It had been quite the fair morning when they had hauled her out of her cell. The skies overhead hardly hinted at snow, even if the Imperials around them seemed to blanch at what they knew as a bitterly cold day. She smiled inwardly at that despite her situation.

Being paraded through the village of Helgen as a rebel was not exactly what embarrassed her. She felt an odd sense of pride for her fellow Nords, fighting for their right to freedom and dignity. She had attempted to cross the border (she found herself unable to recall how long ago exactly) and found herself in an Imperial ambush intended for their rebels. It would take more than that to embarrass her; even the greatest sneaks were caught sometimes.

No, it had been the jailing process that had humiliated her. They had stripped her of her modest clothing in her cell, replaced them with that of a prisoner, dashed her with cold water and wrenched her mother's decorative circlet from her head. Those entity-like men being the first of their gender to see her naked terrified her, and she had not attempted to cover herself; she was not easily ashamed of her own body. Of her mother's circlet, her mother had never properly worn it, she recalled from her childhood. Their living on a farm had made it difficult to seem pretty and hardworking at the same time. She remembered staring at it in awe whilst being called for dinner. Upon inheriting it almost two years ago, she felt the odd need to sport it whenever the mood took her.

When she had been extracted from her cell that morning they had not clothed her in the clothes they had taken, instead leaving her in her sackcloth rags. At least they had allowed her the dignity of dressing herself. She had fought tooth and nail upon her imprisonment; she mused that was why they tossed the rags at her.

These were the first thoughts that came to the forefront of her mind after her final sleep. She repeated the images in her head again and again: her mother placing her prized circlet in its case, the looks upon her younger sisters' faces when they were first shown it, being captured by the Imperials and being terrified when they stripped her of her clothes. She shuddered against the wood of the cart. The others in the carriage looked to her as she properly awoke.

"Hey you. You're finally awake." A blond and braided Stormcloak adressed her curtly as if they were already fond friends. My name is Sottë Andrel, she thought. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into an Imperial ambush, same as us and that thief over there."

The thief blustered a curse on the Stormcloaks which fell on their otherwise deaf ears and turned to Sottë. He was desperate to forge an alliance of sorts with any who could help him or perhaps even somehow take his place. "You there. You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

Sottë would not reply to one such as him. She did not wish to justify his words with a reply, nor did she wish to spend her final seconds blustering about politics when she was so close to coming face to face with Talos. She looked to the fair sky and closed her eyes, hearing the Stormcloak who had previously adressed her talk.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" A disembodied Imperial voice barked, making Sottë open her eyes with a start. The man brushing her shoulder to the right had been gazing at her, and she (she would later regret the instinct) shot him a short scowl in some attempt to ward him off. A warm drop of hate for the Empire lit her heart. Blood of another had never sullied her hands, of course she had picked locks or robbed bread for the sake of her own stomach, but she felt the will of a murderer beside that hate, too. Sottë clenched her teeth against the impulse.

"And what's wrong with him, huh?" The thief pointed his head slightly at the Stormcloak to Sottë's right, his mouth covered.
"Watch your tongue. You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King."

Sottë attempted to swallow the lump in her throat as she realised the seriousness of their situation, her prior rage newly quelled. She stole a glance at the infamous Jarl, the man whom she had scowled at moments before. He was different to how she had imagined from the stories. She had imagined him old and tough, but he seemed younger and even somewhat handsomer than she anticipated. Handsome in a way that made her cheeks pinken against the snow-filled skies and the tips of her ears burn in the frost. A way that had her fumbling to avert her gaze in a wholly self-conscious manner.

Had he not been prevented from speaking, she would wager that the masses followed him due to the innate charisma about him and in his eyes. He met her gaze swiftly, soon making her feel that she had stared at the man longer than was socially acceptable. Sottë allowed his eyes to bore into her own, attempting to have him help her understand their situation in some way. He was younger...much younger than she had expected him from the tales. All those tales were of great valor and bravery. Surely, such a man could not exist in such a menial sense. Those around him respected him greatly, but what did he think of himself for it all?

