Johnner
Just an Amateur Writer
Alan moaned, softly. His eyes fluttered open, and then snapped shut. “So bright.” He rasped, and then winced. His hands moved to his sore-and dry- throat. Alan, reluctantly, opened his eyes, again. He used his hand to block out the insanely bright sun, and his eyes adjusted slowly.
Alan looked around, still groggy. It wasn’t too long before he was gaping, though. He was no longer in his bedroom. Instead, he was on some kind of -fur-sleeping bag in the middle of a large clearing. Men and women with hard faces and blond hair milled about, dressed in some kind of medieval garb (brown, fur, armor, and blue clothes). There were tents pitched and a large campfire in the center that was in the process of being extinguished by one of the men. Alan rubbed his eyes, and then looked again. Nope, still there. He then pinched himself, several times. Nope, still there.
“You there, you’re finally awake.” The boy-young adult- was interrupted from harming himself by a tall blond with enormous biceps. The blond man had a softer face when compared to some of the other men, but Alan scooted back a bit, intimidated. The man paused, and then smiled. “Don’t smile. You’re okay, now.” The man attempted to comfort him.
Slightly embarrassed-but still no less anxious, awe-struck, or afraid- Alan asked. “W-where a-am-erk!” He coughed into his hand, trying to clear his throat. “Sorry. Where am I? Who are you? Is this some kind of reenactment?” The black-haired adolescent broke into another coughing fit. His throat hurt.
The tall man’s face scrunched up at the last part of his sentence, and Alan was afraid he had offended him, somehow. “Reenactment? What-never mind, that. The name’s Ralof, and you’re in one of our posts. We found you and your friend unconscious in the woods. You were both covered in snow and looked as though you were about to, well, you know…” Ralof trailed off, looking a bit uncomfortable.
Alan was uncomfortable, as well, at the thought of being found dying in the woods. His curiosity managed to override his fear, however, and he managed to ask. “A friend? Can you show me?” If someone he knew was in this mess, maybe they had an idea of what had happened.
Ralof nodded. “Eh, sure, I don’t think that’ll be a-“ He was interrupted by a tall, blond, woman.
“Ralof, Jarl Ulfric wanted to see the boy when he woke up.” Ralof’s eyes widened as he remembered.
“That’s right. Thank you. I’ll take him to Jarl Ulfric now.” Ralof turned to Alan. “Sorry about that. Jarl Ulfric must want to see how you’re doing.” Ralof offered his hand, and Alan grabbed it. Ralof pulled Alan on to his feet. Alan stumbled a bit, but Ralof caught him. “Easy there, you were in rough shape before. Don’t go tempting the divines.”
Alan nodded, and took in a few, deep, breaths. Once he was steadied, Ralof let go, and Alan began to walk behind him. As Alan walked, he began to notice some things he hadn’t from the sleep bag. Firstly, he was extremely cold. There was a lot of snow, and without the warmth of the fur, he was shivering. Secondly, directly related to Alan’s first observation, his clothes didn’t help at all. The winds that billowed through the forest passed right through his green sweater and jeans. Not to mention the snow that occasionally spilled over into his tennis shoes and melted there, leaving his feet-and socks-soaked. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
His state of comfort aside, though, Alan’s most important observation was what he saw around the campsite. At first, Alan had thought this was some type of reenactment, but there was this tension in the air that seemed to disprove his theory. From the way they walked to the grim frowns their lips had curved down into. Then there were the wooden racks next to one of the tents. Weapons, real, sharp looking, weapons, hung from them. Now, Alan wasn’t an expert at identifying different types of weapons, but he recognized-of course- the swords for what they were, along with the bows and war-axes. There were some larger weapons which resembled a hammer and the war-axe, but looked a lot heavier.
“Here we are.” Ralof said. Alan took in, what had to be, the largest tent set-up throughout the clearing. As they entered, Ralof put a finger to his lips. There were, surprisingly enough, only two men inside. The two men gave them a quick glance, but then resumed talking. Alan stopped with Ralof, observing the two men.
The man that was currently talking seemed to be the leader of operations, so to say. He had a strong, regal, presence and a fire in his eyes that Alan really liked. “We’ve been just outside Darkwater Crossing for three days now, and yet we haven’t heard anything from Jarl Laila.” A blond-what a surprise-man complained. He waved around a letter in his left hand, that Alan assumed was from this Jarl Laila. “I don’t like this one bit, Galmar.” The man said.
The -much- bulkier man that he was talking to was dressed in brown, fur, armor like the men outside. He, however, had opted to customize his outfit with a bear pelt. Assuming that Gulmar was an important person, it could be some kind of uniform requirement.
“Do you want me to ride down to Riften and speak with Jarl Laila?” The large man offered. Ulfric seemed to contemplate this for a moment. At last, he nodded his consent. The two men clasped each other’s forearms and whispered something that Alan’s ears didn’t catch. Gulmar than passed them on his way out of the tent.
Ulfric seemed to have forgotten that we were there, as he set the letter down and rubbed his temples. “Jarl Ulfric.” Ralof said, after a moment. U-Jarl Ulfric tensed, and then turned his attention to them. Ralof took his silence as permission to continue. “The kid we found the other day is finally awake.” He explained.
“So it would seem.” Ulfric said, slowly. “Thank you, Ralof. Tell me, what is your name?” The leader asked.
Alan hesitated. He still didn’t know where he was and he didn’t want to just hand out his name. In bizarre scenarios like this, however, honesty just might be the best policy. “Alan, sir-er, Jarl Ulfric.” Alan’s awkwardness seemed to amuse Ulfric, as he let out a hearty laugh.
“There’s no need to be so nervous, Alan.” His face grew more serious. “What were you doing in the woods?” Alan thought there was something off about his tone, but ignored it.
“I’m not sure.” Alan hurried on as Ulfric’s eyes narrowed. “The last thing I remember is falling asleep on my bed.” Alan met the eyes of Ulfric. The man seemed to be searching for something in him. After what felt like an eternity, Ulfric nodded.
“A kidnapping, perhaps?” Ulfric mused, aloud. “When your friend returns to us, maybe she’ll remember more.”
“About that. Who was found with me?” Alan interrupted. His cheeks heated up, slightly, when he got a reproachful nudge from Ralof. Ulfric just chuckled, and then grew serious again.
“You don’t remember being with anyone?” He asked, and Alan shook his head. Ulfric paused. “Ralof, why don’t you take the boy to the other tent to see the girl we found with him?” Ralof nodded, catching the dismissal.
