InsaneJournal

The wagon pulled slowly into a small settlement. Among its occupants were a horse thief, Ulfric Stormcloak, and another young man that had been picked up along the way by Imperial officers. Everybody on this wagon had something in common - they were wanted men. All except the young man - he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. If one asked his name, they'd find it was Andrel. He was a Nord like the others, but he had crossed the border from the southern region of Cyrodiil, north into the Rift of Skyrim.

He was considerably younger than the others in this forsaken cart, and didn't look like he could be much older than thirty. He had light skin, dark hair, and his face was marked with fresh stubble from not having shaven in the past couple days. From what he understood, the one named Ulfric was slated for execution here, but others would meet the Divines today as well. He was numb and his thoughts reached back to Bruma, the little village he'd left behind and called his home. He wasn't ignorant to the strife in Skyrim - he'd actually left to join the Legion and something pulled him to the northern province of Tamriel. If these Thalmor justiciars knew his faith, they'd justify his own execution like that. One less Talos worshipper in the world was a blessing to them.

One by one, each of the prisoners descended from the back of the cart and filed off to the side. The horse thief named Lokir tried to escape, but was swiftly taken down by an arrow to his back. When it was Andrel's turn, the presiding soldier spoke directly to him. "Wait, you there! Step forward. Who are you?" he asked. There was a parchment held in his hand and the bending of the paper showed him there was a list of names, there.

His voice was low, but he complied. "Andrel, of Bruma," he spoke. His hands were bound in front of him like the others were, and his eyes darted around the settlement.

The brow of the soldier before him furrowed as he looked at Andrel, and turned to another. "You picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. Captain, what should we do with him? He's not on the list," the soldier pointed out.

"Forget the list. He goes to the block," a female Redguard replied.

The soldier seemed to be disappointed by that response, but nodded. "By your orders, Captain." He turned again to Andrel, a hint of remorse etched in his face. "I'm sorry. At least you'll die here, in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner."

He exhaled heavily through his nose, knowing whatever he might have to say might make matters worse and made his way to join the others. The General, identified earlier on the wagon as Tullius, was standing there with a priestess and the headsman. The air seemed thick around him and he swallowed back another breath, watching as the execution began.

"Ulfric Stormcloak," Tullius began, "Some here in Skyrim call you a hero, but a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his King and usurp his throne."

Ulfric, whose mouth was covered by a gag, growled briefly.

Tullius wasted no time finishing his speech and seemed to ignore the defiance completely. "You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace."

As soon as he said that last word, a mysterious sound echoed through the little valley. It sent chills through Andrel's body, and whatever the sound was, it caught the attention of the soldier from earlier.

"What was that?" he asked.

"It's nothing. Carry on," ordered Tullius, stepping away to the side to watch.

"Yes, General Tullius!" he heard the Captain reply. A Stormcloak soldier was called forth, and the Captain turned to the priestess. "Read them their last rites."

The priestess lifted her hands skyward and she began to speak. "As we commend your souls to Aetherius, blessings of the Eight Divines upon you!"

She was still speaking but before she could finish, she was rudely interrupted by the soldier they'd called forth. "For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with."

"As you wish," she shot back as he approached the chopping block. He got on his knees, his body pushed forward with the Captain's boot.

"My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?" were his last words before the headsman's axe swung down, separating his head from his body. Blood pooled in the dirt below the chopping block, staining the ground crimson.

He didn't realize until then that he was shivering. It wasn't cold outside, but the prospect of his death coming for him so soon was getting the best of him. He was called for next by the Captain, and sent a few silent prayers to the Divines to take care of his mother and father back in Cyrodiil. How would the news of his execution even reach them? A thousand questions spilled into his brain, none of which would be answered before he died. The time was now, and there wasn't anything he could do about it.

The sound from earlier came again, and once again the soldier spoke. "There it is again! Did you hear that?"

"I said, next prisoner!"

He heard the soldier speak to him directly, his voice gentle. Everything about his tone told him he didn't belong here, that he should have been freed the second he got off the cart and they found he wasn't on that damned list. "To the block, prisoner. Nice and easy."

He was sure that last part meant his death would be swift and painless. He supposed it'd be a better way to die than the horse thief, who'd probably spent his last few moments gasping for air and choking on his own blood before he eventually passed out. Pushing those morbid thoughts out of his head, he knelt down the same as the soldier before him, the fresh stench of blood making him light-headed in the moment. He didn't have a weak stomach by any means, but the helplessness in this situation would have made the most hardy man delirious with nerves.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the headsman lift his axe and he tensed in anticipation. Suddenly, a black winged beast swooped overhead. It let out a roar identical to the ones they'd been hearing.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" shouted the General.

"Sentries! What do you see?" he heard the Captain say.

"Dragon!" he heard another cry out as the beast finally landed with a strong thud on the tower above them. The very ground trembled under the weight of the impact and for just a moment, he met eyes with the creature. He could feel his heart practically drop to his stomach in fear. Though among fear, there was also something else but he couldn't pinpoint what it was.

The dragon's maw opened and with it came the release of a boom so powerful it darkened the skies. This was something he'd only heard about in legends and old tales. Everyone thought the dragons had been dead, but here was one of them, flesh and blood. Chaos broke out and everyone around him fled for safety. He lifted his head to see Ralof - a Stormcloak soldier from the cart he'd come on.

"Come with me, kinsman! The Gods won't give us another chance!"

