Ralof: Hey, you. You’re finally awake. You were trying to cross the border,
right? Walked right into that Imperial ambush, same as us, and that
thief over there.

Lokir: 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 been half way to Hammerfell. You there. You and me — we
should be here. It’s these Stormcloaks the Empire wants.

Ralof: We’re all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief.

Imperial Soldier: Shut up back there!

[Lokir looks at the gagged man.]

Lokir: And what’s wrong with him?

Ralof: Watch your tongue! You’re speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High
King.

Lokir: Ulfric? The Jarl of Windhelm? You’re the leader of the rebellion. But if
they captured you… Oh gods, where are they taking us?

Ralof: I don’t know where we’re going, but Sovngarde awaits.

Lokir: No, this can’t be happening. This isn’t happening.

Ralof: Hey, what village are you from, horse thief?

Lokir: Why do you care?

Ralof: A Nord’s last thoughts should be of home.

Lokir: Rorikstead. I’m…I’m from Rorikstead.

[They approach the village of Helgen. A soldier calls out to the lead wagon.]

Imperial Soldier: General Tullius, sir! The headsman is waiting!

General Tullius: Good. Let’s get this over with.

Lokir: Shor, Mara, Dibella, Kynareth, Akatosh. Divines, please help me.

Ralof: Look at him, General Tullius the Military Governor. And it looks like
the Thalmor are with him. Damn elves. I bet they had something to do
with this.

This is Helgen. I used to be sweet on a girl from here. Wonder if Vilod
is still making that mead with juniper berries mixed in. Funny…when I
was a boy, Imperial walls and towers used to make me feel so safe.