Erik sat down on his bed in his Riverside Cabin. He looked to his right and gazed at the young, strange-looking girl that sat in front of his crackling fireplace.

The girl shivered as a crack of thunder ripped through the silence between them, a flash of fear came over her for a moment before she shrunk into herself, pulling her knees to her chest.

Erik sighed as he stood, grabbing a wet rag that he'd prepared earlier.

"Don't touch her!" The Khajiit hissed when he kneeled and reached for her arm. "She did not ask for your help!"

"Yet you followed me to my cabin," Erik replied. "Look, your arm needs to be cleaned, if it doesn't, you'll have to deal with an infection. What will it take for you to trust me enough to let me deal with your wound?" he asked.

The young woman hesitated for a moment, her eyes bored into his very soul. Eventually, she sighed, lifting her arm.

"You're not going to scratch my eyes out with those claws of yours when this starts to sting, are you?" Erik asked, smirking a little. But she didn't smirk. She watched as he dabbed the rag on the fur around the laceration on her arm and winced when he began to clean the wound itself. "I'm Erik, what's your name? Who were those mercenaries that attacked you?"

"She does not know who the mercenaries were—but her name is M'rissi," the Khajiit replied as Erik grabbed a roll of bandages and wrapped her arm. "She thanks you—but M'rissi must go now—you have been kind to her—she does not want to repay that kindness with getting you in trouble."

"You aren't leaving—not in the middle of a storm," Erik replied as he found a spare blanket and wrapped the girl in it. "I told you, I don't feel right leaving you out there in the rain."

M'rissi tensed up as the Nord got closer to wrap the blanket around her, and he could feel her shake even more underneath the fabric.

"Why do you care if she leaves in a storm or not? Why do you care if she gets infected? You do not know M'rissi—"

"I can't just help someone who's in trouble?" Erik asked, sitting with her. "I don't know you—but I know you're being hunted by some rather powerful individuals. Individuals that are willing to get blood on their hands to get you back—alive," Erik said, turning to face her. "M'rissi—" He paused as he took a note from his pocket and opened it. "Who is Isael?"

M'rissi froze, her eyes widened and her breath hitched as she moved away from the note.

"She—she does not want to talk about that witch. She cannot—"

"You don't have to—I'm sorry for asking. Look, don't leave tonight—alright?" he requested as he put the note away before he grabbed a bowl and filled it with hot soup.

Erik offered the Khajiit the bowl, which she took and held as if she expected it to be ripped from her.

"Stay here—I have a spare bed in the basement—you can take the one up here, I'll take the one down there. You have my sword, if you don't feel safe—use it."

"Wha—why would you let M'rissi take your bed? Why would you sleep in the dark basement?"

"I've got no problems with the dark, and it's obvious that you don't trust me. I can't, in good faith, let you leave here with this storm, and with people hunting you…" Erik sighed. "I want you to know that you are safe here," he said.

"Why—why would you go so far just to help M'rissi? She—she does not deserve it. She is just an animal—she—she shouldn't even be alive."

Erik could feel the pain in the girl's voice, and in some way—it broke his heart.

This girl—had she been raised to believe that?

"I—I don't know who told you that, but they're wrong," Erik replied, moving closer to her. "You deserve to live just as much as I do—you're not some animal to be hunted down, and you deserve a better life than whatever hell you've lived through before this."

M'rissi's suspicious gaze faltered as Erik spoke, and tears began to well up in her eyes. She turned away from the Nord as a tear streaked her cheek.

Erik frowned and reached out to her. His gentle touch rested on her shoulder, for only a moment.

"You deserve a better life than whatever hell you've lived through before this."

In just a few minutes, this stranger had shown her more kindness than she'd known in her entire life—and now he offers something not even her own mother could give?

Tears stung her eyes, and a wave of fear came over her.

He cannot see the weakness…

She turned away from Erik as the tears rolled down her cheeks.

And then she felt something on her shoulder. A wave of fear washed over her as she was brought back to her life before today—before this stranger showed her the kindness she'd craved her whole life.

"Do not touch her!" M'rissi exclaimed, whipping around and lashing out at the man behind her, her claws dug deep into his cheek. The next thing she realized, Erik let out a pained scream, and her hand was coated with thick, red, blood.

The girl gasped; her eyes widening as she realized what she'd done.

"She—she's sorry—she didn't mean to—"

The girl trembled as she backed away from the man, his groans filled the small cabin.

"Gods be damned—" she heard the man groan.