“Come on, Alan.” Alan followed Ralof out of the tent and to a much smaller one a little way off. As they walked, Ralof commented. “You didn’t strike me as a Nord. I was thinking Imperial, or Breton.” He said it in a way of guilty admission.
Confused, Alan murmured. “Nord? Imperial? Breton?” What were those names supposed to mean?
Ralof stopped outside the tent, and motioned for Alan to go in. Alan passed Ralof and entered the tent. There were a few fur bed rolls like the one he had woken up in. There was only one occupied, but the person’s entire form was covered.
As Alan edged closer, the small, lithe, form struck him as familiar. He pulled the fur blanket back, and blanched. “Cinnia…” He trailed off. She was still unconscious, and despite him shaking her shoulder, she didn’t rouse. “What are you doing here?” She should be in the hospital! Instinctively, Alan put the back of his hand to her forehead. He, swiftly, pulled his hand away. Her forehead was scorching hot! And at a closer look, Alan saw that she was sweating. Her-black-hair stuck to her forehead and her face was ten shades paler than normal.
“This isn’t good.” Alan cursed. “She needs medicine.” And to be in the hospital, where the doctors and nurses could take proper care of her. Alan pulled the fur blanket back over Cinnia and stood up. He exited the tent, where Ralof was waiting.
“Ah, you’re done. Did you recognize her?” Ralof asked.
“Yeah, she’s my sister.” Alan declared.
Ralof looked surprised. “Your sister? Maybe Jarl Ulfric was right about a kidnapping.” Alan held his tongue. He wanted to say that if anyone, they were the kidnappers. However, they had been nothing but kind to him and his sister and he had nothing to back it up. Alan didn’t know what was going on, but-
“Get down!” Ralof pulled Alan to the ground as an arrow sailed over head and sank into the tent. It got caught by the bulky material, and didn’t go any further. “Damn Imperials.” Alan, still eating dirt, watching nervously as Ralof’s hand moved to his waist only to find nothing there. “The racks!”
Ralof began to move, as did the other men and women. They were too slow, though, and Alan watched with poorly concealed horror as several armed men rode in on horses and came to a rest at the weapon rack. Their swords were already drawn, and Alan spotted some people with bows. These men were in brown armor, as well, but with a contrasting red. Additionally, a few of them were in heavy looking silver armor.
The many blonds sprinkled throughout the clearing froze. “What’s going on?” Ulfric emerged from his tent with a scowl. It seemed to fall right off his face though and he froze. Alan followed his line of sight to a single man. This man had darker skin, a clean haircut, and radiated authority.
“Ulfric Stormcloak, you’re under arrest by the order of the Empire! Surrender!” The man ordered. Everyone turned their eyes to Ulfric. Alan saw the archers turn their arrows on him, ready to fire at the first sign of resistance. The air was thick with tension, and Alan wanted to hurl. He held it in, though, sensing that throwing up wouldn’t do him any favors.
“I surrender.” Ulfric said, quietly. “Do not harm my men.” He requested. Ulfric put his hands on his head and knelt down. Alan watched, stunned, as the other men and women did the same, in a sort of resigned manner. The other-soldiers?...moved and bound the men in blue.
Alan scooted a step back as one of the men in red walked up to him. Their sword was sheathed, and the man didn’t seem to view him as a threat. “I’m going to have to bind you. Turnover, kid.” The man said, gently, but resolutely.
Afraid, Alan obeyed. He bit his lip as rather rough rope was tied at his wrists. The rope wasn’t the smoothest and it dug into his wrists. Alan was guided over to a wooden cart. There were two, one of them already full with four of the men and women in blue. The second cart held Ralof, a guy in brown clothes, and an unconscious woman. As Alan was forced to climb into the cart (which was far more difficult without his hands). He had just sat down next to the guy in brown (who looked as underdressed as he saw) when a soldier yelled. “We found a girl in this tent over here.”
Alan’s eyes widened. The man that had brought him over here frowned. “What? We don’t have room in the cart…”
Alan, despite his fear, shouted, voice filled with panic. “W-Wait! That’s my sister! She’s very sick and frail! Please don’t harm her!” The man eyed him as he spoke. Hopeful that he was listening, Alan continued. “I’ll carry her! I won’t run- I promise!” Alan said, trying to appeal to him. He didn’t want one of these strangers touching his sister!
The brown-haired man looked away from him and at the older man on the horse that had approached. “What’s the holdup? We need to be on our way to Cyrodiil.”
“General Tullius, sir. We don’t have enough room for all the prisoners.” The man said, and gestured to Ulfric, who was being forced to wait. Alan noticed a strange detail-Ulfric was bound and gagged. He shook his head and refocused on the conversation. He didn’t care about some stupid gag. “…This boy offered to carry his sick sister.”
General Tullius looked at Alan, and then towards the tent where one of the soldiers was roughly shoving a now very awake, but clearly weak, Cinnia. Alan watched worriedly as a scarred-looking Cinnia was forced to keep walking even after falling into the grass. Her eyes locked with his, and they became filled with some relief, but not much. Alan was similarly relieved to see her okay, but he knew her fever wouldn’t have just gone away.
“…we’ll allow it.” General Tullius decided. “Hadvar, make sure to keep an eye on them.”
Hadvar nodded. “Yes sir, General Tullius.” Alan was freed from the cart and they cut off the rope on his wrists. His wrists were red from irritation and the teen scratched at them. Alan was ushered in the direction of his sister.
“Alan!” Cinnia cried out, and embraced him. “What’s going on?! W-Where are we?” Alan felt his sister sag, a bit, in his arms.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Alan whispered. “And, honestly, I have no idea. We’re going to have to play along for now.” He felt her shake, and said. “It’ll be okay. Trust me. I’ll get us out of this.” He promised. Cinnia nodded into his shoulder. Alan looked over his shoulder and saw that Hadvar had just pushed Ulfric onto the cart, across from the guy in the rags (they looked like rags, anyway). Hadvar waved his hand at Alan as he mounted his horse.
“We need to go. I’ll carry you. I feel like there’s going to be a lot of walking.” Meekly, Cinnia applied. She climbed onto his back, and Alan started in the direction of the carts, which began to move. He fell in line next to Hadvar’s brown stallion. It was freezing, but Cinnia’s body heat helped combat it somewhat. A glance over his shoulder told him that she was still in her pajamas, which were covered in Pikachu, the mascot for the Pokémon franchise.
