A/N: What? Twice in one week? What's going on, you ask. I've got someone driving my ass into getting this story out as quick as possible is whats going on. That and I'm eager to carry on whileI have this laptop on loan. So anyway, here me go. Remember to review, it makes me feel warm inside :).

Chapter 1: Helgen

The brown haired man stirred and woke from the blackness. He winced at the pain in the back of his head and went to rub it. Feeling resistance, he found that his hands were bound. He groaned in annoyance. He hated it when he got captured.

"Hey, you," said the man sitting across from him. He was wearing Stormcloak armour and his long blonde hair was tangled and muddy. "You're finally awake."

"You were trying to cross the border, right?" he asked, nodding before the young man could say anything whic, as concussed as he was, could be a long time. "Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there." The young man turned sharply, thoughts racing. Thief? He saw the man in question and relaxed. No one he recognised.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the thief hissed angrily as he tried to scratch through his bonds. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy." He tried pulling his hands apart but all he could do was grunt in anger. "If they hadn't been looking for you. I could've stolen that beautiful black horse and been half-way to Hammerfell."

The young mans ears pricked up at the mention of the black horse. Shadowmere. The last thing he remembered before being surrounded by soldiers was Shadowmere dissappearing into the forest. He probably went to Cantus. Which meant he should be on his way. The young man grinned and leaned back. Now we play the waiting game.

"You there," the horse thief said, looking to the brown haired youth. "You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." He looked at the man hopefully, who regarded him coldly.

"If only I could get out of these bindings, I'd be able to whistle for my BLACK horse," he muttered darkly as the horse thief scowls.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blonde pitched in sombrely.

"Shut up back there," the soldier driving the cart called over his shoulder. The young man looked along the road, trying to recognise it. Considering they were near the border, the path could take them to Helgen, Ivarstead or Riften. Those places were within riding distance. But where were they taking him?

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The horse thief mocked. Turning, the brown haired man saw a man in a furred trimmed cloaked, with long braided hair and a gag covering his mouth.

"Watch your tongue," Ralof angrily chastisted the thief. "You're talking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true King of Skyrim." The young man's eyes widen imperceptively. So, this was the man who started a civil war? But if they were - almost literally - in the same boat as a traitor to the Empire, what would happen when they made port?

"Ulfric?" the thief whispered hoarsely. "The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going," the blonde said quietly. He looked at the brunette. "But Sovngarde awaits," he finished gravely. Next to him the thief began to panic, muttering under his breath, eyes wide with fear. "Hey, what village are you from horse thief?" the blonde asked.

"Why do you care," he spat back bitterly, glaring at the Stormcloak soldier with anger.

"A Nords last thoughts should be of home," he replies.

The thief was quiet for a few moments before replying, "Rorikstead. I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

"General Tullius sir! The headsman is waiting!" an Imperial called out. The brunette looked and smiled grimly. Helgen. So this was the place.

"Good. Let's get this over with," replied a voice. The cart trundled through the gates of Helgen and the young man sat straighter. Two people on horseback in the distance. One was an old Imperial, steel grey hair with decorated armour. General Tullius, leader of the Imperial forces in Skyrim. Next to him was a tall woman, High Elf, dressed in black robes. Thalmor, the puppetmasters of the Empire. The young man clenched his teeth.

So this was how he would die? He raged silently. After everything he had seen, everything he had done? He half expected a blade in his back and a shallow grave. Maybe even glory on the battlefield. But not this.

The young man looked around desperately as people gathered to watch the execution, sending away their children. Where in Oblivion was Cantus? It would've been simple enough to track the long procession.

Unless he...

"Why are we stopping?" the theif panicked.

"Why do you think," replied the blonde in resignation. "End of the line."

The man was shaken from his thoughts as the cart halted. One by one the bound prisoners stepped off the cart. This was it. This was where they'd spill the last of their blood. At least the flowers would get a watering, the brunette thought with a smirk. They had a name for that. Gallows humour.

An Imperial called out names of their cart, telling them to go to the block when their name was called. The first of Ulfric, and Ralof whispered praise as he passed. Next was Ralof, the blonde man, who walked with his head high, silent and with dignity. The horse thief, Lokir, came next. He screamed against his name and ran. An archer took him out before he could move 20 paces.

"Anyone else feel like running?" a Breton Legate shouted. Hadvar, the man reading the list, looked up from it and saw the young man.

"Wait, this one's not on the list. Who are you?" he asked in puzzlment.

The brunette was tall, taller than Hadvar, and his limbs were long and powerful. He had a stubbly beard and braided brown hair. A tattoo covered the right side of his face and a long scar covered his left cheek. His eyes were a deep green a glinted dangerously. Hadvar was used to all that. He'd seen countless men go to their deaths before. What he wasn't used to was the grin that the tall Nord wore, as if he didn't have a care in the world.

"My name?" asked the brunette, his smirk widening. "My name is..."

A/N: And because I'm an ass, I think we'll stop there for today. Read and review peeps, this was mainly filler.