The obligatory Helgen scenes. Some of the scripted dialogue is included, but this is probably one of the few chapters I plan on writing where I wanted to follow the game scenes relatively closely. Brim seems like the type of protagonist to throw a wrench into neatly scripted situations, so I doubt it will be a regular occurrence that I use a lot of exact game dialogue.

If you would like to leave concrit, for this chapter I would really be interested in whether you think Brim's dialect is overdone. I usually write educated characters, so I've been playing with ways to write an uneducated, lower class type character without mangling the sentence structure too much and using a lot of apostrophes. Please, and thank you!

"Almost there," Eagill called back, his voice fading out on the wind that growled through the snow-laden forest around them. By now, Brim knew better than to trust his optimism. They had been "almost there" twice already since they had descended from the high, narrow trail of Pale Pass, and still she could see nothing but trees and snow and the broad, retreating back of the big Nord in front of her. She had been staring at it for the last twelve hours, wondering how in the world she had let him talk her into this. At least Hammerfell would have been warm.

"When you say we're almost there," she called back, trying to tamp down her irritation for the moment, "where's 'there', exactly?"

Eagill stopped and turned, waiting for her to close the few extra steps between them, his breath crystalizing in the cold to frost the coarse blonde braid of his beard. The desperate, fugitive look in his eyes had abated some since they had fled Bruma, the grueling trek over the mountains having taken some of the immediacy out of the danger, but there was still an underlying edge of anxiety and agitation in his expression. From the beginning, Brim had carefully solidified her position as the alpha in their little professional partnership, but the last few days had shaken up the usual order of things and so she decided to postpone the harangue. Arguments of fault aside, it was in both of their best interests to work together. There would be time enough to address the foolishness that had gotten them into this mess once they had reached somewhere with food and a fire.

"There's a crossroads just north of the pass. Used to meet there when I was running sugar. Town called Helgen close by. Just have to find the road."

All this and we're not even on the bloody road yet?, Brim stopped herself from screeching at him. Maybe she would hit him after all. But, no, she kept her hands resolutely down and her expression neutral. Patience.

"I'll find it. I know where it is," he assured her, too confidently, so she knew he was bluffing. Brim thinned her lips and started to reply, but a noise caught her attention and she looked around quickly for the source.

"What's that?" she asked, as the crashing sound grew nearer. The only animals they had seen since they had come through the pass were a pair of snowshoe hares. Her hand went immediately to the long-knife at her belt. Bears? Wolves? Having spent her entire life in cities, Brim had not the slightest idea what could be lurking in the woods of Skyrim.

Before the big Nord could hazard a guess, the forms of two men, both sporting the oddest collection of armor Brim had ever seen, materialized from the underbrush, sprinting as fast as they could in her direction. Reflexively, she dropped into a defensive crouch and heard Eagill pull his sword close by, but the men bolted right past them without a hitch in their stride.

"Imperials! Run!" one called back, and it was then that Brim registered that both men's hands had been tied tightly together in front of them. Eagill looked down confused, but Brim grabbed the sleeve of his tunic and pulled him after her.

"Let's not wait and find out."

They ran at a perpendicular angle to where the other two had gone, Brim weaving through the trees and leaping fallen logs and rocks like a deer. Eagill panted along behind her, trying to keep up. He was no slouch when it came to legging it, but he was a big man and she was lighter and quicker by far. A deadly hiss shot past her and a section of bark exploded off of a tree in front of her as an arrow slammed into it. She dodged quickly to the side, feeling her blood pound through her veins with an extra kick of panic. Worse and worse. What else could possibly go wrong this week?

She needed a place to hide, but Brim knew nothing about the woods or the terrain and, once again, she cursed herself for letting Eagill convince her to come to this Divines-forsaken place. If they had still been in the city, escaping would have been a doddle. At that moment she heard another hiss behind her, followed by a yell of pain and the sound of a body hitting the ground hard.

"Brim!" Eagill cried out after her, his voice tinged with fear and agony, but she did not slow down. If she went back for him, they would both be killed and what was the point in that? Sorry, old chum, she thought and redoubled her pace. Up ahead, she could see the forest floor beginning to slope down into a creek hollow, the terrain falling in uneven terraces of broken stone. Thinking quickly, she jumped down at the first ledge and dropped onto her belly, wedging her body up underneath a shallow overhang among the roots and stones. It was a tight fit, but it was the best cover she could find.

In the distance, she heard more crunching of snow and plant matter, then a furious yell and the brief crash of steel before the forest fell silent again. Well, that was Eagill, no doubt. Poor fool had never had the sense to keep his sword sheathed. Brim closed her eyes and waited, concentrating on listening to the sounds around her and on remaining still, though she could feel cold and exertion shivers beginning in her muscles now that she was not moving.

