A spin off. For those Season fans, this is set before Season's End, so many things will be different. Anyway, I hope it's good. It should only be about ten chapters in total. There will be several viewpoints, including Jon, Ralof and a couple of others.

Jarl Jon Stormcloak

He missed Ysold. Jon Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm had left Eastmarch nearly a month ago, after being confronted by Odahviing in the marshes of the eastern hold. Normally, he wouldn't have cared for the dragon's plight; after all, they had rejected him as their master after he had killed Alduin, and he had no love for their kind anyway. But the faas, fear, in the dovah's voice had struck a part of Jon that couldn't refuse his pleads. So, now he was here in Solstheim, annoyed and frustrated, touching the rocky ground and trying to imagine it was Ysold's smooth skin. He grunted in annoyance before standing up and looking around, taking in Raven's Rock.

It was a large mining town, more of a city, with deep ebony oars and strong people. There was a diverse mix of Nords and Dunmer here, after the former had given the other race the island after Morrowind was all but destroyed by the eruption of Red Mountain, the largest volcano in Tamriel. Jon was definitely more at ease among his own people, the Nords, but Ralof, his Housecarl, was suited for an environment like this, and was talking to both races with relative ease. He was walking over to Jon now, his long blond hair blowing in the light wind, and his regular face in a grimace.

'What is it?' Jon asked, curious to hear what had happened. He didn't get along all that well with people. While in Windhelm that was Ysold's job. He started thinking about her, the way her mouth moved, the way she looked at him with her emerald eyes-

Ralof snapped his fingers under his face. 'Hey, lover boy! Have you even heard a word I've said?'

Jon pushed him angrily. 'You pick the worse times.'

'I think you have bigger problems here than what's going on at home.'

It wasn't really about home, he reflected guiltily. Windhelm always came a definite second to Ysold. And his sons.

'Right, so the Dunmer over there said he hasn't seen anything recently, but the Nord has heard rumours.'

'What kind?'

'Wind, grain, and… a disturbance in the north.'

Jon nodded approvingly. 'That could be pruzah; I mean good,' he correctly quickly. The draconic still slipped into his speech after some three/four years.

'It better be,' Ralof agreed moodily. 'We've been here a week, and got jack-shit for our troubles.'

'What were you expecting?'

'Doesn't your contact have a plan?' Ralof didn't know about the dragon.

Jon thought about it. In truth; no. He decided to humour the other Nord with vague news. 'He wants to meet us tonight, a mile from town.'

'Then why have we even bothered to find this stuff out.'

Jon pointed at him. 'Because, Ralof, I don't want to rely on a dovah, dragon, for everything we do here.' Never trust a dovah. 'Anyway,' he said, heaving up his bag; 'doesn't it give you some kind of fulfilment. Like you're a real hero.'

Ralof scowled. 'That's funny.'

'I'm smiling,' Jon agreed, feeling remarkably happy, which was strange considering his situation.

Ralof shook his head. 'I'm the funny one, remember. You're the grumpy sod, so play you're part.'

Jon smiled a thin smile as he led the way to the inn. Nightfall was still several hours away, even in Solstheim, which spent most of its time in a dusky feel, being so high north. The weather suffered as well; it was always cold, and snow was a regular visitor. Both Nords were dressed in light leather, under a set of chainmail, which heavy fur boots, gloves and cloaks over that. Jon had left his precious skyforge steel set of armour at home, but kept Kodaav, the ancient sword of Clan Stormcloak. He wouldn't do without it.

It was only a short walk, but Ralof was complaining by the time they entered the inn. Jon took one look around, before nudging his Housecarl. 'Remember the last time we were in an inn.'

Ralof brightened immediately. 'You mean with big and ugly.'

'Aye, the one in Riverwood.'

'Ha! Us and Ulfric kicked them into an early grave.' He noticed Jon's expression at a mention of his father, sombre and thoughtful. 'I'm sorry, Jon. I shouldn't have mentioned him like that.'

Stormcloak shrugged. 'He's been dead for three years now. What is it to me?'

'He was your father, Jon. It's understandable-'

'Let's get a room,' he said firmly, ending the conversation. Despite Ulfric Stormcloak's last ones, Jon couldn't help but blame himself. They were unhappy memories, and he tried to forget them as best he could. He focused his mind on the task ahead to try and clear away the vul, dark, thoughts as he approached the bar.

'What do you want?' The bartender was looking at Jon with an annoyed look on his face.

Jon leaned onto the bar, much taller than the Nord, who looked uncomfortable all of the sudden. 'My name is Carl Jon Storm. This is Carl Ralof Wood. We'd like a room for tonight.' He didn't use Stormcloak; it was too recognisable. Ralof was lucky as Wood was a new name, and completely anomalous. Similarly, a Jarl would attract far too much attention.

The man paled as he recognised their rank, and saw their weapons and armour, both expensive. 'Of course, my Carls. The best is it?' Jon nodded. They were acting as Carls, Ralof was a Carl, so there was no need to play poor. 'Twenty septims, Lord.' Jon passed them across and the man took them quickly with the grace of a man who took anything he could get.

