A Stranger in Skyrim 9

Chapter Nine: Whiterun

In which water runs downhill.

She walked into the city, looking around. She smelled the tang of hot metal in the air; to the right, she saw a smithy.

“I just can't fill an order of that size on my own!” A woman's voice protested. The voice, unsurprisingly, belonged to a female. She wore a heavy leather apron over a dress – why was it every woman wore a dress? She promised herself then that she would avoid the damn things at all costs. “Why don't you swallow that stubborn pride of yours and ask Eorlund Gray-Mane for help?”

Mariah didn't catch the rest of the conversation, though; she was already on her way uphill, past the smithy.

The rain finally abated as she passed a sign that read it belonged to the “Drunken Huntsman.” She was still soaking wet, but at least now there was a chance she'd dry off. Damn, but she was already getting chilly. She'd have to warm herself, and dry off, by a fire.

The high pitched ringing was not going away. Picking that plant felt more and more like a bad idea.

Her legs did not appreciate being forced uphill after her earlier pace. She thought happy thoughts at them, as she had on excessively long walks in the past. Picturing a well of green energy at her core, she let that power trickle down into her legs, soothing the pain. Meditating that way had always eventually worked, but this time, it worked almost instantly. She blinked, blinked again. Hu-uh. She knelt in the middle of the market square, feeling the hard calf muscles. No pain. That was a relief, but ….

It was strange.

She felt the burns on her arms with her fingertips. Willing that same power towards her arms, she felt the throbbing pain dissipate.

She marveled at her hands. Mind over matter?

No.

Magic. Magic over matter.

A soft grin lit her face. She continued up a long, open stairway towards Dragonsreach.

A large, dead tree dominated the next tier of the city. She walked up to it, resting her hand on its smooth bark, sadly. She liked nature.

“I know your family's honor is important to you, but we can't afford it!” A woman's voice spoke up behind her, and she turned to look at the speaker. She had crossed a small bridge to get to the tree. Another such bridge seemed to lead towards a residential area, across which two … well, they wouldn't be African-American, or even African, because neither Africa, nor America, existed in … what had the Khajiit called it? Tamriel?

Regardless, two brown-skinned people (Gods all forbid she call them 'black'), were talking. The woman had her arms folded.

The man responded, clearly frustrated. “It took me weeks to find that thieves' den! I can't stop now, and I can't get the sword on my own!”

“So you're willing to starve your wife and daughter to reclaim some rusty old sword?” She didn't sound impressed.

He shook his head, hands outstretched. “I just need to hire one, maybe two good men. You won't starve!”

“I'll put it plainly. You can claim your sword, or you can keep your wife,” she said, harshly. “If you set foot outside the gate, I won't be here when you return.”

The man walked a few steps towards the woman. “Saffir! Wait! I ….”

She leaned on the railing. It wasn't her business, but … no. She wasn't some kind of hero, she didn't know the man, it didn't make sense to –

He walked towards her, sighing, dejectedly. Without seeing her, he nearly tripped over her. “Oh – ah, I'm sorry. Did you hear that?”

She nodded quietly. “You were arguing.”

He shook his head slightly. “My Saffir doesn't like that I've been spending so much time looking for my father's sword. He fed his whole family with the money he made using that weapon! I'm not going to let it gather dust in some thief's trophy room!”

She frowned slightly. “Do you need help finding the sword?”

“I tracked it to a group of bandits nearby. But I'm no fool. I'd need the Whiterun guard, or maybe the Companions to get it.” He looked her over. “I don't know why I'm saying this, but … if you find it out in your travels, I'd be grateful.”

She tilted her head. “Where did you say it was?”

“A little cave, not far from here. It's called 'Redoran's Retreat,' and it's filled to the brim with bandits. If you go there, be careful. I don't want your blood on my hands.”

She smiled, a little uncertainly. “I'm not sure I'm the one you want,” she admitted. “I'm no kind of warrior … If I do find it, I'll bring it back, though.”

He nodded. “That's all the more I can really ask for.” He continued on his way, and she on hers.

She passed the tree, and a small hand tugged at her still-damp sleeve. “Lady – could you spare a coin?”

She frowned slightly, looking down.

It was a girl, a small child, really, with short-cropped brown hair. She was wearing a dirty, green skirt, with a poorly-mended rip in it. Shaking her head, Mariah shifted her backpack around, sliding it off her shoulders. That done, she fished around in it until she found the coinpurse. “Why are you begging?” She asked it conversationally.

“It's … it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one who's been nice to me since mama … since she died. My aunt and uncle took over the farm, and they threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything.” She felt the frown deepen. That wasn't right … that wasn't the kind of thing anyone should say to a child. “I wound up here,” the girl continued. “But I … I don't know what to do. I miss her so much ….”

She really didn't have much money, herself, but she counted out five coins, and handed them to the girl. “Here. It isn't much, but I hope it'll do.”

The girl's eyes widened, and she threw her arms around Mariah in a hug. “You're the best!” Pulling away, the girl looked up at her, seriously. “Could you be my mama?”

Looking down into those wide, innocent eyes, she swallowed heavily. She had to force herself to shake her head, quietly. “I'm sorry … I don't have anyplace for you to live.” Would Alvor be willing …? He was a blacksmith; surely he could afford to feed one extra mouth? She'd have to ask, after she returned to Riverwood. She just couldn't let the poor girl starve. “If I get more money, I'll make sure you get some of it, okay?”

“I … okay.” The girl sounded slightly disappointed.

She smiled, encouragingly, reaching out to pat the girl's shoulder. “Now … I've got to go talk to the Jarl, but afterward, I'll come see you again, all right? I'll be at the big old dead tree, and we can talk some more.”

“Okay!” The girl brightened considerably at that. “Thanks again.”

She nodded, slinging the backpack over her shoulder. “No problem.”

The staircase up to Dragonsreach was a long one. It passed a large waterfall – in fact, the entire city seemed to be decorated with channels for waterways. It was pretty.

Eventually, she managed to ascend to the top of the staircase, huffing and puffing. She felt like she was going to fall flat on her face.

Ugh.

She trudged across the latest in a series of bridges, to a massive set of double doors. Opening them, she stepped inside.

Dragonsreach was impressive. From the outside, it had been a massive castle.

From the inside, it was a massive castle with a tall, arched roof, supported by pillars carved with intricate designs that resembled Celtic knotwork. A long, patterned rug led from the entryway to another set of stairs. She looked up – and up. Light poured in through a massive, circular window. Two chandeliers hung from central arches. She suspected these would light the keep at night, but how anyone lit them was a mystery for the ages. Maybe magic. She actually kind of hoped it was magic.

A man's voice echoed from the far end of the keep while she stood, hands on her thighs, trying to catch her breath. “– there's no telling … my lord, please ….”

Her lungs slowly stopped burning. She looked over, to see a woman with a broom looking at her oddly. “Your hair,” she explained. “It's blue.”

“I'm aware.”

She set off towards the far end of the throne room. At least she'd dried some on the long, mostly-vertical walk; she wasn't dripping all over the fine carpets.

“What would you have me do then?” A man's heavily-accented voice demanded, echoing from the walls. “Nothing?”

Another responded, sounding worried. “My lord, please. This is no time for rash action ….”

As she walked up the stairs, she saw a woman coming towards her. The woman's skin was ashy-gray, she noticed that much first, along with the severe, angular features. She was a redhead, with brilliant crimson eyes, and under all that hair, Mariah noticed pointed ears. That would be an elf, then. She tried not to stare.

The woman also had a sword drawn, and it was pointed at her. “What's the meaning of this interruption? Jarl Balgruuf is not receiving visitors.”

Oh good, she was in the right place after all.

“Alvor sent me,” she explained once more. “Riverwood is in danger.”

