"Oh, there once was a hero named Ragnar the Red, who came riding to Whiterun from Ol' Rorikstead ~ "

Cura was singing an old Skyrim favourite, and the other Vigilants hummed along as they scaled the mountain paths.

"And the braggart did swagger and brandish his blade, as he told of bold battles and gold he had made~ "

Suddenly, one of her partners stopped, and whipped out her mace.
"Who goes there?" the Vigilant called out into the dark night.

A hissing sound could be heard on the wind, and the other Vigilant and Cura reacted in kind, holding their weapons at the ready. As one would anticipate, they encountered a couple of vicious, serpentine frozen snakelike creatures.

"Ice Wraiths!" Cura cried. She remembered reading Herbane's Bestiary with Brother Adalvald, where the Ice Wraith was detailed. Fortunately, being a Breton, Cura was naturally in-tuned with the ways of magic, She quickly began to cast a Flame spell, as her allies attacked the Wraiths head-on. She burned through one of the Wraiths, but one of her allies mishappenly backed into the torrent of flame.

"Agh! Watch it!" the Vigilant cried out in surprise as she was singed.

"Sorry!" Cura apologized, as she herself jumped away from a burst of ice crystals that emerged from the ground and headed in her direction. Unfortunately, part of the spikes stabbed into her leg, causing her to grunt in pain. Thankfully, her iron boots absorbed most of the impact, preventing her from being maimed.

Her second ally, however, was not so fortunate, and was bitten by the second Ice Wraith, and killed.

"No! Hilda!" Cura cried out, as she finished off the second Ice Wraith with a thick blow of her mace. The other Vigilant came running over, as well.

"Safe Journey to Sovngarde, sister." the other Vigilant said as she closed her ally's eyes. Cura, however, was mortified. She fell to her knees in the snow, and took Hilda's hand. The Breton girl lowered her head as she grasped her ally's increasingly colder hand in hers, and she wept. She knew it would happen sooner or later, but to happen so soon...

"We must keep moving, Cura." her living ally reminded her. "We've still a ways to go before we reach Darkwater Crossing." She placed a hand on Cura's shoulder.

"So, do we just leave her here?" Cura asked, her eyes brimming with tears. "Leave her here to rot in the snow?"

The other Vigilant sighed. "We could give her a fast burial, but we will have to go before the storm gets worse."

Cura nodded, and the two began to pray to Stendarr, and to Arkay and Sheor, as they placed rocks over the body, eventually forming a mound of stones. Cura left the Vigilant's Amulet on her gravesite, and they continued on their trek through the wasteland.

Cura was silent for the rest of their journey, still coming to terms with the mortality of life. They eventually came upon an area where there was a large waterfall set, and a mine, a house, and a small campsite. It was Darkwater Crossing.

She walked over to one of the Guards, who wore a leather-tempered armour with chain mail, and a blue tabard over it. The armour style, as well as the masked helmet reminded her of the Guards in Dawnstar.

"We heard stories of a Werewolf attack near here." Cura stepped forward and addressed the matter to the blue guard with confidence and posture.

The Guard looked her up and down. "Oh, I see." He said, snark trailing his voice. "You're with them Vigilants, in that Hall, up North." He pointed to the forest. "Aye, there was a Werewolf maulin' just a li'l NorthEast of here. Pretty sight. Man's guts were strewn apart everywhere, and his skin was cleaned straight off his bones. If you've got the stomach for it, you're welcome to go and take a look."

"Wait... you left him there?" Cura's jaw dropped. She could not believe what she was hearing. When a person died, it was the sacred duty of others in their community to bury them.

"I've got more important things to deal with." the Guard sneered beneath his mask. "Like keeping Imperial Rot out of this region. Now, move along."

Cura nodded surreptitiously, and she and her ally continued to walk through the woods, when an entourage approached from the distance. There were more blue-clad soldiers, and they were led by a man with dirty blonde, off-brown hair with a well-groomed beard, and a large, dark blue full-body fur robe riding a horse in the center of the soldiers' procession.

"Wow!" Cura exclaimed. "He must be somebody very important!" As she walked closer with her ally, she got a closer look at the man.
"Cura, wait!" her ally attempted to pull her back, but Cura was captivated. He was a Nord, and a very handsome one, at that. The way he carried himself was awe-inspiring to all those around them, with grace and charisma.

"FIRE!"

But unfortunately, as she approached his group, arrows hailed down from the cliffs above.

"We are routed! Fall back!" the leader cried out, attempting to turn his horse. The soldiers immediately ran, and Cura and her ally were pushed along with the small horde, running for their own sakes at this point.

