Hullo, everybody! It's here, the first of instance of Rontu appearing as a man. I haven't decided whether it's permanent or not, but just to clarify, she's only changed her face, not her genitalia or anything. And she doesn't look bad. At all. So worry not, my friends. I look forward to the reviews, and I hope you enjoy. -LR

It was snowing.

The sky was a white canvas blotted with brief grey clouds and the sun brightened some over others.

I took in the view of the Stormcloak capital, Windhelm from my position on a nearby hill. I had finally made up my mind on where to go. Even though it was just North of Riften, it provided the perfect hiding spot. Brynjolf hopefully believed that I wanted to be as far enough away from him as humanly possible, and would search farther than I had gone.

I was right over his nose, technically speaking.

I spurred my horse on towards the city, trying to ignore the irony that despite literally being warmer than I had ever been in Skyrim, in terms of clothing, I had never been more cold.

In order to travel better in disguise, I had left my Hammerfell clothes in Riften, having traded them in for things my brother purchased: steel armor and a big, dark blue wool scarf to replace my blue, cotton Alik'r hood. I often had to rub my eyes, because Galathil had given me glass lenses to make it seem like my pupils held color. They itched like hell, and I couldn't really see anything.

But it was worth it.

I brought my mare to heel at the Windhem stables, ignoring the cold and calculating stares of the Nord guards. I sighed and draped the navy scarf around my shoulders and face in the fashion of an Alik'r hood.

All this time I'd been complaining about the attitudes towards foreigners in this land, and here I was, walking into the City of Racist Fucks.

Nice, Rontu. Nice.

I left my horse with them, paying for a rubdown and a place for Allie's tack. Then, I headed into the city, Father's Will strapped to my back. It was gray and grim, many of the people wearing rags and living in the slums. Even with my glass lenses, I noticed the harassment of a grey elf by Nord residents, and still more cold stares directed at me.

Then, came the whispers.

"Yea, I see 'im. He'll be here to take our gold, and our women, most like."

I blushed furiously, tightening my grip on my duffel bag.

I hadn't asked for anything special; I just wanted to be turned into a man. Galathil had said "Beauty or hideous deformity". She turned me into. . .well. . .a pretty boy.

I continued walking, trying desperately to not make eye-contact with anyone, until I reached my destination: the Hall of Kings.

Joining the Stormcloaks had been Paia's idea.

She figured if we helped the Nords to overthrow the Aldmeri Dominion, and eventually, if we succeeded, they would help overthrow the elves in Hegathe.

It was a stretch, yes. . .but it wasn't like I had anyplace else to go.

I reached the peak of the stairs and started walking towards the heavy doors.

"Hey." I stopped, turning my head slightly towards the voice behind me. A guard. "What's your purpose here?"

"I want to join the Stormcloaks," I said simply. He was silent, so I continued walking towards the doors to the Hall of Kings.

"Wait," came another voice. I stopped again, sighed and turned to face them. There was, indeed, two Stormcloak soldiers watching me. "You can't join the Stormcloaks."

"And how's that?"

"A frail thing like you? Just how old are you, boy?"

"Old enough," I retorted. I gave them my back, only to come face-to-face with another guard who had materialized in front of the doors. "You're in my way."

"Your way is behind you."

"Come back when you've some muscle on your sword arm."

This comment made them all laugh, and I stepped forward. The soldier before me gripped the hilt of his blade, and their laughter ended.

"Don't make me repeat myself."

I narrowed my eyes, flexing my fingers. I couldn't kill these men; that wouldn't do at all. But that didn't mean that I would leave, or let them kill me.

"Make a move, boy. We're waiting on you."

Just as they began to advance, and I dropped my duffel, a fourth Nord voice boomed out.

"WHAT DO YOU FOOLS THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

The men whirled around to face the intruder, while I let my heart rate slow down.

"Ralof," the second man blurted. "We were-"

"Shut up, Kieran," snarled the blond-haired Nord. He carried his helmet in the crook of his arm and was his armor was decorated in honors. "I'd be damned if I couldn't figure it out." He turned his blue gaze on me. "Come with me, lad. You claim you want to be a Stormcloak." I gave a nod and he turned to others. "And who are you to deny him? Nolan? Bjorn? Kieran?" He gave the others a lingering look before clapping me on the shoulder. "You're with me, lad."

