Chapter 1

AN- Hi guys, this is my first FanFiction, so sorry if it's pretty bad. I hope to be putting up a new chapter every few days, but I have a lot of school work to do so bear with me :)

I don't own Skyrim, all rights belong to Bethesda Game Studios.

I was walking through the forests in north Cyrodiil when I came across a small camp of men in blue amour. My instincts told me that this was a bad idea but I'd been walking for weeks. I had no idea that it would take so long to walk here from High Rock. I must clarify- that I was only in High Rock to visit my Grandparents, I am in fact from Solitude. Gods, I despise that city…

Lost in my thoughts, I realise that I walked straight into the camp of men in blue. The mysterious men surrounding me, I act on instinct grabbing my Glass Battle-Axe from my back and lunging forwards towards a blonde man who had un-sheathed his sword. Just as my Axe was about to make contact with the man's chest I felt a blunt object smash into the back of my head. Then everything went black…

"Lorae"…. "Lorae!" A voice whispered.

"Help me. Help us" It whispered again.

My eyes open and I'm by lake. I notice that my hands are muddy and decided to wash them. As my hands gradually became cleaner, I notice the lake changing colour. It's….Red. The red starts to travel from the lake; seeping into the ground and spreading towards me. It starts to move up my legs and then my body. I look down, and it's covering my hands, then I realise that this red is blood. I then reach for my head. It's bleeding. No… Oh gods, please no! A piercing scream echo's through the valley and stops as it reaches me. I freeze. It's her.

Awakening with a gasp I take in my surroundings. I'm on a cart of some sort. But everything's at an angle- oh, of course, I must be lying down. Repositioning myself into an upright position I suddenly notice that I'm not alone. There's a man dark brown hair and looks as if he's deciding whether he's angry or scared. I wonder why. Another man with grubby but grand clothes on and strip of cloth tied around his mouth. He seems somewhat familiar but I just can't place him. My thoughts are stopped as a voice appears from my left.

"Hey. You. You're finally awake."

He's wearing blue amour. Blue amour? Where do I recognise that from? Stormcloaks! Of course. Now being from Solitude my allegiance should lie with the Empire, but I don't like the Thalmor, plus he supports the Empire, and I'll be damned if I ever have to fight alongside him.

Somehow being around a Stormcloak makes me feel safer, which is ironic since it was technically them who started this war. Suddenly remembering walking into the Stormcloak camp and being hit over the head with something, I wonder who it was that knocked me out. I'm about to ask the blonde man, when he continues to speak. "You were trying to cross the border right? Walked straight into that Imperial ambush. Same as us. And that thief over there." Oh, so it wasn't one of them who knocked me out. It was probably some bloody Imperial… The man said thief didn't he? I assume he's talking about the dirty brown haired man.

"Damn you Stormcloaks, everything was fine until you came along. The Empire was nice and lazy. If they hadn't been looking for you, I would've stolen that horse and been half way to Hammerfell." Turning the me, he continues "You there. You and me, shouldn't be here, it's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants."

The blonde man starts to talk again, sounding confusingly calm. I wonder how he does it? If that were me I would have the handle of my Axe pressing up against his neck, cutting off his air supply before he could say 'Talos'. An image flashes across my mind, and I momentarily feel quite sick. Mentally calming myself I started to listen to what the Stormcloak was saying.

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief."

"Shut up back there!" A strongly Imperial accented voice shouted from ahead of us.

The thief, turned to look at the suspiciously quiet man, frowning, "What's wrong with him, huh?" About to make a harsh remark about the thief, I was once again cut off by the Stormcloak.

"Watch your tongue, you're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak- the true High King."

By the nine… Of course. That's why I recognise him, and that's why his mouth is covered. Bloody Imperials scared that he'll shout them to death, just like he did with the last High King.

I realise that as I've been thinking the Stormcloak and horse thief have been talking, however I only catch the end of their converstion.

…" I don't know where we're going, but Sovngarde awaits."

I attempt to give the thief a comforting look as he starts to panic, as it dawns on him that his death is inevitable. But Nords aren't exactly known for their compassion; maybe it would be easier if I truly pitied him. But very few receive my pity, for very few have experienced my pain…

I feel eyes burning into the left side of my body, so I rotate myself so that I'm facing the person who seems to be staring at my face. I frown at the Stormcloak, causing a small scar on my forehead to become rather obvious. His gaze quickly turns to this, and I realize that he must have staring at the bear claw scar on my left cheek. Five parallel lines- one cutting through the edge of my full crimson lips. The man's stare leaves my scars and then moves towards my almost waist-length, wavy, raven hair. His eyes travel down my hair, up my body and look directly into my eyes. Green, grey and flecks of gold, swirl around the large orbs which are my eyes. I get my eyes from my Breton mother.

Now feeling really very uncomfortable under the man's scrutinizing gaze, I shuffle slightly in my seat, and wrap my arms protectively around myself. It's now that I realise that the Imperials didn't take my armour. For that I am thankful. I relax slightly knowing that my Daedric amour still protects me, and covers the scars that mar my porcelain skin. My shrouded cowl, is still on me too, but just pulled down around my neck. What surprises me the most though, is that they haven't taken my Glass Battle Axe. Then I realise why. My Axe is a family heirloom- marked with our coat-of-arms, they must know who I am, and have decided that taking things from me is a mistake. Taking off my right gauntlet I'm glad to see my signet ring still resides on my right ring finger. I trace the snake encircling a great-sword with my left index finger.

Putting my right gauntlet back on, I look up to notice that we have reached the end of the line.