Chapter Text
The same rocking that had been keeping me in the paws of sleep started to become progressively more persistent, and I couldn’t help but come to my senses. “We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief”, I heard a masculine voice saying, followed by someone shouting to shut up. The noises previously relaxing were too loud – voices, horses, and the weight of a wagon being driven along a badly polished road, in jolts – and light found a way under my eyelids. I groaned. I blinked, twice, to disperse the fogginess of my vision, as if it hasn’t been used for a while. I saw one man inclined close to me and two others. One of them, dressed in finery, was gagged, and that called my attention to the uncomfortable ropes bounding my hands in front of me. We were all bound. We were… prisoners.
I took some time making sense of the words the closest man, blond with a blue band covering his chainmail across the chest, was throwing at me:
- 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.
What border? Where was I? I could only see the road, tall bushes in patches that weren’t covered by snow, pine trees, and mountains hidden in the cloudy weather. Then, I shivered, realizing that an even more important piece of information was missing: Who was I?
- Damn you, Stormcloaks – Cursed the second man, dressed in rags - Skyrim was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn’t been looking for you, I could’ve stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell. You there – He looked at me like someone looking for support – You and me… We shouldn’t be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.
- Everyone in Skyrim is part of this rebellion, thief. Some of us just assume our responsibility – Retorted the first man.
- Shut up back there! This is the last warning! – Shouted the soldier driving our wagon. An Imperial soldier, I guessed.
The petty fight ceased for a while. The second man, the thief, was staring furiously at the gagged man. He couldn’t resist a comment:
- And what’s wrong with him?
- Watch your tongue! – Advised the Stormcloak – You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the True High King - Neither the name nor the title meant anything to me, but it clearly impressed the thief, judging for the way he paled.
- U-Ulfric…? The Jarl of Windhelm, who used the voice to murder High King Toryyg? You’re the leader of the rebellion! – He exclaimed, turning again to the gagged noble, now with his expression distorted by rage - You traitor, you’re the reason we’re here! But if they captured you… Oh, gods, where are they taking us?
- I don’t know where we are going, but at least Sovengard will be waiting for us. Our ancestors. Feasting. Mead.
- No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening…
The first man decided to ignore the fear of the other and directed his next question to me:
- Hey, what village are you from? – The thief saved me from answering with is impatience and frustration.
- Why do you care?
- A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home. What about you, horse thief?
The thief blinked.
- Rorikstead. I’m… I’m from Rorikstead.
- There won’t be any holds once the Empire has its way, you know? – The Stormcloak was speaking in the same tone people use to explain something to a child, with the same nostalgia and patience before their innocence - No Jarls to rule over them. Just legion soldiers and martial law – This was starting to become too much information for me to process, but at least now I was being ignored. Jarls? Holds? None of those things stroke me as familiar – Every man, woman and child in Skyrim is part of this rebellion, like I told you. Everyone has to fight for the freedom of the nine Holds.
A part of me weakly struggled against the idea that “man, woman and child” included everyone, but the sunlight reflected by the snow was blinding, and all I wanted was to be able to rub my eyes.
- “Freedom of the nine Holds”? I don’t remember the Empire sweeping up every cutpurse in Skyrim, before you bastards started butchering their soldiers.
We were approaching a border of stone, with wood gates large enough to let the carriage through. A soldier called out to the lead horse, mounted by an almost-bald man that even fron this distance I discerned that was dressed in a distinct armor from the Imperials around us:
- General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!
- Good. Let’s get this over with – Said General couldn’t sound more bored, as if the prospect of more deaths were a daily occurrence to him. The reaction of the thief was almost the opposite, murmuring quickly under his breath.
- Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me…
The gates opened to a village.
- Look at him. General Tullius, the Military Governor – Was Stormcloak prisoner saying, looking at the figurehead – And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this – His voice trembled with hate and despise, and yet, didn’t even get close to the disdain in the voice of a tall yellowish humanoid with pointed ears, sat regally on a horse, directed at what the prisoners regarded as the General. In fact, the General started apologizing to that figure, but maintaining his stance.
- I’m sorry, that’s just not possible. It would cause far too many problems.
The yellowish figure sat even straighter:
- You’re making a terrible mistake! Your Emperor will hear of this! By the terms of the White-Gold Concordat, I operate with full Imperial authority! – The outrage made her voice crack.
- Ugh, Thalmor bitch – Insulted my blond companion.
We turned left, in the opposite direction of those two figures. A child on our path was barely able to get out of the way of the horse, running to his parents at the doorstep.
