(AN: Surprisingly enough, I have read the account of the Great War [twice] and it seemed, to me, that the Empire did soundly beat the Altmeri Dominion...and then gave the Thalmor the right to play gestapo/inquisitor throughout their lands, kidnapping anyone who worshiped Talos...from their homes, and in the dead of the night! But that's apparently justified because slavery to fear is much better than an honorable death in battle.)

(I can't answer about Mjoll, not yet. Once we get out of Windhelm [which I might do in this chapter, just because you've been so patient so far], I'll give you an explanation [try to stave off a flashback as long as possible, lol])

(I've been suffering from more than just sickness lately, but I tried really hard to get a new update for this story out and here it is!)

A Convenient Time

Eirik the Dragonborn and Mjoll the Lioness spent the night in the Candlehearth Hall, in one of the rooms. As before, they had some trouble with where they would sleep. She wanted to give Eirik the bed and Eirik would not see Mjoll sleep on the floor while he had the bed all to himself. While Eirik had nothing against sharing the bed, she was still adamant about keeping them separate. While she would not say why, Eirik never really pressed the subject. It was stupid to argue over a bed, so in the end, he chose to sleep on the floor.

When morning came again, they got dressed, had an early breakfast, then left Candlehearth to walk the streets of Windhelm on their way to the Palace of Ysgramor, called now the Palace of the Kings. It was magnificent, even by Nordic standards. The tallest building in the castle, it was made of stone, but had wooden roofs in the stave fashion, though their walls were made of cold, hard stone. Past a great gate there was a courtyard, also of stone, with a single fire-pit in the midst of the courtyard near to the outer gate. They paused momentarily by the fire to warm themselves, for Windhelm was in the North, open to the harsh winds of the ultimate north, from whose fury they, unlike the rest of Skyrim, were unprotected by mountains and forests.

Once they were adequately warmed, for the time being, they turned instead towards the great carved doors of the palace and the guards pushed the doors open to allow them entrance. The hall was long, made of stone and, like the rest of the city, cold. There were a few torches upon the walls, but they only gave off light in the expansive room. There was a long table in the middle of the room that led to a stone dais against the wall on the far side of the hall. Upon that dais stood a throne, and on that throne sat a bear of a man, with long hair and beard of similar color to Eirik. He was clad like a jarl and held himself like one. This was Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the Stormcloak rebellion.

"Hail, my lord!" Eirik said, bowing before Ulfric.

"Well met, warrior," Ulfric said. Even his voice was deep and booming, like that of a bear. "When I heard you were back in Windhelm, I summoned you here at once. Since you last left us, there have been no reports from the front about preparations for the attack on Whiterun."

Standing still at Eirik's right-hand side was Mjoll, who had not been introduced. She noticed a pained look on Eirik's face when the jarl mentioned Whiterun.

"I have been busy with other matters, my lord," Eirik replied.

"What could be more important than the liberation of Skyrim, kinsman?" Ulfric asked.

"My lord, if I may be so bold, the threat of the dragons is still very pressing," Eirik stated. "I have delayed the preparations for the siege of Whiterun only insomuch that I have not yet found a convenient time for such pursuits."

"As I well know," Ulfric continued. "However, my patience has its limits. The siege must take place before the end of Sun's Dusk, before the heavy snows of winter set in around the Gap of Whiterun. This means preparations must commence by the end of this month, no later, or we will have to postpone the siege. We cannot let the Empire bolster their own strength through the winter. You, my friend, must make a choice, and soon!"

"Yes, my lord," Eirik bowed again.

"Who is this strong young woman at your side, kinsman?" Ulfric asked, casting his eyes upon the Nordic woman at Eirik's right.

"This is Mjoll, a vassal of the Jarl of Riften," Eirik said. "She is a mighty and peerless warrior."

"Ah, one of Laila's subjects," Ulfric smiled, stroking his beard. "Welcome to Eastmarch. What brings you to Windhelm?"

"I have come seeking help, jarl," Mjoll began. "The city of Riften is beset on all sides: theft and murder assault the people from without and corruption rots the city from within. I ask you to intervene on behalf of the loyal subjects of Riften."

Ulfric stroked his beard pensively for a moment. "Hmm, I'm sure Jarl Laila would have different things to say," he said at last. "Corruption? There are rumors of dubious actions in Riften, but can you prove them? If there were any proof of these rumors, then perhaps..."

