This fill deviates a little from the prompt, as I set it after the main quest has been completed and Alduin defeated, and the Civil War questline has been resolved in favor of the Stormcloaks and the Moot as taken place so that Ulfric/Castle is now High King of Skyrim. It takes place a little bit after a year since the event of Helgen.

By The Nines, please Mara let me pull this off without a beta-reader. Julianos, let me write something that's free of typos and Stendarr, allow my tendency for linguistic drift to take a vacation so I won't push Italian grammar upon the English one.

Talos be with me.

The attack had came during a rainy morning, visibility was reduced to nothing and the lookout hadn't noticed the small group of Stormcloak soldiers approaching from the mountain. Taken completely off guard, the small group of bandits couldn't hold their own against the better equipped men as they went scouring through the rooms of the fort, disarming and cuffing them, one by one.

The chief had tried to hold on, but there was little to nothing to do against the skilled magic and powerful Thu'um of the Dovahkiin. The Breton shouted her against the wall of her room, the sudden blow sent her sword and shield flying away from her grasp and despite the heavy steel helmet, she hit her head and lost consciousness.

She woke up hours later, gagged, hands cuffed behind her back, as a soldier pulled her off the back of a cart. They were in Solitude.

The bandit chief sighed. They were going to be judge by the High King himself. That self-righteous prick that had forced war on the land, reducing way too many people to a life of crime. She grunted, as the same man pulled her up on her feet and forced her to walk ahead of her group.

The Winter Palace smelled of beewax, mud and leather. As she walked through the hall and upstairs to the High King throne, she couldn't help but sigh at the memory of her own house in the Falkreath hold, now reduced to a pile of ash. The man holding her arms stopped, forcing her to stop with him, then he grabbed her hair and kicked the back of her legs, forcing her on her knees in front of the High King.

"So here's the bandit that managed to stop all the Caravans in the hold."

His voice was deep, plain and almost bored, as he spoke. She looked up, through the soggy strands of hair she saw a tall man with short brown hair, clean shaven, dressed in the finest clothes she had seen in a long while. He looked so much different from the tales the bards in taverns told. They always described him as a true Nord, but he looked nothing like the rugged typical Nord with long hair and unruly beard, calloused hands and skin marked by the harshness of Skyrim's weather. He wore a worn amulet of Talos, not too different from the one she had beneath her tunic. At least he was coherent enough, his crusade against the Empire and Thalmor had been fuelled by the Nords attachment to their human God. He respected at least that.

"I guess that the bounty on your head would bring results, one day or another, but I never thought you could be a woman."

A scornful grunt escaped her throat, against her will. Her captor's hold on her hair tightened, enough to elicit a whimper of pain.

"Enough," the King ordered. "What's your name?"

The man removed her gag, letting it fall around her bruised neck. "Katherine Beckett." She never used her full name, but she was educated enough to know how to speak in front of the King.

"Imperial?"

"Only my father. My mother was a Nord, from Falkreath Hold."

"I see." He took a moment to look her straight at her, his deep blue eyes felt like lances. "Your crimes dictate death by beheading. The sentence will be executed as soon as it can be organized. Take them to the dungeon, but put the chief in her own cell, away from her comrades. I don't want them conspiring to escape."

That was six weeks before. Last seed had rolled into Hearthfire, the wind chilled as it gusted from the Sea Of Ghosts and the days became shorter. Her fellow highwaymen had been executed, one by one. She was the only one left. More criminals came and went, most of them incarcerated for petty thefts, there were a couple of necromages and more drunkards she could count. The guards treated her fairly. Food arrived every day on time, mead was decent enough. When she had asked, books from the royal library had been delivered to her cell. Upon request, a priest of Talos had been sent to her cell for a prayer. Warmer clothes were provided when the court healer had found her pretty much frozen on her bunk bed.

All her needs were looked after.

Yet, death seemed to defy her. The self proclaimed High King, Jarl Richard Castle of Windhelm, kept her alive for longer than she had expected. Every day was the same routine, she spent her time reading. When she finished the books she had been given, new ones were sent. That lasted for nearly two months.

Until one night, a little bit after she had been ordered to extinguish her candle, she heard muffled voices coming from the guardhouse, then heavy steps that stopped outside her cell. A key turned, and the heavy door opened. A small stripe of light entered the small square space, then a man entered, carrying a washbowl and a jug of water. Inside the washbowl, a small bar of soap. "We can bring more water if you need. Clean yourself up. There are clothes in this bag, towels too," he ordered, as he let a canvas bag fall from his shoulder. "Knock when you're done." Then he exited, locking the door behind him.

