Ulfric Stormcloak, wielder of the Thu'um, was in a rather...difficult position to say the least. For one, his mouth was gagged, his hands, tied, and he was pretty sure he about to executed under some fool's orders. He and his men had been caught in an imperial ambush, a complete route, a humiliation, and were now awaiting the headsman's axe. Only the rumbling of the carriage broke the deathly silence that loomed over the caravan.
"Hnnmggg…."
Well, expect that.
Sitting on his left side, a young lass, a Breton, a user of the clever craft with red hair and short stature, groaning as forced herself upward, her amber eyes flickered opened. Moving her hand to rub her head, only to stop when she noticed the ropes that bound them.
"Hey, you. You're finally awake." One of his soldiers, Ralof of Riverwood, took notice of the lass. It deeply upset the man called Ulfric that he could only remember a few of his soldier's names, so it was a small comfort he could recall one that he knew to soon join him on the road to Sonvergrade.
"You were trying to cross the border right?" He guessed, "Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." Tilting his head, the lass looked over to the Nord sitting across from him.
"Damn you Stormcloaks." He growled, "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."
Ulfric would've used the Thu'um right then and there if his tongue had not been tied. Fine? That's what he thought? Oppression, under a decaying and weak empire's rule? Could this Nord, a man born and raised in Skyrim, the very birthplace of the Empire he hated so, sit idly by as their very way of life was being slaughtered under the Thalmor's flag? The man's words caused Ulfric's blood to boil, if it wasn't for these bonds, he would've torn that fool apart with his bare hands!
Blissfully unaware of the boiling pot of murder sitting across from him, the thief continued, "If they hadn't been looking for you, I've could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell." He looked to the lass, "You there. You and me-We shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
Ralof smiled in contempt, "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."
"Shut up back there!" The driver commanded. Hmph, like anyone would listen.
"And what's wrong with him huh?" The thief looked to the...former Jarl, who simply glared at him in return.
"Watch your tongue." Ralof snapped, "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." The announcement made the coward's eyes open in fright.
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion." One could almost see the inner workings of his mind, "But, if they've captured you, then….oh gods, where are they taking us?!"
"I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." Ralof said, smiling despite himself.
"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" The Thief squawked in denial.
A small pause, "Hey, what village are you from, horse-thief?" Ralof asked in a soft voice.
"Why do you care?" The thief shot back.
"A Nord's last thoughts...should be of home." Ralof responded.
A conflicted look on the cowards face, but, he managed to get his words out, "Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."
Up ahead, a imperial soldier called forward, "General Tullius, sir! The Headsman is waiting!"
Ah, nice to know that some predictions came true, at least.
"Good, let's get this over with." So there it was, it appeared that soon, he would get to see the face of this "Famed General."
"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh, Divines. Please help me."
The Breton blinked, like, what she heard was wrong. It was, there should have been one more in that prayer.
As they rolled into the settlement, Ralof sneered as he caught sight of two on horsebacks, "Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor."
The blading man's back was turned, but Ulfric knew who he was talking to.
Elenwen, that bitch.
"And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn Elves, I bet they had something to do with this." Ralof didn't know it, but if that bet were real, he'd be a very rich man.
A silence took over the carriage, during that time, the thief looked around desperately, searching for a way to escape somehow. Ralof watched the houses roll on by, and the Breton….she merely looked down at her feet, and Ulfric could hear the heavy breathing coming from her. A new blood, not even a soldier, that much was obvious. The poor girl was as innocent as a small pup in this.
"This is Helgen." Ralof finally realized, "I used to be sweet on a girl here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with the juniper berries mixed in." Smiling bitterly, Ralof shook his head, "Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."
If Ulfric could speak, he would have agreed.
"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" A small boy, sitting on his father's porch, asked as he watched the caravan ambled on.
"You need to go inside, little cub." The boy's father said, all too aware of what would happen next.
"Why? I want to watch the soldiers." The boy replied, obvlious.
"Inside the house. Now." The father ordered.
"Yes papa…" With that, the boy stood and headed back into the house as the horse drawn carriage slowed to a halt in front of the town's walls..
"Why are we stopping?" Horse-thief asked, fear in his voice.
"Why do you think? End of the line." Ralof said bluntly.
"Let's go." Ralof said to the Breton, "Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." With that, they stood. Panicked once more, the thief pleaded loudly.
"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"
"Face your death with some courage, thief." Ralof sighed as they climbed down.
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you, this is a mistake!"
Ignoring him, a Redguard Captain stood at the forefront, with a Nord soldier standing next to her, "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time."
"Empire loves their damn lists." Ralof sneered.
The Nord unscrolled a paper, and read from it: "Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."
With that, he walked into the lineup.
"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" Ralof called after him.
It was a grisly scene, to say the least. He had, at the very least, expected the lass to go last. As bitter as he was, Ralof half expected that someone, anyone, in the army would notice that the lass wasn't a stormcloak. A guard, the general. Anyone would do. But no, not even a minute after the first execution, they had picked the lass right out of the line. What was her name? Amalia…Farsight? Something like that, at least. At the very least, he would make sure she would have some comfort on the road to Sonvegrade. If she did not go to the hall of honored Nords, then, there was nothing he could do.
As she hung her head over the cinderblock, Ralof swore he saw a single tear drop off her face, and if the Redguard bitch noticed, she didn't care. Shoving her head onto the stone with a firm foot, the ax man raised his weapon.
And a black dragon dropped out of the sky.
"DOVAHKIIN!"
Allo. Sorry about the scene shift, but I had this short in my head for a while, and I couldn't get it out. Besides, not every chapter has to be in chronological order after all. It IS a oneshot series after all. Anyway, just so you know, Alduin doesn't actually say "Dovahkiin" when he lands on top of the tower, I just thought it'd be better for some theatrics this time.
Anywho, tell me what you thought, and please, review.
Truly Wandering, Outlaw.