Disclaimer: As always I own nothing involved in this story relating to the Elder Scrolls as they are property of Bethesda Softworks.
The first thing that the young man was aware of, was the pulsing throb in his head as his vision seemed to swim in and out before his eyes, a mass of blurs the only clues to his local were the sounds of wagon wheels rolling over stone and snow and the soft sounds of the horses that pulled the carts in front of them. Finally, after what seemed like a long moment the young man's vision finally cleared up allowing him to look around, all around him sat men bound up and wearing blue chainmail and leather armor, save for two, the first was dressed similar to him in nothing more then the simple sack clothes of prisoners, the second was a large Nord man in bulky clothes that appeared to conceal a bit of armor, the strangest thing about him though was that his mouth was bound and gagged.
"Hey you, you're finally awake." Came a voice jarring him from his thoughts to look over at the blonde haired Nord sitting across from him, dressed in the same armor as the other men.
"You were trying to cross the border and walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." He finished, nodding his head towards the dark haired man in the sackcloth clothes, as memories of what happened came rushing back to the young man. Crossing over the Pale Pass, barely making the arduous journey alive, only for someone to slam him over the head in a flurry of motion he could barely comprehend, now he realized it must have been an Imperial shield that was the cause of his current head injuries.
"Damn you Stormcloaks, Skyrim was fine until you came along Empire was nice and lazy. I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now." The other Nord growled out, glaring at the blond haired rebel.
"We shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants, not us." The horse thief finished, focusing his attention back on the man observing all of this.
"Shut up back there." The driver snapped, he was clearly a member of the Imperial Legion the standard armor of the infantry obvious along with his leather helm.
"We're all Brother and Sisters in binds now thief." He replied, as the thief seemed to focus on the strange prisoner in the cart. "What's with him?"
"Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak the true High King." The soldier snapped, scolding the thief as though he was speaking some of the Elven blasphemies.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" His eyes seemed to grow wide with fear. "You're the leader of the rebellion, but if they've got you….oh Gods….where are they taking us?"
"I don't know but Sovngarde awaits." The rebel replied softly.
"Where are you from horse thief?" The rebel called softly.
"Why do you care?"
"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
"Rorikstead, I'm…I'm from Rorikstead.
The young man turned his attention away from the others to look ahead down the road where a walled town was starting to come into view, dark blue eyes seemed to drink in the sight of the patrols along the walls before he shook his head, shaking bits of snow loose from his blonde hair. Little did he know the rebel's thoughts were mirroring his own in part.
"General Tullius the Headsmen is waiting." An Imperial legionnaire, called out.
The thief's eyes widened and he started to pray rapidly. "Shor, Mara, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines help me…."
"Good, let's get this over with." An aged, rough, Imperial voice called back, which as they passed the gate he could see the man he presumed was Tullius. He was an average built middle aged imperial wearing a gold metal armor, sitting astride a horse just inside the gate, flanked by several Elves in black robes or golden armor.
"Thalmor." The young man spoke up softly, his voice laced with hatred and malice.
The rebel scoffed as well. "Look at him, General Tullius the military governor and the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves, I bet they had something to do with this." The rebel spat.
"This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…" he continued, his voice getting soft as though remembering better days.
"Funny as a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." He finished softly, as they rode through the center of town. The young man tried his best to ignore the jeers of the people around them as they didn't play any part in why he was here, though if he got out of here, he just may have to live up to what they thought he was, as his already thin patience with the Imperials was rapidly wearing away.
Finally, the cart came to a stop alongside of a wall overlooking a small courtyard where it was clear a headsmen was waiting by the block. "End of the line." The chatty rebel muttered.
In front of them as they dismounted from the cart was an Imperial Officer in heavy armor, her shill commanding voice-barking orders. "Step forward as your name is called." She spat, clearly hating everyone lined up no matter the reason they were there.
"Empire loves their damn lists…" The rebel muttered.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The burly man stepped off the cart with a growl coming from behind the gag. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The rebel called.
