A/N: So, my first Skyrim fanfic! I have no idea what gave me the idea. I haven't played that much, so I probably won't write too many Skyrim fics. I just started thinking about the executioner, and how he felt about his job. Please review, and I'll... do something.

Disclaimer: I don't own Skyrim or any of its characters. If I did... well, if I did, it probably wouldn't be as good as it is.

He sighed. Business had been better than usual, lately. He'd actually had enough septims to buy himself some cheese, the good, not-moldy kind. It wasn't an ideal job, but it paid the bills. And at least the ax was supplied, so he didn't have to buy one. He hated how everyone was afraid of him, so he never wore his work clothes in public unless he had to. It was especially cruel for the children. All the village children ran away from him, and he knew that his own son would be slated to continue his work. Even his daughter was considered less marriageable because of his work. And his wife worried about him. He'd tried talking about it, but nothing helped. Over and over again, he'd see the women, children, and innocent men slaughtered by his hand in dreams, nightmares, and real life.

After wiping the ax blade off with a damp cloth, he set it against a wall. His wife was the nicest woman in the world, putting up with the bloody uniform he brought home from work every day. She'd always wash it and iron it for him, then massage his shoulders. She didn't deserve to be married to him. He was a monster, his only purpose to slay the unlucky wanderers and criminals. Guilt weighed upon him, making his ax harder to lift every time he ended a life. When he'd first begun, he'd thought too much about the lives he ended, about their family, their friends, the loved ones they'd surely left behind. But now that he'd been slaughtering people for decades, he'd stopped thinking about it. It was the only way to get through the day. Only now, when he had a moment to himself, would he reflect on his pitiful life. In another life, I will own a cheese shop, he decided. There I will make people happy with good cheese and never serve moldy cheese. And maybe I will open a restaurant and learn how to cook. That would be nice. Despair settled on his shoulders. This life would never end. He tried to be a good person, really, but it was impossible with the constant drowning in sin every time he went to work. He prayed to the gods, constantly, in the vain hope that an opportunity would arise. He'd even tried quitting and looking for a job elsewhere, but no one wanted to hire someone who'd ever had his job.

Hope was gone.

He sighed. There was no fun anymore. No one wanted to greet him. No one would even go drinking with him. Everyone thought he was evil, a demon. He might as well be the Daedric Prince for all they cared. Except no one would respect him. And ever since his father died, his mother had been inconsolable. She hated to see him follow in the footsteps of his father, but what other choice did he have? His sister still hadn't found a husband, and she was nearing her twentieth year. Soon she'd be too old for marriage. He himself hadn't found a girl who could look past his occupation. All cowered before him. He was miserable. And barely out of his teens, no less.

Hope was gone.

Until one day, he had Ulfric Stormcloak and an innocent woman under his ax. And the dragon attacked. The woman rolled off the block and knocked him down, accidently saving him from the dragon's shout. Ulfric Stormcloak escaped (which was fine by him), and the woman he'd been about to kill was spared by his stumble. Thank the gods for the dragon. He hated killing women.

The woman stood. "You," she said, looking directly at him. "Cut my bonds."

Hesitantly, he cut her bonds with the tip of his ax, careful not to cut her skin. Why had she trusted him enough to think he wouldn't kill her? Not that he would've, but most wouldn't hesitate to kill him if they had a chance.

Once she was free, the woman grabbed his ax and stuck it in the block. "Come on. The dragon will be back." Then she grabbed his hand and dragged him along. They ran under, over, through a window into a burning building, and into a keep.

There she ripped off his hood and studied him. "You look like you need an adventure. And you're actually pretty good-looking," she mused. He was utterly confused. She didn't resemble the women he'd met before at all. This was a bold, risk-taking, adventure-loving woman who wasn't afraid to get her hands dirty. Yet about her still remained a naive, innocent air.

"You're not from Skyrim," he guessed.

The woman laughed. "Certainly not. I come from Cyrodiil."

That was the day the Dragonborn took him on a journey. A long one that finally brought honor to his family and ended his days as an executioner.

So if one travels to Helgen, one might find an ax stuck in the executioner's block with the words "Hope is found in the Dragonborn" inscribed upon the executioner's block. And the bards can always tell you about the brave headsman who travelled with the Dragonborn and married her.

A/N: Review! And if you want to see anymore Skyrim, I accept prompts! (There's a little button below that says "Post Review." Please write something and click it. Thank you!)