The Following story takes place in the months of Rain's Hand and Second Seed, 4E-182. 19 years before the events of Skyrim.

The Elder Scrolls belongs to Bethesda. No copyright infringement intended.

A/N

My goal is to post two chapters a week starting from June. With ten days to go till then, I decided to release the prologue/chapter one. Conjoined because it's easier to edit later.

Hope you enjoy.

Prologue

As the lone pale ghostly lady looked down over the house which lay alone near a massive dry-dock, she couldn't help but feel a great sadness build up inside her. A sadness so potent that it threatened to crush her very soul.

The lady looked down at her translucent, white velvet-like hand. She was dead. She had died the night the young Orc had come to Rorikstead where she had been living. Yet something was keeping her spirit here on this world, stopping her from crossing over into the next.

Nora believed that she knew what it was. Somehow the young Orc needed some guidance, and the Gods had thought her the one to fulfil that role. Nora had done what she could, helping young Magoza whenever she could, which was when whomever was keeping her here on Nirn had allowed it.

Her purpose here, she ultimately didn't know. There were tales and legends of those that were blessed by the divines, those that grew to do great things. Somehow though, this didn't feel quite like that.

The ghostly Nord focused back on the house in the distance. Inside, she knew lay her ex-husband Achilles. They had lived happily together once, and it had been like a fairytale. She being a poor-girl, the daughter of a disgraced businessman and he a rich nobleman; a shipbuilder that had been on the cusp of breaking into fame with the grandness of his constructs.

Unfortunately their marriage hadn't lasted. He had dreams, or rather visions that had pushed them apart. After all this time, she found that they might be real, that whatever he saw when he closed his eyes at night was true.

Nora wondered if her dying on the day the Orc had arrived, or even that her marriage and its ultimate failure had been fate. Part of some divine plane that none but the Gods knew.

Regardless of what conspiracies true or untrue her stray thoughts might conjure, she just hoped that when this was over that she would pass into Aetherius and when his time came, that Achilles would join her there hand in hand.

But she didn't want to wait, even if it was only for mere moments more. She wanted to see him now, she wanted to see whether he had turned out all right, to see that he was okay. Something stopped her though, something held her here, blocking her advancement so that she could get no closer. It was frustrating, but there was not really much that she could do about it.

Suddenly, she felt herself being pulled away, as if something had gripped her very soul. Everything around her grew bright until all she could see was white.

Chapter I

He had sat there moping for what must have been well over a month now. It was odd for one to see an Orc unmotivated, especially one so large, heavily built and scarred as the one that sat on the porch out front of the house. Burag, who was dressed in a cloth shirt and black pants, stared at the Explorer's Joy that lay in a large dry-dock, its completion all but finished.

Achilles, an elderly, grey balding Cyrodilic man, turned away from the window as Arlianna, the woman Malthar his aid had hired to take care of him called his name in her usual screechy way.

The reason Malthar wasn't here was because he had sent him to Jehanna to wait for the people he saw in his dreams. While he knew the young Breton didn't truly believe his visions were of anything special, he was loyal and had agreed to traverse across to the other-side of High Rock to wait for people he didn't believe even existed.

"Mister Mellano!" Arlianna said again, uttering Achilles' surname, her peculiarly high voice raised to glass shattering levels. "Are you ignoring me again?"

"I would if it were possible," he mumbled to himself. The woman was trying his patience no end. All she did was either pamper him, or boss him about. He wasn't fond of either, and preferred to be more autonomous.

"Have you gone deaf!?" she asked, once again interrupting his thoughts.

He looked at her with his best fake smile. "What is it you want deary?" he asked, hoping his overly patronising tone of voice would annoy her.

"Don't 'deary' me," she warned. "I just wanted to know where that thing had gone?" The 'thing' in question was Burag. She didn't care much for Orc kind, but the way she addressed him when she believed he wasn't in earshot was rather rude and unnecessary.

Achilles feigned ignorance regarding what, or rather who she meant. "Did you look behind the cupboards, you might have dropped your 'thing' down there."

"I haven't lost anything Mister Mellano."

"Oh, my apologies," he said, scratching his upper lip to hide the smirk that threatened to cross his face.

"I mean that Orc," she clarified unnecessarily. "Where is he?"

"Outside, sat in a chair on the porch," Achilles told her.

"What's he doing there?" she questioned suspiciously.

"Looking at the ship, or perhaps he's looking out to sea."

"I bet he's planning something. Things like that are always planning something."

"Oh, don't talk such nonsense woman!" Achilles uttered. "All he's doing is sitting."

"That's all he does!" she accused. "Just sit around the house, secretly planning our demise."

"Well he's not doing that now,"

Arlianna walked over to the window and peered out at Burag, as he faced away from them, looking in the direction of the dry-docked ship. "That's exactly what he's doing!"

"He's not sitting around the house, he's sitting outside the house."

The Breton woman grumbled before moving off, grabbing a broomstick. "I'm off to go clean the porch. There's something stuck on it."

"Just mind that you don't bump into Burag while you're cleaning it," he said, knowing full well that by 'clean' she meant move Burag from his perch.