He disappeared inside the Hall of Kings.

I snatched up my bag, giving each of the three Stormcloaks a glance of my own before following behind Ralof.

"Thank you," I said after catching up to him.

"You don't owe me thanks," he smiled. "But tell me, lad: what did you intend to do if I hadn't come along? Kill them?"

"Nothing like that," I said with a small smile. "I figured I'd just seriously incapacitate them."

"And then join them as a Stormcloak?" He chuckled. "You're funny lad. We could use someone like you in our resistance. That is, of course, if Galmar allows it."

Galmar Stone-Fist was the opposition I anticipated, coming into the Stormcloaks. I'd heard tell of foreign soldiers who'd had trouble joining up. They recalled having to harvest the teeth of an Ice Wraith, just as any Nord had to.

I harvested the teeth of two Ice Wraiths. Just in case he needed persuasion.

As I mentioned before, I looked scrawny for a man, and pretty. I'd be skeptical of me, too.

"You mean to join us then, boy?"

Galmar Stone-Fist was a gruff giant of a man, made for battle. His age did nothing to deter his size, strength and skill, it only implied his experience in warfare. He wore the bear-skin pelt of a Stormcloak commander with pride.

"Yes. I do."

I had been trying to keep my responses as brief as humanly possible to prevent anyone from doubting my gender from my voice. I was starting to realize that it made me appear short and blunt and rude. I didn't mind it; it would ward people off, keep them from learning my secret.

Galmar seemed to consider that persona now.

"Well. I expect it of any Nord soldier to take an Ice Wraith's teeth to prove himself. I suppose it's only fair to ask the same of you."

I held out the bag of teeth.

"You expect it. And I deliver."

The corners of Galmar's mouth seemed to turn up, but I couldn't really be sure. He gestured for Ralof to take the bag and then to empty it.

"You don't like to waste time. I respect that." He approached the long table of the hall, where the pile of teeth lay, and inspected one. "Well. I've no reason to reject you now, boy. Don't give me a reason."

I nodded.

"Ralof," Galmar called, and the soldier stepped forward and took my duffel.

"Follow me," he said. "I'll show you to the barracks."

There was nothing but animosity between myself and the other Stormcloaks.

Even when I was in the room, I could hear the comments and snide remarks. But to me, it was just more of the same. In Hegathe, I had been judged and jeered at while training because I was a girl. So at least this was something familiar.

I was unpacking my bag when the three soldiers from before towered over me.

"So Ralof showed you around?" Kieran said smirking. I remembered him by his voice, and now I saw that he had long chestnut brown hair and dark brown eyes and wore his beard trimmed down. He was obviously the leader.

"He did."

"And did he show you the training ground?"

I cast him a wary glance.

"Is this the part where you're supposed to?"

"You're not as stupid as I expected. For a pretty boy, I mean. " This from Nolan. He had short-cropped blond hair and green eyes, and was lithe where his friends were powerfully built. I wasn't sure, but I assumed he was allowed to remain due to his smarts.

"Enough!" Bjorn bellowed. He was obviously all brawn and no brains; a true man mountain of wild black hair, beard and eyes. "This little prick wants to be a soldier, well let's get right down to it."

"You'll forgive Bjorn," Kieran smiled. "He's just anxious." He crossed his arms. "I guess you'll be wanting to see the training field then."

I sighed.

But still, I grabbed my Father's Will.

"In battle, you must be ready to anticipate anything," Keiran was saying, as he paced around me. "Even, for example, being surrounded by opponents."

He drew two steel swords and turned them expertly in his hands; a dual-wielder. Nolan was equipped with a longbow and iron arrows. Bjorn grinned wickedly and gripped his war-hammer in both hands.

"You're sure you want to use real weapons?"

"Do they use wooden swords on the field?" Nolan countered. "When you're taken down, stay down. Those are the only rules."

I sighed for the umpteenth time that day, and withdrew Father's Will from my back.