"I saw another one," a gruff, unfamiliar voice said somewhere above and behind her. Brim held her breath. "Tracks lead in this direction."

Damn. In her haste, she had forgotten about the tracks she would be leaving in the snow. There was always something. Her hand closed around her dagger, just in case.

"Long gone by now, looks like," replied another man. "That big one wasn't one of the escapees, but they wouldn't run if they didn't have something to hide. Smugglers maybe. Spread out, but I wouldn't waste too much time. We have to get back to the wagons."

Brim waited to breathe a sigh of relief until well after she heard both set of footsteps crunch away. She waited a moment longer just in case, and then she slowly emerged from the crevice, still listening lest the faceless threat return. Finally, she stood and brushed the soil and snow from her clothes, looking around. There was no way to know where she was, but any direction that did not lead to people who were likely to murder her was a good one.

"Psst," someone said behind her and Brim whirled, the hair on the back of her neck prickling with dread and shock, just in time to catch a glimpse of a grinning face and the glint of polished steel. Oh, well played, she thought, realizing too late that there had been three men instead of two, just before a heavy hobnail boot met her jaw with enough force to drive every other thought out of her head instantly.

~~0~~

The return to consciousness was a bittersweet occurrence for Brim. Her head throbbed like she had lost a pub brawl against a pack of orcs and she was colder than she had ever been in her entire life. However, she was alive and, as her memories began to reconstitute themselves, she mentally kissed her thanks up to the Eight for that. Cheers, you blighters, for one more lucky go.

"Hey," a voice said from somewhere in front of her and Brim opened an eye against the glaring, snow-reflected sunlight around them. She was leaning against the inside wall of a wooden cart, her back sore from the awkward posture, and there was a big blond man sitting across from her, staring at her with an eager, concerned expression. She shifted, groaning as her body protested the movement, and brought her hands up to her face to shield it from the glare. They were bound tightly at the wrist, and that gave her pause.

"You're awake," he continued, as if that wasn't bloody obvious. She took a better look at him as her eyes adjusted to the light and decided that he was wearing the same tattered blue-grey armor that she had seen on the two fugitives that had passed her in the woods earlier. That, Brim thought, was a decidedly bad sign. "You were trying to cross the border illegally, right? Same as that thief over there."

Brim turned to follow his gesture and she realized that there were two more men sharing the cart with them. She knew the one the blond was referring to immediately from his shifty, disgruntled expression and ragged appearance. Not Family material, unless they were a lot less discerning up here in Skyrim. A scab, then, and apparently a poor one at that.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the man groused, petulantly, but Brim had already turned her attention to the final occupant of the cart and let his tirade wash over her. The last of the three was also a Nord and, if his fine clothing was any indication, someone of consequence. Oddly, he appeared to have been gagged as well as bound, and his blue eyes met hers for a moment over the cloth before his gaze turned moodily inward again to his own thoughts. There was a story here, and Brim was getting the uneasy feeling that she was not going to like it when it all came out. The thief paused in his prattle to look at her. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

"Shut up back there!" the driver of the cart snarled, having had enough of the whining no doubt. He wore the armor of an Imperial soldier. Of all the accursed luck.

"We're all brothers in binds now, horse thief," the big blond man said, his expression darkening slightly, and the conversation died.

Brim craned her neck to look around them, trying to discern any possible avenue of escape. There was another cart in front of them on the road with four or five people in similar armor to the big blond sitting across from her. And, damn his hide, there was a rider behind them keeping watch, as well as several more soldiers, bows across their shoulders. As the cart rumbled from hole to hole down the slope of the road, the snow petered out and she could see stone walls and buildings in the distance. A town? A Legion fort? Whatever it was, she suspected that no good awaited them there.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" the thief asked to break the cloudy silence, gesturing to the man with the gag across from him.

"Watch your tongue," the blond growled, protectively. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak. The true High King."

Brim's eyebrows rose as she cast a newly appraising look over the gagged man. He stared resolutely in front of him, but she could see him frown, the tightening at his eyes and jaw that indicated some internal conflict which his gag prevented him from expressing. Not much of a king, she thought, but then she'd never seen one before, so what did she know? This knowledge seemed to distress the scab, however.

"If you're…and they've captured you…Oh, gods, where are they taking us?" he exclaimed, panic rising with his voice.

"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

What in the infinite cold hells of Oblivion is Sovngarde?, Brim wanted to ask, but the thief was in the process of working up to a full blown conniption, so she held the question. None of this was making any proper sense to her, but she understood the underlying point well enough. They were all in serious trouble.

