The snow whirled around the cloaked figure like some sort of spell, but no magicka had been used. The figure marched slowly through the deep snow, taking care not to slip and fall off the mountain to his death; the Nine only know how that turned out for his Housecarl, Lydia.
After what seemed like an eternity, the cloaked figure had made his way to the peak of the mountain, and while the flattened peak should have offered him a sense of achievement and superiority, it offered no such rewards today. For the man spied, through the miniature blizzard, a large stone wall, slightly curved, with words of an ancient language carved into its stone. The man quickly looked around, for he knew of only one beast that guarded such a wall. The blizzard easily hindered the man's eyesight to that of a blind Moth priest, but that would not stop him in the least. The man inhaled deeply, feeling the energy within him swell as he prepared to release a mighty roar.
"Lok, Vah Koor!"
The skies themselves seemed to cower at the shout, and almost out of fear, the blizzard slowed to the gentle falling of snow, and then stopped altogether. The man slowly turned around, preparing for the approach of the beast. From the skies? No, he did not hear the telltale flapping of wings, nor could he hear the beast's battle cry. From the mountain, then? Hiding behind a rock, ready to ambush him? The man spun quickly, snapping around to face his rear. No… where was the beast? Had it already been slain?
"Dovahkiin…" A low rumble spoke, the ground itself trembling before the voice. The man spun, looking from side to side. Where was the beast? Where was it speaking from?
"Dovahkiin!" The beast spoke again, and the snow around the man seemed to rise up. Then, as if by some magick, the beast reared its head from under the snow, the rest of its crimson scaly body following as it rose to its full height, with the man directly in front of it. The dragon had awoken from its slumber.
"Dovahkiin! Hi lost meyz ahst laat!" The man crouched low, bracing as the dragon soared into the sky. The man then stood up slowly, his blood racing through his veins. He reached for his neck and unclasped the cloak, the leather guise falling to the snowy ground.
Under the cloak, any man would have mistaken the figure for either a traveler, or a wandering merchant, eagerly looking for his next skooma addict to rob from. Now, with the cloak removed, there was no denying the figure's true identity. A full set of Banded Iron Armor sat upon the man's chest, and Iron Gauntlets and Boots adorned his extremities. From his waist, he retrieved a simple Iron Helm, an armor piece that had been with him since he first traveled to this land. It had almost become trademark for him to wear it.
The man drew his steel blade from his left hip, the metal hissing as it scraped out of the leather sheath and into the cold winter air. He breathed in slowly and deeply, preparing to release another shout into the air.
"Joor, Zah Frul!"
A blue ripple of pure energy shot from the man's mouth, streaming through the sky until finding its target; the large dragon that had recently awoken. The dragon roared, in what almost sounded like pure agony; a sound the man knew well. The dragon's wings seemed to shrivel at the sound of the words, and the beast plummeted to the ground in a heap of scales and teeth. The man was barely able to dodge the dragon in time, rolling through the snow as he did.
The dragon rose up slowly, seeming to shake off the effects of the shout. The man walked up to the dragon, staring it right in the eye. "You were right, dov." the man spoke, twirling his sword in his arm. "Zu'u los Dovahkiin!" And with that, the Dovahkiin rose his sword high, catching the midday sun's glare with the metal sword, and brought it down onto the roaring beast's head.
The wagon hit a particularly large bump as it descended the hill, and I, who had previously been asleep, awoke. "Aggh, what hit me…" I grumbled, my vision blurring slightly, but quickly returning to its normal state.
"Hey, you; you're finally awake." a voice stated. Whoever spoke had a peculiar accent, one that I had only heard once or twice before. It was Nordic, no doubt. I glanced up, and saw a blonde male staring at me with empty eyes. His hair was as blonde as straw, with a small braid in front of his left ear, and his eyes were a pale blue, almost gray in the afternoon light. He wore a blue cuirass, with various leather and chain portions added on; the uniform of a guard, or a soldier. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He jerked his head slightly to his left, and I followed his motion to see another passenger in our little wagon; a Nord with an expression that I could only describe as 'terrified'. That, and very, very upset. "Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along; Empire was nice and lazy! If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." The horse thief turned to me and tried to lean forward, but the rocking of the wagon forced him to sit down. "You there! You and me, we shouldn't be here! It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." The Nord looked at the thief solemnly and said simply, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
"Shut up back there!" the driver hissed at us. His voice was regal, and by that I meant pompous, but still had a twinge of fortification that could only come from military discipline. This must be one of the Imperials that the Nord in blue had been talking about.
