(AN: So here's the new chapter. Don't worry, Crixus has many more admirable traits that will make you all fall in love with this anti-hero who is nevertheless needful to what will happen later on in the story.)

(Reviews...well, you can't win them all, but honestly? Have you not played the Dragonborn expansion? The entire premise is that there is a second Dragonborn besides the player. And what the hell? You never reviewed any of the chapters until now, I never even saw a "new follower" for this story from you, and believe me, I check my inbox all the time. I call complete and utter bullshit on your hipster-ass ['omg, i liked your story before you brought in another Dragonborn'] and ask you to kindly gtfo.)

(In other news...yes, Cyrus Dragonhunter, I have been reading your reviews. I guess I was being naughty by not saying anything outright, but I wanted it to be a bit of a surprise. Oh well, I still have your ideas and might just use them later on down the line [-wink-]. Just wait, they might part for a while, but Crixus will definitely be coming back. While not all Cyrodilians are as such [Adrianne Avenicci, who has met Eirik already, though hasn't been introduced...yet, is one], there is a book in Oblivion, which my brother had a field day over, which described the Nords as mead-soaked, illiterate apes rolling about in the dirt, swinging swords. For the life of me, I can't think of it's name: I'll have to ask my brother. Like Crixus [his DB in Skyrim], he hates the Stormcloaks and got quite a kick out of the book's depiction of the Nord people. Lol, and no, I didn't make it that easy. In the last chapter, the malachite got stolen, but I won't say who did it, because that would be telling.)


Enemy of My Enemy

"Bullshit," Eirik replied.

"Why?" Crixus laughed. "Did you really think you were the only one? Typical Nordic ignorance!"

"How could there be more than one Dragonborn?" Eirik asked.

"By the cock of Molag Bal!" Crixus exclaimed. "You Nords are dense!"

"What are you getting at?"

"Those Dunmer cultists," Crixus began. "They attacked you, called you the false Dragonborn. Obviously there's another one out there!"

"How do you know?"

"I've been following you since Whiterun," he said, then rose to his feet without asking for permission or even acknowledging Eirik's sword. "Now piss off! I've already told you more than enough."

"I'm not through with you!"

"Well, I'm through with you," Crixus stated. He threw his hood back over his head and walked off down the hill. Eirik ran after him, but he ran faster and was soon lost in the trees.

"Coward!" Eirik shouted. "Are you afraid to face me in honest combat?"

"Honest?" a voice called out from the woods. "Like the way your Ulfric shouted High King Torygg apart with the Thu'um?"

Eirik halted. He had heard the rumors of the death of the High King, but this was news to him.

"A Nord may challenge another for right of leadership," Eirik reasoned.

"You Nords and your backwards customs," laughed the voice. It was Crixus.

"Wait!" Eirik shouted. "I can help you!"

"I work alone," he replied.

"Those cultists might return," Eirik said. "They ambushed me in the mountains, during a dragon attack."

"I know, troll-bait! I was watching you from the hills!"

"Why didn't you help me?"

"Please, an Imperial Legate help a rebel?" Crixus scoffed. "They'd have my head back in Cyrodiil! Besides, isn't there something in your 'traditions' that says a true warrior is supposed to be self-sufficient, eh? Do things on his own, without anyone's help? So what does that make me, Nord? Does that make me better than you?"

"I demand a truce!"

"You are in no position to demand anything!"

"Listen, when they come again, it will be much easier to defend ourselves if we work together!"

There was silence for a moment, not a sound of foot-fall or crunch of leaves and twigs. Eirik looked out at the woods, sword ready, but was starting to fear that he had lost him for good. He sheathed his sword, then felt a cold steel blade upon his throat.

"Let's pretend I've reconsidered," Crixus' voice hissed in Eirik's ear. "We go after the cultists, but I don't take orders from you. If I see you around those mead-soaked Ulfric Stormcloak-lackeys, well, then I'll have to do my duty as a loyal citizen of the Empire, won't I? Is that plain enough for you to understand, or do I have to speak slowly?"

