Dovahkiinne

Casephona woke up, bound but thankfully not gagged or blindfolded, on a rickety horse-drawn carriage. Her wrists ached, the rope rubbing her skin raw, and the world tilted and swayed in time with the subtle waves of the earth.

Her head throbbed. Perhaps the vaguely nauseating motion had more to due with a hard hit to the head than the actual movements of the horse. Blinking dumbly as the remnants of whatever knocked her out lingered, she looked around, gauging her situation. Last she remembered, she'd been at Darkwater Crossing, planning to rest for the night there and load up on supplies, when a wave of Stormcloak rebels descended upon the sleepy settlement. Hot on their heels were Imperial soldiers. In the midst of all the screaming, sword clashing and madness, the Imperials somehow got it in their heads that an Altmer had aligned herself with the Stormcloaks. What fools.

The Nord on her left cleared his throat. While passed out, she had slumped against him, but she didn't dare try her luck while awake. She pulled away from him hastily and curled her shoulders to avoid further skin contact. Directly in front of her, another Nord stared out of the carriage, watching where they'd been and obliquely avoiding her gaze. Behind the cart, a man in Imperial armour followed on horseback. He trailed far enough behind to obscure his face. A shudder ran down her spine and she glanced about the cart. Not including herself, there were five others. Four were human, Nords perhaps, and one was a Khajiit. Most chillingly, one of the Nords had been gagged. She gaped. The man glowered darkly across from him, seemingly at the Khajiit, but to her it seemed that his anger was on something far greater than a sneak-thief.

"Good," the one across from her said. "You're awake."

The nord she'd slept on nodded. "I was beginning to wonder if we were carrying a corpse." His accent was hard to place, and gave her pause.

"We're going to be corpses. We aren't like you," one Nord said bitterly, glaring at the bound man. "And neither is she. Your rebellion's mixed us up."

"We're all bound, horse thief," the man across from her said. "Can't much complain, can you?"

Silence reigned. She glanced surreptitiously around again. The Nord to her left was short, especially when compared to her (being an Altmer did that) and the Khajiit was eerily quiet. The gagged man still glared off in the distance, the horse-thief fidgeted nervously, and the other Nord just sat there, accepting his fate, whatever it was. His complacency filled her with a mixture of frustration and admiration.

"Where are you from, hmm? Summerset Isles?" It took her a moment to realise that the horse thief was talking to her.

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"She's obviously with the empire. We'll be fine. Why would they kill one of their pets?"

Anger flooded her, burning white-hot in her veins and flashing across her cheeks, but she didn't say a word.

"She's not with the empire," the one on her left said, listless.

The horse-thief snapped, "Gods damn the empire and gods damn Ulfric Stormcloak!"

The gagged man jerked his head towards him, a fire lighting in his eyes, and the man across from her growled, "Watch your tongue!" He looked about ready to throttle him.

"Quiet back there!" The guard in charge ordered.

Again, silence befell the carriage, uneasy and tense, but it lasted only a short while.

The Nord to her left asked, "What were you doing at Darkwater Crossing, elf?"

Indignant, she replied, "What were you doing at Darkwater Crossing, Nord?"

To her surprise, he burst out laughing. "Ah, that never gets old. I am a 'gods damned' imperial, you're a pet of the empire, and we're all going to the chopping block." He paused, waiting for some sort of response. "My name is Caelius Faustus."

She briefly debated not telling him her name, but the looming doom of death and his odd charisma changed her mind. "Casephona Lorethian." She didn't want to die nameless in a cold country, swallowed by the craggy landscape. If only one person knew who she was before she died, that would have to be enough.

Caelius smiled. She returned the expression, if tempered slightly by their inevitable fate.

"Touching," the horse-thief groused.

"We're all brothers and sisters in bonds now," the nameless Nord said sagely. "Where are you from? A Nord's last thoughts should be of home."

He seemed to agree. "Rorikstead," he said. His voice was soft with pain and longing; it was a familiar tone to Casephona, but not one she wanted to empathise with.

The Nord turned his gaze expectantly to the Khajiit.

"Nowhere," he whispered. He sounded young, and his voice lacked the accent so commonly found in his species. A traveler, then, perhaps, who hadn't spent much time in Elsweyr.

"Ralof of Riverwood," he said, gesturing to himself. The horse-thief kept quiet.

