Elder Scroll series 1. Chapter 1 - Stormcloak Princes

A thick blanket of snow lay across the plains of Eastmarch. The river bank loomed over by the city of Windhelm was undisturbed, all but for two sets of childrens footsteps that soon became a mess of crushed snow. The trail led to two young pre teens playing. One with medium length golden hair and a thick northern accent for his age, and the other of the same build but light black hair and a slightly darker complexion. His voice was northern too, but sometimes the Imperial voice of his mother would weave its way into his words. The two brothers were mock-fighting with sticks, giving swift swings at the air taking down imagined foe after foe. The blonde boy shouted while heroically standing before his brother, "Look out Emperor Lucian! A dragon!" He shouted mythic sounding gibberish and jumped in the air spinning, his stick with him before landing on his ass. Lucian laughed at his brothers fall and shouted his own gibberish and said "Quick before he flies away!" The two boys yelled battle cries in a flurry of swings until they both fell back into the snow exhausted. "That was fun, but next time i wanna be the Emperor!" Lucian panted and laughed to his brother, "But Blades are cooler! They have really cool armour."

The two boys loved playing Dragonborn. They had heard the stories of terrific heroes who conquered dragons and fought alongside brave warriors called Blades. They played many games together. Sometimes fighting Elves or other times exploring ruins of the ancient Dwemer. But Dragonborn was their favourite. They lay there catching their breath looking up at the city when on the battlements of the bridge above them appeared the Thane. "Masters Lucian, and Ulfric! Your father Jarl Stormcloak requests your presence and made sure to note it is very urgent."

The two boys hopped up from the snow and made their way up the river bank and through the main gate to the Stone Quarter. Ulfric nudged his brother, "Race you to the Palace of Kings!" and he took off. Lucian bolted a second after. His brother had strength over him, sure. But not speed. He sped to catch Ulfric then matched his pace. He stuck is tongue out and raced off up the steps and past the Guards almost ploughing straight into him. He called out after him, "What's the matter? Someone steal your Sweetroll?"

When Ulfric got to the Palace doors Lucian was leaning against one with a teasing smile. "Oh shut up." His voice got very northern when agitated. Then again, when wasn't something annoying him?

When the boys arrived they could see their father on his Throne. Beside him stood his wife, Ulfrics mother. She had a look colder than the wind on the Throat of the World. Standing in a circle were 4 men in dark grey robes with cowls covering their faces. From what Lucian could tell they were old, as he could see one of their great bushy beards was as grey as stone.

The Jarl beckoned his sons to come sit on his lap. When they sat he spoke to them both. "Boys, I have some news for you. It may be difficult to accept at first but please, hear me." The brothers shot each other a look, then back to their father. "Ulfric. Our guests here are very revered people. They are called 'The Greybeards'. You already know of the tales of using Shouts? Well they are the Masters of what is called the Thu'um, or shout. They believe you possess the capability to learn the ways of the Thu'um with ease, and so they have requested you return to High Hrothgar with them immediately to begin your studies. I know this is hard but –"  
"Hard? I would love it father! Just like the Legendary Dragonborn!" Ulfric was ecstatic; he was going to really learn to shout. "Wait. W-what about Lucian? Is he not coming too?"  
"...I'm sorry boys. Lucian... It is time for you to return home. I have decided that your mother should get to raise you."

Lucian jumped from his father's lap. "No! I can't go back there, THIS is my home father!" His eyes were misty. He looked over to Ulfrics mother, brandishing a smug look of triumph. "It was you, wasn't it? Father is sending Ulfric away for study so you feel even sending his other son away!"  
Ulfric stepped down and stood by his brother. "I'm not going if he has to be sent away!" The Jarl got off from his Throne, and before his court the Jarl of Windhelm himself dropped to his knees on the dusty stone. Not as a leader, but as a father. "Boys. I love you with all of my heart. You may only share my blood, but it is MY blood you share. You are Stormcloaks. You will find each other again one day. Ulfric, as the oldest and therefore my heir you will sit on the Throne behind me one day. It will be in your power to grant Lucian access back to this great city once more. But for now this is the way it must be." The Jarl embraced his sons and kissed them both on the head.

The next morning two carriages awaited the Stormcloak Brothers. One to go south to Cyrodil. The other was to travel to Iverstead in Skyrim, from there Ulfric was to walk up 7,000 steps to the High Hrothgar Palace alone. The boys gave each other a long hug, and Ulfric promised to teach his brother everything he was about to learn. With that they departed. The next time they would see each other they would be on a cart to a town named Helgen, unaware of who sat in their company, and unaware of what was to come..


	2. Chapter 2 - Reunion

Lucian's eyes flickered open slowly. A combination of pain, cold, and confusion were settling in. A burlap sack had been thrown over his head and tied tight enough to just allow breathing space for his neck. This was after an Imperial had used the pommel of their sword as a sleeping agent on his head. He felt a throbbing pain from the crown of his head. Even if the sack wasn't on his head, he probably wouldn't be able to see straight anyway.

He felt a shudder and realised he was on a cart. His hands went to find support as to not fall but he felt the leather of his binds chaff against his wrists. His head jerked up at the sound of a voice.

"Hey, you! You're finally awake. You were trying to cross the border, right?"