A group of spectators had gathered around us, and Ralof pushed to the front.

He glanced from them to me and back. . .yet did nothing. It took me a moment, but I knew why. I was a man now. And the only constant factor about men was always having to prove that they were men.

The glass lenses were burning now, but I didn't dare take them out. My eyesight was betraying me, so I shut my eyes, and focused on my other senses.

"GRAAAAAAAAAHHH!"

Bjorn. It had to be. He was the type to announce his attack with either the loudness of his movements, or by his own excitement to fight. He was behind me and had advanced two steps, so I moved five steps forward; his swing would definitely count for two.

True to form, I heard and felt the thud of his war-hammer behind me. I would have to retaliate now, while he had just finished hefting that thing about, so I did. I retraced my steps and jabbed backwards with the hilt of my greatsword with all my might, until I heard him grunt and double over.

Just as he did, I heard Nolan's breath hitch to my left: he must have been notching an arrow. I only knew that because Paia had the same habit of holding her breath before taking a shot. I advanced on him, hopping lightly to my left, and then to my right so he'd never be able to place a clean shot.

I was also effectively backing him into a corner. When I was close enough, I opened my eyes to find him aiming directly at my head, and ducked down, flipped my sword, grasping it by the blade, and slid the hilt between his stance. I tugged on it hard, effectively tripping him over the handle, and he lurched forward, feet first.

Now only Keiran was left.

The dual-wielder had hung back to get a sense of how I moved; he was smarter than I'd given him credit for. Now, he lunged.

I was on the defensive, blocking attack after attack with my greatsword as his blades came at me in a flurry of movement; I was running out of ideas.

My blade was longer than his; he couldn't do me any damage if I kept my distance. I tried to move, but he followed. I would have to take the offensive. I backed away as quickly as I could while drawing my sword up to its full height above me before bringing it down hard.

As expected, he leapt away, and I recovered quickly and came up swinging. Once left. Once right. Once left. Once right. It was taking a lot of stamina, but it wouldn't be much longer before I ended this. When he next backed away, I jumped forward instead of swinging again, one hand gripping the hilt of my sword and the other gripping the blade.

Keiran was shocked at this; it wasn't the move he was anticipating, and as I hit him, his blades dropped to the ground.

I sat on his stomach with my blade poised at his throat, the both of us heaving for breath. His brown eyes searched mine bitterly, bewilderedly. I stepped off and away from him, re-sheathed the blade, and stalked off the field.

My footfalls were my only accompaniment; the audience had long-since been shocked into silence.

"Here you are!"

A buxom tavern girl placed a mead before me with such a sugary tone that I wanted to choke her.

"I didn't order one."

"No, you didn't," came Bjorn's booming voice. "We did."

My once solitary table was now surrounded by other soldiers, brusquely pulling their chairs up alongside mine in Candlehearth Hall.

"Bjorn," I said, perplexed. "Nolan. Kieran." Each man grunted a greeting at his name. "What are you doing here?"

"We were hard on you," Kieran shrugged. "And sorry for it. We talked down to you and treated you unlike a warrior. That was wrong."

"Especially since you knocked the three of us on our arse," Bjorn grunted.

"In truth, it was Ralof's idea," Nolan smiled, as he and Ralof joined us. "He mentioned you were up here, so we decided to join you."

"Hey! More mead, and a meal here for Master, eh. . ." Bjorn looked at me quizzically. "What is your name, anyway?"

"Damn," Ralof muttered. "Even I didn't ask."

"It's. . ." I chuckled to myself. "My name is Na'el."

"Na'el," Bjorn nodded. He cupped his hands around his mouth and bellowed again. "All that shit I said for Master Na'el! Good to meet you."

"Yes, well met."

"Nice to meet you, brother."

"Well met, Na'el."

"So, what's your story?" Kieran asked, sipping his mead. "You're a Redguard aren't you?" I nodded. "And, where from?"

"Hegathe."

"Hegathe," he repeated. "The damn elves took over there, too. What brings you here?"

"I-Well, I was looking for. . .someone." I was stumbling over my words and thoughts. I had no idea what to tell my new brothers, or how much.

