Laziness… too… powerful… Author's notes… at… bottom!

Erik stared up at the giant reptilian. The ageless demi god that he was, Odahviing had changed little in the three and a half years he had last seen him. Those pure blue eyes stared back intently, ruby scales glittered prettily as powerful muscles twitched, and blood colored spines waved back and forth from the back of his head to the heavy spade tipped tail.

The man let out a bark of laughter as what his draconic friend had just said settled in, "I had him right where I wanted him!"

The bronze dragon had already started to burn, pieces of scales fluffing off and revealing a bright light underneath. This was going to be difficult to explain to his wife.

"Unslaad krosis, Fahdon. I did not realize it was your grahmindol, your plan, to lie bex wah nos… helpless," the dragon smiled, a horrific and terrifying sight to anyone not familiar with dragons, "How were you going to krii rok, to kill him?"

The Dragonborn hauled himself to his feet, the winter leathers he had worn were charred and useless to cut out the chill. Fortunately, the energy pouring off of the brassy colored dragon was more than adequate to stave off the harsh wind and deep cold. Soon his mind would be awash in memories of a creature tens of thousands of years his elder, but before they could consume him he managed a retort.

"Perhaps I would take your tongue and impale him on that! It's certainly sharp enough."

The golden light hit him. It had certainly been a while since he had devoured the soul of a dragon, memories of the life of Yolfaasviir flooded him, overpowering even his senses as the feeling of hot drafts filled the canvas like webbing of his wings. The smell of fear filled his long nostrils and the sounds of screams battered against his horn covered ears. Soon the sight of burning buildings, slaughtered peoples, and fields of ash filled his eyes. Finally, the taste of mortals, as fresh as they day they were devoured, filled his mouth.

The taste was banished by the distinct bitterness of vomit as the nausea that one could expect from such an experience took over. He counted his blessings as he held himself over the edge of the chasm beneath the College watching his bile fall away. At least he wasn't reliving the slaughter of entire civilizations, or all the hate and vitriol the bronze dragon had kept towards all of mortal kind.

The last time he had devoured the souls of these immortal beasts, he had been used to it, and he had been a much harder man. A wife and four children had changed him greatly. He hadn't slowed down, as the lost souls of Apocrypha that had stood in his way had found out, and his instincts were still there, but the killer in him, the monster that had forged that suit of ebony and slain opposing swords by the hundreds, was buried.

Unfortunately… Erik would need to dig that creature back up, and let the dragon within him loose upon Skyrim. Particularly if Miraak was really spreading his influence, and gathering powerful allies.

"Erik."

The voice was weak, and full of concern. Whether that concern was for him, or for the massive ruby dragon looming over the courtyard was debatable.

The man turned to find his, as always, beautiful wife looking at him with concern, and pointedly not looking at the giant red reptile that was staring intently down at her. Clearly Odahviing was interested in the small woman he had never seen before, the red always being fascinated by the activities of mortal beings, finding them a source of great amusement.

"I'm fine… It's always a little nauseating," he told her as he stood up, "I imagine you have questions."

The blonde woman was wide eyed, and still shying away from the great beast in the center of the courtyard. Despite the fear that was clear in her body language, she managed a shaky nod.

"Lynesse," Erik started opening his body up to Odahviing, "This is Odahviing, yet another old friend of mine. Likely not the last you'll meet, but probably the most unique."

The woman just stared up at the dragon, giving Erik the right view to notice that they happened to share eye color, despite the fact the warrior had always thought the reptile's eyes were closer to sapphires than his wife's, but now that he could see them at the same time, they were definitely the same color.

"Uh… hello…"

Rather than simply returning the awkward greeting, Odahviing lunged forward only to stop short, causing Lynesse to leap in Erik's arms and let out a shrill squeal as the fire breathing lizard turned his head to focus one eye a little closer on the woman before whipping its head back around and pressing his snout in closer, blowing blonde hair as the dragon took a deep breath through the large nostrils and snorted hot, dry air all over the two mortals in front of him.

"Aan mul zii, aan kul kiim fah hi Dovahkiin."

Those expansive canvas wings spread out, sucking in the bitterly cold air of Winterhold, before shoving all that freezing wind right through the people in the courtyard and propelling the reptile into the air.

"I will be near, Fahdon. Call when you have need, or desire tinvaak."

Erik kept watching as what was quite possibly, in fact, quite probably, his best friend disappeared over the looming mountain pass that hung over the town of Winterhold. The great and terrible red was as swift and deadly as ever, something the Dragonborn had noticed during the vampire threat, when he had called upon the dragon more and more. Odahviing was always swift in the air, and had a knack for knowing exactly when to interfere with the fight on the ground.

Winged Snow Hunter was every bit a stalker as his name suggested.

"Wha- what did he say?" the woman at his side asked, still in shock from actually speaking to a real live dragon, "About me?"

The Lord looked down at his lady as he put his arm around her shoulders, "He said you had a strong spirit. I think he was impressed, the first person I ever introduced him to, well he pissed himself. He thinks your strong willed enough to keep me in line."

