(AN: This chapter took a long while to get out, but i felt like i was finally getting somewhere. Like with The Dragonborn and the Lioness, this chapter was inspired by awesome metal songs [Týr's "The Lay of Thrym" and Dio's "Holy Diver" for this chapter specifically]. Aside from that, we see the promised reintroduction of two characters and a little bit of "house-keeping" for the Sons of Skyrim, inspired by Crusader Kings and the usual need for any political movement therein to have a cabinet of councilors.)
The Dragon and the Bear
Ruling the Rift was a much more difficult task than Eirik had initially guessed. Vulwulf Snow-Shod was no Jarl and therefore Anuriel, the Bosmer steward who had strangely been absent during the battle, was appointed as his steward. Despite this, Eirik had to take care of most of the day-to-day workings the city. Repairing the gate as well as paying alms to those hurt the worst by the Black-Briars, getting businesses running again and visiting those whose loved ones had been executed at Maven Black-Briar's orders, was taxing.
There was, however, one great boon to this new development: Eirik did not have to manage Riften alone. The city guards gladly accepted their old jobs once again and Eirik oversaw the swearing of their new oaths of fealty. Now that the Thieves Guild was gone, they could be hardened and disciplined into a fit fighting force that could defend the hold at a moment's notice.
One night in the middle of Rain's Hand, after the spring rains had done their daily job turning the trees of the Rift green and vibrant, a great host appeared outside the northern gates of Riften. Being the de facto marshal of Riften, Eirik made his way to the gates and saw dozens of people, many of them bearing torches to fight off the cold and dark.
"Whom do you seek at this hour?" Eirik said to the people.
"With your leave, sir," one of the people said. "We've come seeking the Dragonborn. We're here to join the Sons of Skyrim. We've heard about how he took Falkreath and Riften without losing a single man. If anyone has the right of protecting our land, it's you!"
All those before him cried out in affirmation. For a moment, Eirik could not contain himself. Ever since his return, there had been little to no respect among the people of the holds, and only now they were showing him any kind of respect or even admiration.
"Enter in, children of Skyrim," he said. "For I am Eirik the Dragonborn and all sons of Skyrim are welcome here!"
At least two hundred men and women of the outlying holds had gathered here in this group, eager to join the Sons of Skyrim. Eirik, however, was amazed at how large they had grown. Once again it dawned upon him the overwhelming weight of the task at hand. He would have to rule all of them practically single-handed as well as act as marshal for the people of the Rift. It felt sometimes as though he was giving more to the people of Skyrim than he was capable of giving.
As the people returned to the outside to camp or made their way to the Bee and Barb to look for warm beds, Eirik was making his way past the large house in the city that had once belonged to Maven Black-Briar. As he was passing the door, there was a sudden creak and Eirik felt strong hands shove him into the darkness of the room. The door was then shut fast behind them.
"What is this?" he asked.
"Did I hurt you?" a familiar voice asked. "Sorry, but I had to speak to you fast and this was the first time you were alone. Ancestors of old, you don't stand still long these days!"
A candle was lit and Eirik saw once again a face that he had not seen since Dawnstar, glowing white in the glow of the candle.
"Serana?" he asked. "By the White! What are you doing here?"
"In this place?" she asked. "Not really sure. It stinks of mead, fear and fish, and even worse since, well, you know. I mean, even any normal nobleman's daughter wouldn't want to walk the streets of this town with all this foul smells, but for a vampire, it's a hundred times worse!"
"Is that why you dragged me into a deserted house?" Eirik asked. "To complain about the smell of the city?"
Serana chuckled. "It's nice to see you too. But I actually do have a message. I've been tracking you since Falkreath, trying to find a moment where I could give you this message. No one saw me, except perhaps those scouts of yours. That girl who calls herself Ulli has some keen eyes and ears, almost like one of my kind."
"How do you know her name?"
"Are you kidding?" Serana asked. "I listen to practically everything you people say on your way from Falkreath to Riften. You weren't exactly being quiet about it, you know."
"We were in the woods," Eirik said. "There wasn't anyone else about!"
