"Good. Your stance is much better than it was yesterday. Pull back the bowstring again, and try to hold position for fifteen seconds this time."

Gwynileth hissed through her teeth—her arms already felt like freshly-made jelly, and she and Kaidan had only been training for ten minutes. "How many seconds did I hold out in the last trial?"

"Twelve. But you're getting better: stronger."

The only reason that Gwynileth did not reply to that was because of how earnest his voice was, and she feared that were she to open her mouth again, something snippy would exit it.

She supposed it was only her own fault that Kaidan didn't know just how very new she was to the entire situation. Both of the nights that she had spent in his company so far, they had been quiet ones: neither one of them willing to speak candidly to the other. It was to be expected, seeing as they were barely new acquaintances—but despite her gratitude for Kaidan's selfless help, she found herself wanting nothing more than to rest on this third day of 'camping.'

Then again, if Gwynileth wanted to survive in the wild, she would need to put in the work that was needed to defend herself.

A sharp breath; and then she pulled back the drawstring of her bow and put every ounce of effort into maintaining the stance that Kaidan had taught her over the last two days.

He was quiet for a moment, careening around her in a full circle. Gwynileth could feel her arms begin to shake, but she swallowed hard and maintained her composure. She had found that if she didn't count how many seconds went by, she did a better job during each repetition.

"Keep your arm tucked in," said Kaidan. "Right now, your elbow is sticking out at an odd angle. Your aim will be off if it isn't corrected."

Before Gwynileth could even ask what he was talking about, one of his hands moved towards her elbow and put it in place for her. She tensed slightly at his touch, uncertain—but immediately after, he had let her go.

She relaxed again and tried not to feel guilty. It was not as though Kaidan knew of her aversion to physical correction, for she had said nothing about it; and he was only trying to help her, after all. He had offered it to her from the goodness of his own heart… or so it seemed so far, at least.

"Anya."

Gwynileth peered down the drawstring of her bow, trying to imagine where an arrow would go flying, if she was pointing such a weapon at an enemy…

"Anya, you can relax now."

"Oh." Gwynileth flushed slightly and put down her bow. Even though she was sticking to her charade of calling herself 'Anya,' she hadn't gotten used to it yet. "I'm sorry… how many seconds was that?"

When her crimson eyes landed upon Kaidan's face, she was surprised to note that he was smiling widely. "Twenty-one."

Her jaw dropped, but only for a moment. Upon realizing how ridiculous she must've looked, Gwynileth cleared her throat and returned her face to a passive neutral. "Was it really? You aren't simply lying to me to be kind, are you?"

Kaidan shook his head; already, the pride had vanished from his face. He was not a man who exhibited any semblance of joy very often, even if he was kind. "I am not lying. When it comes to a matter as serious as defending oneself, I will always be honest—brutally so, if I must. And that is why I say: you are improving, and at a rate faster than I expected."

"Oh," she repeated. "That's… good. I'm glad."

And she was—but she was also worried. Gwynileth wasn't sure how long it would take for her to become strong enough to truly be considered a skilled warrior; and if her fears came to light, she wasn't sure she would be strong enough to repel any employees of her parents, should they try to force her back home.

Kaidan picked up on her lack of enthusiasm. With a light frown, he said, "You don't seem too pleased with your progress."

"I… have a lot on my mind," she replied, aware of how lame an answer it was.

"I see. Would you like to talk about it?"

Gwynileth paused. Would she like to talk about it? She used to tell Anya everything… there were no secrets before. And she had always found comfort in speaking to Anya over things that had gone wrong; she always felt better after releasing the burdens weighing upon her soul.

But this was not Anya asking: it was Kaidan. He was a good man, a kindly one, but one that Gwynileth was not ready to trust wholeheartedly.

"Not today," she said. Her arms dropped; her bow fell limply to her side. "But maybe someday. I appreciate the sentiment, though. Thank you, Kaidan."

He nodded once, apparently unaffected by the revelation that she did not trust him completely. "All right. Shall we proceed with your training, then?"

