As his vision returned to him, Marcus felt the pain searing through his head. He tried to lift his hand to quickly assess the damage, but he found that his hands were bound tightly behind his back. He grunted quietly in frustration. How in the name of Sithis had this happened? In hindsight, he should have seen that ambush coming from a mile off. All of the signs were there. Darkwater Crossing was the perfect location in which to spring a trap and he should have heard the damn Imperials before they had a chance.
Marcus raised his head and noticed that he wasn't alone. Around him sat three other Nords. One had dirty blonde hair and a proud look on his face. He wore a blue grab over his armor, clearly indicating he was a Stormcloak soldier. All of the rebels wore this blue garb over their armor. The second man had dark brown hair which looked slicked back with some form of oil and a sullen look about him. He was dressed in a simple brown tunic and trousers with foot wraps. The third man was bound and gagged. He wore a more regal looking attire. Marcus guessed that he was some noble who had been arrested for supporting the rebels with coin or arms and supplies. Why the man was gagged though, Marcus could not tell. The Stormcloak Suddenly looked in his direction.
"Hey, you're finally awake", he said to Marcus
Marcus merely stared back at him, saying nothing.
"You were trying to cross the border into The Rift aye?" he asked, "Like the horse thief here".
The sullen looking man looked up and glared at the Stormcloak.
"Damn Stormcloaks", He spat, "If it weren't for you, I could have had that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell by now".
The Imperial soldier steering the cart leaned his head back.
"Shut up back there", he snapped.
The horse thief looked over to the man who was gagged.
"What's his problem?", he asked, indicating the man with a nod of his head.
The Stormcloak scowled.
"Watch your tounge", he growled, "You have the honour of addressing Ulfric Stormcloak".
Ulfric Stormcloak? Marcus shifted his gaze towards the gagged man. If he was indeed Ulfric Stormcloak, Marcus knew he had already began his journey to The Void. The horse thief seemed to be thinking the same.
"The Jarl of Windhelm?" he asked, trepidation filling his voice, "But you're the leader of the rebellion. If they have you…Oh Gods! Where are they taking us?"
He buried his face in his hands. The Stormcloak gave him a look of pity and then stared off into the distance.
"I don't know where we are going", he said softly, "But Soverngarde awaits".
Marcus leaned back on the bench. Soverngarde. The after-life of his ancestors. He, of course, would never reach the mystical realm where Nordic warriors go upon their deaths. Marcus was a sworn member of the Dark Brotherhood. His life and soul were pledged in service to Sithis. Upon his death, his soul was destined for an eternity in The Void, serving the Dread Lord.
The horse thiefs frantic praying pulled him from his thoughts.
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh", he mumbled, "Divines, please save me".
"Quiet now horse thief", the Stormcloak said, "The Gods cannot help us. Which village are you from?"
"Why do you care?" the horse thief sobbed.
"A Nords last thoughts should be of home", the Stormcloak replied.
The horse thief sniffed and whipped his eyes with the back of his right hand.
"Rorikstead", he croaked, "I'm….I'm from Rorikstead".
Marcus looked away. He began thinking of his own home. Not of the Sanctuary, but of his youth in Falkreath. His father and his uncles had been born in Falkreath and so too had he when his father had moved his mother from her home in Cyrodiil. When the Great War had broken out, his father, who at this stage was an ex-Legionaire, had been called back into service to combat the armies of the High Elven Aldmeri Dominion. Marcus had lost his uncles, who were killed in combat in Hammerfell, and his mothers parents, who were murdered by Altmeri soldiers when they sacked the Imperial City.
When the war was over and the White-Gold Concordat was signed, Marcus, along with his mother and father, moved to a devastated Imperial City to lay his grandparents remains to rest. It was here Marcuses parents were arrested by Thalmor Justiciars and executed for worshipping Talos, which had been outlawed by the White-Gold Concordat.
A rough jerk pulled Marcus from his thoughts as the wagon passed through a gate and into a town. The Stormcloak looked around at the passing houses.
