The next morning, Skuld was roused from her death-like sleep when something coarse and furry began tickling the underside of her nose. She crinkled her nose, squeezing her eyes shut even tighter as her brows furrowed, one hand coming up to swipe lazily at the air above her face. Whatever had been accosting her retreated, and Skuld was contented to try and fall back asleep.

As soon as she did, the tickling returned. This time she swatted at the air more vehemently, groaning softly under her breath, "Grim, cut it the fuck out."

"Who's Grim?" a boyish voice inquired from above her. Skuld's eyes snapped open and a sneer found it's way across her face as she took in the sight of a young boy perched above her, a single stalk of wheat in hand.

He stared at her as she reached up and yanked the wheat from his hand, the look on his face a mix of surprise and childish wonderment as she snapped it in half and let it fall to the floor, "Your eyes are two different colors!"

Gods, sometimes Skuld hated children.

"I hadn't noticed." Came her flat retort as she sat up from her place on the floor of Hod and Gerdur's home, atop a straw bedroll that they'd fetched for her to sleep on the night before. Looking around, she found the house empty, save for the brat. Even Grim was nowhere to be seen.

"Really? Well, one is dark brown like mud and the other one is white like the moon." He declared, proud at his descriptive use of metaphor, or something to those ends, as Skuld stood.

"Fascinating." Her body was stiff, and her muscles were still ridiculously sore, though not nearly in as terrible a way as yesterday. It was less burning pain, more the familiar ache of 'man, you got up to some shit yesterday!' Skuld raised her arms above her head in a yawned stretch, shoulders popping as her back cracked in at least four different places.

Her stomach grumbled, and she found herself wandering over to the hearth to inspect the array of food that had accumulated there. The brat trailed after her, accosting her with one blatantly insulting question and/or statement after the next as Skuld went about crunching on an apple.

"What happened to your face?"

"Mauled by a hill."

"Your voice is really deep."

"So I've been told."

"Why is your hair so short?"

"Youthful rebellion."

"What's that?"

"Ya'know," Skuld began, speaking lazily around a mouthful of apple, twirling a lazy finger, "when you do something to get a rise out of the older folks around you."

"Like a prank?!" She swore his eyes had just grown three sizes.

Skuld finished chewing and swallowed, "Yeah-" She agreed sardonically, "-like a prank." Except not at all like a prank, but Skuld wasn't about to encourage the brat anymore than she already was in order to explain that concept to him.

The boy rocked energetically back and forth on the balls of his feet, blissfully unaware of how much Skuld really didn't want to be conversing with him right now, "I love pranks! I play them all the time!" He stopped rocking and crossed his arms over his chest, which he puffed out resolutely, "Maybe, if you're nice enough to me, I'll teach you a few of 'em." He said it like it would be the greatest honor to ever be bestowed upon her.

Instead of indulging the brat further, Skuld finished off her apple and tossed the core into the fire, "Where are Ralof and your parents?" She finally asked, thinking it safe to assume the blonde pigmy belonged to Hod and Gerdur.

The boy's face fell, "They're all down at the mill, working." He seemed particularly bitter about that last part, rolling his eyes as he grumbled it through scowling lips.

Skuld sighed, "Well, if they ask after me, tell them that I've gone up along the river to the southwest." Skuld hadn't paid the river any mind as they'd passed it on their way to Riverwood, having only been concerned with finding somewhere to pass out, but now that she was rested and awake, she wanted desperately for somewhere to scrub the dirt, soot, and dried blood from her skin.

"You aren't the boss of me." The child state stubbornly, all signs of his previous wonderment gone.

Skuld found herself rolling her eyes as she picked up the fresh change of those that somebody – presumably Gerdur – had set aside for her and stuffed them into her pack, "Look, tell them or don't." She recovered her bow and quiver from the doorframe, slinging them over her shoulder with her pack, "I really don't give two fat ones either way." And with that eloquent show of maturity, she was out the door.

It took Skuld what seemed like an eternity to find a section of the river that she fancied. In the end, she'd strayed much farther from the village than she'd intended to, but at the payoff that she knew herself to be relatively alone and away from any prying eyes.

She made quick work of peeling herself out of the bloodied Stormcloak garb that she'd slept in, continuing to strip down until she was left in nothing but her smallclothes. Then, after making sure that her bow would be within her reach, should she need it, she slipped into the water.

