(AN: Sorry for sounding like a hipster, but I have Oblivion. Hell, I played it on the PS2, long before Skyrim was ever developed! I got bored after being slaughtered when I ran out of money, had no way of knowing where the main quest was, and the guards wanted to kill me for stealing [not to mention hideous character models that made PS1 models look fabulous]. -sigh- But I have it on PS3 [along with Skyrim, my younger brother bought it because now he's the Elder Scrolls hipster, even getting Daggerfall and Arena from the Bethesda website], yet...I remember it having better graphics on the PS2. Oh well.)

(4E5, the year of the eruption of Red Mountain. The events of Skyrim take place during 4E201, almost two hundred years after the eruption. Yes, Raven Rock existed prior to that, and even with the Bulwark, we're talking about almost two hundred years worth of ash-fall, and its not like an avalanche that a wall could stop, it's like snow-fall. I'm surprised anything is still living on the southern half of Solstheim, after so long of continuous ash-fall.)

(Oh well, I got on Skyrim, played through the ebony mine mission so I would have first-hand experience what it was like for the sake of writing this chapter.)

Into the Mine

"Well?" Crixus asked. "Are you two just gonna stand there with your mouths open like a bunch of trolls?"

"I see your manners haven't changed," Mjoll retorted.

"Neither has your weight," Eirik replied. Mjoll reached for Grimsever as Eirik stepped between the two of them. Crixus laughed. "What, are you going to stop me with that iron great-sword?" He laughed again. "By the thousand arms of Hermaeus Mora, what are you hunting, butterflies?"

"Could you please stop taunting us?" Eirik asked.

"Why don't you make me stop, huh?" Crixus retorted. "That's how you Nords are like, isn't it?"

"Stop, the both of you!" Mjoll shouted. She turned to Eirik. "I saw an inn back in the town. We've had a rough journey, we need to rest. Maybe then we can see what to do about..." She looked over at Crixus. Eirik nodded, then turned and walked with her back towards the town.

"I can see who wears the pants here, milk-drinker," Crixus chuckled into Eirik's ear.

They walked back to Raven Rock in silence, for it seemed that everything they said would be used against them by Crixus. The inn they found, called the Retching Netch, was across from one of the only buildings that looked like it had been built by Nords instead of Dunmer. The inn looked very small, barely large enough to house a bar. Once they passed through the doors, however, they saw that it led to an underground level, where the bar, the bedrooms and the common room were located. They purchased drinks - Nord mead for Eirik and Mjoll and Argonian blood-wine for Crixus - and found themselves a seat at one of the tables.

"So," Eirik began. "You brought us out here for a reason."

"We'll go out to find this Miraak," Crixus began. "Yes, I've been asking around."

"What's stopping you from going yourself?" Eirik asked.

"Ash-flow has been particularly heavy," Crixus said. "Autumn brings the cold winds down upon northern Tamriel from the north, blows most of the ash back to Morrowind. Soon we'll be able to walk towards the center of the island without trouble."

"There are other things I wanted to ask you, before," Eirik began.

"Oh, spare me!" Crixus sighed, taking a long drink from his tankard.

"You seem to have no respect for anyone but yourself," Eirik said. "And yet you serve the Empire: why is that?"

"Don't you have better things to do than bother me with your questions?" Crixus replied. "Maybe some elf-babies to kill, or Argonian women to rape?"

"Enough!" Eirik replied. "Answer me!"

"Fuck you."

"I grow tired of your attitude!"

"I grow tired of you," Crixus smirked.

"Tell me now!" Eirik demanded.

"I don't owe anyone any explanations," Crixus replied, his smile fading. "Who I choose to help is my business, not yours."

"Do they pay you more?" Eirik asked, half in jest.

"You don't know me, you stupid fucking Nord!" Crixus shouted.

"That's all you are, isn't it? Just another sellsword out for money." Eirik replied.

"I'm warning you," Crixus said, drawing out his dagger and thrusting it into the table. "Hold your tongue or I'll cut it off!"

