The Skyrim Pirates (A Skyrim Fanfiction)

Chapter 1

Note: I do not own anything to do with Skyrim - Bethesda owns everything to do with the Elder Scrolls Series!!

Chapter 1.

Captured. Again. There goes my 'fearsome' reputation as the Dragonborn.

I fidgeted on the uncomfortable wooden seats of the cart as it trundled down the dry bumpy road, cursing. The rag tied over my mouth stopped all my attempts at using my Shouts, and the shackles around my wrists and ankles didn't help either. After a week of being shackled, tortured and questioned, I was growing angrier by the second. Someone was going to pay when I was freed... if I was ever freed.

A memory flashed into my mind, a memory from eight years back. I'd been arrested then too, sat in the same cart as the Ulfric Stormcloak, a few other captured Stormcloaks and a general criminal as we headed for Helgen for our executions. Fortunately, my death had been prevented by Alduin's attack.

But that was all in the past now.

Alduin, the most powerful dragon in the world, was long dead, and Ulfric Stormcloak was probably sitting cosily on his throne, feeling content with the new title of High King hanging above his head. The Imperials had been beaten seven years ago, largely due to me, Vivian - the one and only Dovahkiin ... at present. There were some Imperials, like the ones holding me prisoner, which remained, hiding out in the vast countryside of Skyrim and waiting to get revenge.

I didn't think anyone expected the Dovahkiin and Ulfric's favourite soldier to be a female Breton. Bretons weren't widely known for their prowess in battle, unlike the Nords. 

I narrowed my eyes at the soldier sitting opposite me, proudly wearing his Imperial armour. He smirked as he noticed my glare.

"Now you know that taking on a whole camp of Imperial soldiers alone isn't the best idea," He chuckled, and his comrades laughed too. Apparently, I was so dangerous that I needed a whole procession of Imperial soldiers to escort me to ... wherever they were taking me. The thought did make me feel a bit better.

"I wouldn't aggravate her too much, Engar, she is the Dragonborn after all," One Imperial soldier chipped in, looking slightly nervous. He hadn't joined in the laughter.

"What can she do, Jolgar? She can't even speak through that cloth, let alone Shout," The first man, Engar, said confidently.

Suddenly, the cart lurched over a particularly big bump, and I winced as I hit the floor hard, knees first.

"We're here. Prepare the prisoner," The Imperial driver called back, pulling the horses to a stop.

I looked up, and cringed when I saw where we were. We were on the road leading up to Whiterun, which was clear and daunting in the daylight. A group of soldiers stood in front of Whiterun stables, watching us. 

I hadn't been to this town in such a long time. I wasn't really sure whether I regretted not coming here more often. I'd spent the last six years with the Greybeards and Paarthunax, away from the public eye, learning the dragon tongue and the Way of the Voice.

"Get up, Dragonborn," Engar commanded, grabbing hold of the chains.

With one last wistful glance at the chest behind the driver, which contained all of my things, I was pulled to my feet. Shuffling behind the Imperials in my ragged clothes, I felt stupid and embarrassed. I should have known that it was a bad idea to storm that blasted camp just after six years of non violence. Had I only listened to my most recent companion, Marcurio, he'd still be alive and we could have been making our way back to Riften now, so that he could finally go home after these years spent on top of the Throat of the World, faithfully staying beside me. It was shame - that wizard was the best follower I'd had in a long time.