Frostbite - a TES:V Skyrim Fanfiction Series

3 - The Wood Elf

Her first and most obvious problem was the same one that had plagued her from the beginning, and had made it obvious that she was not built for this life – she was not a fighter. Based on her previous experience, dungeon delving into an ancient ruin did not seem like the safest activity. With Ralof gone, she would need some new friends.

Over the following few days, she fell into step with Gerdur and Hod, and discovered she was terrible at chopping firewood, not strong enough to feed the logs into the mill, and didn't know the first thing about growing potatoes.

She spent the first day getting blisters on her hands and mud in her hair, as Gerdur tried to find some use for her.

With the gold from the Jarl, she rented a room at the inn. The Sleeping Giant was a big wooden building with a single main room for cooking, eating and drinking, and several offshoot bedrooms. A parttime bard by the name of Sven played a variety of instruments and sang in the evenings. Hod, the blacksmith Alvor, and the village drunk Embrys piled in each night to drink mead and laugh with Orgnar, the cook and bartender.

Her room was small. It comprised of a single bed, a chair and table, and a wardrobe. But it was cosy, and she was grateful to be able to leave Gerdur and Hod's space, even with the racket of the drinkers and the music.

Delphine, the innkeeper, was strange. She noticed Delphine watching her, more than twice. But she never bothered her, and their brief conversation was polite.

She took the morning and evening meals at Gerdur and Hod's house, at their invitation. Fresh bread was bought and eaten with seared salmon, meat broths and vegetable soups. She even allowed herself a bottle of vinegary wine, which she struggled to finish, and spent the following hours laid in bed, watching the ceiling spin and finding herself humming to one of Sven's favourite songs.

She thought about Irileth, and dragons, and wars she knew nothing about.

[]

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to be rude," she'd said. "I just- I've never seen an elf before."

During her second day, she was supposed to be cutting logs with the village's only elf, Faendal.

"You must not have travelled much, then. I've been all over Tamriel and seen all sorts of people." He said, lining up a hunk of wood on the block. "But you don't have to venture far to meet an elf. Or a human, I suppose."

"Have you ever seen a dragon?"

"Never. And I don't want to." She watched as he raised the axe and brought it down, slicing the wood clean in half. "See how I bend my knees as I bring the axe down?"

"I just don't think I'm built for this, Faendal. All this adventuring and walking and chopping, it makes my legs ache. And I'm cold all the time." She looked across the village from where she sat on a log pile. She'd changed out of the long dress into a simple canvas tunic and trousers for the day at work, leant to her by Sven, who was supposed to be working at the mill, but seemed to have disappeared again. Not that she could exactly fault him.

The day was glorious. Golden sunlight dripped into the valley, warming her face in spite of the nibbles of cold breeze. The sky was completely clear, but for the rings of mist obscuring the mountain peaks, way above them.

"You complain too often," Faendal said, as he bent down and picked up another log. "I wish I could spend all day adventuring. I try to get away to the forest whenever I can."

"So, why are you here, then?"

"I need the gold. I used to hunt a lot more, but with the war on, it's much more dangerous." He lined up the log. "And Gerdur needs all the help she can get, supplying the soldiers."