Author's Note: This is my first passable fanfic, and I'm kinda exited. I really hope to finish it - I have it planned out and everything (for the most part), and the setting will give me a lot to work with! My goal is to have a super-epic story that is driven both by the Skyrim questlines and Riku's and Sora's relationship. This could take a while... but I will stick to it, nose to the grindstone and all that. Please review, and thank you for reading!

Chapter Summary: We get introduced to Skyrim and get a little hint as to the backstory behind our hero's capture. Then things heat up a bit.

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Sadly, I do not own any of these characters or settings... I cannot make money off of this. If only.

"Hey, you!"

The male voice was the first thing his brain registered as he struggled to regain consciousness. The second thing was the throbbing ache, gradually growing more and more painful. Damn, that hurt. Did it really take that much force to knock someone out? He reached up to rub away the haze from his eyes- only to find with a bit of surprise that his hands were bound together. This discovery spurred him into wakefulness, and his eyes flew open despite the bright light of day. He was moving, in a horse-drawn cart. They were passing through a pine forest along an Imperial road. The man who had spoken was sitting across from him. He looked to be a Nord, from what the prisoner could tell – native to Skyrim, with pale skin and fair hair, bearded and brawny. He wore a soldier's armor and a deep blue mantle, and had obviously fared worse at the hands of their captors; his arms were mottled with bruises and mud, and his eyes were weary, their gleam all but gone.

"You're finally awake," the Nord said to him. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

For the first time he noticed there were two other captives besides himself and the soldier – a tall, seasoned, shaggy-haired man wearing a fur mantle and clothes that looked like they could have belonged to one of the nobility back home, apart from the mudstains, and another, thin and hollow-faced with ragged clothes, who must have been the thief. The noble was gagged, unlike any of the other captives.

"You're young to be travelling the long roads alone, lad." The soldier was eyeing him keenly.

The prisoner shrugged, then winced inwardly as he realized how sore his body was. "I made it this far," he replied, resenting his captors for the unexpected interruption of his journey.

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy," said the thief in almost a growl, addressing the soldier. "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there– " here he turned to the boy, "you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The Nord's retort was calm, but his glare belied the tone of his voice.

There came a bark of "Shut up back there!" from the Imperial Legion soldier driving the cart.

The thief ignored him and turned to the gagged noble instead. "And what's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue!" This time, the Nord did not conceal his anger. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

"Ulfric? 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 dullness returned to the soldier's eyes. "I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

The other man began to panic at this, trembling like a leaf and rambling to himself. The youth didn't feel much better, though he gave little sign of it – what could he say to prove he wasn't a rebel?

"Hey, where are you from, lad?"

The Nord's question took him aback, but when he glanced up to meet his gaze the look in the man's eyes was soft, reassuring. "I'm from the Imperial City, in Cyrodiil."

"You've come a long way." The older prisoner gave a bit of a smile. "Keep your home in your thoughts, when we go."

The cart was approaching a settlement gate, built of wood and stone in the rustic style of Skyrim's settlements. Imperial archers patrolled the covered rampart and looked down at the prisoners with hard and pitiless expressions. As they passed under the arch, the youth surveyed his surroundings, looking for clues as to the Imperials' intent. The settlement was large enough, with several houses arranged around a stone keep and circular tower that dominated the area. The soldiers were everywhere, clad in their distinctive red uniforms under their leather or steel armor. Just beyond the gate stood a grim, grey-haired man wearing gilded armor that set him clearly above the other Legionnaires.

"That's the commanding officer?" the young prisoner asked.

"Aye, General Tullius, the Military Governor." However the Nord was looking at a group of figures just beyond the General, clad in exotic black robes patterned with gold. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

Clearly this was a day of significance – both faction leaders of the civil war were present, and representatives of the Aldmeri Dominion as well – suddenly the boy knew with a sick, sinking feeling that there was little chance of being able to talk his way out of the Legion's hands.

Recognition dawned on the Nord's face as he glanced about him. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here." He turned back to face the boy directly. "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Get these prisoners out of the carts! Move it!"

