Author's Note:

Some of you will be confused.

Well, the thing is, I realized that this chapter which I had initially labelled as 'The Prologue' is not, technically, an actual prologue. Generally speaking, prologues aren't supposed to be plot. They usually have elements that are important to the plot, but they don't usually move the actual story forward.

Then I realized that my planned second chapter - which mostly consisted of flashbacks that give a little bit more context to the plot, was actually prologue material!

So here we are now.. the actual new chapter is the new 'Chapter One - The Prologue' and of course, I've added and changed a few tidbits here and there in this chapter.


A Sleeping Dragon

Chapter 2 - The Border


There comes a point in nearly every man's life wherein he decides to do something completely and utterly stupid.

There are, for example, countless stories of aspiring wanna-be chefs who attempt to steal mammoth cheese from the numerous giant encampments spread across the chilly plains of Skyrim. Mammoth cheese omelette is, after all, one the biggest fads in the culinary world. The logical mind would of course remember that the giants do not appreciate this.. unfortunately chefs have never been particularly known for their logic.

Inevitably then, there will come a time - that is, one moment of clarity - when he realizes just how utterly stupid the thing-that-was-done truly was..

Picture one of our intrepid chefs. For most of them, this moment is right before the club hits them where it hurts - which when a giant swings it means pretty much anywhere that it hits. And for the rare few who actually manage to survive that initial hit, there is usually a second moment of clarity. Usually this is about five minutes later - after a pretty good bird's-eye-view of Skyrim, right as they are about to hit the ground at roughly fifty meters-per-second. So far, there hasn't been anyone with a third.


This was NOT supposed to happen!

Knut was doing his utmost best to be invisible.. So far, he was succeeding. Of course he had the help of a rock. It was a good rock. It was awkwardly shaped and snuggled right beside a pine tree and, most importantly, away and out of sight from the battle that was happening (but was NOT supposed to) just a few yards away at that very moment. In other words, it was perfect for hiding away from the battle, that still should NOT be happening.

So yes, it was definitely a very good rock.

The journey itself wasn't too bad.. He still had a lot of the gold from selling the farm his parents left him and had plenty of gold to spare. He enjoyed whatever comforts he could reasonably afford whenever he stopped by a town. The constant flow of soldiers and military supplies into the province made the threat of bandits non-existent. He had some difficulty with the unpredictable weather of Fall, of course- sudden rains with no shelter in sight, incredibly strong winds that change direction every ten seconds, that kibd of thing.. but overall. it was a rather uneventful journey.

It was safe.

It was boring.

It was perfect.

Until now, that is..

Oh, he knew about the civil war - everyone does! Hardly anyone in Cyrodiil can manage two sentences without talking about it. Apparently, some yarl or whatever of some sort had shouted the High King to death and then tried to claim the throne - 'that was just asking for a war, that was'.. And now - well - now he just hopes he can get out of this alive. He wouldn't admit it to anyone - especially to missus Hodge back home, but the decision to go to Skyrim now seems to be getting very definitely stupider with every passing second.

His parents were full-blooded Nords who moved to Cyrodiil at least a decade before the great war with the Thalmor. They had been planning to take the family back to the north when Knut was old enough. Well, he was old enough now wasn't he? - and though his mother and father couldn't join him, he was sure they would have wanted him to make the trip nonetheless.

There was also the fact that on some nights for the past few weeks, he stared up at the sky and dreamed of adventure. The farm life was getting too boring for him. He blames his Nord blood.

So what of there was a civil war?! He wasn't a soldier.. Why should he care? It wouldn't affect him!

Right?

Right!

-or so he thought, anyway..

The sound of fighting continued.. Knut sighed and tried to make himself as small as possible as he pressed himself against the rock.

Very very definitely stupid indeed.. Extremely stupid, even.

It was a moment of clarity.

Knut wasn't what someone would call a religious person. But in that moment of clarity, that most men when they do very definitely stupid and idiotic things, it is in the nature of most men to suddenly find that religon jumps up in importance in his priorities. And so, for the thirty-seventh time in the last half hour, Knut prayed.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh.." he muttered.


Lokir couldn't believe it. He actually got away with it!

The stable-master in Whiterun had a very big problem with trusting people - that is to say, he tended to trust anybody and everybody very easily. With Whiterun being the only true neutral power amongst the nine holds of Skyrim, It's citizens are generally more optimistic and less jaded than the average Nord nowadays.

It had been a simple matter for Lokir to persuade the stable master to let him try out the horse before he would commit to anything - just a run to Riverwood and back. The schmuck.

