A/N: Hey again all! First chapter of the new year :D ANNNND WE'RE DOUBLE DIGITS PEOPLE. I feel accomplished. It's like turning 10 all over again.

Love and many thanks to TwistedSystem, White Wolf Writers,and codysmitfor your reviews! They mean a lot guys, and the commentary maes me laugh. On a side note, I'm still looking for opinions on those questions I asked last time. Any interest in the mentioned fics?

Thanks to my lovely beta eyeofthedivine for all her hard work. Love you!

It really shouldn't have surprised me that I would run into trouble on the way to Riverwood; and it really shouldn't have surprised me that I would once again be stuck a night in the Shadows damned backwater cesspool of a hamlet. It shouldn't have surprised me that I was going to be flung among those people and their idiocy another time. It really shouldn't have surprised me.

But the wolves had indeed surprised me; or more specifically, Chestnut.

"Ancestor's Blood and Fury's Fire…" I hissed, not nearlyfor the last time. It was a testament to my frustration and exhaustion that the full and proper oath was even being spewed from my lips. Usually I preferred my favorite, abbreviated form.

Grunting, I pushed against my mare's flank again, sweat dripping into my eyes as my heels dug into the dirt of the road. She wobbled, letting out a pained neigh, and hobbled forward another three steps. I shoved, providing the support for her, instead of the injured leg that was pulled up and tucked against her; and she took another couple of steps.

So had been our rhythm for the past hour. An hour of slow, painful tottering along after a little pack of wolves had come rushing at us from the surrounding wilds. They had been easy—extremely easy—to kill once I had actually been able to get down off my frantic horse. Once I was free of the saddle, Chestnut had flown into a flurry of striking hoofs and screaming whinnies. Meanwhile, I had happily slashed the beasts' flanks and backs and snapping jaws to pieces.

Evidently, it hadn't been enough, because one of the mongrels had gotten its teeth around my mare's front left leg. The damage wasn't fatal, and it didn't look too deep—as if I knew how to judge an animal's wounds when I had enough trouble with my own. It was definitely bad enough though that sweet Chestnut wasn't bearing weight on it.

Hence, the current predicament.

"Gods be damned, why is this happening to me?" I gasped to no one in particular, but amended my statement when a moony, hurt-filled brown eye rolled down to look at me. "Why is this happening to us?"

Never mind the Nords. My horse is most definitely more intelligent than most people I've ever met in general.

"And heavier too…" I muttered, and then yelped as I was nearly thrown over when Chestnut bumped into me. Rather purposefully. I glared up at her. "What? Don't give me that sass. You know it's true. You're bred to be stockier, stronger. It's why you're so adept at maneuvering in this awful terrain."

That seemed to placate her, because she leaned more on her good side and took five whole steps on the next round. I was grateful for both.

"Alright, alright. That's it. We're taking a break." I panted at her, patting her with the hand that was stretched way up and over her shoulder. The other was pressed low against her flank for additional support. Chestnut snorted, and then we were clambering slowly and unsteadily off the road and onto a nice, soft stretch of lush grass and damp earth near the riverbank.

It was an awkward, difficult affair, getting Chestnut settled. Normally the mare would have stood to rest, or perhaps knelt; but now she was forced to roll onto her flank. It was a vulnerable position for a horse, not often used for long. Chestnut whickered anxiously as she lay among the springy bushes, and I situated myself so that I protected her exposed belly, murmuring shushing noises and petting her flank. Her heavy head thudded against the ground as she tossed it, and I winced, stretching out to wrap my arms around her neck. It seemed silly that an embrace would comfort a horse, but after a few moments she seemed to calm.

"There you go girl. It's okay." I whispered against her warm, muscled neck. Her shaggy mane tickled my cheek as I relaxed against her, my own body quietly moaning its aches and exhaustion.

And the night had started out with so much promise too…Well, mostly.

Earlier, I'd been determined, almost optimistic about the prospect of both gaining power and finally having a solid goal, a step towards…something. Now however, I was sore, angry, distressed, and exhausted.

"I'm tired, Chestnut." I said to her aloud, feeling oddly at ease in admitting as much to the mare here, on the side of the road, in the starlit dark of night. "I'm just so very tired…and lost." I wheezed a little, dry laugh, my head lolling to the side so that I could look up at the sky.

The stars burned, droplets of flame in a sea so blue and deeply dark with night that only those otherworldly fires could live in it. They and the moons alone seared mercilessly enough to survive in that infinite blackness.

"It seems like I've been lost forever. I can't even remember what home and happiness felt like. A veil obscures the memories, and every time I try to look through it, it only hurts more."

I closed my eyes briefly, feeling the rise and fall beneath my cheek as Chestnut breathed, listening to the torpid rush of the nearby river, pressing my hips into the cool earth below me just to feel it better. Then, I opened them again, and exhaled in a quiet sigh.

