"John!" A pair of kids ran up to him, large grins on their faces. The two of them were caked in mud, a scruffy looking dog wagging his tail as he chased after the two, "You're back."

The one that spoke was the girl, Dorthe, Alvor's daughter. She had taken a shine to the weary assassin after their initial rocky meeting.

"Hey kid." John smiled as he ruffled the girl's head, to her annoyance.

"Stop it!" Dorthe pushed away his hand, much to John's amusement.

"Hey John." The other kid, Frodnar, waved at him with a grin. Behind him came the barking of the dog. With a chuckle, John reached into one of his side pouches and tossed some jerky to the dog.

The dog, without missing a beat, jumped up and caught it mid-air. It immediately dug into it with as much gusto as it could.

John watched fondly even as he handed the pouch of the jerky to Frodnar, "Here." He didn't need to say that it was for Stump. The whole of Riverwood knew that he had a soft spot for dogs by now.

Frodnar laughed as Stump eagerly bumped its head into his legs after finishing the piece of jerky. Dorthe joined him as she started rubbing the dog's belly, even as she grabbed some jerky from the pouch.

"Thanks John!" The two kids waved at him as he started to walk away, a smile still on his face.

"Don't stay out too late, you two."

"We won't!" Frodnar said it in a way that John knew a kid disobeying his parents would. The two would likely play till the sun went down. He didn't worry. Despite their age, they were smart enough to not put themselves in danger.

John had adapted to his new life here in Riverwood. It had been close to a month since he had found himself in the care of Alvor and his wife. He'd had to ask some questions that would've normally put him in a mental ward back home - what country he was in, why there were two moons, and a lot more that he couldn't even remember.

Thankfully, the couple chalked it all up to the nasty blow he'd taken to the head instead of him being an alien.

Since then, without a way back, he'd decided to help around the town. As gracious as Alvor's family was, they weren't in any financial situation that they could support someone that was just loafing around.

Nor could he stand the idea of taking advantage of the kindness that they'd displayed.

That sort of kindness was foreign to John. In his line of work, back in New York, people respected him. They respected him due to his skills, his reputation.

Here, Alvor, and the rest of Riverwood, treated him as they would anyone else. It was an experience that he'd enjoyed in his time in Skyrim.

'Helen would've loved it here.'

It was a thought that had echoed in John's mind more than once. The soft breeze, the calming river that the town was known for. This would've been a place that Helen would've liked their retirement to be in.

"Alvor." He called out to the man as he approached. The blacksmith was hammering away at some iron - he could guess it was some locks, going by the growing pile that was near him.

"John." The man grunted as he wiped some sweat from his head, "Put 'em over there, will you?" He motioned to one corner of the forge.

John walked and placed his cargo on the ground. That is to say, he dropped the rather large stack of firewood he'd been carrying.

"Pay'll be the standard, aye?" John nodded at Alvor's words, the man turning back towards the forge. John didn't mind. From what he could remember, the man was currently working on an order for the main city in the region, one from a fairly prominent member of the nobles there.

Said noble was also known to be a snob that wouldn't pay him if a single thing wasn't made to their exact specifications. The assassin pitied Alvor. Almost everyone who'd been to Whiterun had something bad to say about Nazeem, and if the rumors weren't exaggerating, then the blacksmith had his work cut out for him.

With no more words exchanged, John continued on his route. It was something of a change of work, for him. When he'd started helping out in the sleepy town, he'd found success almost immediately in doing whatever odd jobs there were.

Be it hauling firewood for Alvor, ingredient delivery from the general store to the inn, or even just watching over the kids when their parents needed to do some errands. There was always something to do.

He was doing something that didn't end in blood being spilled. He was helping people, not by killing, but by the simple things in life.

It was a feeling that he hadn't felt since…ever.

All his life, it'd been about killing. Be it a gun, knife, or anything he could get his hands on, killing was always the way he'd 'helped'. But now, in this world, he helped people by getting food in their stomachs.

It was a nice, simple life.

Of course, with his luck, it was bound to change.


He'd finished arranging some of the displays for Lucan - the man was looking to try his hand at displaying his goods on the outside to try and get more customers - when shouting could be heard. John frowned as he turned his head towards the direction.

"DORTHE!" Sven was shouting off into the dark. The sun had set a while ago, and the two moons hung quietly in the sky, "FRODNAR!"

"Sven?" The door to the Riverwood Trader opened to Camilla, a frown on her lips. Immediately, Sven noticed, but the look on his face was anything but normal.

John wasn't blind. Camilla was beautiful, and both Sven and Faendal - the local wood elf - had their eyes on her. Normally, the two would look at her with lovestruck looks on their faces, but this time, Sven didn't.

"Camilla, John." He jogged towards them, his look of unabashed worry, "Thank the Divines. Could you help us out? The children are missing."

John's worry spiked. Riverwood was a small community, where everyone knew everyone. And in that small community, Dorthe and Frodnar were the only children. He knew that, though they were a handful at times, the entirety of Riverwood cared for the both of them.

The fact that they were missing was enough for John to offer his help. Camilla, meanwhile, rushed to go get her brother.

The children weren't stupid. They knew of the dangers of SKyrim better than he did. Even the local woods were home to all manner of wild animals that wouldn't hesitate to kill them. They wouldn't go out of town, not of their own volition.

"The guards?" He asked Sven. Moreover, if anyone had left town, the guards were sure to notice. In the case of the children, the guards would've stopped them as soon as they tried crossing the gate.