"Except me," she added. "But I'm on your side, for now. As it turns out, I know quite a bit about what you've been up to with this little rebellion and all. Maybe now that you have the south, you can take back Ysgramor's city from those dark elves?"
"Maybe," Eirik said. "So what was the message you wanted to deliver?"
Serana cleared her throat. "Crixus said that he's coming to see you again. He said that he finally was able to get away and is on his way towards you. He said that if all went well, he would find you before Midyear."
"Oh, is that a fact?" Eirik asked. "Well, you can tell Crixus that if he ever shows himself before me, it will be the last thing he does."
"I'm not going back, not yet at least," Serana said.
"Why?" Eirik asked.
"Because you need help," she said. "I overheard what your huscarl and you were talking about and I agree with her. You need advisers. I mean, by the White, even my father had advisers at the castle. Most of them were just toadying sycophants, but your huscarl is right: you need someone to help you."
Eirik nodded. "Come with me."
Eirik led Serana to Mistveil Keep, where Vulwulf, his wife Nura, Lydia and the Firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim, as the twenty-two first members, including Eirik, were being called by the newcomers, were feasting to their victories and to many victories to come. Serana threw her hood on as she walked inside and sat down on a chair away near the door leading to the court wizard's chambers. Eirik sat down next to Lydia while a servant brought him food and drink. With the cup in his hand, he rose up.
"Sons and daughters of Skyrim," he said. "Our army grows in size. Tonight we welcome two hundred souls into our ranks." There were cheers and fists pounding upon the table and shouts of "For Skyrim!" raised up from the table.
"When we left Windhelm almost two months ago," Eirik continued. "I did not believe that we would one day be on our way to a true army. As it is now that we are an army, we must be organized as such. As your chief captain, I must now appoint captains from among you to serve the people in my stead and to help our cause grow and prosper. I will need to appoint four new positions: one is the title of Hand of the Captain. Second is the title of Marshal. Third is the title of Steward and the last will be a priest who will keep alive among us the worship of Talos, whose blood is the blood of this land and whose might is the might of our people."
Once more there were cheers lifted up as well as goblets and tankards and fists pounded on the ground.
"The Hand of the Captain," Eirik began. "Will be my second. If I am away or infirm, he or she will act in my stead and lead with my authority. He or she must also be fair and even-tempered, one whose mind and heart are for the people of Skyrim. For in matters of diplomacy, we must be as strong as in matters of warfare. Who will accept this position?"
Galmar rose from his seat. "We don't need no diplomacy! We saw how well that worked out for the people of Skyrim after the peace summit at High Hrothgar." Several other voices grumbled, but then old Angrim slowly rose to his feet.
"I will accept," he said. "Though my wish is to die in battle, I will serve you as Hand of the Captain, Dragonborn. It would be my honor."
"The Marshal," Eirik continued. "Will be our commander of warfare. He will oversee the training and recruitment of troops." But while Eirik was still speaking, Lalla, Svenn and Ralof rose up as one.
"Who among us," Lalla asked. "Would serve better as Marshal than Galmar?"
"He has already proven himself to us," Ralof said. "As a competent military commander. There is no other option."
"I agree," Eirik said. "So Galmar Stone-Fist shall be our Marshal. Our steward must be one who has keen knowledge of the means of warfare and running holds. Our goal is to save Skyrim from the Empire and their servants, but if we cannot run well those who we have liberated, we have no purpose being here at all."
"If I may speak on one's behalf," Perla spoke up. "I would say that Dynthor, who was once a quartermaster of the Stormcloaks, would be a good choice to serve as steward for the Sons of Skyrim." Again all voices were lifted up in affirmation.
"Then it shall be so," Eirik continued. "Lastly we need a chief priest, one who serves the Hero-King, who is our champion and our right..."
"If I may speak," Vulwulf added, rising from his chair. "It pleases me to know that there are still men and women in Skyrim who will not submit to the will of the Empire. Every one of you honor Talos and the memory of Ulfric Stormcloak with your efforts. Therefore, as Jarl of Riften and as a true Nord and former supporter of Ulfric Stormcloak, I offer my wife Nura Snow-Shod to serve as your chief priest of Talos. She has already served the people as priest of Talos in this city, despite the Imperial ban, and I would be honored to have my wife serve in such great company."
