Chapter 4: Stars

My father's eyes merged with the sky above, stormy and still. I sat up, amazed that my body responded as well as it did, considering the fall I had just taken. My head hurt though, a ringing in my ears that wouldn't cease.

He didn't say anything though, just looked me over with concerned eyes. His hands probed my arms, my legs, and finally my back. Content, he turned his back on me. I knew I was to follow after him, though where we were going, I wasn't sure.

Maybe the bear was still alive and hiding. That's probably why he wasn't saying anything. Bears—and animals in general—were just as dangerous when injured. Sometimes more so…

The flowers whispered in the breeze, louder than I'd ever heard them. Where was the bear? And where were we going? The path in front of me sloped downwards and I followed it blindly.

I didn't remember the way back to the house though. Did my father fall too? If so, was he leading me in the right direction?

The trees began to thin and the smell of the lake washed over me like a fog. I heard a distant roar, though I did not pay much attention to it.

As the body of water grew larger in my field of vision, I realized how disorientated I felt. I didn't live near the lake. Why did my father lead me this way? I was not afraid of water nor the creatures that dwelled in her cool waters. Most of the animals were harmless enough, save the slaughterfish. I almost lost a toe once to them a few months ago. Nasty affair.

He stopped at the edge of the water and slowly turned around. Holding out his hand to me, I took it. We stood there for a moment, our backs to the lake.

My father turned slightly, eyes downcast. "It's time", he murmured. I felt hands on my shoulders.

Not hands, claws. They dug into my small shoulders tearing into the muscles and sinews. I screamed, yet it was only a whisper against the wind. I hadn't noticed how loudly it sang- my breaths tuned them out before. I twisted under the weight of the claws in my back, trying to catch one last glimpse of my father, but he was gone.

With one hand on each shoulder, the bear and the dragon had laid claim to my body.

I fell backwards into the lake, as I was drowned by claws, wings, and weeds.

I woke with a gasp, lungs burning. I was still in the clearing, though the sky was dark. It was only a dream.

How much had passed, I did not know. If the soreness in my back was any indication, it must have been hours at least. I should have known that my body would be protesting.

The fragrant flowers were gone. All I could smell was bear. The vomit that erupted from my mouth even smelled of bear.

I was disgusted. More than disgusted, I was afraid.

A quiet clearing meant only one thing: I was alone.

I had been many things in my years—lost, hungry, sick, afraid—but never alone. Until I was old enough to go hunting with my father, my mother and our family hunting dog Patch were my constant companions. Even the birds watched me from their nearby nests.

I rolled onto my stomach, my head spinning. Like my dream, there are no signs of my father, or the bear. My arrows and open pack were by the tree I had fallen from, the former scattered like leaves in the wind. I numbly crawled over to where they lay. It was never a good idea to be without a weapon, especially when you find yourself disoriented after a particularly nasty tree accident.

Once I had recollected my items, I sat with my back to the stupid tree, deep in thought. I had a true dilemma on my hands. Though I was not injured, I knew from experience that trying to navigate anywhere after hurting your head is generally not a great idea. That ruled out trying to wander back home. Besides, it was dark and I was better off staying put while I was protected by the nearby trees.

That only left the matter of my father- my true problem. If I called out to him, I might alert the bear to my presence. But if he was injured and the bear was dead, then there would be no issue.

I decided to wander in a small circle around the copse of trees that I was taking shelter in. After an hour or so, I found no sight, heard no sound of my father.

The anxiety pooled in my stomach, no matter how many times I attempted to release it. I knew something bad had happened here and a small part of me was afraid to find out exactly what. Yet as my fears swelled, a sense of hopelessness rose to meet it. I could truly do nothing but wait out the night—re-examine things tomorrow. With that in mind, I went back to the clearing. Against my better judgement, I climbed the largest tree I could find. If the branches were large enough, I would have no problem staying put until morning. Less likely to be seen, or eaten, while in a tree.

I fell asleep as soon as I closed my eyes, whether from the blow to the head or exhaustion, I was unaware. Quite frankly, I did not even care.

After that night in the tree, I searched for my father for months, investigating every cave and campsite I came across. As the summer turned to fall, then to winter, I knew that I had no chance in finding him. Instead I turned to survival, hunting and fishing in the Rift. Though I was alone now, I did not feel any real need for company. Sometimes I would spend a night or two at the small fishing camps scattered about, but nothing more. These men became friends of mine, giving advice and tricks of the trades. One fair-haired man, called Wes, gave me my first kiss while we sat by the fire.

I liked Wes, but I knew he wanted more than I could give him. Young as I was, I was very certain of who I was. He wanted a pretty wife who would help him wash nets in the morning and help him clean the fish by night. Raise children by the river or maybe even build a small house if we made enough money from our wares.