She ignored him as she stepped out the front door. A few moments later, Burag entered and sat at the table, followed soon after by Arlianna, who began to sweep around his heels, until he moved again.

Achilles smiled, knowing that she didn't really want to raise the Orc's ire. "Burag," he called out.

The Orc looked at him, his red eyes piercing. He said nothing, as he awaited for the elderly man to continue.

"I noticed earlier that some of the tiles on the roof were coming loose. Would you mind trying to fix them back into place?"

"Yeah sure," Burag mumbled as he strode out of the house.

Arlianna glared at Achilles. "Now look what you've done!" she accused.

"What?" he asked.

"He's probably going to smash the roof down trying to fix it."

"Don't worry, Orcs are good with tools."

"I doubt he even knows which way to hold a hammer," she said derisively.

Her insulting tone was starting to really annoy him. "Come now, we both know the Orcs are renowned for their skills with tools, they are said to be the best smith's in Tamriel."

"Folks say that, but I'm not so sure. Besides even if that were true, I doubt all Orcs would be good smiths. That's like saying all Bretons are good with magic, and I don't know squat about magic."

"Quite right on that I suppose. Luckily nailing tiles down isn't nearly as complicated as smithing, so I'm sure he won't have any trouble."

"You say that, but he doesn't look too bright."

Achilles turned away from her. "Look who's talking," he mumbled. He couldn't say he liked her very much, and the only reason he kept her around was because he knew he did actually need assistance now and again. Achilles just wished it wasn't from her.

"I tell you, Mister Mellano, I don't trust that thing, and you shouldn't either."

Achilles was starting to wish he'd gone with Malthar and his friend Cassiopia to Jehanna. It was too late now, they were probably already there.

"I'm going for my afternoon nap," he told her, as he moved off towards his bedroom.

"I shall wake you when your dinner is on the table," she called after him.

I'm sure you will, he thought bitterly to himself.

The Cyrodilic woman sat at the table, tapping her foot impatiently against the hard floor, while Malthar, a young Breton man returned with their drinks.

Cassiopia or Cassi to her friends, was already starting to feel boredom set in. They had only been here a few days, but the thought of having to stay here till whoever they were waiting for showed up, was mind-numbing.

What made it worse, was that Malthar either didn't know, or refused to tell her what they were called, or what they even looked like. They could walk in at any moment and she would be none the wiser.

Malthar set the drinks down onto the tabletop, before seating himself opposite her. Cassi reached for the tankard, picking it up. She took a long slow sip of the warm sweet mead.

Just a few short years ago, she would have struggled to pick anything up. Not because she had been weak, but due to losing sight in one of her eyes, which had made it difficult for her to judge the distance of nearby objects.

All those that had dared ask about her mutilation had been shocked by her story.

She had been in the legion during the war and had been captured when the Thalmor had taken the Imperial City.

They maimed her, cutting up the left side of her face, and blinding her in that eye. At first they had healed her, but the time came when her flesh stopped healing due to the amount of damage they were doing on a regular basis.

It had been a struggle, but she had learnt to deal with it. She did sometimes have problems when dealing with objects that were of an uncommon size, such as overly tall or short people. The most difficult thing to relearn had been fighting, as she no longer had any real sense of depth.

Cassi looked over at two women that sat at another table, who were staring at her. They quickly looked away, whispering something to each other, probably about her disfigurement. Or perhaps it was her inexpensive attire, they did appear to be snobs after-all, wearing expensive looking fine weaved clothing.

While Cassi preferred wearing her light mithril armour, right now she was in a scruffy brown linen blouse and dark thick pants. She was sure that if dressed in her armour, folks would probably find her scarred appearance less shocking and unexpected. As it was, she found the unwanted attention bothersome, and often insulting.

She turned her attention to Malthar, as he took a long sip of his own mead. "Why we here again?" she asked, hoping that he'd finally give her some semblance of an answer.

"We're waiting for some folks," he told her, repeating what he had been saying since they arrived in Jehanna.

"And Achilles knows 'em?" she asked.

"He knows of them," Malthar clarified.

"And whatta they look like again?" she asked, seeing the two women staring at them out of the corner of her eye.

"Well they're a large group of different races," Malthar told her.

"So we're looking for a large group of folk, who don't look like they aughtta be travellin' together?"

"Yeah."

"Do they know Achilles?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Do they even exist?"

Malthar shrugged. "Honestly, I don't know."

"Sometimes Mal, I wonder how ya put up with 'im. He's gone senile I'm sure of it." She took a large gulp of her ale, and let out a belch. The two women at the other table tutted aloud in disgust. "What!?" Cassi asked them with annoyance, knowing full-well her more common tongue and behaviour stood out amongst the higher class of folk that sat around them.

"I've known him my whole life Cassi," Malthar said, passing over her comment to those at the other table. "I feel I owe him a lot. He took care of me after my parents were, y'know."

Cassi looked away from him, feeling bad for what she'd said. "I guess it gets the two of us outta Daggerfall," she offered.

Malthar didn't respond. He just sat there sipping at his drink, not making eye-contact.

