Nathaniel was in a bad way. Snow cushioned the potion bottles as Nora upended the knapsack, shaking it until she freed the fur lined cloak at the bottom. She shook it out with a flourish, draping it over the cold stone floor before rolling the knapsack into a pillow. As Thorald lowered Nathaniel onto the improvised bedroll, a distant roar echoed through the cave.

Nora glanced up to where a stone bridge spanned the space high above, the glittering stars visible beyond that. Funny that they had arrived where she had started. She could only hope this new beginning went more smoothly.

Nathaniel groaned, and Nora turned to see Thorald carefully peeling back his tunic to look at his wounds. Nora scrambled to where a bottle lay in the snow, emitting a soft green light. The label read 'Torchbug Treacle.' She didn't know what the liquid actually did, only that it glowed like a rare Nuka-Cola.

She brought it closer, and its light revealed the wounds striping Nathaniel's skin. The bleeding had stopped, and some already looked like they were healing - but it wasn't enough. He was shivering, his breaths coming in short gasps.

Thorald crawled to where the potions had fallen, grabbing a couple of bottles. He shoved one towards Nora. "Get him to drink that."

Nora's hands shook as she set the treacle down, taking the red bottle from Thorald's hand. She battled with the cork briefly before it popped open. Then, as gently as she could, Nora cupped the back of Nathaniel's head, threading her fingers through the filthy matted locks, and eased him up as she pressed the bottle to his lips.

He groaned, some of the potion dribbling into his beard.

"It's alright," Nora soothed, her voice shaking and teeth chattering. "Just drink this, and you'll feel better."

She hoped she was right. He was still alive, and the wounds no were no longer bleeding - if anything, the potions were almost as effective as stimpaks.

Nathaniel choked and she drew the bottle away, giving him room to recover.

As she did, she studied the swellings that bloated his face, the blood crusting his unkempt beard and the sunken quality of his cheeks, his eyes. She felt a twinge as she looked at him, like she knew him from somewhere…

A warm wind stirred, rapidly growing stronger as it blustered through the cave mouth and swirled up, rising through cavern back to the sky. A deafening roar boomed from the rock and rime, and blades of ice fell from the bridge and walls to shatter on the stone.

Nora's shout was lost in the gale as she doubled over, huddling down by Nathaniel.

Another roar shook the cave, fading as though the dragon were passing by. The hot winds cooled, then they slowly abated.

Something cold clutched her hand.

Nora's eyes snapped open to find Nathaniel clutching at her fingers, watching her from beneath his lashes. "Arnora…"

His fingers felt like icicles - and for a moment Nora recalled clutching at her dead husband's hand, begging the world to give him back.

"Arnora!" Nathaniel's voice was weak but desperate, his feeble grip trying to clutch her fingers. Nora sat up, and hesitantly allowed him to take her hand, gently squeezing back. She wondered briefly who Arnora was, and the strangeness of such a similar name... but she shook the questions away.

It wouldn't hurt to play along, and if these were his last moments… she supposed it would be more of a kindness.

"It's alright," she said, speaking softly. "I'm here. I'm with you, but you have to drink this, Nathaniel."

"Don't leave me," he whispered, his breath hitching with sobs as she pressed the bottle to his lips. "Don't leave me…"

"I'm not going anywhere," Nora reassured, and finally he began to drink. By the time she'd coaxed him to finish the bottle, Thorald was crouched at her side with another one.

"Have a swig of this," Thorald ordered. "Then see if you can get him to have a drink of it, too. It'll stop the cold killing you and frostbite setting in."

Setting the empty bottle aside, Nora accepted a blue potion from him. It was already depleted, and as Thorald hadn't had an adverse reaction she did as he said, taking a deep gulp. The potion had a spicy edge to its flavour, and warmth rapidly blossomed throughout her body.

This time when she offered the bottle to Nathaniel, he seemed able to drink a little more easily. She also noticed his grip had strengthened on her hand.

"What do we do now?" she whispered, turning to Thorald.

Thorald sighed, his breath steaming the air. "Not a lot we can do. We'd better wait til morning and pray the dragon leaves. After that… well, we'll see."