It hadn't been this easy in other places, he was a known thief in scoundrel in at least four of the various holds.. But all that hard work is about to pay off.

He collected the various stashes of gold he had hidden around his hometown of Rorikstead - he was going to miss his mum, but he cannot risk being seen here of all places.. Best to limit all contact with people to as little as possible.

Ah, Hammerfell. A few years ago, the Emperor signed the White-Gold Concordat to finally cease hostilities with the Thalmor of the Aldmeni Dominion. Hammerfell was given to the Thalmor - and them Redguards didn't like that at all. They managed to kick the damn Thalmor out and now exist as an independent state.

Outside the jurisdiction of both Skyrim and the Empire.

It was perfect!

He was very recognizable in Falkreath, so he'll have to take the riskier path and go south into Cyrodiil and then the westward ride to Hammerfell.

What could go wrong?


Even behind his rock, Knut could feel the excitement. The scales have tipped, and the battle was nearly over. The day was won.

By whom? Why the hell should he care!? All that matters is that he's still breathing.

"Check the prisoners!" he heard one of the men shout. "And make sure the jarl's bindings and gag are secure, we can't risk having him shout."

"What should we do with the dead, Legate?"

"Load as much of the survivors into the carts, leave the dead.. we'll have to come back for them later. Find Hadvar, and tell him to come see me"

The fighting was finally officially over. The rock Knut was hiding behind did its job well.

'It seems that the jarl, whoever that is, is amongst the prisoners.. Good, maybe finally this war will end.' Knut breathed out a sigh. '..can't risk having him shout...' the phrase echoed in Knut's head. 'Come to think of it, wasn't the High King "shouted" to death? Now how exactly would that work?'

Knut didn't really know much about Nord culture - if he did, he would know how exactly someone can be shouted to death, but he was eager to learn as much as he can about his parent's homeland and his heritage. He filed this thought into the stuff-I-need-to-find-more-about section of his mind.

It's been at least ten minutes since he last heard any sign of nearby activity. His heart was still beating a bit faster than normal, but he wouldn't be surprised if it stayed like that for the rest of his life. Is this how soldiers feel like all the time?

'Well, no thanks! I've had enough excitement for a lifetime.' He was beginning to miss farm life. 'Whose stupid idea was it to go on this trip anyway…'

For the past few weeks now, Knut had been having moods.. he calls them his very-Nord mood and his not-very-Nord mood. It was the very-Nord Knut that stared up the night sky and dreamed of adventure. It was the very-Nord Knut that had decided to go to Skyrim - he knew this. Only now, he was in the not-very-Nord mood. And not-very-Nord Knut very very much just wants to have a hot meal and a soft bed. Not-very-Nord Knut was beginning to miss the simple farm life.

Unfortunately, there was none of that here - there was only the rock.

But the rock had done its job well.

Deciding it was safe enough and that one will never get a hot meal and a soft bed in the middle of a forest , Knut grabbed his belongings and prepared for the last few miles of his long journey..

He didn't even feel any pain.

The world went black.


Two days ago, the rightful High King and current Jarl of the hold of Windhelm - Ulfric Stormcloak was captured.

It was sheer luck that Ralof was visiting his sister in Riverwood when he'd heard his nephew Frodnar tell his friend Dorthe about Imperial soldier activity near Darkwater Crossing. He found the Imperials before he could see, much less warn the Stormcloak group in the area. He did not know what Jarl Ulfric himself was doing here, but he couldn't do anything but watch as the jarl was captured and taken to nearby fort-city of Helgen.

His liege didn't even fight - so unwilling to shed unnecessary blood. As the rightful king should be.

It had taken more gold than he thought he actually had, but he had managed to send horseback couriers to carry coded messages to every single Stormcloak stronghold he could think of.

Two days later, in this forest, he finds himself again watching. Contrary to what everyone had expected, the jarl was being moved south.. towards Cyrodiil.

Smart.

Everyone would be expecting the Jarl to be sent to Solitude with much fanfare. No one would be expecting such a small procession - unheard and unseen -going outside of Skyrim.

But the great Talos had - in his wisdom - chosen to use him, a lowly soldier, to aid his king. Ralof did not know why he was chosen for this great honor, but the gods work in mysterious ways.. and he would not allow this chance to go to waste.

They had men positioned on either side of the road, getting ready to strike.. now all they need was the perfect opportunity.

The Imperials stopped, and Ralof heard the gallop of a horse.

The rider slowed down as he reached the Imperial party. And Markus the Brave got a good look on his face..

"Hey, I know you! You stole my grandma's walking stick once!"

"-Shit."

