Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. I claim no ownership of the Elder Scrolls, its story or its characters; only my OCs. Thanks, Bethesda. =)

Chapter 1: Welcome to Skyrim

Throbbing pain at the back of his head greeted Farandomar as he struggled his way out of the blackness and on the path towards consciousness. Repeated jolts travelled through his body and seemed to gather at the injury. With a groan, he attempted to raise his right hand to clutch at the spot and felt bindings tug at his wrists.

"Far?" The whisper was that of a concerned female.

With careful effort, Farandomar tilted his head to try to pinpoint the location of the speaker. "Svana?"

"Don't move too much."

The voice was coming from somewhere to his right. He moved his head slowly to face the source, blinking away more of the fog. A vague shape became a female form; he could make out blonde hair. The figure shifted as the owner sucked in a snot-bogged snort. Farandomar almost smiled. That's Svana. As clarity continued to restore itself, he took in her dirty face and puffy, bloodshot eyes. Fresh tears welled up in them as he noticed the long, blood-streaked cut across her left cheek and chin. Pain constricted his chest.

"Not one word," she choked out, before snorting again.

Farandomar averted his gaze to take in their surroundings. The cart accounted for the jolting and the extra pounding in his head, but the thick trees and lack of a moon's light obscured any hint as to their destination. He let his gaze skim past the mounted soldiers and came to rest on the unexpected face of a Khajiit seated beside him. Slitted green eyes stared back. It's white—and striped, he noted with surprise. So Khajiit aren't all tawny. Unsettled by its unwavering stare, Farandomar dropped his sights to the bindings around his gold-skinned wrists. There was no fourth passenger.

The road began to tilt downwards and the cart's passengers adjusted their positions to brace against the new angle. A faint splashing and a freshness in the air hinted at a nearby river somewhere at Farandomar's back, although he could not turn himself far enough to look for it. The trees began to thin as they rounded a bend, revealing the stone walls of a city a short distance ahead. Farandomar noticed two more soldiers—guards?—standing in front of the heavy wooden gates.

The cart creaked to a halt before the gate as the soldiers dismounted. Farandomar's heart began to race. One of the soldiers approached the two at the gate and spoke quietly with them. Money was exchanged, and the two guards stepped aside, their backs to the travelling party. Farandomar's brow creased.

What is going on here?

"Ride's over. Get out," grunted one of the dismounted soldiers.

Farandomar struggled to maintain his balance as he rose to his feet. The Khajiit nimbly leaped from the back of the cart, followed by Svana. As Farandomar braced himself against the flash of pain in his head from landing, strong hands grabbed his arms in a painful grip. He stumbled after his captors as they dragged him towards the gate. He heard Svana shriek behind him.

"Far!"

"Shut her up. She'll wake everyone."

His captors halted before the gate. One slid a hand along the heavy wood and pushed the door open a crack, while the other held Farandomar firm. The soldier he had observed speaking with the two guards approached, drawing an iron dagger from his belt. While Farandomar couldn't see the soldier's expression under his heavy helm, he knew the soldier had noticed him blanch.

"Now... We want to know where you damned Thalmor have taken Ulfric Stormcloak. We know you were involved in his capture."

Farandomar's eyes widened. Before he could respond, the soldier continued.

"You were a fool to venture into Stormcloak territory. And before you say anything—" The soldier pointed his knife at the gates. "—the good people of Riften have grown accustomed to the sight of bodies floating in the docks. Answer us straight, Justiciar, or you'll be one of them."

A hacking sound caused Farandomar to turn his head. The Khajiit was laughing. "That one is 'Altmer', not 'Thalmor'." Suddenly sobered, its eyes narrowed and took on a sly gleam. "This one wonders whether Stormcloaks have such trouble distinguishing between their mothers, sisters and wives, hmm?"

The soldier—Stormcloak?—shoved the gate to Riften open. "Exactly what I would expect from one of their pet cats."

Farandomar stumbled over the rough stone paving as he was dragged into Riften. Stone walls reared up on either side, channeling his view to the city centre ahead. The space between the wooden platforms seemed to widen as they approached, plunging down into darkness. Farandomar could hear the sloshing of water somewhere below. How far below—and how deep—he couldn't tell.

They halted beside a gap in the railings. The apparent 'leader' glanced around the empty streets, then leaned in close. Farandomar tried not to shy away and failed.

"Answer me quickly, High Elf. Where did they take Ulfric?"

"I don't know—I don't know who Ulfric is." The words tumbled out over the top of one another before retribution could follow. One of his captors tightened their grip.

Their leader sighed and held up one finger. "Three wrong answers and you join the fish. That was one." He lowered his hand, then glanced between the empty streets.

Another hacking laugh from the Khajiit. "What's the matter? Lioness on the prowl?"

The Stormcloak leader's jaw clenched. "Second question, High Elf. Why are you in Skyrim? Where were you going?"

Farandomar breathed a sigh of relief. "Markarth. Our destination was Markarth." Where Talos is worshipped freely under law.

The Stormcloak's expression curled into a nasty grin as he turned to address the now-grim Khajiit. "Heading to Markarth, and not Thalmor?"

Ugly chuckles from the other Stormcloaks made Farandomar's relief wither inside his belly. Have we come all this way, in pursuit of a lie?

The Stormcloak leader grabbed the front of his shirt and yanked him toward the edge of the platform. Before he could steady himself, one foot slipped and met nothing but air. He couldn't hide his panic as he met the glare of his captor. "So. You're either Thalmor up to your pointy ears, or were heading to sign up. That's your second wrong answer."

The Stormcloak leader had just begun to draw breath to ask his third question when the Altmer's keen hearing picked up the sound of distant, rolling thunder. Instead of dying away, the rumble continued to build, louder and closer, as he watched the Stormcloak's chest inflate. The Khajiit whimpered, having also picked up the sound. Too fast, too loud for thunder.

Then it was on top of them in an explosion of sound that shook the very earth.

DOVAHKIIN!

Staggering under the onslaught, the Stormcloak leader released his hold on Farandomar and grabbed the closest railing. Already too far overbalanced, Farandomar felt the trembling edge of the wooden platform slip from underfoot. He tried to throw his weight forward, tried to reach out... The bindings around his wrists held firm and the laws of gravity were granted their due observance. Farandomar braced himself as he promptly made the aquaintance of Riften's harbour.

Commentary (skip if you like):

Hi. No, I wasn't really going to make you suffer through Helgen again. It's a great introductory opening for the game, but it doesn't suit the purpose for this. I'm aiming to keep this as lore-friendly as I can, with one noticeable exception. It was a concept that amused me, and after studying the lore, found it borderline plausible, albeit extremely unlikely. Hopefully it will entertain you, also.

Comments are appreciated, even if it's just "hi" or "I read it".

/salutes