Author's note: The first two or three chapters of this are going to be pretty familiar. Due to the whole scheme of this story I have thought out, it's the only real way to start it. I'll try my best to make something that we've all seen interesting by giving some back story that wasn't there in the game to begin with, but there's not much else I can do about it. All descriptions of warmaidens (companions, certain female NPCs, female characters available to be married, and Serana) are described as they are in Bijin's overhaul, and Sads13's Serana Overhaul respectively.

4E 201 14th of Last Seed – Ralof

Ralof had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach since he and his band of Stormcloak soldiers had entered the ravine on the way to the Western Watchtower, just west of Whiterun. Taking this fort was critical to securing a foothold towards pushing out the Imperials from the region. The central location was ideal for spotters and supply runs. Last he had heard, it was stationed by a mere five Imperial soldiers at any given time, which would make it an easy target for his contingent of ten Stormcloaks. "Only a couple more miles, Ralof. Try to keep your pants clean." Isslief jested. "Is this ravine really the best way there? We are open to all manner of things. All it would take is one wandering giant, and we're off to Sovngarde. With rock on both sides, we can't get into formation." Ralof replied, unable to shake the feeling of being watched. "Relax. We have scouts all over the area. If anything is amiss we will be wa-.." Isslief's mocking remark was cut short by an arrow piercing his throat.

"What was that, Isslief?" Ralof questioned. After moments of silence, Ralof had turned around to see the pool of blood collecting around his fallen companion. "Shields up! We've been spotted! It's an ambush!" Ulfric shouted. Normally, the Jarl would not participate in reconnaissance missions, but he was never one to sit out a battle. Much to the chagrin of his soldiers. Ralof scanned the area, desperately trying to find the source of the arrow that had ended his old friend's life. The spring Skyrim winds were not on his side, as they were whipping sand and dirt into his eyes from every direction. "Well, look what I've found here. A group of insurgents looking to trespass on MY land." General Tullias had said from the top of the ravine. "And what's this? You've even hand delivered that traitorous murderer right to me! I can practically smell my promotion to Captain."

"Lay down your weapons. We have troops on all sides. You can leave here in chains, or in a cart on the way to some cliff where we will dump your corpses. Traitors like you don't deserve a proper funeral." Ralof had frantically looked around for any possibility of escape or means to fight back, but found none. But he'd be damned if he went down like a milk drinking coward. He tightened his grip on his war axe and raised his shield, ready to pass on to Sovngarde. "All right, throw down your weapons. We have no other choice." Ulfric said solemnly. Moments passed, but nobody had thrown down their weapons, not wanting to be run through without at least spilling some Imperial blood. Until finally, after what seemed an eternity, the clanking of wood and iron could be heard hitting the earth. One after another, the soldiers had all thrown down their weapons and shields, waiting for their death or capture.
"That's what I like to see. Stormcloaks following orders like the obedient dogs that you are." mocked Tullias. Ralof heard the clattering of steel as the Imperials had begun their advance towards them.

4E 201 15th of Last Seed – Lokir

Only a few more moments and the poison should be taking effect on the gullible stable master. It would not kill him, only render him unconscious for just long enough to saddle up a horse and gain some distance to Hammerfell. It was his own fault really. One thousand Septims for a horse? Who in their right mind would spend that much coin on a stupid beast anyway. Just as he finished that thought, the thump of the stable keeper's head hitting the table indicated it was time to leave. He took an old saddle hanging on the divider in the stable and mounted up the remaining horse. It was old, with a graying mane and had trembled slightly when Lokir mounted it, but it would serve well enough to get him to Hammerfell.

Only minutes into the ride did Lokir regret not bringing extra furs with him, as the latent snow driven airborne by the gentle breeze felt as though he were being cut by hundreds of tiny daggers on his bare arms. "Can't you move any faster you decrepit excuse for a horse?" Lokir mused to himself. The horse seemed to understand him however, and slowed down seemingly out of spite. He rode for hours until dusk, when he set up camp against a rocky mountainside and bed down for the night by the fireside.

His rest was interrupted by a sword point digging into his chest and the shouting of the wielder. Lokir reflexively jumped up, only serving the drive the sword to breaking the skin. Delirious from having woken up only seconds earlier, he couldn't make out what his assailant was shouting. "Wake up, thief. You're coming with us." shouted the Imperial guard once more. "If I have to say it again, you'll be losing a lot more than a few drops of blood." Lokir shakily rose to his feet, shielding his eyes from the early morning sun. "What are you talking about? I am no thief!" protested Lokir, desperately attempting to buy time in hopes for plotting an escape. "Is that so? Well, word is a horse was stolen after the stable keeper was drugged in Markarth. This one seems to match the description."

