Okay, so this is my first attempt at a Skyrim fanfic. I've been playing the game for years now and am completely in love with the story and the characters. I want to breath some life into them and make the story as real as it can be when it's about a magical land where dragons exist and cats can talk! I love reviews, and all are welcome, even criticism (but be gentle, I'm new at this.) Please tell me if you find any spelling or grammatical errors because I've read this so many time that I can't see them anymore! This is a walkthrough fic and all of the main events will happen but I'm trying to make the characters human, with real emotion so don't be surprised if things don't go exactly as they do in the game, but don't worry, I'm sticking as close to the original storyline as I possibly can, I'm just going to have some fun with it first.
Disclaimer: no matter how much I wish I did, I don't own Skyrim or anything else in the Elder Scrolls series. Bethesda studios does.
The wind blew, unforgiving and harsh, on the tip of the Throat of the World where five Nord men gathered. Four wore the plain grey garb of the Greybeards, the other wore the orange tunic of a priest. The men stood in a loose circle around a small mound made in the pale snow, laid on top was a worn purple banner with a heart like shape carefully sewn onto the coarse fabric. It was a burial mound.
"What are we to do? The last Dragonborn is dead. All hope is lost." The priest's shoulders sagged, pushed down the the weight of the loss.
Arngeir looked towards the priest, his grey cloak flapping in the frigid winds that howled on that cold morning in Frostfall. "Today is a sad day for Skyrim and her people, but we mustn't descend into despair."
The priest of Talos let out a shaky breath, "how can I not when our last hope is dead and gone. The world will perish in dragon fire." His desperate whisper was all but lost in the howling winds that were ever present on the mountain's snowy summit. "How could this have happened? After all our planning he died, just like any man."
Arngeir's voice was heavy, "it is our own fault Heimskir, we waited too long. We should have told Ballinor who he was long ago and now it is too late. He died never knowing that he was different, that he was special, that he was Dragonborn." The calmness that always surrounded the Greybeards had vanished, only to be replaced by a deep sadness.
Arngeir looked up at the grey sky putting his weathered hand on the priest's frail shoulder in a small show of comfort. "Hopefully we have read the signs wrong and the World-Eater will never return. Go home to Whiterun and preach to all who will listen, the people need Talos, now more than ever." He looked at the snowy mound wrapped in the banner of the Dragonborn, "there is no more we can do for him. He rests in Sovngarde now."
The Greybeards gathered together and Heimskr covered his ears, knowing what was about to happen. "Dovahkin," the combined power of the four shook the ground as the Th'um flew out into the sky, telling the world of the last Dragonborn. It was the first and last time that the man of whom they were speaking would be recognised to the world for what he truly was...Dragonborn.
As each man walked away from the grave a mass of fire exploded into existence from the west. It was a dragon, though his mighty wings were torn and his scales did not hold the golden glow they had once possessed he was still a wonder to be seen, a relic from the ancient world. It was Paarthurnax, the leader of the Greybeards and last of the dragons.
He had watched from afar as the Greybeards buried the Dragonborn.
The elder dragon had felt a shift in fate's plans as the mortal was put in his final resting place. Alduin would return, the signs had not been read wrong. The end times were fast approaching but the last Dragonborn had not fallen on this day, no, they were somewhere in Tamriel, just waiting to be discovered.
There was still hope to be found, but at that moment it was far away from the empty peak where the winds howled.
All was still and silent in the dark forest save for the large elf that moved swiftly through the thick foliage. After tracking it for days through damp forests and streams she was finally close. Hopefully, she could make the kill quickly and have a decent meal for once, all the while making some quick coin from its soft pelt.
The trees began to thin and an old stone bridge came into view, the spray from the dark water that rushed underneath it had stained it a mottled grey, she knew that it would be too cold to drink in, this far north in Cyrodiil, during winter, everything was cold. The elk halted in its steady movement, tilting its head to the side. Its ears twitched quickly before it dropped its long, muscular neck down to the water for a drink. "Yes," she whispered, all the while drawing her bow and aiming for the proud creature's neck. She let her deadly arrow fly, it whizzed through the trees. The light whoosh it made was drowned out by the crashing of water hitting the rocks when it cascaded down the dark waterfall.
Without warning the harsh noise of battle assaulted her ears as men appeared on the bridge. The elk looked up, startled. Her arrow grazed its neck making the creature run, leaped wildly over fallen branches and rocks before disappearing into the depths of the dark forest.