"Look, I'm sorry," she apologized. "I know he's like a father to ya, an' ya feel a sorta loyalty to him. But ya gotta admit that sendin' us all the way out here is a bit odd."

The Breton turned his gaze to her, placing his tankard slowly back onto the table top. "I know you're right," he accepted. "But I feel that we should at least give him the benefit of a doubt."

"How long did ya agree for us to wait for again?" Cassi asked him.

"Five months," Malthar reminded her.

"Five long months," Cassi added. "At least I getta spend them with you." She grinned as Malthar blushed and looked away.

"Erm," he stuttered, standing up, "do you want something to eat?"

"Nah, I'm good."

"Okay, then," Malthar said. "It's probably for the best. We should conserve what funds we have, just in case."

"Speaking of conservin' funds," Cassi began, unable to contain the smirk that crossed her face. "Why have we booked two rooms? Wouldn't we save coin if we only booked the one?"

Malthar didn't respond immediately, when he did, it was an excuse to get out of there as fast as possible. "I'm off to take a look around the city."

"Mind if I join ya?" she asked.

"You should probably stay here and look for those folks we're waiting for." Quickly, Malthar headed for the door.

It was odd that he resisted her so much, considering how much she knew he liked her. Cassi put it down to his shy, reserved nature. She just had to figure out how to break him out of that shell, and get him to open up to her. It was a good thing she had five months to do it.

Cassi noticed the two women staring at her again. "What!?" she demanded. "Have I got shit on my face or something?"

"You are a crude, foul woman!" one of them said, before they then both looked away in disgust.

"And yer two nosey hags!" she replied angrily.

The sun was on its slow descent down towards the horizon as Malthar stood outside the inn, silently cursing himself. Why had he run away? Why did he feel so scared to push their relationship beyond that of simple friendship. It was clear that she wanted it, and in truth he wanted it too.

He wanted so much to be able to go right back in there and declare his love for her, to tell her how he felt. But he just couldn't. Something was stopping him, his own lack of courage was holding him back. Just the very thought of telling her made his heart race, and his skin sweat. It terrified him, but also filled him full of want.

Malthar began to walk forward, feeling the need to clear his head. He knew if he left it too long he'd lose his chance, and she'd move on. Cassi wasn't likely to wait for him to make his move forever.

Honestly, he didn't know what she saw in him. He wasn't a knight in shining armour or a fighter, he was far from it. If anything she was the knight. She had the armour, she owned her own horse, and she was a skilled fighter. She even had her own cape that fluttered in the breeze, making her seem all heroic. All he'd done with his life thus far was take care of an old man. Hardly something worthwhile in anyone else's eyes.

While he wasn't a weakling, he wasn't strong either. He was woefully average, nothing really to write home about. All he had going for him was his youth, and smooth complexion. Some had said, that his features were reminiscent of an Altmer's, just with white skin and brown eyes. Though, he didn't know whether that was meant to be a complement or not. Personally, he thought elves looked a little weird.

Malthar glanced back towards the inn, wondering if he should go back, or continue on with his walk. He decided to push on. He hadn't had the chance to take a good look around, and now was a good a time as any.

"Malthar!" He turned around once more to see Cassi running over to him.

Oh Gods! he though, feeling his heart begin to race once again in his chest. She was so beautiful to him, despite her disfigurement and her lack of etiquette.

"Listen," she said as she stopped beside him. "I thought I'd take a look 'round with ya."

He tried his best not to look put off by the idea. After-all, he had come out here to get away from her. "What about those folks we're waiting for?" he questioned hesitantly.

"I told the guy behind the bar to keep a lookout for 'em."

"Yeah, but-"

"Yeah, but nothing Mal," she interrupted. "I agreed to come here to be with you, not to be sat alone in some snobby inn waitin' for Achilles' fantasy to show up. And even if they are real and do come, who's t'say they'll book rooms at the most expensive inn, in the city?"

Malthar looked away down the cobbled street, not saying anything. She had a point and it was a good one at that.

"Look, let's just take a look 'round the city an' enjoy ourselves," she suggested.

He stared at her. He wanted so much to be able to just grab her and kiss her. He knew she felt the same way about him, as he did her, so what was stopping him?

With great effort, he took her by the hand. "Come on then," he said, hearing his own voice crack.

She smiled. "Our first date?"

He cringed inwardly, but tried to keep his outward expression as stoic as possible. "Yeah," was all he managed to say.

"The first steps are always the hardest. Or at least that's how the sayin' goes."

Malthar didn't really feel like he'd taken any steps. In fact it felt like Cassi was the one who'd taken the step. Actually he wasn't even sure if they'd gotten any further with their relationship beyond what it had been, which was predominantly her flirting with him, and him feeling embarrassed and annoyed at his own inability to show her how much he loved her in return.

"Are we goin' somewhere, or we just gonna stand here?" Cassi asked.

Without uttering a word, her hand still in his. He led the way slowly down the main street, not really knowing where they were going.

Cassi moved her hand up his wrist until they were arm in arm. He felt a tingle go up his spine, and a wide uncontrollable smile spread across his face.

Perhaps coming to Jehanna wasn't such a waste of time after-all.