"Whoa!"

The other carts that had been in the caravan with them had already pulled up and their shackled occupants were being unloaded. The General had moved to stand near the fort, next to the masked headsman who was leaning on his wicked, long-bladed axe, silent and waiting. The boy felt his stomach churn, and he gripped the wooden bench of the cart to steady himself. In front of the headsman – he caught sight of it before he could stop himself, and cursed himself and the fate that had brought him here – was the block, a simple stone object with an indent on one side for a head to rest in, and unlike the axe, it had not been cleaned.

"Let's go," the Nord said quietly, standing up. "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." He seemed resigned to his fate, almost content, as if the inevitability of his death gave him comfort. The boy hoped that if he was to die as well, he could have the same courage. He set his jaw and stood up beside the soldier.

The thief, however, was not nearly so calm. "No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

"Face your death with some courage, thief." The disgust in the other man's voice was plain as they descended in two large steps out of the cart.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

His voice was cut short by another, haughty and brisk, which belonged to a woman in steel Imperial armor, a lower officer. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!" A man next to her cleared his throat and examined a large leather-bound book, quill poised at the ready to mark off their names. This was it. The prisoner took deep breaths, trying to reassure himself that he would be able to explain, if he could just talk to someone in charge. But it was all he could do to keep his legs under him.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The man's voice was solemn, condemning even in its recognition of the tall dark man's rank. As Ulfric stepped forward, still silenced by his gag, the soldier looked after him reverently. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." The boy couldn't help but look on with admiration as well, so confident and proud was the step of Windhelm's ruler.

"Ralof of Riverwood." He felt a bit shocked when the Nord soldier beside him responded to the name; in the time he'd been awake, he'd formed a strange bond with the talkative, courageous Stormcloak, though it had been mere minutes. Without his presence, the youth felt an icy claw of fear clutching his insides.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

The thief panicked, shouting "No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" before breaking into a run, making for the gate they had entered through.

"Halt!" the captain cried, before throwing a signal to the ready sentries. The boy watched in horror, unable to tear his eyes away as the fleeing figure gave a weird lurch in midstride and fell forward, an arrow protruding from between his shoulderblades. This world was very different from the Imperial City, real and deadly.

The captain crossed her arms in satisfaction. "Anyone else feel like running?"

"Wait." The Legionnaire beside her had looked up from his record book. "You there, step forward." The boy turned to find the man addressing him. Setting his jaw, he did as he was bidden, trying to compose himself.

"You weren't added to the list. Who are you?"

When he spoke, his voice sounded far braver than he felt. "Riku Turrianus, of the Imperial City."

"From the capital?" The man examined him keenly. "What business does a lad from Cyrodiil have with the Stormcloaks?"

Riku took a deep breath. This was it. "I'm not with the Stormcloaks. I'm the secondborn of House Turrianus; My father, Ashtus, is a member of the Elder Council. I was travelling to Riften to visit my kin. Your ambush caught me as I was passing by!"

The captain's eyes narrowed. "You're asking us to believe that you are the son of one of the most powerful families in the Empire, and that you traveled here from Cyrodiil alone, a boy of no more than twenty?"

The boy realized she had a point – had he been travelling under normal circumstances, his family would certainly have hired a bodyguard or arranged for him to join a trade caravan. He had no way to prove his claim, unless –

"The sword I had bears the crest of my House; two crossed keys on a sable shield."

The list-keeper looked at his superior, who was weighing the information silently. However she quickly reached a decision. "Mark him down, Hadvar. He remains in custody until we can get more evidence."

"By your orders, captain," the man called Hadvar replied, as Riku released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"Now follow me, boy. Make any move towards the other prisoners and you'll be the next on the block."