"She didn't mean to—she—she's sorry—"

"Now I see how you managed to kill two of those damn mercenaries and their dog—" Erik hissed as his hand was enveloped by a soft light.

"She didn't—"

"I know you didn't mean to, M'rissi, calm down. I won't hurt you—" he assured her as his wound closed in the soft light of his healing spell. "Look—just a scar. I don't even feel it anymore," he said, though he told the truth—it was more likely because that side of his cheek was numb from the deep slash.

As he bent down, M'rissi searched his eyes for anger—or even fear, but she found none. Just a warm, reassuring smile, and kindness.

"Why—why are you so kind to her? Even when she hurts you, makes you bleed, you still show her kindness," M'rissi whimpered as more tears came.

"Because you've clearly been through hell," he replied. "You just called yourself an animal, said that you shouldn't even be alive—at first I wanted to just get you out of the rain but now?" he sighed as he sat down. He hesitated for a moment before he shrugged. "Call me stupid, but I can't help it. You're hurt—in more ways than just one—and I don't know why, but I want to help you," he said as he opened his arms in an offer of comfort.

"I—" M'rissi hesitated. The offer was a tempting one—one that she wanted so badly to accept, but she couldn't bring herself to do it.

The memories of false kindness, of false hope, they were too much, they tainted the man's offer.

"I can't," she told him.

The man nodded and reached for her hand, careful to make sure she knew he wasn't a threat.

As his hand rested on hers, her whole body tensed up and froze, and then she looked into his gaze.

"That's okay," he told her. "I'm sorry for scaring you. I shouldn't have touched you."

"She is sorry for scratching you—she didn't mean to hurt you."

"It's okay, M'rissi." He assured her.

"She—would like to stay here—if you would not mind. She has met many people here—she has not met one so kind—but—she is afraid that if she does, more like the mercenaries would come—or worse."

"What would be worse?" Erik asked.

"Pointed ears," she replied, shuddering as she spoke the words. "Isael—the witch—she is powerful. She can send many to find me, and if they do, they will kill you."

"What is Isael?"

"Thalmor," she replied.

Erik's eyes grew as if he realized just the kind of mess that he'd gotten himself into.

"I see—" He nodded. "Well—then we can't stay here. I doubt heading to Cyrodiil would be a smart idea—but I think I know of a place we can go—if you want me to come with you."

"You—you would put yourself in danger for her?"

"Well, if they find out you were with me—they'd do a lot worse than kill me to find out where you went," Erik replied. "It seems like we're stuck together now—M'rissi."

"But—you have no armor."

"I can fix that. I've spent the last week working on a set of iron armor, I used myself to adjust it, so it should fit me pretty well. I just need to finish the boots and I'll be set."

"Where would we even go?" M'rissi asked. "Skyrim is so big—"

"It is—and it's currently in the middle of a civil war that we can use to our advantage," Erik replied as he picked up the discarded wooden bowl and poured more soup into it for himself. "Everything to the East of Whiterun Hold is currently under Stormcloak control, if we go deep enough into their territory, it should buy us some time. It's not a perfect plan—but going East is as good as I can come up with. There's a trail we can take that goes through Helgen, we can stop there for supplies, and keep going from there."

"Where would we go from there?"

"I don't know," Erik replied. "A question we can answer once we leave. In any case, it's late—and we're going to have to deal with the guards in the morning. When they ask, they were bandits who chased you from Embershard Mine and attacked you."

"You—would lie to the guards?"

"If they knew they were mercenaries, they'd arrest me and take me to Whiterun for murder—so, yes. I don't like it, but it's nothing we can control," Erik replied as he offered his hand and stood.

M'rissi hesitated, but took his hand and stood.

"If you have any problems sleeping—you know where I am. Don't hesitate."

"She—she thanks you. M'rissi will not hesitate—and she will find a way to pay back your kindness."

"I didn't take you in expecting to be paid back, and I don't want to be paid back."

"She will still find a way. You just met her, yet you would risk your life for her? M'rissi would not feel right if she did not repay you—"

Erik thought for a moment, then nodded.

"How about this," he said as he pulled away from her for a moment, producing a hunting bow and a quiver full of steel-tipped arrows. "You can repay me by having my back. Do you know how to shoot one of these?"

"She does not." M'rissi shook her head. "But she can learn, and she will."

"I have your back, you have mine," Erik smiled as he handed the weapons to his new friend. "I guess we don't really have a choice—we're in this together now."

M'rissi gave a smile, her ear twitching as she took the weapon into her hands.

Erik smiled and brushed her hair out of her face.