Sven shook his head with a frown, "Can't find them, been missing since this morning, I think."

That set off more alarm bells. There were only three guards for the entire settlement. He hadn't thought of it much, seeing as it had been relatively peaceful. The three still took their jobs seriously, and two at any time were guarding the gate.

That all three of them were missing was worrying. That worry brought some uncomfortable thoughts to John's mind.

"I'll go north." His tone brokered no argument. John walked briskly towards the edge of town, not even giving time for Sven to reply.

The assassin prayed that he was wrong.


The gate was empty, as Sven had said. There were no guards, not even the torch was lit. In the distance, he could hear the rest of Riverwood waking up, looking for the children.

There was nothing to indicate that the children had gone through here, but a gut feeling had him look ever closer.

He'd learned to trust his gut for a lot of his life. More often than not, it resulted in him getting out of some nasty situations, particularly of the lead-in-his-stomach kind. That it was telling him that he should look closer piled dread into his body.

There.

In the bushes. A few tufts of grass were flattened. Though not uncommon, the formation he could see was indicative of someone crouching down. Upturned dirt, and near it, scratched rocks.

Following the trail of flattened foliage, he could see that it led further north, beyond Riverwood itself. Not good. Not only that, but the direction the path was following indicated that, instead of going away from Riverwood, it was going towards it.

There was only one answer that John could come up with.

"Bandits." He whispered the word with such anger that it surprised even him. There were bandits in the old iron mine. That was common knowledge in Riverwood, but no one had done anything about them.

The guards couldn't, because they were outnumbered by a significant margin, and the rest of the townsfolk couldn't really fight against a group of bandits that were likely armed with better equipment.

They had, instead, an unspoken deal with the bandits, where they would leave Riverwood alone, so long as nobody came after them. They would go after the supply carriages headed for Helgen, but they would only take what they needed.

Honorable, in some twisted sense of the word. With the recent attack on Helgen though, no carriages had been going towards the town.

It was easy enough to come to a conclusion soon after.

Starting a light jog to the north, John kept an eye out for anything else amiss. It was only because of this that he noticed some more patches of flattened areas, ones that would've been hidden in the dark.

The first patch all but confirmed his thoughts. The body of a Whiterun guard, bloodied to all hell and back. His throat was cut, and the man had died holding it. His sword lay uselessly on the ground next to him. John stared at the man's body.

Ergarr was a good man, older than the other guards, sure. Regardless of the age difference, he was as fit as anyone could be, and to John's trained eye, was perhaps the best of the three when it came to fighting.

He was a friend.

He grabbed at the fallen soldier's sword.

He stuffed down the anger that he felt rising. The children were his main priority. He needed to go get them before anything else happened.

He started to walk towards the mine, a small bit of regret at not bringing a torch with him was smothered mercilessly. He didn't need one, and spotting him without one was that much more difficult.

He couldn't risk it.

The sword in his hand felt both foreign and familiar. He was used to using guns. He preferred shooting rather than swinging a sword. He didn't need to feel the blood go down his already bloodied hands. In this case, where this world hadn't adapted the use of modern firearms, he didn't really have a choice.

In the distance, he could spot a small bit of light. The mines.

He crept up with nary a sound in his footsteps. No one was guarding the entrance. A stupid move, had the possibility of magic not being a thing.

It was a shock to him to know that magic existed here. He hadn't believed Alvor initially, but when the man had spewed lightning from his hands, he didn't question it.

Regardless, magic was just another gun, at the end of the day. While John didn't have access to that specific brand of weapons, he knew how to deal with guns.

The only issue was, how did one test if these bandits were watching the entrance with magic? To put it bluntly, he didn't. He'd have to risk it.

When no shouts of alarm sounded when he crossed the entrance, he almost breathed a sigh of relief. Almost, because the children were still in trouble. He needed to find them, fast. Creeping down the mine, he could hear faint voices, one of them angrier than the others.

"-ot! What do you think you were doing?! Killing that guard, I should kill you myself for that!" A gruff voice sounded out.

"H-He was looking for the others! What was I supposed to do!" A younger voice, tinged with pain. John peeked around the corner to see what was going on.

"You were supposed to give him the ransom note! Which is something you would know if you ever fucking listened!" It was an orc, or an Orsimer, that was shouting at a dark haired human. The human was groaning on the ground, clutching his stomach.

There were twelve bandits, not counting the orc. The bandits were all wearing a mishmash of light metal, leather, and steel armor. The orc, meanwhile, was wearing a full set of wicked looking armor, plates of dark green folded on top of one another.

The leader, then.

"What's the fucking point of this if we can't ransom them, huh?! Tell me, right now, before I gut you!"

"I-I-" The man was cut off as a metal boot came slamming into his stomach.

Everyone was focused on the scene, John noticed. He crept around the entrance, and a quick glance around quickly spotted the children, along with a muzzled Stump and unconscious guards. The children's eyes filled with fear as they saw him.

They likely thought he was going to die. A single man against a baker's dozen of bandits was a death sentence.

John wasn't just anyone though.

Without anyone noticing, he grabbed the closest bandit and dragged his sword through their neck. Cushioning the body, his hand around their mouth, nobody noticed the death of one of their allies.

One down, twelve more to go.


Commissioned by: brutalcrab

A/N: If you like what I do and want to support me, check out my P-atreon at P-atreon•com(slash)Almistyor.

And a special thanks to: Oliver vazquez, brutalcrab and Tassimo.