I suppose I should consider myself lucky – there were no bandits this time. But those man-eating wolves? Still there. A couple ran toward me and I braced myself and shouted at them: "Fuz Ro Dah!” Then I yelped and ducked to one side as the closest one snapped at me.

 

Right. No dragon souls, no word walls, no visits to the Greybeards. I didn't have my Dragonborn powers yet. Well, shit.

 

I should note here that, while my outfit was not outwardly suited for battle (or movement at all, really), it was surprisingly excellent - the dress moved with me instead of restricting me, stretching as needed without hindrance, and the stiletto heels stayed as firm as if I was wearing sneakers. 

 

I fought with the axe (which was more useful as a club – it clearly had not been sharpened in a very long time) and dagger and was almost immediately exhausted. All those mine muscles, gone! On the other hand, I could breathe again since my lungs were no longer full of years of mine dust. More than a fair trade! Still, I was back to being a 19-year-old out of shape American college student.

 

My second story might have ended there, torn up and devoured by wolves before it even started, had the wolves not decided a nearby deer looked more tasty and galloped away after it. I moved out of the area then sat under a tree and just breathed for a bit. Then I made a plan.

 

First, I clearly needed to be in better shape. Pushups, sit-ups, squats, jogging…every calisthenic I had ever heard of needed to be part of my daily routine. Second, I needed to learn to fight. Properly. Delphine had started teaching me things but if I was going to a) survive, b) not become a slave again, and c) somehow defeat the dragons before they overran the world, I was going to have to be an actual warrior. And then, perhaps most important, I needed to get to the Greybeards and learn how to Shout properly this time. Jesus, I had wasted so much time! Okay, so I hadn’t had a choice for much of it. But still…

 

With these things in mind, I decided to do what training I could (and maybe make a little money) before leaving Shor’s Stone to get to where I would eventually need to be. I didn’t need to visit Windhelm (and definitely didn’t need to go all the way to fucking Winterhold) – I just needed to be in Helgen in…what? Fourteen days, give or take? I didn’t remember the exact amount of time I had wasted travelling here and there but that seemed a fair estimate.

 

So, solid steps: first, talk to Lysha. She had believed my story last time and she seemed like she could handle herself, so maybe I could get her to begin training me. Second, I would need a job, something short-term that could get me enough money to buy a trip to Helgen. Unfortunately, there seemed only one viable option for that, and I wasn’t sure I could go through with it – the town had a mine. And, though my muscles were weak, I had certainly learned enough techniques to get by. But the thought of swinging a pickaxe filled my mind with a darkness I cannot begin to describe.

 

I shuddered and stood. Better just to let that one sit for a bit – I’d stick with Lysha to start. If she agreed to train me, maybe she would have other ideas for making money.

 

Of course, if you have read this much of my story so far, you will not be surprised to learn that nothing went as expected.

 

The first thing I noticed about Shor’s Stone was that it was bigger than I remembered. There were several more buildings, including an inn that definitely was not there before. A hulking ruin I did not remember overlooked the town from the hill above.

 

The second thing I noticed was the distinct absence of slaves. Last time, naked collared people had been ubiquitous, not just in Shor’s Stone but in Skyrim overall. This time, not a chain to be seen. The relief that swept through me nearly made me swoon – whatever else happened this time around, it seemed slavery was off the table.

 

The third thing I noticed was the guard who took one look at me, turned on his heel, and marched in my direction. I froze in place, swearing silently as I tried to figure out what weird faux pas I could possibly have committed. Maybe it had something to do with my outlandish (side note: it was not until I wrote that word in conjunction with a moment where I was wearing clothes that were literally “from out of this land” that I realized what it really was meant to say) outfit.

 

His intent became clear – well, clearer - as he drew close and called out, “You! Where is your escort?”