"Circumstances could be better," Caelius said.

The guard shouted, "Shut up back there!"

They did.

Casephona drew in a deep, steadying breath as the carriage passed the gates of some city. So this was the mouth of Skyrim that would claim her - a small unimportant blip on a map. What an inglorious end to a prideful Altmer. A young, innocent boy sat and watched the condemned as they were carted to their deaths. Perhaps justice truly was this way- like a child, dispassionate, not really understanding, but still passing judgement.

It was not a pleasant thought.

Ralof broke her from the mire in her brain. "Helgen," he whispered, an edge of surprise and resignation to his voice. "I used to be sweet on a girl from here."

"End of the line," Caelius said flatly.

Her heart felt heavy in her chest as the cart came to a stop. Why had she insisted on traveling to Skyrim alone? She knew of the rebellion. She knew the province was fraught with peril, and yet she'd rejected all offers for company, sellswords and friends alike.

Ralof said, "Sovngarde awaits" before standing, ready to face his death with dignity. She wished she could have half his composure; as it were, her legs trembled and her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.

The headsman stood next to a woman wearing a priest's heavy, holy robes, but not of any sort she was familiar with. Casephona suspected the woman was an Altmer and the observation made her blood run cold. An Imperial captain, wearing steel armour, stood next to the guard who'd trailed behind the cart. The guard had a soft sorrow in his eyes as he began calling names off the list.

"Lokir of Rorikstead," he called. The horse-thief stepped forward, a desperate plea to reason and honour leaving his lips, until he realised the futility of the matter. Then he ran and the captain called for her archers.

Then he died.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain demanded. Her tone just about begged for another fool to follow Lokir's footsteps.

Casephona found herself shaking again. The end was coming, and at the hands of a madwoman no less. This couldn't be justice.

The guard called Ralof, then Ulfric, then looked quizzically down at his list.

"Who are you?" He asked Caelius.

The Nordic-looking Imperial straightened his back and raised his chin. At this angle, she could see a large, jagged gash across his left cheek that had heretofore been hidden. It added to the determined, yet doom-driven hero look he had. "Caelius Faustus of the Imperial City," he declared. His pride kept his back ruthlessly straight and puffed out his chest, even as he walked towards his looming death. She decided she would follow his footsteps and confront her own demise without fear. If an Imperial, facing unlawful execution at the hands of his own kinsmen could, so could she.

The guard's jaw tightened nearly imperceptibly. He jerked his head to the Khajiit. "And you?"

"Ja'el," he paused suddenly, as if wondering whether to give his clan-name. After a few seconds, a spasm of emotion crossed his features and he whispered hoarsely, "Tavokhir."

Again, the guard clenched his jaw, this time more obviously, as Ja'el walked towards the growing line of men and women awaiting the headsman's axe.

He shook his head slowly, as if bemoaning a tragedy, and looked to Casephona. "And you, elf? You're not with the Thalmor Embassy, are you?"

Here goes, she thought. She said firmly, "No, I am not. I am Casephona Lorethian, of Lilllandril."

"Captain," the guard said after a moment. "These three aren't on the list."

"They go to the chopping block like the rest," she said derisively.

Fury flashed through her. She growled, "I am no thief, no rebel, and certainly no criminal!"

"I'm sorry," he said. Her anger subsided briefly at the sincerity to his voice. "I'll make sure your remains are brought to the Summerset Isles."

"I'd rather you not," she growled, just barely managing to keep from baring her teeth.

He gave a weary, placating smile. "Of course. I'm still sorry."

She shook her head and made her way next to Ja'el. The poor boy - yes, she was fairly certain he wasn't yet an adult - seemed to tremble uncontrollably and his tail stayed low to the ground. She would do her best to alleviate his fear; if anything, it would give her something to focus on besides her quickly approaching death.

"Ulfric Stormcloak." A strongly built man, hair greying and face stern, walked up to Ulfric, his armour shining as if the divines themselves blessed his course. He crossed his hands behind his back and continued, "Some here in Helgen would call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." Ulfric grunted, the words lost into the thick gag of fabric. The other man turned to the captain. "Give them their last rights."

"Yes, General Tullius." Casephona held back a sneer of disdain at the imperial's sycophantic acquiescence. There was respect, and then there was boot-licking.

