Her vision was blurry when she first opened her eyes, barely making out the dark grays of the dank cell that housed her. A hand was shaking her shoulder, words with hushed urgency barely making their way to her ears, let alone being processed as her head throbbed, and she began to feel the aching in her bones. She rubbed her face, and sat up, looking at the hooded figure who stood over her, until she began to recognize the scraggly features. His hands were fiddling with the lock on the door, and in a moment, it was creaking open, and he was tugging on her arm. Then she was on her feet, and he was pulling her up the tunnel as her wits slowly returned to her. Luciana couldn't remember how it was that she ended up there. The last she remembered, she was in Falkreath, and negotiating a deal with a group of petty thieves needing a counterfeit letter from Jarl Siddgeir.

It took her a moment to process the features of the scruffy Imperial dragging her away from her prison chambers: Good old Silian.

In a moment, he was wrapping her fingers around a dagger, and pulling her towards a covered spot between the rock wall of the cave and a few stacks of boxes barely taller than they were. Boisterous voices were coming from up the path, no doubt some of the other bandits that occupied the cave.

She clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from chattering in the chill. A rough tunic and footwraps were her only protection from the cold aside from her companion, who had wrapped his arm around her shoulders. Two Nords, giants compared to the wiry Imperial and the scrawny Breton, sauntered towards the prison chamber. They waited with bated breath. She could hear her heartbeat pounding in her ears. The waraxes in their hands gleamed in the faint light. Slowly, ever so slowly, the Nords walked past the two.

"Move," Silian whispered, taking the point down the corridor, and ducking back behind barrels in the next chamber.

It gave her a headache to watch him, with the armor he wore giving him a sort of transient appearance. As if his body might suddenly disappear any moment, like the shadows were melding around him, concealing him.

She slid in behind him, and looked on to the fire that burned a dozen or so feet away where a familiar red-headed Nord sat, his warhammer laid out on the rock beside him. Silian had his eyes on the man, flickering his gaze between him and the exit- a route with depressingly few places to hide. Particularly for her. The Breton chewed on her lip, tasting blood, and Silian rested his hand on the small of her back.

He crept around to the edge of the barrels, and whispered over his shoulder, "I hope you're fast, Luci."

"Me too."

A rock skittered across the stone floor- an aimed toss from the Imperial, and the Nord jumped to his feet, looking towards the noise, clutching his massive warhammer as he walked towards it, turning his back on the skulking pair for the first time. He was only a few feet away as he stepped towards the tunnel they emerged from, only the wooden barrels concealing them from view. It was a miracle the man couldn't hear their heartbeats pounding like war drums. Suddenly, the dagger in the Breton's hand felt little better than a toothpick. And Silian's old Imperial sword looked little better.

Then two of the barrels tumbled behind the Nord, cabbages and apples and grains spilling out across the ground. Silian almost yanked her arm off as he pulled her in a sprint towards the exit, nearly slamming the both of them right into the wooden door that marked the entrance. Her lungs burned. The door swung open. Shouting. Bright light. The cold nip of Skyrim's air. Falling forward, falling forward, barely catching herself as the stones cut into her hands' tender skin. The bandits were yelling. Silian was yelling. She was probably yelling too. But they were running. And running.

And then they were gone.

-xxx-

"Back in those days, I had to be quick on my feet," Silian said as he stoked the fire, "And twice as light. I was the eyes of my squad."

Luciana pulled the horse blanket tighter around her, "If today was any indication, then you were good at what you did," she remarked, "Why did you leave it?"

He sighed and leaned back, "They couldn't pay me enough for it," the Imperial said, and scratched his neck, "Sell-swords get paid better than the Empire's 'best men,' and any soldier worth their salt figures out pretty quickly that whatever he or she's good at- somebody out there is willing to pay them better for it. The Guild has made me richer than the Emperor ever would have, and I don't have to kill people anymore."

The Breton dusted a few of the snowflakes that had just begun to fall from her shoulder, and looked up to the stars, "I guess that makes sense," she remarked.

"Well, why did you join the Guild?"

"I'm a businesswoman, Sil. I was already a crook. Might as well have other crooks to back me up," she retorted, and pulled loose strand of hair out of her face.

He stared at her for a moment, and she looked down at the frozen ground. The winds were coming from the north, from Winterhold, where the two were heading. Since their first meeting in the Ratway, they were fast friends, but the Imperial never seemed to be able to crack whatever it was hiding in her past. It was like a lock that every time one could feel it about to open, the pick would snap, and he would have to start all over again.

"You're not the only one with a dark past, love," he finally stated, "And you're not without friends."

Luciana finally met his gaze, and offered a small nod.