"Did you not also say that you lost both your son and your daughter?" Eirik asked. "I cannot ask you to lose your wife as well."
"Nonsense," Nura, a middle-aged Nord woman in the orange robes of a priest, rose from the table. "The Snow-Shods have always served the people of Skyrim: Lilija was honored to serve the Stormcloaks, and I would be honored to serve you, Dragonborn."
Eirik smiled. "Then it is set. Let us now drink to our beloved land and to our future! To Skyrim!"
"To Skyrim!"
They all drained their tankards, while Eirik silently watched over those assembled here. So far they had come very far and had won two victories. It was a good start by any account, but he wondered what would happen when they marched northward, towards Windhelm. That would be the next goal, taking back Ysgramor's city. But that would take a long time to prepare and more than only two hundred men. They would have to find craftsmen skilled in the art of siege warfare to build weapons for the assault.
He slouched down into his chair, wondering where the Companions were, if they had any news of Mjoll's whereabouts or if they had abandoned him all together and returned to Whiterun.
Two weeks had passed since Serana had arrived at Riften and there was no sign or rumor of Crixus anywhere in the Rift. From Ivarstead and the rebuilt fortifications at Nimalten to Shor's Stone and as far east as Fort Dawnguard, no one matching his description was seen anywhere in the Rift. It was still very early, for one day more and then the month of Second Seed, the last month of spring, was soon to be upon them. Only when Midyear came, the month proceeding Second Seed but before Midsummer's Day, could Eirik truly be expecting Crixus. But he knew better than to believe that Crixus would give him a date of his arrival and then honor it: he would be watchful always, in case he tried to attack him in secret.
At the end of of those two weeks, the Companions returned to Riften, bearing ill news. None of them had seen any sign or heard tell of any news regarding Mjoll the Lioness. There were rumors in some of the northern holds of a large band of brigands, thieves and bandits crossing the snows. They rarely attacked any villages and where they stayed no one knew, for they never saw them settle down at a fort or bandit camp.
"They say," Aela said. "That those who have seen them while they were about saw a woman and a young girl in a caged cart among them. Rather strange, don't you think?"
"Have you been able to catch them?" Eirik asked.
"No," said Vilkas. "Whoever is in charge of them seems to always be one step ahead of us."
"It's damn frustrating!" Farkas growled.
"We've also sent word," Vilkas added. "To whoever was interested in joining the Companions should make for Riften. It's a good thing you finally returned when you did."
"I will see to them at once," Eirik said. "But now I must ask you, please, that you go out again and search for her. Only now, in your searching, ask in the towns concerning an Argonian going by the name of Tarvis."
"I remember him," Aela said. "He used to frequent the Bannered Mare. Almost thought of offering to let him join the Companions, only, well, he's a mage. We don't let mages into the Companions, as I'm sure you remember from what Skjor told you when you first arrived."
"Aye," Eirik nodded. "If you can find any news of his whereabouts, it would go a long way to finding Mjoll."
"Of course we will do this," said Vilkas. "We are brothers of the shield, it is our duty."
The Companions stayed the night in Riften, and then on the fifteenth day after Serana's appearance, they departed once more into the wild. Once again Eirik begrudged the many burdens upon his shoulders and, with the departure of the Companions, he felt the absence of Mjoll all the more.
The day wore on bleak and wet with rain, and Eirik was glad to finally fall asleep in his bed in Mistveil Keep. The next day, the first day of Second Seed, dawned cloudless and bright, with the sun shining brightly down from up above. Eirik could not enjoy the sun and the warm air, however, for he was kept inside with much work to do for the Sons of Skyrim as well as for the Companions. Nine new members joined the Companions while a request for more materials for Nimalten's defenses had to be signed.
