"Oh, good, you're finally awake."
Baldr opened his eyes slowly. The speaker was a young man, probably in his early thirties. He spoke with a thick Nordic drawl. His blonde hair glowed in the afternoon light. He had on traditional Nordic battle armor over the blue uniform that marked him as a Stormcloak soldier. A rebel.
Shaking his head slightly to clear, Baldr looked around. He was sitting in the back of a horse-drawn wagon. Curiously, he looked to the front. The man driving, as well as the men escorting them on horseback, were wearing the same armor as the Stormcloak, but over a red and brown uniform. They were Imperials. Servants of the Emperor of Cyrodiil.
Glancing down, he saw that his hands were bound.
"You were trying to cross the border, weren't you? Got caught in the ambush. Same as us, and the elf and that thief over there," said the Stormcloak. "My name's Ralof, by the way. Ralof of Riverwood."
"Baldr," he replied. "of..."
It was strange. For some reason, he couldn't remember the name of the town he grew up in. All of a sudden, he realized that apart from his name, he couldn't remember anything about himself at all. He still knew how the world worked. He knew that the sun was hot and the sky was blue and Stormcloaks killed Imperials and Imperials killed Stormcloaks. But about himself, about who he was? Nothing.
"Are you alright?" Ralof was looking at him concernedly.
"Yeah...I'm fine." He said. At that, the thief looked up.
"No, you're not fine! You and me, and I guess the elf, too; We shouldn't be here. Its these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." His voice turned bitter. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Empire was nice and lazy before you came along. I would have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell if it wasn't for you." His eyes traveled to man in very back of the wagon. Baldr followed his gaze. The man sitting there was the only one among them who was gagged as well bound
"Who is that, anyways?" the thief asked.
"Be careful with your tone, horse thief," Ralof cautioned. "That there is Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim."
Ulfric Stormcloak... so that's why he was gagged. Ulfric was the Jarl of Windhelm, the capital of Eastmarch Hold, where the rebellion was centered. It, along with the three other eastern holds, were demanding Skyrim's independence from the Empire. The four western holds, backed by Imperial troops, were staunchly resisting. Only Jarl Balgruf of Whiterun, the center of Skyrim, remained neutral. Ulfric had taversed all across Skyrim to the northern capital of Solitude, and killed High King Torygg. This in and of itself was not what angered the Imperials. Ulfric had abided by all the laws and customs of a duel challenge and King Torygg had accepted fairly. No, what angered the Imperials was that Ulfric had been secretly developing the use of the Thu'um. The Thu'um, or Voice, was an ability to speak in the ancient tongue of the now extinct Dragons. This language was so powerful that it could be used to create, alter, and destroy the world around oneself, just by speaking. Ulfric had literally killed King Torygg by shouting at him.
At the mention of the Jarl, the thief started.
"Ulfric Stormcloak? You're the leader of the rebellion!" His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "There's no mercy for a traitor. Where are they taking us?"
Ralof looked down a the ground darkly. "I'm not sure where exactly, my friend, but wherever it is, Sovngarde awaits."
"No!" said the thief angrily. "This can't be happening! This isn't happening!"
Grim-faced, Baldr turned to the woman sitting beside him. She was wearing mage robes and her pointed ears marked her as an elf. "What about you? What's your story?"
The elf continued staring in silence.
Ralof grunted. "Don't bother. I gave up trying to get her to talk long before you woke up. I suppose she won't deign to talk to petty humans." He grimaced.
"Who cares about that?" the thief moaned. "We're going to die! Oh Akatosh, help us!
They continued on for a while in this fashion, Ralof and Baldr and the elf in silence, Ulfric gagged, and the thief in constant complaint. Baldr had just turned around to tell him to shut up, when Ralof spoke.
"What village are from, horse thief?" he asked in a voice that was almost gentle.
"What do you care?" the thief snapped.
Ralof sighed. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."
The thief's face softened. He looked away, deep in thought. Baldr thought he wasn't going to answer, when he stared straight at Ralof and said, "Rorikstead. I'm Lokir of Rorikstead."
Ralof nodded. He opened his mouth to say something, when the wagon suddenly stopped.
"What's going on?" Lokir asked. "Why are we stopping?"
Ralof turned to look at him. "Why do you think? End of the line."
The Imperial soldier at the front ordered them all out of the wagon.
