Disclaimer: Naturally, all characters sans Lisabeta and settings belong to Bethesda. In this case, the main plot point also belongs to Bethesda. I just play around with the pieces they provide :)

Author's Note: I will set up these chapters the same way: someone is looking at one of the many items our Dragonborn has collected, we flashback to the event in time she reminisces about though it is told as if currently happening, then flash forward to where we started as she wraps up her story. I hope it isn't too confusing (and please let me know if it is)! Also, I finally played some of Oblivion so I know a bit more about Bruma, but if something is off in terms of lore please let me know, I don't claim to be an expert on Oblivion!

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Erik had misplaced his favorite riding gloves again, much to his frustration. He could easily afford to simply buy a new pair, but despite the shared wealth between him and his wife, neither preferred to be loose with their money. Neither had been raised to be wasteful, being a farm boy and a palace servant respectively. Besides, they would be setting off soon for the province capital where she had business, and he knew the winds would be biting as they headed north. Perhaps most importantly though, those gloves were a gift from Sofie and Lucia for his birthday a few years back, each glove personally embroidered by the girls to demonstrate their growing skills and their affection for their adopted father. Every time he put them on he remembered with a smile. No, those gloves could never be replaced!

Their cozy home in Whiterun was not all that large, and he'd already looked in the obvious places around the kitchen and sitting area. His next best bet was the bedroom, so he began to rummage through the nightstands on either side of the bed. The first was filled with saved correspondences with the Jarl; his wife never threw those things out, as if she didn't get plenty from the man! There were also some bounty letters, each with a date of completion scrawled across the bottom. It was all paper though, no gloves, so he shut the drawer and moved to the other side of the bed.

This time when he opened the drawer, he found fabric. It was not the fine fabric of a Thane, nor was it even common day-to-day fabric. This…whatever it was…looked like it belonged in the trash. At a loss, he pulled it out of the drawer and held it up. It was a garment of shoddy quality, fibers course and dirtied. Wait, was that…blood? He was not a squeamish man, but he almost dropped it when he noticed that. What was such a thing doing in her nightstand? Then there were two smaller pieces of fabric. Footwraps perhaps?

"What did you find, dear?" He was so deep in thought that he visibly jumped as she spoke, causing her to giggle. She had heard him rummaging around in the bedroom and came to investigate.

"I was looking for my gloves when I found this in your nightstand," he held it up for her to see. "I'm guessing you could enlighten me on what this is? I've never seen it. I guess I never go into those drawers."

Her smiling face dissolved into a serious frown. "That is one of the most important things I own, actually."

Brow furrowed, he sat down on the bed and patted the spot next to him. She obeyed, taking the robes from him. "I sense there is a good story behind this. You always have a good story."

"You're right about that," she said softly, fingering the fabric. "Most people would throw this out because it is cheap, gross, or especially because of bad memories attached to it. I just don't want to forget where I came from."

"You mean to tell me you WORE this at one point? I thought your family worked in the palace at Bruma; even servants would be better dressed than this."

"Oh Erik," she sighed, resting her head against his muscular arm. "If you had seen me when I first arrived in Skyrim…"

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17th of Last Seed, 4E 201

She tried not to think about the fresh, sticky blood on the chopping block where her own neck was now resting, nor the decapitated head in the box a mere inches from her own. Her breath was shaky, though she willed herself not to cry as she looked at the headsman and his horrible, bloody axe. All the men and women she had been captured with would share her fate, and they met their executioners with fiery insults right to the end, unafraid of death and assured that they would arrive in Sovngard for their noble sacrifices. The problem was that they were soldiers, trained and accepting that this moment could come. She was definitely not.

The headsman was distracted by some kind of dull roar in the background, allowing her a few more seconds to contemplate how things had come to this, a young Imperial woman ready for execution in a small town across the border.

When she had left her hometown of Bruma to cross the Jerall Mountains into Skyrim, she had been looking for one good adventure before her parents could marry her off and her window of opportunity closed. Being nearly 19, she didn't have much time left. In fact, she was lucky to be of slightly higher birth than the average citizen so her parents could afford not to marry her off so young. Both of her parents were Nibeneans who were assigned positions within Castle Bruma, and although the rest of her family viewed this assignment as a bit of an insult due to Bruma's less than desirable location high in the frigid mountains, Lisabeta never had any qualms about growing up in the Nord-influenced town of perpetual snow. In fact, she actually liked snow. She liked the rousing Nord songs and tales, far more wild than anything an Imperial would come up with. She liked sitting around the fire in their wooden house feeling cozy and safe.

