Boundless Roads

Chapter #1: Bound

Time and place didn't matter to me at that point. My head spinned as my eyes opened groggily. My hands were bound. The itch of the ropes both burned and tickled my raw wrists. I felt the sway of a carriage as a greyish light flooded my vision. Through my blurry eyes, I saw white snow against green pines. The world was covered in the fog of a winter morning. No, not winter, I realized; Skyrim.

We rode down a poorly paved path in the center of a wagon train. There were three others in the cart with me. My head tilted low, I looked out from under my brow to study my fellow prisoners. Across from me sat a young man who looked like the most typical Nord one could imagine. He was brawny, blonde-bearded, with long hair adorned with a single braid. He wore armor with a dark blue sash tied around it. I recognized the uniform, but in my current state I couldn't place it. Next to the soldier, a scrawny looking fellow with dark mutton chops twitched within his bonds. He was pale, but I could not discern whether it was from fear or illness. The third prisoner sat to my right. I stole a quick glance, noting that he was not only bound, but gagged as well. He was different than the other two, he wore furs and sat upright. He was a noble, that much was clear.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." The soldier said, looking at me. He had a sense of optimism about him, despite our dire situation. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." He nodded towards the sickly man.

I made no reply; my mind began to replay the events in which he stated as my memory became more clear. It started with my name: Sol. I was starting to remember things with a greater sense of clarity. I recalled sprinting through the hills near Bruma. I knew the Thalmor were tracking me, but I thought that I might find a hint of refuge in the wilds of Skyrim. The Thalmor were relentless though, especially when they discovered one of their own is a Talos worshiper. My fellow High Elves can really be quite awful when they put their mind to it. Thinking back to my pounding heart, aching lungs, and sore legs made me tired at the very idea of the chase. I didn't even remember getting caught. I must have been knocked unconscious before I even had the chance to know what was going on around me.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief said to the soldier. The fact that they were both bound must have given the frail man false courage against the man with twice his size. "Skyrim was fine until you came along," he continued. "Empire was nice and lazy. If it hadn't been for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He then turned to me, staring at me with bloodshot eyes. "You there. 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 soldier responded before I had the chase to retort.

The carriage picked up speed as the driver flicked the reigns and yelled: "Shut up back there!" The driver didn't even bother to turn his head. By his uniform and stature, I pegged him as an Imperial grunt. This was just another day of work for him.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief said as he gestured to the bound noble, defying the driver's order. The noble only grunted a response through his gag.

"Watch your tongue," the soldier scolded, "you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." That name, I knew it. He was a war hero, if my memory served - which at this point, I did not have the utmost confidence in said memory. As I had travelled through Cyrodiil, enroute to Skyrim, I had heard the mentioning of his name more and more. But my mind - at that time - had been focused on my own escape.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief exclaimed in exasperation. "You're the leader of the rebellion." The bloodshot eyes of the thief were met with a strong, harsh gaze from Ulfric. He didn't even need to speak to state his authority. The thief's presence diminished even more; it was not the Jarl's gaze however, but his own realization. "But if they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?" He asked the question, but he knew the answer.

"I don't know where we are going, but Sovngarde awaits." The soldier replied with solemn understanding.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening." The thief began to shake even more, so much that I wouldn't have been surprised if he pissed down his leg. He looked around frantically, fear ruling his gaze. I watched him, still remaining silent.

The soldier looked at him with surprising kindness in his eyes. "Hey," he said calmly, "What village are you from horse thief?"

"Why do you care?" The frightened man snapped.

The soldier maintained his sense of calm, with wisdom that was beyond his years. "A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," he stated.

The thief exhaled and look down for a brief moment. He shut his eyes and then opened them to meet the man beside him. "Rorikstead," the thief submitted, "I'm… I'm from Rorikstead." The fear had not left his eyes, but he had calmed down a bit.

On the horizon, not far from where the carriage rode, a small town rested within the pine trees of what I could only assume was Falkreath hold. Must be Helgen, I assumed. The gates that I assumed were usually inviting seemed like the gates of Oblivion. My heart pounded in my chest, but I didn't want to disgrace myself in the way my companion had. I decided to sit up; hold my head high. I'm a High Elf, after all. We are the most notoriously prideful bastards. We approached Helgen, and the gates seemed taller than ever.

"General Tullius, Sir! The headsman is waiting!" A soldier at the front of the wagon train yelled. You just had to say it, I cursed mentally.

"Good," said a gruff voice from a uniformed man, "Let's get this over with." The man, Tullius, wore the golden and red armor of an Imperial General. He rode atop a brown, thoroughbred warhorse, leading us into Helgen like livestock to the slaughterhouse.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!" The thief pleaded, as panic took him over once again.

The soldier glared at the leader ahead. "Look at him," he said mockingly, "General Tullius the Military Governor, and it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves. I bet they had something to do with this." My breath caught in my throat, and my head pounded heavier than ever. I abruptly looked down, assuming the position I had resolved not to keep. Why are they here? I frantically thought. I can't be that important to them. I'm just a Spellsword. I then looked to the man to my right, Ulfric Stormcloak, supposed "High King of Skyrim." He was the reason we were here, and it was foolish of me to think anything else.

The cart's wheels road through frozen dirt within the center of the town. We passed houses, inns, and shops. The citizens of the town had stepped away from their daily activities in order to watch this parade of doom; most likely out of curiosity rather than the morning's evertainment. "This is Helgen," the soldier stated, "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." He looked up at the stone structures that stood towering over the small wooden frames of the town's buildings. "Funny," he mused, "when I was a boy, Imperial walls used to make me feel safe."

I inhaled the brisk air of a morning and looked about. In the distance, I heard a conversation between a boy and his father. They sat on their porch, observing the comotion we made as we paraded through the town. "Who are they, daddy?" the boy asked, "Where are they going?"

The father responded to him with a stern, but kind tone. "You need to go inside, little cub."

"Why?" the boy responded innocently, "I want to watch the soldiers."

The father responded in a much harsher voice. "Inside the house. Now!" The boy then, much to my relief, conceded.

We neared a tall parapet, and the wagons began to slow down. I heard the barking of a particularly mean looking Imperial Captain. "Get these prisoners out of the carts," she ordered, "Move it!"

"Why are we stopping?" asked the thief in his weakest voice yet; desperation in his eyes.

The soldier responded with calm boldness. "Why do you think?" he said. "End of the line."

Dear Reader,

Welcome to chapter one of Sol's adventures! I hope you have enjoyed this retelling of Skyrim's prologue. Writing this part almost felt like writing a novelization, haha. This part is definitely a bit familiar, but I decided to start at the very beginning to tell this story. But as we all know from playing the game, once Helgen is escaped, the world becomes our own. I have the second chapter written, but I would like to ensure that the third is written before I post it. But in the meantime, feel free to let me know what you think! I am always up for constructive criticism and encouragement is more than welcome. Thanks!

-Kovecs