It was cold, dreadfully so, compared to what she was used to, but she grew accustomed to it quickly enough. Soon, she came to find the frigid temperature almost therapeutic against her aching muscles, and had even managed to stop jumping out of her skin every time a fish brushed up against her in passing.

She lost track of how long she waded in the river, neck deep in the icy water as she leaned back against the bank. It didn't seem right to be so at peace after what had happened yesterday, just a few, short miles up the road. A large part of her still couldn't believe what had happened, couldn't believe that she, of all people, had been able to make it out.

What was she to do now? Was she just supposed to forget that she'd seen a bloody dragon, that said bloody dragon had almost killed her? Skuld let out a deep sigh and sucked in a breath before submerging herself fully in the river and allowing the water to wash over her face.

The gouges over her lips and the tip of her nose had re-opened when she'd tried to wash the grime from them earlier, as had the deep split that cut across the indented dimple of her chin. Her face stung as she held it beneath the current, allowing the water to wash away the blood that now flowed freely from the cuts.

They would scar, she had concluded after catching sight of her reflection in the water earlier, they would definitely scar.

Skuld wasn't vain by any means, but she'd been rather fond of her face – it had taken a while (around sixteen years, if she was being honest) to warm up to the… intensity of her features, but she had and now, quite frankly, she was more than just a little bit depressed. For almost her entire life she'd been lamenting over the inky blackness of her hair, the square curvature of her jawline, the puffiness of her lips, always pouting, and her thick, angular brows, but she'd gotten over it. She'd gotten over it so much that she'd actually found herself thinking, on more than one occasion, that she was passably attractive, if not slightly above average looking.

She'd even, more recently, gotten over the way that the silver-white glassiness of her right iris clashed against the dark, muddled hue of her left, gotten over how the sharp, almost catlike shape of them was so eerily akin to her mother's own eyes. (Gee, it was it was almost as if they were related or something.)

It was unfair. Unfair that after so many years of self-hatred, she'd come to accept what she looked like only to slide face first down a rocky embankment while running for her life and find herself right back where she started.

Ugh.

Skuld tried not to dwell on the thought as she surfaced, reaching back to pluck up a scrap of cloth, wetting it in the river, then pressing it over her mouth in an attempt to soak up the crimson liquid.

"Perhaps you should have Gerdur take a look at that." Ralof's voice spoke up from behind her, and Skuld drew the now blood-stained cloth from her face and sighed.

"How did I know you'd find your way out here?" She inquired, shifting against the bank so that she might look up at him. He had exchanged his Stormcloak cuirass for a much more inconspicuous white shirt and a pair of brown trousers, and it looked as though he'd taken a bath of his own at some point, the grime that had been caked on his skin long gone.

Grim was perched on his shoulder, like the little deserter he was.

Ralof shrugged his shoulders back, a barely-there smirk playing at the corner of his mouth, "Frodnar told me where I could find you; I thought you might have gone fishing." The sly amusement just barely hiding behind his thick Nordic accent betrayed him.

"Mmhm."

"Hey now," Ralof laughed as he sat himself down beside her at the edge of the riverbed, "Mind what you go around insinuating, Girl. One of these days you might offend the wrong person." Skuld had noticed that even after learning her name, he'd still been consistently calling her Girl. She couldn't be bothered to kick up any sort of fuss about it; anything was better than her brother's pet name for her.

"Who's to say that I haven't already?" She asked with a crooked grin as she pressed the rag tenderly to her chin. It stung to smile – burned, more like – and she could taste the metallic twang of the blood that had seeped into her mouth (Skuld was almost certain that her teeth were coated red), but the comically disturbed look that passed over Ralof's face at the sight of her made it worth it.

"You really should have Gerdur take a look at that."

"'ts fine, I'll make up a salve for it later." Skuld waved a hand dismissively. She had already picked the things she'd need for it on the way up the river.

If she wanted to, she could have just healed it herself with a bit of restoration magic, but it felt like cheating. It wouldn't change the fact that the cuts would scar, and it wouldn't change what had happened, so what was the point? Honestly, after all the things that she'd seen in Helgen, she almost felt like she deserved to put up with the pain, like it was the very least she could do after getting away practically unscathed when so many others – so many people better than her – had gone down in flames.

