"A nord's last thoughts…." The thief repeated in a daze. "R-Rorikstead" he choked out. "I'm from Rorikstead." A voice in the distance cried out, "General Tullius, sir!" distracting the conversation.

The girl took the moment to consider what was happening, and appreciate the fact that her head was now mostly clear, if not somewhat muddled. She thought she felt something against her throat, but dismissed it for the moment. The man to her right, Ulfric, was clearly pretty important. The other men had called him "High King" and "Jarl of Windhelm" and though she wasn't sure what these "Windhelm" or "Skyrim" were (or any of those other things for that matter. "Rorikstead"? "Hammerfell"? "Sovngarde"?), judging from the way the blonde looked at him, they were pretty impressive titles. But a rebellion? Maybe that's why he called him the True High King. Perhaps there was a dispute of who should rule? Thinking too hard about it made her head hurt worse, so she let the thought pass. She should be more worried about why she was bound in the back of a cart, and where she was headed. The man had said about a "nord's last thoughts", and that "Sovngarde awaits". That didn't sound good at all. She quite liked thinking, and had no intention of letting someone stop her. And if she had to stop thinking before she would reach this "Sovngarde"? That sounded even worse. She began to feel fear rise within her, but screwed her eyes shut and took a deep breath to steady herself. She would NOT panic. She would find a way to escape from this strangeness and figure out who she was and what happened to her. She was not going to die today, if she had any say in it. As far as she knew, she had done nothing wrong. When she opened her eyes again, she noticed that the fog had dissipated, and that it was a moderately more sensible temperature. She also noticed that they were almost right in front of high stone walls, and a large wooden gate.

A man in "Imperial" uniform was standing atop the walls, and as they crossed under the gate, he cried out "The headsman is waiting!" She took the moment to force herself into a sitting position. The movement caused the thing she had noticed before to shift around her neck. "Good. Let's get this over with." Another voice called out, and she turned her head to see a somewhat bald man, a bit past his prime, gingerly riding a horse behind them now. Before she could think more about him, or the thing around her neck, the thief called out again. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh! Divines, please help me!" The Stormcloak rolled his eyes at the thief, and turned to look at the man behind the cart. "General Tullius," he spat in disgust, "the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor with him." He jerked his head to several figures lingering near the wall. "Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this."

Suddenly, a glint of light seemed to be reflected on his face. "What have you got there lass?" he asked, using both hands to point at her neck. "I-I'm not sure." Shar replied. The three men looked at her expectantly, so she reached up, and pulled the thing away from her neck so she could finally see it. "It's a locket." She stated, examining it as best she could. It had an intricate engraving of a winged beast, with a long tail that created a half moon shape on one side of the locket face. In the place of an eye, it had a miniscule ruby set into it. The creature's mouth was wide open, tendrils of fire circling what wasn't protected by the tail. It appeared to be made of pure gold, and she searched for the catch to open it, but to no avail. However, she did notice an engraving on the back, and flipped it over. "To Shar, my little dragon. So you may always find your fire." She read out. Shar…. Is my name Shar then? At least I know that now.

She looked up to see something unidentifiable in the Stormcloak's eyes. "Someone must have loved you very deeply to give you such a precious gift." He said softly. "I never introduced myself. My name is Ralof. It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Shar." She smiled. "It is a pleasure to meet you too, Sir Ralof." The thief groaned. "Whatever, who cares about gifts or names. Where are we?!" he pulled his knees up to his chest, and looped his arms around them, holding them to his torso.

Ralof looked around them as they rattled along. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. I wonder if Vilod is still making that mead out of juniper berries? Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." He looked back at his hands, lost in nostalgia.

They were now passing a house where a little boy with wild russet hair was sitting on the steps. A man with cropped dark hair stood behind him. The boy was staring intently at their cart as it moved past, and without turning around he asked, "Who are they daddy? Where are they going?" The man frowned and said to his son "Let's go inside, little cub." The boy frowned, still not moving. "Why? I wanna watch the soldiers." The man was angry now. "Inside the house!" he barked. The boy sighed and began to get up. "Yes Papa…" Shar turned back to the cart, only to see that the previously disengaged expression of Ulfric was now flaming with anger. Shar scooted a little farther away from the man, not knowing what to make out of his violent mood swing. She looked to the thief, but he just shrugged his shoulders, looking as confused as she was.

Just then a harsh, female voice barked out ahead of them, "Get the prisoners out of their carts! Move it!" They looked up to see they were nearing one of the massive stone walls, and that the other cart had already rolled to a halt. "Wh-why are we stopping?" the thief chattered in fear. "Why do you think?" said Ralof, sounding more resigned than ever. "End of the line."

The prisoners from the other cart had already been unloaded by the time they had drifted to a halt beside their cart. Ralof looked up from his hands, a new light in his eyes. "Let's go." He said "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." The four of them stood up, and the thief began to gesture wildly to Shar and himself. "No wait! We're not rebels!" Shar hopped off the cart while Ralof said behind her "Face your death with some courage, thief." The thief now had trouble walking, his trembling had gotten so bad. "You've got to tell them we weren't with you! This is a mistake!" Ralof sighed. "She can hear you horse-thief." He gestured to the woman who was clearly ignoring them. "She doesn't care." He looked at Shar. "I'm sorry this had to happen to you. That this is how the empire treats everyone, even its own."

The woman spoke up again. "Step toward the block when I call your name! One time!" Ralof shook his head, looking at the man beside the imperial woman, holding a board with some paper on it, and a charcoal pencil. "Empire loves their damn lists." Then the man read out, "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." Ralof bowed his head in respect at his leader. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric."

"Ralof of Riverwood." The man read out next. Ralof looked to Shar. "It was nice to know you. Perhaps we will meet again is Sovngarde." He gave her a soft, sad smile, and went to join the others. Shar tried to smile back, but the bile rising in her throat made it too difficult. She swallowed roughly to contain it. I don't want to die today. I don't want any of them to die either. There has to be away out of here. Shar tried to work at her restraints, but the imperials knew how to imprison people. The binds were leather cuffs that slid on to each wrist, and buckled like a belt, before being tied in an intricate knot.

"Nokir of Rorikstead" the man read out next, as Shar continued to work at the knots, but really only making them tighter. Nokir stepped closer to the soldiers, screaming "No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" "You will die with the others." The woman spat in his face. Then, before Shar could even blink, Nokir had taken off down the road. The woman whipped around, yelling "Halt!" Shar snorted. Yeah, like that's gonna work. Run you twitchy bastard! "You're not gonna kill me!" he cried back. For a moment, Shar thought he would make it to safety, but then the imperial woman said one word that made her blood run cold. "Archers!" The twang of bowstrings echoed all around her, and about six arrows imbedded themselves into Nokir's back. He fell to the ground and moved no more. The woman looked from the bloody corpse of the horse-thief to Shar. "Anyone else feel like running?" she asked loudly enough for the whole square to hear, but her gaze never leaving the girl's face. Shar shook her head. There's no escape from this place.