"Who are you?" Hadvar's voice echoes in my head.
"Lloth. Lloth of Morrowind." the Dark Elf murmurs.
"Another refugee? Gods truly have abandoned your people, Dark Elf." He pauses, looking down at his list. "Captain, what do we do? She's not on the list."
"Forget the list, she goes to the block." the captain returned.
"By your orders, Captain. I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Morrowind." Hadvar consoles. "You other two, come forward."
It takes me a second to realise he's talking to me. Gita and I step forwards, towards Hadvar.
"Um, I'm Alek, and this is Gita."
"Of?"
Oh shit. Where we're from. I'll just say Whiterun. Easier.
"Both of Whiterun." I reply. Gita looks at me questioningly, and I just look back, trying to tell her with my eyes: Trust me.
"What about them, Captain? They're not on the list either…"
"I said, forget the list. They go to the block, with the Elf."
"I'm sorry, you two. At least you'll die here, in your homeland." He looks at us almost sadly. "Follow the Captain, prisoners."
The three of us follow the bright-burnished Captain to the others, who are all watching a grey-haired man, who I think I heard Ralof speak of as General Tullius, speak to Ulfric, the gagged man from the cart.
"Jarl Ulfric. Some here in Helgen call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne… You started this war; plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"
He stops for a breath, and a faint, but echoing, roar is heard from the mountains above Helgen.
"What was that?" asks one of the Imperials.
"It's nothing. Carry on," replies Tullius.
"Yes, General Tullius!" exclaims the captain. "Give them their last rites…" she speaks to a woman wearing a golden robe and hood near the block.
The golden-robed woman raises her arms up and begins to deliver an impressive speech:
"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon-"
"For the love of Talos, shut up, and let's get this over with…" interrupts one of the blue-garbed Stormcloaks.
Gold-robes looks quite put out at the interruption. "As you wish…"
As the Captain starts to push him down towards the block, he shouts out.
"Come on! I haven't got all morning!" and as his head is laid down on the block he remarks, "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"
The headsman brings his axe down. There's a spurt of blood, and the man's head is in the basket by the block. Captain Bright pushes his headless corpse off of the block.
As she does so, a Stormcloak calls out, "You Imperial bastards!"
A man cries out from one of the houses, "Justice!" while a woman yells out, "Death to the Stormcloaks.
I feel like I'm going to be sick.
"As fearless in death, as he was in life…" remarks Ralof sadly.
"Next! The Dark Elf!" calls out the captain.
