Awakening

17th of Last Seed 4E 201-

I slowly woke up with the mother of all headaches, as if I received an enormous whack from a giant's club. I was very disoriented and had no damn clue where I was. I looked down at my hands and realized that they were tied up; I was clad in some old rags and sitting in a cart driven by an Imperial Legion soldier.

Some Legion foot soldiers were guarding our flanks and another cart full of prisoners ahead of ours. Right at the front was a horse ridden by a Legionnaire wearing some bronze and gold-colored armor. That was no doubt General Tullius, the chief commander of the Imperial Legion in Skyrim.

"Where in Oblivion am I?" I groaned.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake." I quickly swiveled my head to the sound of a man talking to me. He was a Nord like me, with long blonde hair, blue eyes, and a trimmed beard. He was clad in leather and chainmail armor with a blue cloth covering it. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there."

"Damn you, Stormcloaks," groaned another Nord man. This time, he had brown hair, a shaved face, and rags as clothing. "Skyrim was fine until you came along; Empire was nice and lazy; if they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell."

"You there." he turned towards me. "You and me, we shouldn't be here; it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," replied the blonde man who was apparently part of these "Stormcloaks."

"Shut up, back there!" the Legionnaire driving our cart snapped.

"Who's the gagged fellow? He looks familiar?" the horse thief asked, turning his attention to an older Nord man, wearing a fur cloak and boots, who was sitting beside me with a gag around his mouth.

"Watch your tongue!" the blonde Stormcloak growled. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

"The Jarl of Windhelm? The man who used the voice to murder High King Torygg? The leader of the rebellion?" the horse thief asked. "Hey, you!" he raised his voice, "Ulfric! You traitor! You're the reason we're here!"

"At least Sovngarde will be waiting for us." sighed the blonde Stormcloak. "Our ancestors, feasting, mead."

"Gods, what I wouldn't give for some mead right now." sighed the horse thief.

"Anyway," the Blonde Stormcloak turned his attention back to me. "The name's Ralof. Have you had enough of licking the Empire's boots? Good."

"No! I'm not a Stormcloak, nor do I intend to join them!" I growled.

"Well, sorry I asked."

"What about you, horse thief?" Ralof turned back to the horse thief.

"The name's Lokir," he replied.

"What village are you from?"

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home?"

"Rorikstead. I'm from Rorikstead."

Soon enough, the Imperial caravan arrived in Helgen, in Falkreath Hold.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting!" a Legion sentry called out to the General.

"Good, let's get this over with," he replied.

"Divines, please help me." whimpered Lokir.

"Look at him, General Tullius, the military governor." Ralof scoffed. "And it looks like the Thalmor are with him! Damn elves, I bet they had something to do with this." he noticed a Thalmor agent on a horse, accompanied by a few Thalmor soldiers, demanding the Imperial General to hand us over.

"I am taking custody of these prisoners." she requested.

"I'm sorry, Elenwen, but that's not possible; it would cause far too many problems." Tullius calmly refused.

"You're making a terrible mistake." Elenwen snarled.

"Thalmor bitch!" Ralof spat.

"This is Helgen," he sighed. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

"Whoa!" said our carriage driver, encouraging his horse to slow down.

"Why are we stopping?" asked Lokir.

"Why do you think? End of the line." Ralof answered.

"Get these prisoners out of the carts! Move it!" bellowed the Imperial Captain, clad in a suit of gleaming Legion armor. Right after both carriages stopped at the arch at the town's edge, the prisoners in the other cart began to step out.

"Let's go," Ralof turned his attention back to me. "Let's not keep the gods waiting for us." before the four of us left the cart.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" yelled Lokir.

"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof calmly replied, not showing any fear whatsoever.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

"Shut up! Out of the cart now!" the Captain snarled. "Step towards the block when we call your name. Don't even think about running!" she raised her voice.

"For the love of Mara, shut up, you stupid bitch; we're right here," I thought angrily.

"Empire loves their damn lists," Ralof murmured.

A young Nord Legionnaire stood beside the Captain with a notebook in one hand and a quill pen in the other. He had light brown hair and a shaved face.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm," he called out.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric." Ralof saluted to the Jarl as he approached the headsman's block.

"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof walked up to the block without hesitation.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, please! I'm not a Stormcloak! You can't do this!" Lokir desperately pleaded to the Legion soldiers to spare him.

"Halt!" roared the Captain as the horse thief made a break for it.

"You idiot," I sighed. "Weren't you even listening?"

"Archers!" The Captain commanded a pair of Legion archers.

"All I did was steal a horse! I'm not a Rebel you can't do.…!" the horse thief shouted in his futile attempt to flee before receiving two arrows in the back and falling face-first to the ground.

"Told you," I whispered.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the Captain growled.

"Wait, you there, step forward." the Nord Legionnaire turned his attention to me.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Svanhild Frost-Blade," I responded. "I swear to the Divines that I'm not a rebel either."

"You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinswoman," said the Legionnaire.

"Captain, what should we do?" he asked the Captain. "She's not on the list,"

"Forget the list, Hadvar; she goes to the block." the Captain answered.

"By your orders, Captain."

"I'm sorry, at least you'll die here in your homeland." Hadvar turned his attention back to me. "Follow the Captain, prisoner."