He was just like Donato in a lot of ways. At least the teenage version of her twin back when he was still at home. Back when everything was still okay. Although the Imperial was significantly more morally corrupt than she remembered her brother, he shared the same shade of copper eyes, the same even voice, the same desire to get her to finally open up. They even shared the same tendency to make her want to box their ears and throw them into the river.

It was Silian who first greeted her when she found herself in the Cistern, lost among padfoots and burglars. She could barely hold a dagger, let along draw a bow. She'd never even touched a lockpick in her life. Her footfalls were always heavy. Everyone's pockets were safe from her hands. What An-Zaw saw when he brought her in wasn't a burglar- but a businesswoman. A very crooked businesswoman. An embezzler. A forger. And someone that would have to do everything that he said. An-Zaw was known for making the Guild a dangerous presence in Skyrim again, and at the same time as she fled the Reach in wake of her crimes against the Silver-Bloods, he was recruiting fresh blood, stealing from aristocrats, and rebuilding the network. She was making a small fortune from embezzling in Windhelm, and when the lizard picked up her scent, the message was very clear: she could either work with him, or work for the rest of her days in Cidhna Mine.

By the end of the first few months in the Guild, Silian taught her a few moves with a blade and how to pick basic locks. It was his brand of kindness. Just like Donato always tried to help her make up for her magical ineptitude, always offering to tutor her, to teach her, to show here how to use a basic spell. He never could quite accept that she just lacked talent for it. That her mind couldn't wrap itself around whatever it was that allowed him to cast spells with such ease.

However, her identity remained a secret within the Guild, even from good old Silian. It had to be that way. But just like her brother, the Imperial had an unhealthy hunger for the truth. He wanted too badly to be there for her. Too badly, he wanted to be able to help her. But that was the one thing she couldn't allow him to do. Even if he knew how to.

Luciana inched into her bedroll as the silence grew, and her companion stared off into the wilderness, and she stared off into space, glancing between the crimson Masser and the smaller Secunda. The fire crackled softly, and the winds whistled in her ear.

"Luciana," Silian said, breaking the silence.

"Yes?"

"Will you tell me someday?"

The Breton closed her eyes. There were days that Luciana thought of telling him that she wasn't actually Luciana Villeneuve, that she wasn't a merchant gone-bad from Whiterun. There wasn't a day that went by that the thought of telling someone that her name was Corelia Tremblay, that she was the daughter of an outstanding mine boss from the Reach, and that embezzling wasn't a first choice, but a decision made in bitterness and desire to harm those she thought harmed her that lead her down a path of crime as she fled from the Silver-Bloods and covered her tracks.

She liked to think that there could be a someday.

Finally, she rolled away from him and replied, "You know that I don't make promises that I can't keep."

The final days along the roads towards Winterhold were increasingly stormy and icy, particularly as they began to spot the sparsely populated capital. She once read that Winterhold used to be a powerful dwelling, among one of the most formidable in the province. It was hard to believe such a thing when the only distinguishing feature now was the College of Winterhold with its crumbling stone bridge. But now, Ivarstead was often more lively than the tiny dwellings and single tavern that occupied Winterhold, and with the Empire re-establishing control in Skyrim, and war with the Thalmor looming over a fragmented Tamriel, it was unlikely to change anytime soon.

As they entered the city, the endless fall of snowflakes began to fade, and the sun was just beginning to dip below the horizon. A number of residents were heading up the cobblestone street to a large building in its center, a fading wooden sign advertising it as The Frozen Hearth, no doubt the local inn. A pair of Imperials, one of whom was in heavy officer's armor, sat outside the inn at a small table with a ledger, trying to entice young Nords to put down their names.

Luciana looked at the ledger, noting the single, messily written name, before shaking her head, and continuing wordlessly into the inn, with Silian close behind her. The warmth from the center fireplace hit them immediately, and her frozen hands burned as they began to thaw. The Nord behind the bar called out a greeting, and the pair made their way over, taking a seat, and declining his offer of mead. A bard at the opposite end of the inn had just begun plucking the strings on her lute, exacerbating Luciana's already splitting headache.

Silian counted out twenty gold, and slid it over to the innkeeper, "For my room and hers," he said, before looking back over to his friend, and wrapping and arm around her shoulders.

"You didn't have to do that, Sil," the Breton remarked.

He shrugged, "I go home tomorrow. It's the least I could do for you before you open up shop here. Not that I know why you'd think this is a good place for business. But I might as well save you some coin before you lose it all," he teased.

She smiled, "It's a quiet little town. But that means I just don't have any competition."

"Pardon me, I don't mean to interrupt you here, but I was just wondering, do you have any family here in Winterhold?" the innkeeper interjected, "Because there's a man here, I swear he looks just like you."

Luciana froze.

Silian raised an eyebrow and looked over at her, "That's curious. Aren't you an only child?"

"Yes. I am."