Skyrim: A Tale of Two Dragons

Chapter 1: The Burning of Helgen

The clopping of horse hooves rattled in his brain like thunder, ripping him back into the conscious world. The sun overhead burned at his eyes, worsening the pain in his head. Thick bindings chaffed his wrists and his hands we coated in a crusty layer of dried blood. Voices, incomprehensibly loud, spoke around him.

So far Skyrim was nothing like the place his parents had always spoken of.

With a groan, he sat up and took in his surroundings.

He was in a carriage, an old shoddy one from the feel of it, with three other men. Each was covered in dirt and grime. A quick glance down at himself saw that he was much the same, even his clothes having been taken and replaced with scratchy rags fitting of a beggar that were stretched beyond reason across his frame. His golden blonde hair and beard, normally kept clean and out of the way with tight braids, had been ripped loose and were matted with mud and grime. Head still ringing, he pushed himself from the floor of the carriage to a seat and took a better look around.

There were on a road through a forest, well-traveled but rough. A quick look out the front and back of their wagon made it clear that they just one in procession. There was a man at the head of the carriage, driving it and decked head to toe in red and brown armor. A member of the Imperial Army no doubt, though a low ranking one based on his armor.

The man sitting across to his right was haggard and pale, with ill-fitting linen trying to pass for clothes. The desperate, wild look in his eyes made something clear immediately; he was a criminal and he had been caught.

"...finally awake?"

A clear voice finally pierced the haze that surrounded his mind. He glanced over at the man speaking. He was clearly a Nord, clad in blue dyed cloths and armor with chainmail extending down to his biceps. His hair was ragged and dirty but his voice was firm and his eyes bright.

"You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there," he nodded at the man in rags beside him.

"Damn you Stormcloaks," the apparent thief spat. "Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If that hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell."

Slowly the fog began to lift from his mind, memories trickling back in. He had been crossing the border. He had planned to go directly from Morrowind to the Wrothgar region of High Rock, returning home to visit his parents before setting up shop for himself. There had been a rush of motion immediately followed by blackness.

"...should be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." Apparently, the thief was speaking to him.

He ignored him and took in the man to his right. He was dressed much differently than the other two, draped in thick, fine furs. Though smeared with dirt and grime like the rest of them, it was clear that this was man of importance and wealth. He also the only one of them to have a gag in his mouth. Even at a quick glance, it was clear that the gag had been knotted several times for some reason. That he was being transported with a wealthy man, a horse thief and some sort of rebel did not bold well.

"We're all brothers in binds now," the man in blue said grimly.

"Shut up back there!" Their driver bellowed back at them.

They were silent for a moment before the thief spoke again, gesturing at the man in fine robes. "What's wrong with him, huh?"

"Watch your tongue," the man in blue, apparently a Stormcloak, snapped. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!"

Oh, Shor's balls.

The thief had put it together too. "Ulric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion...if they captured you," the thief's panic became palpable. "Oh Gods, where are they taking us?!"