Nora nodded, turning back to Nathaniel only to find he'd drifted off to sleep. She blinked, the sense of deja vu growing stronger. As the swelling went down, she felt like his face was growing more familiar. The shape of his nose, the sharp lines of cheekbones…

But it could be the light, she told herself, ignoring the near painful twist of her gut. The glow of the bottle was soft, and the shadows pooled deep. She was exhausted and stressed, and she'd never been in this world to meet anyone, so...

"We should try and rest and up," Thorald spoke, breaking Nora from her thoughts. "Probably best we huddle for warmth, and keep Nathaniel between us."

Nora stiffened, her eyes locked on Nathaniel's face. Nathaniel. Nate.

How had she never…?

Her husband had never had a full beard, but beneath the jungle covering Nathaniel's jaw, she was starting to see a resemblance. Hell, when Nate had been deep in the throes of alcoholism and depression, his eyes had the same sunken quality, his cheekbones just as sharp from starvation, his skin as waxy.

The cold seeped back in, the hand Nathaniel held suddenly slack in his fingers.

Something gripped Nora's shoulder and she jumped, whipping around to find Thorald taking a step back.

"You alright?" he asked hesitantly.

Nora swallowed hard, but was unable to speak. So she just nodded, trying to blink away the tears burning her eyes. She pulled her hand free of Nathaniel's.

"I was saying we should probably roll him over so we can all fit," Thorald said, gesturing at the cloak.

"Um… Yeah. Yeah, sure."

Nora pushed herself upright, staggering on legs that suddenly felt boneless. She was dizzy, anxious, anguished… She couldn't bring herself to look at Nathaniel. Why does he have his name?

"I'm going to get some air."

She stumbled towards the cave entrance, and ventured outside.

To the west the stars were blotted out by a screen of smoke, and she could see the orange light of the fires. But no screams or shouts carried in the night air. When she inhaled, she could taste the smoke.

She felt distant from herself as she approached the star-rippled sea, her legs giving out on the sand. Nora didn't feel the wind that stirred her hair, nor the cold, grainy sand as her fingers curled and gouged into it like pale claws.

Tears blurred everything into starlight and shadow, but through her tears all she could see was the frozen window of Nate's porthole. The ghost of his hand pressing against the glass in farewell.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bowing her head as she willed it away. But the scenes kept playing. Nate, frozen and disoriented, pulling Shaun back from the scientists. The glint of Kellogg's gun as it fired - and Nate falling back into the pod.

Nate, smiling shyly as he came home with a box of snack cakes, sliding his first AA chip on the counter for her to see. Nate pulling her into the nursery to show what he'd made for Shaun. Nate singing Shaun to sleep…

A whine pulled her back to reality, the memories blurring like water colours until she was staring at the grey sand through her tears. The whining came from her own lips, and she curled up, pressing her face to the sand as it dissolved into muffled sobs.

Eventually, she was hollow again, the grief gone with the last of her energy. The chill of the night had seeped inside of her.

Nora pushed herself back on her feet, and staggered back into the cave.

By the light of the glowing bottle, she saw that Thorald had eased Nathaniel onto his side and then laid down behind him. Nora stopped a short distance away, staring at the face that had become so familiar.

She felt a tremor shaking her foundation to the core, making the cracks in her heart ache. She reached for her necklace, but her hand closed on nothing.

Nora blew a shuddering breath, and it felt like some twisted dream as she crossed the cavern to where her companions slept. She paused at the edge of the cloak, warily studying Nathaniel's face. She almost considered laying elsewhere on her own, but…

But I'll freeze. And so might he.

The thought of seeing Nate die again -

She covered her mouth with a shaking hand, forcing herself to take deep breaths. It's fine. This isn't Nate. He's dead. Or I'm dreaming.

By the time she lay down, her back to Nathaniel's chest, the deep indigo of the night was growing lighter. She thought sleep would prove as impossible as it had in the cells, if not more so as she was acutely aware of Nathaniel behind her. She hardly dared to breathe…

The next thing she knew, she was stirring back to wakefulness. Her body felt heavy, sore from laying upon the stone, but she was warm… and her face pressed into a woollen material. She became aware of a weight draped across her, and when she finally dared to open her eyes she saw the beige wool of a tunic, stained with patches of deep rust.

