The snow tumbled from the tree branch above me and onto my matted hair which had been plastered against my head by the sudden storm. I squinted into the dark and located a crumbling keep in the near distance.

Shelter.

I stepped out from under the branches and shivered as the swirling snow howled in my ears. Crouching down, I neared the structure and studied it carefully. Two bandits stared out into the cold and wet, guarding against trespassers like me.

Narrowing my eyes, I assessed the situation: was there another entrance? Could I somehow distract them? Was there another cave somewhere close - one without bandits? Where were those pesky dragons when you needed one?

It would have done me some good to have Rynjus by my side tonight, I thought. I'd have only to demand that he kill them all and he would have done it. With that massive warhammer of his, he would have sent every single one of those bandits flying while I was warming up by the fire, eating a hunk of venison from the spit and drinking some hot red wine.

But Rynjus wasn't here. There was only me to chase those bandits away.

I couldn't possibly take out both of those sturdy-looking bandits by myself, but I could trick them into leaving the front door unguarded for a moment or two - long enough for me to warm up and steal some food inside. I pulled out my bow and secured an arrow. Drawing back on the string, I let the arrow fly past the fort and into the darkness.

"Who's there?" asked the first one, abandoning his post and wandering behind the fort, axe at the ready.

"I know I heard someone," said the second, following his companion.

As quickly - and as quietly - as I could, I entered the fort, silently locking the door behind me, my ears straining in the darkness for footsteps or whispers.

Nothing.

I had been in Skyrim long enough to know that the bandits at the door wouldn't be the only two in the whole fort. There had to be at least several others nearby eating and drinking or warm and dry as they slept. The people here always traveled in packs, ready to shake up a traveller or farmer or other easy marks who'd be intimidated by a group of rough-looking thugs. Thieves and misfits in Cyrodiil always worked the city crowds alone and because the militia patrolled the trails from city to city, and it was much harder to steal from travellers in large groups.

My stomach growled. I hadn't eaten since early morning.

I surveyed the room, hoping for some apples in a barrel or a cabbage on the table in the corner.

Again, nothing.

A flight of stairs stood before me. There had to be something cooking upstairs. Perhaps some stew or a delicious vegetable soup. I was so hungry I'd even settle for horker stew, which I despised.

Keeping to the shadows, I ascended the stairs, my body shaking from my frozen clothes and my racing heart. Taking care to listen patiently, I checked the top room thoroughly.

Still nothing.

Even more perplexed at the absence of any activity here, I veered to the right and went through the first door I found, revealing a neatly organized room with a workbench and shelf. Along the wall opposite me sat an arcane enchanter and a roaring fire.

I crouched at the fireplace just long enough to warm my freezing hands, watching the door intently, waiting for someone to suddenly burst in. After several minutes, when it became apparent that no one was going to be knocking down the door to find me, I began to take in the details of the room, still keeping one eye on the entrance - just in case.

At first glance, I hadn't noticed the alchemy table near the door, nor the table sandwiched between it and the arcane enchanter. I hadn't noticed the baskets underneath the table, nor the papers piled on top of it.

And I certainly hadn't noticed the Stone of Barenziah in the corner of the table, shining dully in the dim light of the fire.

What luck to have found one here inside a random fort!

I snatched it up and deposited it into my pouch, a smile on my lips and contentment in my belly. I had eleven stones and the possibility of being discovered by bandits no longer concerned me.

As I hunkered down next to the fire, I reflected on this revelation: that the stones could also be in any of the hundreds - or thousands? - of abandoned caves and forts throughout Skyrim. This thought did not sit well with me, but I could not ignore that I was so close - so close! - to halfway.

My thoughts flitted to Rynjus for the second time that night.

Was it the Gods' will that I so happened upon this particular fort, like Rynjus would claim? I wondered. Or was it only luck that guided me?

Months later, I had become hopelessly discouraged. I had combed every single cave, every single fort that I had come across. The vast majority of them were nothing more than lairs for cave trolls or abandoned bandit hideouts - not worth my time since they only ever yielded a few septims.

One night, out of deference to Rynjus - wherever he was - I lit a candle to the Gods and to be thorough, I lit one to Nocturnal as well.

Within a week, I found one of the stones in the Dainty Sload, a ship moored outside of Solitude.

I lit another candle to the Gods and another for Nocturnal. This time I said a few hopeful words, too.

I searched more and more obscure places - Stony Creek Cave, Hob's Fall Cave, Reeking Cave, Pinewatch - and reaped several more stones as my reward. I no longer feared anything that crossed my path - angry bandits or trolls or hags or other foul things could not frighten me. Everything fell beneath my blade.

Within a few short weeks, I had renewed my commitment to find all of the Stones of Barenziah by the light of the candles in the Ragged Flagon.

I possessed sixteen unusual gems and however I wished to interpret my newfound luck, I could no longer deny that the Gods must be involved somehow.

I wondered what Rynjus would say at this unlikely turn of events. He had spoken quite highly of the Gods, but I had never been a believer. Now it seemed natural to admit that they had a hand in my recent luck.

I picked up a bottle of Skooma and a few cubes of Moon Sugar from the Khajiit caravan outside Whiterun to celebrate then hitched a ride back to Riften on the carriage. The driver glared at me as I popped the cubes into the Skooma and gave it a good shake before lifting the bottle in a toast and downing a good gulp.

It had been a year to the day since I arrived in Skyrim, a year since I had last seen Rynjus. I had expected that by now I would have forgotten the details of his face, his cool eyes, his soft voice, and his strong hands, but his memory had not faded.

Could I be sure that it ever would? I wondered, taking another swig from the bottle and feeling the weight of my very first unusual gem in my pocket.

Since that first little trinket I slipped into the folds of my dress back in Cyrodiil, never in my whole life had I wanted something more than those tiny pink jewels - except, perhaps, for Rynjus.

He was no longer just a warrior who would smite bandits or draugr or dragons to protect me, but a tender memory of my past. I found myself craving to share a bedroll with his warm body and listen to his soft voice say my name over and over again as he ran his fingers through my hair.

In spite of the loner I thought myself to be, I longed for his company.