"Hey, Stormcloak." The horse thief said, nodding to the man to my right. The man was wearing a dark cloak, full of various furs. This seemed strange enough, but when you spotted the gag on his mouth and his mouth alone, his expensive attire was soon overlooked. "What's his problem?" "Watch your tongue!" The Nord snapped at the thief, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the True High King!"
The horse thief seemed to sit on this for a second, before a bolt of realization hit him. "The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion! But if they've captured you… oh Gods! Where are they taking us?!" The Nord in blue looked ahead of him, as if trying to figure out the answer to that question himself. "I don't know," he said finally, returning his gaze to the thief, "but Sovngarde awaits."
We all rode in silence for a few more minutes, the only noises being that of the wagons bouncing along the roads, the breathing of the horses, and the odd call of the wildlife.
The wagon hit a particularly nasty bump, and we all were sent airborne for a second, before crashing down onto the hard wooden benches again.
As we hit the wagon, a small cry of pain was sounded to my left. I turned quickly; I had thought we were the only four on this wagon, but obviously that was not the case. I turned to my left, and set my eyes upon a girl. She seemed to be around my age, with a body matured but still youthful. Her hair was a straw blonde, much like the other Nord's, but her eyes were no pale blue shade; they were a sharp amber, almost a muted crimson.
I gulped slightly as she turned her head towards me. "What?" she asked fiercely, her voice tinged with the same accent as the blue clothed Nord, albeit much less prominently. I looked back to the horse thief and the Nord, blushing slightly as I did. The girl sighed and paid me no more attention, but now my mind was caught on her. I'd never seen a girl so beautiful before; a woman with a face that would make Mara herself jealous, and an obvious spite in her blood. I made a mental note not to stare any longer, for something told me that if she wished to, she could easily snap my arm, even in these bonds.
"Hey," the Nord spoke softly, "What village are you from, horse thief?" "Why?" The thief shouted, obviously scared beyond measure. "Why do you care?" The Nord looked out over the horizon again as he spoke. "A Nord's last thought should be of home." The horse thief seemed personally affected by this statement, and he looked down as he answered, sobering slightly. "R-Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead."
"General Tullius, sir!" A female soldier shouted ahead of us as we rolled towards a small town. "The headsman is waiting!"
"Good, let's get this over with." Another man shouted back. He sounded much more aged than anyone else here, and as such was most likely to be the General.
The horse thief began to murmur the names of the Nine divines as we passed under the gate. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh; Divines, please help me!" Nobody paid any attention to him; most of the others were probably doing the same as him, only mentally.
"Look at him; General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him!" The Nord in blue spat. I didn't recognize the name he had used; Thalmor. It sounded like some sort of cult, or group. "Damn elves. I bet they have something to do with this!"
He took a deep breath in and looked around him, a look of nostalgia settling into his eyes. "This… this is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilad is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." Ralof chuckled slightly as he continued. "Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel safe."
As we rounded a bend in the town, a young boy began to point at us. "Who are they, daddy?" He couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old.
"Go inside, little cub." his father said simply.
"Why?" the boy asked, staying seated, "I wanted to watch the soldiers."
"Inside the house. Now!" The father commanded. "Yes father."
The horses continued forward until they came face to face with a stone wall. They stopped suddenly, causing us all to rock in the wagon. "Why are we stopping?" the thief asked, worried. "Why do you think?" the girl said, finally speaking up. "End of the line." The thief's eyes widened, and he began to shout. "No, wait! We're not rebels!" He turned to the Nord desperately, vying for life. "You've got to tell them we're not with you! This is a mistake!" "Face your death with some courage, thief!" The Nord reprimanded him, and the thief quieted almost instantly. We all stood up and began jumping off the wagon. I was third to last, followed only by the girl who had sat next to me and the blue Nord. "Step forward as we call your name." A female soldier shouted to us. She wore a fancy helmet, and some part of me, for whatever reason, knew that a helmet like that had to be one of a kind out here in Skyrim.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." the soldier who stood behind the female one said, checking a name off his list as he did. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The blue Nord said somberly, watching his leader walk towards the headsman's block. "Ralof of Riverwood." The Nord beside me stepped forward and followed Ulfric's footsteps. He kicked some dust at the man with the list as he passed, but the man simply turned back to his list, trying to ignore the insult.
