump reaches my ears and I finally remember what this really is. An execution.


Sibrii

I watch as my comrade's head rolls to the ground, blood seeping out of his now lifeless body and into the ground. I can't hold back the fear on my face nor stop the blood from flowing out of it. I know I must look as pale as a sheep but I can't help it. Why did I ever join the Stormcloaks? My dull life in Windhelm promised me nothing and my mother only wanted to see me marry some rich noblemen and bare his children. I wasn't ready to settle down. The city was all I ever knew because we never traveled. Father too frail and weak to make any journey and my mother always dotted on him and I. We hardly ever stepped feet outside the gates save for the rare occasions when father was feeling well enough to take me out to see the Khajit caravans and their wares. I would buy all sorts of silly trinkets from them and beg to hear stories about the whereabouts of Skyrim and tales of their homeland, Elsweyr. They would always spin elaborate tales so real that I could see every detail in my mind. The warm sands of their homeland, the rolling ocean waves in an endless sea, their long and treacherous journey here, I drank in every word always hungry for more.

Then one day I joined the Stormcloaks. I was promised a life of adventure and travel. I was inspired by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak after hearing one of his long winded speeches. The man was much younger than I thought he would be, yet his eyes held the heaviness of someone much older and wiser. I shuddered as I saw pain blossom in his eyes as he spoke of battle and hardship in his recruitment speech. He believed Skyrim was crumbling from the inside out and it would take a strong leader to pull us back together. Our once proud nation would be great again with him leading us. I find myself starring at our great leader here in the middle of Helgen as he faces his death, still holding his head up high and proud. I've never felt more confident in my decision to follow him.

I was so surprised that he wasn't the first one to die at the hands of the merciless executioner. General Tullius has been waiting for years to capture Jarl Ulfric, the rightful High King of Skyrim. Now he has his chance and what does he do? Drags it out. Takes his time. Allows Jarl Ulfric to live just a little while longer. Why? I can hear them drag the headless body away and suddenly it dawns on me. They want him to watch us all die. Force him to watch as they snuff out the life of every rebel here before killing him. My eyes slide past him as I turn my attention to the Thalmor who stand a few yards away from him. I'm unable to suppress the shudder that runs through my body as I witness the pure hatred in their eyes for my great leader. The female Thalmor in the front is whispering in General Tullius's ear and he seemed none too pleased about her words. Her lips move far too fast for me to read them but for a split second I wonder if I caught the word torture pass from her lips as her hungry gaze flickers back to Jarl Ulfric. General Tullius merely shakes his head and turns to face her. With his back to me I can't see what he saying to her but the expression on the Thalmor's face already tells me that he shot down her idea.

The Thalmor are not going to be satisfied with Jarl Ulfric's death, they want to see him suffer. They want to break not only his body but his mind and will. I can only imagine what sort of torment they would put him through. I suddenly look at the Imperial General with a new admiration. Perhaps he isn't so bad after all. Others would have wanted to humiliate Jarl Ulfric even farther and see him suffer. They wouldn't offer him a quick death, they would torture him until he begged for death and even then they probably wouldn't stop. I can see the worn expression on General Tullius's face as he turns back to face another execution. I dread the thought of watching another head roll but I wanted Jarl Ulfric to be proud of me for facing my death like he is now.

As I drag my eyes back to the block I see a petite looking Bosmer approaching it. By the looks of it I assume she has been here long before we were captured. Her hair matted by mud and filth, her clothes (if that's what you'd call them) splattered with dried blood, and her exposed skin covered in various cuts and bruises. I can only assume she's a captured Stormcloak soldier. She stops half way to the block and her head, ever so slightly, begins to turn to the northeast mountains. She seems to focus on something that isn't there, like she can sense something we can't. The Imperial guiding her to the block shoves her roughly in the back and she half stumbles, half falls the rest of the way. Before she has time to steady herself the female guard standing by the block roughly shoves the Bosmer down to her knees. She then places a her foot firmly on the Bosmers back, forcing her down, her head hitting the wood with a loud thud. Though facing her death the Bosmer doesn't try to escape isn't shaking in fear, she's not even crying. It's as if her mind is elsewhere.

As the executioner raises his bloody axe once more I tear my gaze away, unable to watch another head roll. I wish I can shut my ears from the sickening crunch of steel breaking bone but the sound never comes. A foreign cry tears through the skies, the sound inhuman and laden with evil and malice. I try to picture what creature would make such a horrid sound yet nothing comes to mind. Even the executioner is taken back. We all strain to hear the sound again but nothing happens. Once again the axe is lifted into the air and once again the same cry tears through the air only this time it is much closer. The Guard removes her foot from the Bosmers back and faces the scout tower crying at the top of her lungs, confusion and fear evident in her voice; "Scouts, what do you see?"

The answer comes long after the black beast lands on the tower, treating it as if it is nothing more than a pebble on the ground. Its massive form seems to blot out the sun itself as its piercing red gaze looks down upon us, the hunger and blood thirst evident in them. "Dragon!"


A/N

Hi! My names Crystal and welcome to my first Skyrim fanfiction. I know this chapter is a bit short, but don't worry; future chapters will be longer. I love reading long chapters as much as the next guy.

I'm hoping to be able to update every two weeks as I am a college student and working full time. Writing helps me to cool down when I'm stressed and it's a lot of fun. I already have the next two chapters written and I'm going to attempt to keep a consistent update schedule by having a couple chapters done in advance.

I am currently looking for someone to proof read my chapters for me. I am doing them myself at the moment so there are probably several grammar flaws that I have missed. Feel free to let me know if you see any so I can fix them right away.

Alright, thanks for reading and please leave me a review as it inspires me to write faster! Even a simple 'good job' works for me!

Lok, Thu'um, my friends. ("Sky above, Voice within")

~Crystal