The next hour was spent with Kaidan teaching Gwynileth how to shoot an arrow from the bowstring that she was now capable of drawing. It took a few moments for her to learn how to let the arrow rest upon her finger, in a way that it would not hurt. More than once, when she released the projectile, her arm was too close to the bowstring, which would leave angry welts against her skin.

And yet, by the time the sun was beginning to set, Gwynileth was able to hit a target. It was no bulls-eye, but it was certainly better than she could've hoped for. For the first time since she had realized how out of place she was in Skyrim, a great grin crossed her face. Whirling around to her instructor, she said, "Kaidan… thank you. I don't think I could've done this on my own."

There was no smile upon Kaidan's face, but the look in his eyes was soft. He placed a hand upon her shoulder and said, "It's no trouble. I'm glad for the company."

"How long have you been out here by yourself?"

He paused for a moment, perhaps thinking. "I can't say, exactly. But it's been a long time. I've traveled all across Tamriel, but nothing compares to the wilds of Skyrim. She's beautiful, as she is dangerous."

Gwynileth nodded serenely. She had not come across much of the danger yet, although… she suspected that was likely due to the kindness of the strangers turned friends that she had yet met. Captain Wayfinder, the carriage driver Bjorn, Valga Vinicia, Kaidan: in retrospect, she had been very lucky so far.

By this time, the sun had almost disappeared from its great sky. Knowing that soon they would need to start a fire, Gwynileth retrieved the woodcutter's axe that Kaidan had utilized to cut firewood and moved towards some of the smaller trees and brushes. "What brought you back to Skyrim?"

Thwack. One of the branches split off from the trunk of the small tree. Gwynileth grinned at her success and chucked it towards the pile of dry ground.

She could feel Kaidan's curious eyes following her movements. He was quiet for some time, as though debating on whether to respond… right when Gwynileth was certain he wouldn't, he said, "I came back looking for clues on my heritage."

Gwynileth paused just before she could commit to the downswing of the axe. Her crimson eyes glimmered as she glanced over her shoulder at him. "You have no blood family to speak of?"

"Not anymore," he answered. The way he pursed his lips told her that it was time to change conversation.

"I'm sorry." Gwynileth took a deep breath and centered herself… thwack. Another piece of log split in two.

"Ah. Don't be," said Kaidan. He moved next to Gwynileth and started picking up the pieces of wood that she hadn't yet brought next to their fire-pit. "What about you? Do you have any family out there?"

The question was a good one, because Gwynileth wasn't quite sure how to answer it. After what she had done, did she still have a family back in Morrowind? Or was she disowned, disinherited—completely forgotten by everyone whom she had spent years loving and caring for?

Then again, even if her parents still considered her their daughter, she was unsure whether she wanted that mantle. They had proven not to care about her pleads and desires already, even though she was their only child. Her own parents were willing to marry her to a man who had irreparably hurt her.

Considering this fact: even though it hurt to think, perhaps it would be better to be disowned. After a pensive moment, Gwynileth decided to say, "By blood, yes. By any other ties or bonds… no. Nor, I think, do I want them."

"Maybe in time, bridges can be mended," said Kaidan with a shrug. "Or maybe you were right to walk away from it all."

Gwynileth sighed softly to herself. She narrowed her eyes at the next log and shuffled her feet, trying to focus on her center of gravity. "Do you really think that? Family is such an important concept where I come from."

Thwack. Instead of forcing Kaidan to retrieve the wood she had cut, Gwynileth gathered up the chopped logs in her arms and began to carry them towards the fire-pit, where her companion had already placed dry leaves and twigs.

"Of course." Kaidan met her eyes; there was great sincerity within them. "I don't know much about Morrowind, but it doesn't matter, does it? You chose to come to Skyrim instead."

Gwynileth's face flushed silver. Hoping to hide her mild embarrassment, she turned away from him and busied herself with retrieving the flint from her knapsack. "How did you know that I chose to come to Skyrim? And that I'm from Morrowind?"

"Lucky guess. When I first saw you, you looked frightened: like a deer peering into a hunter's eyes. That's not a look that most people wear, unless they're hiding or running from something."

