Chapter 1

Rhanna woke to the rocking of the wagon. The road had grown very rough. The horse pulling the cart seemed tired; the Imperial soldier driving the carriage cursed under his breath as he frequently snapped the reigns, coaxing the animal forward.

The ropes tied around Rhanna's wrists were very tight and had chafed, leaving the skin underneath them raw and sore. She tried to adjust the restraints to a slightly different position, but they wouldn't budge. All she managed to do was send a sharp jolt of pain through her arms. She closed her eyes and clenched her teeth to keep from making any noise until the pain passed.

There were three others in the wagon, all of them men. The three of them were also Nords. Rhanna was half Nord; her father was a Redguard. Because of this, she had darker skin than most Nords, as well as slightly darker hair.

The men wore the same painful restraints around their wrists as Rhanna did. The man on the opposite left side of the carriage was very still. His hands were loosely clasped together and his eyes were glazed over, as if his thoughts were far from where his body was. The Nord directly to the right of Rhanna closely resembled this man's state, except his elbows rested on his knees and his head hung low as if in prayer, and he had a strip of cloth tied across his mouth to prevent him from speaking. The man on the opposite right of Rhanna was shaking slightly and moving his wrists against the restraints, causing thick but slow and small streams of blood to drip down his arms and hands. His head was unmoving, but his eyes darted all over the landscape.

The man to the opposite left of Rhanna came out of his reverie and looked at her. "You're finally awake," he said.

Rhanna wasn't sure how to respond, so the man continued. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as that thief over there." He motioned with his head at the man next to him, the one with the bloody hands.

Rhanna nodded. She could tell the man was a soldier because he wore sturdy armor, and the man with the gag wore the same type of uniform. She didn't know, however, who the men served. As she had been going through the forest to cross the border into Skyrim from Cyrodiil, she stumbled upon a camp of these soldiers. Not wanting any trouble, she had planned on sneaking around them and continuing on her way. But before she had had a chance to carry out her plan, a band of what she was able to recognize as Imperial soldiers rushed into the circle of tents and began attacking the camp. One of them captured her and threw her in with the other prisoners. Something similar must have happened to the thief.

The thief looked at the soldier next to him. "Damn you Stormcloaks," he said. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."

The thief spit at the Stormcloak's feet and continued speaking. "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

The Stormcloak remained silent. All he did was glance at his comrade, who couldn't speak even if he wanted to.

The thief turned his attention to Rhanna. "You and me, we shouldn't be here," he said. "It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The Stormcloak chose this time to speak. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," he said.

The Imperial soldier driving the carriage turned around and said, "Be quiet back there!" He had taken his attention off of the exhausted horse, which had started slowing down and veering slightly off the stone road. The soldier turned back around, adjusting the reigns and cursing some more.

The prisoners took their attention off the Imperial and looked back at each other. The Stormcloak with the cloth tied across his mouth was gazing intently at the thief. The thief looked slightly unsettled, and rather nervously said, "What's wrong with you, huh?"

The Stormcloak across from Rhanna said, "Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, true High King." His voice was elevated and his tone was sharp.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? The leader of the rebellion," the thief said. He stared at Ulfric for a moment. Rhanna could tell that the thief was beginning to panic. He said, "But if they've captured you…oh, gods, where are they taking us?"

Nobody spoke for a few moments. Rhanna felt fear building up inside of her for the first time since she had been captured. Skyrim was at war with itself. The leader of Skyrim's rebels was sitting right next to her, in a prison carriage she had thought was travelling to a prison somewhere. Rebellion leaders aren't taken to prisons; rebellion leaders are taken to executioners. Rhanna's heart began to beat very fast and her stomach felt uneasy.

The thief began to murmur to himself. Rhanna couldn't understand what he was saying. After several minutes of this, the Stormcloak across from Rhanna looked over at the thief. She thought he was going to yell at him or tell him to be quiet, but when he spoke his voice was gentle. "What village are you from, horse thief?"

The thief looked confused and said, "Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," the Stormcloak quietly said. A small smile formed on his lips.

The thief looked down at his bloody hands for a moment. A tear escaped from one of his eyes and ran down his dirty face. "Rorikstead," he said. "I'm from Rorikstead." His voice broke as he finished speaking. He kept his head down as his body shook with silent sobs.

