Daren Novak resented asking for help; he shouldn't have needed it.

He was the fabled Dovahkiin, a man with the soul of a dragon, a man whose job description included killing dragons and saving the world. Why did he need help? Daren already knew the answer to that: he was terrible at his job. The last dragon he had encountered on his own nearly tore him to pieces, and certainly would have, had Daren not had the help of the Whiterun city guard to kill the damned thing. He needed backup, that much was clear. That's why he was on his way to the College of Winterhold to enlist the aid of the Archmage, Raven Thoros. Raven was probably the youngest ever Archmage, inheriting the title at only 25 in the aftermath of The Eye of Magnus Incident in 4E 198. Raven was... a friend, though Daren doubted that the feeling was mutual. They had run into each other while they were both exploring the same Dwarven ruin in The Rift. The resulting adventure consisted mostly of Raven keeping Daren from killing himself on one of the many traps or stumbling into a Falmer nest.

Daren was now on the road north out of Whiterun, heading to Dawnstar. He figured he could crash at the inn for the night, then hug the Sea of Ghosts all the way to Winterhold. As dangerous as that might be, it was the fastest way to get there, and time was of the essence. Daren wasn't properly outfitted, having only a antique steel sword his father had given him when he was 18 and full iron armor, so he did his best to stay out of combat.

Dawnstar was a small harbor and mining town on the Sea of Ghosts, built around Dawnstar Bay. Half of the town was built on a slight ridge that overlooked the bay, while the rest of the town was built on the shore of the bay itself.

By nightfall, Daren had staggered into Dawnstar's inn, the Windpeak. He groggily plopped down the 5 septims needed for a room, stumbled in, and promptly dropped into his bed. He awoke at the crack of dawn, much to his dismay, and bought a rudimentary breakfast. He then headed outside. The thing that hit him first was the incredible early-morning chill that rolled off from the sea of Ghosts. The iron armor didn't provide much insulation from the harsh northern cold. He headed north, and was about to leave town when he saw a man with a medium sized rowboat.

"Offering ferries to cities and villages along the coast at fair prices!" The old man said.

Daren tossed the man a bag of septims. "Will that get me to Winterhold?"

"And back again." The man said as he excitedly counted his coin. The old rower got into the boat and gestured for Daren to do the same. The Dragonborn complied. Looks like I won't be freezing my ass off on the coast, he thought. It turns out that the cold was just as bad, if not worse out on the water, so Daren almost froze regardless. About an hour later, the boat stopped a mile or so from Winterhold. Daren got out and thanked the man. He had impressed himself; he didn't think he could have made it this far without being...

ROAR!

… attacked by something. Crap, he thought, and turned to his right to see a sabre cat rushing down the cliff face towards him. The giant cat skidded to a halt and vaulted from the outcropping it had stopped on. Daren had barely had enough time to draw his sword by the time it landed on him, knocking him straight to ground. After a short scuffle, and the loss of one of his helmet horns, Daren managed to get out from under the cat.

Fus! He shouted. The cat toppled over, and Daren used that moment to plunge his sword into its throat. Blood spattered the crystalline snow as he wrenched his sword out, and the beast gasped for air but was unable to catch so much as a breath. Finally, the fire in its eyes died, and Daren resumed his walk to Winterhold, battered, but thankfully still alive.

Winterhold was a shell of its former self, the remains of which still littered the bottom of the chasm separating the College from the rest of the town. Daren found it hard to believe that this pitiful hovel had once been the capital, the crown jewel of Skyrim. Those days, however, were long gone; what little remained the eastern half of Winterhold was in utter ruin, and the west only harbored the inn, a general shop, a house, and the Jarl's hall. The College of Winterhold was still intact, and was the only remaining structure of Winterhold's decimated north and east quarters; this anomaly led many a troubled Nord to suspect the College mages had something to do with the Great Collapse. Daren hoped that such rumors were false, because the last thing he needed was to enlist the help of the most powerful mage in Skyrim just to have her kill him. Nearing the bridge, he began to worry that Raven would simply refuse to help him at all. Daren looked up at the College when he came to the bridge across the chasm the Collapse had left. It was enormous, at least compared to any building Daren had ever seen. The building itself was made of black stone, and pillars of arcane currents rose from pools of water along the bridge. The high elf at the entrance to the bridge stopped Daren.