The answer was not entirely unexpected, although Gwynileth found herself chewing the inside of her lip. She hoped that Kaidan didn't see her as weak or hopeless. Even though he was a new friend—if indeed he was more than an acquaintance—she did not wish to come off as desperate… especially since she was. Swallowing hard, she asked, "Do I still look scared to you?"

With these words, she turned back to Kaidan and stared him directly in the eye. It was impossible to tell what he was thinking. The man was rarely prone to displaying his true emotions upon his face.

But then he said, "Not in the way that you were before. But I still see you're frightened about something."

"Ah… I see." One of her hands rubbed her arm. "You aren't wrong."

"You aren't afraid of me, are you?"

Gwynileth blinked and looked back up to Kaidan, startled by the question. "Of course not. Why do you ask?"

Kaidan reached for the flint that she had placed upon the ground and began striking it against a stone. "You are… slow to trust. I don't even know your name."

There was a careful hesitancy to his tone, but Gwynileth had grown up learning how to decode a person's voice and determine what they were hiding. It was an essential skill for Morrowind politics; and so she narrowed her eyes slightly and looked Kaidan up and down.

He refused to meet her eyes, focusing instead at the flint in his hands. He had never struggled before with starting a fire—this was a ploy, something to keep him from looking at her.

"I am not afraid of you," said Gwynileth, and this was the truth. He had proven his kindness and sincerity over the last few days; if he wished to hurt her, he would've done so already. "But I am sorry for concealing my real name from you. You… deserve to know me for who I really am."

She took a deep breath and wrung her hands. Only when Kaidan finally looked at her again did she say, "My real name is Gwynileth, from the House of Nerussa in Morrowind. I ran away only seven days ago; you found me on the third day that I took refuge in this country."

The fire was finally started; Kaidan took the initiative to nurture it, so the sparks could become flames. It only took a few moments for a soft orange glow to bathe their encampment. As they were positioned close to a lake, some of the firelight glimmered off of the water's surface, shooting a few subtle rays back to them.

When Kaidan met Gwynileth's eyes again, she noted that the soft look had returned to him. The corners of his lips tugged upward; a lump appeared in her throat as she met his eyes. She had only made his acquaintance for a few short days, but Gwynileth couldn't help feeling comfortable around him.

"It's nice to meet you, Gwynileth," he said at last. He withdrew the great-sword from where it had rested upon the ground and began the arduous process of cleaning and sharpening the weapon. As he ran a whetstone along the blade of his sword, he said, "You said you're from a House of Morrowind. What does that mean?"

Gwynileth smiled wryly; her eyes followed the smooth movement of stone upon steel. "A House is a family with wealth, prestige, and power. My mother and father governed a significant portion of Morrowind, alongside other members of other Great Houses."

Kaidan paused and raised a suspicious eyebrow as he glanced back to her. "I didn't expect to be knocking boots with an aristocrat, much less a princess."

For the first time since they had begun addressing the topics of family and home, Gwynileth grinned. "No, no, it's nothing like that. I was not so important. I was just… another noblewoman."

"Sounds like you were important to me," said Kaidan, as offhanded as one might be when describing the weather. The stone slid across his weapon's blade with a sharp shink. "Like a princess of ash or something."

Now she was laughing, throwing a hand to cover her mouth to conceal how amused she truly was. Eyes gleaming, she cried, "A princess of ash? Is that what you think of when you think of Morrowind?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Is that a bad thing?"

"No, I suppose not. You aren't wrong, at least." Gwynileth sighed and rubbed a hand upon her arm. "There is so much ash there it is hard to farm for ourselves. We rely on imports from other countries like Skyrim to survive. It can be grey and dreary, but the sunsets there are beautiful. When the sun turns scarlet and glows upon the sands, for a brief moment in time, they look like seas of silver…"

Kaidan leaned forward, the task he'd been so adamant on completing now forgotten. Firelight flickered off of his face, highlighting the honest curiosity to his amber eyes as he said, "Morrowind is one of the few countries I never got to visit. Tell me more about it."

Gwynileth stole a glance at him, skeptical. Upon seeing his reassuring nod, however, she smiled again. "Very well. I don't really know what you wish to hear about, so… perhaps I'll tell you about what I know.

