Chapter One - Awakening

My head was pounding like an orc on a war drum when I regained consciousness. Why I was unconscious in the first place, I had no idea. I didn't think it was a hangover, I've had plenty of those in my nearly one hundred years of life and this hurt way worse than any of those. Honestly, it felt the most like being kicked in the head by a horse. Unfortunately I did know what that felt like, thought that's a story for another time. In any case, once I managed to straighten out the mangled thoughts in my pounding head, I realized that part of the reason I felt like my brain was bouncing off the sides of my skull was because it was. I sat in a rocking cart, the wooden wheels and total lack of suspension causing us to bounce and be thrown around by every bump and crack in the road. I looked around, trying to get my bearings. The cart was driven by an Imperial soldier in light armor. There were three others in the cart: the first was a blonde-haired, blue-eyed Nord dressed in a blue tunic with chainmail over it. The second man was another Nord, dark-haired and dressed in rags. The final man was dressed in fine furs and, unlike the rest of us, gagged.

I had been away from home for more than thirty years, but even I could figure out what was going on. The man in front of me was wearing the de facto uniform of soldiers of the Stormcloak rebellion. The driver and rear guard for our little convoy both wore Imperial armor. I had been captured in a skirmish between the two sides of the bloody civil war that had torn my homeland in two. Well, wasn't that wonderful. I suppose that's what I get for coming back to my own country to take care of selling my late sister's property. Fucking idiots. You spend thirty years killing Thalmor and their lackeys, and your thanks is getting caught in a fight between two groups that would happily have helped you out in the fight. I decided I might as well find out what exactly was going on. "You, Stormcloak," I said. "What's going on here?"

He glared at me, probably annoyed at the bluntness of my address. He was a Nord. He'd get over it. "We're on our way to die, kinsman," he said after a moment's deliberation. I stared at him flatly, obviously waiting for more information. He huffed, then continued. "Our patrol was at Darkwater Crossing when these Imperials attacked. Killed most of our men, captured the rest. They're taking us somewhere to execute us now."

This raised more questions. "Summary execution?" I said. "That's not very… Imperial."

"General Tullius, the military governor, knows that there's no way he could carry out a trial for Ulfric Stormcloak without being attacked."

"Ulfric!?" I yelped, and the Stormcloak cut a glance at the gagged man next to me. I turned to him and inclined my head. "Apologies, my jarl. I did not recognize you," I said.

"And why would you recognize the Jarl?" the Stormcloak demanded.

"Red Ring," I responded. The Stormcloaks face instantly became far more somber.

"Apologies, kinsman," he said. "Almost everyone in Skyrim has family that fought or died in the fighting for the capital. Are you just now returning to Skyrim?"

"Aye," I said. "I've been ferreting out spies and saboteurs on the Valenwood and Elsweyr borders since the war ended. I was only coming home to deal with some property left to me a few months ago."

"A sad tale, friend," he said. "They wouldn't listen to us when we said you weren't one of ours. Seems they didn't appreciate a heavily armored Nord with a great whacking sword riding into the middle of their ambush. We thought you were dead at fist, but I suppose your helmet did a good enough job stopping the arrow they tried to put through your head."

That explained the headache. Steel is strong, but an arrow hitting you in the head and knocking you off of a horse can do some damage. It also explained what happened to my weapons and armor. Taken by the fucking Imperials. "Well, then," I said. "To Sovngarde, kinsman."

"Aye," he returned as we passed under the walls of Helgen, more fortified than I remembered it. "To Sovngarde."

The carriage rolled to a stop in a courtyard within the town, and we filed off to stand in front of an Imperial captain and a scribe. "Ralof, of Riverwood!" The Stormcloak I had been talking to stepped forward, then past the scribe to join the others by a chopping block in the middle of the two-towered courtyard. "Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm!" Ulfric followed Ralof towards the chopping block. I was the last in the line. "You! Prisoner! Step forward!"

I walked forward standing evenly in front of the scribe. "Who are you?" he asked.

"Hroki Mirasson, formerly of Whiterun Hold," I said.

He frowned at me. I stood a head above him, and he wasn't a short man, probably around six feet tall. "Mirasson? Wasn't there a Mirasdottir who died recently? Owned a farm a few miles outside the city?"

"Aye," I said. "My little sister."

"Little sister?" he said incredulously. "She was in her eighties and you don't look a day over thirty."

"She was my half-sister," I explained. "I was the result of an Altmer deciding to see what strong Nord women were like. Not resistant to their damned mind magic was the answer."

The scribe winced. "I'm sorry it's come to this, kinsman." He turned to the captain. "Captain, he's not on the list. What should we do?"

"Damn the list! To the block with him!" she said. If I got out of this I swear I was going to kill this Imperial bitch.

I moved to join the crowd of prisoners around the chopping block right as the headsman's axe fell on the first Stormcloak. Another Imperial soldier motioned me forward next, and with no other choice I obeyed. The horse thief had tried to run and been shot down for his trouble, so I knew that would accomplish nothing. I knelt at the block right as a strange sound echoed through the sky. Everyone looked around, but seeing nothing continued. The headsman raised his axe, and suddenly a massive, winged lizard landed on one of the two towers that guarded the courtyard.

"FUS RO DA!" the sound came from the beast's throat, like nothing I had ever heard before. The headsman was flung across the courtyard, and I was bowled over by the force of the blast. The only thing that could do that was the Voice, the power wielded by the Graybeards… and dragons.

"Oh, fuck me," I whispered, awed at seeing the first dragon seen in Skyrim in I knew not how long.

"Follow me, Hroki!" It was the Stormcloak from earlier, Ralof as I now knew his name was. "Into the tower!" I ran with Ralof and Ulfric into the tower. They stopped to check on a pair of their wounded, but I took one glance and started up the stairs. I knew not where I would go after that, but I'd be damned if I was going to stand around and wait for that Nines-damned dragon to blow down the tower. Up a second flight of stairs a Stormcloak tugged at rubble that blocked the stairs leading to the top. I was nearly to the landing when the wall was smashed in by the dragon's head, followed by a massive burst of fire that cooked the poor man alive, if the blast of debris hadn't already done the job.

The head withdrew and I moved to the gaping hole. Across the way was what used to be a house or an inn, I honestly couldn't tell which, but the roof was gone and I was certain I could make the jump without hurting myself. I leaped, rolling as I hit. I would have some bruises, but no serious damage. I ran to a hole in the floor, grabbing an exposed beam and dropping down to the lower floor. I sprinted through the town, following soldiers of both armies until I reached the keep. Both the Imperial scribe and Ralof arrived at the same time I did, shouting at each other.

"I can't let you escape, Ralof!" the scribe yelled.

"Shor's beard, Hadvar!" Ralof returned. "You can't stop us. Hroki, are you coming or not?"

I looked at the two of them, then nodded and followed Ralof inside.