Holding her breath, Nora eased herself back and reclined her head to see Nathaniel's bearded jaw. He was asleep, and the light of day revealed his resemblance had not been a trick of the light and shadow.

Now the bruises and swellings were gone, and she could see him. Her Nate, but…

Nora rolled over, slipping free of his arm.

Nathaniel groaned, and as she pushed up to her feet and retreated, he woke up.

"Gods…" he gasped, rolling onto his back with a wince. He blinked to clear his vision, and Nora's heart clenched.

They were golden brown, of course. Just like her Nate's.

He began to sit up, grunting with the effort - and then he froze, his eyes locked onto her.

Nora's breath caught, and all she could do was stare back at him as his expression closed, shrouding the emotions she could only guess at in his eyes. He licked his lips, and, very slowly, each movement stiff and painful, he began to rise. But he didn't move from his spot.

"Arnora…?"

Nora shook her head. "No," she whispered, her own voice hoarse. "Just Nora."

Nathaniel blinked, and his jaw clenched beneath his beard as he drank her in. He swallowed again, hands balling into fists at his side, when the crunch of snow gave Nora the excuse to look away. Thorald stomped back inside the cavern, most of the soot and grime washed from his face.

"Good. I was coming to wake ya," he grunted. "The dragon's gone, so we'd better make the most of it before the Thalmor hear what happened and come looking. I doubt we have long."

Nora nodded, sparing a glance towards Nathaniel to find him still staring at her. She swallowed and turned to where the bottles still lay in the snow, busying herself gathering them up. A few moments later, Nathaniel crouched beside her, holding the knapsack open.

She paused, and when a moment later she started placing the bottles inside her hands were shaking, sloshing the liquids and making the glass ring.

"I… sorry if I made you uncomfortable," he began, and her heart twisted because god, he sounded like her Nate too. "You just look like someone I know."

"No, it's fine," but Nora's voice cracked as she said it, and he was still staring at her. "You… you actually look like someone I know too."

"I do?"

Nora nodded, placing the last bottles inside. As she fastened the pack shut, Nathaniel rose and stepped away to where the cloak still lay on the ground. Nora took a deep breath to steady herself, then pulled the knapsack over her shoulders, only to hiss at the weight on her ice burns. She sensed rather than saw Nathaniel look at her, but grit her teeth and joined Thorald at the cave mouth.

A moment later, another weight draped over her. The cloak.

"We Nords do better in the cold than most," Nathaniel said firmly, striding outside before she could protest.

"He's right," Thorald added. "You should probably take another sip of the resist cold potion, too."

"I'll save it for the night," Nora muttered, and followed him outside.

Nathaniel was standing on the shoreline, facing the water though his head was turned west, to where black smoke smudged the pale clouds filling the sky. In the light of day, Nora could see that much of the snow had been blown from trees and melted down into sludge by the dragon's heat.

Some trees in the distance were snapped, their tops fallen to the ground and the trunks spearing at the sky like snapped bones.

"I take it we'll be heading East?" Thorald prompted, and Nathaniel turned to face them. His gaze lingered on Nora a heartbeat too long before he turned his eyes to Thorald with a nod.

"Aye. Looks like we're on the wrong side of the Druadachs. We'll have to find a way around the mountains, and hope we don't run into any Imperial patrols."

"Or dragons, or Thalmor, or wolves, or trolls," Thorald listed off in a grumble. "And that's if we don't starve to death, first."

Nora huddled deeper under her cloak, and Nathaniel forced a smile. "That's the attitude, Thorald! Remind yourself of why we gotta keep moving."

At Thorald's suggestion, they each took a drink of a stamina draught from the knapsack before they set off. The potion did little to fill Nora's stomach, or ease the anxiety and thoughts racing through her head, but it did give her a burst of energy that allowed her to press on along the coast.

At first, she couldn't stop herself stealing glances towards Nathaniel, documenting every similarity and difference to her husband she could find. Several times he caught her watching, and several times she caught him watching her.

But gradually, the landscape stole her attention. To her left the ocean reached towards the horizon with dark, clear waters clean of pollution. In the distance, she could see ice caps drifting in frozen islands, and further out what looked to be a distant castle, wreathed in mist despite the rising sun. To her right, snow-capped mountains reared in sublime majesty, haloed in clouds while a cloak of pure snow and green pines spilled down their slopes.

