Grohiik awoke to the murmuring of soldiers, snorting of horses and bump of a cart along a rough mountain road. A headache like thunder pounded against his skull, his bones cried out as they rattled with the wooden cart, and his muscles refused to awake – stiff and rigid. Lifting his hands to hold his head revealed them to be bound and tied to his seat. He opened his eyes only to be blinded by the Sun, and he begrudgingly fought against the light. He moaned. Only to find his mouth gagged by a blood-and-sweat stained rag.

A brisk examination of his surroundings later and he noticed that he was not alone in the wooden cart. There was an imperial soldier driving the horse down the narrow road. In the back were three other men, of various statures it seemed. One – an Imperial – wore rags like a beggar, one – a Nord – a blue soldier's uniform, and the other – also a Nord – had lush furs that could only belong on a noble, or at least a man who fancied himself one.

Grohiik looked ahead and behind the cart, and found that there were multiple other carts in a concession, most bearing soldiers with the blue uniform, and Imperial drivers. All the soldiers in blue were bound and disarmed. 'Grand,' Grohiik mentally sighed, 'This can't be headed in a good way.'

The Soldier in blue across the cart noticed that Grohiik was awake, "Finally awake eh?" The man had long, blonde hair and short-trimmed goatee, but was not otherwise very distinct.

'Obviously,' Grohiik thought bitterly, 'I am also gagged if you haven't yet noticed.'

"You were tryin' t' cross the border, but got caught in that Imperial ambush, just like us and that thief o'er there."

The other man, the thief who was thin as sticks and looked as if he had never heard of grooming before, spat out "Damn you Stormcloaks, Empire was nice an' lazy 'for you showed up. I could'a been halfway t' Hammerfell by now if it weren't for you!"

'Of course you would've'

Grohiik decided to let his temper melt away, and instead tried to get a feel for where they were headed. The narrow road, bordered by steep mountain slopes on either side, soon opened up into a small valley, sheltering Skyrim wildlife from the harsh mountain conditions. An Elk was alerted by the soldiers up ahead, and gracefully leapt away. Grohiik longed for the freedom that Elk knew, away from the brutal life men lead.

"And who's this?" The thief asked.

"Watch your tongue; you're speaking to Jarl Ulfric, the true king of Skyrim!" The blond

'Why do I doubt that?'

"Shut up back there." The Imperial driver called out, making the Soldier mutter a curse.

"Wait, if you're Ulfric, then… where are they taking us?!"

"To Sovngarde, thief."

The Soldier fell silent as the thief began begging to any higher power he could name for salvation. Grohiik sent his own prayer to Akatosh and Alkosh, as was his custom. Though, he did not believe that the King of the Gods would honestly spare him from death, though he might be accepted into the afterlife with open arms.

As the gates to the town swung open, Grohiik almost felt Oblivion opening up just to swallow him whole. 'It's funny,' Grohiik thought absently, 'How in all people ever do, it all just leads up to their death, the climax of the story, end of the road. … I really hate my life.'

"It's the Aldmeri, those damn elves. They're behind this!" The Nord soldier hissed.

Grohiik's head snapped up, searching for the elves. He saw them, so high and noble on their fancy imperial-bred horses, making them seem even taller than they already were. He loathed them, in their golden armor, with the way they stuck their chins out and tilted their faces up, as if the ground repulsed them.

A growl leapt out of Grohiik's throat, though nobody else heard it through the gag in Grohiik's mouth.

'Father Akatosh – King of the Divines – and Alkosh – Firstborn of the First Liter – I ask to grant me life in order to exact retribution, and for that reason alone.' It was a bitter and grim prayer, the kind that would have been scolded if Grohiik had ever spoken it aloud. But, he was being carted to his death, so Grohiik felt as if he had a few liberties.

The carts rounded around a large building, presumably the keep of the town. Set up on the raised platform that led to the door was a priestess, several soldiers, a wood stump, a basket and a headsman with a large axe. Grohiik's stomach did a few flops just at the sight of it.

As the carts all began finding places to hitch the horses and unload the prisoners, Grohiik's cart slowed to a stop and the other men were ordered off the cart and to a soldier taking inventory. Grohiik tried to stand, but found that his feet were bound together and then bound to the floor.