"But I'm not stopping. It's not enough. It's never enough. I'm going to keep going until this accursed body gives out on me. I'm going to survive. I won't let that bitch have her satisfaction. I'll show her she failed…" And then my tone darkened, becoming resigned. "Even if living seems infinitely more painful…"

My lips contorted into a moody scowl, but it didn't stay long. Chestnut soon had her say, twisting her muzzle around far enough to blow hot, pungent, spittle-soaked air into my face with that floppy wet sound horses make when they huff. I cringed back in disgust, wiping my eyes on the supple sleeve of my leathers.

"Ach! Damnation, Chestnut, what was that for?" I demanded in a whiny snarl, still rubbing my arm vigorously over my wetted features. My mare just looked at me out of one eye, as if to say, 'You know exactly what.'

I growled and slouched back against her flank, making sure to position my face—and any other parts of my head—firmly out of her reach. I felt a tingle across my back as her sides trembled, almost as if the horse was laughing.I scowled again and hunched my shoulders. Either my horse was laughing at me, or I was crazy enough to think my horse would laugh at me. I didn't much like either option.

"Oh, be quiet." I muttered, though whether I was talking to Chestnut or myself at this point was debatable. "Get some rest. We'll have to push on to Riverwood soon."

And there, I would, in all likelihood, have to say goodbye to my mare. Looking at the map Hulda had conveniently marked for me, it was obviously going to be a real blasted pain walking all the way from Riverwood to Ivarstead; but I couldn't push the poor girl on. I had no knowledge of healing magick, and though I'd doused the wound with one of my precious healing potions earlier, it hadn't had quite the expected effect. Likely, this was because the dosage was off, or the ingredients less potent. With no healers in Riverwood, I was just going to have to turn her over to Gerdur and hope the woman knew how to tend a horse like she did her family's bull.

I had hopes that I would be able to come back from this meeting with the Greybeards and reclaim Chestnut; but it was a small chance at best. There was so much that could go badly: the bite could be infected and cause disease; the potion I'd put on the wound could have some adverse effect on the horse's system and sicken her; she could be left without proper care, and either starve or dehydrate; she could be let stray and be beset by more wild animals; she might even be killed out of spite by human hands, if Sven or Faendal, or maybe even Delphine for that matter, learned about her.

This was another obstacle itself: Delphine. Watchful, baleful, broom-wielding innkeeper by day; and suspicious, dragon-investigating, hooded mercenary by night. I didn't know what to think of her, or what to expect from her. She was a dangerous unknown, one that was far too involved in the dragon business for my liking. I would have to be cautious. She couldn't know that I'd recognized her earlier.

And she can't know about any of this Dragonborn madness, or that I killed Mirmulnir…meaning she can't know that bitch-born bastard of a Jarl made me a Thane.

Let's make this easy. Just make sure she doesn't know a damn thing.

…As if that's going to be "easy". Well, at worst, a knife between the ribs solves any situation.

I had to try; or I'd drive myself crazy otherwise.

And then there was Sven. It had been fun torturing him, but I'd let the game run its course. He was now a loose end that needed to be destroyed, lest it wind its way around my throat in a noose. I would kill him in his home before I left Riverwood tonight. Then, I could be rid of one more nagging afterthought and hopefully increase my mare's chances of survival.

For any of this to occur, however, we had to actually reach Riverwood—damn the place—before the Lord of Madness came knocking. I

"Alright. New plan." I informed my equestrian accomplice, looking up into her big brown eye. "Get to Riverwood. Get you into Gerdur's care. Kill the bard. And then on to Ivarstead and a bottle of wine, blast the cup."It sounded like a good plan. A very good plan. Which probably meant that it was complete and utter rubbish. My lips pressed together in thought as I frowned slightly.

Can I make it to Ivarstead tonight? Helgen is only a little over an hour or so away from Riverwood. Factoring in cautious nighttime travel, it would take perhaps two hours...

After that though, I didn't know. Danica had told me Ivarstead was past Helgen, at the eastern base of the Throat of the World. It was also considered to be in the Rift, which my map indicated was a whole separate Hold from Whiterun's. Did I really want to attempt navigating a mountainous road in the dark for Ancestors knew how many miles?

I scowled, frown deepening, and rubbed my temples.

The alternative wasn't any better though. Staying the rest of the night in Riverwood was simply a bad idea. If I hung around and the guards found another corpse, it would be so blatantly obvious who the culprit was that even those helmeted morons would realize and arrest me.

On the other hand, I had no idea where I'd find another place to stay, especially once I reached Helgen. Sleeping under the stars was always a possibility; but also always a risk in the wilderness. An increased one, what with the freezing temperatures of Skyrim. Until I picked up on some proper techniques for surviving the cold, staying out in the open was a negative. A camp would do, but the probability that I'd just stumble upon another camp of bandits ready to be killed, with a fire and bed waiting was about as small as the average Nord's brain.

In other words, infinitesimal.

That didn't leave many options. All of which, frankly, were varying levels of awful. Picking the lesser of the evils would have to do. Which...probably meant bunkering down in the ruins of a razed hamlet and hoping no bandits, looters, or rabid rodents came along.

"Dammit all." I groused, flinging up my hands. Chestnut stared at me a moment, then huffed, her chest shuddering, and laid back down. I made a face at her, settling back against her once more.I didn't have a particularly solid plan, but I hadn't for a long time now anyways. Whatever happened, I was getting Chestnut to relative safety, and making my way to High Hrothgar.