The woman frowned, eyes narrowed. “As housecarl, my job is to deal with all dangers that threaten the Jarl or his people, so you have my attention. Now, explain yourself.”

“A dragon has destroyed Helgen, and last I saw? It was heading this way.”

The woman's eyes widened, then, she took a sharp breath. “You know about Helgen? The Jarl will want to speak to you personally. Approach.”

So she did, walking down a large banqueting hall that was lined with tables. A massive firepit sat at the center of the hall, warming it with an open bonfire.

She couldn't imagine that passing a the fire safety inspection. The floors were wooden. Still, the heat was nice, and the firepit was lined with stone. It would probably be all right, although she would still not be surprised to hear the whole keep burned down in the night.

All of this helped to distract her as she walked up to meet with Whiterun's most important man.

A Stranger in Skyrim 8

Chapter Eight: Death

In which the powers that be cheat.

The day had dawned gray – it started raining almost as soon as she got out from under the awning. She was glad she didn't have to wear glasses anymore; the rain couldn't blind her as easily. She crossed a very solid-looking stone bridge, and sure enough, there was a signpost. The sheer number of towns listed was a little overwhelming, but she was surprised to realize she recognized most of them. Helgen – where she'd almost gotten executed. Riverwood, where she'd been staying. Windhelm, that was where Jarl Ulfric was from, Whiterun, her destination, and Solitude, where she was headed next.

So, she followed the cobbled road in the direction the sign pointed her. A sheer cliff ran on her left, the river on her right. Trees and other, smaller plants lined the path. Every so often, she passed a lamppost. Despite the rain, she felt as though this would be a good day. At the very least, it couldn't be as bad as yesterday.

Two wolves lunged out of the brush. One of them growled at her, the other lunged for her throat. Everything went dark ….

She was standing outside of Alvor's house again. The men were talking again, but she couldn't hear them over the rain that had just begun falling.

She felt like she'd missed something, something important.

But then, she got that feeling a lot. She ignored it, and began walking.

The scenery was beautiful, but something was amiss. She felt … on edge. The small hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and she edged closer to the cliff face, moving slowly and quietly.

When the wolves howled, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

That was it. That was what the sense of danger was about. Well … she was fairly certain she could handle a pair – it sounded like a pair – of overgrown dogs. Drawing one of the broadswords, she held her left hand ready. Magic tingled in her fingertips, pouring down her arm. She looked down, and was rewarded with the sight of thin, faint sparks jumping between them.

Perfect.

The cliff face gave way to lower ground, and the beginnings of a forest. One of the wolves jumped out at her. It grabbed her left wrist in its powerful jaws, and the magic died before she could use it. Instead, she drove her sword into its throat. It let go, whining loudly. She ripped the blade free, blood spurting all over her, and it fell to the ground, bleeding out. She shook her head. Senseless beast. From everything she'd read, wolves generally avoided humans. People standing on their hind legs was supposed to be an intimidating sight for the animals.

Well, she'd tell the author of that particular bit of falsehood to go fuck himself. Looking around, she failed to spot the other wolf she'd heard. Maybe it had run off. She wasn't going to question her luck, that was for damned sure. She continued on, hurrying past that patch of forest and down the winding road until, in the distance, the city came into view. It was impressive, rising up above the landscape around it, dominating the landscape around it. That could only be Whiterun; she'd just passed a roaring waterfall, and she was supposed to be able to see it from that point.

Well then.

She set off purposefully down the road, lengthening her strides. She couldn't run for shit, but she could certainly manage a swift walk. The sooner she made it to Whiterun, the better for everyone.

She passed by a large, businesslike building. The sign read “Honningbrew Meadery,” and the place smelled, even from a distance, a bit like alcohol. Not someplace she figured she'd ever need to be; although she'd always been a little curious as to what mead tasted like, she could smell alcohol on pretty much anything, and it wasn't a smell she much cared for.

She continued walking, though she did eventually have to slow her pace. She was a bit out of breath already. Pausing beside a lamp-post, not that it provided any shelter whatsoever from the rain, she looked around, frowning as she spotted a faint glow in the river.

Curious, she went to check it out. She discovered it to be a small, leafy plant, and she could hear an odd, high, ringing in her ears that only grew louder as she neared it.

Huh. Must be magic. She carefully pulled it out of the ground, finding the task surprisingly easy, but then, it was the soft mud of a riverbank, not the hard dirt she was used to. She took the plant, roots and all, and carefully deposited it in her backpack. The chiming continued at a low rate from inside her backpack. That … could get annoying.

Quickly.

She hurried on her way, past a horse-drawn carriage and a stable. She saw a tent – or at least, she thought it was a tent – made entirely of chopped up animal hides. Curious, she went to investigate; it was only a little out of her way, after all.

“Between the war and the return of the dragons,” a soft, rolling voice murmured, “I wonder if we should not leave Skyrim, and ply our trade elsewhere.”

Another voice answered. “I admit, the dragons are a concern, but we can avoid them if we do not stay in one place for too long.”

“That may be, but what of the war?” The first voice countered. “That is not so easy to escape from.”

Surprise tinted the second voice. “The war? That is not a reason to leave, it is a reason to stay.”

“And what makes you think that?”

The second voice responded in the kind of tone one reserved for a slow child. “Because war is good for business, of course.”

She'd been keeping her head low, the hood of her robe hanging in her face, to try and avoid getting rain in her eyes as much as possible, so when she approached the tent, she didn't immediately look up. When she did, she stood staring for a moment, the words snatched from her throat. A figure had emerged from the tent, only it wasn't human. A cat. It looked kind of like a cat, covered entirely in fur, but standing on two legs. Okay, she could handle that. She'd never seen a fursuit in real life before, but she knew the dimensions for the head piece were much larger than the feline's head, so whatever the creature was, it appeared to be the real deal.

“Well?” It asked. “Are you going to make a purchase, or does Khajiit return inside where it is warm, and not so wet?”

She continued to stare for a moment, before shaking her head to clear it.

“Sorry – I – sorry. Is Khajiit your name?” Not the brightest question she could have asked, but he sounded like a third-person person. Obviously, he was referring to himself, but ….

The cat looked at her. He just looked at her, as though she were an idiot, and she felt small.

“Ri'saad is a Khajiit. We are all Khajiit, just as you are human. Have you never seen a Khajiit before?” She glanced over at the other people in the camp. One was chopping firewood, his long, soaking-wet tail swishing. Two were talking by a large, sputtering bonfire. One of them appeared to be a female, though Mariah noted dully that she only appeared to have two breasts.

She shook her head. “Never. Where I come from, your people don't exist,” she explained. “It's good to meet you. You said something about a purchase … ?” She asked, hesitantly.

The cat's smile shone mostly in his eyes, though his whiskers twitched and his lips curled ever so slightly. “Of course, of course. Khajiit has goods from all over Skyrim, all over Tamriel. Take a look!” He ushered her into the tent, which was lined with tables filled with all kinds of goods, though none that were particularly exotic to her tastes. Her hand was drawn to one in particular, though, a sword that seemed to call out to her to handle it. She drew it from its sheath, inspecting the metal. It wasn't particularly ornate, but it was … well-made, she decided. And there was a shimmer to it, something that was hard to define.

“Ah, the human is a mage. Ri'saad thought as much, from the robes. That is a sword of souls. If you have free a soul gem, the sword will capture the soul of any creature you slay.” She looked at it in wonder, then sheathed it.

She shook her head, sadly. “I doubt I can afford it. Alvor only gave me a little money for the road,” she explained.

“Ah, a traveler. Perhaps this one would be interested in more practical things?”

She set the sword aside, looking over at him as he shuffled around some items on another table.

“Ri'saad has many things for the traveler, yes?”