With that the captain turned and marched up towards the keep, where the other prisoners were gathered. Riku took a stand a little ways from Ralof, the soldier from his cart, as the captain indicated. At the front of the small group of ragtag captives stood Jarl Ulfric, facing General Tullius, proud and upright even in the face of the death that Riku had just narrowly escaped. The General stepped forward to address the leader of the rebellion directly, voice grim and grey eyes hard as steel.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. 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." The other man responded at this point, but whatever he said was too muffled to hear through the rough cloth gag. Tullius's voice rose so that all around could hear, as he declared in condemnation "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace!"

As the echoes of the General's voice died, a strange rumble floated down from the mountains, sounding like a far off gust of wind or the roar of the sea in a storm. It was unlike anything the youth had ever heard, and he looked around in wonder. It seemed that all Helgen could hear it as well, for there were murmurs among the sentries, and all turned their heads this way and that, looking up at the white peaks.

Tullius had little patience for the strange sound. "It's nothing. Carry on."

"Yes, General Tullius," the captain said with a salute before turning to a priestess nearby that Riku hadn't noticed. "Give them their last rites."

The priestess lifted her hands to the sky and began to recite in an airy, far-away voice. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved- "

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with!"

She glared at the prisoner who had spoken, who was apparently to be the first to die. "As you wish!"

The condemned man didn't seem to care. As he was marched to the block, he threw a haughty smirk at General Tullius. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

And the headsman's axe lifted high.

The youth squeezed his eyes shut as the sickening crunch reached his ears. Various cries of outrage or approval from the villagers echoed about him, but all that ceased to matter as he suddenly felt his stomach churn and his legs turning to jelly. He had never been this close to death, never seen the brutal and abrupt ending of another life like this. It was disgusting, humiliating, terrifying.

"Next, Ralof of Riverwood!" barked the captain. Before anyone could make a move, however, the strange sound from before echoed about them once again, just as distinct and unfamiliar. It almost sounded closer this time.

"There it is again," said the record-keeper. "Did you hear that?"

"I said, next prisoner!"

Ralof was escorted to the block by one of the guards. Riku's heart was in his throat, wishing that he could do something to avert the man's fate; rebel or not, he was a good man. But if he made any move to save the Nord, he would only get caught and be condemned to the same fate. So he stood helplessly as the man was forced to his knees beside the headless body of the other Stormcloak soldier. The headsman raised his axe again, stained crimson from the previous victim's lifeblood, and then –

And then a black mass, as big as a house, descended onto the top of the stone tower in front of them, and the ground shook with the force of its weight. Nearly everyone fell to the ground, and as Riku got to his feet, he gazed with awe and fear at the creature. It was huge, its armored body covered in spiky horns and crests, its head triangular and sinister. Two red eyes gleamed with malice, and it raised its head on its long serpentine neck to the clouds. It roared into the sky, unleashing some strange inborn power with what sounded like words in an ancient tongue, and fireballs began to rain down from the stormclouds that had suddenly gathered. The dragon – for that is what it had to be, though the youth had always believed that dragons were nothing but an old legend – spread its huge wings and launched itself from the keep tower with a few powerful beats that sent the weakened boy off of his feet again.

He lay there on the hard packed earth, too stunned to move. It all seemed too crazy to be real, from the Imperial ambush to the smell of burning wood and straw about him. The noise was deafening. Between the shouts of the archers and officers, the screams of Helgen's populace, the roars of the dragon, and the explosions of the flaming meteors, the boy could hardly think.

"Hey, Imperial, get up! Come on, the gods won't give us another chance!"

It was Ralof. The soldier caught hold of Riku's arm and pulled him upright. The boy felt a surge of gratitude towards him, this kind man who had treated him almost like kin. Ralof had somehow rid himself of his bindings and was holding a steel war axe in his right hand.

"Let's get to the tower," he cried. There was sense in that; the stone tower was much more protective than the houses which – well, most were in flames and a few had completely collapsed already. As Riku looked on at the scene, he caught sight of one of the village men, sword in hand, running to join the fight, and SNAP –– the youth jumped violently as the villager disappeared, leaving only his sword, clattering on the cobblestones. The act shocked him into action and he turned to flee into the tower before the hell-sent monster could make another pass.

