Chapter Text
I hear a thud and I feel pain on the right side of my body. I’m lying on something hard, my eyes closed, feeling like I’ve been thrown against a wall. I'm chilly, and I can feel my entire body rocking gently. I hear the creaking of old timber, the crisp flapping of loose canvas in the wind, the gentle wash of waves against moorings. I hear a hammer pounding nearby, a scraping sound a little further away but in the same general direction, and from the other side of me I hear the sound of metal hitting metal. The sounds are familiar, comforting. The sensations are alien.
So, I’m on a ship. I have a sneaking idea of where I am, but I don’t know how I got here, and I’m a little afraid to open my eyes. I focus on my other senses. Touch is easy: the hard surface is weathered wood, worn smooth and splinter-free but pitted and gouged in places. The strangest combination of smells assault and confound my olfactory senses: salt water, lamp oil, scorched earth, hot metal. All these impressions pass through my mind in a mere second or two.
The nearby hammering stopped almost the moment I registered it in my mind, and now there is shouting and approaching footsteps. The shouts don’t sound hostile; they sound surprised, alarmed. I open one eye and see worn, dirty, leather ankle boots attached to legs with leather thongs wrapped around their pant legs. The scraping has also stopped, and other footsteps are pounding quickly across the deck toward me as the first person crouches next to me and touches my shoulder. I look up into the familiar face of a certain Nord sailor with whom I’m already familiar, and my other eye is open in a flash as I try to sit up.
“Are you okay? You just fell out of thin air right onto the deck!”
“Lygrleid?” I ask. I can never remember which guy is which. A part of my mind is registering that the thud I heard earlier was my body hitting the deck.
“Sogrlaf,” he says with a mystified look.
From above, one of the standing men says, “I’m Lygrleid. Do I know you?” He sounds distrustful, and I can’t blame him.
“I guess not,” I mumble, disappointed that I must just be my own normal self and not the beautiful Imperial Dragonborn I like to play as. I haven’t really looked at myself until now, and when I glance downward I realize I’m still in the loose, shapeless, unflattering nightgown I wore to bed last night. Yep, same freckled hands and arms, same short, sensible fingernails, same saggy breasts and chunky belly and thighs – and no other clothes besides the nightgown. Horror and embarrassment fill the pit of my stomach and move upward, leaving heat in their wake all the way to my cheeks. The chill has made my nipples stand out and I cross my arms over my chest. I can’t bring myself to look at Lygrleid and Gjalund; I don’t want to see distaste or disgust on their faces. I check for the edges of my nightgown, making sure that all my naughty bits are covered.
“Did you lads see that?” Sogrlaf asks the other two. “She just appeared about head-high above the deck and fell right down.”
“Didn’t see it, no,” Gjalund replies, “but I know she wasn’t here a few minutes ago, and she’s not wet, so she couldn’t have swam here. I would have heard her coming down the gangway and felt her pass me at the tanning rack if she’d come that way. So I don’t have much choice but to believe you.”
“Aye,” says Lygrleid, “same here.” He addresses me now. “How did you get here? Where did you come from? And does everyone dress like this wherever it is?”
“I don’t know how I got here,” I confess, finally rising to my feet and testing how everything feels. At least I didn’t break anything. I tug my nightgown out to the sides to make sure it's not stuck between my naked butt cheeks, then cover my chest again - can't have this situation being even more embarrassing than it already is. I look around me and take everything in: the Bulwark, the charming red lanterns, the Earth Stone, the squat, dull, windowless Imperial buildings built along the dock – the familiar, beloved trappings of Raven Rock. As I look toward Glover Mallory’s house, it finally dawns that the metal-on-metal hammering sound and the hot metal smell were coming from his forge. The scorched earth smell must be the ever-present scent of volcanic ash.
I realize I haven’t answered all of Lygrleid’s questions. “I came from… a completely different world. Don’t ask me how; it’s just as much a mystery to me as it is to you. And people only dress this way for bed, which is where I was, sleeping, dreaming of this place, when I heard a thud and woke up here.”
The men look at me in discomfort, and I know they’re having trouble swallowing this. “I know, it sounds totally crazy, and it is. But it’s also true.”
Gjalund is the first to take action. “Here,” he says, extending his hand in the direction of the steps at the side of the deck leading to the dock. I start walking in that direction, and Gjalund continues speaking as he follows me. “Let’s find Second Councilor Arano. Maybe he can inquire around for some clothes for you.”
“I doubt it,” I say dolefully. “I’m pretty sure there’s no one on the entire island as fat as I am. I couldn’t borrow clothes from anyone. They’d have to be custom made.”
“Well, I’m afraid we don’t have any sailcloth to spare.”
Offended, I turn on him with an angry look, about to give him a piece of my mind, but I see that he’s grinning and holding his hands out toward me in a warding gesture.
“Sorry, sorry, just kidding,” he pleads.
I raise an eyebrow and give him a wry half-smile, to let him know that yes, I do have a sense of humor, but no, I don’t like to joke about my weight.
“Won’t happen again, milady,” Gjalund promises with a smile that’s half assuring, half apologetic.
“I forgive you this time,” I tease.
Second Councilor Arano is speaking to Glover at the forge, and when he sees me and Gjalund approaching, he does a double take and a look of horror fixes itself upon his face.
“Gjalund, what is the meaning of this, bringing a barely dressed woman into the market?” He turns to me and starts to ask, “And you – have you no…” he trails off as he really looks at me and sees the expression of distress, apprehension, and pleading on my face. His own expression turns from stern to uncertain, and his eyes flick back to Gjalund.
“You’re not going to believe this, Adril.”
“Try me, Gjalund.”
“This woman just fell out of thin air onto the deck of my ship.”
Adril is silent for a moment, scrutinizing Gjalund’s face to determine whether he’s joking, lying, or telling the truth.
Meanwhile, I’m feeling the curious stares of everyone around me, who are keeping up the appearance of going about business as usual as they cast furtive glances in my direction. I’ve long dreamed of being here in real life, but now that I’m here, the circumstances are far less than ideal. I’m humiliated, and I want to sink into the ashy ground.
“All right, Gjalund, I believe you,” Adril says, “but...” He turns that scrutinizing gaze upon me. “The only people I’ve ever heard of appearing out of nowhere were the Psijic monks. Are you a Psijic?”
“No, sir,” I say miserably, turning my own eyes to the ground. I hug myself in an attempt to at least cover my over-exposed chest. The nightgown is a little too large for me, and the low-cut neckline hangs lower than I would like. Not to mention the chilly air is still making my nipples stand at attention.
Gjalund speaks up. “She says she came from another world entirely, but she knew our names. I was hoping you might help this lady find some suitable clothes. She seems to have nothing but the clothes on her back.” I glance at him out of the corner of my eye, and catch the brief but encouraging smile he sends toward me. Bless his heart.
Adril’s brow is still knit in bemusement, but he agrees to do some asking around. “In the meantime, let’s get you out of the public eye. It’s a good time of day for you to be able to wait at our inn. All the usual patrons are still working in the mine.”
“I’ll take her,” Gjalund offers. “I know you’re a busy man, Adril, and we appreciate your help.” He speaks for me, but there’s nothing to disagree with. I do appreciate Adril’s willingness to help some homeless, half-naked stranger, especially knowing how suspicious the Dunmer are of outsiders. Stern and commanding as he is, he has a kind heart. So far, everyone has been as I expected them to be.
“Thank you, serjo,” I say to Adril. Gjalund takes my arm and starts turning me to guide me toward the Netch, but I know where to go. Adril lifts an eyebrow and gives me a curious look, but nods wordlessly.