The wagon wheels creaked as the horses marched on. They were almost at their final destination and they had been on the road for most of the morning. It was nearing noon now and the sun was high in the sky, a few clouds hovered around mountain peaks to each side other than those however, it was a clear day. Yet, he could feel a stirring, something was coming but he could not determine if it were a storm or something even more treacherous. Not that he was in a position to do anything about it; his hands were bound like the other prisoners. Unlike them however he had a gag tied tightly preventing him from making the slightest of sounds and forcing him the breath through his nose. He stared determinedly ahead while the others hung their heads, except for one of them; a female but she was slumped against the opposite corner of the cart preventing him from determining anything other than gender.
He turned his gaze to the soldiers surrounding the cart. How he hated the imperials. Without them he wouldn't even be here, without there infernal treaty there would have been no reason to start this "traitorous" rebellion in the first place. Who were they to make a decision about whom the Nords could and couldn't worship. It was madness to allow themselves to succumb to the elves will just for the sake of peace! To outlaw Talos worship in Skyrim was like commanding the Champions to forget about Ysgramor and the honor and legacy he gave to them for the sake of settling a bar fight. Granted a war was much bloodier and dangerous than a brawl over some mead, but this was their hero! A man who made them proud to be Nords, the man who set them apart from the other races of Tamriel and who was so magnificent the Eight themselves raised him up to become a god. And the emprire threw it all away, what do they care he isn't their hero. He was ours and the Nord's will not let their champion to be cast down from his seat of honor, not without a fight. The Empire thought outlawing his worship would end the war, but it started another. The Stormcloak Rebellion they called it; led by the Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.
That rebellion was the reason he and some of the others were there, one man however was dressed plainly with no armor, which ruled out being a soldier. Probably a thief or an assassin, those types always seemed to be getting in trouble with the Legion. Imperial soldiers were not as tolerant or easily bribed as the average city guard it seemed. The girl was dressed even more simply; in fact she appeared to be in rags. Why she was there he couldn't even imagine, for whatever reason it must have been a good one because he knew where they were headed, the chopping block. Soon enough they would all be dead. He had come to terms with the fact being a military man he knew that his death was always just around the corner, it was something he had grown comfortable with. He had no family to leave behind, if anything he would leave some unfinished business, nothing his men couldn't handle though they knew everything they needed to know.
Then he heard a rustling to his left and saw the woman getting up. The other rebel whose name he knew to be Ralof began speaking to her. Without any response from her however he and the other man, who indeed had turned out to be a thief, began to banter back and forth. While she was engaged observing the two he took an opportunity to get a better look at her. He might have gasped had his mouth not been bound. She was unlike any woman he had seen; she was definitely an Imperial but he temporarily forgot about all the hatred he held for that race. Her hair was a shocking white even though she was young, and she had a set of three scars running across her face though they did not diminish her beauty. Rather they gave her an edge, proving to him she was not the kind of woman to sit about, she was a warrior. Suddenly her gaze turned to him, her eyes were the most shocking thing about her. They burned into him like blue fire, and yet were emotionless, she seemed to be observing her situation and either had not yet decided how to feel or felt nothing at all.
He recovered his composure and hoped his eyes had not shown his amazement at the sight of her, or at the very least she had not noticed if they had. It was then he overheard Ralof say his name and mention the rebellion. The thief panicked as he realized his fate claiming he shouldn't be here as he was not a traitor. Soon the carts pulled to a halt in the town of Helgen and they were instructed to get off. They lined up and one by one the Imperial soldiers began calling names. He heard Ralof's name called then the name of the thief, Lokir. He saw the thief panic and instead of walking over to the block he ran up the road. Moments later and arrow had found his heart. What a fool to think he could ever escape, there was no escaping an Imperial execution especially not this one General Tullius himself was here it seemed. Glad to see the Empire has time to be sending its best agents out to godsforsaken nowhere for an execution. Then his name was called. Ulfric Stormcloak Jarl of Windhelm.