"Oi," she whispered to the blond man to get his attention, glancing at the cart driver and leaning forward, "Any chance of making a break for it? All for one, one for all, eh?"

The blond shook his head.

"Tried it already. That's where they came up with you, chasing a couple poor souls that managed to jump out."

The resignation in his tone bothered her, and Brim sat back, frowning in consternation. She had always gotten herself out of scrapes before, and this would be no different. A prison cell she could break out of, eventually, but she got the feeling something more permanent and immediate was waiting down in that town ahead. It would not be hard to jump out and run for it, but she doubted she would get very far with trained archers around. It would easy enough to take out the cart driver, too, but then what?

As they drew closer to the gates, she could see soldiers up on the walls in a flurry of preparation for their arrival.

"General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting," a soldier called down from the walls. A voice somewhere up ahead replied, but Brim didn't hear it, her attention hijacked by the mention of the headsman. Mara's mercy, what have these people done to deserve that?

The thief seemed to be thinking similar thoughts, pressing his bound hands to his face and muttering a terrified appeal to the gods as they rolled through the gates. Her eyes lit on the back of a mounted soldier in finer armor than the rest, speaking from horseback to a group of elves…Thalmor, by the look of them. Brim had seen them from time to time back in the Imperial City, but what were they doing out here? The blond was speaking to her again, bitterness in his tone, but her thoughts were consumed with trying to find a way out of this mess and so she barely listened. Archers on the wall tops, no doubt on the towers, too. And this place…Helgen, the blond called it…seemed to be a smallish outpost of a town. No place to hide where she wouldn't be immediately recognized and drug back. The only way she was going to get out of this was to talk her way out. If these men didn't just drag them off the cart and right to the chopping block.

The carts were drawing to a stop next to one of the walls and Brim could see a collection of soldiers standing around nearby.

"Get these prisoners off of the carts. Move it!" a female commander shouted at them.

"Why are we stopping?" the thief asked, anxiously, though it was obvious that he already knew the answer. The man was practically shaking in his boots, and Brim held back a scowl. Amateur. No dignity or backbone at all.

"Why do you think? End of the line," the blond replied, dully, as the soldiers yelled at them to get out. He had a tired, fatalistic expression on his face, as if he had been expecting this for a while now and was bored with it. She couldn't help cracking a smile at that. A man after her own heart, then. Don't give the bastards the satisfaction of seeing you afraid. The horse thief, on the other hand, was practically blubbering already.

"We're not rebels!" he cried, as if anyone would listen to him.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," the blond admonished, wearily, as he jumped down from the cart. Brim followed him, the jarring motion sending an aching pain up her sore back, and looked past him, where the captives were disembarking from the other cart and beyond to where she could see the chopping block, the priest, and executioner already arrayed in the yard. Bit of sport on your part, then?, she asked the Divines in her head. Letting me wake up only to put me back down later?

"Step towards the block when we call your name," the commander demanded. "One at a time."

"Empire loves their damned lists," the big Nord next to her muttered to no one in particular. He seemed to be the type that quelled his nervousness by talking, and she agreed affably for his benefit.

"Ain't that just the bleeding truth, though."

The first to be called was Ulfric Stormcloak, the supposed High King. Suddenly, the situation made more sense. This is political, then, Brim thought. Kings and soldiers playing 'who's on top' and now the losers are getting their comeuppance. The blond was next. Ralof of Riverwood, they called him. Well, at least she had gotten to know his name before he died. The thief came afterwards and, in true fashion, made a mess of it.

"I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" he wailed, and set off at an awkward run back towards the direction they had come. "You're not going to kill me!"

Oh, that's where you're wrong, old son, Brim thought, unimpressed, and watched the commander call down the archers on him. The amateur was dropped in the middle of the road before he had even gotten halfway to the gates.

"Anyone else feel like running?" the commander asked, icily, turning back to Brim. She smiled and shook her head.

"Not me, your honor. Good citizen, that's what I am. This is all just a misunderstanding, I'm sure."

"Wait. Who are you?" the soldier with the list said, frowning, as he squinted at the parchment in front of him.

"Name's Elsamera Brickenend, but Elsa'll do nicely," Brim lied, congenially. It was the alias she used least often, and she doubted anyone here would have heard it. Elsa was just a simple city girl. A maid or maybe a shop girl somewhere. Innocent as pie and completely incapable of doing anything illegal.

"You're a long way from the Imperial City," the soldier said, suspiciously, judging from the looks of her, which in adulthood had tended more towards her mother's side of the family than her father's broad Breton features. "What are you doing in Skyrim?"