Soldiers in Imperial armour came out from the other sides of the forest, and had their own entourage blocking all routes of escape. Men and women were cut down left, right, and center, and Cura watched her friend attempt to strike an Imperial Soldier, only to be run through the chest with a sharpened sword.
"NO!" cried Cura in desperation as she witnessed this horror. She was immediately grabbed by a Legionnaire, and she struggled for her life, causing another to smack her in the back of her head with his shield, knocking her unconscious and limp in the Soldier's arms.

As the world blacked out, she saw the important man holding his hands behind his back as the Soldier with Golden armour gagged his mouth.


Thunk!

A rattle of the carriage did it. Cura's eyes slowly, but surely began to open. She was incredibly dizzy at first, and her tongue felt dry. Her flesh was cold, but that was when she realized she was in a Roughspun Tunic with simple footwraps, and her hands were bound in rope.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there." A blonde Nord fellow took fast interest in Cura, which, complimenting all that just transpired, made her feel incredibly uneasy.

"N-no... I was just in Darkwater for-"

"Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." The brown-haired man in rags adjacent to the important man with the gag spoke with haste and venom. Cura tuned most of it out, as her mind was preoccupied with thoughts of home, and thoughts of her ally who was impaled by that soldier.

"You there!" The Thief snapped Cura out of her daydream. "You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants!"

"'Stormcloaks..." Cura repeated, and she looked at the blue-armoured fellows around her.

The blonde fellow shifted in his seat, and expressed his annoyance. "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" One of the Imperial Soldiers in the driver's seat ahead of them called around. Cura simply kept her head down.

"And what's wrong with him?" the thief gestured towards the gagged man disrespectfully.

Cura looked up to see the gagged man again, who was all but gritting his teeth at this moment. Something about him made Cura feel inspired, even in the seat of fear.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" The blonde fellow clapped back, practically jumping out of his seat in defense of the gagged man.

"Ulfric Stormcloak." Cura repeated. She had heard the name before, but hearing a name and seeing a face are two different things. She wanted to sit closer to Ulfric so she could talk to him directly without having to shout over the loud fools between them and attract unwanted attention from the Imperial Soldiers.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" The thief recollected the name, as well. "You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" His tone shifted quickly to a mocking one to a deeply fearful one.

" I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits." the blonde soldier declared openly, free of fear.

The cowardly thief began to panic, and shake profusely. "No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening."
The Soldier saw it best to change the subject, for the man's sanity's sake. "Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" The thief, however, did not seem to appreciate this much. "Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." the Soldier said, and Cura snapped a look at him, feeling as though he may have read her own mind at that time, because all she could think about was her home. After clearing his throat and coming back to his senses, the thief responded. "Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead.."

The blonde soldier nodded, and then turned to Cura. "While we're on the subject, what village are you from, Breton? You're not from the Reach, are you?"

"I...I'm from just outside of Dawnstar, in the Pale." Cura responded, shivers of death crawling over her backskin.

"Your friend is in a better place now." He told her, and Cura simply nodded, and looked to the floor once more. "I'm Ralof. Ralof of Riverwood." The blonde fellow told her. "I'd shake your hand, but as you can see..." he lifted his arms, showing the bonds around his wrist. "I'm a little tied up at the moment."
Cura gave him a small smile, appreciating the humour in this dark hour. "I'm Cura. Cura of the Pale."

"Cura of the Pale." Ralof repeated in admiration. "A beautiful name for a lovely young lass."

Cura blushed and turned her face quickly.

The forest around them seemed to drag on and on for a while, until they began to slow down.

"Ah, here we are. It's about damn time. I was getting worried we weren't going to make it." Ralof said sardonically, in an almost dark anticipation. Slowly but surely, they approached the village of Helgen, as the sign made abundantly clear. A soldier called out to the lead wagon, to the man in gold armour. "General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!" The high-ranking Soldier, now revealed to be General Tullius, nodded. " Good. Let's get this over with."

The thief was quivering like a scared child in his seat, and began to appeal to higher powers. "Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."
Cura herself could get behind the sentiment. She clasped her hands together and began to pray to Stendarr, and even apologize to Carcette retroactively for failing her and for failing the Hall of the Vigilant.

As they pulled in closer, Ralof sneered. " Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him." Cura wondered where he had seen the Thalmor, but she saw a female Altmer on horseback in a black uniform. Something about that woman made Cura feel a little uneasy.

"Damn elves." Ralof continued to speak. "I bet they had something to do with this." Cura wasn't so sure, herself, but she did know the Thalmor were bad news, from things she had heard about them in Dawnstar growing up. Again, it was always nice to have a face to match a name.