"You feel free to criticize everything I do, yet you're conveniently safe from criticism?"

"Yeah, that's the short of it."

"Why?"

"Because you're a Nord," Crixus sneered. "Your kind think you're entitled to everything, but you're nothing, you're less than skeever shit. So why don't you put Ulfric's long-sword back in your mouth and stop talking?"

"What is your problem?" Eirik shouted, rising up to his feet. "From the moment I've met you, you've been nothing but trouble! Insulting me and taunting me at every turn!"

"Since when did you become such a b*tch?" Crixus laughed. "I thought all Nords were supposed to be tough and manly."

Enraged, Eirik seized Crixus by the lapels of his black jacket and pushed him up against the wall. Mjoll's hand reached for her sword as she saw people starting to stare at them and several guards turning from their mugs.

"Answer me, dammit!" Eirik roared.

"Don't you fucking touch me, you filthy Nord!" Crixus threatened.

"What the fuck is your problem?!" Eirik replied. "Tell me now!"

"You really wanna know?"

"Yes, now!"

"It's because you're a fucking idiot!" Crixus shouted. But he wasn't smug now: his face was deadly serious. "You and your shit-brained race, you take pride in death and battle and killing people. You don't know shit about real battle, about going from day to day, not knowing if you're going to survive to the end of the day! About seeing your fellow soldiers eviscerated before your eyes, and you have to stand there, with their blood on your hands, hearing them cry out to indifferent gods, begging for Aetherius or whatever the fuck they believe, and you have to look them in the eyes and lie to them, just because the truth is too painful to tell them! There's no honor in battle, no glory in killing a man. Now take your fucking hands off me or I'll kill you in your sleep."

"Listen, humans!" the voice of an angry Dunmer shouted. "If you have a problem, take it outside now or I'll call the guards have them throw you both in the Bulwark jail, is that understood?"

"Aye," Eirik grumbled, releasing his grip on Crixus' jacket. Crixus glared angrily at the Nord, then took his seat again, finishing off the rest of his blood-wine.

"Now," he began, speaking more to Mjoll than to Eirik. "As I was about to say, before this shit-brained skeever felt like being a b*tch..."

"That'll be enough of that, now." Mjoll interjected.

"Why, you got a problem, fatty?" Crixus replied with a smirk.

"Don't call me fat!" Mjoll replied.

"I'll call whoever I want whatever I want," Crixus retorted, gripping his dagger in hand. "As I was saying, while I was waiting for this one..." He pointed to Eirik, then waved for the bartender. "Another blood-wine!" He then turned back to them. "There's an ebony mine in town, one of the biggest suppliers of ebony ore in Morrowind since most of the mines on Vvardenfell were flooded with ash, except now it's been abandoned."

"Why?" Mjoll asked.

"Ran dry," Crixus said. "But there's someone from Cyrodiil, who's been giving the East Empire Trading Co. grief with his complaints."

"And you were sent to silence him?" Eirik replied.

"You really are dense, aren't you?"

"Please, let him finish!" Mjoll said, placing her hand in front of Eirik to assuage his wrath. Crixus snorted in laughter and handed ten gold to the Dunmer bartender as he brought him another bottle of Argonian blood-wine.

"His great-grandfather died," Crixus said. "Mining accident, but the poor old bastard won't believe it. He wants me to go inside and find out what happened to his great-grandfather."

"Why do you need us?" Mjoll queried.

"I thought it would be fun," Crixus smiled. "I thought Nords sought battle and challenge, after all. Well, Solstheim's full of worthy challenges. Rieklings, little blue-skinned buggers, but they'll gore you to death if you're not careful. Then there's the ash spawn. They've been here since the eruption of the Red Mountain and even though they're made of ash, they're tough to kill. Imagine if we met a horde of them, especially in the mines, huh? That would be a good enough challenge, wouldn't it?"

"I agree."

"What?" Eirik asked. "You're siding with him?"