She also loved to read and learn. Having parents that worked within the castle meant she had access to an education that not many girls in such a place could boast. She would often visit her parents at work during their breaks when she was a girl, and the Count and Countess were kind enough to let her see all the Akaviri relics Countess Narina had collected centuries before. The ruling couple were usually amused at her insatiable thirst for knowledge and told her all kinds of information about the pieces in their collection. This was when she began to yearn for a chance to travel and explore these far-off places for herself. And she wouldn't have to go far for a good adventure; the Pale Pass of legend was practically on her doorstep! Sure, there had been avalanches many years ago that made the routes impossible to traverse with troops or caravans, but one explorer with a mercenary guide could surely find the place… After all, not only was it a crucial fort during the end of the first era when the Akaviri were still clinging to Tamriel, but the Hero of Kvatch herself had located it and brought back the legendary Draconian Madstone after fighting off the undead! Oh, there was still so much to learn about the Akaviri from across the sea, and if she could pull such a feat off, the Count and Countess might make her the court historian!

As it was when she left, she was little more than the court seamstress with occasional performances on flute for their amusement. Her mother had taught her to sew so she could earn her keep doing some kind of work, and her quick and nimble fingers were well suited to the task. The flute she had taught herself, having received it as a gift when she was ten, and when she was not busy at the castle she played for tips at the fancier Jerall View Inn. Though most of her coin went to her family to support them, she always kept a little bit hidden away for this trip she had designed.

Last week, she had finally decided it was time. She had saved enough coin to buy supplies, and what she estimated would be enough for a mercenary guide. However, she knew she would have to cross the border to find anyone willing, as all the people in Bruma would find her out and report her intentions to her parents. They would stop her. They would say it was too dangerous. They would say a mild-mannered, scholarly and artistic girl like her had no business leaving the city. So she left a note explaining that she intended to have an adventure without actually revealing where she was going, simply stating that she would return in two weeks' time or send word. She bought the cheapest apparel possible to avoid attention by bandits, and made sure her choice in attire made her look like a man to avoid other problems. With enough food in her pack to last for a week and a reliable map, she set off on the Silver Road north completely enthused and energetic.

She didn't have any problem crossing the border to Skyrim. Her gear was checked to make sure she wasn't smuggling, and she herself was inspected to make sure she wasn't carrying in disease. She carried enough coin that they knew she wasn't coming in to mooch, and she stated her intentions to find a mercenary guide this side of the border. She was not a threat, not even in this world so shaken by war. However, war found a way to catch up to her once she made it past the checkpoint.

Not an hour into Skyrim, beginning to slowly descend the slopes of the Jeralls in the direction of Helgen, she met a band of soldiers in blue cloth and leather armor. They seemed to be going in the same direction, which unnerved her. Soldiers were not usually good for a young woman on her own… She had pulled her coat tighter to hide more of her face as she deliberately kept behind them, and though they noticed her presence, they ignored her, much to her relief.

That was when a band of soldiers in red cloth and leather armor erupted from behind the rocky cliffs, raining down a volley of arrows. She remembered screaming; being caught in a battle was definitely not a part of her plans! Before a single arrow could lodge its way into her flesh one of the soldiers to the rear of the formation rushed in her direction and threw himself over her without hesitation. His body was heavy and he smelled of sweat. She could feel him shudder, then grow stiff and cold. He was dead. She shook, terrified, and squeezed her eyes shut, praying for it all to be over. She could hear the sound of anguished screams as arrows hit their marks, and soon there was a clash of steel. The red troops must have come forward to meet the blue head on…

The skirmish was over shortly thereafter. There were just so many more soldiers in red, and they had the advantage of surprise… Unable to hide her breath in the absence of the sounds of battle, she held it, praying to Mara that they would leave her for dead.

