A/N: I struggled like hell with this chapter, I wrote it ages ago and just couldn't get it to sit right so pretty much rewrote the whole thing tonight. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing, a bit of combat in this chapter which was super hard to write but I hope I pulled it off!

Tendrils of sunlight threaded lazily through the branches of the pine tree, the last of the day's warmth ebbing away with the slowly setting sun in the west. Soon it would be nightfall, and the frost would seize Skyrim like a wolf seizes the throat of his prey – quickly and without mercy. It was Myrna's favourite time of the day, a time when the land was bathed in a beautiful orange glow that she was sure could rival even the balmy sunsets of Hammerfell or Elsewyr, though she had never been to either province personally.

She had not travelled as far from Whiterun as she might have in the time since she had passed through the city gates. The coachman had been there by the stables as usual despite the fact that dawn had not long broken, but she had decided to forego the convenience of his services and make her way to High Hrothgar on foot. She had hoped perhaps that the long walk might aid her acceptance of the foreign dragon soul within her body. Mirmulnir had been quiet since he had spoken to her the previous night, but she knew he was there, watching through her eyes in silent amusement at the foolish mortal with her dovah soul.

Despite not knowing what in Talos' name was going to happen when she finally reached the Greybeards, Myrna felt better. Denying the power within her had been slowly destroying her, trying so hard to be "normal" was causing the dreadful migraines that had almost confined her to her bed. Now she had a fire – a new energy within her, and by the Nine she intended to use it.

Barely a few hours walk from the city Myrna had come across a troupe of Stormcloak footsoldiers on patrol, thankfully none of whom were familiar to her. Myrna wondered if she really did look all that different when she was out of her Stormcloak armour, seeing as none of the little group recognised her either. It was probably for the best that they did not.

"Well met, traveller," their Captain hailed as they approached. She was a grizzled white-haired Nord woman, heavily battlescarred and carrying a steel sword and shield. "I see from your weapons you are an adventurer, but be warned: these roads are not safe after nightfall. There's a group of bandits in the hills - nasty sorts, call themselves the Vipers. A Khajiit caravan was attacked hereabouts, not two nights ago. They left none alive. I don't much care for the cat-folk to tell true, but those poor souls… there was barely anything left of them when they'd finished."

Her words were clear, but Myrna did not miss the shudder as she spoke the last. "Thank you for the warning," she replied gratefully. "I'm sure I can handle myself.

The Captain gave her an appraising look, glancing her up and down. "Aye, I've no doubt that you can, girl. Still, we've upped our patrols in this area. Ulfric Stormcloak didn't claim back our lands just for us to lose them again to lawless brigands and murderers."

The mention of the name was like a shard of ice in Myrna's stomach. Outwardly she remained cool, listening to the woman rattle off a list of the group's increasingly disturbing crimes and nodding at intervals. Inside she was furious with herself. For all the time and distance she had put between herself and her former lover, all she needed to hear was his name and all the old scars were torn open again. They did not hurt so much as before, though. She would not let them. The choice to leave had been hers, and it was the right one to make.

The white-haired Nord continued, having not noticed Myrna had stopped paying attention a few minutes previously. "We've been searching for their hideout for a long time now, we keep casting the net out, we're sure to catch them in the end. Until then, should you come across them, my advice is to fight and flee – no bounty is worth losing your head over. Or any other part of you, for that matter."

At that Myrna's ears pricked up. "There's a bounty? How much?"

The Captain looked hesitant for a moment, then smiled slightly through the scars on the left side of her thin lips. She gestures to one of her comrades, a gangly lad of about twenty. "Give her the poster, Unblooded."

Fumbling in his pack the boy wavered nervously under his superior's impatient glare. The paper he was searching for would not come to his grasp easily, he was forced to hand several ration packs and small items to the other lad in the patrol, another boy of around the same age. Myrna couldn't help but smile, remembering when 'Unblooded' had been her title when she served in the army, eager to impress her senior officers and work her way up through the ranks. After a time the lad found what he was searching for, handing it triumphantly to the surly Captain, his smile dying promptly at the sight of her withering glare.

