Jarl Balgruuf the Greater looked down on the smoking body of the hope of the world in disgust. This was supposed to be the hero that would save them all from the World Eater, Alduin. And now there was nothing standing between the destroyer of worlds and the end.

 

Why, Kynareth? he silently raged. Why send us another stupid Nord warrior? Balgruuf himself was a Nord warrior, but he considered himself a thinker, especially since he was far beyond his prime.

 

The Dragonborn, one Roland of Ivarstead, was a Nord's Nord. Hard drinking, hard fighting, thinking with his balls. He had accepted that he was the savior, and had gone off to fight the dragons, to gain their strength, with all the arrogance of his kind. Better it had been a woman. There were many women warriors in Skyrim. Not as strong as men, they excelled in stealth, agility and thought to make up for their shortcomings. Or even a mage, or a Dunmer. Even a Altmer would have fared better, or a Khajiit.

 

“I am sorry, my Jarl. I tried to get in the way, but the Dragonborn yelled at me and shoved me to the ground.”

 

The beautiful face of Lydia, the niece he had assigned to the new Thane as his Housecarl, was distraught. She had been pledged to give her life to protect the Thane and his property. The Jarl knew how she felt. She had failed in her duty, that it should have been her lying there on the scorched ground. And what would I have told my brother? he thought. That I had assigned one of our blood to serve an idiot who would have gotten her killed for no gain.

 

“Lydia,” he said in a gentle voice. “All you would have accomplished would have been to die with him. It would have been a waste of a beautiful woman, and a fine warrior.”

 

Lydia, in fact, had driven the final blow into the dragon, ending its life, at least for the moment. The girl had the presence of mind to pick herself up, take cover, and fire arrows into it along with the other warriors who had been accompanying the idiot. The spellswords Toccata and Sofia had hit it with magic, and the beast had finally fallen. A screaming Lydia had shoved her great sword through its neck, then rained blows upon its head. Balgruuf was thankful that she had gotten away with that attack. Unfortunately, the big black bastard of a dragon would soon be along, no more than a day, and raise his lesser brother from the grave. Even if they tore the body apart, no small task considering the hardness of dragon bones, it would reconstitute and return to its rampage.

 

“What are we going to do, my Jarl? He was our only hope.”

 

Roland had absorbed the soul of the first dragon he had killed, at the East Watchtower. He had previously delved into an old Nordic ruin and learned his first shout, which activated with that kill. He had met with the Greybeards, who had attempted to impart wisdom to him, and had killed two more dragons. And he had grown arrogant of his power. Typical Nord warrior, no better than Ulfric Stormcloak.

 

“Tell me again what the fool did?” he asked his niece, trying to keep the anger from his voice and failing.

 

“He waited in the open, shouting at the dragon,” groaned Lydia, looking down at the ground. “It might have staggered it a bit, maybe not, and the damned beast just hovered in front of him and hit the Dragonborn with a blast of flame. I tried to get to him, to get in front of him before it hit him again, but he screamed at me, accusing me of trying to steal his glory, then shoved me to the ground, just before the dragon breathed again. The heat was terrible, even if it didn't hit me directly, and he went down with a cry I'll never forget.”

 

“Not your fault,” said Balgruuf once again, shaking his head. “You did everything you could, and no one could fault your courage.”

 

And she had rolled over, sought cover, and sent arrow after arrow into the flying dragon, he thought with pride. You and the spellswords brought it down, then you charged in, from the side, like a thinking warrior, to shove you sword into its neck, then cut down a couple of times to make sure. Why couldn't you have been the Dragonborn?

 

Whiterun was packed to the brim with refugees, people from the towns and farms seeking shelter from the dragon attacks. Normally the home to ten thousand or so, the city held double that amount. Relatives of course put up their own kin, and the inns were overflowing, while Dragonsreach had become a barracks of sorts. There was still enough food, and cattle, pigs and chickens roamed the streets, but if the crops, those that had not been burned by the dragons, were left to rot in the fields, starvation, and its traveling companion disease, would soon rear their ugly heads.

 

Maybe we can parade everyone past this carcass and see if there's a reaction, he thought. There could be a second Dragonborn out there, waiting to be discovered. Couldn't there? But Balgruuf didn't think they would be that fortunate.

 

“How in the hell did you let this happen, Balgruuf?” yelled the middle aged Breton who ran across the field at him. “You were supposed to protect him so he could grow into his power. Was his protection so  incompetent?”