-Gods, she could still smell it; the gut wrenching scent of scalded flesh, bubbling as it melted from bone, sizzling as it slopped against the ground and mingled with the dirt. She could still hear the screams of agony and the hyper trill of dragon fire whenever she closed her eyes, could feel the heat of the flames against her skin and the hot breath of the beast on her neck.

She'd been trying all day not to imagine what had become of Hadvar after they'd disappeared behind the doors of the keep, regretting every second that she hadn't spoken up, hadn't done everything within her power to drag him along with them.

"How's your side?" Ralof's voice broke her out of her sullen daze, and Skuld could feel his eyes spanning the thick purple bruises that had overtaken the majority of her left side, the result of her crash landing through the roof after Ralof had tossed her out of the tower.

"Sore." She eyed the older man out of her periphery. His legs were crossed in front of him, shoulders scrunched up as he leaned forwards, arms braced against the ground within the circle of his calves. The pose was tense – defensive, even – and Skuld realized that she wasn't the only one still hung up on yesterday's happenings. A small bruise had formed on his right cheekbone, the product of her pegging him in the face the day prior, and Skuld resisted the urge to comment on it snidely, if only because she had no idea where she would even go from there in terms of coherent, not-awkward, conversation.

With a ragged sigh, she pushed her short locks back off her forehead and turned against the bank, bracing her arms against the thick grass and pulling herself out of the water. She refrained from making any move to dress herself right away, lest she soak her new clothes needlessly, and instead opted to sit silently at Ralof's side as the warmth of the sun slowly scared the moisture from her skin.

They sat like that for a long time, neither one making any attempt at conversation as they stared into the river. At some point, Grim had descended from his place atop Ralof's shoulder to rub his face against Skuld's arm. She grimaced, pulling away from his touch and rubbing the loosed fur from her damp skin, detesting how it clung to her.

Once Skuld deemed her smallclothes dry enough to be fitted beneath fabric, she stood, taking the fresh change of clothes with her, and began to dress herself. The fit wasn't perfect, but it was leagues better than the oversized cuirass that Gunjar had supplied her with. In the end, Skuld found the leather trousers comfortable enough, if a bit tight, and was pleased with the way the sleeveless white tunic hung loosely from her shoulders. The leather boots were a bit too big as well, but snug enough that they wouldn't fall from her feet when she walked.

Overall, she found the outfit satisfactory, if not a bit plain for her taste.

As she gathered her things, Grim scrambled up her pantleg and disappeared beneath the flap of her pack, while Ralof continued to stare aimlessly ahead. Unable to stand the silence for any longer, Skuld said, "So, I don't know about you, but I'm planning on getting piss drunk when we get back." She offered Ralof her hand, "You wanna join me, or what?"

Ralof looked up at her, a slow smile skittering across his face as he accepted her hand and pulled himself to his feet, "Sounds like a solid plan, if I ever heard one."

"Good, because the first round is on you."

Weeks later, the deep gouges peppering the lower half of Skuld's face had finally begun to scab and scar over, and the bastard child was finally beginning to adjust to life in Skyrim. She had moved out of Gerdur and Hod's house to take up (what she hoped would be temporary) residence in the Sleeping Giant Inn, paying for her stay with the septims she earned doing various odd jobs around the village.

It was slow work, it didn't pay well, and her efforts went largely unappreciated by the locals, but somehow, she found herself enjoying it. It was oddly… liberating, to be so unburdened by the responsibilities that had once chained her to her homeland, to not dread what horrible thing tomorrow would inevitably bring.

Today, Ralof was setting out from Riverwood, planning to make the journey northeast to Windhelm in order to rejoin the bulk of Ulfric Stormcloak's forces. Skuld was sad to see him leaving, and had tried to convince him not to several times, but she had gotten over it quickly, eventually wishing him luck and urging him to write her upon his safe arrival.

"Yes, Ma." Ralof laughed at her fussing as the pair stood at the start of the bridge leading out of town, earning him a light, backhanded smack to his cuirass. The Nord caught her wrist, lips twitching into a self-assured smirk. He stared at her a beat too long, something like proud fondness creeping into the clarity of his blue irises, "You worry too much." He stated matter-o-factly, tone dipping low, into something warm.