The Nord woman passed the poster to Myrna, who studied it eagerly in turn. The reward for killing the gang stood at a princely five-thousand Septims, provided all of them were disposed of together. Unfortunately missive was unable to provide more than an estimate of how many criminals there were to wipe out, only that it was somewhere between five and twenty which was not very helpful at all. Myrna's attention was drawn to a strange design in the centre of the page, a crude likeness of a pair of snakes entwined around each other, their fangs dripping with what she supposed must be venom. It looked like a something a child might have doodled out of boredom in the back of a schoolbook.

"What is this?" she asked, pointing to the page. The Nord Captain smiled grimly, as if she had been expecting the question.

"Pretty ain't it? That's their mark. I think it's safe to say artistic talent is not their strong suit. Not as much as murdering and thieving anyway." She laughed, but there was no humour in it, her expression deadly serious. "They all have that ugly thing branded upon them somewhere, tattoos on their hands - or so said a merchant that managed to get away on his horse before they could catch him, lucky sod. No idea if it's true, but it's something to watch out for. I would think on about trying to bag them, lassie. Bounty or no, I'd wager it will take more than one fighter to take these thugs down."

"Even if that fighter happened to be the Harbinger of the Companions?" Myrna queried with a wry grin.

The lads stared agape at her then, nudging each other behind their Captain's back. She for her part merely blinked once in surprise, then reached out to shake Myrna's hand firmly.

"I had heard the new Harbinger was a Breton woman," she smiled. "Good for you girl, there's not enough female leaders in Skyrim – sometimes the men in this country need to be shown we can crack heads as well as any of them. However you might be wise to have your Shield-siblings at your back if you truly wish to root out the Vipers. No disrespect to your skills of course, my lady."

"Of course," Myrna smiled, "Thank you, Captain. When I return to Jorrvaskr I'll make the arrangements, unless the Vipers are apprehended beforehand."

"Oh I doubt that they will," the woman sniffed, "Between you and me, and these two clods I'm patrolling with, the guard has been chasing their tails on this one for months. The victims are usually too scared or too dead to be of any use, and we've not had a sniff of a hideout. They're laughing at us. If your Companions can do any better you'd be due far more than five-thousand Septims if you ask me."

With that she shook Myrna's hand again, bid her a good evening and was on her way, the two youths trailing behind her. Myrna cast her eyes over the poster once more, then folded it neatly and stowed it in a pocket. Right now she had bigger things to think about than going looking for trouble, but if trouble should happen to find her then that would be entirely different.


Of course, trouble showed up not half an hour after the soldiers were gone from sight. Myrna was still on the road, but making good progress towards her destination when a pair of ugly looking brutes appeared from the lengthening shadows of the forest that surrounded them, demanding coin in exchange for her life. The first was a Bosmer, smaller and slighter than herself, his teeth filed to jagged points with a pair of equally jagged knives clutched tightly in his hands. The other, a blond Nord man, stood nearly two heads taller than his companion. A mighty warhammer was clutched in his massive paws, as he loomed over her menacingly he turned it over and over as if it weighed nothing more than a blacksmith's tool. They seemed the usual type, hunting in pairs to take people off their guard; obviously thinking a woman travelling alone would be an easy target despite the weapons she carried in plain sight. Even so, Myrna was mindful of the Captain's warnings. If these were members of the Vipers gang they were likely more interested in shedding her blood than taking her gold.

The Bosmer was twitchy, he had an evil-look about him that made Myrna wonder whether there was some truth in the rumours about the cannibalistic nature of the Valenwood elf-folk. Certainly there was something in the way he eyed her that made her uneasy, his running his tongue over his pointed teeth only serving to exacerbate the cold, prickly feeling creeping down her spine. His whole body was trembling, the look on his nasty face excited and grinning, breath puffing from his mouth in short sharp bursts that became plumes of white in the frigid air. Yes, he liked killing, this one.

His companion by contrast let his actions speak for him, his expression one of near boredom, ever turning his colossal hammer in his hands threateningly. She did not doubt that one well-aimed swing would be enough to turn her brains to mush; the big man could probably kill her without breaking a sweat if he had a mind, if she let him close enough.

Let them try, she thought, unsheathing her weapons and standing her ground. The battle for Solitude felt like a lifetime ago, and she was eager for a fight, even if it was against these two cretins. She had no intention of running from them. Caution be damned - she had been incapacitated for far too long; and the opportunity to test her sword arm was not to be squandered.

"You've got some stones, for a female," laughed the Bosmer in a high, nasally tone. He was uglier still when he laughed, but hung back, taking stock of her with those beady little eyes of his. "Got some pretty blades too, I'll wager they'll fetch a good price. You best be handing them over, or my friend here might just have to break that lovely face of yours."