"Ralof of Riverwood." The chatty blond rebel stepped forward and was lead off to the rest.
"Lokir of Rorikstead." The Nord man looking over the list called. The dark haired rebel jumped down, then started running towards the open gate. "You can't do this I'm not a rebel!" He screamed as he ran.
"Archers!" The Imperial Captain called out, and at her command several of the Legionnaires fired, striking the fleeing man in the back and ending his life, as his blood stained the snow around him. The young man looked away, a senseless waste of life at the hands of the bastardized Empire.
The Nord looked up at him then down at the list. "Who are you?" He asked, not finding the young Nord on the list.
"Gunnarr. I wasn't born in a city so none listed." He replied, neutrally, his kinsmen having done nothing to provoke him.
"Captain, what should we do? He's not on the list."
"He goes to the block." She said quickly, uncaring of if he was a criminal or not.
"By your orders Captain." He replied to his superior officer and turned back to the other Nord.
"I'm sorry kinsmen, at least you'll die here in your homeland." He said offering what little support that was possible in this situation.
"You have to follow your orders, Kinsmen or you would end up in the same place." The younger Nord said softly before facing the Imperial officer that was passing judgment on him and looking her in the eyes. "You however, I hope Talos is ashamed of what has become of his Empire and casts you all down to your Elven masters." He spat before walking off to the block behind him he could hear the Imperial women sputtering in rage and smirked softly.
"Sovngarde for me. Oblivion for you wench." He muttered before turning his attention back to the scene before him as the priestess started to offer her final prayer.
"As we commend you souls to Aetherius blessings of the Eight Divines be upon you.." She got no further as one of the Stormcloaks cut her off walking to the block.
"For the love of Talos, lets just get this over with." He growled, making sure he was looking right at General Tullius as he said Talos. Gunnarr couldn't help but smile at the Nords bravery in the face of death.
"My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same?" He called out as he was forced to his knees, then down and with a single strike of the heavy axe the brave Stormcloak was carried away to Aetherius.
"We'll meet again in Sovngarde Brother." The rebel that had been carted in alongside of him said softly, to which Gunnarr nodded his own head slightly in respect of the fallen Nord.
"Next the Nords in the rags, try to mess up he needs to suffer a bit." The woman called out, still seething from his remarks earlier. As he started to walk, an odd screech seemed to echo off the mountains around them.
"Did you hear that?" The Nord that had been holding the list asked as he looked around.
"I said next prisoner." She repeated growing impatient.
Slowly he walked over and faced the book glaring at the Officer the whole way down. "It should be you on this block traitor." He spat, as another of the strange sounds cut the air.
He felt the officer's feet press into his back; the heavy armored boots roughly impacted the soft unprotected flesh of his back with some pain, though he refused to show it. He could see the headsmen's axe starting to raise and his thoughts drifted back to all he had been through in his short life, his sole regret being that he would die as the last of his line, his parents having been slain some years before in Cyrodiil. As he braced himself for the end another of the sounds cut the air this time very close sounding clearly like a roar of some sort, however this time it was accompanied by a large rush of some sort like something passing through the air.
"What in Oblivion is that?" He heard the voice of General Tullius call out, whatever he was seeing was alarming him and the shadow of the headsmen seemed to turn as well.
"Sentries, what do you see?" The Officer called out trying to get ahold of the situation.
"Its in the clouds!" One of them yelled back, an arrow knocked in his bow, which was frantically searching the skies above. The headsmen went back to his task trying to finish, however it was not to be as a black mass came diving out of the clouds and landed on top of a nearby tower with a crash, sending the Imperial Archer plummeting to his death blow and knocking everyone off their feet.
"Dragon!" Someone called out, as everyone tried to steady his or her footing. Then the great beast roared knocking everyone off their feet as the skies seemed to come alive with fire as flaming rock began to rain down on the village, one slammed into the ground nearby Gunnarr and everything seemed to go black his consciousness faded.