Andrel wasn't going to wait for this damn dragon to kill him. He got up immediately and ran for the other tower just ahead of him, only to find the reason he'd been sent here to Helgen was hiding inside as well. Ulfric had escaped to the same tower and his binds were loosened. He heard them talking about what was happening outside, but didn't stay long enough to listen. He was going to escape - one way or another.

Running up the spiraled steps of the tower, he was knocked back as the wall was blasted through with the dragon's head. Another Stormcloak was incinerated in front of his eyes but the dragon didn't stick around to further the damage done to the tower. Looking outside the gaping hole for an escape route, he spotted it. There was an inn somewhat close to the tower. If he got enough momentum…

Perhaps it was the adrenaline that helped him, but he ran forward and jumped through, trying to land in the destroyed side of the inn. He just barely made it, landing in such a way that his knees buckled under him and he grunted. It wasn't painful now, but he'd be feeling it the next day- if he ever made it out of here alive. Scrambling to his feet again, he sought a way down to the ground floor. His mobility was restricted - he'd not thought to have his own binds cut before he started running. Eventually he'd regrouped with the soldier from earlier. He was trying to coax a boy out of the path of dragon fire, but took notice of him and seemed to be relieved that he was okay, albeit a little worse for wear.

"Still alive, prisoner? Stay close to me if you want to stay that way. Gunnar! Take care of the boy. I have to find General Tullius and join the defense!"

He wasn't about to argue with that, and nodded. His heart was pounding in his chest. He finally mustered the strength to speak again, and nudged the soldier with his elbow. "What's your name? I feel like I should know it, given we're still alive. I can fight, we just need to get to safety, first."

"Hadvar," he finally introduced himself. "We'll get out of here, I promise you that. Now move! Follow me and stay close to the wall!"

The pair rushed forward through a narrow alleyway, and the dragon perched just above them, sending another round of flames at something they couldn't see. The entire outpost was in devastated shambles by now. Burned corpses were strewn everywhere, mixed with the charred wood of the destroyed buildings. As soon as it flew away, they ran ahead. All around him, he could see Imperials and Thalmor Justiciars trying in vain to fight this harbinger of doom. Someone on one of the battlements was picked up and thrown to the ground. Just ahead was the fort, and Hadvar wasted no time escorting him inside.

Once he was inside, he coughed violently into the crook of his arm. The action was catching up to him, but at least now he was in good company.

"Looks like we're the only ones that made it," Hadvar said, looking around the fort. "Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the end times? We should keep moving. Come here and let me get those bindings off."

A dagger cut through the rope keeping his hands together, and he rubbed at his wrists for a moment. The skin was a little irritated and raw from rope burns but he didn't care. He was alive. An iron sword rested on a rack nearby, and he rummaged the chests for armor. The sword was still sharp enough to fight with, and he fixed the sheath to his belt. He'd come to Skyrim with supplies of his own but they were all lost at Darkwater Crossing when he'd been picked up in the ambush. With any luck, he'd be able to return soon to see if any of his belongings could be salvaged. One of them was his own steel sword, which his father had crafted for him years before he left. He didn't care about anything else as long as he could get that sword.

"Thank-" Andrel started.

"Don't thank me yet, lad. We're not out of here yet."

It took them nearly half an hour to navigate through the fort. They were apprehended by several Stormcloaks on the way out, all of which were killed. When they finally reached a cavern, it was only a matter of time before they made their escape. First came the spiders - they were impossibly large and spat venom at the two Nords, surrounding them. Sharpened iron cut and slashed through the giant arachnids with ferocity, until the cavern floor was littered with their bodies.

"What's next, giant snakes?" Hadvar asked, sheathing his sword. He was trying to lighten the mood, and it worked. Andrel actually chuckled.

"Let's get out of here. The path is getting lighter, there has to be a way out somewhere down the way," he replied, pressing forward. The next cavern had a sleeping bear, and for some reason there was a wooden cart of wine. Buried underneath the empty bottles was a pouch tied with a string. He picked it up and felt the weight of it in his hand. Something jingled inside, and he knew it had to be a small loot of Septims. At least now he'd have a little money to buy food and a place to sleep.

He ultimately decided to sneak past the bear. The cave was getting narrower, and as they turned the corner, he could see sunlight pouring in. He could also see pine trees outside the cave's exit and knew they'd reached safety. Hadvar seemed to be mentally synchronized with him, because they both started running for the exit.

As soon as they exited, Hadvar yanked Andrel down by a large boulder as the dragon flew overhead. They stayed very still and very quiet, praying to the Divines that they wouldn't be spotted. They'd come too far to die, now. As soon as the beast was gone, Andrel sank to the floor and let out a shaky sigh of relief. He didn't know how to react to any of this. His heart broke for the innocent people that died in the chaos, but at the same time he was overjoyed to have escaped this with such an excellent companion at his side - a man he decided now that he would gladly die for if that came to it.

Nords like himself didn't wholly judge you by how you lived - it was how you died that usually mattered most. There were always exceptions to this custom, of course. Redemption of your sins was not always given even if you 'died a hero's death'. But this alone was a tragedy. He was grateful to be alive, but it just didn't seem fair that this dragon should postpone his death while bringing it to so many other people that were, like him, caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. An irrational part of his brain had him wanting to die a hundred times in their places so they might see another day.

Little did he know, his unbound wrists would soon allow him to avenge their deaths. There was no time for tears, now. He had work to do.