It was as they walked, that it finally all sunk in for Alan. This was no reenactment. The dark, hopeless expressions of the men and women in blue, the pounding in his chest, the suspicious looks from some of the men in red. It was all too real. They’d have to be very good actors. It couldn’t be a dream either; Alan wasn’t that creative. This was real. Somehow, someway, he and Cinnia had been taken from their beds and dumped in a medieval time.
As the carts rolled along the cobbled roads, Alan’s mind was racing as he tried to find a way to escape. The good news was a lot of the soldiers (including that General Tullius) had gone ahead to wherever they were being taken. The bad news was there were still six-total-of the men in red. There was Hadvar to his immediate right. There were the two men that were in charge of hauling each cart (well, the horses did the work). In the very front there was a heavily armored woman, and then, finally, there was a soldier on both sides of the carts. The fact that every single one of them had horses and all he had was his stiff, shaky, legs wasn’t promising.
“Alan.” Alan tensed, and then relaxed. “Alan.” Cinnia whispered into his ear, again. Alan turned his head slightly, so he could just see barely see her. Cinnia took this as encouragement to continue. “I’m scared.”
“I know you are. You need to be strong, though. Only a little longer.” He promised. He hoped that the promise didn’t sound as fake as it did in his head.
Alan’s eyes narrowed as he reevaluated the scene. In total, there were six men in blue. The four in the first cart, and then Ralof and Ulfric in the second cart. If you counted the unconscious woman, and the guy in rags, then they outnumbered the men on the horses. But the last two didn’t look to be in any shape to make an escape, which made Alan hesitate. He didn’t want to leave any of these people behind. While the two hadn’t done anything for him like the others, Alan had never been one to only return favors. But that made it much harder than it ought to be, Alan admitted. Not only did he have to somehow free the other soldiers-none of whom had weapons-but he had to somehow protect the unconscious woman and the other guy all while trying to run with his sister on his back. That wasn’t going to happen, Alan realized.
Alan started at the cart in front of him for a while, mindlessly, as he tried to find a solution. There had to be something. Suddenly, Ulfric turned to face him, as though the men had felt his gaze. They locked eyes. Alan didn’t know what Ulfric saw in his eyes, but Ulfric’s eyes took on something akin to understand and respect. The man shook his head, as though he was saying don’t try it.
Ulfric turned away. Alan returned his attention to the road, at a loss. He walked for miles as a prisoner, his sister curled up on his back. He could hear her short, weak, breaths and knew that she needed to get inside soon. Fortunately, it seemed to have just hit noon, so it was a bit warmer than it otherwise would have been. Alan dreaded nightfall though, and sincerely hoped that they found shelter before then.
As the journey continued, Alan became increasingly aware of the throbbing in his arms and legs. While Cinnia was light, carrying her for several hours was taxing, as was walking for several hours. His breaths became a bit more labored as they went on. Cinnia seemed to pick up on his discomfort, as she shifted guiltily.
Suddenly, a horse rode up to the women that led them. “Ma’am!” The man said.
All the carts stopped, as the woman conversed with him, quietly. “What? Are you sure…” Alan’s ears only caught some of the conversation. Whatever she heard must have made her mad, or, at the very least, irritated. “Fine.” She looked back to her men, and said. “Change of plans. We’re not going to Cyrodiil, after all.”
Hadvar looked surprised. “Captain?” He asked, unsure.
The captain shook her head. “General Tullius’s orders, but I think we both know that where the orders came from.” They all left it at that.
The horses started walking again at the urging of their…drivers…? Alan wasn’t sure what a person riding a horse was called. Definitely not motorists, as cars weren’t around if they were using horses. Chauffeurs, maybe? Alan was grateful for the small stop, as it gave his legs a much needed break. Although, he wished it had lasted a little longer.
Another few hours passed, and Alan was relieved to pick up on a small murmur of Hadvar. “Almost there.” He said. At some point he must have realized where they were going. Alan, relieved that he’d have a break soon, but also anxious at what would happen, was conflicted. He summoned what energy he had, though, and kept marching on. His paces grew a bit faster, and he ended up slightly ahead of Hadvar and directly next to the cart.
It was as he walked beside the cart, that his ears picked up on Ralof’s whispering.
“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.” At first, Alan thought that Ralof was talking to him and Cinnia, but then he saw the woman shuffling around, a bit. He could only see the back of her head. The red-head looked around, and Alan was surprised to see the woman turn to look at them. His first thought was that she had extremely beautiful green-eyes. His second thought was that he wished she looked at him longer. Instead, though, she returned her attention to the people in the cart with her as the…thief...began to speak.
“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 halfway to Hammerfell. You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." Alan was a bit irritated at the man leaving him and sister out of the ones you shouldn’t be there, but he pushed it to the side. The man had given him some context, as did Ralof. Ralof had described the men in red as Imperials and this thief had described the men in blue as Stormcloaks. Now Alan had something to refer to them other than the color of their clothes-err, armor.
“We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." Ralof said, warmly.
The Imperial solider that was in charge of this cart yelled. “Shut up back there!” Needless to say, the prisoners ignored him.
"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief asked. Alan wasn’t sure who he was talking about.
“Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." Ralof snapped. Well, now Alan knew who. Ulfric Stormcloak? High King?
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief said, horrified. Alan felt a similar terror seep into him. Rebellion? What had he and sister gotten into? Alan tightened his hold on his sister, and it wasn’t until she squeaked, a bit, that. He murmured an apology, and eased his hold.
The rest of their conversation became background noise for Alan. He felt numb, and he couldn’t think straight as for the first time in his life, he felt the fear of uncertainty. Alan, even when he was a kid, was always one to tackle things head-on. He never gave himself room to feel doubt, or to feel insecure. But this bizarre nightmare was breaking down the walls he had always counted on one-by-one.
“General Tullius! The Headsman is waiting!” A soldier yelled. Headsman? What’s a headsman, Alan wondered with dread?
“Good, let’s get this over with.” General Tullius said.
Alan forced himself to pay attention as they passed through a gate. The wooden doors closed behind them. Alan spotted the General conversing with some strange looking people off to the side. They had-kind of-golden skin and narrowed-eyes. Their hair was long and well-groomed. Well, those traits weren’t the strange part. It was their ears. Alan could make out point ears, instead of the rounded ones he associated with pretty much everyone.
“Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this. 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. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." Alan hung off Ralof’s every word, trying to gather as much information as he could. Elves? There was no such thing as elves! Alan grit his teeth as he felt the absurdity of the situation settle in.
