Hello everyone and welcome to the first chapter of "What Once Was Lost"! My name is La Bella Figura and I will be your guide as we join Rysta on her journey throughout Skyrim and (eventually) all of Tamriel.

This story will encompass the main quest line up to a certain point before deviating into entirely new territory. I haven't decided what point that will be yet, but I'm working on ironing those kinks out. The Thieves Guild and Companions will make an appearance, as well as the Dawnguard, in passing.

Please review and let me know what you think- this is my first story on here and I'd love to hear your thoughts, good or bad.

I'll stop talking now. Enjoy!

The Elder Scrolls is © Bethesda. I own nothing you recognize.

Solitude. There's blood. Blood everywhere. On the streets, on the walls of the buildings. On my husband. On our daughter.

"Vampires!"

Chaos. A knife. Hot, unendurable pain. Screams. Someone shouting my name.

"RYSTA!"

Darkness. So much darkness. Unending, ever expanding, all encompassing. I hate it. I don't want to be here. I shouldn't be here. I want out. Let me out! Out!

OUT!

I jolted awake, my breaths coming out in quick gasps and my body shaking. That dream again. Oh Divines how I hated that dream. I blinked away the sting of impending tears and raised my head, finding myself on a cart being driven to who knows where. Glancing around, I saw that I was joined by three other men, all apparent Nords, though one was dressed far nicer than the others. Gagged, too. Wait. I think I knew that face…

"Oh, you're finally awake."

I turned my head to face the blonde Nord sitting directly across from me. A Stormcloak, if I were to judge him by his armor. I blinked, my lips lifting ever so slightly. I hadn't gained the mental stability to speak just yet, but even this small response seemed to encourage him.

"You were trying to cross the border, right?"

I opened my mouth to say that, no, I was actually trying to get back into Skyrim to avoid seeing my extended "family" and got tangled up in the fight because my tunic happened to be blue, but he cut me off without even sparing me a glance, his eyes trained on the road – or was it the gagged man? – behind us.

"Then you walked right into the Imperial ambush, same as us. And that thief over there," he added, like the raggedly-dressed man next to him was of little consequence. I snapped my mouth closed, deciding it would be better to stay out of this conversation. At least until I had a full understanding of what was going on.

"Damn you, Stormcloaks!" The thief retorted, his face twisted in anger. "Skyrim was fine until you came along." He looked down and I could just barely hear him utter "Empire was nice and lazy" before raising his head again. "If they hadn't been looking for you, I could've stolen that horse and been halfway to Hammerfell by now!" I rolled my eyes at the two men, who looked like they were trying to inflict physical harm on each other by thought alone. I cleared my throat, the sound catching both of their attentions.

"You there, Breton," the thief said, his dirt-streaked face turning towards mine. "You and me, we shouldn't be here. It's these Stormcloaks the Empire wants." I scoffed, rolling my eyes but silently thanking the Imperials for leaving my cowl in place, covering my hair and ears. No one needed to know my secret, and no one ever would. Not if I could help it.

"Not much we can do about it now, huh?" I responded, happy that my voice came out relatively clear and strong, despite its dryness. I lifted my arms, showing off the cuffs the Imperials had placed us all in. I frowned as I noticed the redness around my wrists. My skin was chafing. How long had we been in this cart?

"We're all brothers and sisters in binds now, thief," the blonde added, not a little malice coloring his voice.

"Shut up back there," the driver hushed us, and we all sank into a melancholic quiet, each of us pondering what fate our carriage was driving us to. It was a few miles before anyone spoke again.

"What's wrong with him?" The thief suddenly broke the silence, nodding towards the gagged man. The blonde's eyes seemed to spark with anger.

"Watch your tongue! You're speaking to Ulfric Stormcloak, the true High King!" My eyes bugged. I knew I'd seen his face somewhere- this was the Jarl of Windhelm and the murderer of High King Torygg, according to some. Others, like the blonde, believed Torygg's death had been the result of a fair duel. I thought the whole dispute was ridiculous and a result of dual fear and ignorance. Both Nords and Imperials were extremely pigheaded, so they resorted to violence where a meeting between the two factions could easily solve the problem. Or so I thought at the time.