"Oh, it was terrible, sir, I tell you. One minute I'm headed up here all set to visit my old auntie, what I haven't seen in years, right? And then…"

"Captain, she's not on the list. What should we do?" the soldier interrupted before "Elsa" could start in on her sob story properly and turned to the grim-looking officer, who was glaring at Brim with an increasingly disgusted expression.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block," the officer replied, and Brim felt her chest constrict with giddy fear, though she put on an expression of injured innocence.

"Here now, what am I supposed to have done?"

The officer stepped closer to Brim and looked her up and down, scowling.

"You can drop the act. I know your type. You may not be on our list, but you've done something to earn the block, I'm sure," she turned away and gestured to the other soldier. "Process her."

"By your orders, captain," the list-keeper said, resigned, though Brim could tell he was not exactly comfortable with how this was happening, "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil. Follow the Captain."

Well, that's torn it, she thought. She had never imagined it would end like this, but if there was nothing she could do, she would at least go out with better grace than the amateur had. Like Papa had, from what old Uncle Renald had told her of it. As she turned to go, she looked over her shoulder.

"Oi, soldier," she called back at him, "My name's not Elsa. It's Brim Stroud. Sorry about that. You mark that down in your book there, and you can just toss my bits in any old hole. There's no one back in the city that wants them."

With that, she turned and followed the officer to where the rest of the condemned were waiting. The same fancy-dressed officer that she had seen on horseback as they entered, General Tullius apparently, sauntered up to address the Stormcloak fellow. Cocksure, now that his enemy was in binds, Brim thought wryly and turned her attention elsewhere. If she was about to be executed, she didn't want her last moments to be spent contemplating someone else's problems.

Well, it had been a good old life and one well lost, she reflected. She had thought it would last longer, but she was still older than many of her colleagues had been when their invitations to the Undertaker's Ball turned up, and she had done Papa proud while she was working. If not for the accident, she might have gone on to be Guildmistress in the city one day. There was no use in being angry at poor Eagill for that anymore. He hadn't been a bad sort, just not terribly bright, and no one could really fault you for the brains you weren't born with. It would have been nice to have seen Evylie again and met her little girl, Brim's niece, but Brim thought maybe they were better off this way. Evylie was the good one in the family. She deserved a good life with her husband and child, without Papa and Brim's world cropping back up in the middle of it.

A strange noise, almost like a loud, distant shout, echoed through the air and bounced off of the mountains around them.

"What was that?" someone asked.

"It's nothing, carry on," the general said, and turned to take his place with the rest of the soldiers.

"Give them their last rites," the captain who had condemned Brim rapped out, and the priestess stepped forward. Brim was almost glad when one of the prisoners interrupted her before she could even get started. The gods would either accept Brim's soul or cast it out into Oblivion and there was not priest or priestess alive that could change their minds on that count now. Whichever it was going to be, better to get it over and done with.

"Come on, I haven't got all morning!" the dead man walking growled at the headsman as the captain pushed him down onto the block and Brim was impressed, smiling at his defiance. Such brass balls on that one, it was a shame he was not long for the world. She would have applauded him if her hands had been free. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials! Can you say the same?"

The wet crunch of the axe rending through the man's neck sent a shiver through the company.

"You Imperial bastards!" a woman shrieked, woefully, from among the prisoners. There were more shouts from the row of houses that lined the road behind them. You'll be joining him soon enough, my duck, don't take on, Brim thought to herself.

"As fearless in death as he was in life," Ralof commented next to her. She looked at him and saw sadness rather than fear in his face. Well, at least I'll be going to Oblivion in good company. She glanced at the Stormcloak gentleman, his face a stony mask. With a king, no less. Who'd have thought it.

"Next! The renegade Imperial," the captain barked out, looking directly at Brim with a cruel smile. The same unsettling sound echoed across the houses again, louder and more pronounced this time, and now more people were looking around in bewilderment. What was it?

"There it is again," said the soldier who had taken Brim's name when she had got off of the cart, frowning.

"I said 'Next prisoner!'" the captain growled.

"To the block. Nice and easy," the list-keeper said to Brim, gently, as if he knew they had no right to be doing this and was sorry. Taking a deep breath, her heart pounding in her ears, Brim stepped forward. She was afraid, she could feel her insides clenching and twisting, begging for any kind of release from this nightmare, but no one else needed to know that.

"They always said I'd die with my boots on," she remarked cheekily to the headsman, a huge brute of a man, chosen no doubt for his disturbing appearance as well as his skill with an axe. "Make it a good one, eh? A girl only gets to die once."