When night finally came, Eirik could not sleep. He thought over what had happened over the last two and a half months since Mjoll had disappeared. It became clear now why he went to Windhelm instead of searching every nook and cranny of the Pale for Mjoll: he wanted to have a purpose. When the dragons were a threat throughout Skyrim, he told himself and others that the burden of being Dragonborn was great, but inside he enjoyed it. He had a purpose, a reason to live and a reason for his battles, and it made him feel happy and invincible.
But now Alduin was gone, Harkon Volkihar and Miraak were dead, and, especially after Alduin's defeat, Eirik began to feel that he had outlived his purpose. Was it therefore despair that caused him to shy away from what appeared to be a fruitless endeavor of searching every cave and bandit-hole throughout the Pale for Mjoll, or was it the desire to be wanted, to have a purpose? Either way, it was a betrayal and it made Eirik feel rotten inside.
He had made excuses as to why he hadn't gone that way before; the Sons of Skyrim would have been killed by the Dunmer if he had done nothing. But then he replied that they were just people and Mjoll was everything to him. Then again he felt ashamed for thinking this: were his desires really more important than the plight of the people of Skyrim? Now in truth he felt himself as though he were in a harem being torn apart by four mistresses: his own desires, the needs of the Sons of Skyrim, the needs of the Companions and the needs of the world in which he lived. All of them wanted him, all of him, and would not be satisfied until they had it all.
How long he continued to debate himself and to consider what might have been until he finally fell asleep was beyond him. When he awoke, however, he heard Lydia's voice and felt a hand nudge him on the shoulder. He rose up, wiping sleep out of his eyes and turned to his huscarl.
"We have a problem, my thane," she said. "There's a man out front of the gates of Riften. He wants you to come out and speak with him."
"Really?" Eirik asked. "There have been quite a few men of that sort coming here to have an audience with me. What does he look like?"
"You should really come and see, my thane," Lydia returned.
Eirik slowly rose, washed his face in the basin on the table near his bed, then threw on his shirt and followed Lydia outside of the keep. It was a strangely cloudy day that bespoke of rain and the wind was in the north and cold. He had not passed the courtyard gate when he heard a voice cry out in a loud voice: "Eirik!" He halted upon hearing the voice, strong and commanding, calling out for him.
"Lydia," he said. "Bring me my long-sword. I feel I might need it."
Lydia sighed, then turned around and went back to the keep, muttering as she left: "I'm sworn to carry your burdens!"
By the time Eirik reached the market-square, he heard the voice cry out once again. Swiftly he ran to the stone northern wall of Riften and, climbing up onto the parapet, looked out to see who it was who was calling for him. As he gained the top, he finally saw who it was who was calling him. Standing outside the walls of Riften was a knight, straight out of one of the tales of the Third Era, when Imperial soldiers wore full body armor and the knightly orders of Cyrodiil were famed throughout all of Tamriel.
The knight was clad head to toe in Third Era steel plate armor, with a helmet that hid his face. His tabard was black and bore in red upon it the Red Diamond, the dragon emblem of the Empire of Cyrodiil. The knight was on foot, and nearby was his horse, unarmored and hitched up to a cart with a leather covering over it. Hanging upon the side of the cart was an Imperial kite shield and a short sword, and impaled in the ground between cart and knight was a broad-sword equal in size to Eirik's Skaal great-sword, though the design was clearly Third Era Colovian and not as ornate.
"You've found me!" Eirik shouted down to the knight. "I am Eirik the Dragonborn. Why have you come to Riften?"
"Ah, my old friend!" the knight spoke. His voice was muffled underneath the helmet and he breathed heavily after each sentence, but the accent was very familiar. "I've heard quite a bit about you. And I've come to visit you as I said I would, to see what a mess you had made of Riften now that the Thieves Guild and the Black-Briars have been driven out."
"Who are you?" Eirik asked.
"Have you not guessed?" the knight asked. "Of course not, your small Nordic mind is incapable of such a logical assumption. I am Servius Crixus, your old friend and comrade."
Eirik's blood boiled as he heard the name spoken. Any other thought was driven out of his mind, except that he now had his enemy in the palm of his hand. He would finally be rid of Crixus once and for all. The walls of Riften were lined with archers, some of the newest members of the Sons of Skyrim who had training with the bow. At a single command, they could unleash arrows from bows with enough strength to find the separations of his armor plates. But that was too easy a death for the likes of him.