"About another ten minutes." I told my sweet mare. "Then, we push on." The night itself wasn't anything to worry about; but staying too long in one spot would be an invitation to predators with Chestnut's wounded leg...

Trying desperately to quiet my gasping breaths as I stumbled down the darkened beaches, dragging his weight with me. Collapsing as my legs gave out once we reached the shore. Pressing my blood-slicked palms to the sopping wound in his side, wishing I knew how to stop the blood. Hearing the chattering hisses of Cliff Racers as they glided closer on death-whisper wings, scenting the fresh blood on the ashy sands. Seeing swarms and swarms of beady black eyes glinting viciously, coming closer…

A shiver ran up my spine, and I cringed into Chestnut's side, away from the memory. It was definitely best to be out of the wilds, and not caught as wounded prey…

"Just another few minutes…" I muttered softly, drawing my dagger out of its sheath with a quiet rasp. I held it across my knees and consciously took even, slow breaths, letting my eyes scan the nightscape around me. Waiting, I allowed the anxious respite, listening to the sound of my mare's labored breathing all the while.

"Remember, my girl: the night, the dark, it's nothing to fear. It is not your friend nor enemy. It's just an entity like any other. It just needs watching."

With my favorite lesson firmly in mind, I did just as I was taught. I just kept watching.

It was with the supreme stretches of my patience that I resisted stabbing a dagger into the eye-slits of the guards' helmets as my mare and I staggered into Riverwood. The way their ironclad heads followed us, I was more than positive they were staring. At me and Chestnut. Blatantly.I ground my teeth and focused on getting past the Sleeping Giant and up to Gerdur's. Luckily for the lives of the townsfolk, no one else seemed to be about to gawk; though light and laughter did spill out from the inn's crannies.

The Trader's was dark, as were most of the homes, but for a lantern in the smith's window, and the dim, ember glow of his forge nearby. Gerdur's house, however, was bright, the door outlined in thin, golden beams, as if beckoning company.

Moving Chestnut carefully into the fenced yard, I gingerly stepped away from her, leaving her to balance in a wobbly standing position. Considering she was a massive mountain mare, and doing said performance on three legs alone, I thought she looked quite graceful. I gave her a light pat before approaching the house.

Reaching out a hand to knock—I'd lost my key at some point between fighting a blasted dragon, talking to a tree, and dragging a horse upriver—I rapped my knuckles firmly on the door. My curled fingers had barely left the wood when it was wrenched back in a blinding spill of firelight. I blinked and squinted at the figure in the doorway as my vision blurred and soon adjusted.

I watched blearily as Gerdur's face, bright with a barely-tempered, eager hopefulness, flickered, dimmed, and then darkened. The cycle of enthusiasm, realization, disappointment, and resumed composure all in the span of a handful of seconds was rather novel.

"It's you..." She murmured ruefully, half to herself, her shoulders hunching. Then she was drawing herself up, and forcing a patient smile into the world.

"Welcome, my friend."

"Expecting someone else, Gerdur?" I queried. She looked at me a long moment and then sighed heavily.

"Aye. Ralof." She answered glumly. " He ran off two nights ago without a word. Just as this violent storm let up, too. I thought..."

You thought he might come back. He might not be leaving you behind. He might be safe and sound, right here. He might...

She might…

"He's gone, Gerdur. You know that. He was ready to go running back to Ulfric at the first chance he got." I snapped, old anger and pain lacing my tone.

"I know." The she-troll muttered tired but without venom. Resigned to her own fate, as well as her brother's. "I know, but...Ahh no. No. It is what it is." She shook her head. "What can I do for you, my friend?"

It took several long minutes for me to explain my situation, beginning with Chestnut, as a priority. Gerdur's eyebrows climbed high, mouth turning in repressed humor, and I had to pause frequently to reign in my desire to strangle the woman. Nothing about this lunacy was funny in the slightest!

I looked at her smirk again and took another bracing breath.

"...and so that's where I'll need your assistance. I can't take her with me, but she needs looking after." I finished at last, glancing over at the woman. We both knelt on either side of Chestnut—the sweet, smart mare hadn't let the she-troll near her without my presence at her side—and Gerdur had begun cooing over her as soon as she'd seen her. She was rubbing the mare's sides now, continuous, firm strokes that belied her strength of arm as a miller.

"Where is it that you're going that you can't bring the girl? Her leg isn't too bad. It would only take a few weeks at most to heal rightly. Quicker with potions." The Nord woman questioned, her bright blue eyes meeting mine.

I briefly entertained the thought that our eyes were opposites, round and blue versus angled and red; like the ice and fire in our blood, respectively. Complete contradictions of one another, and yet here, cooperating, over a horse.I snorted at the irony.

"I'm going to High Hrothgar." I said quietly, turning my head to look up at black, white-capped behemoth haloed in moonlight that was the Throat of the World. Even at such a distance, it pierced the sky, so tall and massive that it nearly hid Secunda from sight. Gerdur's breath caught in her throat as she inhaled sharply.

