Sorry for the late update- I've had company for the past few weeks and haven't had much time to write.

THANK YOU THANK YOU to all those who have read my story so far. I will try to make the chapters longer now that the semester is over.

Enjoy!

Chapter 3:

Taking my seat next to Hadvar, I frowned.

"You have a new scar" I noticed, touching it lightly with my fingertips. His eyes shifted for a fraction of a second to the hand on his arm, then back to my face. Cautious.

"Got into a scrape with a Sabre Cat a few weeks ago. I guess it didn't appreciate me trying to hunt 'his' deer. His furs kept me warm while I slept though, so it's not all bad."

At my confused look, he added "I had been stationed outside of Windhelm for a while. Before the battle there."

The sound of clashing metal echoed faintly in my ears, a flash of blonde hair in my peripheral. I may not have been the one to start the war between Ulfric and the Empire, but I was the one to finish it. Yet it gave me no satisfaction—not after all the lives had been lost in the names of red and blue, the dragons and the bears.

When I glanced back at Hadvar, I saw the same tired look in his eyes. Hadvar had led many battles in the Civil War and had lost many friends on both sides.

No one wins in a civil war…

The sound of Dorthe laughing in the room below broke me from my thoughts. The war was over, and I was going to help rebuild Skyrim, for the betterment of her people.

After taking a bite of soup, I turned to Alvor.

"I must admit, it was not only Sigrid's soup and the pleasure of your company that brings me here."

Alvor only arched an eyebrow, which I took as my cue to continue.

"A few days ago, I received a letter from the Jarl of Falkreath, requesting my services. The Empire wishes for Helgen to be rebuilt, to maintain a stronger presence here in Skyrim. Unfortunately, I have no experience in such things. And I've only got lumber. I feel way over my head. I need a smith or maybe even a carpenter to help me. Do you know of anyone like that who would be willing to help?"

The well-worn hand of the blacksmith slowly rose to stroke the full beard on his face, as if working on its own accord. I often wondered if some men grew beards just so they could look more dignified when they stroked their chins…

"I don't know of any smiths with enough spare time for such a task. As for carpenters, I would head to the inn here. I guess a stranger rolled into town a few days ago. Asking around if anyone needed building repairs."

I smiled at Alvor's words. I knew that coming to him with my dilemma was the right choice. Though I still needed a blacksmith to forge nails and other metal workings for the buildings. Perhaps I could talk to Adrienne in Whiterun. With two smiths in Whiterun, she might welcome the extra work.

"What about you, Hadvar?" Piped in Dorthe, her head just poking over the top of the stairs. "You used to work for Papa all the time before you went away!"

I turned to the man in question. He seemed to be deep in thought, slowly picking apart the bread in his hand. Always the man of action.

"I suppose I could help. Now that the war is over, I am not needed for daily duties... Perhaps I could take a leave of absence while the city is getting back on her feet." Hadvar said at last, smiling at me.

I smiled back. Hadvar's smile always radiated warmth, something always welcomed in my book.

With a last bite of my soup, I stood up, far too excited to sit down any longer.

"It's settled then. Let's take a trip up to Helgen, today if you can. I'd like to go sooner rather than later, if possible. Clearing out bandits isn't exactly my idea of a good time, so if like to make our presence known before they set up camp again."

Three hours later…

The three of us sat on the porch of what used to be the inn, drinking some mead that we had packed for our lunch. I was amazed that anything survived Aldiun's attack, let alone this well-worn wooden porch.

I ran my hand along the nearby railing, knowing that the hands that had smoothed it over the years would never see their city be restored. So many lives had been lost that day, innocent or otherwise.

"What was its name? The Inn, I mean." I asked, pointing at the crumbling building behind me.

"Helgen Homestead. Not a very creative name, in my opinion. We stayed there while awaiting the… party from Darkwater Crossing that day." Hadvar looked at me apologetically. I know he still felt guilty about my involvement.

"Peace, Hadvar. It had to happen…" Even if I still had nightmares of the black beast, I knew it was my destiny to face him. Who else could have?

That's the thing about destiny. Its finality can be a blessing, a light at the end of the tunnel, per se. It was my destiny to defeat the World Eater. To keep this age alive and knowing there was a way to do just that.

Tricky thing though, was figuring out the how part.

"Well I think it should have a new name. Seems only fitting, I think. New city, new name." said Alvor. He finished his bottle and stood up.

"We better get getting dark and I'd like to get home."

I nodded my agreement, the thick red braid falling loose from its place in my hood. I'll have to cut this soon, I mused to myself.

Though a few cities were diverting enough to venture into, I preferred the wild fields and forests, so a trip to the beautician was not likely. My mother called me her little wildling, laughing as I wandered after my father on his hunting trips.

Their existence marked only by the ink on my backs—the scar on my face.

Five years earlier…

A stick dug into my belly, though I paid it no heed. My quarry, a young doe, drank peacefully from a nearby stream. My father mirrored my position, finger to his lips.

We were hunting in the forest near our home, south of Ivarstead. A warm breeze fanned our faces; the last winds of summer. The leaves were already starting to change their colors and I thought it was the most beautiful time of year.

As an alchemist, my mother had preferred the time between spring and summer, when all the flowers bloomed. Our small home nestled under a mountain would smell of flowers and herbs for weeks. That is, unless she created a mixture incorrectly. Rotten vegetables smelled of sunshine compared to the stench of wrong potions!

It was the sweet smell of mountain flowers that made me think of her. I had been attempting to push her memory out of my mind as much as possible, her death by illness too fresh. Irony, it seems, was a cruel mistress.

*ROOOOOOOOOOOAR*

The deer's head shot up, mirroring our own; in as much danger as we were. The bears in Skyrim didn't eat deer, but it would not hesitate to swat at it if the deer got in its way.

My father rolled to his left, rising up on one knee, trying to locate the bear. We were too far from our hut to make a break for it, so our only options were to fight it, or wait until it got bored and left.

I visualized the contents of my pack and quiver: 20 arrows, 3 health potions, and an apple pie. I knew my father had arrows as well, and I hoped it would be enough. Bears could climb trees, but after finally catching a glimpse at it, I knew it would be too heavy for the slender trees.

It was reflexes rather than thought that aided my climb, reaching the top within a minute. My father, in the tree to my left, reached into his quiver and fired the first arrow. Guess waiting wasn't the game then.

He was a patient man and knew the woods better than anyone else I had met in my 15 short years. The patience was a skill passed down generation by generation for the past era, steady as the Treva. As his only child and daughter, it was my skill now as well.

Yet in desperate times, patience is not always the best course of action. Arrows steadily flew from our bows, earning growls from the bear. Peeking down, I saw blood on his face. Bears were notoriously tough, so victory may be some ways off yet.

10 arrows left, I heard a groan. Then a crack. Looking down, I knew it wasn't mine.

9 arrows…

My father was desperately attempting to stay steady.

8 arrows…

The bear turned to my tree, my arrow goading him from my father's tree.

7 arrows…

The back of my head slammed into a branch behind me. I saw stars instead of clear blue sky. The Thief's markings mocking my inability to take down this monster of a bear.

6 arrows…

I missed the bear again, too dazed to aim properly. A final shove from the bear and I tumbled from the tree. The world became black.

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! Again, so so so sorry for the late posting. I'm getting ready to head home from my semester abroad, which means lots of cleaning and traveling.