Part I

The Sleeping Giant tavern in Riverwood was especially crowded that evening; all of the townspeople gathered around Ralof and his companion. He and his new-found friend had stumbled in Riverwood not an hour ago, bruised and covered with dirt and scrapes. The other man had a nasty gash on his leg that required immediate attention.

As they listened to Ralof's daring and tragic escape from the city of Helgen just south of them, more than a few eyes darted to the stranger sitting beside him. Ralof continued to ramble on about their narrow escape from the dragon, occasionally taking a long swig of his ale to calm his jittery nerves, while the other man stared at the farthest wall, oblivious to Camilla Valerius tending to his wounded leg. He didn't even flinch as she dabbed mead against the wound.

Riverwood was a small community, the members close-knitted and frequently nudging their noses into each other's business. No one had ever seen this man before in their lives, and the people were none too trusting when the stranger gave no comments concerning their identity. Sven and Faendal exchanged suspicious glances.

More importantly—at least to the Nords—they didn't appreciate the man's pointed ears. The elven blood in him quietly stirred the crowd and made them hesitant to trust this man. He didn't need to look at them to see the accusations in their stares. They probably thought he was a spy for the Thalmor.

However, his sturdy shoulders, though slumped with exhaustion, told that he had more than an elven inheritance to him.

"I told you all I saw a dragon," Hilde declared in her raspy voice. "But no, no one ever believes me anymore."

"Mother, please," Sven sighed. "Let Ralof continue." Hilde grumbled, but settled back into her seat.

Ralof nodded. "My friend and I barely made it out of Helgen alive. Almost got taken out by a mother bear in Helgen's dwellings, too. You should have seen him with that bow, though! As if it was an extension of his arm! A beautiful shot—struck the beast right between the eyes just when it was about to take a swipe at me."

Faendal raised his eyebrows at this and gave the stranger a respectful look. "An archer, then? That's the elven blood in him. Nothing Nordic about archery."

Sven glowered and cracked his knuckles. "Oh, is that so? And there isn't anything elven about pummeling someone's skull in with their fists."

"Would you two put your quarreling aside for just one night?" Gerdur snapped from her place at Ralof's side. "My brother and his... friend are the only ones to walk into Riverwood after Helgen's destruction, and you two still bicker like children over sweetrolls!"

Ralof's head snapped toward his sister. "Are we really the only survivors, Gerdur?"

She hung her head. "I'm afraid so. At least, as far as I know." Ralof motioned for Orgnar to pass him another ale.

"That's right," Alvor the blacksmith said, putting an arm around Sigrid. "Our Dorthe kept watch all day on the southern wall. No one else besides Ralof and..." he nodded toward the other man, "came through today."

Camilla finished bandaging the wound and gave his leg a pat. "There. Try to keep off it for a few days." The stranger inclined his head and murmured a thanks to her before resuming his motions of staring into space.

Sven huffed and crossed his arms. "How do we know we can even trust this... this stranger? He's an outsider! We don't know if he's an Imperial spy, or worse, a Thalmor agent! Look at those ears!"

Faendal bristled and raised a hand to finger the feathered ends of his arrows. "What are you trying to say, bard? That I'm a Thalmor agent, too? You just can't compete with the elven folk, can you? Always trying to find something wrong with them to make yourself feel better."

Sven shuddered and took a step forward. "Why, you—"

"Sven is right," Alvor said. "We don't know who he is or if we can trust him. Yes, he saved Ralof's life, but what of his life prior to Helgen?"

Everyone in the inn shared murmurs of agreement and looked at Ralof for an explanation. The Stormcloak frowned.

"I will leave at once if my company unsettles you," the stranger said. He stood from his seat and winced as pain shot to his leg. "I thank you for your kindness." He smiled at Camilla before limping his way to the door.

"Now, you just hold on one moment." Gerdur blocked his path and pressed a hand to his shoulder when he tried to move past her. "I'm not sure how things are done where you come from, friend, but this is Skyrim. We show hospitality to those who need it, even strangers. Now, come. You may stay in my house and rest for as long as you like."