 

Of course, I had no idea what he meant and so I went straight to my tried-and-true, surefire strategy for getting out of a situation I was unprepared for: I blinked and said, “Uhhhhhhhhh…”

 

He rolled his eyes and sighed with heavy exaggeration. “What is it with you young women who think the rules don’t apply to them? Whatcha got there?” He glanced at the axe. “I know yer not chopping wood. Not in that outfit. Come with me. We’ll need to make sure you’re not carrying anything you’re not allowed to, then we’ll get you to Riften.”

 

He took my arm and began to lead me into town as my mouth finally started to work.

 

“Riften? But I don’t want to go there.” I tried to pull my arm away but, of course, he was much stronger than I.

 

“Once you get an escort, you can go where you please. Don’t act like you know the rules.”

 

Dammit, this was going to derail my plans. I had time, but I didn’t have time to get dragged sixty miles in the wrong direction (sixty miles doesn’t seem like much until you have to walk it – then it’s two to three days’ travel, depending on terrain and how many hours you go per day). Not to mention I would apparently need an escort, and I assumed that meant I would have to pay someone with money I didn’t have.

 

A half-formed idea – my favorite kind! – sprang to mind and I said, “I have an escort! It’s Lysha.”

 

That did seem to give him pause. He said, “Lysha can’t be your escort. She’s a woman.” But he sounded doubtful and his steps slowed.

 

Time to double down. And hope she was observant and/or curious enough to back me up. “I’m her pupil. She’s supposed to be teaching me.”

 

The guard snorted. “Teaching you what? How to backtalk?” His tone indicated derision but his eyes had grown wary. 

 

He turned clearly-reluctant feet away from wherever we had been heading and pulled me in a new direction, all the time muttering about women knowing their place, women who think too much of themselves, women not being on par with men. You know, the usual misogynistic bullshit. By the time we neared the small house with the outdoor firepit, all of which looked refreshingly familiar, I was silently cheering for Lysha and whatever she had been up to to cause this guard so much consternation.

 

Like her house, Lysha looked much the same – like a fucking badass. She was dressed in exquisite Ebony armor (this time around I could appreciate how rare and expensive a set of armor like that was) and radiated an ongoing passive “don’t fuck with me” vibe. I couldn’t help but think the gods had got something wrong – clearly she should have been the fucking Dragonborn. Bet she wouldn’t have wasted six and a half years getting raped and enslaved over and over instead of, you know, killing dragons!

 

The guard cleared his throat and, when Lysha looked up, he motioned toward me. “This woman says she’s here to learn from you. That true?”

 

Lysha turned curious eyes in my direction but, unfortunately, so did the guard, so I tried to tell her with my eyes that I really really needed her to back me up. She didn’t seem to get the message.

 

“I don’t recall agreeing to train whores, no.”

 

Shit! The guard was nodding and turning around, once again reaching for my arm, so I blurted out the first thing I could think of.

 

“I was sent by Par…” Too late, I remember the derision she held for Parman and the name died on my lips. In a rare fortuitous moment, however, she happened to know someone else with a similar name and took my meaning to be toward him.

 

“Pare? Really? That’s odd, I would have expected a bird if he was sending someone my way.”
 

My brain caught up, realizing I also knew Pare. The jerk from Windhelm! Also a mage, as I recall. I took a leap of faith. “He…didn’t have time. He said it was urgent and teleported me here.”

 

“He’s sending whores as messengers now?” Lysha shook her head but, to my great relief, she waved at the guard. “Honestly, that does sound like him. It’s okay, Magmil, I’ll take care of her.”

 

He gave her a glare, passed it on to me, then let go of my arm. “Fine. Make sure she doesn’t break any more laws.”

 

“Of course.”

 

Magmil stormed off and I sighed my relief.

 

“So. Who are you really and how do you know Pare?”

 

I laughed. “No beating around the bush, I see. I’m glad at least some things haven’t changed. Hi, I’m Sian and I know Pare because you sent me to him six and a half years and a lifetime ago.”

 

 

 

Don’t feed the bastards. Feed yourself instead.

 

 

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