- This is Helgen… - Nostalgia was creeping on the Stormcloak voice - I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny… when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.
The running child and his dad were watching the prisoners being brought to the village.
- Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?
- You need to get inside, little cub – Explained the dad.
- Why? I want to watch the soldiers.
- Inside the house. Now.
- Yes, papa…
I understood the motivations of the father. He didn’t want his son to see men – and me, who didn’t exactly see myself as anything despite my clearly female body – being decapitated. I could already see the block and the headsman near a tower. The carriage driver pulled the reins, stopped the horses and was immediately approached by a captain, a woman with a scarred face and the air of someone used to being obeyed:
- Get the prisoners out of the cart!
My “brothers in binds” were discussing again, and again the thief initiated.
- Why are we stopping?
- Why do you think? End of the line – The Stormcloak stood up – Let’s go. We shouldn’t keep the gods waiting for us.
- Wait, no! We’re not rebels!
- Face your death with some courage, thief – The despise of the Stormcloak fired the man’s fear even more, wide-eyed.
- You’ve got to tell them we weren’t with you! This is a mistake!
Ignoring all of that, the captain announced:
- Shut up! Out of the Cart, now!
She didn’t need to say twice, Ulfric was already in the ground before any of us. But the captain had further instructions:
- Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time.
- The Empire loves their damned lists… - Grumbled the Stormcloak between his teeth. For my part, I almost felt relieved. At least, I would know my name before dying.
A man called the first name.
- Ulfric Stromcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Guilty of murder, high treason and sentenced to death.
The man never showed fear, I would give him that. As he stood, like he had all the time in the world, he accepted the mixed looks he received as both an honor and a burden. I could almost feel the sustained breaths, as if the death of that man should be able to change the course of the very world. He finally started moving towards the block, head high, straight back, calm pacing, never breaking the spell. The other bound Stormcloak met his gaze for a second, and I heard him saying “It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric.”
The Imperial continued calling names, finally telling me who my companions were. His eyes lingered for a few seconds on the blond man at my side, regarding him sternly, something surely born of recognition.
- Ralof of Riverwood – He finally said, and Ralof moved forward, while adding to his own name “Proud son of Skyrim” - Stormcloak. Sentenced to death – Then, looking at the horse thief, - Lokir of Rorikstead.
And that was enough to break the spell.
- No! – Screamed the thief, panicking – I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this! - He starts running in the opposite direction of the block, while still screaming variations of “You’re not going to kill me!”
- Archers! Archers! – Ordered the captain.
An arrow on the knee was enough to take him down. If he was going to be killed with other arrows or in the block, I didn’t know. The captain glared at the rest of the prisoners.
- Anyone else feels like running?
Not that our faces weren’t answer enough, but the man announcing the names interrupted the scene when he noticed me.
- Wait… you there. Step forward. – So I did – You’re not with the Thalmor embassy, are you, high elf? No, that can’t be right, and up close you actually almost look like a… a Nord. Captain, what should we do? She is not on the list.
- Forget the list. She goes straight to the block.
- By your orders, Captain – He spared a glance at me, almost regretful – I’m sorry. I’ll make sure your remains get returned to your people. Follow the captain, prisoner.
As I obeyed, I couldn’t really forgive that man. He couldn’t even give me my name. I stood next to Ralof, and General Tullius stepped up to Ulfric, to give a speech.
- 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 the throne. – Ulfric looked so amused even with the bind, that I wouldn’t be surprised if I saw him roll his eyes. But the General didn’t stop to laugh with him – You started this war, flung Skyrim into chaos. And now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace!
A roar echoed from the mountains, making even the General look alarmed for an instant. The man that read the names was the first to speak out what everyone was thinking.
- What was that?
- It’s nothing – Dismissed the General, even though the question wasn’t directed to him. – Carry on - He gestured to a woman covered in a tunic, and she advanced – Give them their last rights.
A priest. She started reciting:
- As we command your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the 8 Divines upon you…
A Stormcloak soldier didn’t even let her finish the sentence.
- For the love of Talos, shut up and let’s get this over with – He marched forward, clearly disturbing the priestess, who murmured a lost “As you wish...” - Come on! I haven’t got all morning! – The soldier roared ironically. He knelt at the block, looking at the Captain besides the Headsman – My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?
Suddenly, the Captain stepped on his back and the Headsman beheaded him as a response. The head rolled on the filth as the body was shoved to the side.
- Your Imperial bastards! – Screamed a Stormcloak, met with opposition from the townsfolk screaming for justice.