"The Greybeards…" She whispered. "They were calling you. You're Dragonborn."

I scowled. Apparently, all Nords shared the same superstitions, and the same blind belief.

"I'm me. Nothing more. Certainly nothing your legends claim." I growled out. Chestnut picked up on my agitation and started shuffling, but my hand on her muzzle calmed her.

"You can Shout, can't you? Can't you?" She asserted, her hands stilling on the mare's side. I glared at her, my lip curling into a barely disguised grimace of contempt.

"Yes. I can." The words were halting, grudging. "I've done it only once though. It proves nothing."

"Well, do it again! If you can just Shout naturally, with no training, then legends or no, it means you're Dragonborn." Gerdur argued, the stern, no-nonsense tone reminiscent of dealing with a stubborn husband, child, or merchant; and winning.

"I don't know how." I snarled, fingers curling like talons in my frustration.

"Try." The Nord woman snapped instantly, and I couldn't help but feel a tiny flicker of respect for her fortitude, despite my anger. She had a backbone harder than most of the men I'd met in all my years.

In Morrowind, women and men were equally viperous; but in some countries I'd been to, like Cyrodiil, the ladies varied from placating cows to fawning does. Skyrim, however, bore no such gender discriminations. It was either steel in your blood, or your blood on the steel. It was the sort of absolute attitude Father had possessed and I appreciated it, at least.

You're in Skyrim now. It's time you adapted. Fire might be in your blood, but you need something stronger. The flames of the Ancestors might not be enough anymore; but those of the dragons may be my aegis.

I clenched my jaw. Try, she said? Just try? Like I had before? It didn't seem like it could be so simple. I'd just…just absorbed Mirmulnir's soul the last time. That alone could have caused the power behind the word, not anything I'd Nords, however, claimed that being Dragonborn meant I could Shout naturally. Like it was as natural as breathing. Like flexing a muscle, moving my arm.

Closing my eyes, I sucked in a deep breath. I did what I'd done before. I thought of the word. I thought of force. Pushing, moving, throwing. Something primal. Something unstoppable. Force. My eyes snapped open and my chest expanded anew.

"FUS!" I Shouted, the bluish blast of pure force tearing from my mouth once more. Gerdur was bowled over with a cry, landing flat on her back, and Chestnut startled, although not as terribly as I would have expected.

"Sweet Talos!" The she-troll gasped picking herself up as the heavy breathlessness stole again into my lungs. I put a hand to my chest, trying to breathe deeply enough to fill them; but I couldn't quite manage it.

Seconds later, loud, clanging footsteps thudded on the dirt streets as a gold-clad guardsman came running up. His sword was drawn, his shield up, and his wide, muscular shoulders were tense. That ghastly helmet obscured his face.

"What was that?" He demanded, spotting us. I opened my mouth to snap a sharp retort but I was still breathless, and it took only that small lag for Gerdur to pipe up.

"Haven't you ever heard a hurt animal baying before, boy? There are dragons to worry about! Dragons! Why don't you get back to keeping our homes safe, instead of running scared at every noise?" She accosted him, her fist waving with a much stockier form of matronly fury.

It was oddly effective. The guard sheathed his blade and put his hands up in a placating gesture, murmuring an apology and backing away. I was able to keep my jaw from dropping just long enough for him to get around the corner.

"How did yo—" I started to ask, but was cut off.

"Now look what that fool's done! His clamoring went and scared the poor girl." She griped, falling over my mare seemingly in an effort to pet and pat as much of her as possible. I studied Chestnut critically. She seemed bothered yes, but not scared—a dragon hadn't scared her off, after all. Her flustered attitude was more akin to that I'd seen of ladies who had been interrupted when indecent.

How dare he, that uncouth buffoon, go barging in on the Lady Chestnut while she lay exposed…?

I choked on a laugh, and Gerdur glared at me.

"Hush, girl, all is well." The she-troll murmured. Then, to my surprise—and slight irritation—she began to sing. Softly, as one would a lullaby, in a low, rich voice, hollow and tumbled like the icy waters of the White River rushing over the rocks.

"We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone, for the Age of Oppression is now nearly done. We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own. With our blood and our steel, we will take back our home…"

A song for the Stormcloaks.

I grimaced as Gerdur sang:

"All hail to Ulfric!
You are the High King!
In your great honor we drink and we sing.
We're the children of Skyrim, and we fight all our lives.
And when Sovngarde beckons, every one of us dies!
But this land is ours and we'll see it wiped clean,
of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams.

All hail to Ulfric!
You are the High King!
And in your great honor we drink and we sing…"

Her voice faded away, into the quiet of the night. Chestnut snorted, having gone still as she listened. A loud, boisterous laugh sounded faintly from the inn. Gerdur glanced up at me, and I snarled, turning away.

"Don't sing your damned songs around me, woman. I'll have none of that blasted Stormcloak drivel." I snapped.

"I don't understand," She said as I peered at her from the corner of my eye. "My brother said you were joining the cause. Why would you, if you didn't care?"