"Stop. The way is dangerous, and you shall not gain entry. What is your business here?"

Daren replied, simply, "I'm here to see the Archmage."

"I see," the elf replied. "And what makes you think I'm just going to let you across?"

"I'm the Dragonborn."

The elf eyed Daren suspiciously. "Now, why would I..."

She was cut off by loud shout. The wind blew harder, the snow was blasted from the ground and sent up in a flurry, covering both Daren and the mage. The elf, wide-eyed, said "My apologies. The Archmage isn't here right now. She should be in her house at the edge of town."

Daren nodded his thanks and started for the small house near the remains of the southern wall.

...

Raven quite liked her little home. It was simple, rustic, but served her needs. There was a bedroom, a forge, an alchemy station and an enchanting table. It was was two floors, with the bedroom and forge located in the basement. She couldn't ask for much else. Sitting by the fireplace on the main floor eating her dinner and reading a book, dressed in the customary Archmage robes, she heard a knock at the door. Getting up, she threw her hood up over her disheveled red hair that fell past her shoulders in length. Raven was a lightly built woman, and only stood a little above average height. Despite this, she often wore heavier armor, using magic to artificially lighten the load. Her most prized set of armor was that of the Aetherium Knight, an armor set she had acquired during her short field study of the Aetherium Forge. The research had been picked up by a Kahjiit scientist after she'd met with him a few months before. As she walked to the door, she began to wonder who would be calling at such a late hour. She had been getting many visits regarding the dragons. Raven honestly didn't know what they expected her to do about it. It's not like I'm the Dragonborn, she thought as she opened the door.

The first thing she noticed was how bitterly cold it had gotten; the second thing that hit her was the smell and sight of a large Nord man, dressed in full iron armor and with long blonde hair. He looked like he hadn't bathed in days. Smelled like it, too. She asked his name.

"Daren. Daren Novak," the man replied.

Raven took a minute to remember that name. Daren. Where have I... oh, right, him. She debated whether or not to let him in, as he was the closest she had ever seen to a walking disaster. Deciding that he stood a good chance of freezing to death out there without the proper attire, Raven let him in and invited him to sit down in the other, seldom-used chair at the table. After he got settled in, she sat down across from him and turned her deep green gaze to her visitor's sky blue eyes.

"Now, what is it?" she demanded.

Novak took a minute before answering, with apparent difficulty, "I need your help."

"Why? With what?" Raven knew that this man could probably use her help finding his way back to his own house, but she was genuinely curious about what Daren seemed to be so worried about. She thought back to when they had first met about three years ago in Mzulft. She had been searching for information regarding the location of the Staff of Magnus from the Synod order of Imperial mages. Mages was a loose term, as the group was, by all accounts, more interested in the hoarding of artifacts and treasures than actually learning about the arcane. Traveling with her former companion, Qa-Dojo, a khajiit monk with an interesting philosophy, Raven had entered that Dwemer ruin to find a dying Synod researcher and an unconscious Daren Novak. He had collapsed mere feet away from the exit due to exhaustion and dehydration. Once Qa-Dojo had helped him recover, however, Daren was incredibly headstrong. He was a fierce warrior, extremely adept with a sword and shield, and he could handle himself well in single combat. He just couldn't cope with the overwhelming number of Falmer in the ruins; that he had needed Raven's help for.

That headstrong, confident Nord man seemed like a distant memory as Raven analyzed Daren. His helmet was missing a horn, his face was caked with dirt and blood, and he reeked. Daren's eyes were down cast, brooding, like the weight of the world had just been thrust upon his shoulders. Perhaps it had been.

"I trust you're aware of the return of the dragons?" Daren finally replied, evading the original question for now.

"I'd have to be blind not to be."

"Then you're also familiar with the Nord legend that the Dovahkiin would be the world's only chance of survival?"

"Of course."