That was it. The end. They were going to behead her at first light, and they wanted her clean and properly dressed, to use her as an example. Sighing, she complied. She washed herself, making good use of the little water she had been given. Using the towels, she dried up before the chill of the night turned her in an icicle and she got dressed. The clothes inside the bag were definitely of higher quality, tailored probably. The fur-lined trousers were cut for feminine bodies, so was the wool tunic. The boots were of quality leather too. They were warm also, the cloth woven carefully by skilled artisans. They really wanted her to be an example for the rest of the population.

Cuffed, she was escorted to the Palace though, not the Hall Of The Dead for the last rites before the executioner dropped the axe on her neck. The guards led her upstairs and opened a door, pushed her in, and closed it again.

She was in the High King's private chambers. High King Richard Castle sat at the head of a table, a pewter jug in one hand, quill in the other. When the door closed behind her, he quickly raised his eyes from the parchment in front of him and gestured her to come closer. "Take a seat," he spoke. "Can I offer you a drink? Mead? Wine? Ale perhaps?"

She sat in front of him, the cuffs at her wrists clinked. "Mead would be fine, thank you, Your Highness."

He stood and walked to a cabinet behind him. Beckett noticed he was dressed more normally, and he had a more rugged look. He looked like he hadn't shaved in a while, his hair was longer too, messy even. He looked tired too, as he opened a bottle and poured the amber liquid in a jug.

When he put the jug in front of her, he spoke. "Katherine Beckett, daughter of Thane James Beckett of the Falkreath Hold. Both parents found dead after a Thalmor attack."

"I see you asked information about me."

He nodded and sat back at his seat. "The Jarl remembered your father. He told me you disappeared when your parents died."

"I ran away from the Elves. I never gave up worshipping Talos, like my parents. They wanted me dead," she replied.

"You could have joined the Stormcloaks," he added. "People like you were always welcome."

"I didn't belive in your war."

High King Castle remained silent for a moment and narrowed his eyes, then he took a sip from his jug. "Why not?"

"Because yours was a crusade for the throne, not for the right to keep worshipping Talos, like you boasted. You wanted the High Throne for yourself, and exploited the White Gold Concordant to do so."

"Many people seems to think it too. I don't really know why though."

"You're on the throne. You're the King now. You got what you wanted."

"Yes, I got what I and thousands of others Nords wanted, we kicked a corrupted Empire reduced to be the puppet of the Thalmor out of Skyrim. I was elected at the Moot, like every other King since the dawn of time."

She chuckled. "You think I believe you?"

He shrugged. "I don't care what you think," he said. "I just want to know how the daughter of a respected Thane became a bandit pillaging caravans."

"Your war destroyed my family. Your war forced me to be a criminal. Those bandits helped me. We just did what we had to survive. With all the due respect, Your Highness, your lust for power made me become a bandit."

Again, he didn't answer. His silence made her feel awkward, as he stared at her from the other side of the table. He slouched on the wooden chair, while she sat upright like a proper lady. That man had used his Thu'um to kill his predecessor, and he was now deciding how to kill her, probably.

"I'm sorry."

That made her jump on the chair. "What?"

"I'm sorry you had to become a criminal because of me. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a nation to guide. Guard!" he called. The door opened. "Escort our guest to her quarters, make sure she gets some rest before we leave for Windhelm.."

"What?"

"You're the daughter of a thane. I intend to treat you like one, while I decide if you deserve to die or just sent to the silver mines in Markhart. My Thane, the one you call Dovahkiin, made me notice you never actually killed anyone, the law enforces execution only for murders, but banditism is a crime on the razor's edge. And I have matters to attend in Windhelm, so you're coming with me."

She was confused, to say the least. "But what about my…"

"Your companions are now scattered around Skyrim, paying for their crimes with the sweat of their brows. Rolf of Ivaarstead is in Markhart, he's now a miner. Lod of Dawnstar is back in his hometown, working with the locals to rebuild the Nightcaller Temple. Skaal of Whiterun is back with the Companions, working for free so he pays for everything he has stolen. I can give you their location, if you want to know where they are."

She nodded. "Thank you. I really appreciate it."

"I'll have it delivered as soon as my steward can copy it. Now get some rest, we leave at dawn."

Probably a two or three shot. Rating may go up. Give me time, I've got a lot of stuff to do, but I intend to continue this. I like Skyrim too much to leave it like this.