Pain was the first thing that welcomed me back to the land of the living. My head felt as if someone was using it as an anvil to fashion a weapon like the blacksmiths back home in the Imperial City. Slowly I began to reclaim my senses one by one. With the pain, I also felt the motion that was unmistakably meant that I was on wagon and to confirm it I heard the rumbling to the wagon’s wheels, the hooves of the horses as they moved across the cobbled stone road. Next, I began to smell the familiar smell of pine trees I had grown so familiar with at the outpost I was stationed at along the border of Skyrim and Cyrodil. Ever since the start of the rebellion by Ulfric Stormcloak, in Skyrim, the Legion had doubled the patrol at the border and I had been one of the unlucky soldiers chosen for the duty. Since then I had grown accustomed to the cold winds that swept down the mountains from the land of the Nords and the smell of pine trees that was ever present in the air surrounding our fort.
As I began to had a bad taste in my mouth, my sight began I come back to me. I saw that all my previous deductions were correct. I was in a wooden wagon with three other men plus the Imperial soldier who was our driver. I reached up to my head to see what damaged had been done, when I realized my hands had been bound. Looking around I saw that the other men were bound as well with one being gagged as I then realized I was too. With fear in my heart, I knew the terrible truth I was a prisoner.
But how came I to be in this situation. Fighting through the fog that still surrounded me; I tried to remember what had happened before I fell into darkness. I remembered, coming back from guard duty, walking past the commander’s quarters open door, hearing a plot to assassinate ranking members of Cyrodil’s government…the plot! It was by sheer coincidence that the door had been slightly ajar that I happened to hear the commander and an unknown person speaking of the plot. I remember getting closer to the door to hear the rest of the conversation when I felt the impact of a heavy object against my head, the pain, and then darkness. Now I was a prisoner heading, I knew not where, because I had heard too much. They hadn’t killed me so I was probably going to a mine or dungeon to spent the rest of my days in darkness and silence. I would have preferred they had killed me outright.
With nothing else to do but wait to see our destination, I began to look over the men I was riding with. The man across from me was a man from Skyrim, a Nord. I had seen some once as prisoners during my time in the Legion being brought to Cyrodil from Skyrim. He was about in his late twenties, six feet tall and looked as strong as an ox. He had long blond hair with a beard of the color on his face that complemented his piercing blue eyes and friendly face. He had on the standard uniform of the member of the rebels of Skyrim, called Stormcloaks after their leader. He had a peacefully look on his face as he stared at the passing trees and occasionally smiled to himself. He was a man at peace with the world. The same could not be said of the man sitting next to him.
He man was about twenty years old, close to six feet tall with a small, but muscular frame. His hair was messy, his clothes, if one could call them that, were dirty, and he looked as if he hadn’t slept in a while. His brown eyes were continually moving as he rocked back and forth, murmuring to himself, as sweat in small beads slid down his face. He was obviously a man not looking forward to the end of this journey. Fear began to creep up in my heart, but I fought it down. Fear was not what was needed in this situation but a clear, focused disposition like that of the man next to me. He was an imposing man, though he was just under six feet tall. The Nord was dressed in a dark fur coat which told me that he was not a common person but someone of high position. He had brown hair and a face that demanded respect, which was covered partly with a gag like my own. The only emotion I saw was in his eyes that burned with anger that I had never seen before. Whatever had was the cause of that anger, I hoped that I would never be on the wrong side of it.
Finished with my observation of the men riding with me to an unknown fate, I was turning back to my own problems when the Stormcloak spoke to me.
“Finally,” he said with a smile, “you’re awake. I was beginning to worry that you would never wake up. Hope you feel ok. That’s quite a lump on the head you have there.”
I touched my head and felt for the swelling I knew was there from the blow I had taken. It was there alright and very painful to the touch. At least my headache had subsided a bit.
Seeing that I was alright the Stormcloak turned to dirty man next to him to say something, but the man had already begun to talk.
“Darn Stormcloaks! If it wasn’t for you I wouldn’t be here! Your stupid rebellion has done nothing but make the Empire send more soldiers here. Life was good till you and your friend here,” he nodded at the gagged man direction, “started this mess!”
The Stormcloak’s brow wrinkled at the dirty man’s statement. “Watch it horse thief. This man here happens to be the High King Ulfric Stormcloak!”
The horse thief and I both looked at the gagged man in amazement. I could not believe that I was sitting next to the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion, the most wanted man in the Empire’s lands! I looked at the horse thief as his face turned from one of shock and amazement to utter horror.
“But if you’re Ulfric Stormcloak then…”
Suddenly I knew why the horse thief was horrified at the prospect of the gagged man being the infamous rebel. It meant we weren’t going to a mine or a dungeon. We were going to our deaths.