Rhanna turned her eyes away from the thief, afraid that she would lose her composure as well. She looked to her left, in the direction the wagon was travelling. She could see a small village, not far down the road. The first of the prisoner carts in the caravan had almost reached the front gates. Since there were no diverging paths between the carriage and the town, she figured that they had almost reached their destination. From somewhere up ahead, she heard an Imperial soldier yell, "General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!"

General Tullius, leader of the Imperial army, responded, "Good. Let's get this over with."

Rhanna's mouth went dry, and her body numb. She wasn't ready to die; not many people are when their time comes. But unlike most, there wasn't much Rhanna wished she had said. What you do is of much more importance than what you say. Rhanna had always worked her hardest and done her best to help provide for her crippled father and young brother. She'd always felt that her father appreciated what she did for him much more than anything she had said or would ever say—which, after today, would be nothing.

Rhanna's carriage reached the gate of the village much sooner than she'd have liked. The thief began praying to every god he could think of. "This is Helgen," said the Stormcloak across from Rhanna. "I used to come here often as a boy, to visit my uncle."

Rhanna didn't care what the place was called. She only cared what it represented—the end of her life. The carriage made its way down a narrow road in the center of the village. There were small, wooden houses on each side. The people of Helgen stood in silence on their porches as the caravan of prisoners passed through. Their solemn faces were made even more sinister by the dirt and grime that covered them. Small children watched through the windows of their homes, prohibited from coming outside by their parents. A young boy came running out of a house and down the steps to the shabby wooden fence that separated the road from his home. His dirty hands tightly grasped the sticks that made up the fence. His large brown eyes pierced Rhanna's blue ones. The boy's face was sad. The boy's mother had silently picked him up and carried him back inside, without even glancing at Rhanna or the other prisoners.

The boy made Rhanna's thoughts turn back to her brother. He was seven years old, probably about the same age as the boy by the fence.

The wagon turned right and entered the small town square. The carriages that had been in front of them had already left; there was only one other that entered the square behind them. The Imperial soldier driving the wagon guided the horse next to the wall on the opposite side of the square, and stopped. He got off the cart to open the gate on the back.

The Stormcloak to the left of Rhanna stood up as soon as the carriage stopped. "Let's go," he said. "We shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

There were at least 15 Imperial soldiers in the square. A few of them came over to take Rhanna and the others out of the carriages. As they all began to stand up, Rhanna noticed that the thief was shaking rather violently.

"No! No, we're not rebels," he shouted, as the Imperials guided him out of the wagon.

The Stormcloak spoke up from next to Rhanna. "Face your death with some courage, thief," he said.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake," the thief replied.

An Imperial soldier, a Redguard woman wearing an officer's helmet, shouted, "Step toward the block when we call your name! One at a time!"

Another Imperial soldier, a Nord man, stood next to the captain. He looked down at a roll of parchment in his hands and said, "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm." He had a distinct Nordic accent.

Ulfric, his mouth still bound, stepped forward toward the captain and the soldier, then turned and made his way to the other prisoners surrounding the stone block on the ground in the center of the square.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," said the Stormcloak next to Rhanna.

"Ralof of Riverwood," said the Imperial soldier with the list.

The Stormcloak left Rhanna's side for the center of the square.

"Lokir of Rorikstead," read the Imperial soldier.

Lokir, the thief, stepped forward. "No! I'm not a rebel," he said. "You can't do this!"

Lokir started running as fast as he could down the road that the carriages had entered the square on. He almost lost his balance because of the ropes around his hands, but he recovered and continued.

"Halt!" shouted the Imperial captain. Lokir kept running.

The Imperial captain signaled the archers standing near her. Rhanna's stomach twisted in anticipation of what was about to happen. One of the archers quickly nocked and released an arrow. It hit Lokir in the back of the neck. Lokir, who was still in motion when the arrow hit him, fell to his knees then on his stomach. He slid a meter or so along the road before coming to a complete stop on the ground. A puddle of blood quickly began to form underneath him. A choking sound came from his mouth. Lokir, the horse thief from Rorikstead, was dead.

The Imperial captain turned back to the crowd of prisoners, some of which were gazing fearfully at Lokir's body, while the rest clenched their jaws and kept their eyes pointedly fixed upon the ground in front of them.