Lynesse shook her head and let out a shaky breath, "I don't think I'll bother asking you how you understood it."

"Maybe you could tell us why one of your friends is a dragon!"

Oberyn was upset. The Prince of Dorne was used to the world making sense, or at least to him, as a man of significant wealth, standing, and power. Here he had no wealth, no standing, and no power. And regardless of how arrogant the youngest Martell might be, even he knew that a fight with Erik was a death sentence.

That didn't mean the young man was smart, he wasn't. Sure he had gone to the Citadel, received an extensive education, but an education doesn't make someone smart. Davos couldn't even read, and Erik put more faith in the former smuggler's mind than Prince Oberyn's.

"Perhaps you might even be so kind as to explain what you even are!"

"Oberyn," his sister, and significantly more level headed of the two, reprimanded, "He just saved our lives!"

"He put them in danger!" the Red Viper exclaimed, "He's a walking disaster for anyone close to him! It's a wonder we've survived this long! Sister, you nearly were killed on the way too this accursed place. I almost lost all of my fingers. He makes his own wife, barren-"

The rant stopped short as Oberyn fell to the ground, clutching a broken nose. Normally Erik's knuckles would sting just a little after hitting someone like that, so he could only imagine how Elia's felt as she shook her hand.

"Quiet, fool!" she spat, "You're my brother and I love you, but you need to know when to shut up!"

The much healthier looking Elia swung back on the warrior, "He did have valid questions though, and I want them answered!"

The warrior held his tongue as he thought about how best to answer them. The Arcaneum would be the best place to go. He wouldn't have to speak, and there would be piles upon piles of books able to help dissuade any doubts. Urag gro-Shub wasn't exactly Erik's biggest supporter, but he was a staunch supporter of the truth, and was essentially an entire volume of texts all wrapped up inside a bitter old orc.

He reached down and hauled Oberyn to his feet as he started walking towards the main door leading into the Hall of Elements, "Follow me, we'll get your answers."

…

The carving knife felt good in his hands. It had been a long time since Erik really had a chance to do some honest, hard, physical work. Sure he kept his skills honed in the training yard, but fighting was good work to his mind. He was born to a blacksmith, he was raised to work and work hard and the lordship over the island of Dragonstone didn't afford him the opportunity to just… make something, or harvest something, or earn his way.

This was the reason the carving knife felt so good as he cut another piece of hard bronze scales from what little flesh remained of Yolfaasviir. The simple and rather indelicate task of simply carving off the chunks of remaining flesh from the massive skeleton.

It never ceased to amaze him that each dragon skeleton, regardless of whether it was an ancient bronze, a bold green, a dangerous red, or a large serpent, looked almost identical. There was some difference in the head, the horns were always a little different, but it didn't matter if it was bigger than usual, or more heavily armored, the rest of the skeleton was the same. It was almost enough to give the big man pause.

"Those friends of yours, well just the one really, is making a mess of my library!"

Looking over his shoulder as he pulled the individual scales from the grey gristle, Erik saw Urag glaring at him through those infamously bushy eyebrows, his mouth set in a nasty line, yellowed tusks digging into green cheeks.

"The boy? Annoying, and a fool, but he's not a bad person… well no… he is. He doesn't mean poorly?" the Dragonborn thought on the Prince a little longer, "He's educated, but he's also an ass. Comes from never being told no his entire life. If you want, you have my permission to put a tingle in his britches if he's ruining any of the books."

"Already did," the old orc replied, broad arms so common with his people crossed over an equally broad chest, "He's calmed down, still making a mess out of my shelves. I'll have my work cut out for me when I get back, but that's not what I came out here to talk to you about."

Erik placed the scales in a leather sack where a few choice bones already lay. Overall the parcel would not be too heavy, he truly hadn't taken much, but it was more than enough to make something interesting.

"Then why are you here? I know you don't particularly care for me."

"You're right, but I do care about the College and the people who've made this place their home. Brelyna tells me she's going with you."

What a friend. Erik had been dreading asking the woman who had hired him to protect her and her friend J'zargo through Mzulft to risk her life by coming along, but it would appear he needn't even ask.

"She's a grown woman."

"She's unhappy here."

The warrior blinked, "Unhappy? What's happened?"

The green skinned librarian uncrossed his arms and gestured towards the open part of the grand stone walls that framed the courtyard so that they could look over the Sea of Ice and be afforded a little privacy.

"She's stifled here. There's no chance for her to go out and explore, learn. She has the fire for learning, more specifically, field learning," the orc explained, "But the opportunity for it isn't here. Girl feels bound to this place, like she's needed here. Truth is, we made the right choice in J'zargo. Damn cat is bold, and that's something the College was lacking in Savos Aren."

Erik stared at the old mage. The orc and he weren't friendly, but they were frank. Both held themselves to a standard of conduct that preached candidness. Urag was telling the truth, and was about to ask something of him.

"Are you going to ask me to take her?"

