A/N: So, welcome to my first Skyrim fic! I've double posted this, on Tumblr and on here. There may be sexual content later on, and due to the rules of this archive, I may have to do an edited chapter for this edition, and keep the explicit version for the Tumblr blog. Enjoy!

I really wasn't sure where I was.

All I remembered was crossing the border from Cyrodiil. Then horrible blackness. There was the creaking of wagon wheels, and I felt as if I was on a bumpy, inclined road. I groggily opened my eyes.

'You're finally awake,' a man with a thick Nordic accent brought me from my reverie; 'You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there.'

I blinked absently, looking around. The Nord was sitting across from me, his hands bound. Next to him was another man, who was similarly bound, and he had brown hair, in contrast to his benchmate's fair blonde mane. Next to me was another blonde Nord… a handsome man dressed in fine clothes and a thick fur cloak. Curiously, he was gagged.

'Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell!' the thief spat. He looked at me desperately. 'You there…you and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.'

'We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief,' the Nord replied curtly.

'Shut up back there!' the carriage driver's annoyed voice cut across the conversation like a hot knife through butter.

'And what's wrong with him, huh?' the thief asked in a low voice, turning to the gagged man.

The Nord was furious. 'Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King.'

I started a little in my seat. Ulfric Stormcloak? The Jarl and rebel leader himself? Oh, this wasn't looking good for me right now. If the Empire had him, they'd be apt to just get axe happy and execute us all. Today was not my day.

'Ulfric? You're the Jarl of Windhelm…leader of the rebellion.' The thief stared at the gagged Ulfric openly. The Jarl simply looked impassively at me, probably because my face had gone ashen and grey with worry.

'If they've captured you…Oh gods, where are they taking us?' with each word, the thief's voice became more and more frantic.

'Where else? To the headsman, of course.' I said. My voice was strangely calm and detached. I suppose that the level of fear that was in me was still being masked by shock.

'I don't know where we'll be going, but Sovngarde awaits…' the Nord looked reflective, and not at all frightened. 'What village are you from, thief?'

'Why do you care?'

'A Nord's last thoughts should be of home.'

'Rorikstead…I'm from Rorikstead,' it sounded as if he would dissolve into tears soon. I swallowed back the bile that was rising, and centred my thoughts on Shor. I wasn't a Nord, but I was damn well raised like one. I needed His strength right now.

'General Tullius! The Headsman is waiting.' The solider driving our carriage called.

'Good, let's get this over with,' the man who answered sounded thoroughly uninterested in the affair, and his voice carried the slight hint of an accent that I knew well. He was an Imperial, like me. Well, I get to be executed by my kinsman. How nice.

'Shor, Mara, Diabella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me!' the thief pleaded.

'It's a bit too late for that, don't you think?' I asked him. He didn't answer. He was too busy staring at the man holding the huge axe in the middle of the town square. Can't say I blamed him.

'Look at him…General Tullius, the Military Governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet that they had something to do with this.'

I shuddered a little at the mention of the Thalmor. Even though I grew up in the heart of the Empire, my Nordic step father's rage towards the elves had rubbed off on me quite a lot. The Thalmor were fiends. Very dangerous, very scary fiends.

'This is Helgen,' the Nord said absently, 'I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in…' he sighed, 'Funny…when I was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe. I bet you share that feeling…' he looked towards me.

I nodded. 'I know what dolts the Empire are, I assure you. I never really thought it would come to this…the man who raised me was a Nord from Skyrim, actually. If only he could see me now,' I said wryly, 'I'd get a big fat "I told ya so."'

The man laughed. 'My name is Ralof, by the way.'

'Aurelia…' I looked towards the frantic thief. 'What's your name?'

'Lokir…' he managed to gasp. He was shivering. 'Wait, why are we stopping?'

'Why do you think? End of the line.' Ralof still sounded as calm as ever. As for me, I could feel the dread building up like a cold fist in my chest. 'Let's go, we shouldn't keep the gods waiting on us…'

We were called to disembark from the carriage. It was as if my body was moving without me. I didn't have to think about it, I just walked with the rest of them.

'No, wait, we're not rebels!' Lokir pleaded.

'Face your death with some courage, thief.' Ralof said, sounding just a little disgusted with the man's jitters.

There was a heavily armoured woman at the front, who was flanked by a burly male soldier. He was holding a book and a quill. I stared. What was this, roll call?

'When your name is called step towards the block!' the woman called harshly. So, it was a roll call. How very quaint.

'Empire loves their damn lists…' Ralof grumbled. I think I gave him a tiny smile.

The male soldier's voice was calm, and far kinder than the woman's 'Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm.'

'It has been an honour…Jarl Ulfric,' Ralof murmured reverently. Ulfric moved towards the assemblage of prisoners before the executioner, with his head held high. I didn't wholly agree with the man, but I admit, I admired him in that moment.

'Ralof of Riverwood.'

Ralof himself moved towards his Jarl, and exchanged a strange look with the man who held the book. It seemed as if they knew each other.

'Lokir of Rorikstead.'

'No, I'm not a rebel, you can't do this!' he screamed. I saw his muscles tense, and I knew what he was about to do. As I opened my mouth to tell him not to, he ran. I didn't even hear what he yelled next, for it was drowned out by the call of the hardened Captain.

'Archers!'

I watched him fall on the road, his body rolling limply into a ditch. Shit.

'Anyone else feel like running?'

No, now I don't even think I can walk, thank you.

'Wait, you there…step forward.' The male soldier called. I realised he was referring to me, and moved towards him numbly. 'Who…are you?'

'Aurelia Corvinus.'

'You're a long way from the Imperial City,' he remarked. He turned to the woman at his side uneasily, 'Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list.'

'Forget the list. She goes to the block.'

Nausea welled up, and I fought to keep myself standing. The soldier looked at me regretfully.

'I'm sorry. We'll ensure that your remains are returned to Cyrodiil.'

A sudden jolt made me flinch. I hadn't considered what commotion it would cause for my headless body to be shipped back home. My mother, my sister and my brother would all suffer greatly. At least I knew for sure that my father had the stomach for it. I could ask them to bury me here…but then my family would never know what became of me. I tried very hard not to think about the pain I would inflict on them.