A/N: There is a little bit of embellishment in this chapter on the part of Lokir of Rorickstead. You have been forewarned, please do not p/m or comment/review that he wasn't a Breton, he was a Nord. It's irrelevant.

I also wanted to address a question/comment earlier. Gaella is pretty in a very classic way, but it is far more of a curse than anything else. She very much gets into so much trouble that would be avoided if she was plain. This is how it was in the time period Skyrim is based on, and if you go into Whiterun on a female, just about all the women will comment to you sympathetically about how rough it is to be a woman, how the men follow you like dogs, how they treat you like meat. Olfina offers you a little advice, "I know it's tough, but stay strong, and they'll respect you eventually." Carlotta asks you to make a certain philandering bard stop bothering her (I'm not sure that I was ever more satisfied to beat up anyone in my life!). I based the character's beauty off of these things, because let's face it, characters that are average and face absolutely no adversity are boring. :) The theme of this chapter is hope, strength, and perseverance even when the world itself is against you.

Also- thanks to everyone for reading. This chapter is extra long, and I would recommend "Shalott," "Marry me," and "Thank God I'm Pretty," by Emilie Autumn as musical accompaniment to this chapter if you are so inclined. Almost all of the lines to each song were used as inspiration for this chapter.

Thanks for the kind words and reviews! :) Enjoy!

Marry me, he said,

Through his rotten teeth,

Bad breath, and then

Marry me instead of that strapping young goatherd

But when I was in his bed, and my father had sold me

I knew I hadn't any choice, I'd lost my voice,

So I did what any girl would do...

"Marry Me", Emilie Autumn.

There was only on thought on her mind at that moment, and it was getting out of there and sd far away as fast as she could possibly get.

For once, the stoic mask of the man is broken, revealing an intense confusion within his visage.

"Let go of me," Gaella said, shaking- though this time, with rage. "Right now."

The Jarl of Whiterun is not generally accustomed to taking orders, and he does not like that she has commanded him, but he indulges her this once, and lets her go as requested. First and foremost a good man, secondarily, a king to his people. At least that's what he's had to remind himself of this entire time...

"I hereby resign from your service. And I'm leaving."

She tries to stride past him and he grabs her arm to stop her. "What do you mean, you resign?"

She brings up her fist like she would punch him, but he catches it the instant she moves, his experience far faster than her reflexes. He scoffs slightly, "Your form is horrid. This is why you are a mage, and not a warrior. Where has your sense gone to, girl?"

"Obviously it's taken leave, I trusted you for a good ten minutes."

Now Ulfric is doubly confused. "You're offended? You no longer trust me?" He asked incredulously.

"What the hell do you expect from me, Ulfric Stormcloak? You think I'm going to be happy you want me as your broodmare instead of your soldier?"

"Don't be daft," He snarls, taking personal offense, "If I wanted a broodmare, I'd have one. And I do believe I made an offer with the condition that you continue fighting for the cause. It's not as though I expect you to lounge around drinking milk all day like an honorless noble."

"Well, I refuse."

"Reconsider."

She pulled away from him, breaking his grip on her arm and fist. "Never," She said stubbornly, her voice aghast and angry.

"Fine. But stay the night, and take leave tomorrow. It's getting dark."

"I don't believe you'd let me out," Gaella shoots back, anger twisting her features, "You're going to lock me in my rooms."

"By Talos, woman. Do you really think me so sad a man that I have to kidnap a woman to make her marry me? Do you?"

She narrows her eyes. It was interesting, Ulfric thought, to watch how anger, hatred, and spite could turn someone beautiful into someone ugly. Both inside and out. He belatedly wonders if, for the first time, he had been wrong about her.

"You may be beautiful," He said, angry himself, "But I could care less if your face looked like the back of my horse. I want you for High Queen for your passion, determination, and steadfast strength. You are the perfect inspiration for my people. I want the woman who marched into a foreign country, in the middle of those who wouldn't accept her, and fought simply because she believed it was the right thing to do. Perhaps you should think about that."

"I don't care about your reasons."

Ulfric shook his head, now beginning to gain a headache. "You will stay the night, and you will not leave until a decent hour tomorrow morning. This is not a negotiation."

"Or else what?"

"You've got a choice. You can stay in your rooms or stay in the jail."

She set her lip, and Ulfric, despite himself, was slightly amused that she was actually considering which option to choose. "There are quite a lot of dead skeevers in the dungeons, and I'm sure that the other prisoners aren't nearly as gracious as I."