"I.. This is my horse! Handed down from my father!" cried Lokir, hoping the guard wouldn't see through his lie. "Care to show me your ownership papers then? Should be right in the saddle." The guard said, knowing full well he had caught the horse thief in a lie. "Ah.. Yes of course.. My papers. Allow me." Lokir walked over to the horse as calmly as he could manage. As he approached, the horse reared and bucked, trying to get as far from his captor as possible. "He doesn't seem to like you very much. Strange thing, since this horse has been in your family." The guard mused. Lokir had decided that the ruse wasn't working at tried to make a break for it. He didn't get more than ten feet before the guard's sap had met the back of his skull, rendering him unconscious.
_

4E 201 17th of Last Seed – Ralof

It had been three days since their capture during the Imperial ambush. They of course had not been fed or given any accommodations to protect themselves from the weather in that time. They were weak from hunger and exposure to the harsh elements of Skyrim. Not only that, but the Imperials often got bored in their journey, and the only thing that seemed to sate that boredom was to mercilessly beat one of them. A handful of them had died because of this, and were left on the roads for the wild beasts to devour. Neither Ralof nor Ulfric could do anything to aid them, as they were bound to the carts, and Ulfric had his mouth bound closed to prevent him from using his power over the Thu'um.

They had picked up more so called criminals along the way, one being a horse thief and another was a Nord who Ralof knew nothing about, other than what he could gather just by looking at him, due to his being unconscious since his capture. Scars across his face an arms told a story of warfare or one too many run-ins with cutthroats, and was the largest built man Ralof had ever seen. Long unkempt black hair and just as long a beard to match hid most of his facial features. He wasn't sure where they were, but the landscape was somewhat familiar like he had been there before. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine before you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." spat the horse thief. "You there, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." He said to the Nord across from him, how long he had been awake Ralof wasn't sure. "We're all Brothers and Sisters in binds now, thief." replied Ralof.

"Shut up back there!" the carriage driver yelled impatiently. "What's wrong with him?" Said Lokir, gesturing to Ulfric. "Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Ralof yelled. "Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion.. But if they captured you, Gods, where are they taking us?" murmured Lokir, the color draining from his face as he realized the gravity of the situation he was in. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof replied.

As they neared their destination, Ralof remembered where they were. Helgen, a small fortress south of Riverwood. He used to be sweet on a girl from there. She made mead with juniper berries mixed in which complimented the sweetness of the honey perfectly. "Why are we stopping?" said Lokir frantically. "Why do you think? End of the line." Said Ralof. As the prisoners stepped down out of the carriage, the Imperial soldiers were taking role call to ensure none of them had escaped along the line.

"Ralof of Riverwood." announced the Imperial clad in guilded leather armor. Ralof took his place in front of the executioner's block with the rest of the doomed. "Lokir of Rorikstead." Continued the soldier. "Wait! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" Cried Lokir, frantic to do anything he can to avoid his fate. "You're not going to kill me!" He shouted as he attempted to run. "ARCHERS!" yelled the Imperial Captain. Before she even finished the word, the archers had knocked an arrow and let it fly, planting the arrow firmly into the back of the escapee's skull.

"Anyone else feel like running?" She exclaimed, challenging anyone in the group to try and make an escape. "Wait. Who are you?" Inquired the guard with the list of names, gesturing to the large Nord exiting the carriage. "Ragnarok of Markarth". Said the Nord, his voice deep, unintentionally booming across the courtyard. The kind of voice that inspires loyalty in allies and fear in enemies. "Captain, he's not on the list. What do we do?" The guard inquired. "Forget the list. He goes to the block." said the Captain. "At least you'll die here, in your homeland." Said the Lieutenant, attempting to offer some sort of comfort the Nord who obviously had nothing to do with the Stormcloak rebellion.

The prisoners had lined up in front of the headsman's block, all mentally preparing for their journey to Sovngarde. It was at this time did Ralof fully grasp how enormous this Nord was. He stood at least two heads taller than himself, and was twice the girth. "You must have some giant's blood in you, eh Ragnarok?" He jested, trying to enjoy some humor in his last moments. A grin had spread across Ragnarok's face and turned to face Ralof. "Not the first time I've heard that. Starting to believe it myself." he replied. "It was probably my mother. I heard she was quite the sight to see, and not in a good way." The thought made Ralof chuckle, at least he had found someone in his final minutes who could appreciate some laughter in the face of death.

"You heard? Never met your mother?" Ralof questioned. "No. Nor my father. I was just a babe when the Forsworn Uprising happened. Both of my parents were killed in the conflict." Ragnarok replied. "Perhaps you will meet them in Sovngarde, friend." Ralof said, attempting to bring the massive Nord hope. "I doubt that. from what I hear, my father died screaming in a puddle of his own shit. And my mother had fled. Hardly the type to be allowed into the Great Hall." He spat, venom dripping from every word. Ralof couldn't think of any reasonable response, so he resigned to ending the conversation and waiting for his death.

