AN: Tes and all of its characters are property of Bethesda. Thank you to the amazing Tohmed Ceht for her excellentbeta work for both this chapter and the last one. With out further a-do let the chapter begin!
13th of Last Seed 4E201
Ulfric Stormcloak grunted in annoyance as he was kicked awake by a figure obscured by the sun's light.
"Up, you rebel filth," the Imperial sneered, realizing who it was. Slowly, Ulfric drew himself to his full height and glared at the Imperial, who, to his amusement, took a half step back.
"Get that dog moving," A distinctly high Elven voice barked out from somewhere behind him.
"Yes, sir!" The Imperial snapped. Always the good little dogs that they were. Ulfric was shoved into a cart with one of his men, Ralof he thought, a nervous whelp, and the Orc whom the Thalmor had hit with lightning.
"Jarl Ulfric," Ralof nodded to him. Ulfric tried to respond, but all that came out was a grunt due to the dirty cloth shoved into his mouth as a gag. Ulfric sat and waited as the cart began to move. They had to be close to wherever the Imperials were taking them, or at least he hoped they were. He doubted they were taking him to the Emperor based on the direction they were moving. He was expecting an execution, but where? Ulfric's thoughts were interrupted by a startled grunt from Ralof as the still unconscious Orc's head fell onto the man's shoulder.
"By Talos, what have the Elves been doing to him?" the rebel asked with disgust and discomfort in his voice. For some reason, the witch-Elves hated the Orc. The sea of torture wounds on the Orc's body were indication enough. Ulfric had to give the Orc credit, he hadn't heard him scream at any point. So, either the Thalmor went at him while he was out of it, or he was made of some seriously stern stuff.
"Forget that. What are they going to do with us?" the whelp stammered.
"Quiet!" The cart's driver barked and thankfully, the milk-drinker took the hint. Ralof seemed content to bear his new burden in silence, so Ulfric settled and closed his eyes, hoping to get just a bit more sleep before the end.
_
'Ow,' my eyes opened to be met with the glaring sun.
'Everything hurts,' I heard the sounds of wagon wheels and nervous breathing. 'The Thalmor got tired of their fun, I guess.'
Slowly, I raised my head from the firm, warm surface it was resting on and blinked a few times to let my eyes adjust to the sun.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake," a somewhat familiar voice called out. I looked to my left to see a much more haggard and dirt covered Ralof.
"Yeah, I am. Was I on your shoulder?" The question was groggier than I expected.
"...Yes"
"You got a comfortable shoulder," I grunted as I scooted over to give the man some space.
"Thank you, I suppose." Ralof replied, obviously confused. I looked around the cart and saw a man with a gag secured tightly around his mouth and someone new. A skinny... Nord? Breton? Who knows. Most humans look the same.
"Who's this?" I asked, nodding towards the stranger.
"A horse thief the Imperials grabbed a day or so ago," Ralof replied. I could feel my face curl into a snarl.
"You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's the Stormcloaks the Empire wants." The thief spat out.
"Don't assume any form of kinship with me, thief," I growled. "And it hardly matters who should be here or not. If they cared, they wouldn't have attacked me." The human swallowed and did his best to scoot away from me at my seemingly unexpected disgust.
"Quiet back there!" an Imperial barked from the cart's driver seat as he snapped on the reins of his horses. The next few minutes passed in blissful silence as we approached a walled settlement that seemed to have an entire legion garrison within it. As we entered the town, the thief started praying to his Deities and an Imperial called out to his General about a headsman.
'So, it is an execution after all. At least a headsman is quicker tha-' my thoughts were interrupted by more prattling from the horse thief.
"If you don't hold your tongue, I'll do the executioner's job for him," I snarled through barred teeth.
"W-what?" the cur stammered.
"Shut. Up. Thief." I put as much emphasis on the words as I could.
"Well said!" Ralof chimed in, clearly nursing a headache. "If you're going to die today, at least do it with dignity!" A grunt of agreement came from the gagged one, a glare that could kill in his eyes. Seeing that he had made no friends in this cart of dead men, the thief withdrew into himself and was finally silent. At last, the cart rolled to a stop and we were dragged off into an open area with various Legionnaires. A headsman and a priestess of the Nine… wait. It's not nine anymore, it's just eight now. By Malacath, can humans stop themselves from altering their pantheon?
As the prisoners were slowly removed from the carts, the Imperials began prattling about their damn lists again. I drowned most of the garbage out after the horse thief got himself killed and they finally got to me.
"And now…. Huh. Who are you?" A burly Nord holding the list asked.
"Mazlor Gro-Olbral," I spoke calmly.
"Captain, he's not on the list."
"Forget the list. This beast goes to the block," the man's superior sneered, contempt in her eyes. The man looked at the ground for a moment and sighed before speaking again.
"Im sorry, I'll make sure your remains are returned to Orsinium."
"Dont, those cowards wouldn't know what to do with a true Orc's remains."
"O-ok then."
"Get him to the block, soldier!"
"Yes, ma'am! To the block, prisoner!" I obeyed while not breaking eye contact with the woman as I went. As I stood waiting in the hot and cramped courtyard, an old Imperial came forward.
'Too old. Why he and his kin disgrace themselves by running around at that age, I'll never know.'
"Ulfric Stormcloak! 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!" The old man announced as he took his position. Ulfric grunted with contempt. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, now the Empire is going to put you down and restore peace!" As his speech ended, the man fell into a coughing fit and hacked up a small amount of blood. A moment of silence followed before things continued. The first prisoner was called and, to the no-tusk's credit, he died with pride in himself and his beliefs. Amidst the many
comments on the man's death, I heard a roar. Or, what sounded like one, but distant and weak. It was clear that the list-reader had heard it as well, but when he mentioned it, the old man waved him off and called for the next prisoner.
"Next, the Orc!" It seemed to be my turn now.
'Joy of joys,' As I reached the block, I decided to make this as difficult as I could. When the woman who had called for me went to push me down, my legs didn't so much as budge.
"So, that's how you want to play?" She sneered as she drew her blade and slammed its pommel into the inside of my knee. I grunted as I went to my knees and she slammed my neck into the block. The last man's blood was hot and sticky against my neck. Once more, that roar filled the air, but much closer this time.
'Father of pariahs, may my life be worthy of your notice and may you welcome me into your forge with open arms,' my final prayer to Malacath finished. I looked directly at the headsman, as well as I could from my current position, and noticed what seemed to be the void itself moving at impossible speeds through the clouds.
"Does no one see-" I began shifting to look closer.
"Silence!" Was all I got as the headsman began lifting his axe over his head. As the blade was about to begin its descent, that roar sounded once more, but louder. Ear shatteringly loud and much closer, with a rumbling crash that sent the axeman to his knees. I saw it land, as large as a house, black as the void and dripping with malice and wrath.
"Malacath, is that a..?"
"DRAGON!"