"They are the same thing," She persists, "The only difference is luxury."

"Then the choice is up to you. If you will excuse me, I have some planning to do. We take another city within the week."

He brushes past her, without once looking back.

Gaella Firehammer looked after the man that was Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, watched him walk away from her after delivering his ultimatum.

She had once thought that man was someone she could have fallen for.

If only he hadn't asked to marry her...

Many years ago, when Gaella was still Lucinda, or Lucy as she preferred (though no one paid attention to what she preferred), she'd been a somewhat happy child. Her rose-colored goggles were just as big as anyone else's, maybe even bigger, under the cloud of her father's wealth.

But then she turned 5, and they started making her take lessons she didn't like.

"But daddy," She whined, tugging on her father's pants, "Why do I have to learn magic? I don't like magic. I want to learn to use the sword."

The man kicked out and hit his little daughter with his boot, effectively, and cruelly, removing her from his pants. "Don't be stupid, Lucinda," He said, sharp nose held high in the air. The fact that his daughter was now clutching her stomach and crying had no effect on him. His own rage, and interests, pervaded everything else. "We are Bretons. We are people who are more gifted in magic than any other race. I would never allow you to debase our family by becoming anything less than the most talented mage. Now get back to your studies."

"But what about being a bard, daddy?" The girl managed through her tears, rubbing at her eyes. "I really like the singing lessons you got me."

"That was your mother's idea," He spat, "And it's only because it'll help us attract a better candidate for you when you're old enough to marry."

The man strode off without another glance at her.

That was Gaella's first real memory of her father. All those before were irrelevant. They had never been filled with love. But that first memory, that she so cherished, was the moment when she realized that she had no real place in the world.

Especially not with her family.

Still, through her youth, she stuck it out like a good girl- what choice did she have? And when the boys on the street teased her and called her fat, and stupid, and ugly, she went home and cried same as any other child.

Her childhood was normal in that way. She didn't have a lot of friends, but that was normal for a noble family, as well.

Things didn't really start to get any worse until she started blossoming in her mid teens.

It was a gradual thing, watching her face fill out in better areas, watching her figure slowly morph from that of an awkward teenager into the curves of a woman. But it never truly hit her what this would mean. The word and idea of 'beauty' never crossed her mind, until small, strange things started happening.

There would be a boy following her home from the market every day. It wasn't always the same boy, but sometimes it was. She was too young to realize what it meant, too naïve. Her lessons focused soley on magic, manners, singing, and grace, and talked nothing of politics nor the behaviors of others. It was truly a pity, because she had always found it fascinating, the way people acted and why.

She would hear weird noises, sometimes, walking the streets- a whistle, as though someone were whistling for their horse, even if there were no horses around. But these things, too, she pushed to the back of her mind. She labeled them happenstance, and insignificant.

Then one day, when she was browsing a jewelry stall, a beautiful necklace caught her eye. It was a rose- or at least, the woodwork and painting made it look remarkably like that.

"Do you like it, miss? Made it meself just this weekend." The ratty-looking shop-keeper grinned, revealing far too few teeth.

Lucinda smiled softly, nodding graciously. Grace and modesty in all things. "It is truly a work of art. A fine thing. I commend you."

"Then, allow me..." Another voice..this one came from behind her. She turned and saw an unfathomably ugly man.

"...Allow you to what, I'm sorry..?" Lucinda asked, confused.

"Buy it for you."

"Oh! Oh, Lord Hyalt, it is you!" The shop-keeper looked as though he might wet himself from excitement.

"Indeed it is..."

Lucinda studied this man. He was ugly: his nose was far too big, and bulbous as though he had managed to grow boils underneath his skin. He was old, balding, and his breath stunk. What little hair he had was unkempt and he smelled like too much ale. But his clothes were of the finest quality, and when he pulled out a coin-purse that was altogether too heavy, she pieced together that, whoever this was, he was of some importance.

"Whichever one this beautiful lady wanted, give it to her. This should be more than sufficient."

The man placed a large coin purse on the stand, and the shop-keeper about had a heart attack.

"...It's not worth that much," Lucinda said, trying to be gracious and polite.

"Why not spread some good cheer, miss? I'm in a good mood. It's not often I see such beauty on the streets. Tell me, who is your father?"