She hadn't seen such beauty in nature since before the war…

"Enjoying the view?"

She turned to where Nathaniel was now walking alongside her, his breath steaming in the air. Despite the painful twinge she felt, she managed a small smile.

"Yeah. You don't get beautiful scenery like this where I'm from. Not anymore, anyway."

"What's it like where you come from?"

Nora frowned, carefully picking her way over frozen rocks and roots. As they walked, the trees grew more dense and the land flatter, the slopes to the right more gentle so they had more room to walk.

"Well, it's a lot less green, more brown and gray," she began. "There was a war. The Great War. I don't suppose you've got atom bombs here?"

Nathaniel shrugged, and beyond him Thorald frowned as he listened in.

"Well, the atom bomb was a terrible weapon. It poisoned everything - the water, the land, the people and wildlife…" she thought of the ghouls she had encountered, the disfigured creatures living in the wasteland, and the overgrown monsters that overwhelmed it.

"What the bomb didn't kill, it changed. We thought when the bombs dropped, nothing would survive it. We thought it'd be total nuclear annihilation, and that hundreds of years later our descendants might be able to fix it."

She thought of Shaun. Her small son, swaddled in his Jangles blanket - and the cold-eyed man he had become. Cruel, calculating and dismissive of whatever and whoever didn't fit into his ideal 'future.' She supposed that Vault-Tec hadn't been entirely wrong.

The thought made her sick.

"Well, you survived." Nathaniel prompted.

"I did. Most didn't."

"So, did your people come to Skyrim to escape your world then?" Thorald asked. "Sounds a lot like the Dunmer if you ask me."

"No - I honestly don't know how I got here," Nora shrugged. "What's a Dunmer, anyhow?"

"Dark elves," Nathaniel answered. "You'll know a grey-skin when you see one. They're shorter than the high elves you met at the fort. Grumpier too."

"And uglier," Thorald added. "You just can't trust an elf. They're all obsessed with magic and things. You ask me? That's what caused the Red Year."

"Aye! You'd never catch a self-respecting Nord throwing magic about!" Nathaniel announced. "And look at us! Snow and ice in abundance!"

"And dragons?"

At Nora's question, Nathaniel and Thorald shared a look before turning back to her.

"That is a prophecy, and beyond our control!" Nathaniel sniffed.

"A prophecy, huh?" Nora supposed prophecies went hand-in-hand with a land populated by elves, dragons and magic.

"Maybe I'll sing it for you when we reach a tavern, and I've had a keg of mead." Nathaniel sighed wistfully. "Gods what I wouldn't give for a sip of Blackbriar mead."

"Me too," Thorald agreed. "Sitting in the Bannered Mare with a tankard of Blackbriar, a bowl of stew with a hunk of bread and cheese…"

"Aye. Think I could eat an entire mammoth rib by myself," Nathaniel grinned. Then he turned to Nora. "What say you, Nora? Do your people drink mead and eat well?"

"We don't have mead where I'm from."

A wooden thunk made her turn, and she found that Nathaniel had walked into a tree.

"No mead?" Thorald demanded as Nathaniel staggered back, cursing and rubbing his cheek. "Whaddya mean 'no mead?' What do you drink?"

"I told you, the bombs killed and changed most things!" Nora protested. The way they were staring at her, she might have a grown second head. "We have really old ale, moonshine and things, but there isn't any honey there anymore. We had mead before the bombs dropped, but I didn't have any."

"Shor's bones!" Nathaniel shook his head, scandalised. "Never had mead!"

"We can fix that at the first tavern we reach," Thorald grunted.

"Actually, I don't really drink."

This time, Nathaniel walked into a branch.

They stopped for a break beneath a cluster of pines, resting their sore feet and catching their breath. The potions helped to keep them going, but it was already clear to Nora that they couldn't last as they were. Much like chems, the potions were keeping them going for now, but what they really needed was food and water.

Wonder if it's safe to drink here? Nothing looks irradiated. Maybe the food will be safe, too...

