PROLOGUE

Vilkas wasn't entirely sure where he was. It was definitely not in Jorrvaskr – or anywhere in Whiterun – judging by the rough foreign bedroll he was lying on. His sharp senses picked up the scent of various herbs. Alchemist's shop, he presumed.

But then as the frostfall wind blew through the glassless window, his nose caught the smell of rich earth and musk of deers and other docile animals passing by. Confused, he bolted up, only to feel the ache on every part of his body. Groaning, he instinctively cradled his ribs that he suddenly realized had been bandaged. He checked his arms and legs, all in that same condition.

How badly was I injured? He shut his eyes, trying to recall the last thing that happened before everything went black. He remembered taking a job Aela offered. It was a simple task of clearing out a bear-infested cave southwest of Ivarstead. He had accomplished this on his own for a couple of times already that he thought it pointless to bring a shield-sibling. However, as he neared his destination, three arrows pierced his left arm. He hissed in pain as another followed hitting his right leg. Bandits then swarmed in and ambushed him – those who, now that he thought about it, were too well-armed to be the common riffraff roaming around The Rift. He cursed himself. How could he be so careless!?

His attention then shifted to the tapping sound of leather boots making their way towards his occupied room. Thanks to his werewolf blood, he could perfectly see the three figure that stood just outside the doorway in the dimly lit room; a Dunmer and a Khajiit, both wearing robes from the College of Winterhold, and a Bosmer, judging by her sharp jaw, tanned skin and considerably petite figure under the fur armor. He couldn't see her feature's details however, due to the hood covering most of the upper half of her face. He did catch a glimpse of her deep vivid green eyes.

"Oh good, you're awake," the Bosmer said with a soft smile, passing between her two companions as she made her way to the Nord's bedroll. Her movements halted though when the latter backed away like a cornered prey. "Calm down. We're not here to hurt you."

"Rather unconvincing when you're armed to the teeth," Vilkas replied as his grey eyes flickered towards the bow on her back then the daggers strapped on her belt. He heard her sigh before she unslung her bow. It made his entire body even more tense as his sharp gaze were now focused entirely on her. Was she going to kill him now? If so, then he should quickly find a way to counter her. With his larger build, he has the upper hand. He could take her down before she could aim an arrow, then take her daggers so as to deal with the other two.

He was ready to pounce but the Bosmer suddenly threw her bow, quiver and daggers in front of him. From staring at the weapons, he glanced up to find both of her hands raised up. All he could respond to that was looking at her with a mouth slightly gaping.

"Are you sure that's wise?" the Dunmer voiced out her protests, her eyes shifting back and forth from the discarded weapons to her female companion.

"J'zargo thinks someone lost a piece of common sense," the Khajiit added, grinning slightly as he crossed his arms while leaning against the door frame. "A very large piece. Would you like this one to find them?" This earned him a sharp glare from his Wood Elf companion which just made his grin grew wider.

The Bosmer shook her head before turning back to the Nord whose focus was now on the weapons – specifically the daggers. When he picked one up, she became cautious. Perhaps her feline friend was right and it was indeed an insane idea. But the dark-haired man merely examined it with knitted brows. After a minute of awkward silence, he finally asked, "where did this come from?"

"From the bandits who attacked you." She shrugged. "Seemed like a waste to just leave a perfectly good silver dagger on their rotting corpses. Besides, my old ones were getting dull and rusty."

Vilkas' brows furrowed. So, the Silver-Hand were the ones who ambushed me, he thought with a scowl; though it was rather curious as to how they knew where he was. The job must have been a setup... He took a mental note to ask Aela who her contact was for this job once he returns to Whiterun.

He left his thoughts for now and eyed the Bosmer who knelt down beside him with her hands emitting a light blue glow. Magic. Immediately, he moved away despite his aching limbs.

"Relax, you'll heal a lot faster with this," she said but still he remained reluctant.

"This one could just knock him out," J'zargo suggested, magic beginning to crackle on his hands.

Vilkas snarled, steely eyes glaring at the Khajiit. "I'd like to see you try."