"I don't care. I don't care one bloody wit." I hissed at her. "I swore to your brother I'd join the Stormcloaks, and I will. But I did so only because of the debt I owed him, and for the sake of spilling Imperial blood. Nothing more. I would have fought for the Empire just as easily, were the situation different. If I didn't hate the Imperials, and owe my life to Ralof, I wouldn't get involved at all."

"How can you not care? Ulfric's cause is blessed!" She snapped right back. I threw up my hands, croaking out a black chuckle.

"How can I not care about Ulfric's cause? Use what little brain you have Gerdur, instead of being a blind troll like your brother! Do you think a 'Skyrim for the Nords' includes elves? Do you think the worship of your man-god and the honor of your people matter to me? Ha!"

"It's not just about the Nords! It's more than fighting for honor! It's about fighting to be free. We fight so that we can do as we please, so that we can live as we want! Not how the Empire want us to! Not how the Thalmor want us to! We fight for our freedom. Can't you understand that?" She cried, chest heaving. I snarled at her, ready to yell back…and then stopped as her words sunk into my chest like the blade of a knife.

Fighting to be free…Struggling exactly as I am now. Just trying to get out from under the demands of others, trying to stop them from repressing you, taking you, piece by piece. Just fighting to be free…

My shoulders slumped, my face falling from its angry contortion. Chestnut bumped her snout against my side, and one limp hand went out automatically to scratch at her flat brow.

"I can understand." I murmured, very quietly. It seemed a whisper after Gerdur's declarations. "I too fight for my freedom; but the Stormcloaks are not part of that. This 'great honor' of being some figure of Nordic legend, it isn't part of that. I do not wish to be tied to this land. I simply want to wander where I may and enjoy what recklessness I can."

"You want to run away? Like a coward?" Gerdur asked with some mixture of disbelief and dislike, her stance stiff. I shifted slightly, squaring my shoulders.

"No." I said flatly, looking back at the woman. Her eyes widened for some reason. "I want to survive. That defiance is all I have left."

"Defiance of what?" She asked. I shook my head slowly.

"Of the Imperials. Of the Stormcloaks. Of old enemies, and new. Of the dragons. Of time, and infection, and pain. Of all that would have me dead. Of the whole damned world. Anything."

Of her.

"So that's it? You just make everyone and everything an enemy and pick the side that benefits you most?" She seemed appalled; but I cared little.

"Yes. That's exactly it." I replied, raising a hand to forestall her indigence. "Make no mistake, I will keep my word and fight for your brother; but when I feel my due has been paid, I will give no more. I will go as I please."

It was unwise to be so frank with a woman whose aid I required. She needed to be won over, not dissuaded by truths other than her own. Yet I couldn't seem to censor myself.

Evidently, Tact has as much abandoned you this night as Luck. The bastards probably eloped together.

"Damn them…" I muttered, mouth twisting.

"What?" Gerdur asked, brow furrowing. I waved her off.

"Nothing. Look, I need to know if you can take care of her." I patted Chestnut. "I'll pay you for her board and feed, and any cost of medicinal necessities. Please."

"Of course I'll take care of her. It's the least I can do. Besides, Frodnar will love having the chance to see a horse as fine as this girl up close."

"You have my thanks." I sighed, relieved. Reaching for my purse, I pulled out a hefty handful of septims, and then another. Counting out a hundred, I pushed them into her hands.

"This is far more than what's neede—" The she-troll started to protest, but I cut her off again.

"It's for her care. Just see that's she's well." I insisted firmly. Gerdur's lips pressed into a stony line, but she nodded, folding the money into the pockets of her apron.

"Well, get along then. I'll treat and wrap that leg tonight, and get her comfortable. If you need to leave anything from those saddlebags here for safekeeping, you can. I'll keep them locked up."

I almost didn't agree. Honestly though, I had far too much to carry, and I probably wouldn't be sticking around long enough for the Trader to open up in the morning. So I nodded and thanked her once more.

Giving Chestnut one last, tight hug around her thick neck, I pressed a kiss to her muzzle and looked into her big brown eyes.

"Get well, my beauty." I told her, ruffling her mane. She huffed in my face, nuzzling my cheek. Sighing, I stood, my cramped legs tingling, and turned away, hobbling toward the inn.

Contrary to the wolves, it didn't surprise me that Delphine was already back at the Sleeping Giant, dressed normally and sweeping the floors as if she'd never left. She was taking drink orders and nagging at Orgnar and shooting me little barbed looks, all at the same time, just as she had before.

No shock there.

What did surprise me was the quiet. People—less than I'd ever seen of the night crowd in my days here—were talking and laughing, yes, but something was missing.

There was no music.

"Where's Sven?" I demanded of Orgnar, gripping the edge of the bar hard to keep my hands from my daggers. The austere man didn't bother raising an eyebrow or asking after me or anything of the sort. He just reached below the counter and set a bottle of wine in front of me.

"Gone. Left three days ago. Sold all his belongings, bought some armor and a mace from Alvor, burned his lute in the streets, and then took off. Nobody knows what to make of it."