"There is a King in Morrowind, but he does not hold much power. The Great Houses are what the common-folk and middle-class look to for leadership: House Redoran, Telvanni, and Hlaalu. The Redorans are known as the general leaders, masters of politics and policies. House Telvanni are an eccentric bunch, but they have an affinity for the arcane that other Dunmer can only dream of. House Hlaalu are in possession of great military forces; it is well known they can call upon the assassin's guild, Morag Tong, at any moment. My family, House Nerussa, was looking to become the newest addition to that title through our riches and diplomatic ties, but now that I am gone…"

She stopped, suddenly realizing how tight her throat had constricted. Tears of anger sparked her eyes—despite the horror her parents were willing to inflict upon her, she still felt guilty for leaving.

There was no reason to be feeling guilty, and Gwynileth knew that. The nobles liked to preach that lesson all the time: everyone took care of themselves first, never mind the pious ramblings about responsibility. But it was harder to absorb this message now that she had taken such drastic action to save herself.

A silence took over the clearing they were camping in, save for the crackle of the flames and the chirping of crickets both near and far. Gwynileth could feel Kaidan's eyes upon her; she knew that they were kind.

"It's all right," he said at last. "You don't have to say anything more. I apologize for bringing up something so upsetting. Now I know not to do so again."

Gwynileth wiped her eyes, hoping that Kaidan couldn't see her over the flare of the flames but knowing that her hopes were in vain. She was not cross with him, not in the slightest: he could not have known. And so she smiled again, even if the gesture was thin, and said, "It's all right. Thank you. I—appreciate that greatly."

There was a rustle in the bushes nearby, which caused Gwynileth to jump—Kaidan had retrieved his bow in a flash, an arrow nocked and ready. Only two seconds did he peer into the darkness before releasing it; there was an animalistic squeal, and the heavy thud of a body hitting the ground.

"Just a deer," said Kaidan. He stalked over to where the carcass lay and hauled it over his shoulders. "The pelt should make a good blanket, as you hardly seem adjusted to the cold. Come here, I'll show you how to skin and tan its hide."

Grateful to have such a drastic change in topic, Gwynileth took his side. Although she was paying attention to this new lesson, a part of her could not stop thinking about how relieved she was to have found someone like him: someone warm and genuine, who wanted to help her.

Anya would've liked him, of that, she was sure. In fact, Anya would've likely nudged her in the ribs with an elbow and hissed, "He's handsome!" under her breath.

She smiled as she watched Kaidan masterfully separate the fur from the deer's body. His voice was soft, yet well-spoken. Not at all like the Nords she had read about or met in Windhelm or Falkreath. There was a small spark in his eyes when he met her own.

Maybe Gwynileth didn't have to be afraid of anything at all.

The following day, Gwynileth and Kaidan decided to relocate their encampment. While they quite liked the quiet stream and peaceful pines, the last thing they wished to do was thin out the game in the woods. It was still late winter, after all, and without sufficient meat to supplement their meals, they would go hungry before spring arrived.

Most fortunately, even the last three days had helped Gwynileth's stamina. While her arm muscles were still sore, she was able to haul a decent amount of their supplies within the pack upon her back. Kaidan, of course, took whatever she couldn't carry. While Gwynileth would've felt bad about this normally, one askance look at his muscles prevented her from feeling too sorry.

It was a simple journey along the dirt roads. Some of the pots clanked against the metal of their weapons, but Gwynileth didn't mind the racket, because she was too busy conversing with Kaidan about things that didn't really matter at all.

"What's the hardest thing you've had to endure in Skyrim so far?" asked Kaidan with a sideways look.

"The food," Gwynileth replied immediately. "Everything is so heavy here. Nords like to turn everything into a stew, or some sort of soup. I'd give anything for a simple puff pastry, or even—I never thought I'd say this—an ash yam."

Kaidan shook his head, amusement lining his features. "Ash yams. Those sound enticing."

There was no missing the sarcasm in his voice; this only prompted Gwynileth to roll her eyes at him, and make a show of doing so. "You only say that because you've never tried an ash yam quiche before."

