Disclaimer: I do not own The Elder Scrolls Series, Skyrim, or any of the characters in this story.


Chapter 1: The Bush

The sun had long since set, leaving in its wake a dusty gray visage scattered with twinkling stars. A faint dusting of snow laid on the cold, barren, ground. Sylgja crouched uncomfortably in the shadow of a winter berry bush watching the blond long-haired stranger. His back was to her as he stooped over a kindling fire. He was warming his hands with a huge black bow strapped across his broad back. There stood a huge black mare with a glossy mane and a wide burlap sack hoisted across its back. At the man's feet lay a great sword, the large weapon illuminated by the dancing flames reflected in the golden metal. She had never seen such impressive things. Everything in Shor's Stone was murky, faded from dirty finger tips, and soot covered clothing from the mine; Mirroring that mundane existence that plagued her daily.

Sylgja had been traveling to visit her parents when the snow started to fall. She made it almost a mile outside of Shor's Stone before turning around, deciding that she would try for Darkwater Crossing another day. Her leg had started cramping and the pain shooting from her left hip down into her feet and radiating into her lower extremities. The injury she suffered many moons ago had been lessened by a priest of Mara, but still caused her a great deal of discomfort. It was particularly painful on cold days such as this one. She had simply stopped to rest, staring at the amulet the priest had given her in parting, hoping for but a moment of comfort, before realizing that she wasn't alone.

Rubbing the scar on her thigh through her woolen pants, she hissed as a tremor stirred in her muscles. They had been occurring much more frequently lately. The cramp seized her leg and she tumbled softly onto the back part of the bush with a muted cry. The horse threw its head and neighed once, stomping its feet. Covering her mouth quickly, she glanced up at the stranger, noting with relief that he hadn't looked in her direction, merely glancing at the horse. She had to get past him to find the path that led directly to the village, but something about his presence unnerved her. Good, honest, men were hard to come across in this part of Skyrim. Bandits had been relentlessly attacking the villagers more frequently within the past few weeks. The tight muscles visible through his tunic and the leather armor strapped around his large thighs suggested he was some sort of mercenary. He was simply too equipped to be an average hunter and too clean to be an everyday bandit.

Standing suddenly, the horse now calm, he turned towards the bush and removed the bow from his back. Startled, she was awe-struck by his rugged beauty. His blond hair fell in gentle waves, around a hardened face, and past broad shoulders. His eyes were hard and unrelenting, as he peered into the bush. In the darkness they were black orbs. Surely he couldn't see her, but even if he were staring her in the face she had no doubt those eyes would see through to her very soul.

He gripped the bow with slightly tanned fingers as he snapped the string back and aimed it directly at the bush. Her heart stopped and she let out a gasp. She didn't have the strength to stand fast enough, let alone run. And she didn't have her mining axe with her to even attempt to defend herself. Not that it could deflect arrows anyway. She gripped the amulet tightly in her small hands.

"Come out, bandit." The blond man hissed.

Bandit? She was no bandit. Suddenly he fired an arrow into the space directly next to her and she froze. He took a few steps forward. Handsome or not, he was deadly - the assurance with which he held his weapon and the stealthy, but aggressive steps he took in her direction. His confidence just a warning of how capable he was with his huge bow.

Before she could even move he was upon her, and kicked her down with a rounded brown leather boot. She fell backwards, squealing. She dropped the necklace as she struck the back of her head on the lifeless ground. Tears blurred her vision as she tried to open her eyes, only to be met with a second wave of pain as he lowered the bow and twisted his fingers into her short dark curls snatching her back towards him.

"Please-" she whispered, her bosom heaving. "Have mercy, sir."

He glanced at the amulet on the ground and regarded her for a moment before releasing his grip on her hair. She tumbled uneasily onto the dirt.

He stood watching as she scooted backwards to retrieve the amulet before placing it around her neck and tucking it into her tunic. He stepped forward and gripped her upper arm while pulling her to her feet. She hissed in pain, clutching his forearms, her short fingernails cutting into his skin.

"I did not mean to harm you." He murmured. "I thought you were another bandit."

She nodded, smiled uneasily, while looking up at the handsome stranger, watching him staring into her face. The sky now fully darkened, they had to stand close to see each other in the glow of burning embers.