As they were forced through the village, Helgen, Alan spotted a young child that could only be a few years younger than Cinnia, arguing with his dad.
“Why? I want to watch the soldiers!”
“Inside the house, now!”
“Yes, papa.” The boy conceded, sullenly.
“Why does the kid need to go inside?” Cinnia whispered. She was shaking, and Alan didn’t know if it was from fear of because of her fever.
The carts came to a stop and the captain barked. “Get these prisoners out of the carts! Hurry it up!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Shouted the soldiers, and the Stormcloaks started being escorted off the carts. Hadvar hopped off his horse and put a hand on Alan’s shoulder. He brought Alan and Cinnia around the cart and had them stand next to the cart.
As the thief and Ralof got off the cart, Alan wished he could forget what he heard next. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”
The thief begged. “You’ve got to tell them! We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” He shouted the last part desperately. The captain ignored the cries. Alan stared at the captain, and as he did, he discovered something. Her expression…it was of someone who had grown numb to death.
“Step towards the block when we call your name! One at a time.” The captain ordered.
“Empire loves those damn lists.” Ralof cursed, softly.
“That’s a given.” Alan and Ralof startled. They looked at the woman in between them. It was the first time Alan had heard her speak since she woke up. The woman blinked. “What? Did you think I was so scared that I couldn’t speak, or something?”
Ralof chuckled, softly. “You’ve got some fire.” The humor disappeared though as Hadvar stepped forward with what looked like a clipboard from where Alan was at.
“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” Hadvar called out. Ulfric left their little group and went to stand next to the Stormcloaks from the other cart.
“Alan!” Cinnia whispered, fiercely. Alarmed, Alan followed her line of sight to a large man in black. He stood next to a stone slab and had a gigantic axe in his hand. It was covered in dry blood. It took everything Alan had not to keel over right there.
“Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead.” Ralof and the thief-Lokir- both stepped forward. Whereas Ralof seemed ready for his fate-of death, Alan thought-, Lokir panicked.
“No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” He suddenly started sprinting, as well as he could with his arms bound.
“Halt!” Yelled the captain.
Lokir didn’t stop, and instead shouted. “You’re not going to kill me!”
“Archers!” The captain ordered. Alan, with growing realization, turned sharply away from the scene as the archers fired their arrows. He heard a squelching sound. Cinnia nearly fell of his back, but the woman next to him moved swiftly and used her back to stop her from falling. Awkwardly, the woman helped Cinnia get situated.
“Careful, there.” The woman said, voice filled with mirth. Alan wondered if she was trying to forget the situation they were in or if she was like this all the time.
“Anyone else feel like running?” The captain asked, smug.
Hadvar looked puzzled. “Wait. You there.” He waved his hand at the redhead. “Step forward.” She obeyed, and Alan and Cinnia were left alone. “Who are you?” He asked.
“Anna.” Anna said. Alan then noticed that she was wearing the same brown clothes that Lokir had worn. He wondered if they had been traveling together, or if that was the fashion here. For some reason, he doubted either were true.
Hadvar peered down at the clipboard in his hands. He then looked at the captain. “Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."
The captain didn’t even hesitate. “Forget the list. She goes to the block.”
Hadvar paused. “By your orders, Captain. What about the children.” He asked, and gestured towards Alan and Cinnia.
The Captain paused this time. “Were they the ones found at the Stormcloak camp?” Hadvar nodded, and she continued. “They were found with the Stormcloaks; they’ll die with the Stormcloaks.” The captain left them to join General Tullius in Helgen square.
“I’m sorry.” Hadvar said, to all three of them. “Follow the Captain, prisoners.”
Anna moved, and Alan did so after her. Alan felt his neck become wet and realized that Cinnia was crying. Alan’s eyes started to burn, and he blinked away the tears that threatened to fall from his own eyes.
General Tullius started to speak to Ulfric. “"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." Alan heard Ulfric grunting, clearly trying to respond. The General ignored Ulfric’s attempts to communication. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."
Just as General Tullius finished, Alan was startled to hear a loud, ferocious, roar in the distance. It made his skin crawl.
“What was that?” Hadvar asked, unnerved.
The General waved his hand, unworried. “It’s nothing. Carry on.” He ordered.
“Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rights.” Said the Captain.
A much older woman started to speak. She was in tan robes with a yellowish hood. She raised her hands towards the skies. “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..." The priestess was interrupted by one of the blond soldiers, who started towards the stone slab.
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." He said, gruffly.
The headsman looked at the priestess for some direction. The woman sighed, and put her hands on her hips. “As you wish.” She said, simply. The headsman then shrugged and nodded at the Captain.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning.” The blond said, and the captain roughly shoved him. The blond’s head hit the stone, but he didn’t seem bothered. Instead, to Alan’s amazement, he kept running his mouth. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” The headsman lifted the axe. Unlike with Lokir, Alan couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. In the back of head, he noted how Cinnia pushed her face into his hood to shield her eyes.
The axe was brought down, and the man’s head rolled into a little wooden box. From the neck, blood squirted out, spraying all over the stone. The Captain used her foot and kicked the body to the side.
“You Imperial bastards!" The woman, the same woman that had reminded Ralof to bring him to the tent, screamed, angrily. The others followed suit and Alan saw Ulfric glaring at the Captain with pure hatred. Meanwhile, some of the villagers that had gathered around to watch the execution (what was wrong with these people?!) cheered and said some foul things to the Stormcloaks.
“As fearless in death as he was in life.” Ralof said, softly. Alan winced. He could feel the sorrow in Ralof’s tone. He wondered how close the two men were.
The Captain looked over the rest of them. “Next, the Nord in the rags.”
That loud screech came, again. This time, more than just Hadvar seemed on edge. “There it is again! Did you hear that?” Hadvar asked.
Unfazed, the Captain commanded again. “I said, next prisoner.”
“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.” Hadvar said.
Anna snorted. “Nice and easy, he says.” She listened, regardless. The Captain was a bit less rough with Anna, perhaps because she hadn’t been as vocal as the other prisoner. This time, Alan looked away. He didn’t want to see Anna die. Something moving in the sky caught his attention, however.
It was large, and black. It screeched that same screech as it soared through the sky.
General Tullius seemed to have enough of the noise. “What in Oblivion is that?!”
The headsman paused as the Captain investigated. “Sentries, what do you see?”
One of the archers shouted. “It’s in the clouds!”
“Dragon!”