She looked up towards the bridge where a battle was taking place. There was a group of about thirty Nords, all wearing dark blue amour. There was only one group she knew of that wore that armor but it couldn't be them, the border was miles away. Soldiers from the Imperial legion surrounded the Nords, their blades glinted in the pale winter sun. Even though the small group of Stormcloaks were outnumbered they stood tall and proud, back to back fighting with all they had, even when they were defeated each man and woman had a defiant look as they were bound and loaded into carts. She admired their bravery but couldn't say that, if in their place, she would have done the same.
Turning away and intending to melt into the forest her plans abruptly changed when she was pulled into an armoured chest. "Where do you think you're sneaking off to?" The cool, clipped cyrodilian accent reminded her of the Imperial city and brought back memories she would prefer to keep in her past.
"I'm not sneaking anywhere," her words held a bite that she couldn't seem to hold back. Surprise crossed his face when she spoke, whether it was because she was rude or her accent she didn't know, nor did she care to find out. "If you'll excuse me."
She tried to pull out of his grip but he held firm, "you are not going anywhere."
"You can't just arrest me for no reason!"
His smile dropped, "I am arresting you for rebelling against the Empire and breaching the White-Gold Concordat, if you don't come quietly I will have to use force. "All thoughts left her mind as panic took hold of her and she began a fruitless struggle against his grip. She heard a mumbled curse, felt a sharp pain in the back of her head and then there was nothing.
Her first sensation upon waking was pain, a sharp pounding ache at the base of her head, making it almost impossible to open her eyes. The second thing she noticed was the cold air assaulting her lungs and making her skin prickle in the frigid air.
For a moment she simply sat with her eyes closed and listened to the creaky wheels of the cart as it made its way up the bumpy road.
The wheel groaned as it hit a rock in the road, her eyes flew open as the cart jolted, "hey you, you're finally awake!" She met the eyes of a blonde Nord who sat across from her. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."
After a moment of confusion she remembered what had happened at the river. Her head snapped up to look out at the passing pine trees, this wasn't the forests of Cyrodiil. There was snow on the ground! It never snowed in Cyrodiil. Feeling the panic that up until now she had been able to suppress rise up in her chest making it hard to think straight; how had this happened? She was a hunter for Talos' sake not some Stormcloak fighting in a rebellion.
She looked to her left and right there was a cart holding more Stormcloaks in front and an Imperial soldier riding a horse behind, this wasn't good.
"Damn you Stormcloaks!" She looked around to see another Nord sitting beside the one in the Stormcloak uniform, while he was fair this man was dark with chocolate brown hair hanging in greasy tendrils around his grimy face. "Skyrim was fine until you came along, empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." His face fell at the thought of the profit he had lost.
"You there." He looked over at her, "you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants." That she could agree with. This wasn't her war and she wanted no part in it.
The Stormcloak just shook his head as he replied, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." He put emphasis on the last word as if it was a curse.
The pain in her head had subsided into a dull ache as she listened to the Nords argue, there were other things or her to worry about. The warm furs she had worn had been replaced with coarse torn fabric, who had changed her? The question brought unpleasant thoughts to mind.
"Shut up back there!" It was the voice of the Imperial soldier that was driving the cart, his Cyrodiil accent that sounded so much like her own wasn't a welcome sound in the quiet of the Skyrim landscape.
"What's wrong with him?" The thief nodded his head towards the fourth bound captive in the cart. He unlike the other two was dressed in nobleman's clothes and had a dirty cloth tied around his mouth. Strange, what would the empire want with a nobleman? And why make it so that he couldn't speak?
"Watch your tongue." She looked to see the Stormcloak, she could tell by the cold look on his face that he was angry. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true high king."
Ulfric Stormcloak. She could feel her eyes widening, if they had caught the leader of the rebellion that did not bode well for her. The thief seemed to share her worries because his voice suddenly became high and there was panic evident in it. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion, if they've captured you...Oh gods, where are they taking us?" He began to look frantically around the cart as if looking for an escape route.
The Stormcloak looked away, down the cobbled road and said with a sad sort of finality, "I don't know where they're taking us, but Sovngarde awaits."
"No. This can't be happening, this isn't happening!" The thief had evidently began to voice his panic as he grew pale and began to shake.
"Hey, what village are you're from, horse thief?" The Stormcloak seemed to have caught on to the thief's growing panic and was trying to sooth him.
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." His voice seemed to have lost its gruff edge.
"Rorikstead. I...I'm from Rorikstead." After that he remained silent, she could tell that he was thinking of his home from the slightly less grim look that had replaced his hopelessness. She wished that she had a place that she could call home, a place that held happy memories. Her life had just been a series of dismal places and people.
