By the Light of the Moon

Chapter 1

Hello, all! This is my third Skyrim story I've attempted to write, and I'm hoping this will be more successful than the last (meaning I hope to actually publish this one). This story will not be following the original dialogue from the game; I find it repetitive sometimes. Disclaimer: I do not own Skyrim or it's original characters and locations, or any other Bethesda products. Please enjoy!

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"Desoneth? Where'd you go?"

"Hide!" I hissed, pushing my companion away. "It's an amb--"

I couldn't finish my warning. A hard object--most likely the hilt of a sword--made contact with the back of my head, knocking me out. Everything went black.

"Hey, you, you're finally awake," a deep voice said as my eyes cracked open. I groaned, moving my head to both sides, wincing at a dull pain from the back of my head. There was a large bump there, no doubt.

"Who are you? Where am I?" I asked, stretching my stiff muscles, not looking at the man ahead of me, but instead observing my surroundings. My wrists were bound, all of my equipment was gone and I was dressed in some raggedy robes.

Damn it.

I looked around some more; I was in a carriage, driven by a horse, steered by a man wearing leather armor, decorated with studs and red cloth. The men in the carriage with me, however, wore blue armor. All except two. Me, and another Nord-looking-fellow, who had dark hair and tired eyes. He wore ragged clothes, like me.

Damn it.

"Hey, why didn't they take your stuff?" I growled, turning to look at the man in front of me. I didn't pay attention long enough to hear his answer; he had long blond hair and stubble, and kind blue eyes, and I had to admit: he was remotely good looking.

To my right, sat a man with equal blond hair, but much longer. The armor he wore looked different, as if he was some sort of royalty, and his mouth was tied.

"Do you know who you're talking to, horse thief?" The blond man in front of me snapped, glaring at the brown haired man. I hadn't even realized they were talking I'd been focusing so hard.

"That's Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King of Skyrim!" The man announced proudly.

"Quiet down back there!" The carriage driver snapped, just as we approached the tall gates of a town. I glared at the driver, though he couldn't see.

"Helgen," the blond soldier murmured, gazing longingly into the down. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here."

That statement, for some reason, flustered me. The man chuckled.

"I wonder if she still makes that delicious mead with juniper berries mixed in..."

My lips curved slightly into a small smile, remembering my own home. As if reading my thoughts, the man--whom I later learned was called Ralof--turned to the horse thief, whose name I never bothered to learn.

"Hey, horse thief, where are you from?"

"Why do you care?" he shot back.

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof replied slowly, mournfully.

"Rorikstead... I'm... I'm from Rorikstead."

"And you, Elf?" Ralof asked, turning to me. I turned away.

"A small village in Valenwood, that I'd really rather not remember. My 'home,' as you might say, was going to be Skyrim. Until, of course, now."

"What--what do you mean?" The thief blurted, "W-Why are we stopping?"