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Alan looked around, still groggy. It wasn’t too long before he was gaping, though. He was no longer in his bedroom. Instead, he was on some kind of -fur-sleeping bag in the middle of a large clearing. Men and women with hard faces and blond hair milled about, dressed in some kind of medieval garb (brown, fur, armor, and blue clothes). There were tents pitched and a large campfire in the center that was in the process of being extinguished by one of the men. Alan rubbed his eyes, and then looked again. Nope, still there. He then pinched himself, several times. Nope, still there.
“You there, you’re finally awake.” The boy-young adult- was interrupted from harming himself by a tall blond with enormous biceps. The blond man had a softer face when compared to some of the other men, but Alan scooted back a bit, intimidated. The man paused, and then smiled. “Don’t smile. You’re okay, now.” The man attempted to comfort him.
Slightly embarrassed-but still no less anxious, awe-struck, or afraid- Alan asked. “W-where a-am-erk!” He coughed into his hand, trying to clear his throat. “Sorry. Where am I? Who are you? Is this some kind of reenactment?” The black-haired adolescent broke into another coughing fit. His throat hurt.
The tall man’s face scrunched up at the last part of his sentence, and Alan was afraid he had offended him, somehow. “Reenactment? What-never mind, that. The name’s Ralof, and you’re in one of our posts. We found you and your friend unconscious in the woods. You were both covered in snow and looked as though you were about to, well, you know…” Ralof trailed off, looking a bit uncomfortable.
Alan was uncomfortable, as well, at the thought of being found dying in the woods. His curiosity managed to override his fear, however, and he managed to ask. “A friend? Can you show me?” If someone he knew was in this mess, maybe they had an idea of what had happened.
Ralof nodded. “Eh, sure, I don’t think that’ll be a-“ He was interrupted by a tall, blond, woman.
“Ralof, Jarl Ulfric wanted to see the boy when he woke up.” Ralof’s eyes widened as he remembered.
“That’s right. Thank you. I’ll take him to Jarl Ulfric now.” Ralof turned to Alan. “Sorry about that. Jarl Ulfric must want to see how you’re doing.” Ralof offered his hand, and Alan grabbed it. Ralof pulled Alan on to his feet. Alan stumbled a bit, but Ralof caught him. “Easy there, you were in rough shape before. Don’t go tempting the divines.”
Alan nodded, and took in a few, deep, breaths. Once he was steadied, Ralof let go, and Alan began to walk behind him. As Alan walked, he began to notice some things he hadn’t from the sleep bag. Firstly, he was extremely cold. There was a lot of snow, and without the warmth of the fur, he was shivering. Secondly, directly related to Alan’s first observation, his clothes didn’t help at all. The winds that billowed through the forest passed right through his green sweater and jeans. Not to mention the snow that occasionally spilled over into his tennis shoes and melted there, leaving his feet-and socks-soaked. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling.
His state of comfort aside, though, Alan’s most important observation was what he saw around the campsite. At first, Alan had thought this was some type of reenactment, but there was this tension in the air that seemed to disprove his theory. From the way they walked to the grim frowns their lips had curved down into. Then there were the wooden racks next to one of the tents. Weapons, real, sharp looking, weapons, hung from them. Now, Alan wasn’t an expert at identifying different types of weapons, but he recognized-of course- the swords for what they were, along with the bows and war-axes. There were some larger weapons which resembled a hammer and the war-axe, but looked a lot heavier.
“Here we are.” Ralof said. Alan took in, what had to be, the largest tent set-up throughout the clearing. As they entered, Ralof put a finger to his lips. There were, surprisingly enough, only two men inside. The two men gave them a quick glance, but then resumed talking. Alan stopped with Ralof, observing the two men.
The man that was currently talking seemed to be the leader of operations, so to say. He had a strong, regal, presence and a fire in his eyes that Alan really liked. “We’ve been just outside Darkwater Crossing for three days now, and yet we haven’t heard anything from Jarl Laila.” A blond-what a surprise-man complained. He waved around a letter in his left hand, that Alan assumed was from this Jarl Laila. “I don’t like this one bit, Galmar.” The man said.
The -much- bulkier man that he was talking to was dressed in brown, fur, armor like the men outside. He, however, had opted to customize his outfit with a bear pelt. Assuming that Gulmar was an important person, it could be some kind of uniform requirement.
“Do you want me to ride down to Riften and speak with Jarl Laila?” The large man offered. Ulfric seemed to contemplate this for a moment. At last, he nodded his consent. The two men clasped each other’s forearms and whispered something that Alan’s ears didn’t catch. Gulmar than passed them on his way out of the tent.
Ulfric seemed to have forgotten that we were there, as he set the letter down and rubbed his temples. “Jarl Ulfric.” Ralof said, after a moment. U-Jarl Ulfric tensed, and then turned his attention to them. Ralof took his silence as permission to continue. “The kid we found the other day is finally awake.” He explained.
“So it would seem.” Ulfric said, slowly. “Thank you, Ralof. Tell me, what is your name?” The leader asked.
Alan hesitated. He still didn’t know where he was and he didn’t want to just hand out his name. In bizarre scenarios like this, however, honesty just might be the best policy. “Alan, sir-er, Jarl Ulfric.” Alan’s awkwardness seemed to amuse Ulfric, as he let out a hearty laugh.
“There’s no need to be so nervous, Alan.” His face grew more serious. “What were you doing in the woods?” Alan thought there was something off about his tone, but ignored it.
“I’m not sure.” Alan hurried on as Ulfric’s eyes narrowed. “The last thing I remember is falling asleep on my bed.” Alan met the eyes of Ulfric. The man seemed to be searching for something in him. After what felt like an eternity, Ulfric nodded.
“A kidnapping, perhaps?” Ulfric mused, aloud. “When your friend returns to us, maybe she’ll remember more.”
“About that. Who was found with me?” Alan interrupted. His cheeks heated up, slightly, when he got a reproachful nudge from Ralof. Ulfric just chuckled, and then grew serious again.
“You don’t remember being with anyone?” He asked, and Alan shook his head. Ulfric paused. “Ralof, why don’t you take the boy to the other tent to see the girl we found with him?” Ralof nodded, catching the dismissal.
“Come on, Alan.” Alan followed Ralof out of the tent and to a much smaller one a little way off. As they walked, Ralof commented. “You didn’t strike me as a Nord. I was thinking Imperial, or Breton.” He said it in a way of guilty admission.
Confused, Alan murmured. “Nord? Imperial? Breton?” What were those names supposed to mean?