"You want proof, my lord?" Eirik spoke up. "Jarl Laila has spoken in my own ears that she would help her people if she had more money, as most of it, she claims, is being used for the war effort. I ask you this: just how much money have you received from the Jarl of Riften?"

Once again, Ulfric paused in thought. He then called for his steward. A Nord in fine clothes approached and bowed before Ulfric.

"Jorleif," Ulfric said. "Tell me, how much have we received from Riften as far as supplying the war effort?"

"None, my lord," Jorleif replied. "The jarl's stewardess told us that the jarl has suspended funding the Stormcloaks as she is currently seeking to support the people of Riften in their faltering conditions."

Ulfric grumbled. "This is a strange tale, to be sure. The Jarl tells me that she is supplying the war effort, yet her stewardess says otherwise. Likely it is the stewardess' fault, damn elves!" He turned back to Eirik and Mjoll. "As long as it does not interfere with your own contributions to the war effort, I want you to investigate this Bosmeri stewardess, Anuriel. Regardless of her personal feelings towards me, Jarl Laila is still loyal to the rebellion and she must do her part."

"But, lord..." Mjoll began, but Ulfric raised his hand in interruption.

"Perhaps this is the corruption of which you seek?" Ulfric asked. He then turned to Eirik. "You may go now, but have a care that you remember where your loyalties truly lie."

"Yes, my lord." Eirik bowed, then turned and made his way out of the cold, stone hall. At his side walked Mjoll, eager to be going someplace warmer.

They had left Windhelm behind and were on their way west, following the White River that would lead them to the Gap of Whiterun. The only way across the river this far west would be the towers of Valtheim. They had hoped that they would make it out of Eastmarch without incident, and so far they had met few on the snow roads along the northern border of the River. Nevertheless, Mjoll had her ax out and resting on her shoulder as they walked.

"Eirik, may I ask you a question?"

"Anything," he said, fearing that she was about to break into another tale of her many adventures.

"When we were in the palace, before the Jarl," she began. "You seemed agitated, especially when he mentioned Whiterun. What was that for?"

Eirik laughed.

"What's so funny?" she replied.

"You ask me serious questions," he stated. "Yet you won't answer any of mine about you."

"That's different," she said. "The details of my life are private and personal."

"And mine aren't?" he replied with a smirk.

"No, that's not what I meant," she replied. "I only meant that, well, a warrior's first service is to the honor and duty of his lord, and yet you are shirking your duties to Jarl Ulfric. Why is that?"

He sighed. "Because what he asks of me is something I cannot do."

"Why not?"

"Because he wants me to take his ax to Balgruuf in Whiterun," Eirik began. "From what he's told me, it would force Balgruuf to make a decision he has been avoiding for a long time: whether to accept the ax and join the Rebellion, or reject it and declare war on the Stormcloaks. I fear he will reject it, and war will come."

"But are you not desirous to end the Empire's tyranny?" Mjoll asked.

"Aye, with all my heart," Eirik replied. "But not at the expense of honor. Balgruuf is a good man, even if he overlooked certain...things."

"What things?" Mjoll asked again.

"That is another tale for another time," Eirik said. "Nevertheless, Balgruuf is a good and honorable man, he made me Thane of Whiterun. I cannot betray him now. Honor is a great thing to me, Mjoll, but what must one do when honor and duty no longer go hand in hand?"

She did not respond, for just then, three rather ill-kept men appeared on the road before them, just within a bow-shot of the towers of Valtheim. Eirik did not reach for his sword just yet, for he saw, on the top of each tower, two others with arrows fitted into their bows.

"Hail, good travelers!" one of the men said with a smile. "This here's a toll bridge, the Valtheim towers. Gotta pay the toll to get across here."

"Bollocks!" Mjoll growled, hands gripping the shaft of her ax. "I'll wipe that smile off your face, coward!"

Suddenly, two arrows came whizzing down from the towers. The first one skipped off the stones and wept spinning down into the Valtheim Falls. The other, however, found its mark in Mjoll's stomach, just a few inches south of her iron breastplate. She cried out in pain, collapsing to the ground.

But Eirik wouldn't wait another minute. He turned to the bandits, hands held up and a smirk on his face that soon turned to fear.

"Please, please don't kill me!" he begged. "I'll give you all our money, just please don't kill me."