The Nord said nothing, but grinned at her nastily while tossing the hammer between his hands like a toy. Myrna believed she had the measure of him. As massive as he undoubtedly was, all that bulk also stood to be his weakness. The biggest of us fall the hardest, she thought, testing the weight of her own axe and sword in her hands. The both of them had quite evidently made the crucial mistake of underestimating her, and it was one they would sorely pay for.

She returned their grins with a cool smile of her own. "It will be a cold day in Oblivion when the likes of you can best me," she said, the sweetness of her town not masking the malice in her tone. She secured her footing and raised her weapons high, preparing for the inevitable attack.

Myrna could not have predicted the battle more precisely. At once, the large Nord lunged at her, swinging his hammer for her head in what might have easily been a killing blow if she had not seen it coming a mile off. Spinning to the side she dodged him easily, the sheer force of his own swing carrying the man forward with a stagger. Golden afternoon sunlight flashed on the Harbinger's blades as she swept round to slice at the back of the large man's knees, sending him sprawling into the dusty road with a hefty kick to the back. In an instant she was poised to defend again, this time from the Bosmer, who was flying at her in a flurry of his own wicked blades, hoping to bury one of them in her neck or her stomach while she was still reeling from his companion's assault. Before he could strike she had danced smoothly behind him, her weapons about his neck, severing his head from his body in a jerking, scissor-like movement.

The elf's head rolled a few feet, like a cabbage that had fallen from a cart, then stopped still, his eyes rolling madly for a second before they became still and fixed upon the sky. Myrna wiped the blood spatters from her face on the leather of her bracer and rolled her shoulders, feeling a little cheated. That had been much too easy, and over far too soon for her liking. The thrill of battle was like a drug, one she had long forgotten how much she craved. Even just putting these two lowlifes down, the thrill of her small victory was exhilarating. Perhaps she was greedy, but she wanted more.

She turned her attention to the Nord who was still lying in the road, unable to stand on his now ruined legs. Myrna had not simply hacked at him as he passed her, she knew the exact place to slice him, right behind the knee where his flesh was exposed between his boots and the furs her wore as armour. The big man drew back in fear when she approached, his courage long since taken leave of him. His eyes were wide, darting with pure and unadulterated fear.

"Please..." he whimpered, as she brought her sword tip to his throat, "Please, don't..."

"And how many times have you heard that yourself, I wonder?" Myrna scoffed, pressing the point into his skin so that a slow trickle of crimson seeped down to the man's collarbone. "How many innocents have you and your nasty little friend killed upon these roads for your own sport?

"Answer me, craven!" she demanded, pressing the sword harder still, making the brute wriggle like a gigantic worm on a hook. This man was not worthy to be called a Nord – Myrna had seen pigs at the butcher's knife die with more dignity.

"Some," the blond man admitted, not daring to look her in the eye, knowing there would be no mercy there. She pulled her blade across his skin, widening her mark and making him hiss with pain. "Lots! Lots – I know not how many."

It was all Myrna could do not to end him there and then. Bullies and cowards such as he did not deserve to live, nor did they deserve a quick and decent death. They were lower than skeevers - robbing honest travellers of their hard earned coin and goods, murdering for nothing more than the very pleasure of it. She turned away from him in disgust, a sick feeling twisting her guts. It wasn't until the bandit raised his hand to his bleeding throat that Myrna caught sight of the mark on the back of his knuckles. A tattoo, old and poorly executed, but there sure enough – the image of two black snakes. Myrna glanced over to the body of the Bosmer and sure enough, the mark was visible on the back of his right hand too, still clutching the knife in his death-grip. The mark of the Vipers gang.

Myrna grinned to herself at her apparent good fortune. Perhaps the fight wasn't over quite yet after all.

"There are more of you," she said to the wounded man, bringing her blades to his throat once more, "Tell me where."

He swallowed hard, "What does it matter if I tell you or not? You are going to kill me anyway."

Myrna smirked a little. "Perhaps you are not quite as stupid as you look. You are indeed correct, this is the day you die, but I can make you a deal. Tell me where the Vipers are hiding and I shall make sure your passing is quick, keep your silence I shall simply cut you open and leave you alive and bleeding for the wolves to find. Make your choice."