Lokir immediately had the horse go off the side of the road to lose the soldiers. An arrow flew right by his left shoulder - and went towards what suspiciously looked like a camouflaged person holding a shield.

*Thuk*

Now, to an ordinary person, the *thuk* of an arrow hitting the tree and the *thuk* of an arrow hitting a living body sounds almost entirely the same as the *thuk* of an arrow hitting a wooden shield.

Almost entirely.

To a soldier, they all sound completely and very distinguishably different.

"-Shit." Ralof could only curse.

All hell broke lose.


It had been too good to last.

Two days ago, Imperial forces had managed to lead Ulfric Stormcloak himself into ambush. Word is, the jarl had surrendered without a fight. His company was tasked with bringing the rebel leader to the imperial capital to face trial.

The weather had been clear all week and showed no signs of changing anytime soon. All in all, it seemed like it was going to be a pleasant trip to Cyrodiil.

It was decided that bringing the jarl to Solitude, the provincial capital of Skyrim, was too risky. The area was still too unstable. Better to have the trial in Cyrodiil and bring him back to Skyrim for punishment after the province was back solidly in Imperial control.

Nobody expected a rescue attempt this far from Stormcloak lands.. And every effort had been made to keep all plans very quiet. Apparently, it wasn't enough.

"We underestimated the Stormcloak bastards' intelligence network.. Could there be a spy among us?"

"Legate Vorenus, sir, you sent for me?"

"Just thinking outloud soldier.. Here-" he gave Hadvar a rolled up piece of parchment. "-ride back to Helgen and give this to general Tulius. You're being transferred back to his guard sooner than anyone expected, Hadvar."

Vorenus still seemed lost in thought as Hadvar pocketed the letter.

"With more than half our supplies destroyed in that skirmish, we cannot hope to reach the capital with all our prisoners. You shall go to Helgen and tell the general what has happened, I am expected in the Imperial city and so I will take a handful of men and proceed to the capital. I expect Rikke and Valerius can handle matters here.. and the general can still, no doubt, turn this situation to our advantage."

"And the prisoners?"

"The rest of the men will bring them back to Helgen, I shall let the general and the rest decide what to do with them. You are dismissed."

"Sir!"

The soldier known as Hadvar sharply saluted and left.


"Gogrek! Got another one of the bastards right here!" Markus the Brave was gallantly carrying Knut over his shoulders. "Found him trying to scurry away with his tail between the legs, ha!"

There was a chorus of tired laughter from the men. Such as you can only hear after a heated battle between kinsmen. Nobody liked killing his cousin's husband.. or the neighborhood baker's son.. or in the case of poor Jodric the Regretful, his own brother. But alas, such is the fate of soldiers. There is always blood in war.

"There's still some room on the jarl's cart! Just toss him in there with that horse thief and let's go!" bellowed Gogrek the Stout boisterously, still very jovial. He and Markus the Brave were probably the only two people in the entire company who were still in high spirits. Nothing ever gets to Markus the Brave and Gogrek the Stout.

Knut's hands were bound and three men loaded him onto said cart.. All of them had their hands bound tight, standard procedure really. Bind the hands, you don't want them fighting back. But don't bind the feet, let them try and run.. Gives everyone an excuse for stress relief, target practice, and the opportunity to deliver an early justice.

Seeing that everything was in order, Roggard the Swift quickly urged his horse forward to the front of the group. 'The lad Hadvar should be halfway to Helgen by now.' came a rapid thought. He was hoping the rest of the party can reach the town before the sun sets. He could sure do with a quick mug of mead.

"Let's go boys!"

It had already been a long and eventful day.. and it was still only high noon.


If one were to listen casually, one would hear the sound of over a dozen wooden carts as their wheels rattled and creaked as they rolled and stumbled on the muddy dirt road.. maybe one would even the sound of footsteps of horses and men as they marched northwards.

However, if one were to listen very very intently, and ignore all the mundane noises of the crowd, one would almost hear the sound of a distant roar.

Knut did not hear this. In fact, Knut did not even hear anything when Markus and Gogrek were deciding what to do with him, nor did he feel anything when three soldiers bound his arms and hefted him into a cart with a few other prisoners. He also couldn't show them the writ of safe passage and proof of citizenship he had in his pack, the pack that was left behind on the ground by the rock as Markus the Brave so valiantly subdued him from behind.

There was that roar again.

Knut didn't hear a sound.

After all, the world - for him at least - was still black. He hadn't yet had the opportunity for a second moment of clarity as well.

Fortunately, there was plenty of time for that later.


End Chapter Two


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