Elder Scroll series 1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1 - Opening

Groans and rumbling sounds were all around. The world was grey and misty. Swaying movement disturbed the equilibrium of the world, and making sense of anything seemed impossible.

"Hey, you. You're finally awake."

A man was speaking. He was blonde, blue-eyed, and filthy. The scent of sweat clung to this man, and the others in the cart. There were three of them, two in armor, one in rags. All of their hands were bound.

Panic and familiarity invaded her mind. This was all so familiar, and yet she had never been here before. If only she could remember.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?"

She opened her mouth and tried to speak, but he continued.

"Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

He turned his gaze to the man in the tattered tunic and leggings.

"No-" She started, intending to correct the mistake that had been made. She didn't belong here. This all felt very wrong.

The thief cut her off, though, and angrily spat at the blonde man who had first spoken.

"Damn you Stormcloaks." Her head snapped up at that word. She knew that word. Stormcloaks. Rebellion. But that wasn't real...she knew it couldn't be real.

"Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy."

He had continued speaking, disregarding her abrupt movement at his words. That didn't sound too good. Lazy empires weren't good, though she couldn't remember why not.

"If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to hammerfell." The sense of familiarity had developed into acute déjà vu.

The woods continued to go by them, as the cart rolled along the steep mountainous road. She glanced over at the third man in the cart and caught him watching her. His mouth was bound and he surveyed the rest of the people in the cart as well.

"You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here."

She couldn't but agree with the thief. Deja vu and a slight dizziness were making the whole situation unbearable.

"It's these stormcloaks the empire wants."

The thief turned his glare to the soldier, for that was what he looked like she realized, seated with them in the cart.

"I know, I-"

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." The soldier interrupted her, wryly.

"Shut up back there!" A grating voice came over the rumbling of the wooden wheels.

"What's wrong with him, huh?" The thief spoke more quietly now, referring to the gagged soldier sitting next to her.

"Watch your tongue." The first soldier snapped harshly. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Her mind again lit up at the name. Ulfric Stormcloak. She knew that name from somewhere. "Ulfric?" The thief sounded incredulous and disbelieving. "The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion."

He continued on in a lower voice, fear coloring his words.

"But if they've captured you...Oh gods, where are they taking us?"

To the chopping block, her mind supplied helpfully. But they didn't behead people, did they? That was barbaric...then again, she clearly wasn't in Kansas anymore. Then her mind blanked. What had she thought? Kansas? What was that?

Murmuring, the soldier replied solemnly.

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

Sovngarde; the world of the dead, containing a hall of great warriors. It sounded familiar to her ears, but the word Asgard filtered through her muddled thoughts. Norse mythology? Is that who she was...Norse?

The thief's voice was overcome with panic now.

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening."

Denial, she thought, amused.

The soldier looked over at the thief, not unkindly.

"Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?" His tone was gentle and calming.

What village was she from? Village, no, that wasn't right. City? That was it. She was from a city.

Ulfric Stormcloak seemed oblivious to the goings on as the thief replied bitterly.

"Why do you care?"

He seemed ashamed of his fear, and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

The soldier replied, his tone comforting even to her.

"Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead."

A silence ensued, as they listened to the sound of the wooden wheels against the frozen ground. She shivered, the chill air not yielding to the warmth of the sun beating down on their heads.

"And you, traveler?" The soldier questioned after a moment. She looked up and searched for something, anything.

"I...I don't know."

She thought she remembered loud noises and machines but that didn't fit in with this place. Wooden wagons were not a familiar sight to her.

The soldier grinned wryly.

"Been traveling so long you've forgotten?" He joked.

She twisted her fingers together, feeling the rope cut into her wrists.

"No...I must have hit my head...I can't remember anything."

His joking expression fell and he leaned forward slightly.

"Do you know your name?"

Again, she searched for something - anything - to tell her who she was, but there was nothing. Her emotions threatened to overwhelm her, and she blinked a few times to suppress the dampness gathering in her eyes.

"No."

She looked down at her bound hands, seeing the smooth unblemished skin covered with a layer of dirt and dust.

"The empire has gone very wrong, to be treating people this way. I am sorry." She nodded, but he continued.

"You look like a Nord, though there is something of a Breton in your brow."

Those races sounded very vaguely familiar, but she didn't know anything about them.

However, she decided to address his first statement about unfairness.

"I can't really know if it is unfair, though. I might be a spy, or a criminal, and not know it." The gate came into view as the cart turned a corner on the trail.

"Well, lass, I know you weren't with us." He reasoned.

