ONE. PRISONER

I couldn't remember how I'd gotten onto the carriage or into binds. All I could recall was that after spending some time in Cyrodiil, I had tried to cross the border into Skyrim – legally of course – and it clearly hadn't gone according to plan.

This was certainly not the first time I had been bound and bundled into a carriage. That was actually how I'd left Hammerfell. I had also spent a lot of time in binds and in prison when I was in Cyrodiil. I'd been imprisoned briefly in Black Marsh during a 'business trip' for the Guild, had spent time in prison in Elsweyr, been convicted of a murder I didn't commit in Valenwood and Morrowind both. Now I was in Skyrim, and things were going from bad to worse.

Ulfric Stormcloak was in the carriage. Of course I knew about the rebellion – that was why I was headed for Skyrim in the first place – and obviously the Imperial soldiers who had arrested me thought I was a rebel as well. That couldn't be farther from the truth. Why they thought a Redguard such as myself would join a Nord rebellion, I had no idea, but there was no bounty on my head. I had served my time. It was the only explanation.

I tuned out Stormcloak and his follower, and largely ignored the horse thief, only paying attention when he mentioned Hammerfell and even then only briefly.

With harsh, beautiful Hammerfell on my mind, I sat in silence until the carriage stopped. That was when, resigned to my fate and not entirely certain that I deserved any less, I stood and followed the others off the carriage.

The horse thief was far less noble.

"Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Coward," I muttered, at the same time as the Stormcloak soldier told him to face his death with courage.

I sort of tuned out again, my mind now full of fantasies of days gone by. Memories, almost, but not quite. If they were memories, they were of an era now so many years past that people spoke of it as if it were a story made up to frighten children into obedience.

It was not remembered imaginings. I was vaguely familiar with the Nord legends but that was from speaking with a fellow thief in Cyrodiil, with whom I had discussed at length my plans to travel to Skyrim. Skyrim was his birthplace and homeland, and he, like all Nords, knew all the stories in great detail.

"Wait," one of the Imperials said. "Who are you?"

"Me?" I had an uncanny sense for when I was being addressed, but it surprised me that they even cared who I was.

"Yeah, you."

"Nate."

"Short for…?"

"Nate," I repeated. It wasn't short for anything. It was my name. "Nate of Stros M'Kai."

The Imperial stared at me a moment, then glanced at the Legate beside him. "He's not on the list. What now?"

"He goes to the block like the others."

"I'm sorry, Redguard," the first said. "I'll make sure your remains are returned to Hammerfell."

I shrugged, indifferent. I had no family left. There was nobody left in Hammerfell to miss me. The Alik'r assassins had killed them all trying to get to me after one of my more serious crimes. I hadn't been back in more years than I cared to count.

Head high, summoning all my Redguard pride, I followed the soldiers over to the block, falling back into the memories. I now recognized the visions as memories of this city over the centuries. Visions of dragons in the clouds and landing where now there were buildings dominated my mind's eye.

I was vaguely aware of General Tullius heckling Ulfric Stormcloak, but my focus was on the dragons I saw so vividly with my mind. The land remembered, even if the city and her people did not. Helgen was, of course, not always a city. Once in ages long past men and mer feared to settle in large groups for fear of making themselves easy targets for the dragons.

For a moment I thought that the roar was just another part of the land's memories, but then the people around me started wondering what it was. I knew, but said nothing. If I spoke of dragons now, I would be branded a madman.

"Next prisoner! The Redguard!"

The roar came again. I didn't move, rooted to the spot by a new vision. A large black dragon, wings spread, fire spewing from its mouth – and a Redguard in heavy armor I instantly recognized as Daedric, wielding twin one-handed swords made of an unfamiliar blue-white crystalline material, both pulsing with strong enchantments.

"I said, next prisoner!"

"All right, Redguard, to the block. Nice and easy. Any last words?"

"No, sir," I said. I had nothing to say that would not be met with ridicule. Call me prideful, but I wanted to face my death with dignity. I walked over to the block and knelt, placing my head against it without having to be pushed.

The headsman raised his axe. It took everything I had for me to stop myself from cringing. Then I heard the roar again.

"It's in the clouds!" someone yelled.

"Dragon!" someone else cried in panic.

The dragon landed on the tower I was staring at and looked me straight in the eye, staring into my soul.

'Dovahkiin,' it said. Then it attacked.

AN: Yes, I am using the same name in two stories, and in fact a very similar appearance [this Nate's skin is a few shades darker and his hair is very curly and kept in cornrows but other than that...], but personality-wise Skyrim Nate and Halo Nate are almost polar opposites.

Been ages since I played through the opening cutscene so please excuse any errors! Going to skip forward in time for the next chapter.

Please review!

Skyrim is not mine. Character and his choices/backstory are.