"I understand," Eirik replied.

The knife was removed, then Eirik heard footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Crixus making his way back to Riften. He followed after him, passing the guards as they both entered the town. From the Bunkhouse, he saw Mjoll running towards them, black soot over her face.

"Mjoll, what happened?" Eirik asked.

"We were just able to get the fires out," she began. "But Haelga's Bunkhouse has taken too much damage. It might not be..." She then turned to Crixus and her eyes exploded in their sockets. Her hand reached for her ax and she drew it out. Crixus responded by drawing out his dagger as well.

"Wait, stop!" Eirik said. "He won't harm us!"

"I saw him in the Sleeping Giant Inn in Riverwood," Mjoll replied. "He's been following us since Whiterun."

"Smart b*tch," Crixus replied.

"Don't call me a b*tch, you Imperial dog!" Mjoll said, taking a step closer. "I am no man's b*tch!"

"Looks like I hit close to the mark," Crixus smirked. "So what's your story, fattie? Raped by bandits?" Suddenly, Mjoll struck him with her fist.

"Watch your tongue!" she growled.

"Or what?" Crixus replied.

"Eirik, how could you bring him here?" she asked. "He's not to be trusted."

"He killed the dragon..."

"He's a member of the Imperial Legion and I saw him associating with the Thieves Guild!"

"It's only smart, working with them," Crixus said. "The Thieves Guild are the power in this part of Skyrim." He looked up at Mjoll's angry expression. "What? Are you really that dense to think they're the bad guys?"

"They've been terrorizing the good people of Riften!"

"They keep the order around here," Crixus said. "The Thieves Guild must always be, there's no way around it. Now how much is it going to cost me, cow, huh? Give you a sound fucking..."

"Why you impudent dog!"

"Hey!" a voice shouted. Eirik and Mjoll turned about and saw one of the guards approaching. "You know the law around here. No brawling or fighting in the streets, or I'll throw your asses in the Riften jail. Is that understood?"

"Quite right, soldier," Crixus exclaimed. "Promise we won't do anything of the sort again!"

Eirik saw the guard give them suspicious looks, but near at hand, he heard Mjoll groaning. Turning about, he saw Crixus had stuck a knife in her neck while his attention had been on the guard.

"No one hits me, b*tch!" he whispered into his ear as he held her body, as if to gently carry it down to the ground.

Just then, Mjoll's hand came back and struck him in the face again. Then she followed up with a knee to his groin, sending him to the wooden streets of the town. With a loud groan, she tore the knife from her neck and threw it at him.

"Don't ever call me a b*tch again!" she ordered.

When Crixus got up off the ground, dusting his clothes, he wouldn't look at Mjoll the same way. Eirik noted that he looked at her the same way as the Argonians and Khajiit he had met with in his journeys: to wit, with fear and distrust at the very best and silent hatred at the worst. He also saw that Crixus kept his hand on the hilt of his knife.

"Would you mind explaining yourself?" Eirik asked.

"Fuck off, Nord." Crixus replied calmly. "I get what I want and don't have to answer to anyone!" He raised an eyebrow at Eirik. "Can you honestly tell me you never thought about fucking her, even once?"

"I am standing right here," Mjoll stated. "And I will not be spoken of as though I were a slave, or-or some piece of meat!"

Crixus rolled his eyes. "So, let's find someplace where we can talk without a lot of people watching us."

"You're not going to Aerin's house," Mjoll said, crossing her arms.

"I think we should leave that decision to Aerin,"

"I won't associate with rabble who are friends of the Thieves Guild," Mjoll said. She gave Eirik a scathing look. "You can find me in Aerin's house when you're done with..." She looked over at Crixus in disgust. "...him." She then turned about and walked away.

"Quite a mouth, that one," Crixus said as she was walking away. "I think I know how to keep her mouth busy. Although, she does have a nice arse."

"Can you honestly think of nothing else?" Eirik asked.