The gate opened to allow the horseman and cart in front of them to enter the village. A voice called down from above the gate.

"General Tullius, sir, the headsman is waiting."

She shivered involuntarily at the words, but a voice from somewhere in front of them replied gruffly, almost angrily.

"Good. Lets get this over with."

She darted looks at the cart's other occupants. The soldier had his eyes turned forward, towards what awaited them in the village. The thief was sneaking looks behind and around them shiftily, searching for something desperately. As she watched him, the thief turned his eyes to his hands and canted under his breath with fearful desperation.

"Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me."

She wrinkled her brow slightly, turning the names over in her head. That they were divine meant they were gods, but wasn't there only one god? No...the names did sound vaguely familiar. Her head felt achy and her throat felt suddenly dry. The déjà vu was getting worse.

"What is your name?"

The words escaped her mouth without thought. She had been thinking of them as thief and soldier, but they must have names. Jarl Ulfric, the only person whose name she knew, was leaning over with his arms propped on his knees, appearing to be deep in thought.

The thief looked at her, and she thought she saw a flash of pity in his eyes, before responding. "Lokir."

Her eyes turned to the soldier, asking the same question of him, silently, with her eyes. "Ralof." He smiled grimly at her while surveying their surroundings. Spotting something, he continued.

"Look at him. General Tullius the military governor."

Her eyes followed his to a man seated on a horse, off to the side. Facing him there were grey skinned people with sharp, angular faces and robes.

"And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this." The sound of the gate closing behind the last rider in the procession was ominous and final. The emotions threatened to overwhelm her again. Fear, unfamiliarity, pain, and the growing pain in her head all shook her tenuous control over herself. She took a deep breath through her nose, then her mouth, but the growing feeling of being unable to breath didn't abate.

She looked up to find Ralof observing her, carefully. When she caught him looking, he turned to look at the town.

"This is Helgen."

His tone was light; an attempt to distract from the serious nature of their situation. He continued wryly.

"I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in."

She felt as though she should be gasping for air, and the pounding in her head wasn't helping matters. Ralof lost himself in happier memories for a few moments before continuing on a darker note.

"Funny. When I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe."

She was grateful to him for filling what otherwise would have been a punishing silence. His last words seemed to be filled with a longing for the easier times as a child.

Up ahead the townspeople had come out and gathered to see the procession. A young child, a boy by his clothing, spoke to someone she couldn't see asking about the procession. His father replied, not unkindly.

"You need to go inside, little cub."

He walked over to his son to shepherd the boy inside.

"Why? I want to watch the soldiers."

The little boy sounded enthusiastic. He clearly didn't understand what was going to happen.

"Inside the house. Now."

The father's voice became more stern as the carts got closer to the headsman and the child protested.

The boy yielded to his fathers demands, murmuring.

"Yes, Papa."

As the carts reached a stone archway, the imperial guard driving the cart spoke to the horse.

"Woah."

A soldier in red walked up to the first cart. She spoke in harsh tones, giving orders.

"Get these prisoners out of the carts."

When the action didn't happen quickly enough to suit her needs, she added.

"Move it!"

Lokir, the horse thief, who had been silent since they entered the gates of Helgen, looked around fearfully and spoke.

"Why are we stopping?"

The question seemed rhetorical, but Ralof answered him anyway.

"Why do you think? End of the line."

He sounded resigned and defeated, but not afraid. She wondered how he managed it, because she was terrified.

The first cart was already being unloaded of its passengers, four soldiers. Four Stormcloak soldiers, she corrected herself, dressed in mail armor with a blue sash across their front and back.  
Their cart stopped, and her heart gave a lurch. She wanted to bring her hands to her temples or the bridge of her nose to try and release the throbbing pain in her head, but the invisible binds around her lungs and throat wouldn't let her get enough air to do anything.

Ralof, not one for waiting around or for remaining silent for long, spoke again.

"Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

They all stood, and Lokir shouted desperately.

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!"

She thought it was a bad way to phrase it because some of them clearly were Stormcloaks, but she doubted that her criticism would be welcomed. She also doubted that the soldiers really cared whether he was a rebel or not.

Ulfric Stormcloak jumped down from the cart first, followed by Lokir, who was shaking with terror. Ralof spoke to him disdainfully.

"Face your death with some courage, thief."

However, Lokir was not to be stopped. As she jumped down from the cart awkwardly, stumbling on her landing and wincing minutely from the increased throbbing at her temples, he continued to argue.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

The female in the red augmented armor ignored him, shouting apathetically.

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

As another soldier pulled out a book to read from, Ralof sighed behind her.