Septims traded places with the wine in seconds. I downed half of it, slamming the bottle back down, and wiped a dribble from my chin. My vision fuzzed, heat flushing through my skull as a blood vessel popped from the stress.

Gone. Deranged, armed, and gone. Damn him to Oblivion! I'm too late. Blood and fire! Blood and blasted fire!

"You want a room?" The barkeeper asked blandly. I glared at him through squinted eyes. He shrugged and slid the familiar key across the smooth wood. I snatched it and stormed off. I would pay in the morning.

The bard is gone. It doesn't matter anymore where I stay.

Slamming the door shut and locking it behind me, I dropped to my knees, checking under the bed. Finding nothing but dust, crumbs, and some slob's old sock, I stood again and unbuckled my blades. Setting my belt across the nightstand, I took off my extremely weighty pack and sat down on the bed, opening it.

Down to business, then…

I began pulling things out, separating them into piles, as I liked: weaponry, armor, potions, scrolls, books, potions, food and ingredients—I definitely didn't want to get those two mixed up—then keys, and lastly miscellaneous items that didn't pertain to any of the above specifically in their usefulness.

The weapons and armor were the smallest groups but also the heaviest, which was not unusual. It just meant carrying only the necessities. That being said, of the weapons, I kept my Imperial bow, one hundred and eighteen iron arrows, eighty steel arrows, and my two sharpened steel daggers.

The rest, including various maces, blades, and the damned Jarl's gifted axe, I set aside. Similarly, I kept only my leathers and the light valuables—circlets, rings, necklaces—from the armor, as well as one clean dress.

The other piles, though much larger, were also much lighter. The food pile, I noted with mixed humor and exasperation, was mostly bread crusts and bottles of wine. I took the time to make a meal—after careful examination—of good breads, cheeses, meats and veggies, picking through and discarding anything moldy or off-putting.

When I finished eating, I wrapped up the remaining foodstuffs tightly, paying special attention to the items that would last a long while should I be waylaid in my journey to the mountains. I would eat anything perishable in the next two or three days.

The scrolls, books, and keys categories had only two items to show for each. I eyed the Book of the Dragonborn with malice, put all six baubles neatly into my pack, and then moved on.

The final two groups were always the most trouble. Potions and ingredients. Generally, as was the case now, this was for several reasons. Potions were always difficult to transport and ration, and were prone to hazardous messiness. Ingredients tended to be cluttered, as they were numerous, and of course, there were damn well a lot of different varieties.

My own stock now was a classic case. Between the Mountain Flowers, Lavender, Imp Stools, Butterfly Wings, Garlic, Fly Amanita, Elves Ear, Mora Topinella, Spider Eggs, and many other things, one tended to get lost. One also tended to mix up the effects each had, especially since no one item would only have a single property; and while skilled herbalists and alchemists could keep track easily, others could not. For this reason, many folk I'd known and fought or traded with organized their supplies based on these properties.

I had been taught differently however. Noting, analyzing, and recalling minute details and facts had been so drilled into me it was now as automatic as breathing. In the event that I truly struggled with something, I wrote it down several times until I did remember, and then burned the scraps. Written knowledge could be stolen and used by another; but your own mind was a treasure vault not even the most arduous torture could break if fortified it correctly.

Not to say that that's necessarily simple, but…

Going about sorting through and cataloging the ingredients took hours. The candle on the bedside table was burning low by the time I finished, having put everything in alphabetical order and wrapped them each on their own in linen to be stowed away.

The last two piles, potions and miscellaneous things, were shoved aside for the morning. My eyes felt heavy as lead, and I wasn't staying up any longer only to make errors in my preparations. That kind of negligence could prove detrimental to my health later on

Checking one last time that the door was locked securely, I stuffed some molten candle wax into the tumbler to deter any lockpicks that may come calling. Then, I pulled off my boots and bracers, and crawled under the sheets. I blew out the candle, pale ribbons of smoke curling like iridescent wraiths as the room was plunged into darkness. In the dimness like that, the ashy scent was comforting.

I lost consciousness before the air had even cleared.

I jerked awake the next morning to what had to be the most Shadows-damned awful singing I'd ever heard in my life. With my ears practically bleeding, I rolled out of bed, stumbled to my door, fumbled with the lock—a mess of frustration of my own creation—and yanked the door open.

"Silence that horrible racket!" I screeched, eyes honing in on the duo standing in front of the bar. It was Delphine and Orgnar. The latter held a fat drum in his arms, and clamped his mouth shut as I spoke. He looked down at Delphine.

"Told you I can't sing." He told her plainly. Delphine's visage darkened.

"And I told you we're going to need music. And you," Her eyes shot to me with all the intensity of thrown spear, as if a single look could skewer. "No one asked for your input."

Evidently, she was frustrated, if the act of well-to-do innkeeper was being disregarded completely. Sadly for her, however, so was I.

"I don't give a damn if you want it or not! Either find someone who doesn't sound like a tortured cat, or leave the silence to its peace! If I hear something that agonizing again, I'll cut out the bastard's vocal cords and be done with it!" I snarled, and then, not waiting for her response, whirled back into my room and slammed the door shut with a satisfying sense of finality.