'Thank you.' Jon turned away but Ralof approached the barman.

'The room has two beds, right?'

The barman nodded, looking terrified now, as if Ralof was about to gut him.

'Good. I wouldn't want to bed that ugly bitch when I'm stone drunk,' he grinned, indicating Jon. 'Two ales, then.'

Stormcloak stepped forward. 'Ysold won't let me drink ale.'

Ralof turned to him aghast. 'I thought we'd gotten past this.'

'Getting me pissed one night wasn't exactly the right way to "get past it".''

He shrugged. 'Kidnapping was actually a plan,' he admitted easily.

Jon just let him get on with it, and looked for a good table. That wasn't an abundance of those, seeing as it was evening and the end of a week, but he managed to get a free one for two before Ralof came back with the drinks. They sipped them quietly, Jon surveying his fellow drinkers and trying to ignore the thick bile that was the ale; apart from Ysold's restrictions, he didn't much like it anyway. Ralof, on the other hand, drank his easily, with a contented smile. Jon didn't think he would ever get it.

'So,' Carl Wood began, a serious look coming over his face; 'why are we here anyway?'

Jon sighed. He had wanted to put off telling his Housecarl what exactly they were doing here until he had found out more himself, but that didn't seem like it was going to happen. In any case Jon owed Ralof an explanation after he had just followed him without so much as a word of notice. 'Well,' he begun, putting his ale aside distastefully; 'do you remember when we went out into the marshes of Eastmarch?'

'On the way to Fort Amol? Yes, I remember,' he replied curiously.

Jon thought carefully. He hadn't told Ralof about Odahviing yet. 'I was told by an old friend that a great evil was stirring here. He told me it was coming to Skyrim eventually, so I decided to stop it here.' He saw the look on Ralof's face and continued. 'I'm Dragonborn now, even if I don't like to admit it. It seemed like something I needed to do. Besides, he looked scared. It's unlike him.'

Ralof listened in silence before leaning back. 'Sounds like bullshit,' he concluded definitively.

Jon scowled. 'Fine, but we're here anyway.'

He snorted. 'You don't have to tell me that.' He looked around with a nostalgic look. 'I miss The Frozen Hearth.'

'Weren't you the one who said you can drink anywhere?'

'Yes, I did.' He indicated his ale. 'Here I am, drinking. I never said I liked it.'

'Well, don't worry. We're leaving now.'

Ralof looked affronted now. 'Why?'

Jon was already getting up. 'You're going to meet my friend.'

'The bullshitter?' he confirmed.

'If you like. Come on, it doesn't pay to make him wait.'

'And yet, I'm the one who has to defeat this "great evil",' Ralof grumbled.

Jon ignored him and led the way from the inn, into the freezing kah, cold. He glanced around before heading out of the city and into the forest that surrounded it. Odahviing said he would meet them a few miles away. Where exactly, Jon didn't know.

In truth, Stormcloak was a little worried about seeing the dovah, dragon, again. They were unpredictable at the best of times, and he already knew that to trust one was to sign your death sentence. It was an uneasy state of affairs, but even as he got further into this strange 'quest' he became more curious about what exactly was so evil that it scared a dragon and led them to ask the Dragonborn for help. It seemed like he was about to find out soon enough.

He came to them as they nearer a clearing, a mile or so from the city. His red scales glittered like rubies, but his underside was white as snow.

'Dovahkiin, this is a good meeting,' Odahviing said.

'That depends,' Jon replied. 'I've come all this way; what do you want?'

'You brought your battle companion,' the dragon noticed, watching Ralof, who had stumbled back in shock, ignoring Jon.

'Odahviing!' he snapped impatiently. 'Tell me why I'm here?'

'Do not rush me, Dovahkiin!' Odahviing said angrily, in his draconic way. 'I will tell you in due time.'

'No, you won't. I have no business here but yours. I'll just leave.'

Fear shot through Odahviing's eyes. 'Many pardons, Dovahkiin,' he said grudgingly. 'You are here to stop a great evil.'

Jon stared at him frankly. 'I understand that. What is this "great evil"?'

'One that will destroy Tamriel should you fail.'

'What else?' Jon pressed.

'I cannot say. Should you fail, I will be the first.'

Stormcloak was shocked. Whatever this evil was, Odahviing was clearly terrified. 'What is it-'

'Find a guide. Go to the Temple of Miraak. Good luck, Dovahkiin.'

Jon was startled. 'That's it? That's all you have for me!' He started forward, but Odahviing took off. 'What's his great evil! Tell me!' Stormcloak stayed like that, watching the sky furiously, breathing heavily, before Ralof snapped him back to his senses.

'Your contact was a bloody dragon! You could have told me that.'

Jon just looked at him, furious at Odahviing's 'guidance', before sighing. 'We need to find a guide.'

Odahviing will return! Please review! Next chapter will come out eventually.