"I'm asking you to keep her," the orc corrected bluntly, "I wish she didn't have to go, she's as smart as anyone here, but her place isn't with the College."

"And you think it's with me?"

"I think she'll find it. Brelyna just needs to be pushed towards it."

Urag walked off, towards the Hall doors only to meet Lynesse and Elia walking out of them, both immediately zeroing in on Erik. Neither looked entirely sure of themselves, or at least not sure of him.

This is what he had feared. No longer was he just a husband and friend. He wasn't a man anymore. Now he was something out of legend, a storybook character, not human. Very few ever really saw past the Dragonborn, J'zargo was one, Brelyna another, and Vilkas was hopefully still out there. But people like Mjoll or Aela, all they could see was the legend, the things he was supposed to accomplish. He liked them, but he was never close to any of them, and being Dragonborn was the main reason for it.

He could only hope that it wouldn't poison his marriage. Things were rough enough already, with her blaming him, and rightfully so, for their current predicament, they didn't need any more distance.

As for one of the few friends he had made in Westeros, though he didn't get to see her often, Elia was always a welcome guest in his home. The former Targaryen princess was uncharacteristically rational for a person of her birth, not like her brother, and as a result, Erik found that he could hold a conversation with her the way he couldn't even with his wife. That didn't even mention the wonderful little Rhaenys Elia always brought with her.

Steeling himself for another uncomfortable interaction with the two women, Erik was in no way prepared for the ferocious hug that petite Lynesse managed to wrap him up in. It was somewhat amusing considering, the blonde woman couldn't even get her arms all the way around him, but it was still crushing, and warm.

"I'm sorry," the muffled apology coming from his chest confused the Dragonborn.

"For what?"

"For not believing you," she continued to speak directly into the soft horker skin coat coving his upper body, "And for being mad at you…"

Erik smiled, "Well, don't stop being mad at me. Keeps me on my toes."

The small woman began giggling into his chest, "All nine of them."

Elia frowned, "Nine?" the warrior opened his mouth to answer only for the Princess to hold out her hand, "Nevermind. I just want to know what we're doing next. How are we getting home?"

A frown worked its way onto the homely man's face, "Unfortunately, our way home lies solely through the good grace of Hermaeus Mora. I must do what he asks."

The princess straightened, "Where should we start?"

"We?" the warrior asked incredulously, "Maybe I could make use of Oberyn, for all of his character faults he is a formidable warrior, but what would I do with you two? This world is dangerous, I can't protect you from everything out there, I'll barely be able to protect myself…"

"I don't need protecting," the fiery Dornish woman started.

"No…" Erik interrupted forcefully, "You do. Cold weather nearly killed you, you'd stand no chance against a sabre cat, let alone whatever enemies we will eventually have to face! Men and women, who are not anything like you've ever seen in Westeros or Essos, capable of feats you could only dream of."

"You always told me there is more than one way to win a fight," Lynesse suddenly said, backing up from their embrace, "but when faced with one you're just going to ignore all other options?"

"If there was any way to negotiate with Miraak, or his allies, I would. But you don't know him, you don't know what he's capable of."

"I only know the barest of what your capable of," his wife replied quickly, "Those texts told much of the legend of the Dragonborn, very little of your abilities."

"Though if they are to be believed," Elia added on, "You are likely one of the most powerful living things in the world. What do you have to fear from this Miraak?"

Erik's face grew stony, "Did you know that I'm the Last Dragonborn?"

Both women nodded, and Elia said, "Yes, but I'm still not sure what that means."

"It means that I'm the last," the large man replied simply, and with a little more attitude than was explicitly called for, "No one, not my children, not my grandchildren, not anyone for the rest of the world's history will have the power of the Dragonborn. But it also means that if there is a Last, there must be a First… Miraak."

Neither of his audience members said a word as Erik sent a wad of spittle flying over the edge of the College's great courtyard, "A vile man, who once served the dragons when they would enslave entire species, then served himself in a tyrannical rule of Solstheim, and finally served Mora to save his life. He rebelled against the old demon, and bent the will of everyone on Solstheim to serve his purpose."

He slung the sack of dragon scales and bones over his shoulder and did his best to make it clear this conversation was over with a final statement, "He is as close to real evil I have ever seen in a single person, and his domination is absolute. If I must fight him, as I will, it will have to be on his terms."

"Then you will need all the help you can get," Lynesse said forcefully, stopping his retreat dead, "And while I am no warrior, I am a much better talker than you."

Erik looked at Elia for help only to find her glaring at him, "If you try and leave me, I'll follow you. How long do you think I would last, alone?"

Defeat, at the hand of two women, who if put together, probably don't even weigh as much as his left leg.

"Fine, get to bed then. We leave at day break."

"It's hours until sunset!"

Erik snorted, "This far north, in the summer, night lasts just over an hour. I'd say we have less than six before sunrise."