"Grab all of the bodies. We need to take a count and make sure none escaped," a rough female voice barked, muffled by the soldier's body on top of her. Gods no…

Suddenly, the weight was lifted off of her and she was blinded by the sun. She did her best to remain still, and hoped there was some blood on her somewhere so they might just toss her in a pile of bodies… No such luck. She was roughly grabbed by a soldier in red, who hauled her to her feet and scanned her. "I found another one over here. Looks like these Stormcloak bastards brought their camp hooker with them. Even died to save her, she must have been something in bed…"

At that remark, she was too angry to be scared. "I am NOT a hooker! How dare you make fun of his sacrifice!" she screamed, feeling power form in her chest from the fear, the anger, the sorrow. Nothing she had ever felt in her life compared. Just seeing the soldier's lifeless body tossed to the side, arrow still sticking out of his back, dead because he wanted to save a stranger… She never got a chance to finish her fiery rant. A sharp blow to her neck knocked her out cold.

When she awoke, she found herself in a wagon travelling with three others, wrists bound in front of her and all her items confiscated. One of her companions introduced himself as a Stormcloak soldier named Ralof, and informed her she was in the presence of their most glorious leader, Ulfric. She did not recognize the name, nor did she particularly care at that point. There was also a horse thief, who like her had been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and if she was jumpy, he was practically a nervous wreck. Though, to be fair, she was still trying to figure out what was going on. They kept talking about Sovngard. Wait…wasn't that a place Nords believed they went to when they died? So then… Her stomach twisted into a knot. For whatever reason, whatever sick twist of fate, her little adventure was going to end in her execution alongside these apparent rebels. Not freezing to death in the Pale Pass. Not being mauled by a frost troll. And sadly, not even run through by the blades of the undead. No, she was going to get blamed for something she didn't do and die before her adventure could even begin.

She was so preoccupied by these thoughts that she completely ignored Ralof's ramblings. Something about mead with juniper berries, really not a big deal right now… She only snapped to attention when the wagon came to a halt. They were in Helgen. Oh the irony… The soldiers, Imperial, apparently, began to call names. Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm. Ralof of Riverwood. Lokir of Rorikstead… Upon hearing his name, the horse thief decided he wasn't going to go down quietly and broke free, running for his freedom. This was met with an arrow in the back. If she had been considering something similar, defying her fate, that hope died with him.

Gradually, every name was called except her own. The man reading from the list looked at her, confused. "You there, step forward." She gulped and obeyed, trying to look as innocent as possible. "Who are you?"

"Lisabeta Pacelli. Of Bruma," she replied meekly, looking at him pleadingly. He just shook his head as he studied his list to no avail and sighed.

"Captain, she's not on the list. What do we do?" he inquired of his superior.

"Forget the list. She goes to the block," the commanding officer growled impatiently. Her heart sank again. How many times could that happen in one afternoon?

He looked back at the girl before him and appeared genuinely distraught. He averted his gaze. "We'll make sure we send your remains back to Bruma then." Really? That was it? If you were so sorry, why the heck don't you point out it is unfair to kill someone you have no crime for?! Oh, right, this is the MILITARY and you don't talk back. Before she headed to the crowd around the headsman, she shot him a death glare, and he definitely saw it. His frown was made even more severe and he gripped his pen tightly. That's right, I hope you feel awful and hate yourself right about now!

And there she was, on the ground with her neck in just the right position to be detached from her body in one swift swoop. The headsman's arms raised over his head with the axe grasped in his hands. All she could pray for now was a quick death.

What arrived was instant all right, but it wasn't the death she had expected. Before he could bring the axe down, the ground quaked and he toppled over. She could see a giant lizard-like creature land on the tower behind them. Wait, land? So it could fly? So that meant…

Before the word came to her, the monster let out a horrible roar that sent everyone flying and made her feel incredibly dizzy. There was something about it…it seemed almost like speech…and it made her head spin and feel fuzzy… Then, the heat of flames. They missed her, being she was down on the ground, but they definitely found others, who screamed in agony. One voice stood out among the chaos. "Quickly, this way! You won't get a second chance!" She struggled to her feet with her bound wrists, still reeling from the force of the beast's roar, and turned to see Ralof, somehow free from his bindings and motioning wildly for her to run to the tower for shelter. Ducking her head, she obeyed before she could be caught in another blast of fire. The door slammed shut behind her.

There were other Stormcloaks in the tower. Some had been seriously wounded in the initial onslaught. Their friends worked to patch up their wounds so they could move. Taking a second to regroup, she realized the first priority should be freeing her hands. "Hey, Ralof, would you…" she turned, only to find him speaking with Ulfric. When he finished, he didn't give her a single moment to ask, he just pulled her up the stone stairs. The dragon knocked a huge chunk out of the wall right in front of them, narrowly missing the pair but burying the man in front of them. Ralof peered through the new hole and spied the roof of the inn across the way. "You'll have to jump!" he declared, nudging her forward.

