When I woke up, I regretted sleeping in my armor.

Groaning, I sat up on the bed and began shedding plates to get to the sore muscles underneath. Fifteen years ago, I would've had no problem sleeping in my armor. But I wasn't as young as I had once been, and even though I tried to keep myself in shape, I just couldn't move like I used to.

Once I had dropped everything except my tunic and trousers, I got off the bed and started rubbing my shoulders as I moved out of the otherwise-empty bedroom.

Farkas was standing in the midst of the living space, stirring a spoon in the cooking pot. He nodded my way. "Morning, princess."

I ignored his comment and looked around the room that had been trashed the night before. Had he been cleaning in here?

"I did what I could to straighten things up," he continued as though he had read my mind. "It just didn't seem right to sleep in their beds and leave their home in chaos. Besides, I asked myself, 'Farkas, you're about to go downstairs and raid this poor family's cellar. Does that seem right to you?' So, I thought this would appease their spirits."

"It's not like they're going to eat the food downstairs." I braced my hands against the small of my back and squared my shoulders until I felt a series of pops down my spine. "What're you cooking?"

"Vegetable stew. They had all the ingredients downstairs."

"How long were we asleep?"

He shrugged. "It's dark outside right now, but the moons are on the rise. We should probably stay here until the sun comes back up, so let's just eat and sleep until then."

"And drink?" I laughed. "Did you find any mead in the cellar?"

With a grin, he nodded. "More than two cases."

I smiled back. After a hot meal and a few drinks, it would be easy for us to go back to sleep.

------

After eating our fill and drinking twice as much, sleeping came easily. Farkas and I rested through the night, though we arose with headaches and cottony mouths the next morning.

Hangovers were a lot worse than they used to be.

Groaning, I got out of bed, pulled a cloak over my shoulders, and stepped outside to relieve myself. The chill blew in from the sea, scattering the ashes left behind from the funeral pyre. I made sure to give the lighthouse a wide berth on my way out.

Once I had finished, I went back inside to stoke the cooking fire. The stew had never fully cooled from the night before, so it would be safe to eat for breakfast.

Good. A warm meal always made traveling easier. Given the headache storming behind my eyes and cheekbones, I'd need all the help I could get to enjoy our upcoming journey.

Farkas stumbled out of bed shortly afterward, rubbing his eyes as he leaned against the doorframe.

"Feel like polishing off the mead this morning?" I joked, voice hoarse.

He shook his head. "Gods, no. That mead tasted like piss compared to what we have back home."

"But it helped us sleep," I pointed out. "If you're on your way out, grab a bucket and gather some snow to melt."

He grumbled but grabbed a nearby bucket to comply. After he went outside, I kicked a nearby cast-iron pot closer to the fire so we could melt the snow inside it.

When he returned with the snow, he dumped it into the pot and began to stir it to help it melt faster. Once he had the snow melted, he dipped out a small portion into the bucket before heading back to the room we'd been staying in.

"Where are you going?" I asked him without turning my attention away from the stew.

"I'm going to change clothes, but I want to wipe myself down first."

"Fair enough."

When he returned, sporting a fresh tunic and pair of pants, I swapped out with him so I could also get clean. It had been a few days since I had gotten a bath, and even if I couldn't get a full soak, I could at least make myself smell better.

When I returned, Farkas had already ladled out the stew and water into some dishes. We sat down on the floor to eat, keeping quiet as we both nursed our hangovers. The food and water helped, but I doubted that we would bounce back until the next day.

With our bellies full, we used the remaining water to douse the fire, donned our armor, gathered our things, and left this lighthouse behind.

Though it was the wrong direction, we headed north towards the Sea of Ghosts. I still had a strange feeling about being here before, though I didn't remember where I had seen this snowy landscape. I certainly hadn't been this far out on my Companion missions, though the lands in this Hold all looked so familiar. Winterhold had some good qualities, but diversity in the landscape was not one of them.

We skirted past a rocky slope, careful on our trek downward. The snow piled in drifts up to our knees in some places. The path was covered by snow, making it hard to keep our feet on our trek.

We pressed on, and as we went, I felt as though a string had been tied to my waist, and I was being guided forward. Like a puppet being controlled, I followed a path that I couldn't see. In the back of my mind, pieces started to fit together. Landmarks still looked the same, even thirty years later.

This was where the necromancers had taken us when we were little.

"Vilkas..." murmured Farkas as we came to the icy entrance of a cave set in between two shelves of ice. "I don't like this."

"Feel familiar?" I asked him, staring deep into the shadowed entrance.

"We were here. When those monsters took us away from our mother."

As we stood before the cave's entrance, I wondered if I'd been led by memory, or if this was a trick my mind had created. The mind was a strange thing, and could be fooled under the right circumstances. False memories could surface, but I wasn't sure this was a false memory. Everything felt too familiar.

Ropes scratch his wrists. He looks at his brother for reassurance, but only sees fear reflected in his icy eyes.

I dropped to one knee, eyes squeezing shut as I braced a hand to my forehead.