"And you, where are you from?" The Stormcloak had turned his attention to the girl huddled in the corner of the cart, trying to make herself as small as possible.
She seemed to contemplate the question for a moment then shook her head, "far away from here."
The Nord recoiled in shock, "That I was not expecting. Tell me," he sat forward on the bench "how does a Nord end up with that accent."
The girl shrugged, "I grew up in Cyrodiil." She was about to say more but a large structure appeared at the end of the cobbled pathway that they had been travelling on.
"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting." The girl let out a little yelp at the words headsman. She had known from the moment she had woken up with her hands bound in a cart with a thief and a Stormcloak this would not end well but she had thought that it would be a few days in some Imperial holding cell not at the headsman's block.
"Good let's get this over with." Replied a low Imperial voice.
They entered into a village, quite large but nothing compared the Imperial City. All it's building were built in the usual Nordic style. Made of rough, uneven grey stone much like the paths that they had been travelling on and old wood. The roofs were made of thatch and there seemed to be an air of tension about the place. The people seemed slightly downtrodden, nobody smiled as they passed. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me." She looked at the thief his state of calm had disappeared as he cried out desperately for the help she knew wouldn't come.
"Look at him," spat the Stormcloak, his face a mask of rage, "General Tullius, the military governor." She didn't bother to look up, General Tullius was a well-known name where she had grown up. "And it looks like that Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."
The cart continued its slow journey through the empty streets of the town. Dread sat heavily in her stomach, she knew where this would end. The Stormcloak looked around, a wistful expression crept on to his features. "This is Helgen," he said "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in." His voice lost its hard edge as he spoke of the girl.
He scoffed as they passed an Imperial flag that hung outside one of the houses. "Funny, when I was a boy Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
A small boy sat crossed legged on the porch outside of a passing house. "Who are they Daddy? Where are they going?" His voice was so full of childish innocence it made her heart ache.
A man, his father pulled him away, "You need to go inside, little cub," She could hear a slight tremor when he spoke.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."
His father's whole body stiffened and he moved to pull the boy up. "Inside the house, now."
They disappeared inside their cottage as the cart passed them by. Everywhere she looked stood men and women wearing the Imperial armor, they lined the streets talking in hushed tones but grew silent as the carts passed.
The cart pulled up into a large enclosed square, Imperial soldiers lined the stone walls but what distracted her was the small wooden block that sat in the middle. The chopping block. Her heart lurched as panic rose, 'this couldn't be happening' she thought. Just this morning she had been a hunter in Cyrodiil, now she was here. In Skyrim, a supposed enemy of the Empire heading for Sovngarde. "Why are we stopping?" She was growing tired of the thief, wasn't it obvious? Surely he had known how this would end from the moment he was put in a cart with Ulfric Stormcloak.
"Why do you think?" Asked the Stormcloak in a dull voice, "end of the line."
They rumbled to a stop in line with the other cart. She could see other men and women being taken out of the carts one by one and lined up in front of the tower bearing the sign of the Empire. "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
They all stood and she quickly followed, "No wait, we're not rebels!" The horse thief's desperate plea was ignored.
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Maybe it was Nord in her but she secretly agreed with the Stormcloak. If you had to die like this, at least go with dignity.
There were two soldiers in front of them, one holding a long piece of parchment. "You've got to tell them, we weren't with you! This is a mistake." She had to admire him, at least he was persistent. But she knew that at this point no one cared whether or not they were Stormcloaks.
A woman in a captain's uniform gave them all a hard glare, "step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." She felt her body shudder at the mention of the block, gods it was a bad way to die. She would rather she died peacefully in her sleep at a ripe old age, surrounded by grandchildren. Maybe she was coward for that, but she didn't care. Being a coward was better than this. Being a coward was better than being killed for a war she had no part in.
"Empire loves their damn lists." Muttered the Stormcloak.
The soldier beside the captain took a look at the list before he called out, with slight awe in his voice, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The leader of the rebellion walked forward with his head held high.
"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric," called the straw haired Nord.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The Stormcloak walked forward to join his Jarl in front of the block without a glance at the Imperial soldiers.
"Lokir of Rorikstead." The thief shuddered as his name was called.
"No," he leaped forward. "I'm not a rebel, you can't do this." She shook her head, his named had been called, he would go to block.
Lokir ran past the soldiers in a desperate attempt for freedom, "halt!" called the captain. When he continued to run the captain shook her head before calling for the archers.
She looked away, "You're not going to kill me." He screamed before she heard the whiz of an arrow and his body fell to the ground with a heavy thump.
The soldiers turned away from the body and the captain gazed at the prisoners with hard eyes, "anyone else feel like running?" Her voice held a challenge, as if she were daring them to even try.