"Ha! Pathetic milk-drinker!" one of the bandits sneered. "Hand it over."

Eirik removed his purse and held it out to them, hand shaking.

"You want it?" he asked, still sounding fearful.

"Hurry up!" one shouted.

"Come on, then!" another ordered.

"Catch!" Eirik smiled, the confidence in his voice as he threw his purse up into the air. A few eyes looked up there, the others, however, were looking at the 'fearful' Nord, now tall and imposing as he roared at them: "Fus...Ro Dah!"

Two of them were thrown off the edge of the cliff and into the river below. One hit one of the rocks on the far side of the river's bank and his body bent as it struck it, a loud crack as his back was broken and he fell dead into the river. The other one struck a rock in the river, but it was slippery and he was thrown off it and plummeted off the Valtheim Falls, never to be seen or heard from again.

The other one, a short, broad Nord with a club and shield, had only been knocked off his feet by the unrelenting force of Eirik's Thu'um. But he soon was back again, snarling at Eirik as he beat his club upon his shield. Behind him, however, he could see the archers on towers already fitting arrows into their bows. Once this squat Nord was defeated, he would be stuck fast with arrows. But he was still drained from the last shout, and another one so soon would make him unable to fight the short one before him.

He drew out his great-sword and glared down at the Nord and his club. He shivered in fear, but held his shield up in place. Eirik swung the huge sword, striking the shield: the sheer force sent the little bandit tumbling backwards, almost falling, but he recovered. He swung again, striking the shield once more. This time, the bandit wouldn't wait to be attacked and charged ahead, club raised for a deadly strike. But that was all that Eirik needed. He leveled his sword and thrust it forward, impaling the little Nord and, so strong was he, lifting him up off the ground. As he felt hot blood dripping down his hands, he saw one of the archers had dropped his bow and was running down the towers, while the other one was busy taking aim.

Eirik threw the dead weight of the short bandit down, then picked up his shield and held it in place. Just in time as well, for he could feel a strong thump against it as the bandit's arrow struck the wooden targe. It wouldn't do to hold it up indefinitely, for his sword-slashes had weakened the shield tremendously. He threw the shield aside and saw the bandit reaching for another arrow. He only had one chance now...

"Tiid!" he shouted. The endless roar of the falls of Valtheim came to rest. An eagle in the sky ceased its winging towards the Throat of the World to the south, and the bandit on the tower held his bow ready, but no shaft came to meet Eirik. He didn't have much time and had to work fast. He had a bow which he had often used for hunting game, since it seemed dishonorable to shoot at enemies from afar, but here, practicality prevailed. It would take a long time to cross the distance between the towers and where he now stood, and every step closer would make him an easier target for the archer. And, of course, he could not go far for he had to attend to Mjoll, even if it was only so much as a burial. For a moment, he had all the time in the world, and that was all he needed.

He drew an arrow from the quiver of the squat Nord at his feet, drew it back in his bow, took aim and fired. For a moment the arrow was speeding on towards its target, but then it halted in mid-air. Eirik cursed, fearing that he himself might also be stuck like this until the spell wore off and he himself was hit...

Boom! Time restored itself to its natural flow, and the bandit on the tower never had a chance to even shoot. Eirik's arms were big and strong, and he had drawn a mighty shot. It moved at normal speed when time was slowed down, but once it returned to its natural flow, it moved swiftly to run the bandit on the tower through. Even if that hadn't killed him, falling off the tower did.

Suddenly, from out of the door of the nearest tower there appeared three others. One was the second archer, a dagger in his hand. The others were a Breton woman with an ax and the bandit leader, wielding a great-sword like Eirik's. He knew that he was their chief for he was dressed in the heavy steel armor and was the biggest of them. He was the one who came up first, sword a swinging. Eirik swung his sword, and the two heavy blades clashed against each other in mid-air, groaning as the two strong warriors pushed against each other. The bandit chief drew back and swung again, but Eirik was too swift to be caught by this, holding his sword up and blocking the blow.

When they broke off this time, the two held their swords ready, but did not move. They were evenly matched, and both knew what the next move would mean if they made it. All they did now was watch the other, eagerly seeking for a weakness. Suddenly, the bandit kicked dirt up in Eirik's face, but he was quick to hold his sword in place and most of it was blocked. Angry now, Eirik drew his sword back and aimed a horizontal slash at the bandit chief, crumbling him to the ground in one blow. The Breton woman was next, but her ax met Eirik's sword blade, then he pushed it back and with a wide swipe, sent her head tumbling to the ground in a pool of blood. He looked at the last bandit, who dropped his tiny dagger and ran for his life.