"Empire loves their damn lists."

She looked towards him, where he was standing proudly next to her, easily a head taller than her. As she turned back to face forward, words escaped her in a murmur.

"I don't want to die."

She heard rather than saw Ralof glance towards her as he replied softly.

"Sovngarde awaits, lass. Do your ancestors proud."

She swallowed convulsively as a name was called out.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

He stepped forward and Ralof spoke again.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!"

The imperial soldier continued, peering down at the book in his hands.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

He too walked forward towards where the headsman was standing. Not wanting him to walk completely in silence she called after him.

"It was a pleasure to have met you, Ralof."

He turned his gaze back to her after a moment and replied, almost humorously.

"And you as well, lass. My we meet again in golden halls."

The Imperial soldier read, once more, from the book.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

Lokir, terrified and shaking like a leaf now, walked forward and shouted.

"No, I'm not a rebel. You can't do this!"

Without warning, he took off running down the cobblestone road, and the female guard called out, "Halt!"

He yelled back, "You're not going to kill me!"

To her ears, it sounded almost teasing, however, the guards were unamused and disinclined to give mercy. The woman called out, "Archers!"

There was the sound of a bowstring being pulled, released, and finally the thump of Lokir's dead body on the road.

The woman, a captain it sounded like, turned back to the prisoners and said belligerently. "Anyone else feel like running?"

She could feel herself shaking now, and clenched her hands to regain some control. The pounding in her head was still going, and her throat felt tight and dry. Swallowing didn't ease the stress.

The soldier reading from the book looked at her with some confusion.

"Wait. You there. Step forward." He commanded her, and she felt her feet obey.

He asked her, haltingly. "Who...are you?"

She opened her mouth and searched for an answer, but finally had to reply completely honestly, forcing the words out of her uncooperative throat.

"I don't know."


	2. Chapter 2 - Alduin

Chapter 2 - Alduin

The soldier looked at her uncertainly. Before he could ask anything else, she spoke again.

"I can't remember anything. Not my name, nothing."

The guard's eyes filled with pity, and he spoke while noting something down in the book he was holding.

"I am sorry. Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list, and doesn't know who she is."

The captain replied immediately and without care.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block." The captain's words were stern and blunt, and they sent chills through her body. The soldier replied politely.

"By your orders, Captain."

Then he turned towards her, sorrow in his gaze.

"I am sorry. You have the look of a Nord. I will see to it that you have a fitting burial."

She didn't miss the way he said 'I' as if it were a personal matter, and she smiled gratefully. He continued.

"Follow the Captain, prisoner."

She turned and did as she was ordered, coming to stand in a place next to two Stormcloak soldiers. The headsman was a large beastly looking man a with a black hood and bloody blade. There was also a woman in a robe and headdress, that she thought was probably someone religious. The block caught her eye, but she forced herself to look elsewhere. Her gaze caught on Ulfric, who was staring down another man. He looked like the one Ralof had called General Tullius, earlier in their ride.

As she stood in the circle of prisoners to be executed, General Tullius spoke to the bound Jarl Ulfric.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero." His voice was emotionless and carefully modulated.

"But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne."

As the general spoke those last words his accent became more pronounced and his tone less controlled.

Jarl Ulfric grunted back, unable to articulate any words through his gag.

Tullius, however, was on a roll, his voice getting more emotional and aggressive.

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

As he finished the speech, her throat seized up entirely, and she struggled to exhale or inhale. She bent over slightly, bring her hands up to clasp at her chest and neck. Everyone else was distracted by something else she couldn't hear over the sound of her own heartbeat.

The imperial guard who had asked her name spoke from her right, gazing up at the sky and moving his hand to the hilt of his blade.

"What was that?"

General Tullius looked over at him, and replied stoutly.

"It's nothing. Carry on."

Her throat relaxed, she gratefully took a few deep breaths, and she brought her hands away from her chest before anyone noticed.

The captain who had condemned her replied enthusiastically.

"Yes, General Tullius."

Then, turning to the priest, she continued more solemnly.

"Give them their last rites."

The priest lifted her hands and spoke words that were completely unfamiliar to her.

"As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you-"

A Stormcloak soldier to her right interrupted the priest by walking forward and speaking in a loud, gruff voice.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

The priest was offended, and her reply was cold.

"As you wish."

The Stormcloak soldier walked forward, turned to the block, and spoke angrily as he was pushed down. "Come on. I haven't got all morning."

The Imperial Captain placed a foot on the Stormcloak's back, and roughly pushed him into position kneeling on the block.