Only once he was in the tower with the door shut behind him did he realize how fast and desperately his heart was beating. Ulfric Stormcloak was there, along with Ralof and a few other prisoners who had made it.

"Jarl Ulfric, could the legends be true?" one of them asked.

The tall broad-shouldered man looked grimly at the speaker. "Legends don't burn down villages." He turned to face them all. "We can't stay here; the dragon is too powerful. We must escape, or face death."

"Aye, if not by the beast, then by the axe of the Imperial Legion!" Ralof added.

One of the other men broke in with "Hey, this one is still bound," at which Riku felt a surge of relief and gratitude. The bindings were very uncomfortable. He found Ulfric himself turning to him with a steel dagger in hand. "Hold still, lad." The leather strip was soon cut and unwound, and the youth rubbed his wrists gingerly, glad for the freedom.

"Alright men, let's split up and get out of this inferno," the Jarl commanded, standing by the door with drawn sword. "Stay out of the open and keep to the stone walls when you can."

Riku nodded with the other men and steeled himself.

The door opened and the men began to file through, Ulfric leading them with the presence and calm of a great leader. It was no wonder he had rallied so much of Skyrim to his cause. They spread out as they issued forth, running quickly. The Imperial sentries that Riku could see beyond the wooden doorframe were firing arrows at the dragon, too preoccupied to notice the rebels.

"Come on then," Ralof said beside him, and ran out.

The lad took a deep breath to steady himself, and was about to spring forward when his thoughts were interrupted by a loud clanging sound, like a single bell tone, harsh and loud, which was accompanied by a flash of purple light. He whirled around to see a ball of violet flames expanding in the center of the room, making the air about it shimmer with magical energy. As the sphere expanded Riku could see that beyond the swirling patterns of fire there was only void, where he expected to see the stone walls of the tower; the nothingness was so black that it hurt his eyes to look into it. As he watched, transfixed in place, he thought he could distinguish a figure emerging from the void, and before the thought even completed itself in his mind the magical ball exploded, leaving in its place a tall, dark-skinned man with white hair that fell straight down his back; he wore a black and white trenchcoat complete with boots gloves, all made entirely of the finest leather and silks. The floor about the figure was blackened as if it had been burned, and tendrils of purple flames were still writhing on the floor all about. The man fixed his startling yellow eyes on Riku and gave a wide smile that made the boy suddenly more afraid than any dragon could have. It was a smile of triumph and control.

"Well met, Dragonborn."

There was no question as to who the stranger was speaking. Despite being overwhelmed by the day's events and unsettled by the tall man's gaze, Riku stood his ground and summoned the calm, lofty façade that he had developed as Heir of House Turrianus. "Who are you?"

"I?" the man repeated, sounding a bit amused. "I am Ansem, Seeker of Darkness. In this case, however, I seek something more." His smirk grew wider as he continued. "Namely, your… allegiance."

The boy frowned. "My allegiance? If you hope to gain influence in the Imperial City, then you'd do better to -"

Ansem's scornful laughter cut him short. "Oh, this is incredible. Do you know nothing of your power, boy? Your destiny?" The moment of silence as the boy searched for an answer was all the confirmation that the dark-skinned man needed. "You have not yet unlocked your true potential. Indeed it would have been impossible, had you not been here today. The chain of events you saw beginning today is far greater than you may ever realize, and you are the key to all of it."

"Me?" This was getting stranger by the second. If someone had told him he was dreaming, Riku wouldn't be surprised; actually, that idea was appealing come to think of it. Dreams were naturally strange, and reality was calm and sane. "That's impossible."

"You know nothing of what is possible," Ansem scoffed. "There are forces stirring that have been stuff of legend for centuries, forces you cannot comprehend."

"You mean the dragon?"

"The dragon?" His tone was still mocking, but he rubbed his head in disbelief. "You understand so little." He looked up and took a step forward, suddenly intimidating, towering over the youth. "You are DRAGONBORN, boy, like the emperors of old! You were born as a counterbalance to the dragons, a check to their power. You, with the power you wield, can bend the dragons into submission."