Ultimately, she didn't end up purchasing anything, once again pleading her hardship, but she promised to come back when she had more gold to spend.

The cat seemed to be content with that, and she continued on her way.

Men in uniform manned tall, wooden guard posts, looking down at her as she passed.

From a distance, the city had looked fine. Up close, she noted that the stone walls appeared to be crumbling, and the wooden parts looked rather rickety. She was pretty sure she wouldn't be willing to trust her life to either one, especially since she was relatively overweight. Of course she didn't look it; she had a rather large frame. Nevertheless, she suspected she was more than a match for the

thin wooden planks that had clearly seen the worst Mother Nature had to throw at them.

One of the uniformed guards approached her as she approached the front gate. “Halt,” he said, very officiously. She didn't much care for his tone, the way he looked down at her. “City's closed with dragon's about. Official business only.”

“Alvor sent me,” she explained. “Riverwood's in danger.”

His eyes widened beneath the mask. “Riverwood, too? You'd best go on inside. You'll find the Jarl up in Dragonsreach.” He opened the gate for her, ushering her inside.

A Stranger in Skyrim 7

Chapter Seven: Restful Sleep

In which she goes to sleep.

She spent the next several hours – until well after dark – reading the spellbook by the firelight. She had been delighted to discover that she could read the strange language as well as she could understand it and speak it. She would have stayed up even later; after all, she was a night person. However, before long, she found herself yawning as the foreign letters blurred together in a jumble.

She couldn't wait to practice the principles she'd learned. The book had started off with a primer on destruction magic in general, before delving into the specifics.

Her mind was whirring as she finally set aside the book. She curled up in the bedroll Sigrid had set out for her by the fire and closed her eyes, but she knew she'd never get to sleep.

She opened her eyes, and she realized with some alarm that she was driving, had been driving, and the car jerked sharply to the right, swerving dangerously close to the blue pickup beside her. The owner of said pickup swerved to avoid her, honking loudly. She saw a middle finger go up in her direction, not that she could blame him.

How had she gotten here?

She overcompensated for her initial error, letting the vehicle pull to the left. Her tires rolled up onto the curb, and back off of it, thumping loudly both times, before she finally managed to steady the car. That would totally help the already-shot alignment, she was sure.

She clutched the wheel with both hands, pulling slightly to the right and staring at the stupid, cheesy, cheetah-print wheel-cover.

Okay, okay. She could handle this. She was driving to work. Mom wasn't in the car. She glanced to the right, confirming that yes, she'd bought burgers again, her guilty pleasure.

The dream had felt so real, she would swear she could still feel the warmth of the fire –

And, suddenly, she was back, opening her itchy, watery eyes. Feather pillow, of course she was allergic. She sneezed, then sneezed again, scrubbing at her face. She shoved the pillow away, under the bed next to her. Resting her head on her arms, she let her eyes drift shut again. She was exhausted.

She'd made it safely to work. She was walking in the front door when she dropped back in. She stumbled for a moment, pressing her palm to her face. Something was seriously wrong here.

Collecting herself, she pressed her badge against the electronic lock, letting herself into the building.

It was eerily normal. She passed someone she knew, waved a greeting. Her locker, number fifty-four, where she knelt, opened the lock, and deposited her phone. Everything in the locker was exactly where she remembered it, including the three boxes of energy bars from back when she was still eating those, and the instant rice dinner that had been in there for a week. Fortunately, neither item was particularly perishable. She rested her forehead against the cool, ridged metal of the locker above hers.

What was wrong with her?

She'd finally lost it. That was the only possible explanation. She'd gone completely and totally mad.

Well, at least it had been interesting so far ….

What had happened while she was 'gone,' though? She racked her brain, and found the information was just there. Eat, sleep, work, video games. She'd started up a new playthrough of Vampire on a whim last night, after installing it on the new computer, and stayed up until four again.

More worrying, she still remembered the foreign tongue. Every detail about the other world still shone clear and bright in her mind.

She shook her head. She didn't have time to think about that, not if she wanted to get into work on time. Bad enough she'd nearly killed herself in the car earlier, but she couldn't afford to even be late at this point, or they'd have grounds to fire her. It was just … her real life, her job, none of it interested her as much as her games.

She made the short trip to her mom's desk. It was relatively close to her own. She dropped off the two remaining burgers, then paused. Dream or not, it had felt pretty real. If she died – really died – what would happen to her mom? The thought unsettled her, and she hugged her mom tightly around the shoulders, resting her chin on her head. Suddenly, tears welled up, and she swallowed heavily, trying not to cry. She felt herself shaking. It was just too much.

Her mom hit the mute button on the phone, turning in her chair to look up at her. “What's wrong?”

She shook her head, unable to speak at first. Pushing her glasses back up on her forehead, she rubbed at her eyes. “Nothing – it's nothing.” She offered a watery smile, and her mom stood up, giving her a real hug. That was exactly what she needed. “I love you.” She squeezed back. She sniffled, loudly, then pulled away. “I – I've got to get to my desk.”

She sat down in her chair, stared at her computer, and wondered how the hell she was going to make it through the day.

She woke right as she was sitting down for the night to play; therefore, she woke disgruntled. It probably didn't help that she hadn't really expected to come back. Her other dreams abandoned her after a single night, so why should this one continue to invade her thoughts?

Still …

She looked up at the ceiling, thoughtfully. She could still see perfectly, that hadn't gone away. She reached up to feel at her eyes, but she knew she wouldn't find any contacts there. By now, they would have become dry and scratchy, and her eyes felt fine. She took stock of her situation, of how she was feeling. She'd missed three doses of her meds so far, and yet, nothing. No withdrawal symptoms, no crushing depressions, nothing.

She was worried, a little bit. Of course she was.

She was clearly going mad, and that generally wasn't a good thing. Popping back into the real world just reinforced the fact that this one was nothing more than a vivid hallucination. She felt her arms, wincing as she found the burns there. They'd been throbbing a little, but she'd been ignoring that.

So, the dream had a sense of continuity about it. Wonderful.

She sat up, looking around. The room was exactly as she remembered it, although the table had been cleaned off. It was some kind of one-room affair, with chairs, beds, a table, and a kitchen, all rolled up into one place. Very cozy, though.

She got out of the bedroll, which had, surprisingly, survived the night in one piece. Apparently she'd been too tired to really toss and turn as she normally did. That done, she carefully folded the blankets up. Fishing under the bed, she found the feather pillow. This, she set neatly atop the covers.

Her stomach growled loudly, neatly coinciding with Sigrid walking up the stairs from the basement. “Ah, you're finally awake.”

She nodded. “I don't suppose you have anything for me to eat before I head out?” Standing, she smoothed out the rumpled robe she'd slept in. The wrinkles fell away, leaving it flawless. Like magic. She shook her head. Hopefully it had better enchantments than that. She'd take a wrinkly, stained, old robe, as long as it did something useful for her.

Ha. She was already getting used to the idea of magic, to the point where she was really thinking about how useful an enchantment was. Apparently that was a side effect of playing video games so much ….

“Of course, of course. What did you want to eat?” Sigrid smiled warmly.

She thought for a moment. “Scrambled eggs? With, maybe, some cheese?”

A nod. Sigrid went about gathering the supplies to make the dish. Mariah sat down to continue reading her book. Apparently the idea was simple. That fizzy feeling, like carbonation in her veins, was magic. She had to draw that power out, while focusing on the idea of lightning. Other than that, it was supposed to be fairly basic. Point in the right direction, and let loose the power of the gods.

Setting the book aside, she looked down at her hands. Draw the power out – she wasn't sure how to do that. She focused on the fizzy feeling, imagined it flowing from her core into her hands. There came a tingle in her fingertips, and she focused on just a tiny seed of lightning, holding her hands slightly apart.