Lucinda wondered to herself if he was trying to impress her, throwing around his coin like that. It actually had the opposite effect. He was very stupid. If he truly wanted to spread his wealth he ought to donate to charity, or one of the temples. Not pay triple the price for a simple wood-work piece to impress some woman he'd never seen before.

"John Blackwood, sir."

"Ah, Blackwood! Yes, indeed. Very good! Excellent! Your upbringing was undoubtedly precise. You'll have all the skills you need."

Lucinda wondered what he meant, but her instincts told her to keep quiet. She merely nodded. The fat, ugly man bent down and kissed her hand, spreading his putrid stench and ale-infused saliva onto her hand. She wanted more than anything to pull it away and take a month-long bath, but that would not be the proper thing. Instead she curtsied gracefully, as she'd been taught. "Thank you sir," She said automatically, "I am very flattered. Thank you for your generosity."

She didn't realize at the time that she had been thanking him for what she hadn't realized was, in essence, a proposal.

She didn't realize that her life was about to change beyond her wildest dreams.

So when she saw the boy around her age on her way home, shoveling hay into a cart, something inside of her made her stop, and she looked at him in wonder.

He was a tall boy- and for sure, he was not a Breton. In fact, she was fairly sure he was not human at all. His ears were long and pointed, his features sharp, his eyes all-together too large. Everything she had been taught about beauty and perfection, this boy defied.

And the beauty that he held in that was so immense that it made her heart ache in wonder.

Actually, she belatedly thought, if he is a Bosmer, than do I really know what age he is?

Then she wondered, Does it really matter?

The Bosmer noticed the woman staring at him, and straightened up, wiping sweat off his brow. "Can I help you, Miss?" He asked, and his exotic accent just made her swoon inside all the more. "Are you lost?"

"...Forgive me," Lucinda said, curtsying. "...It is just that...you are very handsome. It is not often I see the sight of a beautiful man."

The Bosmer looked incredibly confused, taken aback, and flattered, all at the same time. "...Are you feeling alright, miss? Do you..perhaps have a fever? Forgive me...may I check?"

She nodded, not quite knowing how you check for a fever. Perhaps she could learn!

The Bosmer wiped his hands on his pants and strode forward, then placed the back of his hand against her forehead.

The sensation of such a simple gesture almost knocked her off-balance. Luckily for her the Bosmer noticed, and steadied her.

"...You don't have a fever, but are you...feeling dizzy? Do you need to sit? Some water?"

"No, it's just..."

"..It's just what?"

"...No one's ever touched me like that before."

"...No one's ever taken your temperature?" The Bosmer moved his hand, looking confused.

"No one's ever.."At the time, she didn't have the words, and so she just shook her head, and said, "I am sorry...I don't know how to explain."

The words she were looking for, she realized when it was later and she was older, were 'gentle', 'kind', and 'miraculous.'

Eventually the Bosmer, whose name was Tyrtael, came to accept her compliment graciously, although with a bit of confused caution. He asked her if he could see her again, and she professed with open, naïve honesty that she hoped she would see him again, several times. Maybe more.

Tyrtael had smiled at that, though when Gaella looked back on it now, she realized just how much melancholy his eyes had held that day.

Needless to say...Lucinda went back to the same area every day that week, and a few after, and she and Tyrtael would talk for hours while he did his work. He was just a plain stable-boy, but he taught her how to ride horses and how to communicate with them, a truly wondrous gift.

"Gently rub the nose. They may not admit it, but they love it."

Lucinda looked dubiously at the horse, a large, intimidating black stallion that looked as though he could crush her with one chomp of his mighty mouth.

"Here.." Tyrtael took her hand, and Lucinda felt a wild blush run to her cheeks, and a rapid flutter befall her heart. She tried her best to pay attention, but she didn't hear the words he was saying to her. Only did she notice how well their hands fit together, his long and lithe and stained, and hers small and stubby, yet immaculately maintained.

True to Tyrtael's word, the horse snorted in happiness, and nuzzled her hand. Lucinda gasped in wonder. "He likes it!" She says, and she hears her friend laughing.

"Yes. I told you, didn't I?"

"Yes...oh, but you are magnificent, Sir Horse. I bet you get all the mares."

The horse blows right in her hair, and makes as though he would eat it, causing a funny, tickling sensation that makes Lucinda laugh heavily.

"I got permission from my boss to ride him once all my work is done. I'll take you with me. Just be sure to hold onto me."

"Really?"