Riku was starting to get annoyed. The stranger was too confident, and he himself still had no idea what the man was talking about. "I've never even heard of a 'dragonborn' before, so how could I possibly be one?"

"It's in your blood, waiting to be unlocked." Ansem smirked again. "The being that sent me here told me it was you. The fact that the dragon is attacking this village only proves it further."

So the dragon attack – it was his fault? The attack was – still going on around him, actually. He began to notice again the roars and screams and explosions that he had somehow overlooked for the past few minutes. He wondered if they were safe here, but as he glanced again at Ansem he found the man didn't seem to care about the world outside, and kept his piercing golden eyes fixed on Riku. As if on cue, there was a deafening smash and the top of the tower was rent open by some powerful force, and the stone bricks began to descend upon them. The boy's mind was suddenly emptied but for a single thought: Well, I guess I'm going to wake up now. Ansem's form loomed over him and his hand gripped Riku's arm painfully tight– and there was only darkness afterwards.

Strange dreams troubled him as his mind drifted in the void, dreams that melded into one jumbled mess. Many things drifted to and from the forefront of his mind. Colors swirled, and there were many voices. He could afterwards recall certain things, which seemed to have some kind of importance that eluded him: Ansem's voice, saying "You understand so little." A great hall of stone and wood, tall and impressive. The black nightmarish dragon that had attacked, staring at him with red eyes that were filled with loathing and… caution? Fear? An old ruin, set upon a mountainside below great stone arches. An elf dressed in black, who sneered disdainfully at Riku before turning to… someone beside him, Riku couldn't turn to see who it was. A man who looked like Ansem but with had pale skin, who was giving Riku the same hungry, wolfish look that the other man had. The images became briefer- a ruined ship, his father's face, a grove of trees in their autumn colors, Ansem's laugh, and lastly and most hauntingly a pair of deep blue eyes filled with terror.

When he regained consciousness, the first thing he heard was the sound of running water. At first he thought he had fallen asleep again by the courtyard fountain back at home, but as he sat up confusedly he suddenly remembered everything. Riku looked around to find himself on the bank of a river, grassy and surprisingly comfortable. A far cry from Helgen. He must have been dreaming, and simply forgotten how he got to… wherever this was. The thought was relieving, and he let out a sigh of gratitude –

"Welcome back."

He jumped violently and whirled around to find Ansem standing behind him, arms crossed and still wearing traces of that trademark unsettling grin. Dammit, he thought as his world seemed to shatter again. So much for dreaming. He glared daggers at the man, whose smile only widened.

"Where have you taken me?" Riku growled.

"To the doorstep of your destiny."

"I don't care about destiny!" He released all of the pent up anger that had been festering since he had woken on the cart with Ralof. "I don't want anything to do with wars, or dragons, or power, or creepers from Oblivion! I'm travelling to Skyrim to live my life – how I want to live it!"

The man only chuckled. "Riku, you have no choice." He suddenly leered into the youth's face, his hands grasping the boy's shoulders to prevent his escape. Riku's anger remained, and he stared defiantly into the twin yellow pools that filled his vision. Ansem's voice dropped to an ominous whisper as he declared "If you do nothing, Skyrim will fall to the dragons' return. You are the only one who can turn their power against them. The last Dragonborn."

With that he straightened, saying "Think on that, Riku, and know that I will be watching you." He then turned away, leaving the boy feeling conflicted and confused. Riku barely registered Ansem conjuring another portal of purple flames about three yards away. The strange man looked over his shoulder, his dark face constrasting sharply with his long white hair, and offered another one of his unsettling smirks before disappearing into the void. The portal crackled and dwindled out of existence, leaving the boy alone.

Author's Note: Sorry to cut it short there, but the next bit isn't finished enough to post yet! The next updates should be getting progressively longer as the plot develops. Hope the first part didn't bore you to tears, especially if you've played Skyrim before. Again, a huge THANK YOU for reading, and please review!