"I think I worry just enough, thank you very much." She chided, snatching her hand away from the handsy man, miffed that she'd been caught. Skuld hated it when he called her out on her hovering, hated it even more that he seemed to take such an immense amount of pleasure in teasing her about it.

A smug little prick, he was.

The nord leaned down, reclaiming her hand again and threading his fingers through with hers. (Skuld didn't think she would ever get used to his endless touching.) He tapped his thumb against the side of her hand idly, "You shouldn't." He stated simply. Before Skuld could open her mouth to argue the point further, he snatched her nose between the fingers of his free hand, pinching it while remaining vaguely mindful of the nearly-healed wound there. "I'll be fine." Skuld wrangled her hand away from him and swatted at him until he released her with a poorly concealed chuckle.

"-And you will write me a letter to tell me as much as soon as you get there." Skuld snapped, thoroughly annoyed that he couldn't wipe the look of amusement from his face for long enough to take her seriously. Because, honestly, how was she supposed to stay sane in this village without the older man to defuse her? Who would keep her from exploding if she had to deal one more time with the whole Sven/Camilla/Faendal situation? Who would stop her from attempting to sew Frodnar's mouth shut in his sleep to cease his endless bombardment of chatter? Who would silently help her return all the random shit she'd stolen (because she had absolutely zero self-control, where thievery was concerned) before their owners noticed them to be missing?

Ralof just laughed at her and reached down to tuck a strand of her overgrown hair behind her ear. He tilted her head up, snatching her chin between his fingers as he leaned town to thump his forehead against her own. His eyes rolled skyward before coming down to meet her heterochromatic irises, "Yes, Ma." He drawled again, voice thick with teasing.

Skuld pressed her palms to his shoulders, easing him away from her as she found herself unable to suppress a hearty snort, "Okay, you need to stop calling me that. You've gotta be close to twice my age, and, frankly, it's kind of creepy." Over the last week, after Ralof had realized just how much she had a tendency to hover – she swore, it wasn't even something she consciously did – she had graduated from 'Girl' to 'Ma' almost overnight.

"Hmmm…" Ralof hummed, feigning contemplation as his hands fell heavy over her shoulders, smoothing over her arms as they trailed down to settle over her waist, "No." He gave her waist a squeeze and Skuld jolted, annoyed at how terribly sensitive she was there, the product of years of Lars digging his fingers into her sides like daggers when she least expected it. Her brother had thought it was hilarious to watch Skuld trill and squirm away from him in pain, and apparently, so did Ralof, "It suits you too much." He pressed a feather-light kiss fondly to the tip of her nose, right over the soft scar tissue beginning to form there, before seeing himself out of her personal space before he overstayed his welcome.

"You could always come with me, you know." Ralof suggested jokingly as he mounted his horse, "Who's to say; I might be able to make a proper soldier out of you yet!" His bark of laughter betrayed the sentiment of his words, and Skuld's face fell into a state of deadpan.

She rolled her eyes, scoffing loudly, "There's about a good a chance of that as there is my left tit being named the new High King."

"Skuld," The older man chuckled, taking up the reigns of his mare and steering the horse towards the road ahead, "You are incorrigible."

The Nordic-Imperial mutt tilted her head to the side, one knuckle coming to rest below her chin as she offered her friend a crooked smirk, "You say that like it's a bad thing."

A.N./ Okay, so, truth time - I may or may not have finished this chapter a week and a half ago, updated it on Ao3, and completely forgot to update here? Oops?

-Anyways, I swear we're getting to the end of the introduction; if all goes as planed, next time Skuld will get around to the golden claw quest line and after that will be headed to Whiterun. Honestly, this chapter was mostly just a recovery period for the babes after Helgen, because way too many people gloss over just how much what happened there can fuck someone mentally, especially if that someone is a teenager who's never been in a life or death situation before.

This is also where we're going to start diverging from cannon a lot, though. Namely because I've got to keep finding new, believable, and sometimes hilarious ways to trick Skuld into progressing through the main quest line all while keeping her in character. (Because she's the kind of person who takes one look at a situation, decides it looks way too suspiciously like the beginnings of some epic journey, says "Absolutely not." and then proceeds to walk in the exact opposite direction.)

Also, thank you to those who have favorited, followed, and commented so far! It means a lot to me that people are enjoying the unorthodox approach I'm taking with my dragonborn, and it really helps motivate me to write more 3