"Yep." He grinned sheepishly, and the look she gave him was filled with love.

"Thank you," She said breathlessly, "This is the best gift anyone's ever given me."

"..I'm only going to have you ride behind me for an hour or so. Any longer than that and you'll be sore, and master will be angry," He said hurriedly, looking sheepish.

"Not that..."

"What then?"

"Your...friendship."

He blinked a few times. "I...I never thought about it that way."

"Well, I have," Lucinda said, rubbing the horse's neck. "I've never had a friend before."

That afternoon, when he took her riding as promised, she linked her arms around his waist as he instructed, and laid into his back. She could feel his heartbeat through the thin fabric, and the sensation of the wind blowing through her hair as they rode through the hills. The sun lit through the trees, turning everything a warm shade of golden, and for the first time in her life, everything was perfect.

Needless to say, she fell very hard for the stable-boy.

A day or two later after she realized that, her father approached her while she was pouring over her studies.

"Good evening, father," She said brightly, happy with the world for once. Not even her father could sully her mood, or this precious thing she had found.

"I've got good news," Her father said, sparing no words for pleasantries. As usual. "I've found you a husband."

"You've...what?" She drops her pen, a million thoughts racing through her head. A husband? She wasn't even to come of age for another month, and then...

"Found you a husband, you stupid girl. I can finally get rid of you. And he's giving me a good deal, too."

"...I don't understand, father," She said, "Aren't you supposed to love the one you marry?"

"I told your chambermaid that giving you fairy tales was a stupid idea. Love doesn't exist, child. It's a mythical emotion, created in the mind of sods with no heads for business and the ways of the real world."

"...You didn't love mother?"

"No," He said bluntly, "In fact, it was quite a relief when she died. Now I can no longer be blackmailed when I go out with some other woman."

Lucinda couldn't believe her ears...in fact, she was so sure that the problem with was with her ears, that she clapped her hands over them to protect herself.

"What are you doing that for?" Her father demanded, and wrenched her hands away. "You ought to be happy. He's a very wealthy man, you'll have all the pretty things you could ever want, and I gain a wonderful and prosperous business partner. It's a win-win situation all around."

"I don't care about pretty things," She said miserably, "I just want to be happy."

"You are stupid. Pretty things are what makes a woman happy. You will get married on your birthday. And you be sure to provide him with plenty of sons to continue on his bloodline. In the mean-time, I've got one of my own on the way."

"...I don't know how babies are made, daddy," She said in a small voice.

"You'll find out. Now get back to your studies." The man turned and strode back out.

Lucinda belatedly realized he'd never even told her who it was. However, it didn't take long for her to figure out.

With a scream of rage, she tore the rose necklace of her neck and threw it against the wall. She'd sold herself for a petty necklace, carved by an ugly shop-keeper that probably had never seen that much gold in his entire life. She didn't understand what was happening to her. She didn't understand why her father would sell her to such an ugly, horrible man, for the sake of his own self.

She knew, deep in her heart, though she had been surrounded by pretty things her whole life- and honestly, she never knew what it was to live without them-, she would happily live a life in squalor, sleeping in a haystack at night, if only it meant she could be happy.

If only it meant she could be with Tyrtael.

That was it. She'd go to Tyrtael. She'd take all her jewelry and sell it, and they could take the money and start a new life somewhere else. Far away from her father and his nasty lies.

There was no way he was right. Love wasn't a lie. Love wasn't a myth. It lived in her heart. It burned bright enough to light the darkest night.

With that, she started to gather her things. And just before the dawn's first rays had come through the windows, when all the servants and her horrid father was still asleep, she snuck out and ran the entire way to Tyrtael's shack.

Tyrtael didn't make a lot of money as a stable-boy. In fact, he didn't even have his own house. He lived on the property of his master, and in exchange for that and a minimal amount of coin per month, he took care of the horses and other miscellaneous chores around the farm.

By the time she got there, her heart was pounding so hard, she thought it might come out of her chest. She knew Tyrtael was awake about this time every morning. He woke up with the cows and roosters. She pounded heavily on his door, calling his name, much too loudly.

He opened the door, blearly with sleep. "Shhh," He said immediately, and indeed, she did quiet, but because the sight of him looking rumpled and shirtless made her feel stange. The feeling was intense and unfamiliar, and she decided she didn't like it.

She didn't like it at all.