She thought she saw something flicker between them, a moment before Sigrid interrupted her meditation. “Breakfast is ready.” The woman proceeded to set her plate on the table, a knife and an odd, two-pronged fork beside it. She also poured some kind of hot liquid into a mug, next to that. “I made you some tea, I hope that's all right. I imagine you must be thirsty by now.”

Mariah nodded, smiling warmly as she stood, walking to the table and sitting down again. She dug in, eagerly, finding herself famished. Her hunger made the rather average plate of eggs into a gourmet feast fit for a king – no, a Jarl, she reminded herself. If she was stuck here, she'd have to learn the slang. The tea was good, some kind of herbal mix with just a little honey in it. She debated on whether or not to drink it at first, but then, she didn't figure it likely she'd encounter Montezuma's Revenge when the water had obviously been boiled – at least, she hoped she wouldn't. She had no interest in any kind of stomach irritation on top of her other problems.

Besides, she reminded herself. It was a dream. People didn't get sick in dreams.

“We didn't think you'd ever wake up.” Sigrid smiled, teasing. “How late were you up reading?”

She shook her head. “I don't really know, to be honest. The book is fascinating, though. Magic doesn't exist, where I'm from, so to see it discussed like a science is really interesting. It makes me feel like I could probably master it, even.”

“Really? No magic, at all?” Sigrid looked curious. “I can't imagine that,” she confessed.

She nodded. “I mean, we have stories about magic, monsters, and the like, but none of it's real. Right now there's this huge vampire craze going on. People think they're sexy, but … well. People aren't very smart, in general.”

“There's been talk of vampire attacks lately,” Sigrid said it grimly. “Young women with their throats ripped out, things like that. I doubt your people would find that … 'sexy.'”

Another nod. “I know, I know. I wouldn't know what to do if I met one in real life, if I knew what it was, I mean. Probably, it'd try to eat me, and not in the good way, and then I'd have to try and kill it, and it just wouldn't go over well.”

“They say,” Sigrid said, her voice serious, “that if a vampire so much as scratches you, you'll turn into one, yourself.”

She shook her head, this time. “See, and I don't buy that. It's probably some kind of blood-borne disease, since they're all about blood. I'd imagine you'd have to bite the vampire to catch vampirism.” She grinned a bit at the irony. In Soviet Russia, you bite vampire.

“Well, that's beside the point anyway. There aren't any vampires in Riverwood.”

Mariah nodded. “I'm sure you'd know if there were.”

“Exactly.”

After that, there wasn't much discussion left. She finished eating quickly. Finger-combing her hair, she managed to get it into some kind of order – probably, anyway. Sigrid loaned her a pair of shoes that fit much better than the oversized Imperial boots. Then, it was time to leave. She collected her things, heading out the door and to the right, where the forge was.

The men were talking about something or other, she didn't quite catch it, and they fell silent when she approached. Odd, but not worth worrying about.

“Hey, Alvor,” she said with a slightly-uncertain smile. “I was wondering if I could sell you the armor I'd brought with me. I'm kind of new to Skyrim and I don't actually have any money. I figure I'm going to need some, for the road.”

He nodded once. “I would have given you some gold to get started without the need for that, but I'll take the armor off of your hands if you're not going to use it, sure.” He had her sit the armor down on a workbench nearby, then handed her a small coinpurse. Her loose gold went into the coinpurse, then the coinpurse went into her backpack.

“Thank you.”

Hadvar walked over to her then, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Listen, I'm going to lay up here for a while. You can make your own way to Solitude from here. After you meet up with the Jarl, hire the carriage to take you to north, all right?” She nodded.

“We'll see each other again soon.” He smiled down at her. “Now, get going.”

So, she did.

A Stranger in Skyrim 6

Chapter Six: The People of Riverwood

In which people chatter incessantly.

They made it to Riverwood shortly after that, walking at a somewhat more leisurely pace now that the town itself was in sight. It looked … peaceful. There was a a high wall, yes, but no one manned the walkway. Thatched buildings lined the road, and growing plants were everywhere. She saw signs hanging from some of the buildings – those would be shops, probably.

“Things look quiet enough here. Come on, there's my uncle.” Hadvar broke into a tired-looking run, heading for the shop on the left, it looked like. She followed at a more sedate pace. She was worn out already. No point in making it worse.

A woman was shouting as she walked into town. “A dragon! I saw a dragon!”

“What is it now, mother?” A man in a yellowish shirt responded, sounding exasperated.

The woman pitched her voice deliberately so that everyone in town could hear her. “It was as big as the mountain and black as night! It flew right over the barrow!”

“Dragons now, is it?” He sighed. “Please, mother. If you keep going on like this, everyone in town will think you're crazy. And I've got better things to do than listen to more of your fantasies.” He walked away from his own mother, ignoring her. Mariah decided she didn't much care for yellow-shirt. Especially since his mother had the right of it, after all.

The old woman called after her son, hands on her hips. “You'll see! It was a dragon! It'll kill us all and then you'll believe me!”

Mariah walked up behind the woman, tapping her on the shoulder.

“What?”

She smiled. “I believe you, ma'am. I saw the dragon with my own eyes.”

“Are you – are you making fun of me?”

She shook her head, feeling the smile fade somewhat. “Why would I – ?”

“Because I won't stand for it!” She folded her arms, sounding defensive.

Mariah held her hands up, placatingly. “I'm not making fun of you, I swear.”

“You're not?”

She shook her head for emphasis. “I'm not.”

There was a long pause.

“Your hair is blue.”

A nod, this time, she let her hands fall to her sides. Damn, but she needed pockets. There was nothing to stuff her hands into. “I'm aware.”

“Nobody will believe you, you know.”

She tilted her head to the side. “I'm sure I can convince them.” She stepped back. “Anyway, that's all I had to say.” She gave a little half-bow, then turned to walk toward the shop. The sign depicted an anvil in an oversized horseshoe, wrought in iron. The blacksmith's place, which would belong to Hadvar's uncle. Both Hadvar and his uncle had already disappeared inside, so she knocked on the door.

A woman in a dress and apron opened it. “I'm sorry,” she began, “But we're eating dinner. Can I help you, miss …?”

“Mariah. I'm Hadvar's friend.” She smiled her most charming smile.

The woman looked to her right for a moment. Hadvar's voice, just loud enough for her to hear, said, “It's all right, she's the one I was telling you about.”

“Well! Any friend of Hadvar's is welcome here. Come on in.” The woman stepped to the side, and she walked into the cozy little room. The first thing she noticed was the furs, covering the wooden floor and walls. Part of her felt sad, because she knew real animals had died to make them, but part of her reveled in the feel of the warm fur between her still-damp toes. She had yet to put the ill-fitting boots back on. She felt a little guilty, dripping all over the rug, but she didn't have much choice in the matter.

A man in a red shirt spoke next, a smile on his face. “Come in, come in. Set that armor down, warm yourself by the fire.” So, she did, setting the armor, and her backpack, by the door. She sat down by the fireplace, her back to the fire.

“You must be hungry.” The woman smiled, looking between them. “Let me get you two something to eat.” She walked over to the cooking pot as Hadvar took a seat at the table.

The man looked over at Hadvar. “Now, then, boy, what's the big mystery? What are you doing here, looking like you lost an argument with a cave bear?”

“I don't know where to start.” Hadvar shook his head. “You know I was assigned to General Tullius's guard. We were stopped in Helgen when we were attacked … by a dragon.”

The man – Hadvar's uncle – sounded incredulous. “A dragon? That's … ridiculous! You aren't drunk, are you boy?”

“Husband, let him tell his story,” the woman protested.

Hadvar sighed. “Not much more to tell. This … dragon … flew over, and just wrecked the whole place. Mass confusion. I don't know if anyone else got out alive. I doubt I'd have made it myself, if not for my friend here.”