Three Imperial soldiers got into the cart, two with spears pointed at Grohiik, the other had a sword at his side, and a scowl on his face. The man with the sword had only one eye, and was utterly grotesque, and the two men with spears looked like greenhorn ensigns who took the station only for the title of "Soldier."

"No funny business now." The man with the sword said. "You's going t' die anyway so give us a reason t' do the headsman's job fur 'im."

Grohiik scowled in reply.

The man with only one eye untied the binds on Grohiik's feet, and the ones that tied him to the cart, then the spearmen led him away with jabs at his back. Like a cow, guided by prods, Grohiik was ushered to the man calling out prisoners and recording them to make sure no one was missing. 'As if the imperials really care about anyone but Ulfric.'

The man in front of Grohiik – the thief – tried to run. "I'm not a rebel! You can't do this to me!" He barely made it out of the group of soldier before three arrows sprout from his back and his body fell with a sickening thud as his life left his corpse.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The Legate spoke in a challenge and Grohiik swallowed down his fear. No response came, "Good!"

An especially ruff jab put Grohiik right in front of the role-caller. The man looked at Grohiik, then his list, then back. He looked thoroughly confused. "Who… are you?"

'Again, gagged…' Grohiik thought bitterly as he frowned at the man. "Ah, right, gag." He motioned the one-eyed man to remove the gag. "Now, uh, who are you?"

An Aldmeri Inquisitor strode over atop his Cyrodiilic steed, looking quite annoyed that he couldn't just kill everyone. "What is the meaning of this delay?" His tone annoyed Grohiik, but it seemed to scare the soldier stiff.

"It's just that this prisoner does not appear to be on the list, master Inquisitor." The soldier's posture snapped straight and his voice was void of accent and tone, like a machine.

"Send him off anyway," the Inquisitor stated as if it were painfully obvious.

"B-but sir, we don't even know if this man is a Stormcloak rebel or if he's even a Nord -"

"Are you disobeying a direct order, soldier?" A chill went down Grohiik's spine at the way he emphasized "soldier."

The man snapped even further into attention, if that was even possible. "No, sir." He looked to the spearmen flanking me, "Take him over with the rest."

Grohiik cursed the inquisitor under his breath and was jabbed over to the small crowd of prisoners awaiting death. The Inquisitor smirked and trotted off looking very pleased with himself.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius – " The priestess overlooking the executions began the blessing of the condemned.

"Oh – for the love of Talos, just shut up and let's get this over with!" A Stormcloak soldier strode forward, perhaps in a last spiteful act against the Empire.

"Very well." The priestess sighed in annoyance, and the Headsman just set his axe at the ready.

The soldier was shoved down to the cutting block, "My ancestors are smiling down upon me Imperial, can you say the same for yourself?"

The Headsman answered by sending him to his ancestor's embrace.

"Next, the one in the leather coat!" the Legate called out. Two spears answered the command.

Blood poured from the first man's neck, both halves of it. Grohiik felt his stomach take flight inside him and his heart began hammering away like a blacksmith's hammer on steel. He was pushed down to the block, and he felt the splatters of blood on his neck and cheek, but when he tried to lift his head away the Legate's boot shoved him back down.

The headsman raised his axe – a roar filled the air – Grohiik shut his eyes in fear. 'I am going to die.' Grohiik asked Akatosh to let him die quickly and enjoy whatever awaited him after death.

Nirn shook in great tremors as if Red Mountain had erupted once more.

"Dragon!" several people cried out in fear.

Grohiik hesitantly opened his eyes, and instead of the Headsman's axe coming for his neck, Grohiik saw a giant, black, scaled face with two glowing, blood red eyes. 'Out of the frying pan and into the fire.'

Some men might have froze at the sight of a dragon, some might have wet their pants, and some might have had some sense and ran as fast as the wind itself. Grohiik did all three in that exact order.

Grohiik ran, and none of the Imperial soldiers cared because they were running too. 'I've got to find them, where are they? Probably with all the other captured supplies.' Grohiik was trying to think about anything other than the dragon and the piss running down his leg.

Horses whinnied, people screamed, the dragon roared, and the sky rumbled as flaming boulders began falling from a spinning vortex that made the stories of the Oblivion gates sound tame in comparison. 'What kind of creature has that amount of power?'