"But shouldn't you…"

"Jump!"

Well, fine then. Who needs hands anyhow, especially when trying to land on a roof some distance away… She took a deep breath and a few running steps before flinging herself through the air. She wouldn't normally do something like this without hesitation, but after all she had been through that day, it seemed insignificant. She landed with a thud and rolled forward from the momentum. It hurt, but it shouldn't turn into more than a bruise. She slowly picked herself up and looked around. Ralof was nowhere to be found. At a loss for what to do next, she jumped down to the next level, only to run into…the man with the list.

She remained sheltered behind what remained of the building's wall, waiting for a chance to make a break for it, but that damn list guy wasn't going anywhere. In fact, he was coaxing a small boy to run to him and out of the path of the monster's wrath. The boy obeyed, and just in time as the place where he was standing was hit with yet another burst of flame. The man hugged the boy close. "Good work Haming. Gunnar, take him to safety. I have to join General Tullius in the defense." He rose and drew his sword.

"God's guide you, Hadvar," the older man murmured, taking the boy's hand. Once they headed for a safe route away from the danger, Hadvar turned and looked at her in a way that suggested he had been aware of her presence the whole time.

"You're alive, prisoner. Stay close to me if you want to stay that way." He motioned for her to follow him, and despite her resentment towards him, she found herself obeying. There really weren't many options. They wove through the tangle of dead bodies and downed rubble towards the keep. Once, the monster had landed right on the wall above them, but they avoided his claws and death-dealing fire by pressing close to the stone. Once the beast alighted again, they continued. "It's you and me, prisoner. Stay close."

"My name is Lisabeta…." she scowled to his back, but followed anyhow.

The last obstacle between them and the keep was none other than Ralof. "Ralof! Out of my way you damned traitor!" Hadvar shouted, suddenly tuning out the pandemonium around him and glaring at the Stormcloak.

"We're escaping, Hadvar. You're not stopping us this time," Ralof warned, looking ready to pounce.

"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngard," Hadvar dismissed him. This was no place to pick a fight after all, and both men knew it.

"You, come on into the keep!" Ralof beckoned to her, then he went in through one door.

"Quick, I can cut you loose inside the keep," Hadvar instructed, entering through another door.

That left Lisabeta with a choice: follow the rebel whose comrade had saved her life, or the "good guy" soldier who would have let her be killed despite his misgivings. The choice was obvious. At least, it was until she remembered how Hadvar had gotten that little boy to safety and then went back into the fray to help his comrades. All Ralof wanted to do was escape and talk to Ulfric, not save the villagers. Hadvar told her to stick close. Ralof told her to jump out a window and then left her to her own devices.

And Hadvar didn't need reminding that her wrists needed to be unbound.

So, as crazy as it seemed, Lisabeta chose the further door.

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"I…knew about Helgen. You've told me about the attack. But, why did you never tell me you were a prisoner of the Imperial army, about to be executed?" Erik questioned when she finished.

She shrugged. "Who'd believe that, considering I ended up working for them in the end? Who'd want to hear that their national hero was a naïve girl playing adventure who wandered into the wrong place at the wrong time? Besides, with everything that happened afterwards, the story of how it began doesn't seem so important, right?"

He took her hands. "No, you're wrong. Beginnings are the most important. Nothing that has happened since would come to pass if you hadn't been captured."

She pointed to a large stain of blood on the robes. "Nothing would have come to pass if that man hadn't given his life to save mine. You are right, of course. If I truly didn't believe it, I wouldn't have held onto this. I don't want to forget. Ever."

He wrapped a strong arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "I'll thank the Nine every night for his sacrifice. I can't imagine a world without you in it…" Bending down, his lips met hers and they shared a deep kiss.

When they broke it off, she was back to her smiling self. "You know, I don't think I've ever told ANYONE about those clothes. It is kind of nice that someone knows."

"Any time, love. Besides, I like your stories," he smirked, giving her hand a squeeze.

"Also, Erik, before I forget, I did find your gloves…" She reached into her pocket with her free hand and lightly smacked his cheek with them.

"Where…?"

"Eh, the fox thought it would be fun to have a scavenger hunt. Under Sophie's bed."