Author's Note

Alright, let me start off by saying that while this is my first actual fanfic, I am no stranger to writing. That said, I am unused to writing in first person, and will welcome any feedback with open arms.

This Skyrim Fanfic is the first entry in a series centered around three Nord brothers - Ivar, Edric, and Beric. I intend to create multiple series, each one focused around a major questline - the Main Quest, the Companions, the College, the Thieves Guild, the Dawnguard, and so on. This particular story is centered around the main questline, and will be told mostly from Ivar's perspective.

If this particular chapter appears to be too long or overwrought, I apologize. I'm trying to achieve a balance between establishing the brothers' backstory, Ivar's own thoughts and feelings, and the events of the game itself. If I brought too much or too little attention to a certain area, I apologize. Please offer a suggestion on what you want to see more of, or what needs to be toned down.

So without further ado, let's begin. This chapter is a prologue, and will deal with the arrival in Helgen. Though I have altered the events and dialogue somewhat in order to make the situation feel more natural, and the characters more reasonable. I'm not looking to dramatically alter the events of the story. If you find it to be too boring, don't worry; the next chapter will be more action-packed.


Prologue

"Ivar, wake up."

Edric's voice, combined with his insistent nudging, was enough to wake me from my slumber. Though once I woke, I could not understand how I had ever fallen asleep in the first place.

The first thing I realized was that we were being transported on some sort of cart - the uncomfortable wood dug into my back, and I was jolted up and down by the uneven cobbled road. The second thing I noted was the chill in the air. It was early Spring, and we Nords had a natural resistance to the cold, but it was still enough to add to my discomfort. The third thing I noticed was that my hands were bound.

Memories came rushing back. Fleeing from Bruma with my brothers. Evading the Thalmor agents. Stopping at a nearby village. A stranger leading us to a secret pass across the border. Fighting our way through the trap he had prepared for us. Entering Skyrim. Finding a road. Approaching another village. Imperial Legionnaires appearing on all sides.

Wait... that wasn't right. It was the Thalmor who enforced the Talos ban, and besides, why would such such a large force be hunting Talos worshipers so deep in enemy territory? The land was enveloped in civil war!

Yet, as I took further stock of my surroundings, I soon realized that I was not mistaken. It was an Imperial Soldier who drove the cart, and Imperial Soldiers who rode alongside us, ensuring that none of us would make a desperate attempt to leap out. I noted there were no shackles to secure our feet to the cart itself. These were not prisoner carts; they must have been commandeered from merchants or farmers.

I looked to my younger brother. Edric Night-Flame, he was called, and he was three years younger than me. He was gifted with magical talent, which we first discovered when we caught him practicing his spells late at night. As for me, I was Ivar Ironfist. Before Edric had his magic, he was frequently picked on as a child. In one case I defended him against three larger boys. My fists broke two noses and blackened three eyes.

Naturally, because we were brothers, we were similar in appearance - our hair was blond, our noses the same length, our eyes the same shade of green, but there were some noticeable differences. Where my hair was medium length, almost reaching my shoulders, Edric's was short. Where I had a short beard, Edric was cleanshaven. Where I was tall and well-muscled, Edric was - at least by Nordic standards - slim.

There were others in the cart as well, perhaps half a dozen. My older brother Beric was not among them, which was both relieving and concerning at the same time. Four of them were dressed in blue, though I noticed that they wore chainmail underneath. Soldiers, and not Legionnaires - Stormcloaks? My eyes widened at the realization.

The other two were different - one was dark haired and filthy, wear the rags of a common beggar or criminal. The other was clad in a thick, expensive-looking fur cloak, with swept-back blond hair. He was also the only man with a gag around his mouth. He looked regal, despite his predicament.

As for Edric and I, I wore a simple grey shirt with a dark green vest and brown leather pants. Edric wore a plain green tunic and green pants, though his red scarf appeared to have been taken from him. We both wore leather boots, though mine were somewhat more worn than Edric's.