…

Lynesse was quite the surprising horsewoman, particularly considering the massive breed of horse common to Skyrim. The giant brown mare dwarfed the warhorses of Westeros, and Erik's petite beauty of a wife commanded the steed with all the authority of an experienced knight. It was actually fairly impressive considering both Dornish people in the group were struggling with their own towering mounts. Most horses responded to a firm hand fairly evenly, these beasts, however, came with an attitude. One that served them well when facing down a pack of gray wolves or a snow bear, but did not serve a rider unaccustomed to such a willful steed.

Both Oberyn and Elia were accomplished riders, however, and were learning quickly, something that irked the Dragonborn to no end as he led the party on foot.

He and horses, any kind of horse, did not get along well. Something that started when he had first taken the beast blood, but even after he had cleansed himself of it, the beasts of burden took exception to him. He could still ride one, but it was a constant chore to keep the animal calm, and his already considerable weight added onto the weight of his armor and weapons, and the half Nord was just better off walking.

Snow still powdered the land, but the path had obviously seen travel. The mountains that pressed Winterhold against the Sea of Ice were looming to the north rather than the south and now trees pressed in on them. Great green needled things, older than many of the great ruins that dotted the landscape of Skyrim, their huge size combining with the bright snow to create a forest floor of nearly perpetual twilight, providing just enough light to see the shapes stalking them.

"We are being followed," Oberyn said casually. For all the faults Erik found in the Dornish Prince, the Red Viper was an experienced man of the world, and knew better than to look worried about it, or raise his voice in alarm.

"They won't bother us," the large man said, "as long as we don't delay through this land anyway."

"Who are they," Elia asked with a hushed voice, clearly not aware that anyone in the woods off the path wouldn't be close enough to make out any words, and in fact was being far more suspicious by changing her tone.

"Spriggans," Brelyna said from atop her own steed. Come to think of it, why did Erik pay for her horse?

"And Erik is correct," the dunmer continued, "as long as we're through their territory by sundown, they won't bother us."

"How will we know that we're out of their territory?" Oberyn asked, easily looking to the treetops so that he might catch a glimpse of the creatures stalking the party.

"At the top of the ridge you'll be able to see it," the Dragonborn replied, "The trees in this forest are centuries old, but the ancient line ends in another ten miles."

"Undoubtedly we'll be subject to a bandit attack once the old trees are out of sight," the mage of the group added.

Elia looked back at the Dunmer, "Then why continue? Why subject to ourselves to attack from the bandits as the sun is setting rather than try and sneak by in the morning?"

"Because if we're not out of the old forest by sundown, the spriggans will attack us," Erik answered, wincing at a blister that had formed on his left foot. Being lord of a castle had made his body soft to the rigors of the road.

"Are they that dangerous?" Oberyn asked, genuinely curious.

The Dovahkiin looked back to the dunmer, "Brelyna…"

The she elf flipped her hand and a ball of light shot into the forest, easily illuminating one of the stalkers. To Lynesse's credit, she didn't scream, but the mild yip of surprise still echoed like a thunderclap in the silent forest.

Standing lightly atop a bank of snow was seven and a half feet of twisted bark and greenery in the form of a slender and shapely woman, with an impassive face and crown of angry branches framing the feminine visage. Large hands ended in vicious looking whips of sharpened timber, and its hollowed form glowed dimly with ancient power.

"Right," the Prince had the decency of sounding impressed by the otherworldly being, "I'll take your word for it. We'll take the bandits."

"It'll be a few hours at our pace," the Dragonborn said, "I'll let you know when we're close."

"Plan?" Brelyna asked non chalantly, not to hide their conversation from the spriggans, who were clearly uncaring of what the group was saying, or even their intentions. The forest spirits concerned themselves only with whether or not the group would leave their sacred land.

"I'll take the stick up man and his thugs," Erik said as he rolled his unarmored shoulders and patted Storm's Wrath at his hip, "Oberyn will handle the flanking pair, you handle the archers. Try not to burn the forest down."

The dunmer cracked her taped knuckles, an old habit she had picked up from the days when she would run with both Erik and Vilkas and… Farkas. Well, really she was just there for Farkas, but the dunmer had picked up the habit of crudely taping her fingers, despite the fact she never needed to grip a weapon in combat.

"Erik, are you sure you don't want to ride?" Lynesse asked once again, as the sun approached the treetops, "I'm sure this brown mare can handle you…"

He couldn't resist, "I'm sure she could, but unfortunately she's just not my type."

A small booted foot kicked him in the lower back, "Ass, I mean, you must be tired. You've been walking all day, every day for the past three!"

The large man pulled at his wife's waist, pulling her over on the saddle before pressing a brief kiss to her lips, "I appreciate the concern, but I've never been much of a rider, and truth be told, I don't have a very good relationship with animals."

"Every hound in every town has to immediately stop what they're doing to bark and howl at him," Brelyna added, "Has something to do with the Dragon Soul I think. Animals don't much like Odahviing either."

"Odd Wing is forty feet long and breathes fire," Elia replied sarcastically, "Erik's just tall."