- As fearless in death as he was in life – Praised Ralof, his voice lost between the tumult.
- Next, the elf! – Called the Captain. But only the roar was heard over the screams, shutting everyone for a few seconds.
- There it is… - Repeated the Imperial who read the names, to no one in specific – Did you hear that?
- I said… Next. Prisoner. – Repeated the Captain.
An imperial soldier urged me forward.
- To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.
I moved, as steady as I could, and kneeled in an uncomfortable position, placing my head in the cold block with hot spots from the blood of the Stormcloaks. I couldn’t help but smile at the persistent thought that insisted this discomfort wouldn’t last for long.
The Headsman swung the axe above his head. It was the end.
In the exact moment he was starting to descend the axe, the roar started again, louder than ever. And after a sound similar to fabric rustling in the wind… a giant shadow crossed the skies.
- What in Oblivion is that?! – Screamed the name’s announcer.
- Sentries, what do you see? – Demanded the captain.
- It’s in the clouds…!
As soon as the soldiers saw it again, it descended upon us and landed on top of the tower in front of me, which almost crumbled with the weight. The townsfolk started running and even the closed doors were burst ajar, when the sight of that monster reached them. No Headsman, no Captain, could stay close to me when it spit fire in the direction of the block, and I stepped back as fast as my bound writs allowed me. The Headsman was not fast enough. I could almost hear words in the shout of the dragon, could almost make sense of it, and when the Headsman’s body was thrown in the air, dead, I didn’t even feel surprised.
- A dragon?! It’s a dragon, Gods help us!
- It’s the end times! The end times have come!
- Divines help us!
General Tullius was the first to recover from the shock.
- Don’t just stand there! – He screamed the order – Guards, get the townspeople to safety! Someone get the battlemages out here, now!
No one seemed to remember me anymore. Except for Ralof.
- Come on! The Gods won’t give us another chance! This way! – He somehow managed to find a dagger to cut the ropes, but didn’t offer to cut mine, and just grabbed my arm to pull me towards another tower. Two of the other present Stormcloaks were hurt, and one had his hair and face burned. Their leader was also there – Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? –Asked Ralof while unbinding the Jarl – Could the legends be true?
Ulfric spat the gag.
- Legends don’t burn down villages. Ah, but I’m glad you’re alive!
I didn’t know what to do of the first sentence I heard from his mouth, but it wasn’t the right time to think about such things. Ulfric put it better:
- Well, friend – He told me – I’d ask you to join the rebellion, but I think we’re all a bit busy staying alive. We need to move, now!
We were stumbling up the staircase, yet the way to the top was blocked with rocks fallen from the wall, a huge hole where at least two men could stand side by side. Or where a dragon could put is head. The dark dragon just burst him, spitting fire and killing another of my companions, one of the hurt ones, not even caring about eating the body or having any kind of purpose for it. The monster just went away to bring destruction to another part of the village. Ralof was breathing heavily, and I too wished to be able to wipe the sweat from my brow. Ralof called my attention, pointing
– See the inn on the other side? Jump through the roof and keep going. We’ll follow when we can!
So I did.
Helgen had changed in the space of minutes. Most buildings were destroyed or burning. I accidentally run into Imperial soldiers, and found the man charged with announcing the prisoner’s names, screaming to his friends.
- Haming, you need to get over here, now!
- Torolf! – Screamed another, looking at a man curled in the ground. A kid ran to that man. The kid from before…
- Get up, papa! Get up!
I gulped. Even behind cover, the faint voice reached my ears:
- I’m done for, little cub. Go. Run for it!
- What are you doing?! Get off the road! – Despaired the men. The boy stood up, but still couldn’t move away from his father.
- That’s it, son. Make me proud.
- Gods… Everyone, get back!
The boy finally ran to join the soldiers under cover.
The dragon was flying in our direction, and now I was sure I could make out words as he made fire rain: “Yol…Toor…Shull!” Torolf was incinerated instantly. The boy didn’t stop looking at his father for even a second, his horror and courage moving.
The name’s soldier was talking to the boy, “You’re doing great, kid”, but it wasn’t enough. He noticed me again, blinking when he realized I had witnessed that death.
- Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar, take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join their defense.
- Gods guide you, Hadvar – Were Gunnar parting words to the man. So that was his name…
The dragon landed on the wall above me, and Hadvar started to lead me towards the Keep. But at the entrance, Ralof caught up with us. So did General Tullius, and the fire.
- Hadvar! Into the keep, soldier, we’re leaving! – Screamed the General, more a desperate request than an order.
Hadvar turned to me.
