Disclaimer: Prongsdeer is the author who generated the idea for this story. She is also the author of the first 15 chapters. I'm simply taking over the story after Prongsdeer has hit a severe case of writer's block. I have gone through and put in a few of my own scenes and added and deleted other scenes. You can find Prongsdeer at Tumblr as marvelcapsicle and AO3 as prongsdeer or u/9139894/

I do not own Skyrim or any of its characters.

Sweat dripped down the side of her face as she packed corn in her arms. Despite the frostbitten air, her blood ran swift and hot through her veins. Sweat ran down her temples. All that work and they'd barely covered a fourth of the field.

Carefully, Freyja placed the vegetables in the basket and glanced around. Winter was a[approaching quicker than expected and the farmers were desperate for any help they could get. Unfortunately, those willing to help were far and few. Everyone was rushing about preparing their homes for the colder seasons.

A young boy ran up to her throwing a bundle of carrots unceremoniously into a basket.

"Hey! Treat those veggies proper," explained the farmer

The boy grinned up at her. Dirt smeared across his face and all the way up his arms. Freyja and the farmers chuckled at the boys enthusiasm. Shaking her head, she urged her tired legs back into the field. If the children could keep going, she certainly could.

Hours streamed by as the sun crossed the sky faster than she and the farmers could pick. Most men kept their distance, but every once in a while one of the younger men would throw a question her way.

"So, you spent your whole life in a castle studying magic."

"Not just magic. Botany, animals, history, and other things."

"Wouldn't you do better teachin'?"

"I suppose…" Memories of the lonely hall caused her to hesitate. "I don't want that though. I want to experience the world— make a difference."

Several of the farmers exchanged looks. "And living on the streets, surviving day to day is making a difference."

Picking the last corn from the stalk, Freyja secured the bundle in her hands. "I'm not out to write my name in history. I think helping people is as good a difference as any other."

She held her breath as she turned to the young man. "Besides… If I'm going to be totally honest, I just don't like it in Winterhold. It's too cold, stuffy. I don't want to spend my whole life stuck between stone walls."

The young man nodded, "I can respect that."

The hollow clang told the farmers dinner was ready. The rest of the work would have to wait for another day.

Her trap route was strategic. Her less profitable days usually meant she needed to change locations. Other than that, she continually hauled furs on Elrindir's shop counter.

As she suspected, Elrindir greatly overpriced her first transaction with him. Now, she was getting two to seven septums per fur, depending on the fur quality and the size. It was enough to buy food and sleep in an inn room every night, although she learned quickly her money was best saved sleeping outside on warmer nights.

She curled her toes under the wool blanket, feeling the heat of the fire on her face. She watched the flames flicker, licking the air.

Her name and presence were slowly being perceived in a more positive light. She did people favors, helped them with their problems. Her morning trap runs left her much time in the afternoons and evenings. More than not, she found herself running errands for Whiterun's high society or helping the less wealthy with problems they didn't have the power to fix. She didn't know how many times she scolded Braith for bullying Lars or recovered Andurs's Amulet of Arkay (He kept losing the damn thing). She was even growing accustomed to helping the farmers pull in their crops.

Townspeople were starting to acknowledge her with waves or greetings. She was infinitely more welcome in the city walls than she was when she first arrived.

"Between the war and the return of the dragons, I wonder if we should not leave Skyrim and ply our trade elsewhere," Atahbah said.

Freyja watched the Khajiit elders gather together as the rest of the caravan wander off to bed. Atahbah worried her withering clothes in her claws, eyeing her aging leader with anticipation.

During nights when the Khajiit caravan was camped outside the town, Freyja would spend the nights with them. It took a while for them to build trust; however, Freyja found that they were good folks, despite their questionably acquired merchandise. She often exchanged magical services, such as charging magical weapons or pieces of jewelry for things she needed.

"I admit, the dragons are a concern, but we can avoid them if we do not stay in one place for too long," Ri'saad said.

Rumors of dragons were becoming more frequent. Even the great city of Solitude was no longer a haven from the beasts. On her trips into the wild, she heard the roars and felt the air vibrate. There were times when she thought she had caught glimpses of black and red scales, but the moment she turned around to look, the dragon was gone.

She felt her heart strain. Even with a steady income, she felt her time was ticking. It wasn't safe out there. Even during the day. According to the shaggy Companion, she didn't know how to hold her buck knife properly. Her magic was only a small force against all the dangers standing against her.

Even so, she wasn't going to use her powers if she could help it. People were only accepting her because she refrained from using magic. If she openly used it to defend herself, she would be ostracized once again— labeled a murderer.

"That may be, but what of the war? That is not so easy to escape from."

"The war? That is not a reason to leave, it is a reason to stay."