But unbeknown to Eirik, his 'one blow' had not stricken down the bandit chief. He was up on his feet and raising his sword to strike off Eirik's head from behind. Suddenly he sent out a cry, and this alerted Eirik. Turning about, sword in hand, he saw the bandit chief, swaying on his feet as he dropped his sword. He then fell face forward and Eirik saw his deliverer, to his supreme surprise and amazement.

There stood Mjoll, an arrow sticking in her belly, but Grimsever was in her hands, the weapon that had torn through the bandit chief's weaker back armor and struck him down. She staggered, then stood firmly on her feet as she sheathed her weapon, then tore the arrow out of her with a loud cry. She panted for a moment, then threw the arrow away. She looked up at Eirik, but saw that he was caught somewhere between amazement and fury.

"What?" she asked. "It was just a flesh wound."

"That should have killed you," he said. "Or left you incapable of moving without great pain."

"I am in pain," she replied. "It'll go away in a little while, though."

"When were you going to tell me this, hmm?"

"What?"

"That you're...invincible! Shor's bones, if I had thought you were invincible, I would have taken you to journey with me long ere this!"

"It's a very personal matter," Mjoll replied. "One I had been saving for a convenient time."

"How about now?" Eirik asked. "I know, I think I deserve to know how it happened."

Mjoll sighed. "Do you know why I am called 'the Lioness?'"

"A rude name they gave you in Riften because of your hair color?"

"There are no lions in Skyrim," Mjoll began. "My name came to me during one of my earliest travels. I was in Cyrodiil, mere months after leaving my home. I saw a mountain lion stalking a woman in a forest clearing and slew it. The woman was a witch, but she was thankful that I delivered her from the mountain lioness. In return for saving her, she said she would use her magic to bless me in which ever way I wished. I was young and foolish, I sought only gold and adventure: I asked her for something that would make me the greatest warrior in all the lands. She said that, once I left, I would be able to survive any wound, be it from a sword, ax, arrow, poison or wild animal."

"But you said that you almost died in Mzinchaleft..."

"I am not finished. There was a condition to her magic. She said it would stay with me until it was the appointed time for me to die, or..."

"Or?"

She sighed. "Or if I gave my heart and my maidenhead to any man. That is why I won't share a bed with any man. I know the men in Skyrim are very lusty, and I would rather sleep on the floor than risk coming as close to death as I was in Mzinchaleft. When I lay bleeding in that Dwemer ruin, I felt that it was indeed the chosen time of the gods for me to die, and I despaired. That's why I am eternally grateful to Aerin for saving my life. If not for him, it would have been my end."

Eirik was stunned as he heard this, hanging his head in shame as though he was speaking of something that was not his to know.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I should have left well enough alone."

"I forgive you," she replied. "You had no way of knowing." She then looked down below her iron armor and smiled. "See? It's already healed. Come now, we have a long journey ahead of us."

"Yes," Eirik grimly said.

"Now," she continued. "Tell me about your adventures. I never quite heard about how you fared against the dragon. Tell me everything."

"Well..."

(AN: So there, I got my explanation out and made Mjoll's infamous glitch semi-canon! It was based on the story of the hero of Bathory's album "Blood on Ice", though I tweaked it a little. Yes, I know what you're gonna say, "but what about Mzinchaleft?" Wasn't my explanation enough? Okay, here it goes again: she has the magic "until it is time for her to die" under the condition that she not give her heart or maidenhead to anyone. Therefore, she would have believed that Mzinchaleft was her time to die, or that it was and she beat fate. Either way, I still think it works and I wanted to make her story epic and viking metal-like [when appropriate, I have evoked phrases and words from my favorite viking metal albums]. No, it wasn't rape.)

(Lol, rage against me if I make the Empire less than the perfect people you all want them to be, but I bet you'd turn the other cheek if I make the Stormcloaks extra evil. Personally, I thought I wasn't hard enough on the Empire as I could/should have been, but the Stormcloaks needed some less than perfect actions. Still, you're not gonna convince me to join the Empire.)