Summary: Leaving it to Spock to ignore all the most important rules...
Chapter Ten : Prime Directive
Ivarstead was a quiet little berg at the foot of the mountain that looked like Riverwood, except, perhaps, a bit smaller. Ivarstead had a few houses and a farm, no shops, and two bridges, and the requisite crazy-person. They all did their best to ignore him as they looked for a place to stay. If they headed straight up the mountain, Bones guessed that it might be well into dark before they arrived at High Hrothgar and who wanted to be climbing a mountain and fighting trolls in the dark?
Certainly not Bones, that was for certain.
Even tougher, James thought was finding a place for three strangers to stay the night in a small town with no room in the singular inn.
"We could always stay outside," Spock suggested.
All right, two strangers. "I don't want to stay outside," James muttered, looking up at a sky that in no way promised snow, but also didn't guarantee against it by any means. "You're the only person I know of that will willingly stay out under the stars when there is a perfectly warm hearth fire a few feet away."
"In other words," Bones spoke up, "you're insane."
"I am insane?" Spock repeated, definitely bordering on irritation. "Today alone the two of you managed to enrage a troll (which I had to kill), attract a horde of bandits (which I also had to kill), and wade into the river after some betties when you know that can be the death of you in winter. And I am the insane one?"
"It wasn't a betty, it was a salmon; and you're welcome for lunch, by the way," James grumbled.
"Regardless," Spock announced, but didn't offer any further reasoning.
The three of them stood in silence for a bit at the corner of a fence, watching some of the townspeople watch them and pretend to go about their farming. There wasn't very much for them to do at all, in fact, except either stand there in the weirdest trio Skyrim had ever seen: an Altmer and two Nords. Perhaps a group that never should have been together if destiny had anything to do with it.
Bones leaned over toward James and whispered, "Maybe we could sneak in someplace after dark."
"We can't just sleep in an owned bed. There's just something… wrong about it," James said, looking at the mill not very far from them. "What about there?"
Bones made a face at it until James waved them to follow him behind the farmhouse. When the two of them were standing close enough, he leaned in and whispered, "Do we spend the night in the lumber mill or in the main hall of the inn?"
Bones looked at the two. "Around a bunch of smelly men?" he asked, and grimaced.
"It is a Nord trait; I thought you might have been used to it," Spock mumbled.
"You're no bouquet of flowers yourself," Bones pointed out.
"Would you two be quiet!" James asked. "I can't believe I'm quieter than the two of you." He looked around for any other option that presented itself. There was a cave a short way down the river, but James was willing to bet a week's wages that a bear currently occupied it. Inspiration suddenly struck when a hen clucked by their feet. Perhaps there was a barn or stable they could stay in?
He glanced around quickly for a stable, hoping there was one. If nothing else, perhaps they could stay in the chicken shed… He doubted Bones would like that. "I have an idea," James whispered.
"Jim!" Bones rasped urgently. James turned to look at him and hushed him, but to little effect. "Jim, he killed a chicken," Bones said, motioning helplessly at a hen that had, only a few moments ago, been clucking harmlessly nearby. She was now impaled with a magical spike of ice.
"Spock!" James shouted before looking to Bones. "Bones, are you sure?"
"It would have given away our position," Spock explained before Bones could relate the time of death. "You seemed intent on our secrecy."
"That's rule number one of Skyrim, Spock! You don't kill another man's chicken!" Kirk knelt beside the hen sprawled on the dirt pathway and gingerly poked its feathers.
Spock looked either confused or unimpressed as he arched one eyebrow. "Would not a better prime directive be the non-interference of other cultures, considering the long genocidal history of Skyrim? What with the Snow Elves and…"
"Yeah, you tell that to the Aldmeri Dominion," James spat, poking the chicken again. "Ysgramor didn't go around killing innocent chickens. Come on, little chicken," he said coaxingly, ignoring Spock when he rolled his eyes. "Come on. Don't be dead."
"Fascinating…" Spock mumbled.
"Jim," Bones said, but James ignored him. This chicken, he pled with the Divines, could simply not be dead. "Jim. Jim, she's dead."
James sprang up to his feet and whirled upon Spock. "You don't kill chickens, Spock!"
"Clearly, my attempts to assist in our remaining unseen have been for naught anyway, since you seem intent on making a scene over a dead chicken," Spock said back, gesturing emphatically at the ice-picked chicken.
James clapped his hand over Spock's mouth, lest anyone hear he had murdered a chicken in cold blood. There might have been witnesses anyway, but if not… they didn't really want to take that chance. "Don't… say another word…" he whispered, and then motioned to Bones. He carefully removed his hand, and looked up and Spock, who glared down at him in surprise and shock. "Let's go."
James and Bones hurried down the road onto the bridge at the edge of town and up the mountain, Spock following closely behind them. Just as they were turning a switchback up the mountain, a loud wail came from the town. Spock's crime had been discovered. "I could simply pay the fine," Spock suggested, running to catch up with James and Bones who were now running.
"Yeah, or they might try to kill you," James offered.
"Kill me?" Spock repeated. "It's a chicken."
"This is Skyrim. People have been killed for less."
Spock suddenly halted. "There is something less than killing a chicken? Let me guess: assault?"
"Don't be ridiculous, Spock," James laughed, sprinting up the mountain when he heard the irate townsfolk running after them. "Of course, it is."