"You were trying to cross the border, you say?" One of the blue-clad soldiers, a man with blond hair even longer than mine and a thick Nordic accent, spoke up.

Edric nodded. "Yes, we walked right into their ambush." He spoke in his Bruman accent - an odd combination of Nordic and Cyrodillic speech. His voice was somewhat soft, though it was still masculine enough. He turned to face me. "Ivar, this is Ralof. He's with the Stormcloaks."

That revelation only confirmed what I already expected. There were more alarming questions. "How did they know?" I ventured, my own voice deeper than Edric's but still similarly accented. "The man who told us about that pass is dead, and so were the bandits he had a deal with. How could the Imperials know we were border jumpers?"

"They don't." The blond-haired man responded bluntly. "They think you might be rebels. They think Ulfric dressed up some of his soldiers in common clothes and had them march ahead of the main force to scout for ambushes. And even if you aren't rebels, I suppose they're afraid that you might have doubled back to warn us. The Imperial scum don't care if the common folk are caught in their path."

"Did you tell them we weren't rebels?" Edric asked, his voice tinged was mild panic. I too was afraid. We had escaped the Thalmor only to blunder into the clutches of the Legion. Out of the cooking pot and into the fire. Though perhaps it was the other way around - the Thalmor were worse.

"I did. Do you think they believed me?" Ralof asked in a flat tone. I shook my head in resignation as I pondered the uncertain future. Perhaps the Imperials would release my brother and I when they were safely in their own territory, where there was no fear of detection. Or perhaps they would execute us.

"Skyrim was fine until you came along..." a new voice spoke up in an accusatory tone - it was the man in rags. "The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He looked to me and my brother. "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." Another Stormcloaks retorted. Others glared at the thief. Ralof's expression was neutral.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief asked, nodding his head towards the gagged man.

"Watch your tongue!" The blond-haired man suddenly snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" He almost shouted, his voice half reverance and half anger.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief's voice broke, reaching a new level of fear. Edric gasped, and my own expression turned grim, though deep down I too was surprised. Just our luck; not only were we captured and bound, but we had also been captured alongside the most wanted man in the Empire.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof told the horse-thief.

As the thief continued to despair, I considered my options. I was no criminal. In fact, I was the opposite - I had been a city guard. My experience had more to do with capturing prisoners instead of helping them escape. Though the only restraints on us were the bindings on our wrists, I could see that the Imperials had taken every other precaution. There were at least eight outriders surrounding our cart alone, plus the driver, and I noticed at least two other carts on the road with us with additional outriders.

There was nothing stopping my brother from using his magic, but it alone might not be enough. It was said that Jarl Ulfric had the power of the Voice, but the gag around his mouth seemed to prevent him from doing so. Our hands were not bound behind our backs, so any one of us could try to pull the gag down, but it looked too tight to be pulled down quickly, and the Imperials had their eyes on us. There was no way out. All I could do was watch the pine trees pass by as the cart rolled onward.

"Hey, where are you three from?" Ralof asked, breaking the silence once more

"Why do you care?" Came the thief's immediate, somewhat suspicious thoughts response.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

"We're from Bruma." Edric spoke up.

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead." The thief answered reluctantly, with a trace of sadness.

Ahead, the walls of a town came into view, and the caravan came to a stop before its gate. The man at the head of the convoy was an old man, clad in a bright red cloak, and wearing armor which marked him as a high-ranking officer, perhaps a Legate or a General. He rode his mount directly up to the gate.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" A faint voice called out as the gate swung open.

"Good. Let's get this over with." Came the General's response, as the gate swung open, and the convoy continued into the village. As we passed through the gate, I noticed the General veer off to go speak to... oh no. I felt a rage began to build up in my chest.