Sottë quickly lowered her gaze to the cart after his gaze did not cease nor fall.

The thief had started to scare again. "Ulfric? The jarl of Windhelm? You're the leader of the rebellion. But if they've captured you...oh gods. Where are they taking us?"
"I don't know where we're going. But Sovngarde awaits." The Stormcloak replied stoicly.

An old childhood song that her mother used to sing when harvesting the leeks drifted to the front of her brain. Sovngarde is ever receiving, as her sons are forever at war. Sottë hummed it within her mind. But her gates are not barred, as you may have been told, to the women and children worth fighting for. It was a song of one who waived his right to a place at Sovngarde for the glory of his daughter and today, she did not fear humming aloud for fear of being seen as strange. Lingering gazes on her were expected, and she shot sour gazes back on those who repeatedly did so.

They arrived at their destination quicker than she had anticipated. The cart came to a rolling stop. The thief was panicked again, inquiring to the situation as a child had done seconds before.
"End of the line." The speaking Stormcloack told him. "Let's go, we shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."
"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

"Step towards the block when we call your name. One at a time." The Imperial Captain ordered.
"Empire loves their damn lists." The Stormcloak muttered.
"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm." The list began.

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric!" The Stormcloak called, destined to die a loud death. Sottë watched his retreating back as he went, waiting to hear her name. Seeing him depart was odd...she reminded herself of an expected camaraderie in the face of death. Seeing the death of a relevant cause would be something that would stay in her young mind, would it not be?

"Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead." The soldier called.
"No! I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!"

As much as she thought him a fool, Sottë averted her eyes when Lokir of Rorikstead's end came upon his attempted escape. She had felt it coming in her very bones. No individual deserved to be made to be such an example in their death, and not by the Imperial Army.

"Anyone else feel like running?" Sottë kept her eyes on the floor at the Imperial Captain's words. An Imperial Army Nord had been calling out the names of the guilty, nonchalantly sending his kinsmen to the bloodied block.
"Wait, you there. Step forward." He now adressed her, an odd look on his face. "You've picked a bad time to come home to Skyrim, kinsman. Captain, what should we do? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list. She goes to the block."
"By your orders, captain. I'm sorry, at least you'll die here in your homeland. Follow the Captain, prisoner."
The rage that had gripped her before threatened to rise.

She had imagined General Tullius differently, too. To her and her youth, he seemed an old and fragile man, not the glorious and dashing hero the newspaper made him out to be.

"Ulfric Stormcloak. Some here in Helgen call you a hero. But a hero doesn't use a power like the Voice to murder his king and usurp his throne." General Tullius chose his words carefully, probably relishing in this moment.

The Jarl growled incoherently as wonder lit Sottë's eyes. The Voice? She thought such a power to be obsolete, driven out by the Imperials generations ago. Her eyes drifted in a sideways glance to him.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down and restore the peace." Sottë's jaw clenched again, reminding her of the anger that threatened to cloud her clarity.

An indignant roar, a screech, pierced the morning air far off in the distance.
"What was that?" The Imperial Army Nord gasped. Sottë searched the sky in spite of herself. Was that what she thought it was? Could it possibly be?
"It's nothing. Carry on." Tullius ordered.
"Give them their last rites." The captain adressed a robed priestess of Arkay. Sottë forced her eyes shut. It was not in reverance, nor was she praying to the Divines. She may have been mistaken for one, but she was no soldier. She would not casually watch more of her fellows being executed. Blood rushed violently in her ears, leaving her with only feeling the fresh air on her bare arms.

"For the love of Talos, shut up and let's get this over with." Sottë opened her eyes. An unnamed Stormcloak lowered himself to the block.
"As you wish." The priestess said, pursing her lips.
"Come on, I haven't got all morning." The Stormcloak hissed from his place on the block at their feet. "My ancestors are smiling at me, Imperials. Can you say the same?"