"This is Helgen," he said softly, more to himself than anyone else, "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in".
Marcus looked at him and smiled.
"A good place as any to die", he said to the Stormcloak.
The Stormcloak looked back at Marcus, smiled and nodded. It wasn't long before the wagon came to a stop and they were ordered out. It was here the horse thief began to panic.
"No, we're not rebels", he cried, and turned to the Stormcloak, "Please, you have to tell them this is a mistake, we weren't with you".
"Face your death with some courage thief", the Stormcloak said fiercely.
As they were loaded out of the wagons, they were stood before an Imperial officer and a soldier, who was holding what looked like a list.
"Walk forward when we call out your name", the officer barked.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm", the soldier read.
As Ulfric Stormcloak strode forward, the Stormcloak soldier bowed his head.
"It has been an honour Jarl Ulfric", he said quietly.
"Ralof of Riverwood", the soldier read.
The Stormcloak walked forward, holding his head up high. Finally, after more names had been called out and only the horse thief and Marcus remained, the horse thiefs name was called.
"Lokir of Rorikstead", the soldier read.
As if on cue, the horse thief made a mad dash for the road that lead back to the main gate. An archer standing behind the officer notched an arrow on the string of his bow, pulled back and let loose. The arrow found its mark, burying itself into the throat of the horse thief. Lokir made a choking noise, as his body fell limply to the ground. The soldier looked back to his list as the officer gave the rest of the prisoners a disdainful look.
"Anyone else feel like running?" she asked, almost daring them to try.
"Wait", the soldier said as he looked up from the list and stared at Marcus, "You there, step forward."
Feeling confused, Marcus stepped forward. He did not fear death nor the thought of execution, but something here did not feel right.
The soldier looked Marcus up and down and asked, "Who are you?"
Marcus gave the soldier a quizzical look.
"Marcus Blackheart, of Falkreath Hold", he replied.
The soldier looked back to his list, reading through the names. Finally he turned to the officer.
"Captain, he not on the list", the soldier said solemnly.
The officer gave Marcus a look over, smirked and replied, "Forget the list, he goes to the block."
Soldiers stepped forward and dragged Marcus over to the rest of the captives. Marcus never took his eyes from the officer. He swore to himself and to Sithis that if he somehow managed to get himself out of this mess, he would hunt this captain down and drive a blade through her throat.
After the first prisoner had been executed, the captain stepped forward.
"Next, the Nord in the rags", she called.
The soldier with the list turned to Marcus.
"To the block prisoner", he told him, "Nice and easy".
Marcus walked forward, knelt and layed his head and neck on the block. He recalled Ralofs words.
'A Nords last thoughts should be of home'
He closed his eyes and thought of Falkreath and its dense pine forests. He thought of his mothers smiles and he helped her clean the store his parents ran. He recalled his fathers praise as he made his first kill while hunting. As he lay there, recalling these happy memories and waiting for the axe to fall, he smiled.
But the axe never fell. Instead he heard a monsterous roar, and voices calling out in panic.
"What in Oblivion is that?"
"It's in the clouds"
"Senteries, what do you see?"
Marcus opened his eyes and instantly saw it. Perched upon the roof of the watch tower, great black wings unfurled, scales as dark as night and as dense as steel. This couldn't possibly be happening.
"Dragon", a woman scream from nearby.
Almost immediately, the dragon raised its head and let out an unmerciful roar. Above, the clouds in the sky began to swirl and fire began falling from the heavens. The dragon then looked in his direction.
'FUS RO DAH'
Marcus felt himself being thrown backwards with an almighty force. Did that dragon just speak? Not only did Marcus hear the dragon speak words, but he swore he thought he understood them. How was that possible? He felt arms pulling him to his feet.
"Hurry, get up", he heard a voice say.
He turned and saw the voice belonged to Ralof.
"Follow me", Ralof yelled, "We have to get out of here".