Hod almost spat his ale out and struggled to swallow. "W-what! He could be a murderer for all we know, and you just give him permission to traipse through our property like—"

Ralof waved him quiet. "Leave him alone, Hod, and respect Gerdur's wishes. It'll be the first thing you respect about your wife," Ralof added with a dry chuckle.

Hod glared and shook his head, not liking the idea of this half-breed sharing his roof even for one night.

"It isn't much," Gerdur said as she escorted him into her home. Ralof had his arm slung over his shoulder, helping him keep some weight off of his bad leg. "But it's been home for as long as I can remember." The house was quaint with only essentials; beds had been tucked into corners, the kitchen was cramped along the fireplace, and the dining table had a few books propping an uneven leg.

Ralof helped him to a seat, one with all four legs still intact, and slid a bowl of dried meat and cheese toward him. "I'm sure this is your first decent meal in a long time. I'm sorry that we have little to offer you."

He smiled and bent his head. "You have my thanks for all that you've done for me. I'm sorry for causing such a disturbance. I imagine that a small village like this one rarely receives such excitement. I understand how it can rally the people."

Gerdur nodded and busied herself with lining furs along one of the cots. "Riverwood only has merchants and the occasional hunter travel here. Mainly the hunters go to Whiterun to make a profit off of their game, as the Jarl favors their skills." Gerdur stopped and turned toward her brother. "There's still water left from this afternoon. You should take advantage of it, Ralof, and clean yourself up. You, too, stranger."

"Isben," he said. "My name's Isben."

Isben leaned against Gerdur's fence, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the fresh breeze. The nights before were filled with horrible nightmares of that... that beast—that Dragon. He could still feel the heat of its fires on his face and still had its terrible, spindly maw imprinted in his mind. He almost wished that he'd have been beheaded so that he wouldn't have to keep seeing that awful creature.

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. All he wanted was to pass the border for his expedition, but those damned Imperials caught him the moment he and his fellows stepped over the border.

"You're finally up, I see."

Isben opened his eyes and saw Faendal walking toward him, a cheerful grin on his face.

"It's about time," the elf said. "It's been three days. Thought a fever got to you."

Isben shrugged as Faendal stood next to him. "A fever would be better than the nightmares."

"Was it really that bad?" Faendal asked. "I mean, I can't imagine anything like a Dragon! I know Hod probably interrogated you already about what you saw and what happened, but I'd like to know. It could be our elven secret!"

"There aren't many elves around Riverwood, are there?"

"Only me," Faendal said. "I'm sure Sven wishes I'd leave. Pah, what does he know anyway? All he does is sing sweet songs about love and romance because he doesn't have any in his life."

Isben picked at the fence. "Because words never wooed a person before, right?"

Faendal blanched and glanced around nervously. "You don't think she'd be fooled by his lyrics, do you? Camilla is smart and beautiful, she'd never fall for Sven's illusions!"

Isben's mind drifted off as Faendal continued to chat. He felt no need to involve himself in a lover's quarrel, especially right after a Dragon attack, and he tried to inch his way back into Gerdur's house. His attempts at sneaking were demolished when Faendal paced to his other side.

"—She has to see how foolish it would be to let him court her! Hey, I know!" Faendal beamed and clasped Isben on the shoulder. "You're new around here; no one really knows who you are. If I tried to persuade Camilla that Sven was no good, she'd dismiss me and think I was crazy. But you, you're unknown. You could talk to her for me, maybe help her see that she deserves a better man than Sven. A man like me. What do you say?"

"You want me to woo your lover for you?" Isben raised a brow and blinked at him. "I almost had my buns burned off by a Dragon three days ago, and you're trusting a complete stranger to court someone you're too afraid to?"

Faendal twitched and squared his shoulders. "I'm not afraid. I just know what will and what won't work. How about if I sweeten the deal? You help me with Camilla, and I'll teach you a thing or two about archery. How's that?"