"Will you let me in," asked the knight. "Or shall I wait for you to come down?"
"I am not your friend nor your comrade, you Colovian bastard," Eirik returned. "You've betrayed me for the last time."
"I think you mean handing you over to the Empire at Dawnstar," said the knight. "An unfortunate mistake, but, knowing your temper, I came prepared in case you tried anything." The knight pounded his metal-clad fist against his tabard, beneath which was a steel breast-plate. "If you will allow me to explain..."
"There will be no explanations, not this time," Eirik said. "You won't worm your way out of paying what you owe me: your life."
There was a pause, after which the knight spoke. "If you wish to kill me, then why not get it over with? Command your servants to fill me full of arrows, if any can pierce my armor."
"I will personally kill you myself," Eirik said. "Not with the Voice, but with my own strength."
Eirik walked back down the stairs as Lydia approached, bearing Eirik's sword. He told her to bring his armor, to which she grumbled but once again complied. Seeing that Eirik had departed, the knight once again began crying out his name. Eirik tried not to pay attention as he waited for Lydia to bring him his armor. When she finally arrived, she gave him a hand gearing himself up as he told her about what he was about to do.
"That's Crixus?" Lydia asked. "He sounds nothing like him! Besides, I've never known Crixus to be so...so..."
"So what?" Eirik asked.
"Well," she returned. "He's usually a little more subtle than walking out in ridiculous Third Era armor."
"Not in his speech," Eirik added.
"Still," Lydia replied. "I think you should talk to him first. I don't think that's Crixus."
"Why would anyone want to pretend to be Crixus?" Eirik asked. "He's the scourge of Skyrim."
"Then ask him why!" Lydia said. "Maybe he knows something about Crixus, maybe..."
"The time for talk is done," Eirik said as he took his great-sword. "Open the gates!"
The gates were opened and Eirik charged towards the knight, great-sword in hand. Unlike the little Colovian who had only ever worn modern Imperial armor and leather ranger's clothes, Eirik was a mighty Nord who had felled trees in his youth and dragons in his manhood. He could run in steel armor. The knight reached for his kite shield and short sword asn Eirik swung the great-sword across to take off the head with one blow. The knight held up the shield in place, fending off the blow but sending him stumbling backwards from the sheer strength of Eirik's blow and the weight of the knight's armor.
Again Eirik swung across, and again the shield went up. The blow was deflected, but the shield arm was knocked aside, opening up the knight to thrusting blows. In a desperate retaliation, the knight held up his sword across as much as his armor and coat of mail underneath would allow: the vertical slash was parried, but Eirik saw that the knight was unfamiliar in his gear.
But just in that moment, the shield struck Eirik backward, sending him stumbling back as the knight strode forward to the attack. Eirik, being faster, rolled aside as the knight approached. Back on his feet, Eirik swung his great-sword about twice to gain momentum, then strode forward with a mighty swing at the knight's neck once again. The shield went up, but this time the blow was so strong that it hacked the kite shield apart. Without protection, the knight held up his sword to fend off the next blow, but he swiftly learned that he could not hold it up to defend himself as fast as his opponent could swing.
Throwing aside the short sword, the knight strode slowly over to where he had placed the broad-sword and drew it out. While this was indeed a weapon to match the great-swords of Skyrim, Eirik saw that the knight was as inexperienced with a broad-sword as he was with armor. This time the knight swung, but Eirik had fought too many battles and his opponent moved too slowly for him to be caught off-guard. First blow was guarded, then the next, then the third blow. But as the knight swung for the fourth blow, Eirik stepped aside, causing him to swing wide and leave himself open. Like a charging bull, Eirik threw himself into the knight, who, being already very heavy and cumbersome, fell onto the ground.