The mage shook her head, "Animals don't see such things the way we do. I had an experiment to test reactions of dogs and cats to the presence of various people. I was struggling with the decision for a control, and of course how I'd select the people I'm exposing the animals to. Of course then there's the animals themselves, domestic dogs and wild ones behave differently. I don't know if perhaps the felines would…"

Erik let out a dramatic snore as he continued to plod on, resulting in an indignant huff from the she elf.

"Will you kick him again?"

"Gladly," Lynesse struck him in the back again. Not viciously, just enough to let him know that, while she was amused, he was also approaching the end of her patience, "Ass."

A small fritter of laughter floated over the group of travelers, interrupted as Oberyn came to a correct conclusion.

"Forest is a little greener," the Prince pointed out.

"Gonna get a little more red," Erik replied as he looked back up to his wife, nonverbally telling her to drift back into the middle of the group with Elia.

The Red Viper slid from his saddle and grabbed the leader from his mount's reigns. A sharp steel sword hung from his hip, a far cry from his preferred spear, but the warriors of Skyrim were more likely to throw an ax head on a lengthened handle than a speartip. Still, the slender man was more than deadly enough with a longsword.

The group settled in their march, both Lynesse and Elia ready to fall flat to their horse's saddle. Brelyna's knuckles cracked, blood red eyes scanning the snow banks and needle clad branches for the ambushers sure to be waiting.

She might as well not have bothered.

Standing in the center of the road were four men. Three burly orcs to give Erik a push for sheer mass led by a single Breton woman. In comparison to the jade giants, the dark haired, dark eyed woman looked like a dwarf, but carried herself like a warrior.

The orcs wore heavy green armor, belying the true nature of the metal encasing their heavy bodies. The two on the ends held heavy verdant shields and long handled moss green pole handled axes. What's more, they looked like they knew how to use them.

The orc standing directly behind and to the right of the lead woman was the tallest of the trio, and the leanest, with no helmet covering his spiked brow and the ponytail extending from the lone strip of hair down the center of his head. Two vicious, and serrated, axes hung from his hips as his thick corded arms crossed an expansive chest. The orc's vicious grin gave away the obvious, he was the most dangerous one of the quartet.

The woman, in contrast to her heavily armored allies, wore a dark cloak over her shoulders and head, but didn't do enough to conceal the war paint on her face, or the manic gleam in her eyes.

These were no bandits, and the others in the group had caught on too…

"Dragonborn!" the woman called out, heavy accent further confirming Erik's suspicions, "We've been waiting for you!"

The Forsworn woman licked her lips as she cocked her head, "The Commander said you'd come for us, straight south from Winterhold. Did you like the welcome back gift he sent for you? Shame it wrecked that pretty college, I'm just hoping there's still some good loot left."

The big man standing at the front narrowed his eyes even as battle honed senses could pick out the sounds of attackers moving in around them.

"Miraak sent you?"

The woman blinked as she stared him down, "Don't know anyone named meerkat, the Commander sent us, and he sent us for your head!"

The snow banks to either side of the road exploded into action as more men and women in dark cloaks and steel weapons erupted from the white powder and rushed the group. Some did not make it far as their compatriots as dark red bolts of fire cut through the dark cloaks and through the light steel chainmail underneath.

The three that made it past Brelyna's magic met Oberyn's steel. The Forsworn were dangerous, and desperate combatants, typically attacking with an abandon that could overwhelm an undisciplined or inexperienced warrior. The Red Viper was neither of those things.

Erik's attentions were not upon the fight behind him, however. No, they were placed solely on the taller Orc and the serrated blades of his axes as they sped towards his unarmored flesh.

Storm's Wrath slapped aside the ax on the right, the Dragonborn following his weapon's path to avoid the left ax. Planting his right foot in the ground, Erik pushed his shoulder into the orc's plated chest to gain separation.

Once apart, Skyforge steel met Orichalcum from both weapons and showered the stones beneath them with dull red sparks. The orc was fast, and strong, stronger than Erik for sure, but was a berserker, not a disciplined fighter. He did have another advantage, however, as the half-Nord was forced to duck and roll away from the long handled ax.

This was a bad spot, stuck between two opponents with superior reach and armor, trapping him in with an opponent with superior strength and speed. Orcs were naturally dangerous enemies, heavier and stronger than any of the other recognized intelligent races, with natural redundancies that made killing them a feat of perseverance more than anything. But what really made them more dangerous in melee combat that any of the other races, was the fact they were simply smarter than most people were. Orc strongholds did not suffer fools, or weaklings. Only the strongest and smartest survived, and the three circling him right now were prime examples of the specimens such a society produced.

Erik was fast, as fast as he had to be, and it was barely enough to keep himself alive as heavy blades crashed against his defenses. The taller one was unbelievably fast, though he was prone to mistakes, the other two made up for any deficiencies in his fighting.

The three were wearing him down as his blade bounced and reverberated in his hand every time dark and smoky metal met jade green mineral, and felt the jagged edges of the green weapons in his flesh more and more often as it went along.