Ralof stopped outside the tent, and motioned for Alan to go in. Alan passed Ralof and entered the tent. There were a few fur bed rolls like the one he had woken up in. There was only one occupied, but the person’s entire form was covered.
As Alan edged closer, the small, lithe, form struck him as familiar. He pulled the fur blanket back, and blanched. “Cinnia…” He trailed off. She was still unconscious, and despite him shaking her shoulder, she didn’t rouse. “What are you doing here?” She should be in the hospital! Instinctively, Alan put the back of his hand to her forehead. He, swiftly, pulled his hand away. Her forehead was scorching hot! And at a closer look, Alan saw that she was sweating. Her-black-hair stuck to her forehead and her face was ten shades paler than normal.
“This isn’t good.” Alan cursed. “She needs medicine.” And to be in the hospital, where the doctors and nurses could take proper care of her. Alan pulled the fur blanket back over Cinnia and stood up. He exited the tent, where Ralof was waiting.
“Ah, you’re done. Did you recognize her?” Ralof asked.
“Yeah, she’s my sister.” Alan declared.
Ralof looked surprised. “Your sister? Maybe Jarl Ulfric was right about a kidnapping.” Alan held his tongue. He wanted to say that if anyone, they were the kidnappers. However, they had been nothing but kind to him and his sister and he had nothing to back it up. Alan didn’t know what was going on, but-
“Get down!” Ralof pulled Alan to the ground as an arrow sailed over head and sank into the tent. It got caught by the bulky material, and didn’t go any further. “Damn Imperials.” Alan, still eating dirt, watching nervously as Ralof’s hand moved to his waist only to find nothing there. “The racks!”
Ralof began to move, as did the other men and women. They were too slow, though, and Alan watched with poorly concealed horror as several armed men rode in on horses and came to a rest at the weapon rack. Their swords were already drawn, and Alan spotted some people with bows. These men were in brown armor, as well, but with a contrasting red. Additionally, a few of them were in heavy looking silver armor.
The many blonds sprinkled throughout the clearing froze. “What’s going on?” Ulfric emerged from his tent with a scowl. It seemed to fall right off his face though and he froze. Alan followed his line of sight to a single man. This man had darker skin, a clean haircut, and radiated authority.
“Ulfric Stormcloak, you’re under arrest by the order of the Empire! Surrender!” The man ordered. Everyone turned their eyes to Ulfric. Alan saw the archers turn their arrows on him, ready to fire at the first sign of resistance. The air was thick with tension, and Alan wanted to hurl. He held it in, though, sensing that throwing up wouldn’t do him any favors.
“I surrender.” Ulfric said, quietly. “Do not harm my men.” He requested. Ulfric put his hands on his head and knelt down. Alan watched, stunned, as the other men and women did the same, in a sort of resigned manner. The other-soldiers?...moved and bound the men in blue.
Alan scooted a step back as one of the men in red walked up to him. Their sword was sheathed, and the man didn’t seem to view him as a threat. “I’m going to have to bind you. Turnover, kid.” The man said, gently, but resolutely.
Afraid, Alan obeyed. He bit his lip as rather rough rope was tied at his wrists. The rope wasn’t the smoothest and it dug into his wrists. Alan was guided over to a wooden cart. There were two, one of them already full with four of the men and women in blue. The second cart held Ralof, a guy in brown clothes, and an unconscious woman. As Alan was forced to climb into the cart (which was far more difficult without his hands). He had just sat down next to the guy in brown (who looked as underdressed as he saw) when a soldier yelled. “We found a girl in this tent over here.”
Alan’s eyes widened. The man that had brought him over here frowned. “What? We don’t have room in the cart…”
Alan, despite his fear, shouted, voice filled with panic. “W-Wait! That’s my sister! She’s very sick and frail! Please don’t harm her!” The man eyed him as he spoke. Hopeful that he was listening, Alan continued. “I’ll carry her! I won’t run- I promise!” Alan said, trying to appeal to him. He didn’t want one of these strangers touching his sister!
The brown-haired man looked away from him and at the older man on the horse that had approached. “What’s the holdup? We need to be on our way to Cyrodiil.”
“General Tullius, sir. We don’t have enough room for all the prisoners.” The man said, and gestured to Ulfric, who was being forced to wait. Alan noticed a strange detail-Ulfric was bound and gagged. He shook his head and refocused on the conversation. He didn’t care about some stupid gag. “…This boy offered to carry his sick sister.”
General Tullius looked at Alan, and then towards the tent where one of the soldiers was roughly shoving a now very awake, but clearly weak, Cinnia. Alan watched worriedly as a scarred-looking Cinnia was forced to keep walking even after falling into the grass. Her eyes locked with his, and they became filled with some relief, but not much. Alan was similarly relieved to see her okay, but he knew her fever wouldn’t have just gone away.
“…we’ll allow it.” General Tullius decided. “Hadvar, make sure to keep an eye on them.”
Hadvar nodded. “Yes sir, General Tullius.” Alan was freed from the cart and they cut off the rope on his wrists. His wrists were red from irritation and the teen scratched at them. Alan was ushered in the direction of his sister.
“Alan!” Cinnia cried out, and embraced him. “What’s going on?! W-Where are we?” Alan felt his sister sag, a bit, in his arms.
“I’m glad you’re okay.” Alan whispered. “And, honestly, I have no idea. We’re going to have to play along for now.” He felt her shake, and said. “It’ll be okay. Trust me. I’ll get us out of this.” He promised. Cinnia nodded into his shoulder. Alan looked over his shoulder and saw that Hadvar had just pushed Ulfric onto the cart, across from the guy in the rags (they looked like rags, anyway). Hadvar waved his hand at Alan as he mounted his horse.
“We need to go. I’ll carry you. I feel like there’s going to be a lot of walking.” Meekly, Cinnia applied. She climbed onto his back, and Alan started in the direction of the carts, which began to move. He fell in line next to Hadvar’s brown stallion. It was freezing, but Cinnia’s body heat helped combat it somewhat. A glance over his shoulder told him that she was still in her pajamas, which were covered in Pikachu, the mascot for the Pokémon franchise.
It was as they walked, that it finally all sunk in for Alan. This was no reenactment. The dark, hopeless expressions of the men and women in blue, the pounding in his chest, the suspicious looks from some of the men in red. It was all too real. They’d have to be very good actors. It couldn’t be a dream either; Alan wasn’t that creative. This was real. Somehow, someway, he and Cinnia had been taken from their beds and dumped in a medieval time.