 

“Delphine,” growled Balgruuf, looking over at the woman who had been assisting the court mage in his search of dragon lore. He still wasn't sure what her part was in all of this, only that she had an expertise they needed. “His protection is right here. And they did everything they could to protect the fool. It wasn't their fault if he ran into the open and shouted his defiance.”

 

“But, that's insane,” said Delphine, shock on her face. Even at near fifty she was still a fine looking woman, pretty face and the athletic body of a warrior.

 

“Yes, it is,” agreed Balgruuf, nodding. “The Gods sent us a madman to save us. And he failed.”

 

Kyne, prayed Balgruuf silently. Akatosh, all of the rest. We are doomed unless you send us another Dragonborn. And please send us one with a working mind this time.

 

“We need to get to the Temple of Kynareth,” said the Jarl, realizing the Goddess was their only hope.

*     *     *

Kynareth, also known as Kyne for short, had tried to give the Nords what they wanted. A Dragonborn of their own race, one both the Imperial supporters and the Stormcloaks could get behind. Unfortunately the only Nord with the proper star signs had been an idiot. Still, the Goddess had thought he would have enough thinking support to keep him alive long enough to destroy Alduin. It hadn't worked that way, and the fool was dead.

 

She was looking over the candidates that still existed on Tamriel, and they were slim pickings. The Septim blood line was played out. No Dragon blood there. There was a drunk in Hammerfell, a Skooma addict in Elsweyr, an old man on his death bed in Cyrodil. Nothing. Akatosh could gift any human with the power, but the God was not playing. He was split between support of Alduin, his first child, and saving the humans from that first creation, so it was up to another God, Kyne, to find the replacement.

 

So she was looking to other worlds. Ones that boasted humans as the dominant species. There were many of those. Humans were the best choice, Argonians and Khajiit existing nowhere other than Nirn. Balgruuf had been praying for a female, thinking a she might be more rational. Kyne laughed at that. There were rational females, but most acted on their emotions. But she would try to get the leader of Whiterun Hold what he wanted. And she thought she had found the perfect candidate.

 

A woman in her early thirties, one who had fought for her people, a leader. One who had gone on a hopeless quest against a shadowy opponent, and had won through against all odds. And one who had organized and led the creation of a new nation. And she had the dragon blood with an ancient generic connection to a slayer who had lived when dragons still roamed this world. Perfect. Kyne didn't want to take her away from her people, but she was not really needed. Magic didn't work quite the same way in her dimension, but Kyne had a way in. It looked good. Not a guarantee. With mortals nothing was. But this looked like a good choice. The decision made, she moved.

*     *     *

Nora Jane Adams hadn't gotten out enough since becoming president of the Commonwealth. She hadn't really wanted the position, had in fact refused it. But every vote, with her name on or off the ballet, had resulted in a true landslide victory. The young widow had finally bowed to the inevitable and accepted the position. And while she had to admit the perks that came with the position were welcome, if a temptation for abuse, she missed doing what she was so good at. The hunt.

 

The Raider encampment lay in a small valley, in buildings that had once been the Green Mountain Motel. The buildings hadn't suffered from bomb damage, not in this remote location. Weather and the ravages of time had not been kind, though, and leave it the scum that occupied it to not pay attention to maintenance.

 

Maybe we can get this group, what survives this day, to work on fixing the place up, she thought, immediately shaking her head. No, they were in Vermont, far from home, and she didn't have the people to either watch over them here or ride herd on them back to Boston. Better to put them down.

 

She thought back on all she had accomplished since leaving the cryo capsule in Vault One Eleven. The settlements, reining in the Institute that had been the terror of the Commonwealth, cleaning out Nuka World. She had intended none of it from the beginning. She just wanted to locate her husband's murderer and find her baby. Nora had put the bullet in Kellogg's brain herself, but Sean had turned out to be a sixty something man who ran the Institute. She would always love him, since he had come from her body. But she could never like him. He had survived the reorganization, the man known as Father, and now lived in exile.

 

Who could have know I would become a crusader? she thought with a smile. She had been a lawyer, but not a counselor who had the gleam of dollars in her eyes. No, she fought for those who society cast off, providing representation to those threatened by the system. She had found herself in a similar position here, but the camping, woodcraft and marksmanship lessons she had learned from her grandfather had been more useful than knowledge of how to argue a point in front of a bunch of citizens who knew nothing of the law.