"Lokir of Rorikstead." The thief beside me ran up to the female soldier, tears falling from his eyes. "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" The female soldier pushed him away, scowling at him. "To the block, prisoner!" Lokir glanced quickly between the soldier, then to the block, and then, impossibly, towards the gate we had come in through. No… I thought as I understood what Lokir intended to do. No!
He stood up suddenly and sprinted towards the gate, his ragged tunic and pants flapping in the wind. "H-halt!" The female officer shouted, surprised at his action. "You're not going to kill me!" he shouted, sprinting towards the gate at top speed. I watched him excitedly; he was fast. He might actually be able to escape. He might be able to do it!
Then, one word from the female soldier dashed all of my hopes for poor Lokir. "Archers!" Two soldiers who wore brown leather armor, one male and one female, drew their bows, each bow holding a deadly steel arrow on its drawstring. The two nodded to each other, and then fired in unison, each of their arrows finding their mark with deadly accuracy. One arrow, the male's struck Lokir in his knee, crippling him. The second arrow, however, struck a much more vital area; his throat. Lokir coughed up blood as he fell to the ground, still alive but dying slowly, feeling terrible pain and agony. "Anyone else feel like running?!" The female officer shouted to the prisoners, making an example of the struggling Lokir. The female officer looked over to General Tullius, who smiled sourly and gave a slow nod. The officer looked proud of herself for the approval of her extreme actions, and was only sobered by the male officer's next words. "Wait, you two there." He pointed to us with the back end of his quill. "Step forward." I glanced towards the girl next to me, although she did not look back. Her eyes were fixed upon Lokir's body, still alive, still suffering. I nudged her with my elbow and began to walk, not eager to end up like Lokir. She snapped out of her haze and walked forward with me.
"Who… are you two?" he asked us when we finally arrived in front of the two soldiers. Neither of us spoke for a bit, until the female beside me coughed to gather her voice. "My name is Fiore, Fiore Farseer of Winterhold." The male Imperial wrote down her name on the list and turned to me. "And you, lad?" I opened my mouth to speak, ready to tell him my name, when I realized something I should have realized long ago.
I didn't know my name.
"Everything alright, boy?" the soldier asked me. I shook my head. "I… I can't remember my name…" The female soldier sighed. "By the Eight, just make one up. We just need a name, any name, for a report nobody will read. Besides, it won't matter at all in a minute." I nodded, looking to the sky for inspiration. Eventually a name came to me, like a whisper from a past life. "Caius Ashwing." The male nodded slowly. "I'll write down that you hail from Daggerfall; you're a Breton, I take it?" I nodded slowly, feeling my slightly peaked ears as I did.
The soldier looked up and for the first time realized how small I was, how young I was. "Wait, Captain, what should we do? They can't be older than seventeen; we can't execute minors! The list says…" The female snatched the list from the soldier's hand and scowled. "Forget the list, Hadvar. They go to the block."
Fiore snapped at this casual handing out of a death sentence and lashed out, her bound hands smashing into the helmet of the female officer, sending her to the ground. Immediately two Imperial soldiers, the same two that shot Lokir, grabbed Fiore, drawing their swords and holding them to her throat. "Don't kill her!" The Captain shouted, getting back up from the dirt. She walked over to Fiore and gestured for the soldiers to resheath their blades. They did, and the Captain instantly slapped Fiore across the face.