“That's a little too generous. I didn't do much.” She looked down and away, but she could feel it when all eyes fell on her. “Well, it's true. I'm no soldier, I barely held my own.”

Hadvar shook his head. “What about the spiders, hm? Or when you killed that Stormcloak who got behind me, or the time you fought off two of them single-handedly? You did well, trust me.” She felt herself blushing. She'd been lucky, that was all.

“Anyway, I need to get back to Solitude and let them know what's happened. I was hoping, maybe, you could help us out? Food, supplies, a place to stay, that sort of thing?” Hadvar looked hopefully at his uncle. “Please?”

The man smiled. “Of course, any friend of yours is a friend of mine. I'm glad to help however I can.” He turned to look at her, expression serious. “But, I need your help. We need your help.” Of course there was a catch. She wasn't really surprised, though – nor could she say she blamed him. He continued. “The Jarl needs to know if there's a dragon on the loose. We need to get word to Jarl Balgruuf in Whiterun to send whatever soldiers he can. If you'll do that for me, I'll be in your debt.”

She was exhausted – whatever else, she wasn't making the trip tonight, certainly. “All right, but … how do I get to Whiterun from here?”

“Cross the river, and then head north. You'll see it, just past the falls.”

She nodded. “Across the river, head north,” she repeated. She had no idea which way north even was. She'd never learned that kind of skill, had never needed to. Hopefully there would be signs posted – and, hopefully, she'd be able to read them.

He nodded. “Now, when you get to Whiterun, just keep heading up. When you get to the top of the hill, you'll be at Dragonsreach, the Jarl's palace.”

“Okay ...” She considered for a second, then shrugged. She might as well ask it now. “So … a Jarl is some kind of a leader, right? What can you tell me about this Jarl?”

He looked at her for a second, a little confused. “Jarl Balgruuf? He rules Whiterun hold. He's a good man, perhaps over-cautious, but these are dangerous times. So far he's managed to stay out of the war, but that can't last.”

“The war? With the Stormcloaks, then? Which side does he favor?”

He looked thoughtful. “I don't think the Jarl likes either Ulfric or Elisif much. Who can blame him? But I've no doubt he'll prove loyal to the Empire in the end. He's no traitor.”

“Who's Elisif?” Another player, presumably the Empire's pick, but ….

Another look. As though he couldn't quite believe his ears. “Ah … you're new to Skyrim, then? Jarl Elisif, I should say, although only because she was married to Jarl Torygg when he was killed.”

“Who's Jarl Torygg?” She looked at him, in return, confused.

The man sighed. “Torygg was the High King of Skyrim. Ulfric murdered Torygg, you know. Walked right into Solitude and killed him. Shouted him to death, if you believe the stories.”

“Shouted? With some kind of magic?”

He nodded. “You could say that. They call it the Voice.” The General had called it that, as well. So that was why they'd gagged Ulfric … “It's a power that only a select few can master, and they say that Ulfric Stormcloak is one of that few.”

“Good to know.” She decided it was time for a change in topic, then. “Is it all right if I stay here for the night? I don't think I can make the trip tonight.”

He nodded. “Of course, of course. I need to get back to work – Sigrid will take care of you.”

“Thanks.”

A Stranger in Skyrim 5

Chapter Five: The Road

In which everything is calm for a moment.

“Wait!”

There came a loud whoosh from above – she shielded her eyes against the sun, looking up, to see the dragon winging its way across the sky.

Hadvar had more sense. He crouched in the shadow of a big rock until the dragon passed with a roar.

“Looks like he's gone for good this time … but I don't think we should stick around to see if he comes back.” The soldier smiled at her, a tired laugh escaping him. “The closest town from here is Riverwood. My uncle's the blacksmith there, I'm sure he'd help you out.” He started walking away, then. “It's probably best if we split up. Good luck. I wouldn't have made it without your help today.”

She followed, catching up at a slow jog. Split up? Hell no.

They traveled down a broad, ill-defined path from the snowy mountain. “Listen,” Hadvar said after a while. “You should head to Solitude, join up with the Imperial Legion. I'm sure we could use someone like you. And – if the rebels have themselves a dragon, General Tullius is the only one who can stop them.” No … she didn't think the rebels were responsible for the dragon. She didn't say as much though; let him believe what he wanted, for now. But, she remembered that Blondie and the Jarl had been just as surprised at the dragon's appearance as anyone.

“See that ruin up there?” He stopped, and she leaned down, hands on her knees, catching her breath. She wasn't cut out for the 'run everywhere' sort of lifestyle, no. “Bleak Falls Barrow. When I was a boy, that place always used to give me nightmares.”

“Oh?” She looked up at the ruin. It looked like a series of tall arches crawling down the distant mountainside, from here.

He nodded. “Draugr creeping down the mountain to climb through my window at night, that sort of thing. I admit, I still don't much like the look of it.”

Their ill-defined path met up with an actual, cobblestone-paved road. Hadvar kept up the relentless pace until they came to a set of three tall, black and gray stones. “These,” he said, gesturing at them. “These are the Guardian Stones, three of the thirteen ancient standing stones that dot Skyrim's landscape. They're said to grant blessings to those people who prove themselves worthy – go ahead, see for yourself.”

The one to the left had a picture of a masked man wielding daggers on it. Some kind of ninja. To the right, she saw an armored warrior. Straight ahead stood some kind of wizard.

The blessings should correspond to the pictures, right?

She wasn't any kind of sneak-thief, and she wasn't really trained as a warrior. The only thing she had going for her, really, was her mind. She promised herself, then, that she'd study that spellbook – she'd learn magic, if it killed her. Walking forward, she put both hands on the mage stone.

At first, nothing happened. It was just more silly superstition. She sighed, pulling away – only to find that she couldn't. It was like her hands were glued to the stone. Light shone then, tracing the picture of the mage, dotted with lights that were brighter than others. It looked like some kind of constellation map, but she knew there were no stars in Earth's sky that matched that shape – she would've remembered hearing about a mage, warrior, or thief constellation. The light shone then in the big hole in the stone, before shooting upwards into the sky.

A tingling crept up her arms, fizzing in her blood, calling to something inside her … and something inside her responded, opening like a flower to sunlight.

This – this was what she was meant for. She knew it.

A smile crept across her face, as the stone released her. Magic. That was the only explanation for it. She looked down at her hands, flexing her fingers. They fizzed with power, but she didn't know how to use it yet. She'd learn, though.

It would come easy to her, she was sure. Everything else did.

“Mage, eh?” Hadvar asked, drawing her attention back to the present. “Well, to each his own. It's not for me to judge. Come on, there's still a ways left to Riverwood.”

She nodded, following once more.

This place, this “Skyrim,” was truly beautiful. Their path ran alongside a river, and it didn't reek. There wasn't a bunch of trash in it – it looked pure, and clean. She was sure she'd never see a washing machine floating downstream in it, if only because such things didn't exist in Skyrim, near as she could tell. Big pine trees lined the road, along with flowers and ferns she couldn't identify. She was looking up at the wide-open sky, admiring the fluffy, white, cotton-candy clouds, when Hadvar spoke again.

“Listen – as far as I'm concerned, you've already earned your pardon.”

Considering she hadn't done a damn thing to be pardoned for, she agreed wholeheartedly.

“But, until we get that confirmed by General Tullius, just stay clear of other Imperial soldiers and avoid any complications, all right?” He turned back to face her, waiting for her response.

She nodded. “Understood.”

“Good.” He continued on down the road.

There rose a howl from the forest, and it rose the small hairs on the back of her neck. Wolves? They wouldn't attack humans, surely. Right?

Wrong.

