Disclaimer: I dont own anything (still.)
Author's Note: To make up for my bad update frequency, I have updated twice in two days! Ha! Well... this hardly counts because its so short but its kinda like backing it up and giving you some background before i go into the main part of the series. By the way, this and the last chapter aren't really related to the first chapter, its kind of like a short story, then I'm deciding to go on with it. Why? Because I can. The real reason? Because I have a really cool story idea. Please Review! I am completely open to constructive criticism!
Ralof lay on the straw in his cold cell, staring up at the ceiling. Being barred away in this war prison gave him much time to think over the events of the last few months. And once again, Ralof found that he was inevitably going to die.
They had lost the war. After Helgen, he and Susan had lain low in Riverwood for about a week before making their way to Windhelm where Ralof rejoined the Stormcloaks, and Susan decided to join them. She was no good with a blade, and a worse archer, but her skills with magic were invaluable and the Stormcloaks welcomed her with open arms. At first, the troops were unsure of letting a Breton woman into their ranks, but she had proven herself early on when fighting a battle in The Reach.
At first it seemed like they were going to win the war. The Stormcloaks were winning battles in the Whiterun Hold and in The Reach. Then the Imperials took The Rift. Without having to worry about their army being attacked from behind, Windhelm became an easy target for the Imperials to attack and they swarmed it like flies. In the end, the Stormcloaks were defeated. But losing the war was only the start.
Ulfric Stormcloak was meeting with the Jarl of Falkreath when he was ambushed by an Imperial attack party on the his trek back to Windhelm. He and his soldiers had just about defeated the Imperials when they heard a shriek and looked to the skies. There they saw a dragon. Another bloody dragon.
All bows were aimed skyward, trying to bring the beast to the ground. The soldiers fought hard, making slow progress at chipping away at the dragon with anything they could throw at it. For once, Imperials and Stormcloaks alike fought side by side. Eventually, enough arrows had pierced the wings that it could no longer hold itself in the air. That was when they decided to strike it head on. With Ulfric in the lead, they charged, while the beast swatted wildly at its assailants with its sharp talons and scaled tail. After losing many men, the beast had finally been slain. Ulfric and his men stood breathing heavily around the corpse, thick droplets of blood dripping from their weapons. For a moment there was a tranquil silence, nothing moved, there was no shout or battle cry from one of the men, they all just stared at the corpse of the hulking beast. Then, something peculiar began to happen.
As they watched, the corpse began to deteriorate, burning with a sort of weird, silky flame. Flames drifted into the air, like burning feathers. The corpse seemed to be in the process of its scales being stripped from its bones, so that all was left was its skeleton. As it did so, it's very essence seemed to be flowing from and… into Ulfric. The man stood in shock, his usually stoic expression vanished, replaced now by one of disbelief. The essence looked like some sort of wind that swirled in spirals up his body, completely enveloping Ulfric. When it had settled, there was another silence; though this time it was eerie.
"Dragonborn." The whisper's origin was unknown, but it gave voice to what they all were thinking.
When the Imperials had taken Windhelm, they knew what Ulfric Stormcloak was. They knew he was the only hope for humanity. They slaughtered him never the less.