"As if you could do better!" The muffled retort came from behind the thin wood.

My eye twitched.

I went back out, my bare feet ghosting over the cold floorboards, my leathers creaking subtly.

"You're damn right I could." I hissed at the infuriating woman, coming face to face with her. Her eyes narrowed further. I noticed they were a very dark amber, not unlike those of the hawk she resembled. I wondered, belatedly, if such an intense shade was common to Nords, or if she was another human breed entirely.

"Oh? Then please, show us. Consider it a request." She spat back at me. My lips curled back from my teeth, the ugly snarl visible in my bulbous reflection in Delphine's eyes.

Oh, I'll show you, you insufferable, arrogant, masquerading bitch. You think you can fool me? You can't. And you certainly won't best me now.

I rocked back on my heels, away from Delphine, getting some space. I relaxed my tense shoulders and took a deep breath, conjuring up in my mind the old, apathetic calm of such tiresome performances.

A Dunmeri song wouldn't do here, but I realized, a little late, that the only one of Skyrim's songs I hadn't effectively blocked out whenever I was subjected to them in an inn was the one Gerdur had been lulling Chestnut with last night. Thinking spitefully that the gods were mocking me, I closed my eyes, sending my thoughts back to the proud, rebellious tune and the ice-blooded woman and the cause she so extolled in the night.

"Ahh, haa, ahh, haah, ahh…Ahh, haah, ahh, haa, ahhhh…" My lips fell wide around the sounds, freeing a voice I had left to rot a long time gone. I grounded myself, inhaling again.

"We drink to our youth, to the days come and gone…" I sang softly, lowly, with all the reverence and weight I'd seen in Gerdur's features. It sounded different in my Dunmeri tones, richer and nobler. "For the Age of Oppression is now nearly done…We'll drive out the Empire from this land that we own…with our blood and our steel we will take back our home…"

An image came before my mind's eye. A strong, lithe figure, clad in dark armor, bloody tattoos streaking boldly over his face, a face curved in a smile so full of love and pride.

Father…

"All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King!" The respect, the faith, in my tone was no farce, although not for the man in the song sung. "In your great honor we drink and we sing! We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives! And when Sovngarde beckons every one of us dies…But this land is ours, and we'll see it wiped clean, of the scourge that has sullied our hopes and our dreams…"

Father…

"All hail to Ulfric! You are the High King! In your great honor we drink and we sing! We're the children of Skyrim and we fight all our lives! And when Sovngarde beckons every one of us dies…" I hesitated a second, and then added, "We drink to our youth…to the days come and gone…For the Age of Oppression…is now nearly done…" I finished, my voice fading away in a haunting, hopeful echo.

It wasn't the exact song, but I'd wanted to hear the lines again. To say them for myself. It might have been hidden in a damned rebel's song, sung in a petty challenge only to two idiotic merchants, but all the same. I wanted to declare it: I would be free.

When I opened my eyes, Delphine and Orgnar were staring at me with the most surprise I'd seen on a Nord's stony countenance yet. I felt no sense of triumph, however. Singing the song and saying such things for myself had left little room for else.

There was a creak, and it occurred to me that there was one more person in the room than there'd been when I stood in the doorway of the inn, her eyes fixed on me There was a certain triumph in her expression, the slightest smile on her lips and a faint victory in the height of her brow. Her gaze met mine, and I swore I saw a ruthless, vicious, delighted twinkle.

That…conniving…bitch!

"Shadows and damna—" I half-spat the curse, not even bothering to finish as frustration and something close to embarrassed fury flushed through me. With a furious huff, I spun on my heel and darted back to my room, flinging the door shut for the third time in yet another fit of rage.

It took me an hour of sorting potions, picking through gemstones and wolf pelts and various bits of rubbish, and packing all my things neatly away, organized and categorized, for me to calm down sufficiently; but at the very least, the time was well spent.

Securing the last of the buckles on my armor—I'd taken it off to mend the holes and tears Mirmulnir had made as best I could—I stretched my arms above my head and bent back. The heat and tingly tightness was rewarded with a dull pop as I arched my back, and I straightened up with a relieved sigh. Sitting hunched over for so long really put too many cricks in the body…

Rolling my shoulders, I picked up my pack, enjoying the considerably lighter load, and slipped the straps over my arms. Reaching for the much heavier bundle of things I'd be discarding, I bore it with a grunt and made for the door.

Although my original predictions hadn't included a stop at the Riverwood Trader, the extra time the fiasco in the inn had taken had brought my departure to after its opening hour. So, instead of stashing the things I wouldn't be taking at Gerdur's, I took them to Lucan and sold it all. Irritatingly, the man had only five hundred septims on him, and so I was left with less than I liked for the trade; but still, any money was good money.

My purse heavier and my pack lighter, I made my way quietly to Gerdur's and slipped into the side yard. The little shelter normally given to their bull was now Chestnut's residence, and it was there I found her sleeping on her side. Her leg was neatly wrapped with pristine bandages, and the swelling from the night seemed to have gone down. She snorted softly in her sleep, the burst of air half-lifting some strands of hay by her nostrils.