The dragon launched itself into the air again, using massive wings to keep it aloft. Grohiik made his way to the cart with all the prisoner's supplies. Jumping into the back, Grohiik began tossing weapons and armor out of his way. Mid-way through the stack, Grohiik saw his pack, with his twin swords sticking out of the top. He quickly cut through the rope binding his hands together.

Grohiik threw the pack over his back, slid his arms through the straps and buckled both the sword sheaths on under his jacket. In only a few seconds, Grohiik was ready to run, and not a moment too soon. The dragon flew straight towards him, fire leaping from its maw, enveloping the line of carts. Grohiik leapt to the ground, putting several feet between himself and the torrent of flames.

Grohiik's chest slammed to the ground, knocking his breath away, but before he could breath in again, the air heated up like a forge and Grohiik covered his head with his arms, gasping for a lung-full of Skyrim's cold air. Another roar tore through the air, and Grohiik scrambled to his feet.

"Hey, you! In here!" A voice called out and Grohiik ran toward it.

The beast drew in another breath and Grohiik could have sworn that it said something before it spewed another volley of searing flames. As soon as he was inside the watch tower, two men slammed the door shut, and flames shot through just before they did so. 'Another close one, I'll have to be extra pious for months to make up for all the luck today.'

'It doesn't quite work like that.' Pheo's voice was a welcome sound.

'WE NEED TO KILL THAT THING!' Draco's cry made Grohiik wince.

"Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing, could it really be a dragon of legends?" The blonde-haired, blue-uniformed Nord from the cart asked the Noble.

"I know not, but it is certainly dangerous and powerful." The noble answered, looking shook up.

"Our best bet would be to run, preferably on horseback, and hope that thing doesn't follow us." Grohiik added, feeling that they should all help each other if they wanted a chance to live.

The others turned to him and one spoke "What? You mean run like a milk-drinkin Imperial?!" Grohiik frowned at him, wondering how he had survived twenty minutes in the infamously inhospitable Skyrim.

"No," The noble spoke with a more even tone, "The stranger is right, we have no weapons or heavy armor, or only chance is to run and live to fight another day."

"But sir," a new voice interjected, "If that is truly a dragon of legend, we cannot hope to fight them. Only a Dragonborn can kill a Dragon."

"Would you rather be burned to ash while hiding in an Imperial watchtower or while fighting for glory and survival?" The blonde-haired man snapped back.

"Well-" the man started, but was interrupted by a giant crash from above them. Light poured in, sunlight.

A man on the floor above them screamed, but was quickly cut off by the dragon's roar, and fire poured down the staircase. As quickly as it began though, the flames retreated and the sounds of wings flapping came down from outside.

"You there, let's go see how things are faring outside." The blonde man called out to Grohiik, and Grohiik nodded in agreement.

They dashed up the stairs, which were warm to the touch even through Grohiik's boots.

'HAHAHA! MUCH KILLING TO BE DOING! LET"S GO!'Draco, ever hungry for blood cried out.

'I'd rather live thank you.' Grohiik thought back in an annoyed tone.

'Yes, let's not die today, that would be nice.'

"This is bad, the imperials don't stand a chance against that thing, the horses have all been taken, ran off on their own, or burnt to death, and the fires are spreading quickly." The blonde-man spoke over the roar of the dragon and the cries of the dying.

"The southern gate looks safest, not many fires over there." Grohiik said.

"But it seems the Imperials had the same idea, too many to try and fight, the dragon would burn us all if we grouped up like that."

"You wouldn't have to fight the Imperials though; the bigger threat is the dragon, not a bunch of unarmed prisoners."

"But we're the ones they want to kill; they won't let us just waltz out while they burn in Dragon's Fire."

"Fine." Grohiik huffed in frustration. "The other gates aren't options, but the garrison over there could be defensible, or at least inflammable, and might have a way out for emergencies."

"And you really think the Imperials would let us use that?"

"I think if they had half a wit, they'd already be running to Cyrodiil."

The blonde man scowled. "Why, do think the damn elves could protect us from that thing?"

Grohiik snorted, "No, but currently there isn't a dragon flying over the White-gold tower burning down everything in sight."

The man huffed.

"I'm going to try and run for the south gate, stay here if you like, but I'm not going to be a dragon's lunch." Grohiik snapped at the man before jumping to the hole in a roof of a building just next to the watchtower.