I quit that line of thought after a few seconds. Wait. If the Imperials captured the leader of the rebel faction, then they'd immediately…

Shit.

"Ulfric?" The thief responded. "Oh Gods." Ah, it seemed he'd caught on, too. The thief began to panic, bowing his head. Praying to whatever gods he worshiped, I assumed. I turned towards the Stormcloak.

"Where are they taking us?" I asked, my voice a tad higher than normal. The soldier's eyes caught mine, his expression full of sadness and sympathy.

"I don't know where we're going," he answered, his voice resigned, "but Sovngarde awaits." This seemed to agitate the thief even more, for he started to mumble and rock back and forth.

"No, no! This can't be happening; this can't be happening!"

I turned towards the front of the cart as it crested a hill, and a small city, Helgen I remember it being called, came into view. It was a small town, but gated and well-protected. A wonderful place to live.

Or host an execution.

The Stormcloak and thief seemed to put aside their differences in the face of death, for they were discussing what towns they were from. I tuned them out until the soldier turned to me.

"What of you, Breton? From where do you hail?" I swiveled my head back towards the blonde.

"I'm originally from Bruma but I claim residence in Solitude." Or I did, anyway, I silently added, not bothering to delve into my history when so little time was left.

"General Tullius, sir! The Headsman is waiting!"

That got our attention. The thief began muttering again while Ulfric and Blondie stared straight at the floorboards of the cart. I however looked up, my back straight and head high, just like my mother had taught me, and made eye contact with Tullius.

I knew this man in passing from living in Solitude for the better part of a decade. He and some of his soldiers would occasionally come in to the Winking Skeever after a grueling day of military drills to unwind a bit. Tullius obviously recognized me as well, for his eyes widened before quickly averting, his concentration focusing on the carts rolling through the gate.

"All right," he responded, pointedly looking over my head, probably to Ulfric. "Let's get this over with."

The thief by this point had pretty much completely lost it, pleading for rescue not only from the Divines but some Daedra as well. I slouched back down on the bench, my proper sitting posture obviously useless in this situation. "The only mercy the Divines are going to grant is a quick death," I told him, not unkindly. The poor man was understandably panicked, but he had to get it through his thick Nord skull that there just wasn't a way out of this. It would take something extreme, borderline miraculous, to stop our executions.

I wasn't exactly amenable to dying, as I still felt I had left much undone, but the prospect didn't scare me. After all, I'd died before. I even had the scar on my stomach to prove it. No, this was just a second death, one more permanent than the last.

"Look at him. General Tullius, the military governor. And it looks like the Thalmor are with him."

I had been fine until the word 'Thalmor' was mentioned. Now it was my turn to panic. I followed the soldier's line of sight and sure enough, there stood three Thalmor members, dressed head-to-toe in the traditional black Inquisitor robes. I quickly looked away, raising my hands to my cowl and lowering it down to cover more of my face. The blonde looked over at me, quirking a brow, but said nothing besides "damn elves". After all, why learn the secrets of someone who's going to be dead in the next few minutes?

The carts slowly made their way through the town, passing houses and towers alike. The soldier was saying how he'd had a crush on a meadmaker from here. Apparently her juniper berry mead was famous along this part of the country. I let the words float past me, nothing really catching my eye until I saw a mother trying to get her son into their house.

"But where are they taking them, mom?" he asked, his eyes roving over the carts until they caught mine. "And why is a girl there?" His mother looked over at me, her eyes surprised for a moment before turning sad. "Get inside, Haming," she instructed, her husband following the boy inside and shutting the door behind them. I closed my eyes and buried my head in my knees, willing myself not to cry. A mother was there to protect her children from the harshness of the world and to comfort and console them when they discovered it on their own. I had lost that privilege years ago and I knew I'd never have it again. It's funny. I hadn't really mourned that particular loss until just now. I guess imminent death has a way of making you face your darkest fears and emotions. All your 'what if's and 'if only's.

The carriage rolled to a stop and I looked up, blinking away tears for the second time today.

"What? Why are we stopping?" The thief asked nervously. The blonde chuckled darkly.

"Why do you think?" He quipped. "End of the line. Let's go."