"Wait, you there." The man with list cast his eyes upon her, "Step forward." Her feet moved of their own accord and she was quickly in front of him, close enough that she see his Nordic features from under his leather helmet. "Who are you?"
"I...my name is Bellona." She hated how weak and pathetic she sounded.
He wrote something down on his list, "you picked a bad time to come to Skyrim, kinsman." Hope bubbled in her chest as the man turned to his captain, "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."
All her hope was quickly sundered when the captain, with a quick glance at Bellona said, "Forget the list, she goes to the block."
"By your orders captain." He gave her a sympathetic glance, "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." She snorted, that was no comfort. This was the first time Bellona had ever been in Skyrim, and she would die here. Without ever seeing the land she came from. The sick irony of it all made her want to laugh and sob at the same time. "Follow the captain, prisoner."
She was put in line with all the Stormcloak beside the blond Nord from earlier. The headsman's block sat just in front of her. A huge man wielding a battleaxe stood behind it. Both Stormcloak and Imperial were silent as a dark skinned man in gold armour stepped forward to address them, General Tullius.
"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." The General's voice rose with anger towards the end of his speech.
She now understood why he had had a cloth over his mouth. There had been rumours of how Ulfric Stormcloak had shouted High king Torrag apart with his voice but she hadn't believed it, until now that is. Ulfric tried to speak but all that came through the rag was a muffled grunt.
"You started this war," continued General Tullius smugly, "plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down." As he finished talking a roar was heard. The cold sound sent shivers down Bellona's spine.
"What was that?" Fear was obvious in the soldier's voice, he looked to Tullius.
The General looked to the clear, blue sky before shaking his head, "it was nothing. Carry on."
The woman in the captain's uniform straightened her back, "yes General Tullius." She turned to a priest who had been standing behind the soldiers, "give them their last rites."
The small priest stepped forward, her orange robes a stark contrast to the metallic uniform of the Imperial Legion. She began, her soft, feminine voice was all that could be heard in the tense silence. "As we commend you souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved..."
She was interrupted by a red headed Stormcloak who strode confidently forward to the block. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." Bellona caught her breath, she was impressed by the man's bravery.
"As you wish." The priestess' voice sounded ruffled that she didn't get to finish her rites. She quickly walked away as the Stormcloak was roughly pushed onto his knees, "Come on," he muttered harshly, "I haven't got all morning." As his head rested on the block he called out to the Imperials with a mocking voice, "my ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?"
The headsman lifted his axe and brought it down with one strong pull. The Stormcloaks body fell sideways as his head landed in the small basket in front of the block. She looked away, disgusted.
"You Imperial bastards," screamed one of the Stormcloaks.
"Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks," was heard all around them as Ralof muttered softly beside her, "as fearless in death as he was in life."
"Next, the Nord in the rags." Bellona felt her chest constrict, that was her. The bone-chilling roar filled her ears again as she moved forward, but this time it was closer.
"There it is again, did you hear that?"
The captain paid no attention, her eyes were on Bellona, "I said next prisoner!"
"To the block prisoner, nice and easy." She moved, in a trance, towards the block, stepping over the headless body of the Stormcloak as she went. A boot pushed her down onto the chopping block. She could feel the warm blood of the man beside her on her neck it's metallic smell hit her nostrils. This was it, she was going to die.
All she could hear was her heartbeat in her ears as the headsman lifted his axe, and then she saw it. A black giant in the sky. Its midnight wings and ebony scales seemed to swallow the daylight and block out the sun. "What in Oblivion is that?"
She heard nothing as the beast landed on top of the tower, its blood red eyes looked through the crowd and landed on her. It was scream of "Dragon!" And the sound of swords being drawn that made the monster turn its fiery gaze away from her. It let out a mighty roar that sent her ears ringing and hit her like a physical blow, the sky grew dark with angry clouds, and lightning filled the air.
"Guards get the townspeople to safety." Imperial soldiers sprinted away and people screamed, crying out for help.
She felt a hand on her shoulder, "Hey, Kinsman," it was Ralof, he had a battle-axe in his hand and a mad glint in his eye. "Get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance." She stumbled to her feet, bound hands getting in the way as she blindly followed him into the watchtower as fire fell from the skies.
The door closed behind them and she couldn't help but let out a sob of relief. She was safe, if only for now.
So that's it, tell me what you think. (That's my thinly veiled plea for a review).The dialogue was borrowed heavily from the game as I've spent weeks religiously watching silent walkthroughs to get it right!
Thanks for reading. x