He chuckled at this, which made the Dunmer grin in turn. It was not often that Kaidan laughed at anything she said, which made his reaction that much more rewarding. It also didn't hurt that he had a nice laugh; it wasn't aggressive, or forced in any way. She did like the sound of his voice—he had an accent she couldn't quite place, one that was unlike her own people's at all.

Despite it still being winter, the sun glared down atop their heads as they walked. It was directly above them in the sky, hinting that it was nearing midday—noticing this, Gwynileth spared a sideways glance to him and asked, "Speaking of food, shall we take a quick break and grab something to eat?"

"Sounds like a good idea," he said. He pointed towards a small spot just off-road where they could sit and rest for a short while.

Gwynileth dropped her knapsack at her feet and massaged her shoulders. The weight of the bag was causing horrid knots to appear in her muscles, though of course she wouldn't complain. Kaidan had offered to shoulder most of the burden, after all.

She took it upon herself to retrieve a loaf of bread and some preserved jams; after splitting the bread in half, she took a quick look around. There was a waterfall not too far off, and a clear great lake that it emptied into. If they were to rest here for longer, Gwynileth suspected they could potentially fish up dinner, and then they wouldn't have to worry about hunting later…

A few voices distracted her from her thoughts—she glanced back towards the road to see a few other travelers approaching them. They wore strange armor that resembled black mages robes… and the travelers were not Nords, but Altmer.

"Gwynileth." Kaidan's voice was stressed; he reached out and tightly grasped her arm, which caused her to gasp and drop her bread. He shot her an apologetic look and released her. "Let's go."

There was no arguing with that urgent tone. She nodded and, forsaking her midday meal, began to gather her things—

A bolt of ice stopped her in her tracks. Gwynileth shrieked and whirled around only to see a few other Altmer had ambushed them from the nearby bushes; they had dropped their pretense of being simple travelers. Based on the amulets around their neck, it became obvious who exactly they were: members of the Thalmor, the ones patrolling Skyrim.

Kaidan's great-sword was in his hands in a flash; he roared in anger and charged the first few elves that dared step in his path. He cleaved through them with a mixture of careful precision and unforgiving rage, but upon seeing the limbs hewn from their bodies, Gwynileth froze up.

"Gwynileth!" he called. His amber eyes were blazing as he met her own. "Grab what you can and run!"

She choked; he was telling her to… leave?

One of the Thalmor lunged towards her, hands extended for her throat. Gwynileth gasped and smacked him in the head with her bow—he groaned and rubbed the wound. Taking advantage of his debilitated state, Gwynileth withdrew her dagger and swiped at him.

Her adversary howled in pain as a few of his fingers were severed at the knuckle and fell to the ground. Drops of blood followed after them, watering the dry dirt. Gwynileth's breath began to come in short gasps, and her chest tightened—

"Run!" bellowed Kaidan. "Run!"

In the spare moments where he was looking back at her, he failed to notice one of the mages beginning to prepare one of his fire spells. It was being aimed directly at his back.

There was no time to think. Gwynileth kicked the Thalmor next to her in the back of the knee, sending him tumbling to the ground, and withdrew her bow and a singular arrow. She set it carefully upon her finger, trying to calm her frantic countenance, aimed, and let it go.

The arrow soared through the air past three other bodies and embedded itself in the mage's chest. He fell to the ground, the spell fizzling out in his hands.

Kaidan glanced to where her arrow had landed; his eyes widened.

Before either of them could say anything more, the first Thalmor whom Gwynileth had injured seized her from behind. His bloodied hand scrabbled at her throat, clawing into her skin—she yelped and struggled, but he had managed to press his arm against her neck, and he was pushing with such force.

"No! Gwyn!"

Kaidan's voice was growing fainter and farther away. She still tried to struggle, because that was her friend, the only one she'd yet made in Skyrim. He had told her to run, but she wouldn't leave him. Not like this… not like that…

The sounds of his shouting said that Kaidan was still fighting, but Gwynileth was no longer able to fight back. All feeling was lost in her arms, her legs—still gasping for breath, she crumpled to the ground.

Hey you guys, I just wanted to say a quick thanks for all your support and for reading this far! :) I really appreciate you taking the time out of your day to read and comment. I hope you're having a great one- take care!