It was hardly a choice, and the blond man apparently did not care enough for his associates enough to suffer being eaten alive for them. Myrna rewarded him with instantaneous death; seizing his chin and scalp and jerking his head sharply at an angle so that his neck snapped with a gut-wrenching crack. A few days previously she would never have considered she had the strength to perform such a deed. Myrna supposed it was because she was Dovahkiin, and she could not help but chuckle under her breath at the absurdity of it all.

Straying from her intended course, Myrna followed the trail the bandits had left to their hideout, turning from the road and into the forest. It was an easy enough trail to find, she might have even discovered it even without instructions – all broken twigs and worn down earth. The two she had killed had obviously been using this trail for a long time, or were just too stupid to think to cover their tracks. Probably both.

As she treaded the forest path Myrna felt a small pang of guilt that she was once again delaying her calling to The Throat of the World, yet her longing for more combat was one that she was desperate to satisfy. After all, if she was supposed to be a hero it was about time she started to act like one. Enough of her time had been wasted, sitting all but idle behind the closed doors of Jorrvaskr mead hall, and before that fighting in Ulfric Stormcloak's battles. The Greybeards could wait a little while longer. What was half a day when she needed this – to fight and feel her warrior's heart pumping hot blood through her veins?

Taking care of a few more scumbag bandits was just the sugar on the sweetroll.


The blond Nord had warned her that the Vipers were many, and so she had seen when she scouted out their cave hideout in the north of the pine forest. Stealth was something she was most skilled at, and she was able to sneak up to within a few yards of the group without them noticing her presence as she crouched in the shadows of the descending evening. There were at least ten sitting around the campfire in the clearing between the trees, perhaps more inside the cave in the rocks behind them, thieves, looters and murderers all. Defeating them alone would be a challenge – a real test of her skills. And exactly what she was looking for.

Myrna decided it would be prudent to wait for nightfall to attack, then she could rest from the day's travelling and have the darkness on her side. The forest around her was so dense it was an easy feat to slip away from the cave again without drawing attention, shinning up a tree in which to watch, and wait.

The scent of pine sap and wet earth made a relaxing combination. Myrna found herself dozing, listening to the birdsong all about her as she leaned again the trunk of the mighty tree, both legs dangling either side of a thick branch that was only about halfway to the very top. Shrouded by boughs and pine needles, she could see the bandit camp perfectly despite being some distance away. The fools were so arrogant that they thought nothing of keeping a fire going day and night, totally unaware they had created the perfect beacon for one who was watching their comings and goings from afar. Not that there was a lot to see. As the night began to draw in the ale bottles began to open, and even from where she sat she could hear their songs carried on the wind, tuneless and bawdy, a few of which she knew herself.

Myrna sat so still that not even the squirrels who called the tree home seemed to notice her presence, happily going about their business while she reclined, eyes half-closed, waiting for the sun to take its leave over the horizon and the darkness to set in. The wind swirling and moaning through the forest was chill, but she barely felt it, lost in the anticipation of the skirmish ahead. She would need her bow, and so she unfastened it from her pack, oiling the string and counting her arrows. Glass-tipped, her favourite kind, her quiver barely contained two dozen, but it would probably suffice – and if not her blades were always thirsty for blood.

As the birds began to quieten and take to their nests, Myrna heard the soft shuffle of footsteps nearby, and instinctively sat still and silent until the source of the sounds came into view. A large brown bear, just a few weeks out of hibernation, passed beneath the branch she was sitting in and sniffed at the air. Catching the Harbinger's scent, the bear made eye contact with its source for long moments, in which Myrna thought she would pass out from holding her breath for such a considerable amount of time. Bears were always more afraid of you than you were of them, or so the saying went. It was hard thing to imagine when coming face to face with one of the giant creatures yourself. After a time, however, and a long moment of unsettling and unbroken eye contact, the bear seemed to decide the woman in the tree was no threat, and beckoned to her cubs to follow her though the trees into the peace and solitude of the mountains beyond.

Myrna settled again, but not for long. As the last ebbs of sunlight weaved themselves through the pine trees she could hear another set of footsteps thudding though the forest nearby. She closed her eyes and listened. Two feet, heavy boots, their owner seemingly not caring to even attempt to muffle their sound as he walked. Another bandit returning to the camp, perhaps? Silently, Myrna nocked an arrow to her bow and waited.