::SPOILER ALERT::
The squeak of cart wheels and planking, coupled with a jostling sense of movement woke me up. My bleary eyes tried to focus on my surroundings. What had happened? Where was I? Then reality started to race back to the forefront of my thoughts. I'd been arrested (and none to gently) by the Imperial Legion.
The tall, fair-haired Nord on the bench across from me spoke to me briefly. He spoke of my ill fortune, being caught in the middle of the battle between the Empire and the Stormcloak Rebellion. A horse thief from the small hamlet of Rorikstead sat next to him, wondering what would become of us. And next to me, bound and gagged (the gag was something missing from the rest of our compliment), sat a bear of a man. Obviously a Nord, his brown hair fell around his face. He had a sort of regal bearing, and an arrogant light in his eye.
Ralof, the blonde Stormcloak who had first spoken to me posited, that we might all have a meeting with the headsman this day. I felt oddly at peace, not at all afraid to face my destiny, when I heard him say this. I couldn't say as much for the Horse Thief. He started to panic almost immediately. As a guard named Hadvar started to call out names, one by one we queued up around the Headsman's Block. A tall proud Nord man was the first to take the walk. Without a trace of fear, he declared that he was ready to meet his ancestors. He willingly placed his head on the block.
The Executioner's aim was swift and true. The head rolled into a reed basket, while the body slumped to the ground. A captain of the Imperial Guard called out, "Send the Lizard!" It took me moment to realize that they were talking about me. I snapped out of my reverie. Determined to show these Nords and the sundry other beings present at the be-heading, how an Argonian faced death. I flared the feathers around my neck and head, and opened my mouth in a wordless hiss. I felt the cool mountain air blow across my scales, and with a force of will, progressed one foot at a time in a sick mockery of reverent procession. I knelt in front of the block. Placed my face against the sticky, blood-slicked block, my vision filled with a view of the door of the main keep of the village of Helgen.
The executioner seemed to look through me, as if he didn't wish to actually see me. I didn't belong here. I'd done nothing worthy of death. Sure I may have bent the law to my own use from time to time. Who didn't? The axe raised. I looked past the Headsman to the top of Helgen Keep. The executioner set his feet for his strike.
That's when all hell broke lose in Helgen.
Next time, the tale of the Dragonborn will continue in, "Escape From Helgen."
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