While part of me wished I could be that type of woman, deep down I knew I was born to wander until I died. The birds were my children, my small log cabin my fortress. Over time I grew bolder in my hunting. Soon I had visited all the holds, even venturing to Dawnstar, though my toes very much disliked the cold. Caves were my favorite though. I never knew what types of treasures of odd creatures I would find lurking in the dark. With the guidance of my parents' wisdom, I grew more confident in the person that I was becoming. It was a bittersweet thing, to think of my mother and my father.

The loss of my family was not the most difficult challenge I had faced, but it was one of the loneliest. Throughout my career as the Dragonborn, there always seemed to be someone on my heels along the way. Serana, Lydia, Farkas, Vilkas, Delphine, Karliah, Brinjolf… The list is longer than the River Hjaal. Skyrim is unforgiving and wild- we are lucky to see the age of fifty—thus I had no grandparents or other relatives who could take me in. The closest relative lived in Hammerfell—my cousin a few years older than myself. Everyone else was gone. And it's not like I was afraid. Fear was no companion of mine. It was the silence that bothered me more than anything.

I thought about my childhood a lot, especially when I found myself of the road through the Rift. Once at an inn a few years past, I overindulged in the local mead and ended up spilling my woeful tale to an elderly man. After my story was through, he sat quietly for a while, digesting my words. Though I hadn't shared this information with anyone before, I fully expected this man to give me some useless advice about things I already knew- that he was sorry my life sucked so badly.

Instead, he told me to hang on to my memories of my parents. To keep their teachings and hold dear to their wisdom they had passed down to me. "It is a gift to remember" he said, nodding with emphasis. "Do not wallow in your sadness. A difficult life is better than none at all." Like an arrow in, his words penetrated my mind. And they've been there for all these years.

Meeting others and hearing their stories have also kept me from feeling too sorry for myself. Compared to some, I had a pretty good life. Though I lost both my parents, they did love me. Love is not rare in Skyrim, but the harsh way of life often results in a hardened atmosphere. While children were not on my map currently, I did wonder what their lives would be like. Through my wanderings, I had collected a small fortune of gold, not to mention homes and other material goods.

Oh, to settle down…

The sight of Helgen's gates appeared from behind the pines, reminding me of the task at hand. It had been two weeks since Alvor started repairs on the inn. Every so often he would send a courier after me, requesting items that he needed.

"Need more ingots."-Alvor

Alvor's letters were almost always the same: straight and to the point. While it was nice not to receive a lengthy letter, they often weren't as specific as I would like them. A few of my hauls resulted in a frowning blacksmith. "Not enough" he would grunt. Luckily, there were a few mines near Helgen, so I could retrieve more materials if needed. But it was still a pain in the ass. How hard is it to just write the number after your sentence?

"Need more ingots. 7"

Problem solved.

Still, I didn't press the man too much. He was the most capable carpenter I knew, plus I trusted him. On top of that, I knew he would be able to draw more people in to help. Alvor's words may have bene few, but his actions made up for it. His gold and results even more so.

So far, there were five other men working on repairs, two of them married. As part of the employment deal, the men agreed to take up permanent residence with their families. Many of these men were low-born or youngest sons with no land to inherit. One man, Marn, simply wanted to be closer to the lakes nearby. Whatever their reasons for coming, I was glad for it. What good is an empty town?

With the ingots rolling around in my bag, I finally made my way to the gates. They opened after a few moments, groaning slightly. I nodded to the young man and guided my feet to the right side of the city, where the inn stood.

In the aftermath of Aldiun's attack, the inn had been mostly spared, with only parts of the roof and upstairs missing. Thus, it was the ideal starting point for repairs. Not only would it give the workers a place to sleep until the houses could be repaired, but also to eat and commune. Re-building the place seemed to give the men a sense of belonging; a look of pride could be seen on their faces with each swing of their hammers and slice of their saws.

I spotted Alvor sitting at a low table on the inn's porch, drinking a bottle of mead. "Juniper berries. I found this bottle in a cabinet upstairs." He mentioned me to sit in the other chair, handing me another bottle.

"I used to be sweet on a girl from Helgen." A soldier had told me that once, Ralof of Riverwood.

"Ralof told me of this mead. When I was being carted to Helgen" I offered, when Alvor noticed the strange look on my face.

Alvor grunted and took another swig. "Ralof made his choices of his own free will. Now he will have to reap the consequences."

I nodded. Though I did not know Ralof, the people of Riverwood shared enough that I felt I did. Though not all were loyal to the Empire, most realized that Ulfric was nothing but trouble. Hadvar took his betrayal harder than most. The other residents didn't have to read his name off their execution list.

Finishing my drink, I rested my feet against the worn wooden wall. I could still see a few scorch marks on it, but miraculously she still stood.

"What next Alvor? The walls look pretty much done." Pointing my boot to said wall, he nodded.

"The plan is to repair the general store next. Helgen needs to re-establish herself in the trading market."

I agreed with him wholeheartedly. A town with no trade of flow of goods coming in or out was no better than a ruin. And I would not settle for a ruin.