"...Lucinda, what are you doing here? Why do you have a pack? Why in blazes are you up this early...?"

She dropped her pack and went with her first instinct, and gave him a hug, pressing her cheek into his warm, bare torso. Another, better sensation filled her, a strange peace.

Tyrtael hesitated, and looked around. "...Okay, okay. Inside." He said reluctantly.

Lucinda nodded and let go, picking up her pack and hurrying inside the little hut.

He closed the door, and leaned against it, causing that strange feeling inside of her again, that she didn't understand. It became enveloping, and she was hyperaware of the fact that they were very, very alone.

"What's going on, Lucy," He asked softly, his face filled with compassion.

Her heart lifted at the sight- and at that of the pet name she wished everyone used. "My father," She said, "My father has arranged a marriage for me." And at this terrible revelation, she burst into tears.

Tyrtael did not, as she had fantasized about him doing, envelop her in his arms, kiss her forehead, and promise her eternity. He instead stood there, looking wholly unsurprised. "...Yes...? And?" He asked, seeming to be completely unruffled.

"Don't you see, Tyrtael?" She asked, frustrated now on top of everything else. "I can't marry anyone else.."

"Why not?" He asked, looking bewildered.

"Because I love you!"

That caught his attention. His eyes widened, and he straightened up. "...You don't know what you're saying," He said quietly.

"Of course I do. You're so kind to me, and so handsome. You make me happy. I think about you all the time, I fantasize about when I'll see you next, the things we'll do, what you'll teach me..."

"Lucinda...my friend...please. You are a noble and I am a stable-boy. I could never give you the life you deserve."

"I don't want any of that," She said honestly, keenly aware that she was whining. "I don't care if I have to sleep in hay piles for the rest of my life. All I want is the feeling you give me, just by being around."

"You said you loved me."

"Yes!"

"And that is the reason you could not marry the man your father picked."

"Yes!"

"Because you do not love him."

"Yes- how many times do I have to say it, Tyrtael?"

"...Did it ever occur to you," He said softly, "That perhaps I do not love you?"

Time stopped. Everything in the world that was warm became cold. It was almost as though she had shattered into a thousand pieces.

"...Don't misunderstand. You are very, very beautiful. Any man would be lucky to take you for his wife. But you are a human," He said, "And you are much too young."

"Aren't...you young too?" She squeezed out, tears leaking from her face.

"To my people. But humans and elves are very different."

"Why does it matter? I'm turning of the legal age next month."

"..Lucinda. I cannot run away with you," He said bluntly, "My life is here on this farm, with the horses, pigs, and cows. When I've saved up enough coin I will take a wife, a wood elf like me, and we will live a quiet life with only exactly what we need. You will marry a rich man and have everything you want for the rest of your life." He was callous. Cold. "Honestly, I don't understand why you're so upset. I envy you."

"My father sold me, and your excuse as to why it's okay, is that the man he sold me to will buy me whatever I want?"

"It sounds like a good trade-off to me."

"He can't buy me whatever I want."

"I doubt that. In order for a man to afford a wife of your status, talent, and beauty, he has to be beyond wealthy."

"He can't buy me you."

There is an awkward silence. "...You ought to go now," Tyrtael said finally. "I have to get ready for work."

She picked up her pack wordlessly, and stared at the Elf. She wanted to say so many things, throw a punch, throw furniture, throw words- throw anything that could possibly make him realize how much pain he had caused her. But she was too broken, and the words wouldn't come. She couldn't channel anger for how crushed she felt.

When he said nothing, she left the hut, unable to cope with the reality of what was.

Her father's men had found her later. She hadn't the slightest idea where she was, or where she was going. She was so dazed that, apparently, she had just wandered around the city for hours. When her father had discovered that both she and her things were gone, he'd sent men out immediately.

Like obedient dogs, the men returned her to her father like a stick to be fetched. And, just like dogs, he rewarded them for the successful completion of the trick.

He turned his cold gaze upon Lucinda, not even bothering to wait until everyone was gone. "You are stupid, and the only worth you have, or will ever have, is in who you marry and how many sons you bear. Your excursion today proves that. Should you have managed to get beyond the city walls, you would have been killed by wolves, a skeever, or worse. I bet you didn't even find and pack a weapon."

She was silent.

"Idiotic girl. Take her to the tower on the lake. Keep her locked up, and studying. She is not to be released until her birthday, when she will marry Lord Hyalt."