"Ah," Bjorn nodded. "A girl, most like."

Sure, let's go with that.

"Y-yes. A girl. She escaped Hegathe with her friend. Now, it's. . .just a matter of finding her."

"What's she like, this girl?" Kieran asked.

"She's. . .very proud. Sometimes stubborn. She puts family above all, and she misses Hegathe. She's also hurting, in her heart."

"Some other man beat you to her," Nolan inferenced.

I nodded.

"Yeah. . . I suppose he did," I mused. "After that, she'd had to. . .separate from me. And I'm afraid I'll never see her face again."

"What's her name?" Ralof asked.

"Rontu."

I blurted it out without thinking.

"Pretty," Nolan nodded approvingly. "I believe it means 'Wolf Eyes', does it not?"

I was impressed.

"Yes, yes it does."

"And what about your name?" Bjorn pressed. "What does 'Na'el' mean?"

"'Na'el'?" This brought me back to the reason I'd chosen it, and I grinned. "Na'el means 'Toothless'."

They laughed uproariously, causing me to grin in return.

"I'm sure it ain't your real name," Kieran chucked. "But it's good enough for us. Bjorn here had to change his, too, out of embarrassment."

"Keiran, don't you dare-" the big Nord warned.

"What was it before?"

"It was-"

"It were Agatha," Bjorn ground out, and the others fell to pieces around him. "If it's going to be said, I'll have it said on my own terms, damn you."

Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the tavern girl returning with a few friends, and my new brothers prepared to receive them.

"Oh-ho. Look out lad. Seems like Susanna's taken a liking to yeh." Bjorn straightened up in his seat like some excitable school boy, grinning like a fool. "Suzie!" he boomed. "Why haven't you been to see me."

"I see you too often, if you want to be honest," she smiled slyly, and turned to me. "Hello, handsome." Oh, shit. "Haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"

"Na'el."

I kept my face as stoic as humanly possible, but I was dying of laughter on the inside. This was too. Fucking. Hilarious.

"Na'el. . ." she tried, and the other girls swooned. Swooned? Sighed? I don't fucking know. "Just Na'el? No surname?"

"Na'el's enough for me."

Gods damnit, I seemed like some dark, mysterious stranger! And, if these women were like any of those I had known in Hegathe, then they each thought they were the one to bring me to my knees.

Fat chance.

"Where are you from?" asked a leggy brunette from Bjorn's lap. From Bjorn's lap, yes, but her blue eyes were fixed on me.

"Hegathe," Kieran said for me. "He's in Skyrim searching for his lady love. They've been separated."

"Cock-blocker!" Bjorn fake-coughed.

Nolan eyed his friend quizzically.

"I'm sorry, d'yeh want him to be unfaithful?" he asked.

"Man's gotta do what a man's gotta do," Bjorn shrugged. "The woman shouldn't have let this pretty bastard out of her sight."

"Hear, hear," piped up the quiet redheaded leaning against Nolan. She raised her brows at me. I stared intently into my drink.

"Funny, Greta, I never pegged you for the foreign-loving type," Susanna remarked. The games had officially begun, and I was ready to be entertained.

"Well, Suzie, you know how it is. When I see something I like. . ." he eyes flicked pointedly at me. ". . .I go for it. Especially when it looks as good as he does."

"Elaborate, friend."

"He's got a strong jaw. His eyes are angular, they're exotic. I like his hair color, too, that reddish brown. And he's not so brash and big as these Nords; he's slim, and quick. He watched where the others talk. Quiet-like."

"And then, there's always his face," the brunette pointed out. "I've never seen eye-lashes that long on a boy before. Pretty eyes, pretty lips. He's got a handsome nose, too. And I like his scars," she said, referencing the cut above my brow and the symmetrical long lines cut onto my cheeks.

"Don't forget his piercings, Falla," Suzie mused, studying me. I had five in each ear, and a septum in my nose and one through an eyebrow.

I should have known better than to give Galathil free reign over my face.

"That's enough, girls," Kieran laughed. "You're making our friend uncomfortable. It's alright, Na'el; finish your food. We'll protect you."

This made the whole table erupt in loud, resonating laughter,

So loud, we almost didn't hear the scream.