Both carriages began unloading their "passengers", everyone except for me and the thief being either Stormcloak soldiers or the Jarl of Windhelm.

"Wait, stop! We're not rebels!" The thief pleaded with the Imperial soldiers we passed. No one even spared him a glance.

"Face your death with courage, thief," the blonde chastised, although I'm pretty sure he knew it was futile since the horse thief kept rambling on about how it was a mistake.

The prisoners were then documented and checked off a list. I discovered that the blonde soldier's name was Ralof and the thief's was Lokir, although the necessity of that knowledge was short lived as the Nord suddenly ran off in an ultimately futile attempt to escape execution. The captain, an intimidating Imperial woman if I'd ever seen one, called for archers. Lokir was dead not thirty seconds later.

One by one, each prisoner's name and hometown were read aloud. It was after these names were called that the hulking Nord Imperial standing next to the captain told me to come forward. I strode towards them both with all the grace and confidence I could muster, staring straight ahead.

"Who are you?" the large Nord asked.

I sighed quietly before raising my hands to my cowl and lowering it so my head was revealed. I heard one or two gasps and flinched internally. I knew what they saw: a Breton woman in all aspects, save for the diagonal angle of her Altmer-inherited eyes and the unusually long ears that poked out between strands of shoulder length, silvery white hair.

"I am Rysta Vinius, of Solitude." I glared at each Imperial soldier in turn, daring them to say something in rebuttal, even sparing the shell-shocked Thalmor a glance, bold in the face of death. It was the overly-muscled Nord who broke the sudden silence.

"You've picked a bad time to come home," he told me. Like I didn't already know that. "Captain," he said, turning towards the woman. "What should we do? She's not on the list."

I will admit that for a brief, fleeting moment I believed I was going to be released. My hopes were shot down almost immediately by the captain who said I would just be executed with the rest of the prisoners. The Nord returned his gaze to me, his face sympathetic. "Where would you like your remains to be sent?" he asked. I eyed the man, looking him over. He seemed honorable enough. He'd probably follow through on my subsequent request.

"Back to Solitude, where my husband and daughter are," I responded. If it was possible, the soldier's face saddened even more. He nodded solemnly, muttering an apology before writing my information down and motioning me towards the gathered prisoners. I took my place among them, in between Ralof and another soldier whom I did not know.

General Tullius then approached Ulfric Stormcloak, once again ignoring my presence. Coward. The general went on to explain what the Jarl's offense had been, but in a way that made me think of a father scolding a wayward child. It was then that a screeching sound echoed over the mountains and reached our ears.

Everyone, myself included, looked up, searching for the source of the noise. People began to mutter, asking what it could have been. General Tullius waved them off. "It's nothing," he told them. "Carry on."

The captain behind Tullius then instructed the priestess in attendance to give us our last rites. The woman wasn't even a sentence in to it when the soldier to my left walked forward.

"Let's just get this over with," he told them. "I haven't got all morning!"

"As you wish," the captain responded, pushing him on to the block. The headsman raised his axe and brought it down. I shut my eyes a split second before it made contact, preferring to not see the man's head separate from his body.

"Next, the half-elf!"

My eyes popped open just as another screech filled the skies. Again, we all looked up, although this time the distraction was short lived. I looked over at Ralof, fear and sadness etching both of our features. I slowly made my way over to the block and laid myself down. My neck and the collar of my tunic were immediately soaked in the still-warm blood of the Nord who'd died before me, and it took everything I had not to throw up on the executioner's boots. Although that probably would have been a funny last statement to the Empire.

I laid my head on the block and stared defiantly at the headsman, when something flew by behind him, out from the mountains. I gasped, my eyes widening in surprise.

"What in Oblivion is that?" someone, I think General Tullius, cried. No one could answer him as the giant winged creature swooped down and landed on the tower in front of us. Imperial and Stormcloak alike staggered backward at the tremor its landing caused. It paused for a moment, as if assessing the situation, then opened its mouth and released a stream of fire.

It was suddenly chaos. The executioner was hit by falling debris from the first tower, so I quickly got up and followed Ralof inside a second one across the road. As I made my way through the door, one word kept repeating, both in my head and out of the mouths of other terrified people:

Dragon.