Two of the beasts lunged out of the forest. “Hadvar!” she cried, bringing the bow to bear. She was slow. He blocked one of the animals' snapping jaws by bashing its face with the shield. It limped to the side, momentarily stunned. She shot for the other one, her arrow sailing over its back to clatter uselessly off the rocky cliff beside them. Frustrated, she dropped the bow and drew the greatsword, One of the wolves bit down on Hadvar's unprotected leg.

She brought the sword down on its spine. Something cracked loudly, and the animal let go, yelping in pain. She thrust her sword at it, but she missed. The wolf limped back, looking between them. Hadvar brought the hilt of his sword down on its muzzle. It fell to the ground, stunned.

The first wolf ran off, deciding, apparently, that they were too tough of prey to handle alone.

“Are you all right?” She sheathed her sword, collected her bow and the arrow she'd shot. He seemed to be favoring that leg, but he nodded once to her question.

“Fine, fine. Glad that wasn't a little bit higher, is all.”

She laughed a bit. “You don't want to be singing soprano, I take it?”

“Exactly.”

They pressed on.

Her skin itched a bit, where her arms were caked with blood and spider guts. She paused by the stream, looking over at Hadvar. “I don't know about you, but I have to get clean before I talk to anybody else.”

“Ah – right, you're right.” He looked down at himself, apparently only just realizing that he, too, was covered in gore. “I should probably wash up, too.”

After some deliberation, she pulled off the boots – which were too big for her anyway – then turned away from Hadvar, walking up to the edge of the stream. It wasn't likely she was going to get much in the way of privacy out here, but she decided that even if it wasn't a dream, she wasn't going to get all worked up over it anyway.

She set her boots on the ground near the water's edge, the bow next to them. Her quiver went next, then the backpack and the greatsword. She unfastened her belt, gently setting it on the ground beside the rest of her things. Tugging the helmet off next, she wriggled her way out of the leather outfit with some effort. It had been much too tight across the chest, but then, it was obviously cut for a man. She breathed a sigh of relief to be free of it.

Hadvar coughed politely. She looked back at him. “What?”

“I – that is, I didn't expect you to ….”

She tilted her head to the side. “Leather shrinks if you get it wet, doesn't it?”

“It depends on if it's treated properly first … but … you ….”

A deep sigh. “Look, I have to get clean. You don't have to watch. In fact I'd kind of prefer you didn't.”

Because I'm ugly.

It wasn't true, not really. Months later, and she still had thoughts like that from time to time. She wasn't particularly body-shy, but she knew she wasn't exactly the definition of beauty, either. Suddenly, being naked didn't sound like such a great idea. She ignored the misgivings that brought warmth to her cheeks, and strode purposefully into the water.

She decided not to voice the second half of that statement. Her therapist would be so proud.

She only had her hands to scrub with, and the water was frigid, not scalding hot like she preferred, but she managed to get the worst of the gore off of her face and arms, and out of her hair, and off of her legs, and everywhere even a little skin had shown itself.

After what felt like forever, she heard splashing behind her. Half-turning, she saw that Hadvar had decided that washing just his face and hands was enough.

“So, I didn't think this through,” she admitted. “If I get into my armor now, it'll still end up wet.”

He laughed slightly, looking at her – and then quickly looking away. “You could try that robe we found, instead?”

“It still smells like ...” She paused. “Right, washing.” She waded to the shoreline. Opening the backpack, she found she had to empty it entirely to reach the hooded robe. The smell wasn't actually that bad, either. To her surprise, the potions had remained corked, so she didn't have a multicolored mess in there. Fantastic. She drew the robe out last.

It took quite a bit of work, but she got it as clean as she was going to get it. Holding it up to her nose, she could still, faintly, detect a whiff of something, but she assured herself no one else would be able to smell it. Mostly, it smelled like water. After she was done, she stepped out of the water, drawing the soaking wet robe over her soaking wet body. All better. Hadvar still wasn't looking at her, though. “Done,” she announced. There was no way the Imperial armor was fitting in the backpack, though she tucked the rest of her things back into their proper places. Strapping the rest of her gear to her body, she opted to carry the armor to Riverwood. Maybe she'd be able to pawn it?

“You know,” Hadvar said abruptly. “I'm glad you decided to come with me.”

She blinked. Well, that was sudden. “Thanks, I think?”

“No, really. It's … you're interesting.”

She didn't really have a reply for that.

A Stranger in Skyrim 4

Chapter Four: The Cave

In which the end is in sight.

They traveled down a narrow corridor. If this passage wasn't supposed to go anywhere, then why light it up with large braziers? Why would the braziers be lit? Apparently someone used this tunnel – pretty frequently, in fact.

“ – I don't know! Just give me a minute, all right?”

More Stormcloaks? Or would they run across some allies for once?

Nope. Stormcloaks.

The closest was a woman wielding a greatsword. Hadvar closed with her.

Mariah held her swords ready, creeping into the room. Two men circled around the other way – she found herself facing off with Warhammer and Greataxe.

Warhammer brought his weapon up, and time slowed to a crawl. She slashed out, desperately, slicing his throat with one of her swords. Blood sprayed, catching her in the face. She blinked, but it didn't really help to clear her vision. She pulled back instinctively, hearing the whoosh of the axe as it travelled past. She swiped her forearm against her eyes – not that it did much good – finding herself back-to-back with Hadvar.

Greataxe swung for her head, she scrambled out of the way. Big weapons swung slow – something that wasn't as true in Amtgard because foam weapons were lighter – she drove her sword into his belly while he was bringing his weapon to bear. There was a splurch as she ripped her sword free. He dropped the axe, clutching his stomach. Without thinking, she swung her sword once more, slashing his throat as well. She was completely covered in gore, and she found herself panting from exertion.

Suddenly, arrow! It whooshed past her head, clattering on the far wall. She ducked, after the fact, looking around. Hadvar, who had taken out Greatsword, was already on it. He ran towards the pair of archers, bashing one out of the way with his shield. He sliced out at the other one, snapping the bow with his sword.

She walked towards them, as Hadvar slashed the second archer's throat. He blocked an arrow with his shield, then drove his sword into the first archer's eye. The first archer fell with a wet thump.

“Well,” she said, panting a little bit. “That was … fun.”

She would not think about the fact she'd killed three people so far. She couldn't think about that right now, not if she wanted to continue living. So, she didn't. It simply wasn't a thing anymore.

“See if there's anything on these rebels you can use, but hurry about it. We need to keep moving.”

She nodded. Greatsword – she'd actually been trained, somewhat, to use a two-handed sword. Florentine was fun to play with, but she was mostly using the right sword only, and it was harder to block while dual-wielding. So, two-hander it was. She sheathed her two broadswords, then went to collect the weapon. The sheath strapped to her back; she had to take the backpack off, put the sheath on, then slide the pack back over her shoulders. She left the sword out. The odds were good she'd need it again in this pit.

Another hallway, this one with a drawbridge for some reason, and then they were in a cave. An actual, cave-like cave, and yet there was still a pair of braziers to light the way. Who cared that much about lighting up caves, anyway? Unless this was some sort of secret exit, which was of course the hope, but then why wouldn't the torturer know about it? It was just outside his domain, after all.

She shook her head, pressing on – and then, behind her, the keep fell in. “Damn it,” Hadvar said grimly. “No going back that way. I guess we're lucky that didn't come down on top of us.” He shook his head. “We'd better push on. I'm sure the others will find another way out.”

She nodded, heading down the stairs. It was chilly in the cave, but that was understandable as a stream ran through it. Following the stream seemed like a good idea, so she did, stepping carefully to avoid getting her feet wet. The stream led to a dead-end, but there was a side passage off of it, lit by a lantern – she walked down that way, taking the lantern with her and ignoring the skeleton it sat by. She wasn't going to die down here. No way.

And then spiderwebs.