"Look at him, General Tullius the military governor." Our blond companion spoke up once again, his voice filled with disgust. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves, I bet they had something to do with this." There were three of them - two wore the the armor of common elven soldiers, while the third was a woman who wore the robes of a justiciar. I couldn't help myself - I spat as we passed them, as did two of the Stormcloaks in the cart with me. The Thalmor didn't notice, but Edric shook his head. I then realized that was a mistake - openly disrespecting the Thalmor would not help our case.

I couldn't help but notice a tranquil fury in Ulfric's eyes as he glared at the female High Elf, but it seemed to be directed at her specifically instead of all three.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh... Divines, please help me." The thief began to pray. I could emphathize with his concern over the fact that we were all about to die, but nonetheless his pleading was beginning to grate on the nerves.

Edric was silent. His panic was no longer visible, and his expression was just as resigned as mine. Was he thinking of home we abandoned? Of our parents, who were dragged away? Of Beric, who was nowhere to be seen?

Ralof, too, remained calm. "This is Helgen... I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with Juniper berries mixed in? Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." There were traces of wistfulness and nostalgia in his voice. I recalled that Helgen was a town close to the border - we would have passed through it had we entered Skyrim the legal way. It also held a substantial Imperial garrison.

"Who are they daddy? Where are they going?" I heard a child's voice speak up.

"You need to go inside, little cub." An older, sterner voice responded, likely the father.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

"Inside the house. Now."

The wagons came to a stop in the village center. I could see the headsman's block from here, situatied direclty in front of the tower. The horse thief, who had been sitting on the other side of the cart, could not. "Why are we stopping?" He asked.

"Why do you think? End of the line." Ralof said grimly, as the executioner stepped out of the tower with axe in hand.

"Get these prisoners out of the cart! Move it!" An authoritative female voice shouted.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the Gods waiting." Ralof spoke, looking at me.

"No, wait, we're not rebels!" The thief shouted in desperation as the rest of us rose to our feet.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof kicked the thief in the shin, and he too eventually rose to his feet.

"Tell them again, we weren't with you! This is a mistake." We began to step down from the cart, forming a line where an Imperial officer and her underling stood before us. Ralof was on my left, and Edric was on my right. I surveyed our surroundings once more - most of the horsemen were being led to the stables, but a few remained, and there were at least a dozen archers placed strategically around us. There was also a handful of infantryman, hands on their sheathed swords as they eyed us warily.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time!"

"Empire loves their damned lists." Ralof spat. I noticed his eyes were focused on the soldier holding the list, who returned his gaze. Yet their stares were not defiant; they both seemed to carry a trace of recognition.

"Do you two know each other?" I whispered to Ralof.

"Hadvar. We grew up in the same village." Ralof whispered back.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Hadvar finally spoke up, and the Jarl went forward.

"It has been an honour, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof declared solemnly.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

Wordlessly, Ralof went forward.

Hadvar continued down the list, until eventually there were only three of us left. Me, Edric and the thief. The soldier carrying the list looked confused for a moment, before he called out the next name. "Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Lokir shouted, but his pleas earned him no sympathy from the surrounding Imperials. Then, he did the unexpected: he ran.

He did not get far. "Archers!" The Imperial officer called out, before he had even taken ten steps. Within seconds, four of the archers had arrows notched and drawn. "Loose!" She shouted. One arrow missed the thief by an inch, embedding itself in the wood of a building. Another arrow struck the back of his knee. The final two embedded themselves in his back. He fell forward and slid, scraping his face, arms, and knees against the cobbles.

He would not get back up.

"Continue." The Captain spoke to her underling.

"Wait." Hadvar said, lowering the list as he turned back to my brother and I. "You two. Step forward."

Edric and I complied. "Who... are you? "He said after a long pause.

"Ivar and Edric, of Bruma." I answered.

"We aren't rebels, we were travellers who walked into your ambush. I swear it." Edric implored them.

"Captain, what should we do? They aren't on the list." Hadvar asked, turning to his superior.