The soldier continued his rant at his captors.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

The headsman hefted the bloody two handed ax and lifted it over his head ominously. As he brought the ax down towards the Stormcloak's head, she closed her eyes and turned her head to the side. The sound, however, was one she was sure she would never forget as long as she lived, amnesia or no.

She opened her eyes as a female voice called out from her left.

"You Imperial bastards!"

The headless body of the man was crumpled to the side of the block, and his head was in a crate. She wanted to cry, or vomit, or both.

"Justice!" A man's voice rang across the courtyard. A woman's voice backed him up.

"Death to the Stormcloaks!"

From her right, Ralof spoke solemnly.

"As fearless in death as he was in life."

He didn't seem scared at all, even now.

The Imperial captain's voice carried across the yard as she called out.

"Next, the Nord girl."

She stepped forward, but her throat seized up once again and a cry rang out through the valley and across the mountains, louder than her own heartbeat in her ears. Everyone looked about, and the Imperial soldier spoke again, more urgently.

"There it is again: Did you hear that?"

The Captain ignored him.

"I said, next prisoner!"

The Imperial soldier spoke to her, resigned to his duty.

"To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

She walked forward, ears ringing, head pounding, gulping in air.

She felt the foot on her back, pushing her down on the block, and she turned her head towards the headsman. Movement behind his head caught her eye, just as the fight to breathe overtook her, and she clamped her fingers to her palms using the feeling of her fingernails on her skin as a ground for her consciousness.

Vaguely, she heard General Tullius exclaim.

"What in Oblivion is that?"

A large figure flew across the sky as the headsman hefted his ax once more, and the Imperial Captain called out to her sentries.

"Sentries! What do you see?"

Dragon, her mind supplied helpfully.

A great rumble announced the dragon's landing on the stone tower in her view. The headsman had his ax suspended over his head, and she thought it wasn't such a bad last view.

An imperial soldier from behind her shouted, "It's in the clouds!"

The entire ground shook from the force of his landing, and she absentmindedly wondered how well the tower could hold up to such force. Dust flew into the air, and the headsman lost his footing and collapsed backwards to the ground.

The red eyes of the great black dragon fixed upon her and she was frozen, unable to move or react. The people around her had no such difficulty, she noticed, as the shing of blades sliding out of their sheathes spread through the air, and someone shouted.

"Dragon!"

The headsman regained his footing just in time for the dragon to let out an almighty roar of pure, thunderous, force. The sky filled with tumultuous clouds and the air grew thick as fire rained down from on high. The headsman groaned as he was thrown back to the ground at the forceful shout of the dragon, and she was pushed off the block by the force, her vision blurring and her head pounding. The world was, for a brief moment, a cacophony of blazing light and chaotic sounds before her world resolved itself.

"Guards, get the townspeople to safety!" Cried General Tullius. The sounds continued, however, the more forcefully the dragon shouted, the more her breathing came easy. She looked up to survey the situation, and the pain behind her eyes and in her temples tempered itself now that she didn't feel like she was suffocating.

"What does it take to kill this monster?" A soldier shouted disbelievingly.

A voice sounded from over her shoulder as Ralof called to her.

"Hey, lass. Get up! Come on, the Gods won't give us another chance!"

She surveyed the chaos and fire all around them, and spotted Ralof. She followed him as he ran for a tower that was still intact.

"This way!"

Fireballs rained down and the heat of the buildings on fire hit her across the face. Just as she entered the tower, the dragon roared behind her. Inside were several other Stormcloaks, including Jarl Ulfric whose gag had been removed along with the ties that bound his hands.

"What is that thing? Could the legends be true?" Ralof questioned his Jarl.

"Legends don't burn down villages." He replied in a very deep and powerful voice. She felt an immediate kinship to that voice. Something about it made her feel comforted.

The dragon cried out as she spoke up in reply.

"Besides, legends usually have a grain of truth to them, don't they?"

Both men looked at her, and Ralof replied indignantly.

"That's more than just a grain of truth, don't you think?"

Ulfric interceded with common sense.

"We need to move. Now!"

Ralof looked like he wanted to keep arguing for a moment, but then turned away and said, "Up through the tower, lets go!"

He raced up the stairs, and she followed, hot on his heels. The other soldier and Jarl Ulfric were slower to follow.

As they reached the top of the stairs, the wall right in front of them blew inward and Ralof stumbled back into her. She caught the wall so they didn't both go flying down the stairs, and then cringed as the dragon fire poured through the newly made hole in the wall. The heat of it felt like it would burn her face, but it ended quickly, the dragon moving on to other targets.