She shuddered, just looking at them. They were overhead, they were everywhere. And the next room was full of them. It was just. A. Dream. She could handle spiders, in dreams. She could handle spiders in real life, from a distance. She could handle spiders in real life with Raid. There was no Raid. She could handle this anyway. She could –

It was massive.

She saw it from all the way down the hallway. It was crawling around down there, in the next room – oh gods there were two of them and she was not prepared to handle giant monster spiders. She could not – could not! – force herself to move forward.

“What's wrong?” Hadvar shook her shoulder gently, speaking quietly.

She swallowed heavily. “Spider.”

“Spider?”

She nodded slowly. “Spiders.”

He looked over her shoulder, then gently pushed past her. “We can handle them.”

When he walked down there to face them, she inched forward, covering her head with a hand. She shivered as she passed under a section of cobweb and oh gods she could feel them crawling on her arms and she couldn't think about it or she would completely freeze up – oh gods –

Two more of them crawled down from the ceiling.

Hadvar faced them down without fear. Or at least he didn't seem to be afraid anyway. She shuddered, holding her suddenly-shaking greatsword with both hands. Hadvar killed one easily, another climbed on top of him, mandibles snapping at his face. He shoved at it, trying to get it off. The other two advanced on her.

She swallowed heavily, holding the sword between her and the spiders.

One of them lunged for her and she sliced its forelegs off. It recoiled from her, chittering fiercely. The other lunged at her, and she slashed down on its hideous face.

Green blood oozed from it. The first one lunged for her again – she barely got out of the way in time. Bringing the sword up, she thrust at the spider. Even though they were both dead – they looked dead – she hacked at them repeatedly, until she'd completely exhausted herself, and she had to collapse near the greenish puddles of ex-spider.

Oh gods. She was covered in spider goop, and she swiped at herself, trying to clean it off and it wasn't working and they were still there – she scrabbled back away from the corpses, shaking.

“Are you all right?” Hadvar asked, stepping over the spider bits. One of their legs crackled as he broke it. “No, you're not all right,” he answered himself. “Come here.” He offered her his hand, and she took it, and he had to feel her shaking. He didn't comment on it. “So, spiders, eh?”

She nodded, mutely. He drew her into the room proper, and once she was inside, she couldn't leave fast enough. She ran for the other exit, dragging her sword behind her.

There was another longish hallway – she looked back to make sure no spiders were following – with more stream running through it. She walked a few steps down it, crossing the stream quickly – more distance between her and the spiders – and Hadvar pulled her up short. “Hold up,” he said quietly. “There's a bear just ahead, see her?” He took the bow off his shoulder. “I don't really want to tangle with her right now, but we might have to.”

She nodded slowly as he shoved the bow towards her. “Take this,” he said. So not only did he expect her to be a career criminal, but he expected her to be a master of all weaponry. She wasn't a great shot, but she wasn't terrible either …. “See if you can catch her by surprise, hey?”

He handed her his quiver as well. She sheathed the greatsword first, then took the quiver, hanging it awkwardly across her shoulder. Its strap was long enough, it hung down to sit comfortably against her butt. She could work with this. Drawing one arrow, she nocked it. She drew back to her ear, then slowly let the string return to its default tension. Another draw, she relaxed it again. Finally, she drew, shot – and to her great astonishment, she landed the shot. The bear roared in pain, standing up, then charging them. Oh gods. She reached for another arrow, putting it to the string. This one missed. Hadvar rushed forward, catching the brunt of the bear's assault with his shield with a grunt. He drove his sword up into the massive beast's belly, then dragged it up. The bear's innards splattered onto the ground in front of him. It grunted, looking down, falling to all fours, then falling to its side.

“Good shot,” Hadvar smiled at her again.

She nodded. “Lucky shot. You did good, yourself.”

He continued smiling, wiping his blade off on the bear's pelt. She tried to hand him his bow back, but he wouldn't have it. “Keep it. You might need it down the road.”

Another nod. “Okay.” She slung the bow over her shoulder, and continued onward. She could smell fresh air – this had to be the way out.

“We made it!”

They stepped out into the sunshine together.

A Stranger in Skyrim 3

Chapter Three: The Keep

In which supplies are gathered.

“Looks like we're the only ones who made it,” Hadvar said, grimly, letting go of her arm. “Was that really a dragon? The bringers of the End Times?”

She shook her head. “I mean, probably, it was. It looked like a dragon, anyway, or a wyvern, maybe.”

“Wyvern?” He looked at her for an explanation.

She sighed. Right, he wouldn't know Earth myths; this was apparently not Earth. “Nevermind. But look, if you're talking about an apocalypse, it's not going to happen. Back home, we have apocalypses predicted every other year. It never happens.”

“If you say so.” He looked dubious, though. Probably, his superstitions were too strong. And really, a dragon would make a pretty convincing argument for the end of the world. “Anyway, we should keep moving. Come here, let me see if I can get those bindings off.” She walked forward as he drew his belt knife. He cut through her bonds as carefully as he could, but he still nicked the skin. She winced a bit. She'd never really gotten hurt in a dream before. Shouldn't she be waking up? “There you go.” He smiled at her. “Take a look around, there should be something in here that'll fit you. I'm going to see if I can find something for these burns.”

She honestly doubted they had armor tailored to her exact measurements, but still, she searched through some of the chests. Most of it was too small, but she did find a set of leathers that was obviously sized for a bigger man. She could wear that. She turned her back to the soldier, pulling the rags off. The leather was probably cleaner than the scraps of cloth the Imperials had given her.

That done, she shrugged into the armor. It was tight across the chest, but over all it fit well enough. Were men really expected to wear skirts, too? She glanced over at Hadvar. Apparently so.

She would have to find real pants. She felt rather exposed with just a little skirt protecting her modesty.

She tugged a helmet on over her hair, finding herself pleasantly surprised that it, too, fit well enough. That done, she looked around until she could find a weapon. One sword lay on a bed, another hung from a weapons rack. Both were relatively sharp. Florentine, huh? She could work with it.

She strung their sheathes onto a belt she'd conveniently located, then strapped the belt to her waist. Good times. She was ready to fight, or as ready as she'd ever be.

Suddenly she wished she'd spent a little more time with the stick jockeys at the park.

Oh well.

Hadvar led her down a short hallway to a gate with a pull-chain next to it. A man and a woman were arguing on the other side – the man wanted to get moving as quickly as possible, the woman complained she was out of breath. Well, she could certainly understand that, though she'd had a minute to catch her own breath.

“Hear that?” Hadvar asked quietly. “Stormcloaks. Maybe we can reason with them.” He pulled the chain, and the gate sunk into the floor. Walking into the next room, he held up his hands. “Hold on now, we only want to ….”

One of the Stormcloaks drew a warhammer, another drew a sword and shield.

“If you want to die, so be it!” Hadvar drew his own sword, having never let go of his shield.

Hadvar did most of the work. Warhammer brought the weapon down on his shield, while Sword and Board circled around behind. She crept into the room behind Sword and Board. She knew what she had to do, she'd just never done it with live weaponry.

Hadvar bashed his shield out, catching Warhammer by surprise, knocking her back. He slashed across Warhammer's belly, and she cried out as her intestines spilled from her belly.

She stepped forward, then drove one of her swords into Sword and Board's back. He never saw her coming. There was a sickening noise as she drew the blade out of his back, and oh, there was so much blood – wasn't she supposed to be getting used to the sight of it? He gurgled as he dropped to the floor, and she just stared at him.

This was the part where she was supposed to be sick, but all she felt was a strange fascination. She'd never really killed anyone before. It had been so … easy.