 

Not a rich woman, and with the cost of college skyrocketing, she had resorted to income production she had never thought herself capable of pursuing. She was pretty, Nora knew that. Hair as black as a raven's wing, deep blue eyes, an athletic body. Men were willing to pay for her body, whether to watch her on stage or to slake their desires inside her, and it was more than she could make working sales in a store. If there were still positions open that hadn't been taken by robots. But no robot was better than a real live woman when it came to sex. When she had needed money for the settlements and her vision for them she had resorted to the old trade again. Dancing on stage so horny men could ogle her and toss caps on the platform. Going back to the private rooms with those willing to pay the price. She made many times more than the average tired whore that populated Diamond City, thanks to her good looks, and then her reputation.

 

Thankfully that reputation hadn't hurt peoples' perception of her as a leader. People did what must be done to get by in this post apocalyptic world. Few girls got out of puberty with their virginity intact. Women, and men, sold their bodies to get something to eat. And then there were the Raiders. The Raiders took what they wanted, when they wanted, without consent. One reason why she enjoyed killing them.

 

“We ready to go, Boss Woman?” asked R4-04, her helmeted head turning her way.

 

“Ready,” said Nora, smiling under her own helmet. The synth was one of the few people she could really feel comfortable with. She and Nick Valentine, another synth. Both had memories implanted from the prewar days. Both could relate to her turn of phrases, her jokes, her comments on current events as seen through the eyes of someone who remembered a better world. They had many adventures together, her and the two very different artificial people. And she still liked hitting the road with them, when she could get away with it.

 

“I told Hancock I wouldn't let you get yourself hurt,” said the synth, the laugh coming through in her voice.

 

“Get hurt?” Nora said in mock shock.

 

She was encased in over a ton of metal, an X-03 suit of power armor, the best the Institute could manufacture. And modified to her partifular specifications. It carried a trio of fusion cores, with more in the storage compartment. An efficient jet pack and a suite of attached weapons made it the ultimate fighting armor. True, it didn't make her invulnerable, but it would take some seriously heavy weapons to harm her within.

 

“You know how that old ghoul is,” said the synth, whose given name was Mara, something she shared with a very few trusted people. “He's afraid that if you die he'll have to take your seat.”

 

Nora laughed as she took a last second to size up the Raider camp. Hancock was also a good friend. She had gotten sick to her stomach the first time she had seen the long lived, irradiated beings known as ghouls. They looked like an advanced case of leprosy. The ferals were monsters, to be put down whenever they were encountered. The civilized ghouls were just people, trying to make their way in a world where they weren't always accepted. Hancock, though relatively young for a ghoul, had campaigned for them, and had made great inroads into establishing them as equals to the normies.

 

“Everyone sight in on your first target,” ordered Nora, picking out a Raider and highlighting her on the HUD. A real nasty piece of work, covered in bad tattoos, bone piercings in nose and ears. “And leave the leader for me.”

 

The targets came across her HUD, sent from the other suits. She grunted in satisfaction. This squad of Minutemen was good. Everyone had picked a different target, and all of them were Raiders that were just a step away from making it to cover. The others could be serviced in turn.

 

“Very good. Lock them in and wait for my command.”

 

Nora aimed her Gauss rifle at her own target, locking the limbs of the suit to provide a stable firing platform. Her HUD showed her the aim of the rifle. The suit had its own VATS, the Vault-tech Assisted Targeting System that made aiming a piece of cake. She tried to keep her own marksmanship tight in practice, but in the field nothing beat the VATS.

 

Her gaunleted finger squeezed the trigger, the rifle bucked into her armored shoulder, and the suit took the recoil without moving. The round traveled fast, so fast that it seemed to strike as soon as the rifle fired. Almost flat trajectory, and the head of the woman disappeared, replaced by a cloud of pink mist that was the remains of what had made her, her.

 

Eleven more Raiders died in the same instant. The rest looked up and around with shock and surprise on their faces. They hadn't even known there was a threat, and suddenly a dozen of them were no more.

 

Teach you to have so little security discipline, she thought, smiling as she tracked onto the next target. Raiders thought they were bad asses, and while she had to admit that some were very good in close combat, they lacked the discipline of troops. Raiders did what they wanted, when they wanted, and only a strong boss could get them to do anything they didn't like. Even then they were likely to slack off if not watched. Well, these hadn't encountered Commonwealth forces before today, and they wouldn't be passing their lessons down to others.

 

The secondary targets went down as easily as the first, and then there were no more to be seen, the rest having ducked into cover.