"Hey! You two! Get over here," Nathaniel whispered, beckoning for her and Thorald to join him.

They had been climbing the gentle slopes of the mountain, but it was below them where he pointed. There in the shallow waters of the sea lay a shipwreck. It was constructed from wood, broken in two pieces with planks and structural beams jutting from the waters like splintered bones. A small camp lay in the ship's shadow, set upon the beach.

It appeared abandoned, no signs of life around the empty firepit or large tent, and no movement on the decks of the wreck.

"Looks like a bandit camp," Nathaniel murmured. "Probably got spooked by the dragon and fled."

Nora squinted at the camp, but passed no comment. It doesn't look like a raider camp to me.

"Reckon it's worth seeing if they've got anything we need?" Thorald asked.

"Aye. Not sure we'll get a better chance, either. We got any weapons?"

"I was only able to grab this as we ran," Nora replied, instinctively dropping her voice to a whisper as she drew the golden dagger.

"I suppose it'll have to do," Nathaniel sighed, holding his hand out for it. "I'll go scout ahead, and call you down if it's clear."

"Are you sure…?" Nora asked hesitantly.

"I'm an experienced scout. Trust me," Nathaniel replied, flexing his fingers impatiently. "I need to go now."

Moments later he was slipping away from them, each step suddenly quiet and precise. She lost him in the trees and so held her breath, waiting for him to reappear. When he did, it was at the edge of the camp, large rocks sheltering him from view.

Nothing stirred, and after a few moments, Nathaniel, keeping low, made for the tent. He emerged moments later, swiftly making for an improvised gangplank leading onto the ship. Nora and Thorald waited in a tense silence.

She didn't relax until Nathaniel reappeared on the deck, and waved his arm.

"C'mon," Thorald ordered, and the pair descended to the camp as quickly as they could.

By the time they reached it, Nathaniel was struggling down the gangplank with a number of weapons, a knapsack swinging from his shoulder and chiming. He dropped the weapons - a shortsword and an axe, in front of them, and then pointed to where a small boat bobbed on the water nearby, tethered to a rock.

"Grab anything useful then get in the boat. Don't be long."

Thorald snagged the axe, fitting the leather strap holding it to his belt. After a moment, Nora took the sword.

Danse had trained her in firearms and CQC with knives. Aside from her machete, she had never wielded a large blade - and she doubted she'd last long in a swordfight if these were the choice weapons of Skyrim.

"Lose the dagger sheath."

Nora looked up from where her numb fingers were fumbling with the swordbelt to find Nathaniel was frowning at her, though his eyes frequently darted to the wooded slopes beyond the camp.

"Why?"

"Only Thalmor carry elven weapons like that. We don't want questions when we get back to civilisation. Besides, I already threw the blade overboard."

Nora felt a flicker of irritation, but discarded the empty sheath a moment later before heading inside the large tent. Bedrolls lay across the sand, and on a table was a small keg, tankards that were partially full of ale - and large wheels of cheese.

Nora's mouth watered.

The wheels themselves were heavy and too much to fit in her bag with the bottles - but someone had chopped one of the wheels into wedges, which she quickly stole away with a rounded loaf of bread. She also swiped small piles of gold coins she found.

She wasn't sure what the currency for this world was, but they seemed likely to have worth. She wasn't about to make the same mistake she had with bottle caps.

After a moment, she grabbed some furs from one of the bedding piles and carried them out to the boat. Nathaniel had drawn it close to the shore with the rope, and he nodded approvingly as she stepped inside and laid the furs down.

Then Thorald came sprinting towards them, his grey hair flying wild behind him.

"They're coming! We've gotta move!"

"In the boat," Nathaniel ordered, throwing the anchor rock inside. Nora dropped onto the farthest seat as Nathaniel sat in the middle, grabbing the oars. Thorald gave it a running shove, jumping in just as something hissed through the air, landing in the water.

Nathaniel drew the oars in a broad stroke, shouts echoing through the wilds behind them. People were racing from the trees, waving weapons and cursing. A couple of them had bows.

More arrows hissed through the air, but each went wide. Nathaniel kept his head low, drawing the oars with gritted teeth, each stroke moving them further from range until the bandits grew distant and the arrows stopped flying.