"I'm not siding with him," Mjoll replied. "I love a good fight. It would be well to visit these mines, if only to help this old man make peace with his past."

"If you insist." Eirik sighed.

"Perfect," Crixus said. "Now, there's going to be quite a bit of heavy ash-fall this evening, which means we can't go out today. Might as well buy yourselves a room and make yourselves comfortable."

The rooms they bought were inexpensive, and once they found them, Eirik and Mjoll began to settle in for the night. The room was small with no windows looking outward, which gave the impression of a cave. Eirik, guessing that a round of argument over who would take the bed, decided to set his things upon the floor without any argument.

"What are you doing?" Mjoll suddenly asked.

"Sleeping on the floor," he replied.

"Why not have the bed?"

"You're asking me to share the bed?" Eirik asked.

"Yes, of course," Mjoll said, sliding over and offering the empty half of the bed to him. Eirik slowly removed his armor, then climbed into the bed and pulled the covers over him. "Comfortable?"

"Aye."

"Just so you know, this isn't an invitation," Mjoll reminded him. "I asked you in here because I won't have you sleeping on the floor again."

"It's nothing," Eirik dismissed. "I sleep on the ground all the time I travel."

"You're not in the wilds," Mjoll replied. "You shouldn't have to sleep on the floor. Now get some rest, we're going to need it tomorrow."

Eirik grumbled, then rolled onto his side, trying desperately not to think about Mjoll. Yet, try as he might, he couldn't get the red-golden-haired woman out of his mind. He tried thinking of something else, anything else: the dreams he would have about Helgen, the infiltration of the Thalmor Embassy in Haafingar, dragon's fire, draugr leaping out of the darkness in their barrows, the visions of the night eternal and the nameless deity who seemed to be calling him onwards, towards Solstheim, and through all of that, her face danced through his visions until they were gone and only she remained: warm hazel-eyes, red-golden hair, large lips. It was not an invasive presence, one that sought to learn secrets or make demands, it was simply there, dispelling the darkness from his mind.

Eirik awoke when refreshed, though he knew not if the sun were up. Not only was the sun covered by the clouds of ash from the Red Mountain, but their room was underground, with no windows showing the light of the sunrise. It wasn't natural, any of it. He rolled over, then found that someone else was in his bed. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he saw who it was, then rolled back onto his back and sighed contentedly. It was only Mjoll. He smiled and for a moment, wished that this could be for more than just warmth in bed.

But that moment quickly ended as a loud knock was heard on the door.

"Oi! Don't you Nords ever wake up early?" It was Crixus. "What, tired from all the sheep-shagging last night?"

Eirik rolled out of bed and crawled over to where lay his armor, which he began strapping on while he heard Mjoll sigh behind him.

"What's all the hurry?" she asked.

"We have to wake up," Eirik replied. "Or your friend will wake the whole inn with his ranting."

"He's not my friend," Mjoll stated. "I'm just sick of fighting with him all the time. Who knows? Maybe he will lead us to some great challenge in the ebony mines?"

"Or a trap," Eirik stated. "He's an Imperial, I heard him. He said he'd kill me if I affiliated with the Stormcloaks. This could be a clever ruse to get me into a dark, abandoned underground cave and conveniently kill me off, like that old Cyrodilian miner he spoke of."

"Oi!" Crixus' voice shouted. "This door isn't very thick, ass-hole!"

Eirik groaned. "Do you see?"

"We're just going to have to trust him, is all." Mjoll said, as she reached for her armor.

When they were finally prepared, they left the room and followed Crixus back up top. He did not give them time to buy breakfast in the inn, for he told them that they had wasted away the morning and the ash-fall this afternoon would be heavy, which meant that they could not wait long or else be trapped in hot, blinding and choking downpour of hot ash from Vvardenfell. Crixus assured them, however, that he had brought supplies for a long journey and there was nothing to fear. Eirik did not believe him, but was content to know that they would not be going into the mine unprepared. Maybe he was being sincere about this task.