As the carts rolled along the cobbled roads, Alan’s mind was racing as he tried to find a way to escape. The good news was a lot of the soldiers (including that General Tullius) had gone ahead to wherever they were being taken. The bad news was there were still six-total-of the men in red. There was Hadvar to his immediate right. There were the two men that were in charge of hauling each cart (well, the horses did the work). In the very front there was a heavily armored woman, and then, finally, there was a soldier on both sides of the carts. The fact that every single one of them had horses and all he had was his stiff, shaky, legs wasn’t promising.
“Alan.” Alan tensed, and then relaxed. “Alan.” Cinnia whispered into his ear, again. Alan turned his head slightly, so he could just see barely see her. Cinnia took this as encouragement to continue. “I’m scared.”
“I know you are. You need to be strong, though. Only a little longer.” He promised. He hoped that the promise didn’t sound as fake as it did in his head.
Alan’s eyes narrowed as he reevaluated the scene. In total, there were six men in blue. The four in the first cart, and then Ralof and Ulfric in the second cart. If you counted the unconscious woman, and the guy in rags, then they outnumbered the men on the horses. But the last two didn’t look to be in any shape to make an escape, which made Alan hesitate. He didn’t want to leave any of these people behind. While the two hadn’t done anything for him like the others, Alan had never been one to only return favors. But that made it much harder than it ought to be, Alan admitted. Not only did he have to somehow free the other soldiers-none of whom had weapons-but he had to somehow protect the unconscious woman and the other guy all while trying to run with his sister on his back. That wasn’t going to happen, Alan realized.
Alan started at the cart in front of him for a while, mindlessly, as he tried to find a solution. There had to be something. Suddenly, Ulfric turned to face him, as though the men had felt his gaze. They locked eyes. Alan didn’t know what Ulfric saw in his eyes, but Ulfric’s eyes took on something akin to understand and respect. The man shook his head, as though he was saying don’t try it.
Ulfric turned away. Alan returned his attention to the road, at a loss. He walked for miles as a prisoner, his sister curled up on his back. He could hear her short, weak, breaths and knew that she needed to get inside soon. Fortunately, it seemed to have just hit noon, so it was a bit warmer than it otherwise would have been. Alan dreaded nightfall though, and sincerely hoped that they found shelter before then.
As the journey continued, Alan became increasingly aware of the throbbing in his arms and legs. While Cinnia was light, carrying her for several hours was taxing, as was walking for several hours. His breaths became a bit more labored as they went on. Cinnia seemed to pick up on his discomfort, as she shifted guiltily.
Suddenly, a horse rode up to the women that led them. “Ma’am!” The man said.
All the carts stopped, as the woman conversed with him, quietly. “What? Are you sure…” Alan’s ears only caught some of the conversation. Whatever she heard must have made her mad, or, at the very least, irritated. “Fine.” She looked back to her men, and said. “Change of plans. We’re not going to Cyrodiil, after all.”
Hadvar looked surprised. “Captain?” He asked, unsure.
The captain shook her head. “General Tullius’s orders, but I think we both know that where the orders came from.” They all left it at that.
The horses started walking again at the urging of their…drivers…? Alan wasn’t sure what a person riding a horse was called. Definitely not motorists, as cars weren’t around if they were using horses. Chauffeurs, maybe? Alan was grateful for the small stop, as it gave his legs a much needed break. Although, he wished it had lasted a little longer.
Another few hours passed, and Alan was relieved to pick up on a small murmur of Hadvar. “Almost there.” He said. At some point he must have realized where they were going. Alan, relieved that he’d have a break soon, but also anxious at what would happen, was conflicted. He summoned what energy he had, though, and kept marching on. His paces grew a bit faster, and he ended up slightly ahead of Hadvar and directly next to the cart.
It was as he walked beside the cart, that his ears picked up on Ralof’s whispering.
“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.” At first, Alan thought that Ralof was talking to him and Cinnia, but then he saw the woman shuffling around, a bit. He could only see the back of her head. The red-head looked around, and Alan was surprised to see the woman turn to look at them. His first thought was that she had extremely beautiful green-eyes. His second thought was that he wished she looked at him longer. Instead, though, she returned her attention to the people in the cart with her as the…thief...began to speak.
“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 halfway to Hammerfell. You there... You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." Alan was a bit irritated at the man leaving him and sister out of the ones you shouldn’t be there, but he pushed it to the side. The man had given him some context, as did Ralof. Ralof had described the men in red as Imperials and this thief had described the men in blue as Stormcloaks. Now Alan had something to refer to them other than the color of their clothes-err, armor.
“We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief." Ralof said, warmly.
The Imperial solider that was in charge of this cart yelled. “Shut up back there!” Needless to say, the prisoners ignored him.
"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief asked. Alan wasn’t sure who he was talking about.
“Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King." Ralof snapped. Well, now Alan knew who. Ulfric Stormcloak? High King?
"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you... Oh gods, where are they taking us?" The thief said, horrified. Alan felt a similar terror seep into him. Rebellion? What had he and sister gotten into? Alan tightened his hold on his sister, and it wasn’t until she squeaked, a bit, that. He murmured an apology, and eased his hold.
The rest of their conversation became background noise for Alan. He felt numb, and he couldn’t think straight as for the first time in his life, he felt the fear of uncertainty. Alan, even when he was a kid, was always one to tackle things head-on. He never gave himself room to feel doubt, or to feel insecure. But this bizarre nightmare was breaking down the walls he had always counted on one-by-one.
“General Tullius! The Headsman is waiting!” A soldier yelled. Headsman? What’s a headsman, Alan wondered with dread?
“Good, let’s get this over with.” General Tullius said.
Alan forced himself to pay attention as they passed through a gate. The wooden doors closed behind them. Alan spotted the General conversing with some strange looking people off to the side. They had-kind of-golden skin and narrowed-eyes. Their hair was long and well-groomed. Well, those traits weren’t the strange part. It was their ears. Alan could make out point ears, instead of the rounded ones he associated with pretty much everyone.
“Look at him, General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do with this. 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. Funny, when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe." Alan hung off Ralof’s every word, trying to gather as much information as he could. Elves? There was no such thing as elves! Alan grit his teeth as he felt the absurdity of the situation settle in.
As they were forced through the village, Helgen, Alan spotted a young child that could only be a few years younger than Cinnia, arguing with his dad.
“Why? I want to watch the soldiers!”
“Inside the house, now!”
“Yes, papa.” The boy conceded, sullenly.
“Why does the kid need to go inside?” Cinnia whispered. She was shaking, and Alan didn’t know if it was from fear of because of her fever.
