Death came with a certain inherent insanity. He was aware of being rocked, just like a baby in a cradle, except for the firebrand cramp in his leg and the blast of cold on his skin, wind that tore right through him. Just like a newborn except for the itch on his nose that he couldn't scratch because his hands wouldn't move. He blinked. He had eyes. The world came blearily into focus, white and grey and for a second he thought he saw bold white glyphs etched into the sky above him. Death apparently also came with vivid hallucinations.
Skyrim, he thought. I'm in Skyrim. He would have rather welcomed the insanity of death. There were trees somewhere overhead. Towering pines that stank of sap. The rocking persisted; he blinked a few times and sat up as best he could.
"Hey, you," said someone, "you're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Same as us, and that thief over there."
The one speaking the unwelcome words was named Ralof. The name was just suddenly there in his head, as if it had been written across the other man's chest.
"My arms won't move," he said thickly.
"Damn you Stormcloaks," said someone else, as if he hadn't spoken at all. "Skyrim was fine until you came along — Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now. You there." This time he was addressed directly. "You and me, we shouldn't be here."
"I think I've been drugged," he replied. "When I look down I can't see my legs."
"It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
"Did you even hear me?"
"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," said the blond one, and was silenced by a retort from the helmeted man who was driving the carriage. The thief squinted at the other guy in the cart, who was also blond and gagged and dressed in clothes he would have given his legs for, if he'd been sure they were actually there.
"What's wrong with him, huh?"
"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."
"Can you see your legs?" he asked Ralof, and then the thief, and neither of them seemed to pay any attention at all. "I can't see my legs. Is nobody worried at all about that?" He was totally ignored. "Listen, I don't know where I am. I mean, I don't know how I got here. I mean, I don't think I know who I am." He didn't think he'd lost his memory, that's not what it felt like. It felt like he didn't have any memory to lose. "I don't actually think I'm a criminal. If you could let me off at the next stop and I'll be on my way?" Like that was going to happen, but it was worth a shot.