That morning had come like many others before. The air around Skyrim was cool and crisp, yet a moist fog had set in by the time she awoke. It wasn't all that different to begin with from her own motherland of High Rock. But gradually the windswept plains and plateaus she had known so well in her childhood begin to slowly transform into rolling hills, then to craggy mountains. She hadn't known how to handle the great mountains that Skyrim was known for at first. She had tried to avoid them, hoping the monstrous mountain ranges might end at some point. . But the mountains and peaks of Skyrim were unyielding and unending, they seemed to be infinite in their breadth and heights. Once or twice she pondered on the idea of turning back, but quickly had to remind herself why she had left in the first place. She could never go back

When the mountains offered no quarter, she had finally yielded to the land itself, making the fateful decision to brave the mountain passes to try and make a new life in this fabled land. She couldn't decide at that moment, sitting on a wagon in chains whether or not she had made the right decision.

While the morning had begun like those preceding it, it had ended much differently. The night had not been kind to her. She had fallen asleep long before the sun sunk below the horizon, and awoke while the sun was high overhead. Yet she still could not shake the feeling of exhaustion from her mind or body. But none of it mattered now, as she had learned soon enough.

"Hey you- you're finally awake."

Her head was spinning. There was a sort of throbbing pain at the back of her skull. Parting the hair with unsteady fingers, she began to sober up when her fingers came back with crusted and wet blood.

"You were trying to cross the border right?" The man continued "Walked right into that imperial ambush, same as us- and that thief over there." He gestured toward the ragged man next to him, looking all but horrified in his chains. "You put up quite a fight." He smiled.

Ambush…she could hardly remember the rest of that morning. She had found a mountain pass the night before, but decided to wait until the next morning to brave it. The well-trodden path had made her initially wary, but she didn't have much of a choice at this point. She had been traveling for a couple of days along the mountain ranges, and what few supplies she had began to dwindle to almost nothing.

"Damn you Stormcloaks…" the thief muttered, avoiding eye-contact "Skyrim was fine until you came alone- empire was nice and lazy." He sighed in contempt "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could have stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now…"

She remembered now. Only a few steps into the pass proper had she encountered a small halfway house, appearing to be empty. Snow had piled up at the door, indicating that no one had left or entered the house in a while. A soft whicker of a horse attracted her attention.

There was a quaint stable beside the house, containing a single horse, saddle and all. The dapple grey courser seemed healthy enough. It was obvious that this was no ordinary horse, it had come from good-stock, it was well-muscled and had an almost regal stature. Something wasn't right.

The footfalls of unorganized marching and the rustling of chainmail approaching from down the path caught her attention then. The horse whinnied in distress and she turned around to see the courser being mounted by a scraggly man. It had all happened so fast from there. A line of Imperial soldiers blocked the exit to the pass as bowmen materialized from behind the boulders and rock formations of the pass.

He sat up and nodded up at her, his eyebrows furrowing into a thoughtful expression "You and me…we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the empire wants."

Within a few short seconds both she and the would-be thief were being herded towards the source of the noise. There had been some struggled from the marchers but as they approached she could see they had yielded. There was little chance of escape, she could see that easily.

Panic had begun to set in at that point, though there was little she could do to stifle it. It seemed the walls of the pass were beginning to close in around her, her breaths were becoming shallow- a result of the mountain air she told herself. She had only heard the panicked voice not her own before a biting pain overtook her vision with a great blackness.

The Stormcloak seemed to smile a little at that "We're all brothers and sisters in binds now."

This was the fate that awaited her in the fabled land of Skyrim? While she admitted this was not what she had in mind when she began her journey, thinking on it now, it may be for the best.

"Shut up back there." The imperial driving the cart demanded, rather annoyed.

The thief shot an irritated look at the driver, but quickly thought better of his words "What's wrong with him?" He gestured towards the man across from him, sitting next to her. She hadn't noticed him.

He was distinguished from the rest of the lot by his fine clothes. He wore a woolen doublet,with luxurious gold stitching. He had a luxe fur hanging about his shoulders, the soft hairs ebbing in the brisk

"Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak! The true High King!" The Stormcloak man announced, rather proudly.

"Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm?" He asked aloud, rather confused. Soon enough he realized what this meant "You're the leader of the rebellion….but if they captured you- Oh gods! Where are they taking us?"

"I don't know where we're going," The Stormcloak furrowed his brow, ",but Sovngarde awaits."

