Heh. Believe it or not, I don't own any part of the Elder Scrolls.

Skyrim is a beautiful land.

It is different from the other provinces of Tamriel, just as other provinces are different from each other. Its is more a quiet, understated, harsh beauty.

Morrowind is a land of danger and peace, of calm serenity and sudden danger. Cyrodiil is bright and vibrant, a melting pot of the the lands that surround it. Valenwood is green and filled with life, a flourishing place. The sands and rainforests of Elsweyr are a bright deathtrap to all but those who know how to survive, a place where knowledge and sense are vital, the deserts of Hammerfell much the same. High Rock is a place of rolling green earth and cloudy grey skies.

Skyrim is a land of rock and snow and heather and water. There are tall mountains and low marshlands, flat plains and rolling woods. It is a place where you may visit any season of your choosing, if you do not mind the travel.

Of course, these are not thoughts that tend to go through one's head when one is slowly waking up in a cart bound for execution.

It is unpleasant to wake from unconsciousness caused by a blow to the head. Even more so to wake while in a rattling cart with your hands bound, surrounded by Imperial soldiers and Stormcloak prisoners.

The soldiers who had seen to me were no fools. They likely found the Telvanni insignia that I used to wear as a necklace under my armor when I was younger, a foolish boast of how strong I was. At the time, all it did for me was to have my hands bound together even more firmly- each finger tied to the ones beside it and then to the ones of the other hand. In this way they ensured that I could not use an magic that required signs to cast, which, at the time, was most of what I could do. Cast many powerful spells that would kill any lesser summoner? Oh, yes- and many times over. But even I required the use of my hands to cast, as all but the most powerful wizards do.

It was when I started to fidget with my hands when the first Nord noticed, and spoke to me.

I will always remember Ralof and the first words he spoke to me. "Hey, you! You're finally awake! You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us."

Insignificant to you, perhaps. Simple words, with little meaning to others. But to me, they were words that I will cherish until I die.

They were words from one person to another, both seen as equal. Not one better than the other, one worse, but both living creatures with souls who were in the same tangled mess.

Ralof was different from many of the Stormcloaks I met later. He did not see himself or his kind as superior, and only truly bore anger for those who fought against the cause he followed, or who hurt one he cared for. When I first met him, us both in that cart bound for death, he did not care that I was a Dunmer, one of the elves that so many Stormcloaks hated. I was simply a fellow prisoner.

It was not a long cart ride that we were on, or, at least, the part I was awake for was not long. Ralof, and another in the cart who went by the name of Lokir, kept up an idle conversation to take their minds off of what they knew was going to happen next. They cursed the Imperials, calling them scum of the worst sort. They made comments on the weather, the plants on the side of the road, the animals they saw off in the bushes. They noted that many of the soldiers around us seemed uncomfortable in their armor, calling them fresh bloods. And so it was not long until we rode into the hold of Helgen, the gates closing behind us.

The Thalmor were there. All to watch the coming festivities, I'm sure, as the Imperials celebrated the death of the leader of the rebellion, quietly grinding their teeth at their failure to continue the war.

It was here that I met Hadvar. An honorable Nord, I suppose. He was the second to show me some sort of kindness, trying to talk the captain out of having me executed. She refused,of course. But still he offered to have my remains sent back to Morrowind. A bitter thing, perhaps. But a kindness all the same.

It is an odd feeling, to be standing in a line with others, knowing that in but a few minutes, you are going to die, just as the Stormcloak soldier who decried the Imperials did. That nothing is going to save you now.

Perhaps some feel rage burning in their veins as they are forced onto the chopping block. Perhaps some feel like the gods have forsaken them.

I felt numb. I had always known that I might die in my pursuit of knowledge. I had known, and embraced it. I did not fear death when I read the ancient tomes of magic, learning spells as dangerous for the caster as for the one they were being used on.

I feared death then, with my cheek laying on the rough, bloody wood, the Stormcloak's body beside me, his head in the basket below. I was not ready to die, to walk into the embrace of whatever Divine or Daedra that might take me.

Imagine my surprise, then, when the dragon came.

I had never seen a dragon before. I had read and heard stories of them, but never believed them to be true. How could I? They had been gone for millennia, vanished from the face of Nirn. No one believed in them anymore, not even the Nords, whose legends were borne on the wings of dragons.

Everyone at Helgen that day believed. When fire and death came on black wings, they believed. When they were struck down by claws and teeth, they believed.

It was because of that dragon, known as Alduin, that I lived. Ironic, perhaps: he had sensed me, the Dragonborn, although I did not know it yet, and come to kill me, that I would not challenge him. Instead, I was able, with the help of Hadvar and Ralof, to make it through the smoke and flames of the burning hold to the keep.

I was offered a choice there. I could go with Ralof, who had shown me kindness but stood for a cause that hated my kind, or I could follow Hadvar, one who simply saw others such I as people to either protect or fight.

Perhaps you will think me foolish. It led to an easy, even likely, way to be killed. I could have been killed, many times over.

I chose to follow Ralof.

Well. It's been awhile, has it not?
Yeah, I don't feel like counting how many months it's been since I last updated. Sorry.

Many thanks to those of you have and followed/favourited/reviewed. I always like to see that people like my story. :)

So, yeah. Follow, favourite, review if you like it. It makes me happy. :)

Oh, and happy holidays, I suppose.

Twillin out!