Short glimpses of the rest of the small skirmish were all that was afforded him, and the quartet was not fairing much better.

Oberyn was a better swordsman than the enemies facing him, but numbers counted for something too, as he found himself in a similar situation to Erik. The Forsworn were hammering him from all sides, and it was all he could do to survive.

Brelyna was having considerably more success than the other two, but also was saddled with the responsibility of protecting both Lynesse and Elia. An increasingly difficult task as more and more of the dark robed Forsworn poured out of the forest.

Whoever this 'Commander' was, be it Miraak or one of his subordinates, they weren't keen on risks, and were using the natural aggression of the Forsworn to take the Thu'um out of the picture. Any Shout would harm his wife and friends as much as the savages.

Well, almost any Shout. Exertion showed on his now sweaty face as he pulled the handle of one of the heavy orcs, twisting his upper body to drive a shoulder into the jade green man's armored chest and spin him around into his twin ally.

Throwing Storm's Wrath up, Erik managed to lock the hilt in with the incoming short handled ax and wrench it down. A left hook probably did more damage to the human's fist than it did to the tall orc's face, but it did what he needed it to do.

The three orc warriors seemed surprised by the maneuver, but had quickly regained their bearing, far too quickly for any conventional warrior to take advantage, but Erik was Dovahkiin, and by no means conventional.

Storm's Wrath clattered to the ground, further confusing the orcs before the warrior took a deep breath…

MUL QAH DIIV!

Light encased his unarmored form, energy filled tired limbs, and power flooded through his veins.

Left hand caught the head of the long handled ax, the sharpened mineral not bothering his bare skin in the slightest as the right hand splintered the handle. The right fist swung back, back handing the helmeted orc, resulting in a spray of dark red blood and a sickening snap of the neck.

Lunging faster than even his already unnatural quickness, Erik crossed the gap to the second shielded warrior and delivered a punishing blow the dark green shield, shattering the horned circle and exposing him to an uppercut that literally lifted his head right off his shoulders.

A serrated ax struck the big man in the back, succeeding in only annoying the power drunk demi god. Another struck his shoulder, then it swung around and tried for a clean shot at the head only for Erik to grab the wrist holding the offending weapon, and turn the bones inside to powder. The orc didn't scream for long as his armor was split open, rib cage shattered, and one of two hearts were ripped out and shoved back into his open mouth.

The Dragonborn spun on his heels, delivering a right cross as he did, and turned a Forsworn man's head to mush.

Erik swung his left arm around and shattered a steel sword. The same hand gripped the attacker's head and squeezed. Dark red blood and squishy grey matter leaked out between clenched fingers and over his bare hand.

Two savages formed up, trying to present a strong front. They failed.

WULD!

His over powered form shot forward faster than any eye could track. Not that the two sets of eyes that needed to track them could anyway, being that their very beings had been torn apart by the whirlwind of destruction that was the glowing demigod.

Oberyn was relieved as the tall woman he was engaged with was struck and flung by the body of one of her own compatriots. Neither rose again. Both Reach natives that were harassing Brelyna both had their heads pushed down in through their necks.

There was only one of the attacking party left…

Erik grabbed the short Breton woman by the neck, holding her aloft with ease. The golden aura surrounding the Dovahkiin gave the giant man a menacing appearance and cast an unflattering light upon the savage woman, who perhaps now, finally, understood the situation she was in, and exactly who she was dealing with.

"Oberyn," his voice boomed with ethereal authority, seeming to come from everywhere at once, "Dagger."

Erik's outstretched hand was quickly filled with the smooth ivory handle of the Red Viper's favorite weapon, "It's not poisoned."

The large man reached up with lethally sharp instrument, pointing the tip at the woman's face, "I need you to take a message back to this… Commander. Let me write it down so you won't forget it…"

…

Two days and no one had said a word to him. They were all in various states of shock, either of the power he wielded, or the brutality he displayed. He regretted none of it. The love of his life was in danger, his friends almost overrun, and the ambush had been too well set. Heavily armored opponents for him, and numbers for the rest. Catching him without armor, and putting the most vulnerable at risk so as to keep them rooted to one spot.

This was why Erik wore his full plate armor, with Wuuthrad slung across his back. If he had gone into the previous battle armed and armored as he should have been, maybe his wife would still talk to him. Skyrim was shock to both her, and the two Martells. Khajit, magic, dragons, his Dragonborn abilities, and the true nature of his own brutality.

The last incident might have been the straw that broke the proverbial camel's back. They had been willing to accept a radically different world, because he was still the man they knew. But as soon as he clad himself in golden light and ethereal armor, and unleashed his fury upon other living things, he had ceased to be the man they knew. The husband and father Lynesse had known, the friend Elia had gotten along with.

Brelyna wasn't necessarily shocked, but the dunmer was more than aware of the awkward atmosphere in the party, and had, perhaps wisely, chosen to remain quiet.