Frowning, Freyja looked at the leader of the caravan. The sideburns and the long swaying hair hid the old Khajiit's face from her hollowed stare.

"And what makes you think that."

Ri'saad turned his body to look at their guest. "Because war is good for business, of course." The heat the fire was sucked from the air as Freyja turned head down to stare at her covered toes.

"That's an ungodly business."

"But it'll feed our children."

Freyja nodded curtly, remembering the many times she gave what little she had to the homeless child Lucia. "Caring for our children takes priority."

"Indeed, it does,"

…...

Freyja drew a fur coat around herself, shivering every time the wind flowed through her as though she was nothing more than a sheet of parchment.

More townsfolk were buying up Freyja's wares, offering her coin the moment she returned from a trip rather than pay the full price at the Drunken Huntsman. Mostly, Freyja refused. Unless the offer came from someone with clothes as thin as Lucia's.

Walking up behind Lucia, Freyja wrapped the thick fur-lined cloak around the shivering child. It would never ceases to amaze how people would turn a blind eye to the child when they obviously had more than they needed.

"Are you sure," Lucia chattered.

"I'm sure," Freyja tucked the cloak completely around the girl's thin body. "I don't need it. It's much too small for me." Freyja straightened, pleased with the way the coat fit the child.

She had to guess at the measurements and it took a while to convince Lillith Maiden-Loom to agree to make a decent cloak, but she managed it. The old woman had tittered at her until she agreed to take her place in harvesting for the next couple days on top of paying her. "You'll have to remember to take care of it. I won't be able to get my hands on a new one."

The young girl beamed up her. The happy spark in her eyes was a better reward than Freyja could have imagined.

"I managed to get enough today for a room at the inn," Lucia said. She plopped herself down on the bench, swinging her legs to and fro. "If I try a little harder maybe I'll get enough for dinner."

Freyja frowned at the girl. The flesh of her cheek caught between her teeth as she glanced at a redguard man. "I'm not sure how I feel about you begging, sweetie." She ran her fingers through the imperial child's hair smoothing it down in an attempt to make the child look somewhat presentable.

"What'll I do if I don't?"

Pulling out her coin purse, Freyja pressed a few gold septums into the girls hands, "I'm sure I can manage to put food in that belly and a roof over your head for the nights."

The girl's next expression was one too complex for her age; something between gratitude and guilt. Freyja found it too startling to bear. No child should be so conflicted to accept help with the knowledge that their benefactor may go hungry.

Without confirming or denying the child's reason for reluctance, Freyja patted the girl on the head. "You better hurry along and get yourself a room. You don't want to be out of a warm bed because the inn has filled."

Lucia scrambled her way off the bench and hurried to the Bannered Mare. Freyja's own feet hit the market place cobblestones soon after. Luckily, there wasn't any snow yet. It meant she could continue camping outside the city walls. The cold season was much too bitter in Whiterun Hold to go without warm shelter. She would die of frostbite.

Carlotta waved. A genuine smile gracing the window's face. Without missing a beat, Freyja headed over to the fruit and vegetable stand. "Good evening."

"Thank the devines, I thought I would have to mark my vegetables down."

"They starting to sour?"

"Yes. You're buying today, right," the woman asked hopefully.

"I could use ingredients for tonight's meal."

"Perfect!" Carlotta packed together the last of the produce from her stand with haste.

"Do you have to be somewhere?"

"I-ah. No...I've just been having some trouble." Carlotta let out a straining sigh and dunked an already sopping clothe in her water bucket. "You have enough troubles of your own without minding mine."

Freyja watched her friend wipe down the counter. "I won't push you if you don't want to tell me, but I'm willing to listen if you need an ear."

Carlotta gave Freyja a meek smile. The suns' light dimly reflecting in her eyes. "Thanks."

Freyja nodded, watching her friend wipe down the counter and shove her earnings in a small coin purse. As she waved her friend goodbye, her heart reached out to the woman. She had seen the way men pestered her as she tried day in and out to make enough to feed her little girl.

Sadly, the last time she had tried to stand up for Carlotta against another villager ended in disaster. She still had so little respected that she couldn't so much as pick a side without having many of the townsfolk revolt against her and whoever she tried to help. It was best that she stayed away from controversy.

Freyja entered the inn. Tonight the Drunken Huntsman was much much too full. There wasn't any room for her. Tonight, the Bannered Mare was also busy. A gaggle of men passed food and drink around as they sung the tells of the evening hunts. A couple young maidens postured nearby, hoping to catch the eye of some of the more wealthy drunkards. Ducking around a dancing couple, Freyja nearly made it to the counter, when she felt a tug on her waist pulling her in the opposite direction.

"Hello, there."

"You." The Companion, her savior and, seemingly, constant annoyance, smiled down at her with a spark of mischievousness. His dark hair swung down to greet her, whacking her in the face. He was a handsome sight— made more appealing by the crows feet crowning the corners of his eyes.