"Anyone else feel like running?" said the captain. The square was filled with silence. "Good," she continued. "Please continue, Hadvar." She looked to the soldier standing next to her.

"Yes, captain," said Hadvar. He looked like he might be sick. He brought the paper up to read the next name. Rhanna noticed that his hands were slightly trembling.

Hadvar read through several more names, until Rhanna was the last prisoner left standing by the wagons. She allowed herself to hope that maybe her name wasn't on the list, and the Imperials would let her go. Or, she thought, maybe no one would notice her and she could sneak out behind some of the buildings on the edge of the wall.

Hadvar looked up at Rhanna, then back down to his list. He did this several times, then looked back up at her and said, "You there. Step forward."

Rhanna's heart sank and she knew that the only way out of this situation was death. She slowly stepped forward in front of Hadvar and the captain. Now that she was closer, she could better see the two soldiers' faces. The captain's eyes were cold and unforgiving, and she had a scowl on her face.

Hadvar didn't wear a helmet. He had the fair skin and light hair color typical of most Nords. Like the captain, he didn't look happy. He didn't have a scowl or cruel eyes, however; he looked tired.

Hadvar looked at Rhanna for a moment before asking, "Who are you?"

Rhanna hesitated. She didn't know where to tell the soldiers she was from. She had been born here in Skyrim, in the middle of nowhere, as her family was travelling to see some relatives living on the northern shores. Since then, however, she had never really stayed in one place for long, especially since leaving her father's house. She decided not to say where she was from.

"I am Rhanna," she said, sounding calmer than she felt.

Hadvar stared at her thoughtfully for a moment. "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman," he said. He could tell she was a Nord. He stared at her for a moment longer before jotting something down on his parchment with a red quill.

Hadvar turned to the captain. "Captain, what should we do?" he said. "She's not on the list."

The captain stared coldly at Rhanna. She said, "Forget the list. She goes to the block."

Hadvar opened his mouth and looked for a moment as if he wanted to protest, but decided better of it and said, "By your orders, Captain."

He turned back to Rhanna with his tired eyes and said, "I'm sorry." He paused for a moment and continued, "At least you'll die here, in your homeland."

The captain rolled her eyes and motioned for Rhanna to get moving. Rhanna, numb to her surroundings, walked to the center of the square like a ghost to join the other prisoners. She wondered how many other prisoners were innocent but about to die anyway, like her. She glanced over at Lokir the thief's body, still lying on the cobblestone street and a shiver went down her spine.

Hadvar and the captain, as well as many other Imperial soldiers, walked past Rhanna to stand with General Tullius and the headsman around the executioner's block. Once all the soldiers stood before the prisoners, Tullius began to speak.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," he said, staring directly at his subject of speech, "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."

Rhanna wondered briefly what the Voice was, but ultimately decided it didn't matter because she was about to die. That was the only thing that mattered.

A muffled grunt escaped Ulfric's mouth, but Tullius ignored it and continued with his speech. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace," he said.

A strange sound echoed in the valley. It was brief, but loud, and seemed to come from the mountains surrounding Helgen. All of the soldiers, as well as the prisoners, looked up to the skies and the mountains, wondering what could have made such a sound.

Hadvar spoke up from among the soldiers, giving voice to what everyone in the square was thinking. "What was that?" he said.

Tullius, undoubtedly curious but determined to complete the task at hand, answered, "It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," said the Redguard captain. She turned to a priestess—of which god or goddess Rhanna did not know—who was dressed in yellow robes. The priestess stood next to the headsman, who was dressed in dark leather and held a large and ominous axe in his hands. "Give them their last rites," she ordered the priestess.

The priestess began to recite the words she had been told to. They meant nothing to Rhanna. All she wanted to hear were the voices of her father and brother again.

A Stormcloak prisoner, who must have been from a different cart because Rhanna did not recognize him, interrupted the priestess. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with," he said. The priestess looked shocked.

He walked boldly up to the executioner's block, knelt down, and rested his head upon it. When the priestess didn't continue, and no one ordered her to, an Imperial solder walked up to the block and placed a small wooden box next to it.

From his place on the block, Rhanna heard the Stormcloak say, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

No one answered. No one moved. It seemed as if no one even breathed. The square was filled with the type of silence that is so quiet it can almost be heard. A wicked, crazed laugh came from the Stormcloak about to be executed.