"You know—you should smile more often. You have a beautiful smile."

M'rissi gasped, the boldness of his comment catching her off guard and caused her cheeks to turn red with blush.

"F-Flattery will get you nowhere," she replied. "She—she is getting very tired now. M'rissi would like to sleep."

"Alright then. Good night, M'rissi," Erik said as he knelt by the fire and waved his hand. As his hand passed in front of the fire, the flames dimmed and flickered out, leaving them in darkness.

As M'rissi's eyes adjusted to the pitch black, Erik's hand lit up with a small flame.

Erik looked over to see M'rissi's eyes locked on his hand. Could he feel the fear that froze her in place, the fear of his magic?

"It's okay—it's just fire magic," he said as he stood and stepped towards her. "I learned it pretty early on in my life—it helps when you're a blacksmith." When M'rissi didn't respond, he moved his hand closer.

"N—No. She cannot be near that—foul art."

"You mean magic? It's nothing to be afraid of—"

"Please! She—has bad memories," M'rissi said with shaking breath as he got closer.

Erik nodded and used the light from his fire to find a candle, lighting the wick, and quenching the flame in his hand.

"Then I'll keep my use of it to a minimum," he told her with an apologetic smile.

M'rissi said nothing as he passed her to go downstairs.

When he was out of sight, she inched her way to the bed that he'd given up for her comfort and sat down.

It felt soft compared to the hard ground and rock she'd slept on before. Still—not as soft as the comfort of the plush mattress that she left behind at the place she called home; but what life would she live if she stayed with that daedra?

M'rissi gave a heavy sigh as she pulled herself onto the bed and leaned against the headboard. Every creak of the old wooden frame made her freeze as if she expected it to be the creak of the wooden door being pushed open.

She wanted to sleep—but she couldn't, and it wasn't just because her arm still burned like fire from the deep cut. Even though she was warm, and somewhat comfortable, every time she closed her eyes, every time she drifted to slumber—she was reminded of where she came from.

M'rissi frowned, sitting up and pulling her knees to her chest.

She couldn't stand it.

She'd been like this for weeks, but tonight, for some reason, it was worse.

Maybe it was because it'd been the closest she'd ever come to being dragged back to Isael—and then—

And then he saved her. Erik—that man—he saved M'rissi.

She watched as the darkness slowly turned to light, the morning sun rising through the various cracks in the log cabin.

Her ears twitched as she heard the creak of the stairs next to the bed she'd sat in all night.

"You're awake already?" she heard Erik ask.

"She never slept," M'rissi answered.

"Why didn't you come get me? I have a drink that can help you sleep—"

"She does not want your potions or elixirs! M'rissi does not like magic—"

"It's not magic—it's ale," Erik replied and produced a glass bottle with a light brown liquid in it. "It's the strong stuff too—good for knocking you out cold when you can't sleep."

Her ear twitched again.

"Oh," she whispered and pushed herself off the bed. "She apologizes."

"You don't need to apologize, kitten. Next time you can't sleep, just tell me. I'll share a couple of drinks with you," Erik said, flashing a smile as he put the ale back in a cabinet.

"M'rissi—has never had ale before. Can she have some now?"

"As much as I'd enjoy getting drunk off my arse with you, we still need to deal with the guards," Erik replied as he grabbed a couple of wooden plates, putting some fresh-picked fruit and vegetables on them. As he handed one of the plates to M'rissi, she shook her head.

"She can only eat juicy meat. Plants make M'rissi sick!"

"Oh, that's right—I forgot Khajiit are meat-eaters. I'll get you something after we deal with the guards."

"Could—you get her fishies?"

"I—suppose I could. I think Delphine may have fresh fish."

M'rissi's lips curled into a smile, and Erik perked up.

"Do me a favor," he said as he neared her and rested a hand on her shoulder. "Keep smiling—it suits you better than a frown."

M'rissi looked up at the Nord, taken aback by his request, but she nodded and gave him a warm smile.

"She will try," she said, hesitating for a moment—then wrapping her arms around him. "Thank you—for everything."

Erik ran his hand through her hair, which felt more like grease than hair.

"We—should probably get you a bath. The Sleeping Giant has a bathhouse you can use," he said as he wiped the grease off of his hand and took a bite of a tomato.

As he did, several loud knocks from the door pulled them from their moment.

"Erik Far-Giver, would you mind explaining the three dead men outside your house?" a voice with a heavy Nordic accent asked.

Erik sighed and patted M'rissi's back.

"Remember what I told you last night—bandits," Erik whispered as he ushered her to the door.