I took a breath, sniffling the littlest bit, and then smiled. Reaching down, I lightly drew my fingers through her dark mane. She snorted again, stirring slightly. I stilled, not wanting her to wake. If those bright, big eyes looked at me again, this would be that much more bittersweet

"Shhh…" I breathed. Thinking swiftly, I continued stroking her, and began a quiet refrain. It had, after all, lulled her before. "We drink to our youth…to the days come and gone…For the Age of Oppression…is now nearly done… Shhh girl…shhh…"

She let out a deep sigh, straw lifting on the air, and relaxed once more. I smiled a bit, twisting a few strands of hair as the sun crept a little higher in the east. The door of the house creaked to my left, and I closed my eyes, knowing it was time to be gone.

"Blessings to you, brave beauty. May you have every happiness." I murmured, and then pulled my hand back and stood. "Goodbye, my friend."

When I turned and walked past the door, it wasn't Gerdur standing there as I had expected, or even her husband, but their son—Frodnar, she'd called him. I hadn't actually seen the boy before, and stopped, studying him. He had pale blonde hair and dark eyes, a round, whitish face, and wide shoulders. He was a miniature troll in his own right. The boy watched me, looking somewhat sleepy but not bedraggled, as if he'd already been up awhile. Considering the tougher lifestyle, he and all his family probably rose very early to begin work. Maybe he was sent to tend the animals before breakfast.

As I stared at the boy, he stared right back. His babyish—but still definitely trollish—face scrunched slightly in mischievous curiosity, and he tilted his head, his short, sandy hair curling around his little ears.

"That's your horse, right? What happened to it? Did you get in a fight with bandits? Or some soldiers? My Uncle Ralof said you were one of his comrades. Have you killed many Imperials? Can I see your sword?" The litany of questions spewed forth so rapidly I could hardly process one before the other. I narrowed my eyes at him, but one resisted, twitching in its usual, irritated tick. I settled for crossing my arms over my chest and leveling him a black look instead.

"Boy, you need to scurry on back to your mother before I strap you to the mill's waterwheel." I said warningly, annoyance clear in my tone. He scrunched his nose at me.

"You're new here, so I'll go easy on ya, but talk to me like that and you'll get on my bad side. I'll prank ya. And not a little. A lot." The boy retorted in childish challenge, and I snorted out a laugh. Annoying, and bound for a ditch somewhere…but a spunky little ingrate.

"Boy, there are worse things than petty pranks. You can puff up your little chest at me when you've lived another fifty years and killed a few hundred men." I said patronizingly, watching amusedly as he grew red in the face.

"So what if you've done all that? I nailed a septim to Lucan's doorstep, glued a cow's udders shut, and put bugs in the stew at the inn. I'll get you too!"

At the image of Lucan Valerius stooped over and struggling for hours to pull a gold piece from the ground, I couldn't help but burst out laughing. It was loud in the early morning quiet, and I reigned myself in quickly to a wicked smirk and a snorted chuckle.

"You're not bad, kid." I told the boy. Remembering one of his earlier requests, I untied one of the iron daggers I hadn't been able to sell at the Trader from my belt and tossed it to him. He yelped, fumbling to get a hold of the weapon without it slipping from its leather sheath. His pale gray eyes widened wonderingly.

Already doing better on those reflexes than the troll. Might be hope for you yet, little-troll. Huh…Troll, she-troll, and little-troll. Does the husband count…? Hmm…He can be the troll-in-law; or no, the he-troll…yea that'll do…

"I…can have this?" He sounded genuinely delighted, his brattish grimace lighting up.

"Yea, kid. Just don't tell your mother where you got it. And take care of my horse really well, you hear? Her name's Chestnut."

"Y-yea! I will! Thanks!" He smiled hugely, and I decided it was now far past time to be gone. Children and joy in general—when unrelated to things like money and misfortune, anyways—made my skin crawl if I was in contact for more than a handful of minutes; like with various species of insects, or a whole array of poisonous plants…

"See ya, kid." I muttered, waving my hand at him in dismissal as I turned to go.

"See ya around! I'll take care of Chestnut real good, promise!" He called.

I allowed myself another small smile, content with the thought that my mare would be looked after. As I rounded the corner and came back onto the North road though, I returned my expression to a neutral one, passing the smith as he emerged from his home with perfect indifference.

Still though, my steps felt sure as I strode purposefully out of the hamlet and up the road. All distractions from foolhardy Jarls to wounded horses to questionable innkeepers were pushed aside at last. There was, for the moment, only the twisting, sloping path before me and my goal high in the distant peaks' heights.

The last few days had been chaos and madness and questions in a nonsensical, inane, chimerical deluge; but now the downpour had finally subsided, and I had a light in the distance to run for.

I paused before the cluster of Standing Stones, looking deep into the horizon at the enormous, snow-covered mountain that speared the sky like a shining pike. There, before me, my answers waited.

I walked on.

A/N: Crack chapter is cracktastic. I loved writing this one, haha. Had lots of laughs. Hope you guyd enjoyed it too. ;)

Next up, High Hrothgar! (Sort of) :D