Ralof ran forward and peered out the hole, then turned to her.

"See the inn on the other side there? Jump through and then keep going. We'll follow when we can."

She wanted to argue at going on alone, but he had already gone back down to assist his Jarl. She stood for a moment, paralyzed with fear and indecision, but the dragon was still circling and before she could give it any rational thought, she ran and jumped.

She tumbled on the wooden floor, her legs aching with the force of her landing and lied there, stunned, for a minute before she could find it in herself to push to her feet. There was fire right next to her, and she thanked God – or was it the Gods? - that she hadn't landed on it. There was overturned furniture and the ground beneath her feet was hot and creaked ominously.

She ran towards the other end of the inn, only to find that the stairs had collapsed. The ground below seemed far away, but she steeled herself. She lowered down, and shoved herself off the second story floor, hitting the ground with bent knees and then rolling to the side to help minimize her impact.

The soldiers outside were screaming and shouting about the dragon still, and the sound of fire and roaring was all she could hear.

"Haming, you need to get over here, now!" The same soldier who had been kind to her was trying to coax the young boy she remembered from earlier off the street.

"That a boy. You're doing great." He called to the child as the dragon landed on the road not feet from where the boy had been moments earlier.

"Gods...Everyone get back!" The Imperial soldier called as the dragon let loose with more fire in their direction. The heat of it blurred the air in front of her as she scrambled back towards the rocks behind her.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." The soldier called out when he noticed her. His tone was forced and businesslike. He had no time for anything but survival. The child crouched down, as did another man who was still alive next to him.

"Gunnar, take care of the boy." The soldier addressed the man. "I have to find General Tullius and join the defense."

Gunnar looked at the soldier incredulously, but spoke strongly.

"Gods guide you, Hadvar."

She reluctantly left the relative safety of the space to follow the soldier, Hadvar, around a burning house and onto the road. They passed a dead man, one she recognized as the boy's father, lying unnaturally in splashes of his own blood. She couldn't afford to react though, she told herself sternly. She had to keep going if she wanted to make it out of this alive, though that seemed even less likely than when she had thought she'd be killed on the block.

"Stay close to the wall!" Hadvar called to her, urgently, as the dragon flew over them. She stumbled backwards and fell as the dragon landed directly on the wall in front of them, his clawed wings nearly close enough to touch.

Hadvar showed little fear, as he held back, crouched, waiting for the dragon to launch itself skyward once more. As soon as it was gone, he flew into action, not looking back to see if she was still there, merely shouting in her general direction.

"Quickly, follow me!"

Up a set of rickety stairs, passed the body of an Imperial archer, and into the burning remains of a house. She couldn't breath as the stench of burning flesh hit her nose and she saw the blackened corpse lying in a pile of debris.

"I'm getting you out of here." She heard someone say from outside the house.

"It's too late for that. Leave me. Save yourself." A bloody man replied from his position seated on the ground. Imperial archers were shooting arrows at the dragon, and she saw at least two people shooting something from their open palms at the dragon.

She saw general Tullius, just as Hadvar called to her once again.

"It's you and me prisoner. Stay close."

She followed after him as General Tullius shouted, "Run you idiot!"

She didn't know if it was at her, or someone else, but she wasn't about to stop and find out. The great black shadow of the dragon crossed her path as he soared over the burning remains of Helgen.

She followed Hadvar doggedly, ignoring the archers all around shouting.

"Use everything we have!" Came from on top of the wall, as another soldier called out.

"Move, move!"

She made the mistake of looking up to see the dragon hovering over a tower, being hit by arrows, and what looked like fireballs. Suddenly, Hadvar shouted and her head whipped around.

"Ralof! You damned traitor. Out of my way!"

Her eyes roamed around for the friendly Stormcloak. He was running towards them, weapon out.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time."

Hadvar replied in kind.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."

She couldn't believe they would have such petty personal squabbles at a time like this and she shouted at both of them.

"You're really going to make a fuss here? Now?"

Ralof looked at her, as if he hadn't noticed her there before, and Hadvar turned around, annoyed.

"There is a dragon! Lets just get inside, where you can argue to your hearts content." She reasoned.  
Ralof hesitated for a split second and then ran towards a door.

"Into the keep." Ralof shouted at them.

"This way, Ralof!" Hadvar went towards a closer door, and yanked it open. Ralof didn't seem very happy to take orders, but the dragons roar convinced him to enter the barracks after Hadvar. She slipped in behind them and closed the door.


End file.

Elder Scroll series, Adventure, Friendship