Lucian lowered his head. The man spoke in a Nord voice, one that sounded like he was always in song. _Maybe he's a bard_. The man talked on, mentioning an ambush and some thief. Then the voice presumably belonging to the thief spoke out.

"Damn you Stormcloaks! Skyrim was fine until you came along."

_Stormcloaks? So much for the Bard idea then. _He'd heard of the disputes in Skyrim, of the War that had broken out. It was, after all, why Lucian was here. The men spoke back and forth, the thief was anxious, but the Stormcloak man remained calm with his cause keeping him firm. They were still bickering when Lucian heard another man being mentioned on their cart.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" But there wasn't a sound from beside him the entire time. Surely he would have spoken out already.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

Could this be true? Ulfric? _Here?_ What game were the Gods playing now. Why would they be reunited like this? Then he remembered the sack over his own face, and how he hadn't spoken to any of the other prisoners. He was still unknown to them, and he was thankful of this. Although Lucian didn't go by the Stormcloak family name since boyhood, he still feared his resemblance to his brother - the shared traits of their father - might show through. His mind raced on. They were all to be brought before someone soon and given their sentence. Then the Nord mentioned Sovngarde. So this was it? Execution? Would Lucian's task end so abruptly with the fall of a headsman's axe? The means were not what he had planned, but the end was still the same. His brother, a now changed man who sought violence, would still be stopped.

The cart pulled into a town and Lucian heard the whisperings and hurried words of the townspeople. The Nord mentioned General Tullius, the acting commander here in Skyrim. He then said the town was called Helgen. This town was unfamiliar to Lucian, he hadn't left Windhelm much as a child.

The cart drew to halt and the soldiers began unloading the prisoners. Lucian felt a firm grip on his arm that guided him off the cart. Then the familiar accent of Cyrodiil as one soldier began calling names, and a strong female ordered those names to a line up. The thief, now known to be Lokir of Rorikstead, began babbling about not being a Stormcloak. Then he heard the sound of dirt scattering as he began to sprint away. The strong woman's voice commanded the archers to take aim. The darkness of the sack allowed Lucian's ears to pick up the feint sound of an arrow cutting through the air, then the louder sound of Lokir's cry in pain as it was buried in his back.

"You there, step forward." Lucian shuffled forward and felt a grip on the top of the burlap sack. It was pulled off and the sunlight shone bright, dizzying Lucian for a moment. "Who are you?"

He looked around nervously. He saw Ulfric, gagged in the line up with his back to Lucian. _Best to remain anonymous to him, even in death. _

"Gratus. My name is Gratus." A common Imperial name, but also the Family Name of his mother. His voice, unlike the man addressing him, no longer bore the harsh Nordic drawl. That was purged by his mother.

"You're a long way from the Imperial City. What're you doing in Skyrim?"

Lucian paused for a moment. "Family, sir."

The soldier stressed how there was no 'Gratus' listed. "Forget the list." The woman barked. "He goes to the block."

"I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to Cyrodiil." Regret seemed to reside in the soldiers voice, and hesitantly sent Lucian to the line up.

He found he had been stood next to his brother. This tore at his heart. He and his brother were about to meet their ends and they couldn't speak final words to one another, brother to brother. But Ulfric cared not for the insignificant Imperial next to him. His gaze was fixed on Tulius who, standing next to a priest, was basking in the moment.

Tulius now spoke directly to him. "Ulfric Stormcloak. 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 shifted his weight and grunted beneath his gag. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!"

Ulfric breathed heavily, his glare never leaving Tulius. Nothing could break this gaze. Nothing except what was heard next. A bone rattling screech came flowing over the mountains. Distant, but it stuck a look of concern in even Ulfric's face.

"What was that?" The soldier who wearily sent Lucian to the block looked troubled. Tulius' mind was wandering. When he finally spoke he ordered the execution to cary on as normal.

The priestess of Arkay began addressing the Gods regarding the souls which would soon depart to Sovngarde. She was interrupted by a Stormcloak soldier who didn't seem to care to stand in ceremony. He walked to the headsman without care. The Captain who ordered Lokir's death, pushed the eager prisoner to the block with her own boot.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" With those last words the headsman's axe found his neck, and his head fell into the basket. One soldier shouted out protest with a shrill voice. She was drowned out by townspeople wishing death on the prisoners. Soon, it was Lucian's turn.

"Next, the renegade from Cyrodiil!"

Lucian was about to move, but another roar came from the mountains. Closer this time, it shook Lucian to the core. _What could make such a sound? _The Captain seemed to be unfazed by the chilling cry from the mountains.

"I said, next prisoner!"

The soldier encouraged Lucian with words still holding sorrow. "To the block prisoner. Nice and easy."

Lucian looked down and drew in a breath. This is where it was to end, there was no stopping that now. He took a step forward, and followed one foot after the other. It felt like a long walk. The last prisoner's body was kicked aside, but his head was still inside the basket. Lucian felt forceful hands making him kneel, then a cold steel boot on his back. He looked to his right to see his brother. He wasn't looking this way. He thought about shouting a last goodbye, but figured it best that he didn't. He turned left to see the headsman raising the axe high above his head. The sun shone bright on the blooded blade. The glare then faded as the sun was blotted out.


End file.

Elder Scroll series, Fantasy