A roar split the air, causing the three non-natives to jump a little at the sound. Neither Dragonborn or mage even twitched. Sabre cats were dangerous predators, big as a small bear, fast as loose arrow, and ferocious as a daedra, but they weren't gamblers. And five people and four giant horses was a gamble for the solitary predators.

"What was that?" the first word in days belonged to Elia, who had adapted to the road admirably considering her chronic sickness.

"Sabre cat," the dunmer riding next to her answered, "They hunt alone, so nothing to worry about. If you hear a trumpeting sound, then we need to be worried."

"Trumpets?" Erik's wife asked from the other side of Elia, "Are we worried about vicious roaming bands?"

"Not bands of musicians," Brelyna answered with a laugh, "Bands of giants keep herds of mammoths, whose call sounds like a trumpet. If we hear that, we need to take special care to avoid them."

"Or at least keep our distance," Erik finally said, "If you leave giants alone, they'll leave you alone. The people of Whiterun have had a long standing loose relationship with the gentle nomads."

The softening tundra squelched under his boots as he veered off the road just a hair to grab a wild flower growing there, popping the sweet plant into his mouth to wipe the taste of grain and his own spit out of his mouth.

Chewing on the soft white petals, the half Nord continued, "They even trade with them from time to time. Mammoth hides may not be the softest material, but there's nothing warmer on a frigid winter night, and their tusks produce ivory so fine that even the Khajiit of Esleweyr with their elephants would prefer to use mammoth tusks."

Brelyna nodded from her mount and added, "Their cheese is a delicacy as well."

"Meat's a little tough."

"It'll fill your belly."

The Dragonborn nodded, "Yes it will."

"Mammoths are nothing but stories back in Westeros," Lynesse said as she put her head on a swivel, likely hoping to catch a glimpse of the majestic beasts, "And giants are fairytales…"

"Well they're real enough here," Erik told the blonde woman, "And… nearby enough it would seem."

The group halted at his words as he spit the chewed up petals out of his mouth and stepped off the road towards a large puddle in the muddy tundra. Close inspection revealed what he had expected, the puddle was a giant footprint, and only one of a line that cut across the road.

"Only one, no mammoth's with him it would seem," he deduced loud enough for everyone else to hear, "Came by recently, no more than an hour with how clean the water filling it seems to be."

"What's a lone giant doing out here?" Brelyna asked. It certainly was unusual for a giant to be found wandering alone this far north.

"He's clearing this area," the experienced tracker declared, "I've seen this before… when they want to move a herd into a new area. They send one of their best hunters out ahead of them to root out bandits, or wolves, or…"

"Sabre cats?"

Erik made eye contact with the dunmer, "Aye… he's very near by…"

"Mother's Mercy…" Oberyn suddenly breathed out before pointing, "He's not nearby, he's here!"

It always amazed him how stealthy the twelve foot titans could be. Somehow the blue painted human analog that weighed as much as three horses put together had snuck up on the group while they were inspecting its tracks. It was kneeling down, using its club that was longer than Erik was tall as an arm rest while its other hand loosely held a rock that would be a boulder by most men's standards. The Dragonborn held no illusions, if the nomad was inherently hostile, that boulder likely would have already crushed their bodies from afar.

Standing to regard the 'man', chocolate eyes locked with softly glowing blue ones and an understanding was reached. Erik held his arms apart, gauntleted hands extended and open to reveal no weapons in them. The giant tossed the boulder to the side with a resounding crash that echoed through the wide open tundra before reaching its left hand up and tapping his back, sending a clear message to the warrior as he unslung Wuuthrad and buried the head in a fallen root that had once belonged to a forest that had stretched all the way to Whiterun.

The bearded colossus nodded and gestured for Erik to approach, which he did slowly.

"What are you doing?" Lynesse asked, worry clear in her voice, "It could crush you with a flick of its wrist!"

"Thank you for your confidence in me," he replied dryly, "but you're going to have to trust that I know what I'm doing."

"If there was but a shred of evidence you did, I would," she called back, "Please don't die."

"I'll do my best," he mumbled in response. There was no way she could hear it, but it wasn't wise to yell in front of a giant, for as big as they were, they weren't loud speakers, and treated raised voices with hostility.

Stopping short of the half naked titan, Erik finally spoke directly to it, "Greetings."

The reply wasn't in a language most understood. Only a natural inclination towards languages, perhaps a side effect of being Dovahkiin, and extensive lessons with an orc priestess allowed him to understand, and even then it was only a general sense.

In this case, the giant was returning his hello.

"We weren't expecting to see giant's this far north."

The sound of a giant speaking was exactly what you would think it was, in that you felt it more than heard it. Deep bass rumbling through the air and ground.

"You were driven north? By what?"

The giant was clearly upset as it gave the answer.

"An army? Whose?"

Banners, not Legion, not Stormcloak, not Thalmor, but familiar, even through the alien language of the inherently gentle nomads of Skyrim.

"How long ago?"

A day, no more, through Rorikstead.

A chill crept down Erik's spine as he began to see the situation down south taking form.

"Where were they headed?"