He walked nearer to the fire, and she followed, limping slowly in his shadow. He gestured to the log he crouched next to earlier and once she sat, he strapped his bow to his back again before removing a blanket from the sack on the horse and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Thank you." She whispered. The light from the flames, dusting shadows across the stranger's face. He nodded, but didn't say anything. He collected his sword and crouched across from her, near the flames. Using a discarded rag on the ground he wiped it clean before returning it to the holster on his horse.

"We cannot stay here." He said, before lifting his torch from the ground and setting it in the fire. "There's too many bandits in the area to make camp. Perhaps if I were alone…"

He pulled her to her feet and with both hands around her waist he lifted her onto the large beast accompanying him. Sylgja had never rode a horse, let alone seen one this big.

Lifting the torch out of the flames, now lit, he climbed on behind her. His forearm securing her in place while he gently gripped the reins and clucked, coaxing the horse to move.

"I will escort you somewhere safer."

"I live in Shor's Stone, there's a path nearby that will lead us right to the village."

He didn't reply, but once Sylgja showed him the path and they were making their way towards the village the two fell into an almost comfortable silence and she found herself relaxing in his presence. Sylgja had never known the heat of a man. Not that there were many to choose from back home anyway. But, there was something about his strength, and his quiet demeanor, that very noticeable masculinity, that made her want to know.

The way she felt, nestled snugly between his muscular thighs, reassuring. The gentle rocking as his pelvis grinded into her too wide rear end with each gallop. The way he held her securely with only one arm loosely gripping the reins and resting across her belly. She blushed, shocked by all these thoughts going through her head. There was a heat building in her body that she had never felt before, yet wanted to know more.

Most of the young attractive women all moved away. With their lithe, delicate bodies, nearly every last one of them swept up by a handsome passerby. Only two others were left besides herself - Aela and Greta. Aela, the attractive big bosomed redhead, was already married to Filjnar the blacksmith, although it was common knowledge she'd leave him at the first opportunity. And there was Greta, Odfel's younger sister, who had moved to Shor's Stone last year, once orphaned when their parents were murdered outside of Riften. She was only seventeen years, with big blue eyes and an impish smile that charmed many, but her brother's axe scared them off. Although, a man such as this one wouldn't be fooled by Odfel with his big, round, belly and makeshift weapon.

Sylgja felt so inadequate sometimes with her dark brown hair. It was plain, curly, and unassuming, and with eyes the same color – the color of dirt, she was boring, like the quiet village she lived in. Plain, like the simple tunic she wore, held together with a worn leather belt. She could see the houses forming as they approached the quiet village. Nobody was outside this late, perhaps at one time, but now plagued by the bandit attacks and the recent reemergence of dragons they were scared and very vulnerable in their tiny mining village.

Then he spoke softly, with his deep raspy voice, startling her out of her thoughts.

"Why were you out here alone?"

"I was going to visit my parents in Darkwater Crossing, but it started to snow so I turned back."

"A maiden as delicate as you, should never travel alone."

"My leg wasn't always lame." She muttered. "And besides I was hoping to catch them before they left for Shor's Stone. I would like to have brought in the harvest this year in Riften and hoped I could convince them to reconsider. We went once several years back and they had everything decorated in the marketplace." He grunted, but didn't say anything else. So she continued and told him about how her leg had nearly gotten crushed in the mine. About how the priest had healed her, and she could at least walk now. But, being alone made things hard because she had to fetch her own water from the stream, grow her own crops, and occasionally when the others needed help, she would go into the Redbelly Mine.

Finding herself rambling she quieted, noticing that the stranger didn't seem to be listening. She turned slightly in the saddle trying to see his face. He glanced down at her, arm tightening around her waist so that she wouldn't fall from the gentle rocking of the horse. Blond hair tumbling over his shoulder, bouncing slightly from the ride. She couldn't see his face well in the dark, but he was both regal and fierce in the glow of the burning light.

"You should rest." He said.

Tightening the wool blanket tighter around her shoulders, she leaned back against his broad chest and fingered the chain around her neck. She was wearing an amulet of Mara, but she was sure he had no idea what it meant. Not that anyone else had praised her beauty, other than Odfel, but who was he to judge. With her too dark hair, her too full lips, her too wide hips, and most certainly her lame leg.

She sighed and stared off into the silence. The devilishly handsome stranger, his iron grip on both her and the torch in his other hand; like Hermes leading them both into the underworld. The darkness around swallowing them. She had nothing to fear. Surely he was the most lethal of all.


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