"Goading him isn't helping," the Dunmer whispered to her fellow mage.

"So does just standing here," J'zargo retorted. He then turned to the Wood Elf. "J'zargo did not come along just to help every unfortunate traveller we meet on the road."

The Bosmer marched towards him until she was only a few inches away. Despite her smaller build, she stood straight while holding his defiant gaze with equal intensity. "You came along because Tolfdir gave a specific order that you and Brelyna accompany me to Geimund's Hall. If you have problems with that arrangement, then run back to the College and send Tolfdir your complaints." For a moment, the two glared at each other, the Nord on the bedroll completely forgotten. After a minute or so, the Khajiit finally gave in, muttering a curse in his language as he stepped outside.

"Brelyna, make sure he doesn't do anything stupid," she told the Dunmer who nodded and immediately followed J'zargo.

Sighing, the Bosmer turned her attention to the Nord. "Look, I've discarded my weapons to show you we mean you no harm. What other proof do you want?"

"Convenient you showed up during the ambush," Vilkas said as his eyes narrowed. "What were you doing there in the first place?"

"We were passing by when we saw your unconscious body and the bandits," the Bosmer replied.

"To loot valuables from my body," he accused.

"I do not take things from those that aren't my kill," she answered defensively. "Besides, you were still alive – though barely – so taking them would be stealing."

He still eyed her dubiously. "And I suppose helping random strangers is something you normally do?"

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Every few days or so, yes. Skyrim doesn't seem to run out of problems." Crossing her arms, she added, "look, I know you Nords have problems with magic so I won't force the matter. It will, however, take you a few more days to walk properly and a week to wield your blade without healing magic. So, your choice whether to be stranded here for more than a week or to trust magic, at least for now."

Vilkas' lips pressed tightly as he silently damned the Wood Elf for making a fair point. "Fine," he grumbled, settling back to his previous position. His sharp steely eyes, however, remained watchful of her every movement.

Taking a deep breath, the Bosmer began chanting while her glowing hands hovered all over him. The tingling sensation was comforting as the spell relaxed every tensed muscles in his body. He didn't even notice that he had closed his eyes until she stated, "done." Through half-dazed eyes, he saw her figure stand up and exited the room..

~oOo~

Sunlight from the glassless window had woken up Vilkas as it brushed against his cheek. Groaning softly, he began to stir before slowly sitting up. By the Gods, when was the last time I slept so soundly!? He shook his head then, as the grogginess left his system, everything that happened last night returned in full force. Not even bothering to put some trousers on, he bolted out of bed and ran out.

Outside the hut, a gentle breeze greeted him accompanied by the sound of a startled horse nearby. Aside from that, however, there was no one else around. Grey eyes scanned the area, seeing from the distance the cave was supposedly infested with bears. He was still in the Rift then. He let out a deep sigh. At least, he knew where he was.

His gaze drifted to the horse that had finally calmed down. On its saddle was a parchment pinned by an arrow. Curious, he took it and read its contents.

Dear stranger,

While I don't normally leave injured men or mer until they have fully recovered, my comrades and I are in a hurry. However, I left a few potent health potions that can hasten your recovery, should you still be feeling unwell. They are inside the satchel beside your sword and armor.

Fair warning though; it tastes like skeever piss. Drink it with water in hand lest you end up spitting it out instead.

Praying for your safe travel,

D.B.

P.S. The horse is all yours. She's not too high maintenance, so you need not worry.

Vilkas brows furrowed. D.B.? Who in Ysmir's beard is D.B.? He sighed and went back inside. Whoever it was, it didn't matter. He was never going to meet her again.

Returning inside, he proceeded with redressing before examining the said satchel. It did indeed contain vials filled with some red liquid. He didn't trust its contents however so he just placed it back. Besides, he felt well enough already, so why bother? Once outside, he mounted the horse, pulling its rein to guide her to a road leading to Whiterun.

END OF PROLOGUE

A/N: I tried my hand in writing a Skyrim fic. This was actually written a year ago but I wasn't able to finish it due to… unfortunate events. Now, I've started working on this again. Hopefully, said unfortunate event won't happen again.