The men nodded and dragged her away. She was still in a daze, and even if she wasn't, a young maiden couldn't put up much of a fight against trained soldiers anyway. They took her to the lake behind her family's property, and rowed her across the water in a tiny boat that barely fit all of them.

They locked her in the tower and left her, and she lay upon the floor for an immeasurable amount of time, beaten and broken, reduced to less than nothing.

The only worth you will ever have is who you marry and how many sons you bear.

That couldn't possibly be true. If her whole life amounted to that, then why would the Gods teach her how to love at all- mythical or not, she was sure that was what she felt for Tyrtael. What she still felt, even though she was angrier at him than she could ever say. Why would the Gods make such an empty purpose? Things would never make her happy. She was sure of that. All her life, she had every thing she ever wanted.

Except happiness.

She had been awoken by her chambermaid some time later– the only person who had ever been truly kind to her in her entire life.

"Come, dear...let's get you up, and washed."

She didn't know how long she had been laying there, but she became keenly aware that she didn't smell the best, and she very badly had to use the chamberpot.

So she followed the maid up the stairs and allowed the maid to bathe and dress her, as she had all of these years.

More than anything, she appreciated that her maid- Gleena – didn't feel the need to keep up a steady steam of unnecessary chatter. Gleena was an old woman who did things the way she always had done, and who realized the value of silence. Gleena was more of a mother than Lucy had ever known, and upon realizing this, she started to cry with the inability to express her feelings.

And Gleena, somehow, in the way that mothers do, just seemed to know. Gleena held Lucinda for a long, long time as she cried, and never spoke a word.

The days dragged on like years. Her father never came to check on her- nor did anyone else but Gleena, though she entertained fantasies of Tyrtael visiting her, saving her, and telling her he'd been wrong. That he loved her, had always loved her, he had made a mistake, and could she forgive him. And always in her mind, she unconditionally, said yes. Just like in her storybooks.

It was coming closer and closer to her wedding day. Every day she had been doing nothing but practicing her sewing (which she was still terrible at, despite all her best efforts), singing, reading and writing. She had at some point promised herself to grow her hair out, just like the fable, for want of a knight to climb up it and deliver her from her impending wedding. May as well. No matter how fast or how slow this month went by, she would never forget this feeling or experience. She would never forget the horror with which she had come to realize that her entire life, she had been unloved. Admiration for whatever beauty she allegedly had would never be love. And had her father not forseen it, and had there been daggers or perhaps some matches around, she would have made sure that she ruined the beauty that Lord Hyalt had bought and paid for. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd decide otherwise, then. Beauty was a waste of time and a waste of admiration, a thing that would be gone in a few years time, and then what would she have left, but a bunch of babies that she never wanted and an ugly husband that loved ale more than he would ever love her?

One day when she was sewing, and Gleena was watching her quietly from the corner, the old woman finally spoke.

"Lucy," She said quietly.

"...Yes?" She looked up from her continuously failed embroidery. "Do you have a recommendation?"

"Yes," Gleena said, "But not about your needlework. I want you to leave."

"...Leave?" Lucinda was confused.

"First and foremost, leave this tower. Next, the city. And then, hopefully, High Rock. Your father is a well known man here with much influence. You would be safer in another province. Perhaps Skyrim. I hear their trade is bustling, and many Khajit caravans have taken to traveling all over the province. You could barter your jewelry with them in exhange for passage."

"...Gleena. I can't leave. And they took all my jewelry. They took anything of worth, anything sharp, anything I could have used to pick the lock, or make rope...and they locked me in."

"...Lucinda, what I am about to tell you is very important. And I want you to listen to it, and remember every single word I tell you. It may, perhaps, be the most important thing I've ever said in my life, in all of my years, and I've had more than a few."

Lucy blinked, and straightened up, leaning forward.

"Your father does not, nor will he ever, deserve a daughter like you. Your looks be damned, you are smart, courageous, quick-witted, passionate, and selfless. You will still be one of the most beautiful women in the world, whether you are 20, 40, or 80, because of these qualities, which are far preferable to any and all the lies he's fed you over the years. Love exists. It has always existed, despite men like your father trying their hardest to stamp it out. And you are more than your ability to produce sons, more than your face, more than a pretty dress, and voice, and, my darling, you are not an item to be bought or sold."

Tears began to roll down Lucinda's cheeks, as her lower lip trembled.