Now, a normal slap from an adult would hurt. One from a soldier would hurt even more. One from a soldier in full steel armor would hurt much more. Fiore cried out and fell to the ground, her rough tunic getting splattered in mud as she did. Instinctively, I ran over to her, seeing if she needed help. "Get off me!" Fiore shouted, pushing me back and over into a pile of mud myself. She stood up by herself, fury showing on her face, and walked towards the block, escorted by the two soldiers. I sat there for a bit until a shadow loomed over me. Hadvar. "To the block prisoner, nice and easy." I took his hand and stood up, wiping some mud from my form as I walked beside Fiore.
"Ulfric Stormcloak!" Tullius shouted at the Jarl, somewhat relishing his position. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne!" Ulfric gave out a muffled shout, and Tullius quickly kept up his speech. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos! And now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"
At that very moment, a sound was heard, echoing through the mountains and valleys to Helgen. It might have been a roar, but what beast had a roar like that? "What was that?" the Captain asked Tullius. "It's nothing; carry on." Tullius said, although he suddenly found interest in his steel blade, fingering the hilt every so often. "Yes, General Tullius!" The Captain shouted, saluting. She spoke offhandedly to a priestess behind her, dressed in orange and yellow robes. "Give them their last rights." The priestess sighed, stepping forwards slightly. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-" One particular Stormcloak soldier stomped up to the block, interrupting the priestess as he shouted, "For the love of Talos! Shut up, and let's get this over with." The priestess stepped back, shocked by the interruption before regaining her composure. "As you wish."
The Stormcloak stood in front of the block, shouting as he waited for the Captain to approach. "Come on!" He dared, "I haven't got all morning!" The Captain sneered and kicked the man in his back, sending him down to the block. She set her foot on his back, pinning him down. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials." he said, grinning as he watched the headsman raise his axe, "Can you say the same?" He never got his answer, as the cold blade of a steel axe was the next, only, and last reply he received. His head rolled off his body, falling into a wicker basket in front of the block, still spurting blood.
"You Imperial bastards!" one of the Stormcloak soldiers shouted. "Justice!" A civilian shouted from behind us. "Death to the Stormcloaks!" another howled. Ralof spoke also, although so quiet I could barely hear the man standing right next to me. "As fearless in death as he was in life." The Captain scanned the crowd, looking for her next victim, when she spied us. I thought for sure that after their little spite, Fiore was next, but she instead pointed at me. "Next, the Nord's Breton boyfriend!" I opened my eyes, shaking my hands as best I could. "No, we're not-"
Another roar interrupted me, this one louder than before. The town shook slightly, and the basket containing the Stormcloak's head tipped over, the head rolling towards my feet. "I said, next prisoner!" The Captain said, glancing nervously at the sky every so often .
I glanced at Fiore, who gave me no emotion, and then I glanced at Ralof, who simply looked at his feet. Gathering my strength, I marched forward. Never have my footsteps sounded so hollow and empty. I stood in front of the block where the Stormcloak had moments ago, and kicked his body aside slightly to make room for mine. I was able to catch a glance from Hadvar just before the Captain pushed me to the block. Was it pity? Despair? Or just confusion from the earlier roar? I hit the block hard, my vision blurring ever so slightly from the impact. I stared at the headsman, who raised his axe slowly.
No, I thought, don't watch him. Don't watch the axe. Watch something different. I glanced around slowly, looking at the priestess's face, at the trees beyond the city walls, ones that Lokir could have been running through by now. Then I glanced upon a bird, as dark as midnight. But something was wrong about this bird. For starters, it had thick leathery wings as opposed to feathery ones, and its roar was deafening, unlike the chirp of so many other birds I saw on the way here. Oh, and then there was its size. To put things simply, it looked like it could swoop down and pick up a giant, no problem or effort on its part.
Tullius had seen the thing as well, and he stared at it as he shouted, "What in Oblivion is that?!" "Sentries!" The Captain shouted, seeing the thing also. "What do you see?!" The headsman, however had not seen, and continued to raise his axe. "It's in the clouds!" a man shouted from behind us in the town. The beast fell down onto the tower, its clawed feet gripping the tower and cracking the stone it sat on. It's scales were indeed as black as midnight, and its eyes were as red as a Dunmer's. Fiore shouted from behind me, confirming what I had thought previously. "Dragon!"
The headsman finally turned, looking behind him and barely seeing the dragon before it roared again, but this time it roared words.
"Fus, Ro Dah!"