"Godfrey!" A voice rumbled.

Was someone calling for him?

"GODFREY!"

With a gasp, the Hospitaller was roused from his sleep. As light settled on the knights eyes, he could see Reynard staring at him. Next to him was Sibrand and another man dressed in a brown gambeson with a blue sash that extended from his shoulder to his belt. They were all bound in chains. He could see that they were on a wagon surrounded by their 'Roman" foemen. Where they were headed he had little clue but he had an idea on where.

Perhaps he should give his comrades a...heads-up on where they were heading.

"Thank God that you still draw breath." breathed Reynard. His face was dirty and his red hair unkempt, most likely due to the treatment they received from their captors. Sibrand for the most part still looked decent but had at least the signs of being manhandled. A pain coursed through his body. The impact he received from earlier was certainly done with the intent to knock him out. Why they didn't knock the other knights out was seemingly unfair to the Hospitaller.

"What has happened?" asked Godfrey, finally. As Sibrand was about to answer him, Reynard beat him yet again.

"As soon as those heathens..." He motioned towards the 'Romans' "…Knocked you out, they herded us along with this man..." He gestured to the men next to him, the brown haired stranger offered them a puzzled look. "...onto these wagons. I know not where we are going but I assume that we are headed for execution."

The mood of the wagon was grim. As the Templar finished his sentence, it became all the more depressing.

Godfrey's face fell. While he was a dedicated Hospitaller. He was still quite not ready to meet his maker. He was still seven-and twenty for God's sake! At least let him see the world before falling into the arms of the Father! His mind worked for ideas, plans that he and his brothers-in-arms might escape.

Reynard darkened as the convoy drove on. He could see the outline of a town ahead and already he could spot out men on its walls tying out spikes. He was a Templar damn it! If he were to die, he was to die in the name of God and not to be executed in some town like some common bandit!

Sibrand may have been silent but his mind worked to its limit on figuring an escape. He had no plans of dying and he still wanted to reach the rank of Grandmaster. He had worked his entire life to get to where he was. And to die in a petty-town like the one they were headed to would mean that his life and his ambition would be wasted.

Eventually, the convoy neared the gate. Godfrey took note of its defenses lest he and his comrades escape. It had thick,wooden doors and high walls that reached high. On the walls were archers. If they escaped, then they were in for a hard one. It would be even harder as the 'Romans' had confiscated their weapons. Reynard pointed out that their weapons lay safely tucked in a wagon at the end of the convoy.

"Who are they, daddy? Where are they going?" He heard a boy said as the convoy passed by a house.

"You need to go inside, little cub." whispered a man, most likely the boy's father.

But the convoy was already too far gone for him to hear. Soon enough, the convoy reached the town square. At the side, he could see a hooded man sharpening a axe. An executioner.

At that moment, a stream of prayers exited his mouth.

Freyja's face fell as she and other prisoners were ordered to disembark. Her face was a mask of stoic silence but inside, she was one terrified puppy. After a three long years, she had to return home just in time for a Civil War to commence, just in time to be captured alongside Stormcloaks. She was no fool. She had heard stories of rebellion from the Imperial Capital. Most Nords that she met were neutral in the matter but she could guess that their sympathies were with the Stormcloaks.

"Why are we stopping?" asked the wide-eyed thief from Riften.

"Why do you think?" answered Ralof, the Stormcloak that conversed with her earlier. "End of the line. Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

The thief however, was having none of it. He turned towards one of the guards and begged, pleaded to be released as he was not a rebel. If the guards knew about it or even cared, they weren't saying anything.

"Face your death with dignity, thief." said Ralof. The man turned towards Ralof, his eyes wide and terrified.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!" cried the man. She allowed herself to smile a bit. The man hadn't forgotten her. But whatever it was, Ralof ended it by looking the other way.

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." announced the captain. She had likened to call the Imperial officer as Lady Bitchfit. That was an appropriate name for an appropriate bitch.

"Empire loves their damned lists..." muttered Ralof.

The man standing next to Lady Bitchfit, a Nord with brown hair, began the list.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Jarl of Windhelm."

In strode the Jarl of Windhelm and the Leader of Skyrim's Independence movement. Even if he was bound and gagged, he still walked with dignity and pride. An inspiring figure that could be said of him. If this was a different occasion, she would have been excited to meet such a man. But they were here getting executed. The feeling of excitement gets thrown away when a one way ticket to Sovngarde was on the horizon.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" shouted Ralof

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead." droned the man.

Both men called strode forward. She wasn't sure if it was her but did she detect sparks blowing off from the two men? She shook her head off such matters. It wasn't her business. It would be disrespectful to intrude. Lokir the thief, had different thoughts in mind. As soon as the opportunity presented itself, he tried to dash towards the gates, shouting as he ran.

He only reached a few steps until his back was filled with many arrows.

"Anyone else feel like running?" yelled the Captain. Not a single soul moved. Lady Bitchfit motioned for the man to continue. As the man locked eyes with her, a confused expression fell on his face. He turned pages on his ledger but soon stopped.

"You there!" He called out to her. "Who are you?"

Briefly gathering her thoughts, she replied.

"Freyja."

The man turned to Lady Bitchfit, worry in his eyes.

"Captain. She is not on the list."

Her hopes increased. Perhaps she would be saved? It was then that her hopes were taken, placed inside a mortar and smashed repeatedly by a pestle.

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

Her world was a blur. Shock taking hold of her. She felt as if she were floating, her body nothing but a physical vessel moving on its own. She felt walking but it was not of her will. She witnessed many things. She witnessed the Imperial General confronting Ulfric. She saw a Priestess offering prayers but was interrupted when a Stormcloak strode forward and offered his throat to the executioner.

Everything was a blur until her eyes rested on three men. The first man wore a black tabard with a white cross on its chest. Over him was a black surcoat adorned with two white crosses. His facial expression was of a resigned man. The next man wore the same attire as the first man except his tabard was white with a red cross sewn onto his chest. His face was one of defiance. The last man was similarly dressed. With a white tabard and a grey cross.

She looked closer until she saw that a nearly translucent white aura was around the men. Nothing else ever mattered. The world was a blur to her, but when she looked at them, she nothing but perfect clarity.

As the group drew closer towards the block, Sibrand despair grew. He had looked around but found nothing. He could see that Godfrey had given up and resigned to his fate. Raynard was being Raynard. Two men had gone up and held the Templar in place but the red-bearded Knight had refused to submit, instead calling the men "Bloody Byzantines!" or "Goat-fucking pus-livered heathens!"

He would have wanted to chastise the Templar but they were going to die anyway. Better let the man return to God with his pride still intact.

Godfrey closed his eyes and prayed, He had never prayed so hard in his life. He asked, begged, pleaded for the Lord God to grant them salvation. He would do anything, anything. Even if the Lord commanded him to slay Lucifer, he would do it.

From the corner of his ear, he heard a roar.

"Was that you lord?" thought the Hospitaller. It was growing louder by the minute. The Hospitaller even prayed harder. Perhaps the Lord God was speaking to him?

"What in the Divine's name is that!?" He heard a shout.

"It's coming from the clouds!"

What?

Suddenly, he was thrown back onto the dirt, as if a strong wind had knocked him from his feet. Slowly opening his eyes, he came face to face with a monstrous, black spiky...

"Dragon." whispered the Hospitaller.

The beast had perched itself on top of a tower. It leaned back, breathed in and roared.