"Ralof began to muse, feeling a sense of nostalgia overcome him. "This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in." When they passed the archway into the village, the thief shuddered, and Cura admired the architecture, causing Ralof to comment again. "Funny...when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

A little boy nd his father were watching them come rolling in. "Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" the little boy asked, leaning in closer to get a better look at the spectacle. The father was unamused, and grabbed his son by the arm. "You need to go inside, little cub." the son fought back, pulling out of his grip and running closer regardless. "Why? I want to watch the soldiers."
The father grit his teeth and grabbed the boy, throwing him backwards. "Inside the house. Now!"

The wagon stopped in an open clearing near the Town Square, where the chopping block awaited. With a call from the Soldier, the carriage slowed to a stop about 20 feet away from the execution site, causing the thief to begin to panic once again. "Why are they stopping?" He looked around at the disheartened, demoralized, and low-hung faces of those around him. "Get those prisoners out of the cart. Now!" An authoritative feminine voice called out.
As soon as Cura saw the headsman and his axe, a fearful chill ran down her spine, and she whimpered. So many things left unsaid, so many lives she could never help, and so many years left behind her.

Ralof did not help matters much, either. "Why do you think? End of the line." He got up from hs seat and hopped off the carriage."Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us." He and a couple of others began to line up in front of the carriage. Cura reluctantly followed, knowing resistance would only make matters worse. Perhaps they would take her in for brutal questioning if she tried to flee on suspect of more information.

The thief immediately began to protest as he disembarked just before Cura. "No! Wait! We're not rebels!" This caused Ralof to roll his eyes in annoyance, having enough of the man's whining."Face your death with some courage, thief." This only made the man lash out to him in further desperation . "You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The authoritative woman was plain to see; an Imperial Captain with a Heavy Armour set and Crested helm. "Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." She was straight to the point. Cold. Uncaring. Cura's eyes began to water, as she looked around frantically. She pitied the thief, understanding his position this once. Ralof leaned towards her and muttered in a low voice."Empire loves their damn lists."

Sure enough, began the row call."Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."
The gagged man walked forward, and faced General Tullius. Cura looked at him as he moved past her. The mighty Stormcloak leader-reduced to a common criminal. In truth, she never truly understood their plight. Ralof stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Cura, and his voice trembled as he spoke next, making her even more unsettled. "It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!"
The young Imperial Man continued to read off the list. "Ralof of Riverwood."
Ralof whispered to Cura."And that's my call." He took a deep breath and move along.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."
The thief immediately jumped, and arched forward, his fight or flight response being driven mad. "No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!" Cura turned to him. "Don't do it!"Her warning fell upon deaf ears as he ran for his life. "Halt!" The Captain commanded. "Archers!"
"You're not going to kill me!" He shouted as he got only as far as the watchtower before being sniped with an arrow. Cura cringed as she watched yet another life drain away before her eyes.

The Captain's voice resounded, threatening and daring. "Anyone else feel like running?"
It was almost as though she wanted someone to try. Cura simply shook her head, keeping it down. This caused the Male Soldier to look at her. "Wait. You there. Step forward. Who are you?" He asked not threateningly, but more a notion of curiosity, as she did not look like a Stormcloak Soldier.

"You from Daggerfall, Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?" He asked her, and Cura was taken aback.
"What?" She asked. "N-no... I'm from-"

The Captain was growing impatient, and signaled for them to move this along. The Soldier looked down at the paper in his hands. "Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list. She goes to the block." The Captain was cold, and unjust.

"By your orders, Captain." the Soldier said before turning back to Cura. "Follow the Captain, Prisoner."

"I don't even get a trial?" Cura asked, as an Imperial Soldier shoved her forward from behind, and she stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Ralof again."You'll get your trial in Sovngarde." He muttered to her. Like it was any consolation at all. She wanted to go back to Carcette and Tolan, and the other Vigilants. If they're not yet in Sovngarde, she would rather see them here than have to wait for them to join her.

General Tullius stared Ulfric in the face."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." Ulfric mumbled beneath his gags, and Cura now understood as to why he specifically was gagged. His voice was a weapon. How could such a thing be possible?

Tullius was unmoved. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

A hollow sound echoed through the sky; unlike anything anyone there had ever heard before, judging by all the questionings. Cura immediately looked around. Have the Divines heard their prayers? No, it was most likely a Mammoth off in the distance. They were beyond help or intervention now. Something incredibly crazy would have to happen to save her from the chopping block.

The Soldier with the list looked around, concerned. "What was that?"

Tullius snapped back. "It's nothing. Carry on." The Captain stepped up and beamed like the proud viper she was. "Yes, General Tullius!"

She then strut over like a Peacock to the Priestess of Arkay. "Give them their last rites." The Priestess nodded, and raised her hands towards the sky. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you, for you are the salt and earth of Nirn, our beloved..."

