A Dragonborn by any other name

Next Prisoner!

Disclaimer: I don't own TES, or I would be a very rich person, and make the player character able to be a Jarl and/or High King/Queen, and/or Emperor/Empress. What can I say. Power is FUN!

It appeared to be the end of a long journey…

Ralof studied the unconscious girls sitting in the cart to pass the time, wondering what they were going to the block for. They weren't his Stormcloak brethren, caught in the ambush like they were; or he would recognise them. Probably sisters, both with long hair, one a rich brown, the other jet black. They were strange and exotic looking, as if they had walked off the plains of oblivion. They had high cheekbones, and tilted eyes, like any typical mer, but their colouring was human, apart from maybe a slight hint of gold. He wondered if perhaps they had elven ancestry, maybe half or quarter blood. He noticed them stirring, and deduced the sleeping poison must be wearing off.

"Finally waking up I see," Ralof offered cheerfully, then caught his breath. Their eyes were… striking. The slightly taller girl on the left, had rich, sapphire blue eyes, more saturated than he had seen on any of his fellow Nords. The other, with the raven hair, had brown eyes, the colour of chocolate. The brown-eyed girl leaned against the other, looking around angrily, as if she was fuelled by an unseen flame.

"Where are we?"

"In Skyrim. Bound for Helgen by the looks of it."

They shared a look, obviously alarmed by this news, and he deduced they probably weren't expecting that answer.

"Weren't you caught trying to cross the border?"

The blue eyed girl answered this time. "Yes. We were just trying to get through to visit… friends and the next thing we knew we had walked into an ambush." She seemed oddly calm, for someone heading for her death, though her eyes said she was in no way resigned to her fate.

"Quiet prisoners!" Grunted the cart driver as they rolled down the last hill into Helgen.

It seemed they were nearing the end of the line, for there was a general standing there, accompanied by an arrogant looking Thalmor. The carts rolled into the courtyard and the prisoners were ordered to dismount, So the Imperials could check their lists. Damn lists. The thoughts ran through Ralof's mind unintentionally, as if it was trying not to think about what was happening.

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm" called a tired looking captain.

His Jarl stepped forward, they had gagged him like an animal, but he walked, dignified and head high, to the area directed.

"Ralof of Riverwood." Ralof glared and faced him, and he realised it was Hadvar, his childhood friend, checking the list. A few more prisoners were called and they stopped, leaving the two girls. One seemed to have a chain on under her ragged clothes. He looked again and it was gone.

"And what's your names?" Hadvar asked.

The taller one stepped forward. "Guenevere Se…" She was stopped from finished her word by a nudge in the back by her sister. She composed herself "Guenevere of Cyrodill."

Hadvar raised an eyebrow at the slip, but didn't comment, instead asking the other.

"And you?" There weren't any slip-ups this time, she stood unwavering.

"Luciana. Also of Cyrodill… like my sister."

Odd names they were, and the slip intrigued him. Ralof watched Hadvar consult his list again.

The Legate appeared bored. "They're not on the list."

"They go to the block anyway," Hadvar sighed, and looked to the sisters. "I'm sorry," He didn't meet their eyes. "I'll make sure your remains are sent back to Cyrodill."

Luciana's was about to reply a scathing remark but was cut off by an ominous roar from the mountains. "What WAS that?!" she spluttered. Instead though she didn't get a reply. Instead the ignorant imperials continued to act like nothing was wrong. They went ahead with the first execution, a female warrior murmuring with pride that the soldier was as fearless in death as he was in life.

"You, with the blue cat-eyes."

Gwen stepped forward, head high, knelt, and whispered a prayer . With resignation she placed her neck gently on the block. Her lips stayed moving as the headsman raised the axe. A rush of beating wings, her prayers were answered.