She forced her eyes shut again just as the axe was about to connect with the Stormcloak's neck.

"As fearless in death as he was in life." The blond Stormcloak reflected.
The sky-noise came again. This time it was closer. The Imperials seemed to notice more this time, growing nervous.

"Next prisoner."
"There it is again. Did you hear that?" The Imperial-Nord voiced himself again.
"I said, next prisoner!"

Sottë found she was to be the next prisoner. Her thought was of her old Talos amulet she had left back home. Since her two sisters had left to marry after the death of her mother, it had been her only comfort through the harsher months of Evening Star. She felt eyes burn on the back of her head as she fell to the block.

The roar came again. This time, it sounded very close. Dangerously close.
"What in Oblivion is that?" She heard Tullius yell above the disorder. Only upon turning her head from the floor did she see how close the dragon was. She let out as a gasp. The sky was no longer fair, but an Oblivion-like wound of red and pink.

"Hey, you! Get up!" It was the Stormcloak named Ralof of Riverwood. "Come on, the gods won't give us another chance! This way!" She followed him, her very skin crawling at hearing the cries of the army fighting the beast. They took shelter in the tower, and Ralof was frenzied with apparent amazement.

"Jarl Ulfric, what is that thing? Could the legends be true?" He breathed.
"Legends don't burn down villages." Ulfric said, his voice low as he moved across the room. Sottë stifled her heavy breathing, watching the man who she had dreaded the execution of. Here he was, calm and composed. She was terrified from it all, trembling and shivering in her fright and thin attire. "We have to move. Now!"
The damned dragon seemed determined to get at the sentient life guarded within the safe confines of the tower. The wall shattered like thread, throwing them back and blocking their path.

"See the inn on the other side?" Ralof panted heavily from the shock. "Jump through the roof and keep going. Go! We'll follow when we can!"
Sottë complied. Pain shot through her shins as she made contact with the creaking and exposed second floor of the inn. She met the ground with haste, eager to escape and return home with her life still intact. The Nord-Imperial was helping civilians escape. She would follow him until she found a way out, curtly thank him and be gone.

"Still alive, prisoner? Keep close to me if you want to stay that way." He yelled, his voice mingling with the noise. The dragon threw everything in its ancient power at them: it would topple buildings, tear limbs, crush skulls and spill blood all to see their dead and burnt bodies. With her hands still bound, Sottë's feet quickly pounded the ash-covered terrain.

"Ralof! You damned traitor! Out of my way!" Sottë drew her eyes up from the ground at the man's voice.
"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time." It was Ralof. Joy leapt into her heart at the sight of the rebels escaping. She noted the Jarl to be absent and felt the defeat it was to the Stormcloaks heavily on her heart.

"You! Come on, into the keep!" Ralof quickly beckoned her to escape with him through the keep. She did not hesitate, curling her fingers against the sensation of the ground shaking beneath her feet. The burning sky overhead was still angry, roars of the ancient dragon still pierced the gulf between them all. She would not ask of the jarl.

Sottë stopped a number of paces away from the man, noticing something glinting in the ash to her right. It couldn't be. She approached it warily, lowering her legs awkwardly until her bound hands were over it. It looked like her stolen circlet, winking at her in the dank colors. Her clammy fingers came into contact with it, grasping it as securely as they could within their limited movement. The sorrow that had been contained within her was alleviated at having it back, and she allowed herself, upon aching legs, to follow the escaping Ralof.

A/N: I apologise if this had too much game dialogue in it! I wanted to start from the beginning, and it seemed that I would have to use a lot of game dialogue in the start. The song mentioned regarding Sovngarde is a real song (except relating to Valhalla, naturally) called "Valkyrie Daughter" by SJ Tucker. Later on, I'm hoping to use more of my own scenes (I still haven't finished the main quest of Skyrim yet, heh). Reviews are much appreciated!