Trendil stooped and picked up a fallen sword, just in case the runners came back or some of the fallen soldiers became feisty, then plopped down on a stone and, as her breath and heartrate began to slow, she tried to make sense of…well everything.

 

She was not in Solitude. That much had been apparent from the start, though she had not had time for it to truly register. She was on a road, a pass through mountains, from the look of it. A perfect place for an ambush.

 

She closed her eyes as a feeling of déjà vu passed over her. She was certain she had been here before. Or somewhere like it.

 

She looked again at the ruined dress. The silk was tattered and stained, but still soft to the touch. She rubbed a bit of it between her finger and thumb as a distant memory burbled up out of a past she had nearly forgotten existed.

 

She and Marcus stood at a stall in Windhelm. She was running silk through her fingers while talking in an excited voice about her dress.

 

What dress? Trendil frowned, trying to remember. The stall…they had been in Windhelm because…

 

They…

 

Marcus.

 

Memories flooded back, then – sweet Marcus, with his eyes the color of the sky. Her best friend growing up. She had run off to marry him, the first thing she had ever done against the wishes of her furious mother. They had picked up material in Windhelm but brought it to Riften because he knew the best tailor in Tamriel.

 

And he had been right – the dress had been breathtakingly beautiful, had fit her perfectly, and, most difficult of all, had made her trained and toned body look feminine.

 

With shaking hands, Trendil set down the swords, reached up, and pulled the remains of the dress off, then, after a very frightened pause, turned it.

 

The scooped neckline, the Basque waist, the embroidered pattern…it was all exactly as she remembered.

 

Impossible.

 

She ran trembling fingers over the stitching, smiling a little as she remembered trying to describe what she wanted to the very patient tailor. She had felt like the most beautiful woman in the world at their wedding. Then they had traveled with a Company of Stormcloaks for protection as they made their way toward Marcus’ home in Helgen.

 

But the Stormcloaks had been ambushed.

 

By Imperials.

 

At Haemar’s Pass, a road, a pass through the mountains. A perfect place for an ambush.

 

Trendil stood back up, locking her trembling knees to keep from falling, and, for the first time, really took in her surroundings. There could be no mistake – it was the same place. She thought back and remembered – she wagon she had been in had overturned and she had knocked her head and blacked out. When she came to, it had been just silence, blood, and death. In her grief, she had stayed there, huddling in silence until the Imperials left.

 

Then she had emerged and searched in desperation for…

 

“Marcus!”

 

If this was really the same place and the same time, impossible as it seemed, his body would be…there. She stumbled to the place where the Imperial ambushers had shoved the stripped bodies of the fallen. It did not take long to find him.

 

Marcus’ eyes seemed a reflection of the sky above, twin pools of blue yearning for freedom from the lifeless vessel in which they were trapped. Trendil stared into them in absolute disbelief.

 

It was true. Somehow, she had gone – or had been sent – back in time. Back to where this nightmare had begun.

 

She reached down and tried to close Marcus’ eyelids, but it was too late – his body had been dead long enough that they would not close. She laid his body on the side of the road and patted his face before covering it with the dress. A single tear dribbled down her cheek, but no more than that. She had grieved Marcus’ death long ago; there were newer deaths she mourned now, fresher friends and lovers she…

 

Trendil stopped, head lifting. If she was back at the beginning, then surely that meant they were as well!

 

She jumped to her feet and hurried away. It took mere minutes to find the cache the Imperials had stolen from their victims. Included in that was a trunk.

 

Her trunk. She had forgotten its existence, had counted it as lost all those years ago.

 

She opened it and let out a long sigh of relief mixed with glee – it was all here. All of her things she had lost and almost forgotten.

 

She dug through, tossing the items she no longer needed, those sundries she had picked up for her new life as a wife and shopkeeper (her mother had been so mad!) and focused only on the essentials.

 

The first thing she dug for was her jâr. Hers was the jâr shî dud’ ewshe , the “armor of silken iron,” given to those few who made it through the rigors and graduated from the shûyaa shî yee y̌êz. It was spun from a material as soft as silk but gave the protection of a suit of armor.

 

She sat and stared at it for a solid minute before muttering, “I really could have used you last time.” Then she put it on. It clung to her body like a second skin, and the familiar feeling brought back a wave of memories.

 

No time for those, though – she shook her head to wave them aside and continued to dig.

 

Her swords were still there as well, and she ran reverent fingers along the hilts, then loosed one just enough to see the shine of the blade. “I could have used you two, too.”

 

She pulled out the other necessities – two sets of clothing, plain and solid shirts and trousers made of thick linen, perfect for travel, her favorite leather boots, a waterproof cloak with a hood, and her pouch of coins, her life savings. Hers and Marcus' (most of it his; her 500 gold contribution was just a drop next to all he had saved over the years) - enough to establish their business on solid footing.

 

Speaking of getting started, she was already running late. If she wanted to be in Windhelm at the same time as she had before, she would need to get going – she had already been on the road for at least an hour in the previous life. She put on one of the sets of clothing and the boots, strapped her swords to her back, hefted the satchel containing everything else, and started up the path.

 

Then stopped when she came across eight tied up women in a carriage. Trendil frowned as her mind raced back.

 

Ah, yes – there had been other women traveling with them. No doubt they had become Imperial camp whores or slaves last time. Well, it was their lucky second chance day as well! Trendil untied them, accepting their thanks, and, as they scrambled for their own belongings, realized she didn’t have to worry about making good time on foot – here was a carriage, provided by the Imperials, complete with horse.

 

She relaxed in the driver’s seat, allowing herself a smile as she thought of the path ahead.

 

First, Windhelm. She would join the Stormcloaks again. If she joined at the same time as before, she would hopefully be assigned to the same Company. She would see all her friends again, all the comrades who had fallen.

 

She would see Bent.

 

The thought sent a sharp stab through her – the grief of losing him was still with her, overriding, for the moment, the hope of seeing him again.

 

Would he remember her as well? It was a nice thought, but she somehow got the impression he would not - this would be the old rapey-rapey Bent. She frowned at the thought – they had been lovers so long, she had nearly forgotten how their relationship had started.

 

She sighed. She was going to have to find a way to get through to him faster this time. And, while she was at it, she was going to find a way to protect everyone this time.

 

Because this time, she was forewarned. This time, she knew the truth of the war. This time, she knew how big of a threat the dragons really were.

 

This time, it would be different.

 

 

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