"Damn, I'm getting knocked out way to much." The young Nord muttered as he started to pick himself up off the cold stone….floor? He blinked in confusion as he looked around. Instead of a village under attack he seemed to be inside of some sort of stone tomb or fortress he wasn't sure which. The only clues were the burning torches lighting the path across the finely cut stonewalls and floors. Slowly he started to look around his hands running across the smooth stone until his attention was drawn to one of the tombs in the catacombs he had found himself in, slowly he used his hand to rush away what seemed like Eras worth of dust and cobwebs from the inscription that seemed to call out to him.
"Reman Cyrodiil III? That's impossible. That would mean I'm in…" He muttered softly as he was able to read the inscription becoming more and more confused and alarmed by the moment, panic starting to rise in his chest.
"Sancre Tor." A soft, but powerful voice called out to him. The man spoke in but a whisper as though something had happened to his voice, yet with it, it carried a great sense of power. The man looked to be a Nord like himself, elderly but not feeble. Long silvery grey hair reached his shoulders and striking blue eyes seemed to pierce deep into the soul of the young man, the most striking physical feature of the man in front of him though was the massive scar that ran the length of his throat as if it had been slit long ago. He was wearing a travel cloak that hid his clothing from sight, yet the soft clank of metal told Gunnarr that the unknown man was armed.
"Who are you?" He called out, his voice echoing across the great empty walls to which the man just seemed to chuckle in his raspy voice.
"You will understand in time young one, come, there is someone else that wishes to speak to you." Gunnarr looked around his confusion only growing by the moment as he started to follow the man, knowing at this point he had nothing else to loose and maybe this mystery might be solved.
"How did I get back to Cyrodiil, better yet why here? Sancre Tor has been abandoned since the Champion cleansed it, yet this place seems almost fully repaired as though time has not touched it.
The man smiled softly. "It is good that you know your history, your parents are very proud you remember all of that."
This stopped the young Nord dead. "My parents are dead. They were…"
The old man cut him off. "Slain by the Thalmor five years ago because of what they were, when you were sixteen. Having gotten careless during one their trips to Cyrodiil to show you the effects of the Great War."
His eyes widened and he stopped following the man. "How do you know all that are you one of the Empire's spies, trying to see if I know anything?"
The man seemed to grow sad. "Its unfortunate you don't know who I am, or perhaps you simply don't recognize it yet. I'm sure it will dawn on you in time young Gunnarr. However to answer your question, I was part of the Empire, just not this Empire."
"How is that even possible? Are you a mage? The old Empire started to fall two hundred years ago when the last Septim gave his life to seal the Oblivion Gates forever. There are no more heirs of the joined blood and never have been. Because of this, the current Empire is a different almost beastly blasphemy of what once stood." He asked, getting more and more questions then answers as they walked up a set of stairs towards a door. The old man laughed and opened the door.
"I am no mage…" He said in his cryptic answers as they stepped out into the snowy ground, all around them stood a great fortress that had not stood since the start of the Third Era.
"Then what are you?" He asked, starting to finally loose his temper with all the questions. The man just smiled and said "He is here now as well."
"Who old man?" Gunnarr basically screamed, only for that to turn into a scream of surprise as a large golden dragon crashed to the ground behind the unknown man…..
And so ends the first chapter of the prologue while I finish gathering my thoughts and work on kicking some Vampire ass. My own take on the beginning of the game and while this will follow the general events of the story, a lot of things will also be done differently to incorporate the free choice and ideals of the character in a way a game cannot as well as adding some things I felt need to be in play more than they are seen in game (IE: The Imperial Battlemages, which are notably missing after Helgen). This will follow cannon sides to an extent, but Gunnarr also will be carving out his own side and take in all of this, as I feel a Dragonborn should. Under the careful guise of the mentors he will have. Also, I'm sure everyone will be able to figure out who our two guests are. Don't worry, he won't also show up as the hundred year old man.