The priest called upon the Eight divines but a rebel interrupted her, one last mark of defiance that earned him the honour of being the first for the block. One man's execution came and went, marked by snide and prideful boasts from the unwavering voice of the executed. The body dropped, the captain kicked it aside, and the sky roared in disgust.

"What was that?" One man demanded, eyes trained upwards in search of the source.

"Doesn't matter," General Tullius said gruffly. "Proceed!" A man of business. If his business wasn't overseeing executions, she could like him.

The captain barked, "Next, the cat!"

Ja'el shuddered and froze as another roar tore across the sky.

"I said, next prisoner!" The captain repeated.

Casephona put her bound hands gently on his back, the contact being something he didn't seem too eager to refuse. He bowed his head as he walked up to the block.

He stared down at the remains of the man executed before him. His breathing noticeably caught in his throat and his voice faltered as he asked, "Aren't you at least going to move the head?"

The captain forced him to his knees. More hysterical, he asked again. His question was met with a foot on his back and another man's blood around his neck. The headsman raised his axe. Casephona looked away.

"What in Oblivion is that?" General Tullius cried, unsheathing his blade.

It was a black monstrosity perched atop the nearest tower, as if watching over the proceedings. It stayed there for a moment before it let loose a feral roar that knocked the executioner to the ground. The sound broke whatever spell had been placed upon the world and chaos erupted.

Immediately, Tullius began to shout orders. "Guards! Get the townspeople to safety!"

Ralof somehow managed to rid himself of his binds and started running towards another tower. "Come on!" He shouted, "The gods gave us a chance!"

Ja'el stumbled to his feet, looking shell-shocked and shaking madly, but before she could grab him and run – why the protective instincts, she wanted to know – Caelius had already taken ahold of his arm and started to drag him to relative safety. She followed wordlessly, danger stealing away any desire for conversation. She'd normally ask what that thing was, but she didn't need to identify it for it to burn her to a crisp. It was dangerous, simple as that.

Once inside, she worked on trying to undo her rope shackles. Ja'el unsheathed his claws and held them up for her to inspect. Nodding gratefully, she let him tear through the bindings and set about releasing him from his own now that her hands were free.

"I thought dragons were mere legends," Caelius whispered. He sounded in awe of the beasts, almost to a disturbing degree.

"Legends don't burn down villages," Ulfric rumbled.

Casephona couldn't help but wholeheartedly agree with the red-headed Nord. "This castle can only hold up to so much. Fire, yes. Bandits? Yes. Dragons? I'd rather not take my chances." It still felt ridiculous think of dragons as anything more than simple tales meant to frighten children.

She noticed Ulfric looked more than slightly annoyed, though she couldn't decide whether to chalk it up to her giving suggestions or just her being an Altmer.

Caelius – gods, she'd forgotten he was right there beside her – agreed and started up the stairs, another Stormcloak rebel by his side.

A few minutes passed in uneasy silence, broken by the muffled howls of men, women and children as a great black beast destroyed their home. Nausea coiled in her stomach. Caelius came down the stairs after another few minutes, worry carving a furrow into his brow.

"The stairs are blocked," Caelius reported.

The other rebel asked, "What now? We can't go up..."

Ralof and Ulfric began discussing a possible strategy, something along the lines of waiting and using the evacuation and decimation of the village as a means of escaping out the main gates unnoticed – basic, so very basic, but the best they had – when the wall near the blockage suddenly exploded inwards, sending stone flying and crushing the poor, hapless fool of a rebel. As if to make sure that its prey was killed, the dragon blew a torrent of flame into the hole forcibly added to the tower wall.

"That's our exit plan," Caelius said, holding back a distressed laugh. His eyes lingered on where the rebel had been.

Ralof nodded and started to follow, but Ulfric placed his hand on his shoulder. The two shared a glance. "Go!" he shouted. "We'll catch up." His last words were soft, tinged with an emotion she couldn't quite place. She didn't think she wanted to place it

Not wanting to chance another encounter with the dragon, Casephona raced up to the hole and jumped out, not letting herself hesitate for even a moment. Hesitation killed, she knew. As she landed, her knees buckled and she rolled forward, not entirely intentionally, but feeling no pain lance up her legs she figured it was for the best. Caelius landed beside her and, not missing a beat, jerked her to her feet and dragged her along. Ja'el followed shortly behind.

