Disclaimer: Every character, place, religion, culture, and philosophy is created by Bethesda.

1. The Block

Pain.

It's all you can feel.

The way to the city is a long, agonising ride, making it feel as though you have been on the road for years. Your mother is constantly by your side on the carriage, watching you closely with her vigilant eyes. But the even the hostility that emanates from her cannot prepare you for the events that are about to unfold.

The magic stirs within you, and the only thing that runs through your mind is death. You're entwined with it, like no other. It is a part of you. The cold, soulless feeling is sweet and weightless, and you close your eyes, leaning back into the leather seat of the carriage.

Your mother shifts, and you breathe in deeply, sinking further into the soft seat. The leather has a strong smell to it, like warm spice, and your head lolls to the side, away from your mother. It feels like an age since you have slept soundly, and despite your fatal destination and better judgement, you close your eyes.

The dream is instant, and one you know all too well. You're running as fast as you can through a thick jungle, with trees as tall as mountains lining the familiar path. The sky above is covered by the large leaves of the jungle, and despite the shade they provide, the air is hot, thick and humid. You notice yourself slow down, this humidity dragging you back deeper into the jungle. You are beginning to feel afraid, and it is this fear that pushes you forward, steps heavy but hurried.

The trees begin to thin considerably, and you soon find yourself standing near the edge of a large desert. You turn to the jungle behind, surprised to see that it is barely a dot in the distance. The air around you is now dry, and a gust of wind causes your arm to automatically shield your eyes from the stinging sand.

Once it passes, you notice the necklace around your neck warm on your chest. You're stunned. It's not like you to wear any jewellery, and you are sure it wasn't there moments ago. But now you have noticed it, the chain feels heavy around your neck, and you look down, taking the large pendant in your palm. The metal glows, and its heat warms your hand. Stepping forward, you begin to walk out onto the desert, no longer feeling afraid. You are confident, warm, and loved. The pendant is taking you somewhere; taking you to something.

And it feels like home.

The shock of waking up was difficult. As the Imperial carriage lumbered down the road, the wooden wheel hit a small rock, surprising Morrígan awake. There was the sound of heavy hooves and wildlife, and it took the small woman a moment to acclimatise to her surroundings. Everything was blurry from her deep sleep, and the warmth and comfort of the dessert and pendant were still fresh on her mind.

Absently, she brushed her chest with her bound hands, looking to the front of the tiny wooden carriage. They were the second in line, the first full of Stormcloak soldiers. A man sat in the driver's seat, just by her side, steering the slow, lumbering steed down the path. Even from behind, she could tell by his armour that he was an Imperial.

As she looked down the stony road again, Morrígan knew without any doubt she was home. The cold air, blinding sun, towering trees and mountains were all too familiar. Nothing had changed, and she knew exactly what this meant for her.

With a heavy shudder, she tugged lightly at the rope that tied her hands. They were bound tight, she realised, looking down. A cloth was also tied around her mouth to prevent her from talking, and with this realisation, her breathing picked up its pace. It wasn't long before the panic set in, and she quickly glanced to the people she was sharing her imprisonment with – three men, two of them Stormcloaks.

She looked to the man who wasn't a soldier, and noticed the fear was reflected in his eyes too. Where were they going? Did they already know who she was?

The carriage came to a curve in the road, and the man in front of her looked up. His eyes were smoky, the tired lines underneath them common for a hardy soldier like him.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." The other two occupants looked between them, and he continued, blonde hair falling into his eyes, "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us."

She frowned. As the man continued to talk, engaging the other passenger, she looked back out over the countryside. Memories flooded through her, of rain, snow and utter loneliness—an experience of Skyrim she had not missed while in Cyrodil. For the life of her, she did not know why she chose to come back to this forsaken place. She was on the border before she knew what she was doing, running through the forest with innocent and ignorant thoughts of home.

And then, just as she crossed into the Skyrim countryside, she was kicked in the back of the head by an Imperial. She remembered the flash of red armour, her magic not fast enough to stop the foot colliding with her skull.

A shiver down her spine stopped her thoughts, and she furrowed her brow, turning around slowly. Beside her, cold blue eyes bore into hers, and she recognised the face instantly.

Ulfric Stromcloak.