"Forget the list. They go to the block." There was neither pity nor remorse in her voice.

"But Cap-" Hadvar began.

"Enough! Send them to the block or I'll have you flogged!" The Captain barked.

Hadvar was conflicted, but only took a few seconds for him to answer. "By your orders, Captain." Then he turned to us with sympathy. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your ancestral homeland."

That was not a comfort.

We walked forward, to where the rest of the prisoners had assembled. There were twenty of us overall. A large crowd had gathered. General Tullius's horse came trotting around the corner, and a few light cheers rang out. He ignored them and dismounted, walking directly towards us with his eyes set directly on Ulfric.

He came to a stop just a few paces before the rebelious Jarl. "Ulfric Stormcloak." He began. "Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a sacred power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne." Many in the crowd nodded, and one shouted 'here here!' General Tullius continued. "You started this war, and plunged Skyrim into chaos. Now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

There were more light cheers, which were cut off by a loud noise in the distance - the roar of some sort of animal. Perhaps a bear? But why was a bear so close to civilization? And why so loud?

"What was that?" Hadvar asked.

Tullius shook his head. "It's nothing. Carry on." He set a sideways glance towards me and Edric, with a quizzical look in his eye, no doubt due to how out-of-place we were, but then he turned away and took his place next to the headsman.

"Yes, General Tullius!" The all-too eager Imperial Captain shouted. She turned to the Priest, who wore the orange robes of the Divines. "Give them their last rites."

The Priest raised her arms and began to preach. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight-"

"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with!" One of the Stormcloaks shouded as he stepped forward, clearly not approving of Talos's exclusion from his last rites. A few of the Imperials drew their blades, but Tullius called them off with a single hand gesture.

"As you wish." The Priest remarked, as she walked away.

A shame. With or without Talos, I would have very much preferred some sort of last rite, if only to delay the inevitable.

"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" The Stormcloak taunted defiantly as he knelt. The headsman raised his axe. "My ancestors are smiling at me Imperials, can you say the same!?"

The axe came down with a sickening crack. Edric looked away. I had seen my fair share of executions, so I could stomach it. Cries of "Justice!" and "Death to the Stormcloaks!" could be heard from the observers.

"As fearless in death, as he was in life." I heard Ralof's sad voice over the cheering.

"Next, the Nord in green!"

It took me a moment to realize she was referring to Edric.

The roar was heard once more, this time much louder and presumably much closer. That was no bear. Beric would probably know, had he been here, but he was not. He had been killed in the ambush, or had he escaped?

"There it is again." Hadvar noted. "Did you hear that?"

"I said... Next. Prisoner." The Imperial Captain stated impatiently, through clenched teeth.

Edric appeared uncertain, perhaps even afraid, before finally he began to walk forward. I was not going to let this happen. "This is horkershit!" I shouted angrily, loud enough for all to hear. Edric stopped in his tracks as I continued yelling. "We aren't even on the list! Do we look like Stormcloaks to you?"

General Tullius studied us carefully, but it did not seem as if he would intervene. Meanwhile, the Captain was furious. "ARCHERS!" She shouted out once again.

"Wait!" Hadvar cut in, stepping forward. All eyes were on him, and once again he appeared uncertain, but in the end he found his courage "He's right. They aren't on the list."

"Is this true, Captain?" Tullius asked.

"I..." now it was the Captain's turn to be nervous. "I thought..."

"Set them aside and place them under guard!" He snapped. "We will sort this out once the other prisoners are..."

He was cut off by another roar, this one louder and closer then ever before. And then, a black shape appeared in the sky, flying out from behind a nearby mountain. Tullius turned his head. "What in Oblivion is that!?" He shouted. Within seconds it descended upon the town, landing on the tower so heavily that I was surprised the building did not collapse under the force. It was a mass of spikes, wings, and scales.

It was one of the Stormcloaks who answered Tullius's question.

"Dragon!"