Hadvar said something, but she didn't really notice at first. She poked Sword and Board in the side with her foot. He groaned slightly. He wasn't actually dead. She swallowed heavily. She couldn't have him coming back for seconds, unlikely as it was that would happen. Coup de grace, make it quick and painless, just like in D&D. Only, she wasn't just saying she'd do it, she had to do it. She rolled Sword and Board over. Blood was still oozing from his mouth, he just kind of stared up at her, eyes glassy. She held her sword point at his throat, and her hand was trembling.

She couldn't do it, after all. Not in cold blood, not like this. She pressed the point in, not quite enough to draw blood – then pulled away, shaking her head.

“Are you coming?” Hadvar asked her.

She looked up at him, feeling shaky. “He's not dead,” she whispered.

“Then kill him, and let's move on.” He frowned at her.

She shook her head. “I – I can't,” she explained.

“Oh – I see.” Hadvar shook his head slightly, then drew his own sword again. He slashed across Sword and Board's neck, clean and easy. Blood splattered both of them, spraying with some force.

She felt faint.

He pulled her gently forward, and she followed him, after a moment, down a staircase and to the right.

The dragon roared, and half the keep fell down in front of them. “Look out!” Hadvar fell back for a moment. That could have been right on their heads. What was she doing? What was she thinking? She was going to get killed! This was insanity. Pure, incomprehensible, insanity. “Damn, that dragon doesn't give up easily.” Hadvar inspected the rubble before them as dust and dirt fell around him.

She sneezed.

When the dust finally settled, he walked calmly forward again, opening the door to the next room. She smelled fire and dried herbs. It was some kind of storeroom, but there were also a few tables and chairs, some things sitting on shelves that looked interesting.

“What are you doing? We need to get out of Helgen, now!” She spotted a pair of Stormcloaks at about the same time Hadvar did. She noticed he had a bow hanging from his back about the time he pulled it up over his shoulders. There was a quiver of arrows hanging from his hips – he drew one, fired it. The first Stormcloak fell with an arrow piercing his skull. He was screaming. He was screaming, because he wasn't dead. Another arrow flew, taking the other Stormcloak directly in the throat. Blood bubbled up as he clutched at the wound.

Hadvar hung the bow across his shoulders again, then drew his sword. He came to the first man he'd shot, ripped his arrow free of the skull it was lodged in. Blood oozed from the hole that was left behind. He kicked the Stormcloak until he rolled over, and slashed the man's throat. She watched in horrified fascination. The soldier was quick and efficient. She'd give him that much at least. He pulled the other arrow free of the other dying man's throat. Blood sprayed a little. He wiped both arrows off on the Stormcloak's blue cape, then shoved them back in the quiver.

“Look around, see if you can find anything useful. There should be potions, things like that.”

Potions? As in, magical potions? She spotted something on one of the shelves that could have been a potion. Bringing it to his attention, he nodded. “See that blue liquid inside? That's a potion for mages, restores their magic. And this –” He grabbed a reddish-looking potion from the other cabinet. “This'll be a healing potion. People put just a little dye in them usually, so you know what you're getting when you drink them.”

“Are there any other kinds?” She asked, curiously.

He laughed. “There are all kinds of potions out there, Mariah. You'd be amazed at what a few ground-up herbs can do for a person.”

She thought about it for a moment. Herbal remedies had done wonders for her mom's bad back. Maybe this wasn't really any different from that? Or maybe it was all snake oil. She'd have to try it and see.

She found a few more potions, carrying them tucked under one arm, against her side – some more red ones, another blue, and one greenish potion as well. In one of the sacks, she found a crystal. Hadvar identified it as a 'soul gem.' “What's a soul gem?” she asked.

“They're used by mages. They suck the soul right out of a person, use it for enchanting.”

Hu-uh. She tucked that under her arm, too. Maybe she'd learn more about this magic business later.

After that, they continued onward, down another short hallway and down another staircase. “The torture room,” Hadvar said, expression grim. “Gods, I wish we didn't need these.”

The sounds of combat drifted up from the torture room, battle cries and the clashing of steel.

One Imperial lay on the ground already. Two Stormcloaks had another Imperial backed against the wall. The Imperial shot lightning from his fingertips, and one of the Stormcloaks started convulsing from the sudden pain of it. That was magic then. Magic was real. Good to know.

The other Stormcloak brought a sword down on Magic Man's arm, slicing a big chunk out of it. The lightning stopped, and the first Stormcloak fell to his knees, unable to move for the relentless twitching.

Hadvar sprang into action, drawing his sword and bringing it down across Number Two's back. Number Two reeled from the damage, and Magic Man drew a dagger, slashing his throat with an expression almost like glee. He opened one of the cages that lined the wall with a key, then threw the first Stormcloak – still jerking about like a fish on a line – into the cell. “You happened along just in time,” the man informed them, closing the cell door and locking it again. “These boys seemed a bit upset at how I'd been entertaining their comrades.”

“Don't you even know what's going on?” Hadvar demanded. “A dragon is attacking Helgen!”

The man – probably the torturer, if this was a torture chamber – laughed. “A dragon? Please, don't make up nonsense.” He paused, thoughtfully. “Although, come to think of it, I did hear some rather odd noises coming from over there.” He smiled, walking over to one of the cages. A dead body lay inside, with a book, another potion, and some gold coins. She had to assume that was the local currency. Gold was heavy, though.

“Come with us, we need to get out of here,” Hadvar demanded.

The torturer folded his arms. “You have no authority over me, boy.”

“Didn't you hear me? I said the keep is under attack!” The torturer walked off, behind a counter. He didn't seem particularly concerned about the matter.

Hadvar paused, looking into the cage the torturer had been looking at. “Wait a minute, it looks like there's something in here.” He looked over at her, thoughtfully.

“Don't bother with that. Lost the key ages ago. Poor fellow screamed for weeks.” The torturer clearly enjoyed his job; he said the words with relish.

Hadvar rooted around in a pouch at his side, finding some thin strips of metal. “Here, see if you can get it open with some picks, hey?” He handed her the picks, and she looked down at them, then back at the cage. What, did he expect her to be some kind of career criminal, then? He did!

“I don't know how ….”

He smiled. “It's easy. Here, let me show you.” He tugged her gently towards the cage, which smelled of rotting meat. She set down the potions and the soul gem, putting her hands near the lock. He handed her a thin blade, as well. “Now, like this.” He held his hands on hers, showing her what to do – it wasn't actually all that hard, though she suspected the lock wasn't made to be terribly challenging.

“Now – that's a tome of magic if I ever saw one, and those kinds of robes are usually enchanted with magic. I'd take it all.” So she did, carefully undressing the man. Apparently he didn't believe in underwear – fortunately for her, she wasn't particularly affected by displays of nudity. The robe would have to be washed before she even thought of wearing it. Thoroughly washed. She was not wearing anything that still smelled of dead guy, nor did she imagine it'd sell well.

But how to carry – ah, she found a backpack lying on an end table. Whoever it used to belong to, it was hers now. She peered inside – there was already one book, so she tucked the spellbook in on top of it. She carefully folded the hooded robe, then stuffed it inside. Atop that, she rested the potions, soul gem, and the small handful of gold pieces. She just had to hope the potions' corks would hold. Slinging the backpack on, she shifted a bit until it settled into place. Awesome.

As they proceeded down the next hall, the torturer called after them, “There's no way out that way, you know.” She shook her head and continued to follow Hadvar. She had more faith in her current traveling companion than that.

They passed several locked cells on the way, and she tried not to look too closely at the contents. There was at least one old, bloody skeleton in there, and she had no doubts in her mind it, too, was real.

Another couple of hallways – all of them lit by open firepits or candles – and then they came upon a large room. It was decorated with cages, some standing, some fallen, most of which were inhabited by dead people. At the far end of the room, she spotted an old, broken-down section of wall. That must be it. The exit.

Hadvar called, “This way,” and she followed.