- It’s you and me, prisoner. Stay close! - I looked behind one last time, but even the General instigated me to run and I approached the keep. Ralof was at the door already, and I was sure he only avoided a fight with Hadvar because a dagger was his only weapon.
- Ralof! Your damned traitor… Out of my way!
- We’re escaping, Hadvar. You’re not stopping us this time.
- Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde – Hadvar spat, sending a last look to me.
- You! Come on, into the keep!
The Stormcloak didn’t give me much time for indecision. As I was closing the door behind me, the dragon tossed an Imperial alive in the air to crash when hitting the floor, and I heard the beast say something that sent a shiver up my spine: “Hin sil fen nahkip bahloki!” “Your soul will feed my hunger!”
As soon as we entered – with Hadvar nowhere to be seen – we found a dead body with a Stormcloak uniform. Ralof was solemn for a time.
- We’ll meet again in Sovngard, brother – He closed the dead man’s eyes. Turning then to me with the dagger on his left hand: – Looks like we’re the only ones who made it. That thing was a dragon, no doubt. Just like the children's stories and the legends… The harbingers of the End Times – He shook his head – We should keep moving. Come here. Let me see if I can get those bindings off - Ralof freed me of the bindings, and instructed me to put on the man’s gears. He called the body Gunjar. He turned to examine the doors while I dressed, though I couldn’t say if it was from decency or purely to speed up the process. We had reached a dead-end – one of the doors was locked and the gate could only be opened by a lever on the other side, that none of us could reach.
- What now? – I asked. My voice felt rusted from lack of use – Do you think we can break it, or pick it?
- Doubt it. We could also exit again, since the dragon will probably leave the village sooner or later, but I don’t want to risk the odds of our survival until that point…
But our odds were good. The Captain of the executions and another soldier were opening the gate from the other side and didn’t even see us until it was halfway open, shouting something about Stormcloak prisoners as if they were more certain I was a Stormcloak than myself. I haven’t even realized I had taken Gunjar’s sword – it rested in my hand with a certain familiarity, as if I had held a weapon before, even though it was rusty and dirty. We killed them quickly. My initial strokes were a little hasty and I believe I cut more the air than my foes, but some glances stolen from the way Ralof fought were enough to understand what was wrong with my posture, and fixing it did miracles.
“My first kills”. At least, the first I had memories of. I shuddered, and started to take the Captain’s Imperial Armor out – heavier than my current set, but it also offered more protection – and found a key by accident.
- A key? – Ralof asked behind me – Give it to me, it may open the other door.
I turned my back to him to equip while he fumbled with the lock. It opened.
The next pair of hours were hard to describe. We walked down the hallway until the ceiling started to fall, forcing us to divert through a side door and finding a storeroom with two more Imperials we fought for the supplies. We found some hard bread, a half drunk tankard that I quickly emptied, with my thirst speaking louder than my distaste for the drink, an healing potion, some rocky green eggs… Not much later, we crossed a torture chamber and along with other Stormcloaks already there, were able to kill the rest of the Imperials. From their conversation, I understood that those tortures were ordered by the Empire, and that Jarl Ulfric hasn’t been seen again. We all tried to open the cell of a dead mage for his money – turns out I had beginner’s luck - and I decided to fold his blue robes together with the Stormcloak fabric inside my armor, since they were light and could be useful later as a disguise or to make my alliances clearer. I also took the spell book with me, and some of the other books I shoved on a knapsack. I would have probably need to abandon them, but there was so much I needed to learn about this world and one of the books even spoke about its holds, so it seemed useful. I also took the steel dagger from the torturer and gold coins. The skeletons we found on some cells were richer than me, a mistake I fixed by picking the locks of their cages and taking their money. By the time I was finished, I had to run with all this weight to catch up with the others, at the entrance of a natural cave.
We fought more imperials, the other Stormcloaks wished me and Ralof good luck while they decided to wait for Jarl Ulfric, and we proceeded through a drawbridge, destroyed by whatever the dragon did on the surface as soon as I reached the other side. We fought giant spiders and saw a desiccated corpse hanging in the thick webs, got our feet soaked in the water, and sneaked under the nose of a bear. It was like walking in a dream. A dream where you never know what is real, when it will disappear or turn into another thing, and if any decision you could possibly make is right. Yet, we proceeded through the cave until the end, and left it more skilled and richer than we started – I even had a horned helmet, and a bottle of good mead, “Black-Briar” or something. When I could see the sky again, I saw the dragon flying overhead, away from us.
It was the end of the dream.
For better or worse, the rest was reality.