"Yes, me."

"Do you mind." Freyja tried pulling herself free of his arm.

"Come. Have a drink." The smell of alcohol rolled off his tongue and accosted her nose.

"I think you've had enough."

"Com'on you've been working hard these past couple weeks. It's okay to have some fun."

Freyja caught a glimpse of two women sitting at the table the Companion had seemingly abandoned. Each of them glaring at her venomously. "I'll pass."

The man appraised her, still clinging to her waist with that enormous arm. His skin was a sickly pale. It contrasted horribly with the red rimming of his eyes. He seemed dazed, not steady on his feet. His starlight eyes filled with abandon. "If you keep this up your going to fall ill. Too much work and no play makes jack an ill boy."

"It's too much work and no play makes Jack a dull boy, not sick." Initially, she thought his drunken appearance was due to the fiery liquid running through his veins. Now, she thought it was something more. "Are you sure you aren't the one who's sick?"

He hummed placing his forehead against hers. His skin was searing. A bead of sweat trailed down his cheek into his beard. "I do feel awful."

"So, the witch has decided to become a harlot," came a shrill voice.

Freyja jerked her head away from the Companion to see one of the girls smirking savagely at her. Her red hair twisted up into a magnificent crown of braids. She was beautiful. Her wild allure pulled together with glamourous emeralds set around her irises. "Is that how you actually get those furs. Sell yourself to keep yourself warm for the night and the nights after."

The girl opposite her, a blonde with elegantly curled hair and lips stained the color of a rose blossom. "Oh, Dibeliah would be proud." Giggling spread from the girls, migrating to other tables.

"I hate to break it to you but Farkas doesn't pay for cheap whores."

Her throat constricted, making it hard for her to retaliate. She felt her heart pounding in her chest, making it hard to hear the whispered laughter around her. "You would know, wouldn't you?"

Farkas's bark of laughter burst through the dining hall along with several other men. "You're right." He gestured widely at the redhead. "I didn't even fork over a septum for her." The humiliation settled into Freyja's heart reflected on both women's faces.

Rude jeering and obscene gestures followed Freyja as she quickly shoved past the towering man and out into the street. Forget a warm comfortable bed. She would settle for peace and quiet over simple luxury. Her eyes stung as she braced herself against the bitter cold.

To hell with that man. He was grown. If he wanted to drink in his sickly state, let him.

She fell back against the city wall and slide down until she hit the ground. She felt sick. Her stomach turned in her stomach, although her sudden illness didn't elude her from the sound of footfall.

Quickly, she wrenched her hair out of its ponytail at the back of her head, praying the curtain would hide her reddened face.

"Wait, witch. Devines you're fast." Her turning stomach quickly replaced with anger. The same large hand that had trapped her wrist earlier pulled her around.

"What is your problem?"

The man beamed down at her. His joy akin to a dog bounding up to his irate owner after chasing the chickens around the coop.

"Where you going? The party's in there." He jabbed his thumb up over his shoulder in the direction of Warmaiden's.

Freyja pressed her lips together; a physical attempt to hold her tongue. "I'm not interested in drinking. I was looking to rent a room."

"So was I. They're sold out." The shadows crossing his face made his pout more pronounced.

A disgusted sound emitted from the back of her throat. "Planning to take the redhead for another spin," she said mockingly.

"Nah. she wasn't fun. Just laid there like a dead fish. I hate fish." Not so sure how to retaliate to that observation, Freyja watched silently as the man swayed. He was obviously too slobbering drunk to understand he pegged her down with the reputation of a common whore. She hated to admit it, but her humiliation wasn't really his fault. He had only stopped her for a greeting.

Freyja sighed, inspecting him. He really didn't look good. Any glimpse she of him as of late, he seemed to be in some type of disarray. It didn't fit the image of him sitting at her campfire after killing off that werewolf. But wait… his armor wasn't put on right then either.

"How long have you been feeling unwel-"

A loud belch protruded from the man's mouth. In his laughter at her disgusted look, the giant of a man lost his footing and fell, pulling her to the ground with him.

"For the love of- you! Let go of me," Freyja yelled, kicking out at the man to create distance. The man cackled, wincing. "Go home. You're drunk and have a fever AND you're causing me nothing but trouble."

"Sorry,"the man breathed through his tremors. "Wasn't trying to."

"Wasn't trying to." Freyja launched into a lecture. "What do you call grabbing people and pulling them around?"

"Jus tryna start a talk."

"Well, don't grab people. I don't like it."

"Coulda pulled away."

"No, I couldn't. Look. I'm already bruising where you grabbed me!"

The man's eyes snapped hazily in her general direction. "'m sorry. I didn't mean to hurt ya."

