The Dragonborn Arrives (Skyrim)

Unbound pt 1

I wake up, my head pounding. I'm aware of a horse, the sound of wheels turning and the feel of wind and fresh morning on my face. Last night comes flooding back to me: how I got off the boat in Windhelm, helped out Scouts-Many-Marshes and somehow wound up in a tangle between the Imperial Legion and some group called the Stormcloaks. Damn. I wish I had paid more attention to Marco when he was raving about Skyrim's political situation. It might have given me some more insight to whatever's happening here. 

Sitting across from me is a blonde Nord man and next to him is someone with brown hair. Next to me is that tall, broad Nord man in the fine wolfskin armour. I almost jump in shock when I see that his mouth is gagged, but the rest of us don't appear to be gagged. 

"Hey, you. You're finally awake," the blonde man nods at me. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that thief over there," he scowls at the man next to us. 

"Um, something like that," I nod. I want to rub my head, but my hands are bound. Terrific. Where's my Stalhrim sword and axe? Fantastic. They're missing as well. "Who are you? I'm...I'm Skylar,"

"Ralof," the blonde man introduces himself. 

"Lokir," says the horse-thief. "Damn you Stormcloaks. Skyrim was fine until you came along. Empire was nice and lazy...if they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and be halfway to Hammerfell!"

"Stormcloaks," I mutter. 

"We're fighting for Skyrim's freedom from the Empire and the Thalmor," Ralof's eyes flash passionately. "Nords for Nords!"

I try not to pull a face. I really do. But my impression of Nords thus far has been far from spectacular. 

"You there," Lokir catches my eye. "You and me - we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants,"

"Not much we can do about that," I don't want to listen to these men argue anymore. 

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

"Shut up back there!" the Imperial guard driving the carriage snaps and I roll my eyes. 

"What's wrong with him, huh?" Lokir nods at the man next to me. 

"Watch your tongue," Ralof scolds. "You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!"

Lokir looks shocked. "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?"

Jarl of Windhelm? Leader of the Stormcloak rebellion? Oh Gods. This man is serious wanted target and I'm in binds with him. Windhelm too? That cold, racist place? Maybe a new Jarl is what it needs. 

"I don't know, but Sovngarde awaits,"

"No, this can't be happening. This isn't happening!" Lokir begins to panic.

"Well it is," I snap, feeling tired of their back and forth. "Accept it,"

"Hey, what village are you from horse thief?" Ralof asks and I screw my eyes shut. Are they still talking to each other?

"Why do you care?" Lokir sounds offended. 

"A Nord's last thoughts should be of home," Ralof says gently.

"Rorikstead. I'm...I'm from Rorikstead," Lokir sound genuinely upset. 

"What about you, girl?" Ralof asks and I open my eyes. 

"Breton," I reply. "I'm from Raven Rock,"

"Surely you mean High Rock," Ralof frowns. 

"No," I shake my head. "I mean Raven Rock. Solstheim. It's a long story,"