A/N: This is a plot bunny that's been in my mind for the past months, and I just couldn't stop myself from giving it a shot. There's a good chance it could be entirely abandoned in a week, but then again, maybe not. I'm going to try to limit myself to, at most, two thousand word chapters for this story. I had to make do with the pic for this story, since nothing I could google really fit what's read below.

As for whether it's connected to my far more popular and in-depth "The Nerevarine's Return"... well, let's say for now that it's a strong maybe.

Hope this first chapter is a good taste to what (might) come.

"Hello, friend."

Sidainis froze, disturbed by the deepest voice he'd ever heard uttered in his presence. He lost his pull on the bowstring and his arrow fired wide, missing by far the fleeing hare he'd had in his sights. He hadn't failed to notice the earth shaking beneath his feet. That would've been impossible. He'd thought it caused by any number of possibilities. Stormcloaks or Imperials marching into neutral territory to finally spill blood over the land of Skyrim. Or maybe one of those dragons he'd heard so much of but never seen, landing somewhere nearby. Perhaps even just flying by; he had no clue how powerful they supposedly were.

"Uh... hello?" he replied back, unable to move a muscle. For whatever had caused the booming thuds, whoever owned these powerful lungs, could not be anything natural. Maybe I've befriended the Dragonborn just now... though I recall the rumors being that she was a woman.

"Bah, forgive me for chasing off your kill," the thunder apologized. "Saw you from a distance, and I'd figured you'd have nabbed it long before I got over here." A shift of movement that could crack a mountain made him jump. "You're free to my provisions. Got plenty, on account of, well, me."

He turned slowly, his tight limbs bending to the whims of the stranger's invitations. The fourth possibility to come to him, right after the notion of a Dovahkiin, proved correct, despite being the most preposterous. Plain as day—or an hour to dusk, as it were, a Giant sat plopped before him. Even seated, he dwarfed the Imperial without question. Sidainis was no stranger to Giants. He'd wandered Skyrim for two years now, tired of his banking life in the Imperial City before this. He'd lingered most in Whiterun Hold, and the mammoth herders were no different.

This one, however, was. Sure, in the most basic terms, he was much like the rest of his nomadic kin. His ears were tapered, sharp as a dagger like any mer. Though, as a whole, he appeared the scaled-up version of man. It was easy to draw comparison to Nords especially, given the shared snowy home of Skyrim. Admittedly, their grey skin was more inline to the denizens of Morrowind, but no one could grow a beard quite like a Nord. Giants gave them a run for their Septims, and this one here was no exception. He sporting a shaggy beard and mane as brown as mud, braided with beads the size of a child's fist. His features, like a Nord's, were blunt, though his crispy blue eyes seemed to pop out of his skull.

Similarities to Giants in Sidainis' past ended there, however, beyond the obvious of five fingers per hand and—presumably—as many toes on his feet. What parts of the Giant's chest and arms were visible didn't display the tattoo-like scars his race proudly inflicted upon their bodies. Usually, Giants had furs and hides formed into simple loincloths, and adorned bone and wood as crude armors. Cloth instead covered this one's body, fitted to his unusual form. A white tunic with an unlaced neckline and baggy black trousers, and leather boots and a cloak; not far off from what Sidainis wore. The iconic club was missing. In fact, this Giant seemed lack in any sort of protection beyond clothes from the weather. All he had on him was an oversized—to Sidanis, anyway—pack filled to the brim with supplies.

Of course, none of that compared to the introduction the Giant had made—that the Giant had actually made an introduction, in a flawless Nordic accent no less. "Uh... you know the common tongue?" Sidainis asked, stumbling over his words like a drunk.

"It's the language I was taught," the Giant answered, focused on his rummaging. He pulled out a flask half as tall and wide as Sidainis and set it aside. The contents sloshed inside, and mammoth milk came first to the Imperial's mind. No, I doubt this Giant is like his kin in that he has a mammoth. "I'm sure I have something you can use to get your drink," the Giant added.

"That's, ah, unnecessary," Sidainis said, still baffled by what was going on. "I've got a my own equipment in my camp... which is, uh, just over the next hill or two." He gulped. "If you want to... to dine there with me."

The Giant looked up and beamed, exposing surprisingly nice teeth. "That sounds nice. I could use some company. Been traveling alone a week now. Well..." He shook his head. "I've met some folk, but they've not been so pleasant. But you didn't shoot me right away, so you must be one of the good ones."

I might've shot you if you'd come from the south and not the north. He didn't say that, though, and shouldered his hunting bow to help with the docile appearance. Befriending a Giant sounded much better for his health than turning one into his enemy. "I think folk just aren't... used to a friendly Giant."

"Yeah," the friendly Giant sighed, resituating his belongings. "My ma warned me of the same. Whole reason she didn't want me leaving home, but someone had to. Da died three winters ago, so it was left to me." Finished, he rose back to his feet, likely ten or eleven feet tall by the time he was erect. As casual as any normal man could be, he added, "So, lead the way?"