Grohiik landed with a thud and transferred into a roll, easing the stress on his legs. The wood beneath him creaked, then snapped and he fell to the ground floor significantly less gracefully than his first drop. Grohiik picked himself up, groaning in pain as both his legs cried bloody murder.

Hobbling out of a hole in the wall, Grohiik tried to pick up his pace, but his attempt was in vain. The dragon's roar filled the air again, the fire singed the air and Grohiik felt like giving up and just lying down and letting fate catch up to him.

'Don't you dare! Keep on going! I will not let you die here after all we've made it thorough already!'

'Yes! We still have to kill a dragon, then you can think about dying!'

Pheo's and Draco's voices spurred Grohiik into action. He began focusing the little bit of healing magic he knew through his body. Though the pain did not leave entirely, or even slightly quickly; it did begin to fade, slowly but surely.

"Hey, prisoner, over here!" the man that had been calling out names beckoned him.

Grohiik stumbled over, and hid with him behind the remains of a wall as the dragon flew overhead.

"Glad to see yer still alive friend, this is like the ancient stories, only worse an' real." The man said as he peeked over the top of the wall.

He suddenly popped up and yelled "Haming get back here!"

Grohiik looked over the top of the cover and saw a boy kneeling next to a severely injured man, whom he assumed to be the boy's father.

Memories flooded Grohiik's mind against his will.

… …

"Run, Grohiik, Run!" The voice was barely audible over the clashing of metal and the impact of lightning and fire spells.

Grohiik did run, he ran until he could run no more, because nothing but pain awaited behind him.

… …

Grohiik snapped out of the nightmares of his past, and saw the dragon land on the rubble of a building, staring down at the boy and his father. The boy looked up, frozen in sheer terror, and Grohiik knew he was weeping, fear alone controlling him and making him weigh more than he could lift.

The adrenaline began coursing, flooding his veins with energy, his bones became steel, his muscles could move mountains, his mind saw with a clarity water could not approach, the winds became slow by comparison, and he also became supremely brave. 'Or maybe that's stupidity.'

He launched over the remains of the wall he hid behind, his feet carried him like lighting towards the dragon's waiting maw. 'I am going to die, but this boy will not live as I did, not if I have something to say about it!' The dragon's throat began to glow, it spoke slowly, summoning power for its fire.

Grohiik jumped, and his legs had forgotten their injury for they threw him into the air with the grace of a bird and the strength of a bear.

Grohiik's foot landed on a quite surprised dragon's snout, and in a fluid movement, Grohiik slashed his sword across the dragon's red, demonic eye and launched himself away just as powerfully.

The dragon roared in pain, the fire died in its throat and it threw its head back all at the same time. Grohiik saw another man helping the boy's father away, and when he looked back at the dragon, it looked at him with its one eye, and Grohiik saw the pure hatred he had just birthed.

The dragon roared at him, and Grohiik took the pause in combat to continue with his original plan. His feet began again, not running gracefully as before though, now they sprinted in a mad dash to flee from fire that came from the sky.

Grohiik passed through another burning building and saw the south gate, demolished by several of the rocks falling from the sky like hail from Oblivion. The dragon flew over him, and turned back to make a pass. Grohiik gave him no such chance.

The man from the wall was right behind him, yelling something that was lost to Grohiik in the haze of the destruction and chaos around him.

They approached the garrison Grohiik gad seen earlier, and they apparently both thought of it as a safe haven. "Quickly, in there!" the man called.

The blonde man from the cart ran up to meet them, and Grohiik was almost relieved, but the two men began yelling. "What're ya doing Hadvar? Thought ya would've tried to kill yer prisoner by now you traitor!"

"What do you know about loyalty Ralof? Serving a murderer under the guise of freedom?"

"You –"

"Both of you shut it and help me open this door!" Grohiik commanded, prying at the door to the garrison building.

The man, Hadvar, got a key out and opened the door. The dragon, finished with the Imperial archers it had been roasting, turned to the men and shot a volley of fire after them. Grohiik slammed the door behind them.

"Alright," Grohiik began, "Let's get out of this hell-hole."

Hadvar and Ralof eyed each other warily but nodded in agreement.

… End of Chapter 1 …

A/N: Sooooooo… yeah. Hope you like the redo of chapters 1 and 2 here, working on picking up the pace from now on. Ummmm… That's it. Bye!