"For the love of Talos! Just shut up, and let's just get this over with!" an insolent Stormcloak soldier cut her prayer short and hurried to his death, kneeling before the block. "As you wish." the Priestess said, irritated by the interruption. She walked over to the west side, past the General.

The Stormcloak soldier spat. "Come on, I haven't got all morning. My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" The Captain pushed his back down to keep his head in place, and the Executioner raised his axe high in the air. Cura quickly diverted her gaze, unable to watch the horror unfold. So much death.

FWACK!

His head rolled into the basket, and his limp body slumped over on its side, spraying blood all over the cobblestone road. His disrespect had earned him a clean beheading. Cura looked up in horror at the finished result, and grit her teeth, looking away, mortified. Then, she heard outrage from all around.

"You Imperial Bastards!"
"Justice!"
"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

"As fearless in death as he was in life." Ralof looked down to the floor, then up at Cura. "It's been nice knowing you, even if it was only a short time, Cura of the Pale."

"Next, the Breton!"

That did it. Cura's blood ran cold. She looked around frantically in disbelief, for a way out. Any way out. She saw Archers. She saw Soldiers on the grounds. She saw the Headsman. The hollow sound rung through the skies again, just as it had before; only this time, it was much louder.

"There it is again. Did you hear that?" the Soldier with the list remarked, irritating the bloodthirsty Captain. "I said, next prisoner!" She barker her orders like a she-wolf in heat. The kinder Soldier turned to Cura again, and spoke softly, understanding the injustice of her incrimination. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

Cura's knees wobbled as she pulled herself along. The closer to the block she got, the more horrified she became. She got down on her knees, feeling countless eyes bore into her, awaiting her dismemberment. She looked up at the Executioner, who was readying his axe, very enthusiastically.

Right before he could bring it down, a large, black dragon landed on the tower above him.

"What in Oblivion is that?" General Tullius cried out in aghast.

"Dragon!"

The beast roared in an inaudible language, bursting the skies and calling forth a massive storm of meteors to rain down and strike. Cura's eardrums blew and all she could hear was ringing for a few seconds. The Headsman fell backwards and fumbled about before running for cover. Then the Dragon roared again. "FUS RO DAH!"

His shockwave destroyed buildings. What power!

Just from words, this demon from the sky rattled the world around them.

Was this The Voice?

Did Ulfric summon this Dragon? Or perhaps Akatosh?

Mercy of Stendarr?

Cura thanked all the Divines for the inane distraction as she pulled herself up. Ralof hurried over to her. "Cura, come on! The Gods won't give us another chance!"

He grabbed her by the wrist and ran to the nearest tower with her, where Ulfric was taking refuge.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the Legends be true?" He asked, concerned as he and Cura ducked inside.

Ulfric stared out at the carnage outside the shelter. "Legends don't burn down villages." He responded. Cura looked out at the people running for their lives desperately, and those being caught on fire. "We have to help them!" She cried out.

"Why?" one of the Stormcloaks asked. "They were more than happy watching our deaths. Why should we care about what happens to them? I hope that Imperial bitch gets toasted."

"We've got to move. Now!" Ulfric shouted.

Cura took to the spiral stairs in the watchtower, and was interrupted near the top when the black Dragon broke the wall, killing another Stormcloak soldier and scorching them with a torrent of fire which she narrowly dodged before the fiend took back to the skies.

Cura stood at the crack, and looked at a house with a broken roof below.

She could make the jump.

She looked at Ralof and nodded, then took the plunge, landing on the splintering wood and cutting and subsequently cauterizing the soles of her feet on the burning oak. Ignoring the pain, Cura continued to run through the apocalypse of Helgen, through fire and destruction, seeing people writhe themselves to death in pools of blood and covered in grotesque burns. This horrified her, but she kept running. Then she saw the Soldier who listed them off, calling to a little boy."Haming, you need to get over here. Now! " The little boy from earlier was scared, but maneuvered his way through the flames. "hat a boy. You're doing great." His father, however, was scorched by the dragon, who was readying his fire breath when he mishappened to step in front, guarding his son. "Torolf! Gods... Everyone get back!" The Soldier leaped for cover as the fire bursted forward. Cura ran to check on Hamming, who was crying over his father's demise. She offered to comfort him, when she was called out to.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy." The Soldier instructed them, and Cura followed him through fire and war.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar." the old man told him.

Hadvar.

Cura resolved to follow him.

Evbentually, they reached the Keep, where Hadvar gripped Cura by the arm. Ralof encountered them halfay.

"Ralof, you damned traitor! Out of the way!"

Ralof smirked at him, and called him out. "We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time."

Hadvar knew there was no time to argue, so he cut it brief. "Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde!" With one final look at Ralof, Cura was whisked away into the Keep by Hadvar.