Sovngarde… she wasn't familiar with this place. Perhaps it was a prison?

"No, this can't be happening! This isn't happening!" the thief held a look of true fear upon his visage, sweat beginning to bead on his forehead despite the cold.

There was a long moment of silence as they approached the gates of the keep. A strong and undeniable sense of foreboding washed over her, and likely the others with her.

"What village are you from, horse-thief?" The Stormcloak asked suddenly as they neared the gate.

"Why do you care?"

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home." The Stormcloak continued, looking thoughtfully down the road from whence they came.

So then this was the end.

She was no Nord, but she wanted dearly to think of home as well. She lived on a sheep farm with her parents, her younger brother Gaston and their sheepdog, Mopps on the Eastern Steppes of High Rock. Life was simple. Life was good. Dimitri, the young blacksmith's son from the nearby village had been courting her when she came to sell the farm's wares, telling her when she came of age they would be together. It was a good arrangement she knew. Dimitri was handsome enough, he had ashy blonde hair, he was well muscled from his father's training. He had a bright future as a future blacksmith. She could live a better life. She wouldn't have to work. Everything was going to work out perfectly.

"Rorikstead…I'm from Rorikstead…" He admitted to no one in particular.

"General Tulius! The headsman is waiting!"

It didn't matter anymore, thinking of home. Mama, Papa, Gaston, Dimitri, Mopps- they were all dead now. Soon they would be together again in Aerthurius. She could tell them how sorry she was, how she wished she could just go back.

The horse thief wailed, a pained look etched into his features as the keep's gates began to close behind them. "Sheor, Mara, Dibella, Kyrnareth, Akatosh! Divines help me!"

As the gates shuddered close the resounding clatter heralded her doom.

Almost too soon the wagon came to a sudden stop at the base of a watchtower

"End of the line." Ralof muttered "Let's go. Shouldn't keep the gods waiting for us."

"No! Wait! We're not rebels!" the thief howled, looking back and forth between the wagon and the headsman's block that awaited him.

"Face your death with some courage, thief," Ralof said, somewhat annoyed now by the thief's lack of acceptance.

"You've got to tell them! We weren't with you! This is a mistake!"

An Imperial Captain approached the wagon, "Step towards the block when we call your name, one at a time!"

Ralof sighed. "Empire loves their damn lists."

"Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm,"

"It has been an honor, Jarl Ulfric," Ralof whispered.

With little hesitation Ulfric Stormcloak stepped forward and took his place at the line of prisoners waiting for their sentence.

"Ralof of Riverwood."

He calmly followed Ulfric Stormcloak with the same decisiveness, accepting his fate graciously.

"Lokir of Rorikstead."

"No, I'm not a rebel! You can't do this!" the horse thief cried out. He began to run.

While everything else that day seemed to happen in the blink of an eye, as she saw the archers draw their arrows as Lokir ran wildly down the path. The arrow sailed through the air, almost gracefully. As Lokir crumpled to the ground she could see path he was making a mad dash for led to a locked and guarded gate. There was absolutely no chance.

"Anyone else feel like running?" The captain inquired, a distinct indifference to the death she had just ordered.

"You there." The man with the list gestured to her. "Who are you?"

She hesitated a moment, thinking long and hard about the person she wanted to be in death. "Nymeria…my name is Nymeria."

"You from Daggerfall Breton? Fleeing from some court intrigue?" He remarked as if that was what all Bretons in Skyrim did "What do we do Captain? She's not on the list."

"Forget the list, she goes to the block."

The man sighed "By your orders Captain." He gave her an apologetic gaze "I'm sorry. We'll make sure your remains are returned to High Rock."

So it really was the end.

"Follow the Captain."

She did as she was told and settled herself between two fellow prisoners.

"Ulfric Stormcloak…" the general clad in gold and red began, "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." He spat.

Ulfric only managed a strangled grunt through his gag.

"You started this war, plunged Skyrim into chaos, and now the Empire is going to put you down, and restore the peace."

The wind howled fiercely through the mountains and passes of Skyrim, a roar of wind as primal as the land itself. If she just closed her eyes, she could just pretend. Pretend she was back at home. Pretend nothing had changed. Pretend life was perfect.

But she knew it could never be any of those, no matter how many times she prayed or wished. She minus well close her eyes and pretend the howling winds were for the first time since the time of Tiber Septum the land coming alive with the sound of dragons.