And with that, Ralof began running towards the open door of another watch tower. Without hesitation, Marcus ran after him. Once he bolted passed the door and into the tower, Ralof slammed the door shut behind him. Marcus looked around the room he found himself in. He was surrounded by several Stormcloak soldiers. Some were lying on the ground, clearly wounded. The rest were kneeling beside their wounded comrades, trying to give what little aid they could. By the door, leaning against the wall, was Ulfric Stormcloak himself. Ralof stepped forward.
"Jarl Ulfric, what was that?" Ralof asked, "Could the legends be true?"
Ulfric whipped some sweat from his brow and grunted, "Legends don't burn down villages".
Ulfric glanced around the room at the men and woman gathered there.
"We need to move now", he said quickly.
Ralof turned to Marcus.
"Stick with me, we'll find a way out of here," he said, "Quickly, up the stairs."
Marcus followed Ralof up the stairs, trying not to trip over the steps. He was finding it difficult to balance without the use of the arms. Suddenly, Ralof wrapped his arm around Marcuses chest and yanked him backwards. The wall next to where Marcus had been standing caved in and the dragons head slipped into the massive hole.
'YOL TOOR SHUL'
Fire streamed from the dragons mouth, incinerating an unlucky Stormcloak soldier who had been standing before the dragon. As the dragon pulled his head from the watch tower, once again Marcus swore that the dragon spoke before breathing the fire. But this time, not only did he understand what the dragon had said, he could tastes the fire in the back of his throat and feel the fury of the words coursing through his body. What in the name of Sithis was happening to him? Ralof stood and helped him to his feet.
"Ysmirs beard, that was a close call", he said, voice shaking with fright.
He made his way to the gaping hole in the tower wall and looked out through it. He turned back to Marcus.
"There's a building just below with a caved in roof", he told Marcus, "It's a short fall so you should be ok".
Marcus walked to Ralofs side and peered out below. He was right. The fall was a short one. The worst he would come away with would be sore legs is he could keep his footing when he fell. He turned to Ralof.
"What about you?" he asked him.
Ralof grinned and pointed back down the staircase.
"We need to find a way to move the wounded, but we'll try and stay right behind you", he explained.
Ralof took another look out through the hole and clapped Marcus on the shoulder.
"Talos guide you, brother", he told Marcus and made his way back down the stairs.
Marcus watched his as he left and then looked back through the hole. Now that he thought about it, the drop seemed steeper than he first thought. He pushed that thought from his mind. If he delayed any longer, it was only going to get worse. He stepped up to the edge, and pushed himself outwards. As he fell, he bent his knees in anticipation of the landing. As he reached the floorboards of the building, the impact of the fall sent a shock through his legs, causing his to stumble into a table. He leaned against the table for a moment to catch his breath and regain his balance. Other than the aching in his legs from the impact, he seemed to be alright. Quickly, he made his way down the stairs of the building and out a side door. There he found the soldier who read from the list with an old man and a young boy.
"Gunmar, take care of the boy", he yelled, "I have to find General Tullius and join the defense".
The soldier turned and spotted Marcus.
"Still alive prisoner", he said, "Stick with me if you want to remain that way".
As the soldier began to move out, the old man called after him, "Gods guide you Hadvar".
Marcus followed the soldier though the ruins of Helgen until they reached the main gate, which had been blocked by fallen rubble. The Imperial General shouted in their direction.
"Hadvar, into the keep soldier. We are leaving!"
Hadvar turned to Marcus.
"With me prisoner", he said quickly, "This way".
He lead Marcus around a corner and in the main square of Helgen. A group of Stormcloak soldiers stood before them, Ralof among them. Hadvar growled.
"Ralof, out of my way you damned traitor", he yelled.
"We're escaping Hadvar", Ralof retorted, "You can't stop us".
"Fine then. I hope that dragon takes you all to Soverngarde", Hadvar cursed. He turned to Marcus. "With me prisoner, into the keep".
Hadvar ran to the nearest door and shouldered it in. Marcus watched Ralof and the rest of the Stormcloaks rush toward the secondary gate before following Hadvar into the keep.