Angrily, Eirik aimed a kick at the downed knight, but it struck metal and his toe hurt inside his boot. This only roused his fury even more as he reached to tear off the helmet and beat Crixus' face into a bloody pulp with his own two hands. It was with shock that, tearing off the helmet, he saw a young man, not even bearded, lying before him, covered in sweat and red-faced from the heat of his armor. For a moment Eirik was aghast that he was about to kill a seemingly innocent young knight, too young even for knighthood...
Then suddenly a black-feathered arrow struck the ground right next to the knight's head. From the angle of the shaft, it had come from Riften, not away from it. Turning around, Eirik saw, standing upon the roof of the Bunkhouse, whose roof was tall enough to over-span the wall, a figure clad in black ranger garb. In his hands was a black bow that was bent, an arrow upon the string.
"Just like you Nords," called the newcomer. "Killing innocent boys to satisfy your self-righteous sense of vengeance."
"Shor's balls, Crixus, what is this?" Eirik roared at the black-clad Crixus standing upon the roof. "This is a new low, even for you. Sending a boy dressed up in armor pretend to be you?"
"I figured," Crixus said. "After what happened at Dawnstar, or should I say Solitude, you wouldn't be in the most receptive mood."
"And for that you risk his life?" Eirik fumed. "Let an innocent lad die for you? You will surely die for this! Now get down here, so I can send you to Oblivion!"
"Doesn't give me much incentive to come down, does it?" laughed Crixus.
The other arrow flew down, striking the ground two feet away from Eirik's foot. As Eirik made his way back to the gate, another arrow was fitted into Crixus' bow, this one aimed at his head.
"You know how deadly I am with a bow," Crixus said. "I don't want to fight you right now. We have to talk..."
"The time for talk is done, ass-hole!" Eirik shouted. "If you won't come down to me, I'm coming up to get you! Open the gates!"
With that, Eirik ran towards the gates as they opened, then made his way up the stairs to the top of the wall. He did not see any way by which Crixus could have reached the roof, but he did see a black-clad figure shoot an arrow towards the houses on the east side of town, tie a rope to it and then swing along with his bow to the other side. Eirik ran thither, but saw that there was no way from the wall onto the walk-ways of the third level of the Riften houses. He saw Crixus was now on the platform and had turned to Eirik.
"Listen, I know it's difficult for you, as a Nord," he began. "To think, but you have to right now!"
"Give me another reason to mount your head from the gates of Mistveil Keep," Eirik returned. "I dare you!"
"Just fucking listen to me!" Crixus shouted. "Yes, I lied about the trap, but it wasn't meant to harm you."
"Bullshit!" Eirik retorted.
"It wasn't bull-shite!" said Crixus. "I needed to get you out of harm's way."
Eirik sheathed his great-sword upon his back and then leaped towards the nearest platform, but, heavily armored as he was, he almost missed the last few planks, which creaked under his weight as he tried to pull himself to safety. Just as he was up, he saw Crixus running up the tiled roofs of the houses to get out of the way. Slowly Eirik pulled himself back onto his feet.
"The prisons of Solitude are out of harm's way to you, ass-hole?" Eirik asked.
"Yes," Crixus returned. "At least there you'd have been safe."
"Safe from what?" Eirik asked as he began trying to walk up the tiled roof towards Crixus.
"The Empire had to win this damn Civil War," Crixus said. "I've told you that from the beginning. Knowing you, I knew you'd run to Windhelm and try something stupid once word got out that it was besieged."
"So you imprisoned m..." Eirik began, but his foot fell through a rotten roof-timber and he was stuck for a moment.
"I put you out of harm's way," reasoned Crixus. "Once Ulfric was dead and the rebellion over, I'd have you released."
"Bullshit!" Eirik repeated. "Aren't you the one...who hates all Nords? Who'd rather see us all die because...you say we're too much trouble?"
"I don't know where you come up with half of the things I supposedly say," Crixus returned.
This only served to anger Eirik all the more. With a loud shout he wrenched his foot free and crawled the rest of the way. Crixus carefully edged away from Eirik, placing one foot behind the other as he balanced on the center beam of the roof on which he stood. Eirik was now on his feet, teetering with each step as he was not as sure-footed as Crixus. Yet, steadily, he was able to gain balance and was now glaring at Crixus with fury in his eyes. The Colovian leaped onto the roof and began sliding down towards the awning, but Eirik refused to let him get away. Looking after him, he shouted: "Wuld!"