"Well, there's my problem. I'm the Dragonborn, and, as you can see, I almost died getting here. So I need your help. I – I'm now in charge of saving the world, and I am not a hero. I'm begging you, please help me."

Raven stared at the broken man in front of her, unwilling to believe that he was the hero so many had prayed and wished for. Minutes passed as she analyzed Daren, sizing him up from head to toe. He was a sorry piece of work. To start, he wasn't properly outfitted for anything more than banditry. He only had an ancient sword which was on the verge of shattering and a suit of iron armor. Second, he seemed to be both physically and mentally exhausted. Lastly was the obvious problem of the dragons themselves. Though the Dovahkiin was theoretically capable of taking down a dragon, one as untrained as Daren would have an extremely tough time of things, even with Raven's help. He would need new armor, new weapons, help, and - perhaps most importantly at the moment - a pint.

"Alright," she said finally, standing. "We're going to the inn, you look like you need some rest and some mead, and you can't sleep here. I only got one bed." Raven threw her hood over her head, pulled on a fur cloak that had been enchanted to harden when it came close to a weapon, and strode toward the door. Daren stood up slowly and followed Raven outside into the blizzard.

As the pair exited the house, they followed a short wooden walkway to the main road. At the road, they turned right and headed straight for the inn. For a town renowned for being a deserted backwater, the inn at Winterhold was surprisingly lively, though this was only due to the amount of refugees who had fled to Winterhold to find safety. Safety they found little of, but they did find shelter in the form of the College. At Raven's orders, the Hall of Countenance had been transformed into a shelter for the refugees coming into Winterhold.

The inn was dense with a smog from the men smoking, and the loud exclamations of the drunk filled the main hall. Daren sat down at one the chairs around the fire pit in the center of the room and ordered some Honningbrew Mead. Raven took a seat at the bar, turned and leaned her back against the counter, and took in her surroundings. Winterhold's inn was a nice enough place, but it was only meant to hold the odd traveler or two, nowhere near as many people who now crowded its walls. The pungent odor of tobacco lingered in the air along with the fog of half a dozen pipes. The women and children usually stayed at the College, but the men routinely came down to the inn for drinks and entertainment. One of these men, who had obviously had a copious amount to drink that night, groggily approached Raven with lust plain in his eyes. He took a seat the bar just to the left of Raven, who had thrown her hood up in attempt to avoid attention. The drunk was having none of it, and immediately made a move to pull Raven's hood down; this grabbed Daren's attention, who began to observe the situation with concern from his seat. The instant the man's hand came into contact with Raven's hood, it was batted back by a thin gloved hand. By this point, the inn had gone completely silent and the only noises were the mice scurrying across the rafters and the bets being made by the patrons.

"Come, now, don't – hic – don't be difficult, hon. Let's – hic – make this easy, shall we?" The drunk crooned at Raven, who responded with a sneer. The drunk made another move for Raven, aimed at her face this time. Raven heated up her left glove so that it began to give off a faint glow, then grabbed the man's outstretched wrist. The drunkard yelped in pain as smoke began to rise from his burned skin, and he yanked his hand away. They were both standing now, facing each other, each glaring daggers at the other. "Come at me," the drunk taunted. "I'll take you and... and your friend there," he added, gesturing at Daren's general area.

Raven, hoping that the man was too drunk to read lips, mouthed distract him to Daren, who then made his way over and tapped the belligerent drunk on the shoulder. As soon as he turned around, Daren's left fist connected with his jaw. Disoriented, the drunk stumbled backwards into the counter; meanwhile, Raven maneuvered around to position herself across from the exit and gave Daren a signal to get the drunk in front of the door. Daren began shepherding the man towards the exit, punching and parrying the groggy but powerful blows. Daren blocked a punch at his abdomen, then kicked the drunk in his, causing him to stumble back again: right into Raven's line of fire. The drunk looked to his right, and, seeing the woman who had started this brawl, began limping toward her. Raven looked him in the eye, defiantly spit in it, then extended her right arm towards the drunk. A shock wave barreled toward the man, and he barely had time to widen his eyes in surprise before he was thrown through the door with tremendous force, flew above and past the porch, then finally hit the snow about five feet from the door to the inn.