"What?" Crixus smirked. "Life's too short not to enjoy it. By the thousand arms of Hermaeus Mora, I thought you Nords were all about getting shit-faced and fucking b*tches left, right and center!"

"I'm a woodsman," Eirik replied. "Doing my duty is enough for me."

The Imperial snorted. "Duty, that's certainly fine coming off one's tongue, but it doesn't fill your belly or put a wench in your bed."

Eirik sighed, then made his way down the road. Behind walked Crixus, who looked quite disturbed with the Nord.

"Don't tell me you're one of those idiots who believe in that honor bullshit!"

"What good is a man's life if he does not devote it to the service of others?"

"Very good, I'll have you know," Crixus retorted, now at Eirik's left hand side. "Honor is for the weak and morals are for ignorant fools who don't live in the real world."

Eirik said nothing as he looked around him, seeing many of the poor, miserable, starving people of Riften lining the streets. It reminded him of the Ratways, and yet this was on the upper levels, in broad daylight.

"What about those who can't help themselves?" Eirik asked.

There was no answer, and for a moment, Eirik thought that he had delivered a convincing argument to the Imperial. But then he halted, and noticed that Crixus wasn't following him. He looked this way and that, but saw nothing. He took a few steps back, and then noticed something that angered him. Against one of the walls of the tall, stave-structured temple in Riften, dedicated to the Mara the Mother-goddess, he saw Crixus, standing with his face towards the wall: a dark stain appeared on the wood of the temple.

"Flavius!" Eirik hissed, running over to his side. "What the hell are you doing?"

"I needed to piss," he replied.

"But why here?"

"What better place than this shit-hole?" Crixus asked, as he readjusted his trousers, then wiped his hands on his jacket. He then spat on the temple walls and walked away.

"Have you no respect for the Divines?" Eirik asked.

"A god that can die is not worthy of my worship," Crixus replied. "Those precious Eight..."

"Nine." Eirik corrected.

"Eight, nine, I don't give a fuck!" Crixus shouted. "They can die, which makes them weak, pathetic, impotent! And your precious Talos wasn't that good a man in life either: a murderer, liar and traitor. Typical Nord."

"I've had enough with your attacks against my people!" Eirik replied.

"I've had enough with you stupid Nords!" Crixus sneered. "I hope that dragon kills you all."

"What, by Ysmir, is your problem? What do you have against my people?"

"Because you're arrogant and pompous up your own asses for no fucking good reason!" Crixus began. "The Empire saved you from yourselves, brought knowledge, civilization and magic to this forsaken shit-hole of a country. If it weren't for us, you'd all still be living in straw huts, rolling around in the mud, worshiping fire, wind and those damn dragons!"

Eirik had no response, but would not show it, not before this arrogant Imperial. He looked down at the man for a while, who continued glaring up at him, then turned his back and started walking westward.

"We can talk in the Bee and Barb," Eirik said.


It hadn't really occurred to Eirik just how dull the Bee and Barb was: there were no bards about, no singing or laughter. Maybe there would be a few people so drunk that they cared no longer for the troubles that plagued Riften and were sluggishly slurring their way through verses of old songs they remembered from way back when, but these were few and far between. Many of the people here were so beat down that they had no time for mirth.

At the far end of the room, Eirik and Crixus found a seat and ordered drinks. Crixus purchased a bottle of Black-Briar mead, which he drank from periodically. Eirik said nothing from his tankard.

"So, your behavior aside," Eirik began. "You said something about meeting those cultists I met at Arcwind Point."

"Aye," Crixus replied, after finishing his draught. "Eighteenth of Last Seed, I was in Solitude, reporting to the legate on my journey here. I was walking streets and suddenly these Dunmer in robes show up. Asked me if I was Dragonborn, or something. I told 'em yes, mostly to see what would happen: then they attacked me."

"You didn't know that they were after you?"

"I had to ask around," Crixus said. "Hadvar told me about the local superstitions, what they called one with the Blessing of Akatosh."