He hesitated, but inclined his head slightly as the captain shoved her in front of the block. The list-keeper was standing there, watching her, just as helpless in the situation as she was.

"It's a fair cop," she told him, seriously, as the captain grasped her shoulder and shoved her roughly down and forward onto the bloody stump. And it was, whether he knew why or not. He looked to be her own age, and a decent lad. No reason he should have to live with the idea that he had helped kill an innocent. Brim was not that vindictive, especially with her immortal soul in the balance.

As she waited for the axe to come down, the blood from the last victim soaking up through her shirt as she stared up at the headsman in his black hood and studded black armor and tried to keep her composure, there was a flash of huge wings and a reptilian form darted through the air around the mountain. What…

Before she could even think the question all the way through, the largest, most frightening-looking black dragon she could ever have imagined, right out of the children's fairy tales, landed with a sound like thunder on top of the tower next to the yard. Its huge, red eyes seemed to be staring right at her.

"What in Oblivion is that?" roared General Tullius from nearby. But Brim's gaze was trained unwaveringly on the dragon's, unable to take in anything else about what was happening around her. You're here for me, she realized, uncertain of why or how she knew it, and the dragon reared back its head in a deadly S-curve and roared.

The clouds began to boil overhead like the very end of the world had arrived and, for an instant, Brim thought she could detect words in the wall of sound emanating from the dragon. Then, there was the crack and deep boom of thunder as lightning struck, so close by that Brim could feel the heat and energy of it course instantly through every fiber of her body, blurring her vision and making her muscles jump and seize. The world seemed to erupt in noise and motion around her.

"Hey!" a voice shouted at her as someone grabbed her shoulder, "Come on, the gods might not give us another chance!"

She allowed the rough hands to pull her up from the block and found herself blinking into Ralof's scruffy, frightened face. Still uncoordinated from the effects of the lightning, she stumbled after him, trying to dodge the man-sized stones that were raining down around her like hail as he bolted for the entrance to one of the towers nearby. Maybe the game was not quite over yet after all.

~~0~~

Ralof had seen a lot of things in his time, but he had never seen, or even imagined he would ever see, a dragon. The hideous, evil form of it, red eyes blazing, was seared into his memory, and it would take a lot of drinking to get it out again. A lot. If he lived. He pushed the girl into the keep ahead of him and heard someone slam the door shut and draw the bolt as he leaned against the stones and heaved for breath. Dragons were not supposed to exist anymore. But every Nord in Skyrim knew the old stories about Alduin, the World-Eater, the King-Bane. Could it really be happening?

He did not know exactly what had possessed him to go back for the girl, either, except that she had made an impression on him. She looked like a perfectly ordinary woman, beddable enough, though all women probably seemed that way when you were about to have your head chopped off. There was something in the way she held herself, though, and the way she had bantered morbidly with the headsman even as she knew she was about to die, that had struck a chord with him. She was brazen. And it would have been a shame to let her die in the chaos after being spared the axe. That was all.

Ulfric was next to him then, the tall Jarl looking around already, noting what they had their disposal, their resources, who had survived and who had not. Thank Talos that they had managed to get him undercover before that dragon had attacked in earnest. Without Ulfric, Skyrim and all they were fighting for was lost.

"Jarl Ulfric, what was that thing?" Ralof panted, desperate for an explanation for what had just befallen them, for someone to make sense of it all. If anyone would know, it would be Ulfric. He had been a novice at High Hrothgar once, hadn't he? He knew the legends better than the greatest bard or scholar. "Could the legends be true?"

"Legends don't burn down villages," the Jarl replied, solemnly, his brow furrowed in concentration. Ralof looked over at the girl, who was scrabbling for a dagger that had been dropped in the panic, cursing under her breath as she fumbled with it and tried to cut herself free. The sound of wood and stone shattering, accompanied by a shrieking roar from overhead and the crackle of fire, shook the tower down to its foundations, yanking his mind back to the problem at hand. The wooden door began to smoke, and the rivets began to glow a worrying hot-iron red.

"We need to move now!" Ulfric shouted above the fray. The rest of the soldiers were already trying to gather up their wounded comrades and pull them towards the back of the tower away from the inferno that was raging outside of the door, and Ralof hurried over to the girl, still struggling with her bonds. He had saved her and he felt responsible for her now. She was a civilian and he was a soldier. It was his job.

"No time for that," he told her quickly, taking her arm. Her green eyes were oddly devoid of fear as she gave him a questioning look, and he started to pull her along after him. "Up through the tower with me, come on!"

She followed him easily enough after that, and Ralof pelted up the stairs with his charge in close pursuit. He had no idea what they were going to do, but they would get out of this. Somehow. Talos help them.