"Oh, Dibella, no, I don't want to die!" Lokir cried. "This is all a misunderstanding! We're not with you! You have to tell them!"
Ralof stared at him, stone-faced. "Face your death with some courage, thief."
As Baldr got out of wagon and looked around, the stone houses and watchtowers around him looked familiar. We're in Helgen, in Falkreath Hold! He realized. But...how do I know that? As he stared into the angry and fearful faces of the gathered crowd, he didn't recognize any. But the walls and buildings he looked at were so familiar, like a friend he had once known but had now forgotten. His thoughts were broken by the Imperial captain of the guard's shouting voice.
Now, the captain of the guard was not exactly a very authoritative position in the army. But that didn't stop her from acting like it.
"Prisoners! Out of the carriage! Stand in line, double file! Hadvar, identify these worms!"
The guard named Hadvar rolled his eyes, but stepped forward. He stopped in front of Ulfric and smiled grimly.
"Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm," he said. At the mention of the Jarl, the crowd booed and hissed. Ralof muttered obscenities back at them under his breath.
Hadvar crossed over to Lokir. He looked at the thief and then back down at his list. "Lokir of Rorikstead. You're a wanted man in the Empire."
At that, Lokir scowled. "Yes, for stealing horses and other such petty crimes. I need not be tried with the likes of them." He jerked his head towards Ulfric.
Hadvar looked at Lokir in slight amusement. "Sorry. We're not taking prisoners today." Lokir glared at the ground. Hadvar went on to the next in line, the elf.
"Hello elf. You're not with the Thalmor Embassy are you?"
The elf remained silent.
"I thought not."
Hadvar wrote something on his sheet and moved onto Ralof. There he stopped, as if mildly surprised to see Ralof there.
"Hello, Ralof, my old friend. I see the burden of being a traitor has finally caught up with you," he said softly.
Ralof shook his head. "The only traitors here are ones who decided to fight for a Emperor who cares nothing for Skyrim."
Hadvar looked angry but said nothing. Slowly, he moved on to the next person in line - Baldr. He glanced at Baldr, and then down at his sheet. Once again he scrutinized Baldr. Confused, he turned back towards the captain.
"Captain! What do we do? He's not on the list," Hadvar asked.
"Forget the list. He goes to block," the captain answered arrogantly.
Smiling apologetically, as if he was doing Baldr a minor inconvenience, Hadvar moved on to the next Stormcloack soldier.
Thunder suddenly crackled in the sky. Baldr looked up, surprised. The weather was perfectly clear. He glanced at Lokir and Ralof. Both of them looked as confused as he felt.
Hadvar was shifting his weight nervously. "Captain, what should we-"
"Continue on! We won't let a little thunder scare us, now will we, Hadvar?" the captain sneered.
Hadvar scowled but moved down the line, calling out names and checking them off. He got to the end and looked back.
"Finished, Captain."
The captain nodded. "Guards, escort the prisoners to the block."
Stumbling, Baldr felt himself being pushed and shoved to the chopping block. He tried to see if he could wriggle his way out of the ropes. A blow to the head stopped him.
The first man to be called was a Stormcloak Baldr didn't know. He marched up without prompting from the guards. Yet even as he marveled at the man's courage, Baldr noticed the thunder had gotten louder. This is no ordinary weather, he thought.
The Imperial priest began to read the divine blessings, but was quickly interrupted.
"Hurry up with this," the soldier said impatiently. Baldr had to admire his spirit. "I haven't got all day, you know!"
"As you wish," the captain muttered. She kicked him into a kneeling position. The axeman swung, up, down, and just like that, a man's head went rolling along the ground. The crowd cheered and laughed.
Baldr was infuriated. "You monsters! How can you rejoice in death? Even the killing of the most grievous enemy should be met with solemnity!"
For a minute, no one spoke. Then the captain smirked. "That was a pretty little speech. For that, you will go next."
The guards grabbed Baldr and shoved him down. He looked up and stared at the axeman, at the shadowy hood that covered his face. The axe was just beginning to swing up when he saw it. Rising out from behind clouds, flying so fast, faster than the fastest hawk, larger than a mammoth. With a magnificent roar, it landed heavily on the castle keep.
The impact cause a shockwave to ripple throughout the ground. The axeman stumbled and fell. And Baldr was left staring into the eyes of a living, breathing, dragon.