They left the Retching Netch and entered upon a dark, grayish day, with the sun hidden beneath heavy clouds of ash. With Crixus in the lead, black leather garments frosted with ash, they walked through the town to the entrance to the mine-shaft in the side of the mountain on the eastern side of the town. They passed under its roof, coughing ash as they finally found air that was free of it.

"Yeah, the ash is a real b*tch," Crixus stated. "But its better here than in Morrowind. Cold winds this far north cool the ash down, so its not as hazardous down south on Vvardenfell. Still makes life hell up here."

"For once, we agree on something," Eirik said.

Crixus opened a lantern that was hanging from one of the ceiling support beams of the mine-shaft and thrust a torch into the flame. He then tossed with his other hand two other dead torches to Mjoll and Eirik, who them lit their torches from his, until they were illuminating a small spot of ground about their feet in the gloom of the mine.

"This way," Crixus said, turning into the mine and leading the way, his torch bobbing with each step.

"I give you Morrowind and the Dunmer as my first example," Crixus began, as they were making their way in.

"Example of what?" Eirik interrupted.

"Red Mountain erupts, destroying almost all of Vvardenfell and burying the rest of Morrowind in almost two hundred years of ash," Crixus continued. "So what do they do? They run to your precious little shit-hole of a country, but then get delegated into the lowest part of life, the worst part of the shit-hole. Now, one would think that, if the Divines were real, surely they would do something for them, send one their way to save them from their hardships, or better yet, do it themselves."

"You do not fear the gods?" Mjoll asked.

"For one, they're mortal," Crixus said. "For two, they turn a blind eye to whatever happens in Tamriel, which proves one of two things: either they're not there or they don't care, which means they might as well not be there. But third, I don't fear no Eight Divines because they're not proper gods, too forgiving and such."

"You don't fear the gods because they are forgiving?" Mjoll asked incredulously.

"Sure," Crixus smirked. "Forgiveness is overrated. In real life, if you let the thief go, he'll pick your pocket on his way out. If you let the murderer go, he'll kill again. Even Stendarr is weak, seasoned with mercy and forbearance. There can be no forbearance, not in the real world."

"You say the gods turn a blind eye to the happenings of Tamriel," Eirik spoke up. "That is not so..." Then he suddenly felt very foolish for saying so as Crixus turned about and approached him.

"What did you just say?"

"I said...I said the gods have not forsaken Tamriel," Eirik repeated.

"Why? Because you think you're the gift of Akatosh or whatever?" Crixus snorted.

"I've seen oracles of one of the gods," Eirik said slowly.

Crixus laughed. "Have you been hitting the skooma?"

"Three times," Eirik stated. "Three times I have been contacted by one of the gods, a woman, with an important task."

"Oh yeah?" Crixus retorted. "What did she look like, this woman, this goddess of yours? Did she have good breasts?"

"You pig!" Mjoll scoffed.

"Halt!" Crixus called out. "I think we're getting close."

Crixus walked away from the group apace, torch held aloft. As he walked out into the darkness, they could hear the sound of creaking boards beneath his feet. The light of his torch fell upon a platform of wood with a staircase that led down into the darkness. He turned over to Eirik and Mjoll and waved them onward. They walked towards him, feeling wood beneath their own feet as they approached the top of the stairs, where he stood.

"This here's the main mine-shaft," Crixus said. "My friend, Crescius Caerellius, won't go farther than here. The rest of the mine is apparently closed off."

Mjoll sniffed the air. "What in Kyne's name is that smell?"

"Dead skeever," Crixus said. "Last time I was down here, had to fight off a few of 'em, and some of those frostbite spiders. Then again, it could be draugr, they do stink something awful." Crixus was the first one down the stairs, followed closely by the others.

"While we're on our way down here," he continued. "Let's make sure to keep talking."

"I have nothing more to say to you," Eirik said.

"Oh, that's too bad," Crixus said. "Because, unlike you, I'm not a stupid Nord. We keep talking to know that we're not lost. There should still be a good mile or so before we encounter anything. Now, tell me about this woman you say you saw in your dream."