The headsman raised his axe above his head, and swiftly brought it down over the prisoner's neck, and the Stormcloak's head rolled into the wooden box. The Stormcloak's maniacal laughter had continued until he died. The Redguard captain kicked the Stormcloak's body aside, and an Imperial soldier removed the wooden box, soaked with blood, and replaced it with a new one.

The prisoners began shouting insults and profanities at their captors. Rhanna remained silent, fearing that if she opened her mouth she would vomit.

The Redguard captain shouted, above the roar of the crowd, "Next, the Nord in the rags." She was pointing directly at Rhanna.

Rhanna's heart turned to ice. She stepped forward without really thinking about it. The blood was pounding in her ears, making her unable to hear anything else. She did notice that the soldiers and the prisoners were once again searching the skies and the mountains, and deduced that the strange sound must have echoed around the valley again. She didn't care.

Rhanna took her place, standing next to the block. She found herself staring at Hadvar, who was located on the opposite side of the block from her, partially concealed behind some other soldiers. She didn't have to wonder at the expression on his face—it was distinct pity.

She slowly knelt down, keeping her eyes fixed upon Hadvar's. He was her enemy, a member of the legion that was unjustly taking her life. But she was too scared to look anywhere else; all of the other faces wore expressions of anger, or disgust, or blatant indifference.

The Redguard captain violently pushed Rhanna forward, so that her chest and neck rested against the cool stone of the executioner's block. Rhanna stared up at the headsman. She wasn't scared anymore. She was out of time, and being frightened wouldn't change that.

The strange sound rang out once again, and this time Rhanna heard it. It was now obvious that it wasn't some unknown sound, but a deafening roar. From her place on the block, Rhanna could see a dark shape come out of the mountains behind the headsman. The headsman raised his axe above his head. The shape was getting larger and clearer. It looked like a massive, spiny bird without feathers.

The creature let out another loud roar, then swooped down and disappeared from sight for a brief moment. Rhanna's heart beat faster and faster. She had never seen or heard such a thing.

Just as the headsman was about to swing down with his axe, he was knocked off balance.

"What in Oblivion is that?" shouted General Tullius. The massive creature had landed on top of the stone guard tower behind the headsman, shaking the ground all around the square. Many of the soldiers and prisoners stumbled, some falling to the ground.

The creature gazed around the square for a very brief moment. Rhanna was paralyzed with fear, unable to move, even though every instinct in her body was screaming for her to.

She heard somebody yell, "Dragon!" She had only seen them in books; they were all supposed to be dead—extinct, or mythical. The dragon let out another fearsome roar, and in her peripheral vision Rhanna could see people—Imperials and Stormcloaks alike—running frantically from the square, searching for cover.

The dragon opened its mouth yet again. Rhanna quickly brought herself to her feet. She felt someone grab her wrists, which were still bound with rope, and pull her away from the block. She barely had time to recognize Hadvar as the one who had pulled her away before the dragon released a stream of fire behind them, causing a stone pillar to collapse. Rhanna jumped aside to avoid the crumbling stone, separating herself from Hadvar. There was smoke and dust everywhere; she couldn't see anything. She heard General Tullius ordering Imperials to get the townspeople to safety.

Rhanna started running. To where, she did not know. She only knew that she needed to find cover from the dragon and its flames. Smoke and dust entered her lungs, and she began coughing violently. Her ears were ringing, and she couldn't see well. She heard someone speak next to her.

"Come on, kinsman! The gods won't give us another chance!" She recognized the voice of Ralof, the Stormcloak who had been in the carriage with her. She ran to the sound of his voice, her arms out in front of her feeling for any sort of guidance. She felt her hands touch a stone wall, and started running along it to the right, toward Ralof's voice.

Suddenly, the wall stopped and her arms were once again extended into open air. She could see light in front of her and stepped forward. Someone grabbed her arms and pulled her forward. A door closed behind her. She was inside a guard tower. On her right she saw Ralof, and on her left was Ulfric Stormcloak. In front of her, she saw several of the Stormcloak prisoners lying on the floor, injured and bleeding.

She was overtaken by another coughing fit. In her mind, she knew that Ralof was right. A few moments ago she had resigned herself to death, but suddenly had been given a second chance. She didn't intend to waste it.