Prologue: Peripheral Visions

Expansive plains spread out in front of her as she crested the craggy hill. The patches of yellowed grass dispersed here and there on the barren terrain softly swayed in the gentle breeze. The sky shone bright, soft puffs of cloud unhurriedly wafting across its azure face. The air balmy and tender, the seemingly unending winter long behind. Everywhere the intoxicating scent of fresh flowers, fresh leaves, fresh life.

A perfect day.

And something awful was about to take place. Somehow she knew this. Although she knew not how she knew.

And then she saw them. A rock's throw down the slope from her, men and women, attired in armor and carrying weapons and shields, somehow deeply at odds with the surrounding serenity, as though at war against it.

The soldiers did not seem anxious, exactly, but there was certainly the feeling of tension in the air. They kept looking around, glances mostly, as if not wanting the others to see their unease. It was skyward that they kept looking.

She observed the soldiers for some time, as they barely seemed to care about her presence, no matter how out of place it was among them. She stayed where she was so as to not call attention to herself, yet they must have been aware of her, since she was visible atop the hill.

Only then did she take notice of the man standing over to the side, away from the rest, right below the crest, observing the skies. There was something of unassuming about him, yet something distinctly esteemed as well. Regal.

Before she realized, she was moving. She came to stand next to him, trying to see what he was seeing. He did not appear to take notice of her standing there and just kept his eye cast in the azure distance.

She did not mind, as she was pretty sure she was used to this kind of thing. Not being noticed.

She was already considering saying something, or at least clearing her throat to get his attention, to notify him of her presence, when he spoke.

"Do you judge us ready for him?" His tone was calm, meditative, his voice soft but rimmed with gravel.

"Him?"

That's when he first took a look at her. He frowned. Then looked on ahead, carrying on as if she'd never said anything. "I would have never guessed the weight of the crown, during all those years I spent convinced that mine was the head meant to carry it." He grunted. "I suppose that makes me a fool."

Was that a question?

She considered him. There was something very familiar about his hard-lined, bearded features—furrowed deep with years of worry, it seemed. Yet she was quite certain she had never met the man before. "Who are you?" she asked.

He looked at her again, frowning deeper. Then the light of comprehension came upon him. "Ah yes. You're not from around here are you?"

I honestly don't know. "No," she said. "I suppose you are right about that."

Perplexment flashed in his eyes, but he hid it immediately. "I am Ulfric Stormcloak, the High King of the Free People of Skyrim." When he said it, it was like a declaration.

She thought there was something not quite right about what he said, but could not for the life of her say what that could have been.

Ulfric Stormcloak regarded her. "And you, young lady. Who might you be?"

Young lady? Ah, well I suppose that is correct. She then met his ice-blue gaze, and shook her head. "I . . . I can't say."

For an instance, he looked perplexed again. Then nodded. "Ah, I see." He even gave her a little smile. "A secret. I understand."

"No," she said. "That's not it."

"No?" he asked, studying her. "What is it, then? Why can't you say who you are?"

"Because I . . ." She looked for the correct words. Sought out the distant hills with her eyes, as if hoping to find them there. "Because I do not know."

Now the man simply could not, or would not, hide his confusion. Ulfric opened his mouth to say something.

"He comes!"

He spun to face the fields at that cry from below, gauging the skies. In one fluent motion, he then swept out the huge sword on his back and shot her a feverish look.

"Get you to safety!" he hissed at her. "The battle begins." And then he was off, running down the hill.

Confused, she watched the man join the bustling army below. Everyone looking at the skies. As if waking from a stupor, she only then looked herself. And frowned.

Momentarily, a huge shape blotted the sun as it passed. Her mouth fell open as her brain refused to believe what her eyes were taking in. Her heart, however, suddenly bouncing in her chest, seemed to know exactly what to believe.

A gut-wrenching shriek cleaved the air as the enormous shadow twisted in place, preparing to plunge at the earth. Then it stopped mid-flight, stretching out vertically with its massive wings beating the air around it with a sound like a dozen whips slashing at nothing. Close enough to the ground, the wings sent the grass below fluttering as if it were every bit as agitated by this apparition as the people. The birds were suddenly silent, and even the soldiers seemed to be holding their breath as they awaited the inevitable, although those with bows for weapons were drawing arrows to hurl at the airborne monster.

And then something like a frozen whirlpool poured out of the dragon's mouth as it stretched its massive jaws wide open. The soldiers were nothing to that attack, many flung down to the ground, where others managed to leap out of the way of this most unnatural phenomenon. Archers flung their arrows, but they seemed to do next to nothing, ricocheting off the armor or black scales, many snapping in two or more pieces before raining futilely to the ground.

The dragon roared and spun upwards again, pirouetted in the air, and made for another deadly plunge. On the ground, many of the soldiers were down and not getting up, whereas the rest routed every which way, their own survival reigning supreme over any formalized training of proper military form.

And in spite of all this madness and mayhem, she found herself on the move. As though in a trance, she slowly walked down the hill, toward where the slaughter was taking place. Now people were definitely taking notice of her, some screaming what she knew to be dire recommendations to run for her life. She thought she could half hear what they were saying. What is she doing, that fool girl!

Indeed, what? She had no idea.

The dragon swooped down, blowing down more soldiers with its icy breath, catching one screaming, floundering woman in its claws and spiraling upwards. Then it tore the poor soldier in half, raining blood and guts on her routing comrades, finally dropping the mangled remains.

Part of her was shocked by the sickening display, yet she kept walking in a strange cloud of calm, as if nothing here could touch her, could ever harm her. She somehow knew that was not entirely true, yet true enough to justify her calm.

She kept nearing the beast now circling the air above. And then it seemed to notice her down there. The dragon shrieked and made to plunge down.

She stopped, waiting. The enormous shadow descending above her. She felt no fear. She felt very little, in fact.

Instead of showering her with its arcane breath or capturing her in its claws, the dragon extended its legs and spread out its wings to slow its fall and landed on the ground some twenty paces ahead of her. The ground shook with a boom underneath its bulk.

She stood where she was, watching as the dragon folded its black wings and leaned its head forward to get a look at her in turn. It was as though fire stared out at her from the sides of that wedge-shaped head. The whole creature was like a massive, jagged sculpture of charcoal, all black-scaled, misshapen spine.

The dragon cocked its head, as if trying to comprehend what it was looking at, trying to make sense of this foolish woman who showed no sign of reasonable terror.

In truth, it made little sense to her, either.

Then, suddenly, the black breast pulled its head back sharply; and if surprise could have been expressed by the angular, ridged reptilian features, this was as close to that as possible.

There was something like . . . recognition in the dragon's eyes. Followed by something else. Hatred? Or even . . . fear?

The dragon's low-rumbling voice seemed to shake the air as it uttered one word in human language.

"YOU!"

There was no point in trying to deny that this was something she had not expected to hear coming out of that dagger-toothed mouth.

She shook her head at the monster, still feeling more utterly at a loss than afraid.

"Who am I?" she demanded.

But there was no reply. Only a roared word in a forgotten language, and then a blinding wave of heat roiling over her.

Fire. Pain.

She screamed.