"I wasn't looking at her body," Eirik grudgingly began. "She was too bright, a crown of stars on her head and what looked like the moon and sun about her, or in her hands, or something." Crixus began laughing. "What is it now?"

"By the cock of Sanguine!" Crixus swore. "That's no Divine!"

"What do you mean?" Eirik asked.

"By your description, that sounds like one of the daedra instead," he said. "Azura, I'd think."

"Daedra are evil," Mjoll said.

"And here I thought you at least wouldn't be stupid," Crixus sighed. "But, once a Nord always a Nord, I suppose."

"What do you mean?"

"Daedra are not evil," Crixus began. "Whoever told you that is some naive fool. The daedra represent change, the alterations of life. Some of the change they represent are a bit more...radical than others, but that doesn't make them evil. They exist beyond primitive nomenclatures such as good and evil." He looked back at Eirik. "You shouldn't be so quick to judge, though, Stormcloak. Your people worshiped the daedra once, along with these damnable dragons."

"That was the past," Eirik said.

"And you're just as stupid now as then," Crixus replied. He then turned back around and whispered to them. "Shh! Noise down, barbarians! I think we're getting close."

The air was thick and cold this far below the surface, and there was a horrible stink of dry rot wafting up from the stairs below. Then they heard a stone shuffling and the sound of something growling below their feet.

"Draugr," Eirik whispered. He saw Crixus draw out a dagger and barely suppressed a laugh.

"Something funny, scumbag?" Crixus asked.

"Have you ever fought draugr before?" Eirik asked.

"Yeah," Crixus replied. "Burn 'em or tear 'em apart."

"And that knife of yours isn't tearing nothing apart," Eirik replied. "Not if it's draugr."

"Which is why I take more than one dagger," Crixus smirked.

Eirik shook his head, then waited as the sound of growling and shuffling was heard below their feet. Yet even in their torchlight, they could see nothing. Suddenly, the boards creaked as they were struck by steel-tipped arrows. Eirik drew out his sword and ran the rest of the way down the steps. A growl was heard and then something hit the ground. Behind them came Mjoll, who ran down the steps as well and drew out Grimsever, burying it in the rotten flesh of one of the draugr. The one Eirik had downed he now brought down his sword upon its neck, severing the head from the body and leaving it to writhe for a few moments. Mjoll, meanwhile, had seized the head of the draugr she was fighting and had ripped it off. Blindly, it reached back with its arms to tear her apart, but she had snapped the wrist of the dried and brittle bones and flesh of the long dead Nord.

Above, Crixus was watching them with bored disinterest. He waited then until he saw something else down below. With his keen eyes, he saw what it was, but held his tongue: let the stupid Nords find out the hard way and be brought to their collective knees, then he would show them just how useful he was. He would not have some arrogant Talos-worshiper be a better fighter than he.

"Fus...Ro Dah!" the voice of a draugr deathlord shouted.

Below, Eirik and Mjoll were thrown against the wall. Crixus smirked, then waited for the large draugr to walk beneath the platform on which he stood. He leaped over the rail and broke his fall on the draugr deathlord. The Cyrodilian pushed himself up to his feet, and quickly drew out a dagger from his belt that was warm beneath his fingers. He drove the dagger into the shoulder of the draugr deathlord at the neck, then took it out and thrust it repeatedly into its back. In a few moments, the draugr had caught fire. It flailed about, then began to fall apart as the flames seared its flesh apart. Everyone was coughing from the stench of rotten and burning flesh.

"See?" Crixus replied. "Always bring more than one knife."

(AN: I've suddenly been hit with a swarm of ideas for this story, some of them from my brother, who has some interesting ideas for Crixus [he's pro-Imperial, so you know they won't be that horrible])

(I wonder if what will happen at the end of the mine should happen now or happen later, especially considering what will happen at the Temple of Miraak, which will happen after this, but then again, that should be the reveal, not this. What do you say?)