Immediately, Kieran, Nolan, Ralof, Bjorn and I shared a look before jumping up from the table and sprinting outside. We followed the sound of raised voices to the decrepit cemetery of Windhelm, the guards, the mortified crowd and the girl's body.

"What's happened here?" Ralof demanded. "You. Elias. Speak."

"It's the Butcher," Elias replied hoarsely. "He's killed her. He's killed the Shatter-shield girl."

"Ye gods," Nolan breathed. "Kieran. . ."

"Which one?" Kieran ground out. Elias opened and closed his mouth. "Which one, damn you?"

We heard the howling scream again and turned to see two young women clinging to each other and sobbing. Kieran ran towards them immediately.

"Gods damnit-" Bjorn cursed, running after him. "Kieran!"

"What's wrong?" I asked. I didn't understand.

"It's Nilsine," Nolan said quietly, watching after Kieran and Bjorn. "Nilsine Shatter-Shield. Kieran's sweet on her. She's a twin. Elias only gave the surname. He could've killed either girl."

"Apparently not," Ralof observed as Kieran drew one of the women into his arms. "The gods are cruel. But not so cruel. It's the other, Friga Shatter-Shield, that he's killed."

"Who's he?"

"He?" Nolan turned his eyes on me. "He's the Butcher, Windhelm's resident serial killer. With all our effort going towards the war, he's been our own domestic issue. He only kills women."

I shuddered and suddenly felt damn grateful that I had been turned into a man. I had thought to return to Rontu and explain everything at some point. But I wasn't so sure of that now. I'd have to warn Paia as well, when she caught up with me. She was supposed to come when the Guild got wind of Mercer.

"Does Galmar know of this?" I asked.

"Everyone knows of this," Ralof answered. "But we don't have the time or resources to prevent the Butcher's killings."

"We're still in training," I reasoned. "We have time. It's not like we're rushing off to battle."

"We will be, soon enough," Ralof said, looking towards Kieran and Bjorn. "He returns tonight."

"Really?" Nolan broke his own stare and focused his gaze on him. "You lie."

"Who returns tonight?"

"Unless our companion does have a silver tongue," Nolan said, watching Ralof warily."Then we should be expecting Ulfric Stormcloak. If I recall correctly, hadn't you been with the company, brother?"

"I was," Ralof said. He began to study his hands. "But something happened. Something I was told not to speak about until Ulfric's return. Now that he's come, I suppose it's about time to tell it." His gaze lifted. "Get Kieran and Bjorn. Meet me back at Candlehearth Hall. I will tell you everything."

"We were ambushed by Imperials along the East March borders." Ralof stood before the hearth in the inn, his back facing us as we sat around him. "Us Stormcloaks, a thief called Lokir and another man called. . ." He narrowed his eyes. "Funny, I never got his name. He was caught in the fray unawares, I expect. We didn't claim him, and neither did the Imperials. Anyway, we were captured and sent to Helgen for execution."

"Ye gods," Bjorn breathed.

"My thoughts exactly. The thief Lokir tried to run and got an arrow for it. The rest of us were all lined up for Sovngarde when the unthinkable occurred. . .the unthinkable!" Ralof's eyes had widened beyond belief and his tongue seemed to have thickened in his mouth; he was shell-shocked.

"Well, speak, man! Speak!"

Bjorn's booming voice shook him out of it, and he continued.

"It was-I saw-a dragon. A dragon attack Helgen!"

My blood went cold.

"By the Nine!"

"You lie!"

"What happened then?"

"In the confusion we managed to escape. I was separated from Ulfric and the company and found myself in the thick of it with. . .blast it, I'll just call the man Nameless. The dragon was having the time of his life, roasting Helgen. A big bastard he was, and black, blacker than any starless night. Blacker than coal. Blacker than darkness itself it seemed."

"How did you manage to escape?"

"Through the keep. I even met Hadvar, the traitorous prick. How he could side with those Imperial dogs I will never understand. But I digress." He sipped his ale and continued. "Nameless and I made it into the keep and I cut his bindings and asked him could he swing a sword. Gunjar's body -you remember Gunjar, don't you- his body was there; he'd been slain. Nameless claimed he was alright, so seeing as Gunjar no longer needed his gear, he took it."