"And you found a note?"

"Mhmm," Crixus replied, mouth wrapped around the bottle. He placed it down. "Was making plans when I got..." He paused, giving Eirik a suspicious stare.

"Go on."

"Look, I told you all I know," he said. "If you really want to follow me into Solstheim, go right ahead. I can get there from Solitude, you from your precious Windhelm, and we can meet in Raven Rock. Don't take too long, though. Before the month is out, some people in Riften are gonna catch it hot."

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

"Nothing," Crixus said. "Just go back to that fat b*tch of yours and get out of Riften double quick. Don't want you dying in the cross-fire, now, do we?" He smirked, then left the inn, leaving Eirik to pay for both of them. But he wasn't done with him, not by a long shot. After throwing a few gold septims on the bar before Kee-Rava, he ran outside and saw that Crixus was still on his way out of town.

"I saw you talking to one of the Thieves Guild," he began.

"Yeah? So what?" Crixus retorted. "That fat b*tch of yours is an idealistic prick, and she'll never get her way."

"They broke into Balimund's smithy," Eirik continued. "They stole his malachite, didn't they?"

Crixus turned about, his expression unreadable. "This is Riften, people get ripped off every day. Maybe with that Stormcloak-supporting b*tch out of power, things will be different. But I won't hold my breath for it: the Thieves Guild are eternal, they can never be driven out of this place, and they won't be."

"I had a sword I was repairing," Eirik continued. "You know something about the break-in."

Crixus smiled. "All I know is that you pissed off the Thieves Guild. Your precious Eight aren't going to save you from what's to come."

The Imperial turned about and walked on, but Eirik was busy thinking. Yes, despite what Crixus might believe, Crixus was a warrior with a brain. He remembered what he said about the Thieves Guild and about going to Solitude. There was something else going on, but as of yet, he knew not what that could be.

"...like we have more important things to do," a voice said nearby. "Dragons swooping down almost every week, personally I'd say that's more of a priority than a few misplaced septims."

"I know what you mean," another one added. "Like what happened with Balimund."

"We have more important things to worry about," the first voice said.

Eirik turned about and saw two guards walking past him. Once they saw that he was there, they halted.

"No lollygaggin'," the first one said with arms crossed. Eirik said nothing at first.

"What, someone steal your sweet roll?" the second one asked.

Eirik stepped aside and let the guards pass him by, ignoring their laughter. As the laughter died down, he heard something that caught his attention.

"I heard there's been some activity up at the old castle," the second one said.

"I heard that too," the first one added. "The young lad Hofgrir hired to help him in the stables said something about that. The Dawnguard is using it for their headquarters. I've heard there was an attack in Morthal, which has got them nervous."

Suddenly, Eirik remembered the words carved in blood upon the body he and Lydia had seen in the woods of Hjaalmarch. Then he remembered the words of the vision he had seen, at least twice already: the night eternity. There was something else happening, something so important that this being, some kind of lesser aedra he knew not of, was making her presence known to him for this precise purpose.


(AN: Interesting stuff happening, to say the least. As for Crixus, while he gave Eirik his first name as Flavius, his true first name is not yet known to me. Yes, I co-wrote him and I don't know his true name. He gives a new name practically to everyone he comes in contact with: but he is Crixus, that is the only part of his name, whether first or last, in all of his identities, that has been consistent. And he will be coming back, I won't get rid of him that easily.)

(No, Mjoll isn't fat. She's not Hollywood model thin, because I think a warrior would need to have a little bit of muscle, but she is NOT overweight: you can't be a fighting explorer, walking the breadth of Skyrim and exploring all the places of Tamriel, and be overweight [sorry]. I suck at description, but thankfully, a moment might be coming up soon, so you might get a better look into what kind of picture I'm trying to draw with her.)

(On an unrelated note...poor Frea. Everyone else in Skyrim has a category dedicated to them, but she doesn't have any categories. Miraak has a category, so why doesn't she?)