Isben narrowed his eyes and took a step away from Faendal. "You swear on your life you'll help me with archery?"

The Bosmer rubbed the back of his head in confusion. "Sure! You seem to already know the basics, according to Ralof, so there's no harm in honing your skills, now is there?"

Isben paused, contemplating the offer, then finally nodded. "It's a deal."

He sat on a stump near the river's edge, washing his face with a rag. All his life, he'd heard rumors of Skyrim being unbearably cold. Rumor had it that a man could freeze to death if he didn't wear the proper furs. Riverwood, however, was unbearably hot, and he learned from Gerdur that the province had extreme climates. He'd stripped of his leather armor for a loose pair of breeches and tunic. His boots had even proven to be uncomfortable, and he had left those as Gerdur's house as well. All he wanted to do was jump in the river and marinate in the cool water.

He didn't find it a bad idea and was actually beginning to stand and leap in the water when he heard a feminine voice behind him.

"Isben? You're Isben, right? The survivor from Helgen?" Camilla smiled and walked up to him, perhaps adding an unnecessary sway to her hips.

"Thank you for seeing to my injury. My leg feels better already."

She smiled and took his place on the stump. "I'm glad to hear that. I'm not a girl that likes things limp." She batted her eyelashes at him. "I'm Camilla. I work with my brother, Lucan, at the Riverwood Trader."

Isben inwardly groaned and shook his head. So this is the girl that Faendal is head over heels for. I should have told the elf that I was a cannibal to avoid this mess.

"You should stop by," she added when he didn't reply. "It'd be a shame for a strapping young man such as yourself to be a stranger, now wouldn't it?"

"Faendal is far more than strapping and has no limp." Isben thought for a moment, scratching his stubble before saying, "Actually, his posture is ramrod straight."

Camilla seemed doubtful. "And you would know this... how?"

Isben tossed a stone in the river, watching it bounce across the surface. "Word travels fast in a small town like this, and when all you can do is sit around, waiting for your leg to completely heal, you tend to hear a few things. Also heard that Sven limps on occasion."

"Does he now?" Camilla approached Isben with a scowl on her face and her arms stiffly at her sides. "What else did you hear about Sven?"

"Interested in him, are you?"

Camilla snorted. "I'm surprised you didn't hear how he writes me ballads nearly every week! He's a real sweetheart, that Sven. So sweet that I wouldn't mind marrying him."

"Marrying Sven?" Isben laughed and tossed another stone. "Don't tell me you haven't heard about Sven? Oh, poor dear, I've only been here for a few days, and I even know about Sven." He could hear Camilla shift from foot to foot, at conflict whether or not to pry or remain indifferent. She tried to keep her composure, but Isben's silence pressed her curiosity.

She took the bait like a starved slaughterfish. "What... what about Sven?"

"Oh, you know, it's rather common with men who've been babied by their mothers their entire life. Now, I don't mean any disrespect to Hilde. Though she seems a bit batty, I'm sure she's a very pleasant woman underneath her gruff exterior. Sven's been sheltered his entire life, having mother dearest provide everything for him. It's only natural that he'll expect his dear wife to do the same for him." He sighed and leaned against a tree trunk. "He'll want a little woman who cleans for him, cooks for him, washes his clothes for him, the typical coddled-man privileges."

Isben pushed himself off the tree and slowly circled Camilla. "And you, Camilla—or do you prefer 'Mrs. Sven'?—would be thrusting yourself in that very situation if you ever married that Sven lad." He hid his grin when he saw her clench her fists.

"Is that all marriage is to him?" she growled out. "That pig-headed, spoiled, self-centered..!" She threw her shoulders back, standing tall. "I won't waste my time with that loafer anymore. Perhaps Faendal is the man for me." She sashayed away, her hips still swinging a bit too dramatically.

Isben rolled his eyes. What a bother! He traded in fried Dragon-meal for the life of a counselor!

Eugh, he needed out of this village sooner rather than later.