"My dear, I knew I taught you this, but this last month, I have watched them strip everything I have worked to build within you away. I have watched them beat you down and break you, and I have had enough. No amount of septims, or the prettiest house in all of Tamriel, could ever make me stand this treatment of you a moment longer."

"But, Gleena. The door.."

"I stole the key ages ago, my dear, and I have been leaving the tower door unlocked for the past two weeks in the hope that you would figure it out and escape."

Then all this time in this tower...wasted...

She sat there, then, and took a good look at the woman, the only source of good, the only person in the world that had ever inspired her, and asked her just this one thing. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because I can not stand to see such suffering, not from anyone, and neither should you. Ever."

She was unable to say anything more, the tears flowing all too freely now.

"You are the fairy-tale maiden without a knight, you are the princess for whom no prince ever came. So it is time to be your own knight and prince, and escape. Be good to yourself, be all you will ever need. Never depend on anyone else to make you happy. Now...I've packed your things. Let's get your hair into a more manageable state, for traveling. And we'll make sure you have enough rations and jewelry to get you across the border. It's long past time for you to live your own life."

The old woman helped her tie her hair into a ponytail, and brought her a traveling cloak to wrap around herself to keep her warm. "Wherever you end up, it might be cold. If you do end up going to Skyrim, it's freezing there. Be sure to get enough furred clothing."

Lucinda nodded, still feeling overwhelmed as they left that horrid, wretched prison of a tower, and rowed across the lake, towards Freedom. "What will you do now, Gleena?" She asked, turning to face her.

"Retire, finally. My last child is finally all grown up." The woman smiles and kisses her on the cheek, a kiss she gladly returns.

"I can never repay you," She said.

"Maybe not, but one never does what needs to be done in hope of repayment. There is only one thing I would ask of you."

"Anything."

"If you see a man named Lokir, in Skyrim...tell him his mother loves him very much."

She opened her mouth to ask if that was her son, but the old woman stopped her. "Don't waste your energy with questions. My time will come soon. By the time you ever manage to be back here, I will be long since dead. This will be the last time you ever see me."

She stood on that bank, looking out at the woman, so old and feeble, yet so strong and brilliant, her kindness shining brighter than all the stars in the sky could ever emulate. All she could do was hug the woman and squeeze more tears out of her eyes, though the tears had never stopped coming in the first place.

"What if I die, too? Will I see you in the afterlife?"

"You may very well die," She said, hugging the girl back with all of the strength she could muster, "But it would be so much better of a death than the life you would live if you stayed here."

With that, reluctantly, they parted ways before the first sunrise.

It took Gaella a very long time to manage to get down to the border to Skyrim. Her father was a trader and as such lived right on the bay, in a city very close to Hammerfell.

She had lost track of time. She didn't know how old she was anymore, though she knew she was still early into her adulthood. She had learned the tricks of speech quickly – as Gleena said, she was smart. All she had to do was watch how people bartered with the merchants and soon she got decent enough prices. No longer could anyone give her a bad deal because she didn't know any better.

And so with her very last piece of jewelry- a horrid gemstone cut into a rose, sent by none other than her to-be husband, she bartered herself a passage to the border of Skyrim.

The caravan wouldn't take her any farther than that border, so she changed into her new traveling clothes and hopped it on foot.

...Right into an Imperial ambush.

What was even more unexpected was meeting Lokir there. The worst part of it was not even knowing his name until the roll was called. She saw him run, and, fearful that he would get away before she could give him this message, this one last thing she had to do before she died, followed him.

And that was how she'd ended up holding Lokir and murmuring to him as he died: his mother's message, and a soft song meant to soothe those that passed on. She held the last person on Tamriel that she could call family, with bound wrists, slowly freezing to death in a roughspun tunic, and sung to him as he died.

That was how Ulfric remembered her, damn it. He remembered that woman with the firey red hair and the weight of the world in her eyes, the woman who put herself in danger of death just to catch a horse thief and sing to him as he died.

While he would never understand (though certainly stealing a horse was no crime to be executed for) why she put herself in danger like that for an act of compassion, he would always respect it. As he walked out of that room he cursed her for having the kind of qualities he wished all his men would possess.

By Talos, he could not lose her. He could not. He could not let that flame burn out, whether it burned by his side or not. But he could not quench it either by forcing her hand, and he could not stand to be the cause of more pain on the poor woman.

For the first time in many, many years, future High King Ulfric Stormcloak, had no idea what to do.