"No one blames you, brother," Nolan reassured him softly. "I would've done the same."

"Thank you, brother," Ralof said grimly. "We surprised some Imperials who'd made it, too, and I'll be damned if he hadn't undersold how good he was. We made short work of them and headed downstairs where we found a torture room and met up with some of the company; Liza, Germond, Alfonse and Orel. We stuck into some more Imperials later, and Nameless and I were separated from the others again. At some point, we faced frostbite spiders and a cave bear. We left none alive and escaped to Riverwood where Gerdur took care of us."

"Gerdur, your sister Gerdur?" Bjorn questioned.

"Yes, my-" Ralof's eyes narrowed. "Yes, my married sister Gerdur, you block-headed bastard."

"Don't let him distract you," Kieran said, after kicking Bjorn under the table. "Say your piece."

"I knew I needed to lay low. But I also knew that Riverwood wasn't safe with such a flimsy guard against a dragon. So I asked the man I'd escaped with to warn the Jarl of Whiterun."

"And did he?"

"I. . .I don't know. He said he would, but it was. . .I dunno, sardonic. Like he couldn't care less about the lives of innocent people. I don't want to seem like I'm holding it over his head, but I gave him a place to stay! Damn him, he should've. . .that's my sister! My family! I-"

Ralof cut himself off in evident frustration.

"What sort of man. . ." Nolan started, and exhaled. We all silently agreed not to give this bastard a second thought. "It's all true, then? About the dragon?"

"It's as true as I stand here before you," Ralof argued. "Dragons have returned to the world! And you know what comes with them. You know what the portents say."

"And the Scrolls have foretold,/ Of black wings in the cold," Nolan recited, staring into the flames.

"That when brothers wage war come unfurled./ Alduin, bane of Kings, ancient shadow unbound,/ With a hunger to swallow the world."

We sat in silence,the weight of the words upon us.

"We're all going to die," Bjorn reported good-naturedly. "Oh, well. I suppose a dragon's more deserving of my death than some limp-dicked Imperial."

The others began to laugh. I shook my head in disbelief. Not even a dragon could dampen their spirits.

"You've been quiet, Na'el," Keiran observed smilingly. "Dragon got your tongue?"

That set them off again.

"But seriously, friend," Ralof said. "Tell us: what troubles you?"

"The dragon, what else?" I admitted. "What does it mean? Is this the end? Can it be stopped?"

"The singers seemed to think so," Nolan grinned. "The rest of the song goes: But a day, shall arise, when the dark dragon's lies/ Will be silenced forever and then./ Fair Skyrim will be free from foul Alduin's maw,/ Dragonborn be the savior of men."

"And does he exist?" I asked, my heart pumping uncontrollably. "This Dragonborn? Is he here?"

"I dunno," Bjorn said, stifling his laughter. "Why don't we ask him?"

My brothers in arms started cackling again, and I sighed. This was going nowhere.

"I suppose he must, if Ralof speaks true. And I know he does," Kieran said. "So, don't fret, Na'el. Your lady love is safe."

I wanted to smile. Really, I did. But it wasn't my blasted lady love I was concerned about.

She wasn't the one who'd had her tea dregs bind her fate to a flying inferno's.

"Ralof," I called, another thought suddenly plaguing me.

"What's on your mind?"

"If the Stormcloaks- I mean, if we win the war, what happens to Ulfric?"

"Hm," Ralof thought on this, stroking his beard. "I suppose he'll be labeled 'usurper' by those still loyal to the Imperials. But ultimately, he'll ascend to the throne. Ulfric will be High King." He paused. "Are you alright, Na'el? You've gone pale."

This caused more uproarious laughter from my companions.

"A Redguard pale indeed!" Bjorn howled.

But I had paled, because it was all falling into place.

A shadow. Now a king. And soon enough. . .a dragon.

I thought on Ralof's words as I exited the Hall, leaving them to their jokes. I looked up at the starless sky and tried to imagine something, anything, darker than it.

I still can't.