"Of course, you didn't. You so slobbering drunk you can't control your strength," she muttered. She grabbed his arm with both hands and started tugging him off the ground.

She could leave him here. It wasn't as if anyone would do anything to him, not a companion. But it wouldn't be right. Not with the dropping temperatures.

The moment the man was on his feet, he leaned heavily on her. "Skjor says I have the strength of Ysgramor, and my brother has his smarts," he said glumly. "Guess I need more training. Didn mean ta hurt you."

"It's fine. I can't carry you. You need to walk on your own."

Slowing, Freyja steadied the man and they made their way to Jarrvaskr. After several reminders that she wasn't a leaning post, they finally made to the courtyard and up the steps to the double doors.

The door thudded shut calling the attention of the ginger-haired companion and a greying man she'd never seen before.

"What's the meaning of this." The woman got up, walking towards them quickly as her peer's head lulled to the side. Freyja felt more and more weight bearing down on her shoulders.

"He's ill...and drunk. I thought I'd return him instead of leaving him to freeze in the street."

"Again, Farkas." the woman gripped the man's shoulders.

"We shou enlist her. She's nice," The drunken Companion slurred.

The old man chuckled as the woman rolled her eyes and pulled his arm around her shoulders.

"We know she's nice, but she can't fight for septum. You said so yourself, she doesn't even have proper stances."

"I'm right here."

"Won evar be good if no one teach 'er!"

"We already have enough people to teach. Let's focus on priming Njada and Athis for the inner circle and then we'll take on new members."

"While that is a logical route, It may now be for the best," the white-haired man said. "I've heard the wolf population around town has decreased significantly since the mage has taken to the fur trade." The old man turned to study Freyja. "Come closer." His grey beard and hair, blue eyes, and pale skin made him look cold, but his warm, friendly voice showed he wasn't he seemed to be first. "Killing all those wolves is an accomplishment. How did you do it? With magic."

Freyja didn't answer. She would already be suffering from the scandal in the tavern. She would not have the Companions spreading rumors she was using magic to get her furs. "I'll take my leave now."

"Supose t' freeze t'night." Farkas winced as The ginger-haired women pinched him. "We 'ave plenty a room."

Freyja felt her rage return. "Why would I want to-"

The door opened. A courier standing on the threshold holding a letter. "A letter for you, ma'am. Your eyes only."

She tore the letter open, reading fast at first and then slowly after realization settled on her.

The owner of the Bannered Mare, Hulda, had apologetically written out her banishment from the inn for humiliating the daughters of a wealthy thane of Solitude and for rumors of solicitation.

Before she could stop herself, she settled her head in her hands and wept. Maybe she should go home. It was plain that no one wanted her here. The courtier's shoes were still in her sight. Even the red-haired woman seemed to have shaken her peer long enough to step toward her.

"Ma'am. It's going to get to freezing temperatures tonight." There was a pause as the courtier busied with something in his hands. "Take care of yourself." He left after lingering some more.

"You okay," Farkas muttered. A hand to large to be the woman's clasped her wrist to pull her hands from her face.

"Don't touch me!" Freyja flung his hands away. "You couldn't just keep your hands to yourself," Freyja yelled. "Now those women you were with are going around telling the town I'm a harlot. I don't need your help and I don't want it."

Freyja ran blindly out of the Companion's halls, trying to stop the tears before her cheeks stung too bad. The moment she reached the bottom of the stone steps a small figure curled between the benches caught her eye.

"Lucia, did you not get a room?"

The girl shook her head. Her arms and legs were pulled into the coat in an attempt to keep warm. Freyja reached down and hauled the girl into her arms.

"Come on. Let go to my camp. We'll get a fire started and drink for tea.

At her camp, she laid the girl in her bedroll and piled on all the furs she owned. The fire started with a flick of her wrist and the tea was prepared on moments later, but that didn't stop the fridged air from turning her fingers numb. Her bones shook, although she did manage to keep Lucia warm enough to sleep comfortably.

The sun couldn't rise fast enough. Somewhere in the darkness she heard the howls of wolves. Firelight was her only barrier aside from the magic in her fingertips and a hunting blade.

She should go back to the college. There she was safe and welcomed.

Freyja shook her head at herald, strapping supplies and tools to her being as the first rays of light shone across the sky.

No. She had wished for too long to not be locked in those stone walls to give up. She should never have thought it would be so easy. Even in Winterhold people stared at mages disapprovingly. While the other mages could bear the prejudice, she could not. Most mages chose to study mage. She has been born with it.

She shouldered her pack, demanding her will to strengthen. She would overcome this. She didn't need an inn to keep warm. There was always an alternative.

Lucia's hand gripped her coat as her hand glided the pack's straps in place, placing her feet briskly one in front of the other. Another day of work. She urged herself forward.