Whiterun. The only place they could be going. Solitude was the largest, and had a port, and Windhelm was the most defensible, but Whiterun was the heart of Skyrim. Trade between any two holds went through the tundra city first. Travelers from Cyrodil, High Rock, Hammerfel, Morrowind, anyone who visited Skyrim might come in through one of the perimeter holds, but they all eventually wound up in the shadow of Dragonsreach for one reason or another.

"How many?"

Too many. Unless he could round up a couple more dragons. Odahviing had been following him from a distance, and Durnehviir could, presumably, still be called from the Soul Cairn. But if what the giant was saying about the army marching on Whiterun was true, even their might couldn't defeat the horde of orcs and Forsworn. Not without destroying the city in the process anyway.

"We need to pass through here. We have to reach Whiterun before they do!"

The giant spoke again, and the chill turned to a pit in his stomach. The city was already under siege. It had survived them before, the most recent being the Stormcloak rebellion, but there was no Legion stationed within the city walls to help defend it this time. At best, all they could do is hold out, wait for the Legion to send an army to break the siege, at worst, the city was already lost.

Erik let out a deep sigh, he had no choice, "We still need to get there. Can we pass?"

Yes, they could, but it would be futile to go there. Nothing but death awaited them now.

"Well?" Brelyna asked when he returned to the group, wrenching Wuuthrad from the ancient tree stump and slinging it across his back.

"Whiterun is under siege. Ten thousand orcs and Forsworn surround it. That's what drove the giants north."

"What?" the dunmer asked in shock, "How did they gather so many? How are they not fighting amongst themselves? How did they get past Legion patrols and spies?"

The big man spat on the ground, "This is Miraak's work, and more than a simple bid for control of Skyrim. When his servant returned with news of her defeat, he knew where we were, and where we were going. Now he's trying to draw me into a fight I can't win. It worked well."

"I saw you kill men and break steel with your bare hands two days ago!" Oberyn exclaimed, "Then there's that dragon of yours, surely you can do something!"

"Odahviing and I could break the siege, but we'd also break the city in the process. There is little subtlety to the Thu'um, and Miraak knows this. Once we attack, his forces would hug the city walls, making it impossible for me to destroy them without destroying Whiterun."

"Can they hold out until this Legion comes for them?" Elia asked, looking to both Brelyna and Erik, who shook his head.

"If we don't arrive quickly, they'll storm the walls and sack the city," the Dragonborn said, "Then disperse back into the wilderness. Unless there's another army nearby, then I don't know what I can do but walk into this trap and hope for the best."

"What if you recruited one?" Lynesse suddenly asked, gathering looks from the other members of the party, "an army, I mean."

"An army made up of what?" Erik asked, "Mudcrabs?"

He flung a small rock at a glossy boulder only for the monstrous crab creature to erupt from the muck and begin swinging it's large claws wildly in an attempt to kill whatever had stumbled upon it. Realizing there was no prey, and its eyesight being far too poor to see the man who had disturbed it.

"Well," his lady wife pondered for a second, then pointed at the retreating form of the giant, "What about them?"

Everyone blinked before Brelyna spoke up, "Giants are just a dozen different tribes, and besides, they're scattered across the Whiterun hold!"

"Unless the Forsworn drove them all up north…" the warrior said slowly, "and their numbers would be great if they could consolidate into one force… But that's never happened. Giants don't form armies, and they don't interfere with the world of men."

"Alduin was immortal, and elves ruled Skyrim for thousands of years before the Atmorans came," his surprisingly knowledgeable, and increasingly assertive wife told him, "That's the thing about the status quo… it is subject to change."

Erik stared at her. How did he survive without a woman like her in his life?

He turned and chased after the giant, "Wait! Hold on!"

Aaaaaand that's a wrap. A regular wrap, not one of those gross spinach wraps or surprisingly good, but unfortunately light, flatbread wraps. Though if I had my say, I'd throw it on a bun, smother it in BBQ sauce, and cook up some potatoes to go with it. I'm from Iowa, it's how we eat things. With bread, BBQ, and a vegetable of our choosing. Usually corn or beans, but I'm partial to potatoes.

Oh, the story? Yeah, not the greatest chapter, but could you imagine the pressure if you actually wrote the greatest chapter every time? You'd be held to the standard of perfection and if you fell even slightly short of it, you'd be picked to pieces.

I know you guys probably wanted more Odahviing interaction, but I couldn't really hammer down how I thought they might react. Surprised yeah, but I didn't want it to turn into one of those chapters where everyone is always saying, 'that's impossible!' and then get promptly proven wrong. Once or twice a story, or in a humorously ironic fashion, that's fine. But so many stories have entire chapters where its nothing but that and frankly, I just lose interest in reading them. The same way I'm sure some of you are bound to let me know you've lost interest in this story, and then proceed to not tell me why. If you weren't going to help me out with it, why say anything at all?

Next chapter is probably self explanatory, so I'll leave y'all to it.

Read and review, don't want to write, what you don't want to read.