The cave's entrance looms over them, so tall and frightening. Cold air blasts them from within, but the bad people in robes yank them forward. The boys stumble, and Vilkas falls. His palms scrape the icy ground, and blood mixes with the snow.

"Vilkas!" Farkas's hand rested on my shoulder as I opened my eyes once more. "Are you all right?"

"We were here," I said, getting back to my feet. "I know we were. Farkas, this was where we were taken."

"You're sure?"

I nodded, kicking my boot into the frozen ground, as though the blood I had seen in my memory was still there. "I fell and scraped my hands here."

"Because the necromancers had us tied up and were leading us around like dogs on a leash." He nodded slowly. "I remember you tripping. Your hands weren't hurt bad, but you kept them wrapped up in your tunic to keep them from bleeding everywhere."

"I had bloody handprints on my clothes from then on."

"Why couldn't we remember?" Farkas shook his head as he walked closer to the cave. "Should we go inside?"

"No." I wiped my hands on my chestplate, as if I still had blood on my palms. As if an injury I had sustained at the tender age of four had remained all these years. "I don't want to see anything in there. I don't think we'd remember anything good."

"Maybe you're right." He turned to look at me over his shoulder. "Could you remember where the necromancers took us from?"

Though it hurt my head to think, I sat down in the snow and closed my eyes. If I could retrace the steps that we took, maybe I could find where we came from.

"Farkas!" calls the boy as his toddler legs carried him over the snow-dusted ground to their favorite hiding place. "Mama is looking for you!"

When he makes it into the small grove of conifer trees, he spots his brother wriggling in the arms of a stranger in black robes. The other two strangers lunge forward and grab him up before he can scream for help....

I grunted but kept my eyes shut. I had to remember that hiding place. What it looked like, where it was.

The hangover didn't make the experience any better, but at least it didn't impede my ability to force memories to resurface.

Why did the mind seal away harsh memories in this way? I had seen far worse in my lifetime. The bodies of men and women mounted on pikes, their guts flayed open and entrails baking in the sun. Caravans that had been overturned, picked through, and left behind once the valuables were taken. Carts that were stained in blood, heads rolling along the cobbles. Rarely—but still too common—women who had died holding their children in their arms, faces twisted and mouths open as if they were still trying to beg for their lives.

But this task wasn't about those memories. I had more important things to remember.

The bad people tie them both up and drag them north. On their way, they spy Nightgate Inn just beyond the tree line. Sometimes, their mother would take them to the inn to get a treat, It isn't a far walk from their house.

He wonders if he'll ever see it again.

"Nightgate Inn!" I shouted, hopping to my feet. "Nightgate Inn wasn't far from our home."

"That's right!" Farkas punched his fist into his palm.

"We can find our way there from Nightgate. Come on!"

------

We made the trip back south in half the time it took us to travel before. Headaches and soreness be damned, we were going to find our old home.

When we stepped through the pass through the mountains and came within sight of Nightgate Inn, we took a turn to the right to head west. I remembered seeing the inn to the east of us when we were being taken.

The woods around us began to look more familiar. The trees were taller and thicker than they were thirty years ago, but they felt comfortable.

The sun had started to dip toward the horizon by the time we walked off the path to begin our search through the woods. We didn't have much light left, but we would use every bit of daylight we had left to find the cabin.

What would we do if our mother wasn't there anymore? I couldn't remember how old she was when we went missing, but Skyrim was hardly gentle on those who lived outside the walls. Bandits, wild animals, and all manners of nuisances kept people on their toes. We had been gone for nearly thirty years. Three decades meant that there were plenty of times that something bad could've happened. If our mother lived alone, how would she be able to protect herself from the dangers that were present here?

I shook the thought from my mind. I couldn't think about that right now. We had to find our old home first. I could worry about the details later.

Finally, we found it. Moss crept up one of the wooden walls, light flickered through the frosted windows, and smoke belched from the stone chimney. Neat rows of vegetables grew off to one side, protected by a tall fence and torches. Wildflowers sprung up through the thin layer of snow on the ground, and the sweet smell of pine trees wafted under my nose.

This had been our home, for however short a time. I was sure of it. Though I had very little memory of what life had been like here, I knew this was where we had first lived.

Walking around to the front of the house, Farkas and I paused ten feet from the door. We couldn't see inside the windows, but the muffled sounds of laughing trickled under the door.

I glanced at Farkas. "Ready?"

He nodded.

Together, we walked to the door.

I swallowed, took a deep breath, and rapped my knuckles on the heavy wood.

This was it.

The door slowly swung inward, and a redheaded woman who was a few years younger than us peeked out. Her dark eyes locked onto my face before flicking behind me to Farkas, then she trailed her gaze down at our armor. She never stepped out from behind the door, but I hardly blamed her for being cautious.

"This may be bold," she finally said, voice soft and gravely, "but are your names Vilkas and Farkas?"

Now it was our turn to be quiet. Swallowing a lump that had appeared in my throat, I nodded. "I'm Vilkas, and this is Farkas."

My brother straightened. "How do you know our names?"

The woman's face broke into a smile, and she opened the door a little more. "I'm so glad to finally meet my big brothers."