The carts came to a stop and the captain barked. “Get these prisoners out of the carts! Hurry it up!”
“Yes, ma’am!” Shouted the soldiers, and the Stormcloaks started being escorted off the carts. Hadvar hopped off his horse and put a hand on Alan’s shoulder. He brought Alan and Cinnia around the cart and had them stand next to the cart.
As the thief and Ralof got off the cart, Alan wished he could forget what he heard next. “Face your death with some courage, thief.”
The thief begged. “You’ve got to tell them! We weren’t with you! This is a mistake!” He shouted the last part desperately. The captain ignored the cries. Alan stared at the captain, and as he did, he discovered something. Her expression…it was of someone who had grown numb to death.
“Step towards the block when we call your name! One at a time.” The captain ordered.
“Empire loves those damn lists.” Ralof cursed, softly.
“That’s a given.” Alan and Ralof startled. They looked at the woman in between them. It was the first time Alan had heard her speak since she woke up. The woman blinked. “What? Did you think I was so scared that I couldn’t speak, or something?”
Ralof chuckled, softly. “You’ve got some fire.” The humor disappeared though as Hadvar stepped forward with what looked like a clipboard from where Alan was at.
“Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm.” Hadvar called out. Ulfric left their little group and went to stand next to the Stormcloaks from the other cart.
“Alan!” Cinnia whispered, fiercely. Alarmed, Alan followed her line of sight to a large man in black. He stood next to a stone slab and had a gigantic axe in his hand. It was covered in dry blood. It took everything Alan had not to keel over right there.
“Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead.” Ralof and the thief-Lokir- both stepped forward. Whereas Ralof seemed ready for his fate-of death, Alan thought-, Lokir panicked.
“No! I’m not a rebel! You can’t do this!” He suddenly started sprinting, as well as he could with his arms bound.
“Halt!” Yelled the captain.
Lokir didn’t stop, and instead shouted. “You’re not going to kill me!”
“Archers!” The captain ordered. Alan, with growing realization, turned sharply away from the scene as the archers fired their arrows. He heard a squelching sound. Cinnia nearly fell of his back, but the woman next to him moved swiftly and used her back to stop her from falling. Awkwardly, the woman helped Cinnia get situated.
“Careful, there.” The woman said, voice filled with mirth. Alan wondered if she was trying to forget the situation they were in or if she was like this all the time.
“Anyone else feel like running?” The captain asked, smug.
Hadvar looked puzzled. “Wait. You there.” He waved his hand at the redhead. “Step forward.” She obeyed, and Alan and Cinnia were left alone. “Who are you?” He asked.
“Anna.” Anna said. Alan then noticed that she was wearing the same brown clothes that Lokir had worn. He wondered if they had been traveling together, or if that was the fashion here. For some reason, he doubted either were true.
Hadvar peered down at the clipboard in his hands. He then looked at the captain. “Captain. What should we do? She's not on the list."
The captain didn’t even hesitate. “Forget the list. She goes to the block.”
Hadvar paused. “By your orders, Captain. What about the children.” He asked, and gestured towards Alan and Cinnia.
The Captain paused this time. “Were they the ones found at the Stormcloak camp?” Hadvar nodded, and she continued. “They were found with the Stormcloaks; they’ll die with the Stormcloaks.” The captain left them to join General Tullius in Helgen square.
“I’m sorry.” Hadvar said, to all three of them. “Follow the Captain, prisoners.”
Anna moved, and Alan did so after her. Alan felt his neck become wet and realized that Cinnia was crying. Alan’s eyes started to burn, and he blinked away the tears that threatened to fall from his own eyes.
General Tullius started to speak to Ulfric. “"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." Alan heard Ulfric grunting, clearly trying to respond. The General ignored Ulfric’s attempts to communication. “You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."
Just as General Tullius finished, Alan was startled to hear a loud, ferocious, roar in the distance. It made his skin crawl.
“What was that?” Hadvar asked, unnerved.
The General waved his hand, unworried. “It’s nothing. Carry on.” He ordered.
“Yes, General Tullius. Give them their last rights.” Said the Captain.
A much older woman started to speak. She was in tan robes with a yellowish hood. She raised her hands towards the skies. “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..." The priestess was interrupted by one of the blond soldiers, who started towards the stone slab.
"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." He said, gruffly.
The headsman looked at the priestess for some direction. The woman sighed, and put her hands on her hips. “As you wish.” She said, simply. The headsman then shrugged and nodded at the Captain.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning.” The blond said, and the captain roughly shoved him. The blond’s head hit the stone, but he didn’t seem bothered. Instead, to Alan’s amazement, he kept running his mouth. “My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?” The headsman lifted the axe. Unlike with Lokir, Alan couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away. In the back of head, he noted how Cinnia pushed her face into his hood to shield her eyes.
The axe was brought down, and the man’s head rolled into a little wooden box. From the neck, blood squirted out, spraying all over the stone. The Captain used her foot and kicked the body to the side.
“You Imperial bastards!" The woman, the same woman that had reminded Ralof to bring him to the tent, screamed, angrily. The others followed suit and Alan saw Ulfric glaring at the Captain with pure hatred. Meanwhile, some of the villagers that had gathered around to watch the execution (what was wrong with these people?!) cheered and said some foul things to the Stormcloaks.
“As fearless in death as he was in life.” Ralof said, softly. Alan winced. He could feel the sorrow in Ralof’s tone. He wondered how close the two men were.
The Captain looked over the rest of them. “Next, the Nord in the rags.”
That loud screech came, again. This time, more than just Hadvar seemed on edge. “There it is again! Did you hear that?” Hadvar asked.
Unfazed, the Captain commanded again. “I said, next prisoner.”
“To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy.” Hadvar said.
Anna snorted. “Nice and easy, he says.” She listened, regardless. The Captain was a bit less rough with Anna, perhaps because she hadn’t been as vocal as the other prisoner. This time, Alan looked away. He didn’t want to see Anna die. Something moving in the sky caught his attention, however.
It was large, and black. It screeched that same screech as it soared through the sky.
General Tullius seemed to have enough of the noise. “What in Oblivion is that?!”
The headsman paused as the Captain investigated. “Sentries, what do you see?”
One of the archers shouted. “It’s in the clouds!”
“Dragon!”
++++
Thanks for reading!
If enjoyed the first chapter, please tell me what you liked about it. If you didn't, please tell me what you didn't like about. Additionally, if you find any grammatical errors or spelling errors I may have missed, please let me know.
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