She looked at him evenly, noticing the same binds around his mouth as her own. He did not take his eyes off her, and she wondered if he remembered her. Morrígan was different from her child self, her brown hair now darker due to years spent in caves and movements through the night. Without a doubt though, the most noticeable change, and one that had terrified her upon realisation, was her eyes. Once a deep, ocean blue, they were now the colour of ice. Clear, emotionless, with the pupil the only colour; it was obvious her dark magic was washing away all of her soul.

His eyes bore into her, and the man before Ulfric addressed him, somewhat carelessly.

"What's with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue!" It was the one who had spoken to Morrígan before. He was looking at the man in rags, disgust on his face. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stromcloak, the true High King."

The other man exchanged a terrified look with Morrígan, before breaking into a frightened spiel. She sat there, looking back over at Ulfric. High King? She knew that the war had been a very hot topic for some time, but she didn't realise just how intense it must have gotten.

Ulfric turned back to her, and they continued to stare at each other. The other two were still talking, heated voices drifted here and there through her mind. Morrígan had always liked Ulfric – after all, he could have killed her instead of banishing her out of the land. And it wasn't like he could have ignored her mother's pleas – she was a powerful woman, and one every Jarl in Skyrim wanted on their side. Banishing her daughter was sure to keep her happy.

She turned away, looking down the road again. City gates loomed ahead, and she recognised where they were immediately – Helgen. She remembered going there as a child with Bothela. Her cackle had scared the many residents, and even as a seven-year-old, she found it amazing that one person could have such a profound effect on so many.

Now, those memories of Bothela just reminded her of the fear she had felt as her mother had dragged her out of the Markarth gates and into the carriage. Why wasn't Bothela there then? She had her ear to the ground all the time – it came with her job – so why hadn't she warned Morrígan about her mother's cruel plan?

Shouts from soldiers drew her attention, as the carriage rolled slowly through the town. The Stormcloak in front of her muttered something about the General. She ignored him, fear bubbling in her stomach. With more effort than her last attempt, she tugged at the rope binding her hands. It was useless, though. Once she was free, what was she expecting? The guards just letting her run away?

Her head fell down to her chest in defeat, and the carriage rolled to a slow stop. Directly in front of her was a chopping block, blood dried thick on the surface. A man stood beside it, large axe in his hand. If it weren't for the gag, Morrígan was sure she would have whimpered.

The soldier in front of her looked up to the heavens, then back at her. "Let's go. Wouldn't want to keep the Gods waiting."

The Gods. Yes, those amazing beings who had only been there to break her soul. She shook her head, standing up and shuffling off the carriage with the others. A million thoughts were running through her mind now – why did she come back here, why did they want to kill her, how was she going to escape this...

Her name was called by one of the Imperials, and she stepped forward, walking over with the other prisoners. As she stood there, she noticed the warmth on her chest – similar to the feeling she had in her dream. It was terrifying that she was about to die, yet... she was calm again. Her heart slowed, and she watched with little emotion as a Stormcloak was thrown down onto the block.

"My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials. Can yours say the same?"

The executioner lifted up his enormous axe, and time seemed to slow. It stayed there, suspended above his head, before lurching down with all the might the giant man could muster. The Stormcloak's flew off, and all calm Morrígan felt was instantly banished from her. Her knees weakened as the Imperial Captain flung the body aside with her boot, before calling Morrígan forward.

As she stepped towards the block, a strange sound rang across the valley, and all parties looked up to the heavens. Some remarked of hearing the sound again, and she couldn't help but feel an unwelcome sense of foreboding.

The captain called her again, this time with more impatience, and one of the Imperials coaxed, "To the block, Prisoner. Nice and easy."

She glanced at him, nodding once. Her aim was to show no fear, but as she walked forward to the block, her knees began to weaken. She stood there, staring down at the bloodied wood for a moment, before the captain pushed her down into the block. Morrígan fell to her knees, head forced down. So she had come to Skyrim to die. It was fitting, she didn't deny that – but she could think of a lot of other things she would rather be doing.

She looked up at the executioner and the sight beyond him caused her heart to stop.

She could barely believe her eyes, but the screams from the prisoners and townsfolk behind her confirmed it.

It was a dragon.