It seemed they were quickly becoming an inseparable trio of misfits, Ja'el invoking some long suppressed maternal instincts in her and Caelius bringing some much needed levity to the otherwise grave situation. She found she didn't mind it as much as she should have.

As they fled, they ran into the same guard as earlier, who then told them to run and follow him to the keep. She wanted to ask where that was, but the dragon landed not more than ten feet away, turning a man to a charred corpse and a child into an orphan, and the guard bellowed an order to get the boy to safety.

She made up her mind about this man then, deciding that he was a good man who followed his orders with too few questions, as he led them to promised safety. The village was a wreck, burning and collapsing under the ministrations of a mythical, awesome being. To what end this beast was attacking, she didn't know, and she was almost certain that there was no point in wondering. What need did a creature out of legends have for motivation?

As they made their way around yet another flaming, crumbling building, the guard suddenly shoved Casephona against the wall as the pitch-black beast landed on it.

An ice cold pain bit into her, cutting across her cheek and narrowly missing her eye, and left her gasping as she tried not to scream. Blood poured down her face, dripping down her neck to stain her tunic. The pain was breathtaking and seared itself into her brain. Ironically, the only thing keeping her from screaming was the horrible sensation. To open her mouth was to open the door to a worse, blinding agony.

The dragon, finding nothing more to raze to the ground, took to the air once more. The quartet let out a collective sigh of relief, having just cheated death.

"That's bad," the guard said, sparing her wound only a brief glance, "but we can't treat it here."

She suppressed a groan, and they started running again. Along the way, they passed the general, but instead of berating the guard for helping prisoners escape, he merely told them to run.

Her respect for him grew just a little more at that. She didn't have time to act on that, too busy fleeing a burning village. They wound their way through said settlement, racing against the mythic invader's taste for destruction, until they ran into Ralof.

Ralof's shouting something about the rebellion at the guard - named Hadvar, apparently - caused them to pause and waste precious time. After a quick back and forth on who was the worse traitor and who had Skyrim's best interests in mind, Hadvar said there wasn't time for this. She agreed. Nevertheless, the two stood still, a silent face off while their world went up in flames around them.

"Fine!" Ralof cried. He broke eye contact first and ran to his left. Hadvar continued forward, into a rather unassuming building that was the keep. She was about to follow behind him when she saw a third option. The walls that boasted security against bandits and invaders had fallen to a dragon and left her with a clear path into the forest. Heart thundering and sides aching, she raced across the all-too-open clearing and ducked into the woods.

Stone defences were useless against a dragon, and the woods provided better camouflage and natural defences in her favour, land bound creature she was. That, and if she went alone, she had less of a chance of being rounded up for execution again.

Alone. She spun around, searching her surroundings, but couldn't find either Caelius or Ja'el. Cursing her foolishness, she kept going. She would try to find them later, if they survived, if the keep didn't collapse on them and kill them.

As she walked, the blood dried and the gash in her face throbbed pitifully, but she couldn't do much for it without water. The horror aside, the whole experience, with the dragon attacking, was a somewhat fortuitous turn of events. It stopped her untimely execution, and despite those who no doubt died due to it, she was grateful for it. To be otherwise would be to insult the dead.

Once outside the village, the world was impossibly peaceful. She could only assume that she was west of Helgen, and her friend had told her to make her way to the nearest hold capital and take a carriage to Winterhold.

Agony flared in her cheek as she attempted to smile. Raw and ragged breaths scraping up and down her throat, she started looking for butterflies and mountain flowers. She needed a poultice on it and she needed it now. Her hands shook as she ripped flowers up by their stems.

Having collected a small amount of mountain flowers and double checking they were blue, she set them on a relatively flat rock and began smashing them with another. The fibre of the plant gave way to the superior strength of stone, leaving a bluish-brown paste. She scooped it up and applied it gently to her wound. It stung, but soon after began to tingle and numb the pain. She let out a sigh of relief.

Her wound addressed, she stood up, brushed off her knees, and continued along the road. While it would only help later on to have a stock of these flowers, her pack had been lost at Darkwater Crossing. Anyways, she imagined that Whiterun wasn't too far away from her, and being the centre of trade it was, no doubt there would be a carriage service and a shop or two to resupply herself. She began to hum a soft song under her breath as she walked.