"Nnnnn... mmmmm..... ugh...."
He awoke from the shaking of his uncomfortable ride, bending and cracking his neck as he slowly woke to the world.
"Hey, you're finally awake." the man in front of him said. He was a Nord with blond hair, and he'd seen better days. He was bound like him, but for reasons he couldn't quite recall. Or did he know in the first place? He wondered why he was there, heading to the same place, though the memory of what happened partially eluded him.
"Aaahhaaaa.." Even after waking in binds he still held a slightly unnerving smile, as if he were happy he was capture. He was a High Elf, but he, too, had seen better days. His face was scratched and scarred, and had signs of age slowly setting in. His hair a lighter red, and his eyes, encircled with dark lines. Finally after he was finished stretching his neck, he spoke actual words. "Aaah yes, that was a lovely nap. Could've used some better nightgowns though. ...Oh, you're here."
"Name's Ralof." He continued. "You were trying to cross the border, right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there."
As the High Elf turned to his right he could see another Nord, just as rugged as he himself was. "Damn you Stormcloak Rebels. Everything 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 been halfway to Hammerfell by now." He turned to the High Elf. "You there. You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."
Beside him, a muffled Nord lay, unable to speak. The High Elf wondered what crime could warrant the loss of speech? Even the rugged Nord could see that. "And what's up with him, huh?"
"Watch your tongue! You're speaking with Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" Ralof said, his voice full of hostile intent.
"Ulfric Stormcloak?! You're the leader of the rebellion!" The ragged Nord began to panic. For what purpose could this wagon have with the most wanted man in Skyrim? Various dreadful possibilities began to circulate through his mind. "Oh gods, where are they taking us?!"
"I don't know where, but Sovngarde awaits..." Ralof was well aware of his fate. The end was near. They had captured the lot of them, and prepared what they believed to be a fitting end; execution without trial. Typical of the Imperial dogs
The High Elf started laughing. It started out as a slow laugh. A laugh you make as you slowly realize something. Perhaps a mad revelation seen through the eyes of a master sorcerer, or perhaps a stressed out soldier ready to brandish his blade and take his frustrations out on his troop.
Then it gradually grew. He laughed even harder. He laughed and laughed and laughed. It was an unsettling laugh. An almost psychotic laugh. The three other men on the wagon started to feel unnerved he shared the punchline of a joke all by himself.
"Shut up back there!"
Finally, the ragged Nord had to say something. "What is so funny about this?! We're being carted away to gods know where to have gods know what happen to us! And yet you're laughing?!"
The High Elf slowly regained his composure, then began to speak through his laughter. "I remember now! I remember now!" He said, kicking his legs as he chuckled. "Those Imperials. I remember there being a massive battle between them and some guys. I think they were the Stormcloaks you spoke of? I saw them. I saw them, then I picked up the nearest blunt object, found the nearest Imperial and beat his skull into the dirt until it looked like a mess!" He was laughing harder. "So I guess I really do belong on this cart!"
The ragged Nord backed away in terror. "Oh gods, you're mad... You're a madman!"
The man suddenly stopped his laughter, then looked at the ragged Nord with a serious look. "...I'm mad...?" The Nord froze in fear. "He had it coming, the fool."
He did not speak for the rest of the ride into Helgen.
As the cart came to a stop, the Imperial Officer in the area oversaw the herding of the prisoners off of the carts and in front of the chopping block. The ragged Nord was in a panic. He didn't want to die yet, but he would be branded with the same fate as the Stormcloak rebels which he had nothing to do with.
Ralof did not waver. "Face your death with some courage, thief." He wasn't afraid to die, for he fought to the end to protect his beliefs.
"You've got to tell them. We weren't with you. This is a mistake!" he continued to plead. He clearly wasn't ready to die yet.
The Imperials began to call their names to come forward to the chopping block. When the ragged Nord's name was called, he chose to take his chances and flee before the possibility of execution. "You're not gonna kill me!" He ran and ran, praying for escape, until he was shot down by a lone arrow. Oh if only he had waited.
"Anyone else feel like running?" The Imperial Officer had no time for milk drinkers. This was to be a momentous day. Ulfric Stormcloak was finally going to meet his end at the chopping block. This damned war would be over.
As their names were being called, one of the Imperial Soldiers, Hadvar, noticed the man, and how he stood out from the rest of the prisoners. He was definitely no Stormcloak rebel. But then, who was he? "Wait. You there, step forward." He smiled and stepped forward. "Who are you?" A question that's been asked many times. Who was this ragged High Elf who looked like death warmed over? This man who had laughed at his own misfortune. Who unnerved even a Nord who was steeled for his own demise. True, it was a question even Ralof himself found himself pondering, so he listened.
The High Elf smiled and said, "I am... Abberon..."