As the heads of his comrades began to roll, the stench of blood and fear became almost unbearable. Some of them had soiled themselves, unable to cope with the fact they only have minutes left to pray to whatever god they worshiped. Ralof wondered why they had ever joined the rebellion if they hadn't accepted their fate from the first day. The heavy thump of the executioner's axe hitting the block, and the wet crack of it separating heads from shoulders was starting to gnaw at his resolve however. He had hoped he was next in line, just so save himself from seeing another brave warrior die on his knees.

An ear piercing shriek could be heard carrying on the wind, like something Ralof had never heard before. It shook him to his core and instilled a greater fear than the headsman's axe ever could. Was it the death throes of one of his soldiers? No.. It was more.. Feral. He had wished the executions would hurry on and end his mortal life. The anticipation was worse than the thought of death. "Next! The Nord in the rags!" The Captain called. Ragnarok strode forward, without a hint of hesitation.

He knelt down beside the bloodied executioner's block and stared down the headsman, almost challenging him to unbind his hands. His speechless challenge was cut short by the Captain's foot on his back, forcing his head down to the block, never breaking eye contact with his soon to be beheader. "WHAT IN OBLIVION IS THAT?!" Cried an archer from a northern turret. "Scouts, what do you see?" Questioned the Captain. Another shriek and a flash of black, momentarily eclipsing the sun before diving behind the garrison had caught Ralof's eye. It appeared to be some kind of malformed bird, but it was immense. Fear again struck him, "Come on, hurry, hurry up and kill me." He thought. He had no intentions of discovering whatever that thing was.

Just as the executioner was about to let his axe fall on Ragnarok's exposed neck, he was knocked from his feet by an.. earthquake? No.. Far too short to be an earthquake. When Ralof regained his footing, he looked up to find dread incarnate staring him down. A dragon perched atop the battlement, gazing around the fort before bellowing some kind of force which again knocked him on his back. He scrambled to his feet and ran to the nearest tower, hoping to hide himself from the monumental beast that was devouring the Imperial soldiers. He stopped short and looked back at the executioner's block, to find Ragnarok on his feet, just starting at the dragon. "MOVE, RAGNAROK. THE GODS WON'T GIVE US ANOTHER CHANCE!" He shouted, hoping he could be heard amongst the chaos.

Ragnarok snapped out of his trance and ran to meet with Ralof in the tower. "Gods, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" exclaimed Hadvar. "Legends don't burn down villages." remarked Ralof. "Come on, up the tower. We have to find a way out of here" he continued. As he and Ragnarok clamored up the steps, there was an explosive eruption mere feet ahead of them. The damned dragon had torn down the wall, and was bellowing a gout of flame inside the tower.

Hadvar retreated back down the steps, and looked around for Ragnarok. He was still at the top of the stairs, only inches from the inferno erupting from the dragon's maw. Unflinching and immobile, he waited for the beast to end it's roar and land elsewhere, before leaping from the hole in the tower into a nearby house. He was convinced this monolithic Nord had a death wish, but saw no other option and followed him in the plunge. He landed amongst smoldering planks, which had cushioned his fall, but had burned his right arm. With adrenaline surging he hadn't even noticed and continued on to meet up with Ragnarok.

The dragon had again interfered with their escape, landing directly in their path and sending another fire storm at them, narrowly missing a small child by fractions of a second before lifting off again. Ragnarok charged forward, determined to escape the hold alive. Hadvar could only follow behind and hope to keep up. As they neared the main hall, Ralof had intercepted them. "You damned traitor, out of our way!" Hadvar shouted. "We're escaping, Hadvar. You can't stop us!" exclaimed Ralof. "Fine! I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" He retorted. Ragnarok had split off and followed Ralof into the keep.

"No doubt about it, that was a dragon. Harbingers of the end times." Ralof remarked. "Come here. Let me see if I can't get those bindings off." He said, beckoning to Ragnarok. He cut loose the leather straps binding his hands, and instructed him to retrieve the gear of one of his fallen companions, Gunier. "Try that armor on, and give that axe a few swings." He instructed. Ragnarok had wasted no time in strapping on the chain mail Stormcloak cuirass, and wielded the axe, slashing at the air a few times to test it's weight. Ralof mentally noted that Ragnarok was no stranger to weapons, as he manipulated it with the grace of a grand master. Before he could collect his thoughts and search for a way out, he heard the clamoring of Imperial soldiers approaching. "Quick! Get down!" he barked, readying his own weapon for combat.