“All teams, close assault. And be careful. Mara, you're on me.”

 

“Of course, Boss Woman,” said the cheerful synth.

 

A few shots rang out as the twelve suits bounded down the slopes. Mostly pipe weapon, hard hitting but inaccurate. Some real rifles, and even a machine gun chattering away. The suits shrugged off the hits, though Nora could imagine some of her people cursing that their beautiful cammo paint jobs would have to be touched up after the fight.

 

Nora headed straight for the largest building, what had been the office, bar and laundromat. Something hit her armor, and a loud pinging rang through the suit. She dropped the Gauss, letting its elastic straps pull it back into place on the suit, and pulled down her assault rifle. Selecting the grenade launcher, she sent a pair of forty millimeter through the two front windows, then bounded ahead. As she pushed through the doorway a couple of quick bursts finished what was left of the opposition. One had run at her with a baseball bat, yelling the whole while that he was going to crush her skull. The idiot.

 

“We took the boss, ma'am. Alive. You said you wanted him.”

 

“Very good. I'll be right there.”

 

The boss turned out to be a massive Raider, an ugly mass of muscle. There was a frightened young woman standing next to him, and Nora didn't think she had the look of a Raider. Probably a slave then.

 

“You're going to regret this,” growled the man, anger overcoming good sense. “When Slater hears of this, you're dead.”

 

“Well,” said Nora, opening up her suit and climbing out. “If he thinks he can take on the whole Commonwealth, he's welcome to try.”

 

“The Commonwealth,” stuttered the boss, fear flashing in his eyes.

 

“Yep. You've finally caught the attention of something you can't handle,” said Nora, a cold smile on her face.

 

The Commonwealth had been expanding during her years at the helm. New Hampshire, most of Maine, Rhode Island and Connecticut. They were even making inroads into New York. But only by invitation, and they only stayed if the people of the territory voted to join them. So far, everyone had. Who could turn down power, medicine and protection from Raiders. Not to mention the teleportal network that allowed safe and instantaneous travel to points across the nation.

 

“You're nothing but a bunch of cowards. Coming here in those suits and attacking poor people just trying to get by,” growled the boss, back on the verbal offensive.

 

“Don't listen to them,” said the woman, who had moved away, distancing herself. “He's a monster. He leads monsters. They destroyed my village, took the survivors as slaves.”

 

“We found a lot of them. Thirty or so,” said one of her NCOs. “A few got taken down as collateral, and I'm very sorry.”

 

Nora closed her eyes for a moment and grimaced. The innocent always got in the way, and in war many died in the crossfire.

 

“Not your fault,” she told her people. Nora knew she would be adding those dead to her own nightmares, and was sure they would haunt the sleep of her people here as well. But she had to say it.

 

“Any children?”

“Some older ones,” said the sergeant, and Nora felt a chill run down her spine.

 

“He killed my baby,” shouted the ex-slave. “Bashed her head in against a wall. And they killed any children they couldn't put to work.”

 

Nora turned a glare on the Raider Boss, who took a step back, until he bumped into Mara.

 

“You want me to terminate this scum?” asked the synth.

 

“You all are just cowards,” screamed the boss, face reddening as veins bulged on his neck. “Iffen you didn't have those suits, none of you could take me.”

 

“Challenge accepted,” said Nora, her cold smile widening as she stepped forward. “You have a preferred weapon?”

 

“My bat,” he said, hope lighting his eyes. “In the building we came out of.”

 

Nora didn't think the man was stupid enough to think he could get out of this through single combat. But he might still think he could take someone with him.

 

“Go get it,” she told one of her Minutemen, pulling the monomolecular knife from its sheath at the side of her suit.

 

“Madame President,” said Mara, near panic in her voice. “Don't. Hancock...”

 

“Is not in charge of me,” said Nora, turning to look at her friend. “In fact, I seem to recall that I'm in charge.”

 

The eyes of the boss were getting wider, if that was possible. He was realizing that he had one of the leaders of the Commonwealth in front of him, if not the big boss herself. And if he could take her down?

 

A trooper came bounding out of the building with a razor wire wrapped baseball bat in hand. He tossed it to the raider, who stepped back and let it hit the ground so he wouldn't get cut. Bending down, he picked it up and gave it a few test swings.

 

“Your people going to let me go if I win?” he asked.

 

“Sure, but don't get your hopes up.”

 

The man smiled and stepped forward, bat up and at the ready.