As the man raised his giant axe, the beast circled around, landing on a tower directly behind him and throwing the executioner off balance. Morrígan wanted to move from the chopping block, but she was frozen with fear, staring up at the enormous beast.

And then, as the giant lizard opened its mouth in a shout, she fainted.

He had severely underestimated how far it was to walk. Every step was becoming increasingly difficult, and again, he had to stop, putting down the prisoner and pausing. They were at the Guardian Stones, he realised with relief. It wasn't far now. He sighed, sliding down to the ground with his back against the cool rock. The attack on Helgen had left him sore and very, very confused. If that was a dragon then, what was too happened to ... well, everything? He didn't find it a coincidence that it attacked right before Ulfric was thrown on the block, though that didn't make the thought any better. If that man had a dragon, the whole Legion and Empire was surely doomed.

Banishing this solemn thought from his head, he looked down to the sleeping woman. He was sure she would have woken by now, but he didn't really mind. He was just glad that he was able to get someone out of there safely.

Realising she was still bound, and mouth still gagged, he inched forward and untied her. He really hoped she wasn't dangerous. He looked at her again, noticing the severe black war paint streaking from her eyes to her neck. She didn't look friendly, and her eyes when he called her name back in Helgen were definitely not trustworthy. But surely she would realise that now was not the time to kill him; especially considering he had just dragged her halfway across the hold.

He hesitated, looking at her closed eyes. She was a witch, he knew it. He never really hated them, but it was bred into every Nord to be wary of those who took the path of Magic.

Just as this thought crossed his mind, Hadvar noticed her stir, eyes blinking slowly as she awakened. With a groan she heaved herself up, looking down at her now-free hands and then touching her mouth. She stared at him, her icy eyes sending a shiver down his spine.

Despite his uncomfortable feeling, the woman smiled. "Thank you."

Her voice was delicate and soft, and he couldn't help but frown. That was not how he was expecting her to sound. He hadn't actually encountered a witch before, though, and there was no reason to think they weren't people. Yet, he always just thought that the magic ate them away, until they turned into those insidious Hagravens.

"That is alright, prisoner. We're heading to Riverwood."

To his surprise, the lady blushed, looking out at the river below them. He could feel her growing distant, and recognised the look in her eyes instantly. Skyrim was her home, and she had missed it. The rivers, the mountains, he noticed, were all reminders of her past. Every Nord clung to this land, and they always returned. He had seen that look many times.

"It's Morrígan," she said, finally turning back to him. "I – "

She hesitated, glaring down at his armour. He immediately understood.

"It's okay," he chuckled, holding up his hands. "I would not have dragged you this far just to throw you in jail again."

She seemed to soften at this statement, leaning back against the stone behind her. Coincidently, he noticed, the Mage Stone.

"I need to get to Markarth," she continued. "It's my home."

Hadvar nodded knowingly, his suspicion confirmed. "I understand. But you should really rest in River—"

"No," she interrupted, shaking her head. "I need to get to the nearest town and get a carriage. It's been a ... long time."

She rubbed her head, feeling silently thrown. What was she going to do in Markarth? What was she even doing here? She sighed, standing slowly. The man in front of her followed in suit, glancing down the road.

He pointed. "The nearest town is Whiterun, through Riverwood. It is not far, but the night is setting fast. You may want to hurry."

She nodded, looking at him. She couldn't even begin to express the wave of gratitude she felt towards him, but standing around repeating thank you was not going to get her anywhere. And he was right – the night was setting in fast.

"Thank you. I... Uh, hope we meet again."

With that swift – and awkward – goodbye, Morrígan ran down the road. She felt vulnerable, and extremely cold, as she wore nothing but the prison rags on her back. All that could wait, though. She didn't know what she was going to do, but she knew if anything, Markarth was going to give her the answers.

Authors Note: Chapter one done (lame ending, I know)! I'm sorry about how boring this must have been for some of you, but I really had to set the whole story. I don't want to rabbit on, but just a quick note – the rest of the story isn't going to play out the same as the game. Otherwise it would be too boring and you should really just be playing the game. This is also something to give me a break from uni and my original fiction, so updates may be inconsistent (I'll try my best though). Ok, that's it, thanks for reading and reviews are welcome :)

- WK