Chapter One

Disclaimer: I didn't make Skyrim. There's too much in that game for one girl to make all of it!

Xuag did not like crying.

Neither the act of doing it, nor hearing it. It irritated him to no end.

Mouth twisted into a scowl, bottom teeth bared in frustration, and jaw set, the old Orc headed to where the soft weeping was coming from. He roughly pushed aside branches and snapped twigs, intent on stopping the horrid cries. As he was stepping to the source of the sound, it broke into broken sobbing.

"Shut up!" he snarled, casting aside a curtain of vines. Then he stopped, one good eye widening in surprise.

A Bosmer girl, no older than fifteen, sat in the middle of a clearing with three dead bandits around her. Her mouth fell slightly agape before she threw herself back.

"No! No, don't hurt me, don't hurt me, don't hurt me!"

She scrambled away and curled in on herself. A thin sheet seemed to be the only thing on her, besides her bow and a single arrow, and he understood what had happened immediately. It only made his teeth clench harder, and he felt no pity for the dead bandits.

Of course, seeing the angry glint in his eye, the girl only got more frightened.

"No! Please! Please don't hurt me! I-I'll do anything y-you w-want, b-but please d-don't touch me e-ever again..."

"Quiet, girl," he said, trying to sooth the roughness in his voice away. "Where is your armor?"

She merely stared at him for a second, large brown eyes spilling tears. He narrowed his eyes slightly when he noticed that dirt was spread along the right side of her face, probably from where they'd pushed her against the ground.

"Girl. Armor."

She snapped out of her trance and pulled the sheet around herself more, before lifting a trembling arm.

"O-Over there.. I-I think."

He headed to where she had pointed, fingers curled around his mace. He found the armor, alright: cruddy fur armor that had been torn to shreds. The trousers were the worst, though he didn't want to think about that.

With a heavy sigh, he grabbed his set of town clothes, a simple miner's shirt and brown pants, and headed over to the girl, picking her hide boots up along the way. When he reached her again and offered her the clothes, she took them without question and put them on. The shirt hung off of her like a very unflattering dress and the pants had to be held up, but they were better than nothing.

"Thank you, Sir," the girl whispered, brushing her dark blond hair behind one of her ears.

He held out his hand, but she flinched away from him, so he dropped it. "Name's Xuag."

"Arlaine. Um, Elmvuud," she added, rubbing her hands together.

"Family?"

"No."

It wasn't quite the answer he expected, but he supposed it would do. He glanced at the dead bandits, noticing a heavy steel sword through one's ribs, an arrow in another's neck, and the last with a slit throat.

It was a miracle that this little girl survived. Not that Xuag cared for miracles. They seemed to just cause him trouble, like this one was going to.

"Are you hurt?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it again. Her eyes dropped.

"I… don't know if I'm injured. But… i-it does hurt."

"Oh. Right."

Genius, Xuag. You know just what to say.

She stared at him, mouth closed, and he stared back, reaching to run his thumb over his broken tooth. He could give her some arrows, a dagger, some food, and send her on her way, but he just wasn't that kind of man. No, he was the kind of man that seemed to make everything harder for himself, for no reason, and when there was no gain from it.

"Let's go to Winterhold," he called, turning towards the north. "Though I have a bounty there..."

She heard the last part and stayed well behind him, and he had to hand it to her: she was watching him with trained, focused eyes, like he was a wolf out to get her. For all she knew, it was true.

"So, are you a bandit?"

No response. The three hour walk was going swimmingly.

"You're pretty tough, did a number on those bandits."

Silence. Gods, he hated teenagers. Or, at least their habits. He decided to let it slide and they walked in silence, tramping through the bright sunlight and nearly windless plains. It was a nice day. Too bad Skyrim wasn't such a nice place.

It wasn't until two hours later that the girl spoke again, voice fragile. "I didn't kill all three of them. The one with the sword, that was his friend going after me, but I dodged. Then I shot him. The last one… he..."

Her voice faltered again, and he got the vague impression she was trying to impress him with how she had managed to quickly take out two of her captors, but it didn't change his expression. Perhaps she was just trying to make herself feel better, which was fine by Xuag. It wasn't like he could emphasize with her. He was sure Colette would baby her, since she was the adorable type.

He just didn't like to baby people. Or to listen to their stories of the bad things they went through. It made him too emotional.

And he hated crying.

A/N: And here we begin the sob story. I really love father/daughter dynamics, as much as romantic or platonic ones, so yeah. Neither of these two are the Dragonborn, spoiler alert, but the Dragonborn can be found in, wouldn't you know it, The Dragonborn's Story. This is in the same kinda series.

Onwards to the next chapter!