 

Nora knew exactly what he was thinking. Here was a woman, less than half his mass, with only a knife, and he was an veteran of close in fighting. He would crush her in an instant, then be on his way. What he didn't know was Nora had been a long term recipient of the serum made from Lorenzo's blood, the immortal madman she had rescued from the asylum. She was twice as strong as anyone her size had a right to be. Faster, more agile, with an incredible healing rate. None of that would help her if that bat did indeed crush her skull. But it would help her avoid that fate.

 

She leaned back into a fighting position, something the Raider had probably never seen. The old ghoul she had found in Quincy had been a practitioner of Tai Chi from before the war, and had only become more skilled through the years. Adding in the other martial artists she had located in some of the surviving vaults, and there was now a thriving industry of instructors in the Commonwealth. And she had learned from all of them.

 

The Raider roared and ran forward, bat going up, then down, aimed right at her head. Only she was no longer there. A quick step to the side and she thrust the blade into his left arm. There were better openings, and she could have killed him there, but she wanted to prolong this. The Raider grunted, blood spurting from his arm, which fell limp to his side, tendons severed.

 

He turned quickly for one his size, and Nora hit him with a side kick to the stomach, doubling him over. The knife flicked out twice in a blur, and blood spurted for what remained of his ears.

 

“Don't play with him,” shouted Mara.

 

“I...” she started to say as she turned to look at her friend.

The Raider struck, bringing the bat down on her right shoulder. It would have snapped the bones of most people, those who hadn't had bones and tendons strengthened by the miraculous serum. Still, it barely penetrated the nanosuit and tore her flesh, razor wire leaving shallow cuts that bled copiously. Nora, a seasoned warrior, didn't stand where she was in shock. She ducked and rolled away, coming back to her feet in a spin that launched her left foot into the face of the man.

 

The Raider staggered back, raising his bat and moving in for another strike.

 

“Finish him,” yelled Mara.

 

You're right,” thought Nora. Her life really wasn't hers to give. Though sometimes in the loneliness she felt entrapped in death seemed like a wonderful alternative. Too many people depended on her for her to play games like this. So she moved in, adopting a knife fighters crouch, blade held close to her body.

 

The Raider stood there, left arm limp, blood dripping to the ground, bat raised in his right arm for a strike. At the last second he brought it down and to the side, then inward for a horizontal strike to Nora's left side. With a quick launch the woman was in the air, bounding over the bat, coming down to the right side of the Raider. One hand grabbed his wrist and twisted up, while her knife hand darted in and out with blinding speed. Three thrusts and the Raider leader was bleeding out through holes in his neck, chest and stomach. He stared at her in confusion for just a moment before his eyes went blank and he fell to the ground, a limp sack of bones and dead flesh.

 

“Let me take a look at that, ma'am,” said the medic, out of his suit and rushing to her side.

 

“Look after the former slaves,” she ordered. “I'll heal.”

 

The medic, who knew about her remarkable healing powers, nodded and turned away. The people who had been held prisoner needed to be reassured, then integrated into the nearby communities. And she needed to talk with those people, find out what they wanted to do. If everything worked as expected, civilization would move into this area, bringing a new safety and prosperity.

 

The wounds on her shoulder had closed, the bleeding stopped. By tomorrow there would not even be scars to mark her. An hour later they had the former slaves, bearing everything their masters had of value, heading toward the nearest settlement. Nora and her people formed a guard. Just because one gang had been wiped out didn't mean that the roads were safe. Raiders were like roaches. Wipe out one nest and another sprung up. Eventually the State of Vermont would be free of the scum, just like all the other areas. The Commonwealth would continue to grow. To become a new United States of America? Who knew.

 

“What's that,” shouted one of the Minutemen.

 

Nora turned to see a strange glowing rip in the sky. The President was used to teleportation tech. In fact, the Commonwealth had several different teleportation processes, Institute and Vault-tech among them. This looked like something different. And then the fearsome and beautiful woman stepped out of the rift and floated to the ground.

 

“Greetings, Champion,” said the woman in a voice like Nora imagined angels would use. Her otherworldly eyes looked out at the human with kindness, but determination. “You are needed.”

 

“But, I'm needed here,” blurted out Nora, not sure what was going on.

 

“Not so much. But the fate of an entire world hangs in the balance.” Without another word the Goddess, for Nora thought of her as such, reached out a hand. Nora was frozen in place, and found the ground receding below her. Her people crying out, Mara rising on her jet pack, closing with her. And then, blackness.