“You're up early.” Solveig said, taking a seat next to Cleftjaw, and across from her father as he used a knife to poke into a cut of ham and flip it over.

He was silent for a second. Cleftjaw looked from her to Jorwen, “Cleftjaw, I'd like a moment with my daughter.” He said, his voice holding a tinge of unease.

Solveig felt like a little girl again, her breath quickened as much as her heart and she watched as Cleftjaw nodded and left, leaving her alone with the hulking man she called her father. As much as the tales told of Jorwen Red-Bear, bane of Reachmen and killer of Imperials, she saw him in a much different light, looking at him now. He seemed smaller, somehow, and no matter how many times Solveig cursed his name each time he left her and mother alone, she felt pity. She felt uncomfortable. Here before her was not a great warrior, here before her was her father. An old man. “I, um-”

She was about to make an excuse to leave and look for Sadri, but Jorwen spoke first, “Solveig...” The way his eyes were squeezed shut made it seem like he was pulling a knife from chest, not trying to have a conversation with her. She knew what he was going to say was serious. “Solveig, I don't tell you this enough...and I know that I was never a man that was, uh...”

“Pa, you don't have to-”

“I do.” His head raised and in the morning half-light, she thought his eyes seemed wet. Probably a trick of the light. “I do have to. I'm old, Solveig, if you haven't noticed through these years. Probably, you haven't, seeing as I've never stuck around too long. I'm sorry.”

She swallowed, not knowing what to say, “Okay.”

“Solveig.” Jorwen said, looking at her with the same desperation a man hanging from a cliff has.

“That's it? That's it, though, that's all?” She barked out a harsh laugh, “Just that-”

“I love you.” Jorwen said, “I love you. And there is no way I can put to words the stupidity of the man who would forsake a strong, beautiful daughter for something as fleeting and stupid as a hard Name and a small handful of forgotten raids. I am not a good man, I was never a kind one growing up, and I have not done many good things. But I married Halla, and we made you. And I'm sorry for not being thankful enough for having you as a daughter.”

Solveig sat there, her mouth hanging open dumbly. Her eyes started to get blurry and she couldn't trust her voice. She searched for something to say, but she could not find it. Her eyes went to the ground and a wooden plate drifted into view, a cut of ham and a cooked egg on it. Jorwen placed it beside her and she felt him kiss her forehead.

* * *

Boarding the ship was hard. She didn't want to set foot on the thing as she looked back to see her father watching solemnly as she left. Now it felt like she was leaving him. She raised a hand with some hesitation and waved to her father, who waved back. Her breath caught in her throat and she coughed into a fist, turning away from the shrinking sight of her father. The journey would be awkward, to say the least, as she'd only heard what was happening between Do'Karth and Leif. The weight in her chest was replaced with a suspicion at Do'Karth's presence though. It seemed every time she left her father's side, he was there. She narrowed her eyes at the Khajiit while he wasn't looking at her, deciding she'd need to have words with him, but stuffing that urge to walk up to him back down. How odd would she look questioning him and then finding out that it was a mere coincidence.

She then caught sight of Sadri, brooding over the sea next to the gunwale. She noticed his new arm almost immediately, and how he seemed to have an aura of quiet happiness, or at least contentment about him that she'd never noticed before. Perhaps it was because of her? Or perhaps it was because of his new arm. As her eyes lingered on him as she turned her head, she noticed she was wearing a smile. She snorted and rolled her eyes at herself. How did she begin to feel like this about a scarred and beaten man like that? Either way, after their time with each other telling the stories of their scars under that tree and laughing at some of them, she knew she had some reasoning behind those feelings. Most in the Company only saw a tough brute of a man in Sadri, she saw someone willing to look beyond the same type of first impression most had of her, look into her eyes and tell her she had a right to be happy. Or at least accept what she'd done. That meant something.

* * *

Well, what a shit time she was having now. A Dwemer automaton, something she'd only heard of in old stories of adventurers, was pounding away at her shield. Her arm was becoming numb and she tired of this. She roared and thrust her spear at it, the metal not giving way like flesh and instead only pushing it  away. She stepped forward and punched out with the rim of her shield, knocking the thing's head back and continuing her attack. She thrust again, and again, finally sticking her spear into the thing's sphere-bottom, hearing something in the mechanism hiss and whir before it fell back, uselessly flailing at her. She roared again and brought her shield down on its chin, silencing it.

She saw Leif and the newly-signed Dunmer having a shit time of their own. She moved to try to help Leif, but a spider-like automaton stepped in her way, which she smashed over and over with her shield. Do'Karth called out Leif's name and she saw him engaged in a melee. All around her was chaos.