In a rush and blur, he was on him, seizing him about in his strong arms. But, underestimating the power of his own Thu'um, Eirik and Crixus were sent flying off the roof and then crashing into the cold waters of Lake Honrich. Coughing and sputtering they both rose to the surface, Crixus sooner because of his lighter armor. Eirik clawed after him, clutching at the moss-encrusted dock posts as he attempted to drag himself onto the docks after Crixus, who was already sloshing out of the way.
"You're holding back," Eirik gasped, pulling himself up half way up the dock.
"Exactly," Crixus returned. "Because I don't want to kill you."
"Too bad," Eirik returned. "I do."
Crixus was already on his feet when Eirik had pulled himself up onto the dock. He swiftly turned the way Crixus had ran and tried to catch up with him. But Crixus already had a healthy lead on him and with soaked clothes and heavy armor, he would not be able to catch up with him. He was still unable to Shout safely, so he seized a bucket of fish from one of the hatcheries on the side of the dock, dumped the fish and threw the wooden bucket at Crixus. It fell short of his head and instead caught him on the legs, sending him down onto the slippery docks. Eirik made his way swiftly towards him, great-sword in hand.
Without spending any time on words, Eirik lunged at Crixus. In a swift motion, Crixus drew out a black short-sword, which held off the blow. Eirik pushed against the blade, hoping that his larger size and strength could force back Crixus, but he felt weaker the closer he pushed against the black blade. For a moment he wondered if the blade were enchanted.
Thus weakened, Crixus was able to roll aside and rise back up to his feet. But moving thus gave new strength to Eirik, who swung at Crixus again with his great-sword. Every strike against Crixus' black short-sword felt like striking a stone: only instead of simply jarring, Eirik felt weaker every time his blade struck the black blade of Crixus' sword. Yet his anger burned hotter within him than his better judgment and he fought on, swing after swing, clash after clash. With every blow he struck against the black blade, sparks rained down onto the floor around them.
Eirik did not heed the look on Crixus' face or any other words he said. There was nothing more in his mind than Crixus' blade and his own. He had suffered too long at Crixus' mouth and hand: he would have to find an opening even if it taxed every ounce of his strength. Crixus, meanwhile, was losing ground, moving back up the stairs onto the main level of the city.
Aside from his enchanted sword (which baffled Eirik since Crixus did not seem like one who would use magic to gain an advantage in a battle, due to his disdain of the Thu'um), this was the first time that Eirik fought Crixus man to man in a sword-fight. As the battle wore on and Eirik's fury simmered down from an all-consuming blaze to cold hands upon his throat, urging him onward, he saw exactly what kind of fighter was Crixus. His stance was that of the Legionnaires Eirik had fought and, despite both his age and apparent favor of the bow and knife over a short-sword, was holding his own.
Yet the battle wore on and Eirik's strength was being sapped by his proximity to Crixus' black blade. Crixus noticed this and began evading his opponent, making Eirik swing wide and miss, taxing his strength even more. Aside from the Thu'um, Eirik's greatest battle trait was raw strength, which could overcome most opponents. Crixus, on the other hand, was not as wildly strong but more disciplined due to his time in the Legion. Furthermore, he was fighting for his life and fighting with a cool head.
None of them noticed the rain that had begun to fall down upon them as they fought, nor the rails, planks, market shops and stands that would suddenly become part of the fight at a moment's notice. Even the city guards refused to try to stop the fight: for them, the sheer sight of it was something to behold. On the one hand was Eirik, chief captain of the Sons of Skyrim and Bear of Eastmarch; each blow was like the swing of the paws of his namesake. The other one darted here and there, swift and powerful as a dragon.
Eirik, his anger cooling down, realized that there would be no way to break Crixus' guard. His skill as a fighter was just enough to keep him on an equal footing with Eirik's strength. There was only one way in which Eirik could gain the upper hand, but he hesitated using it for a moment, as it would not be fair to use this against Crixus since he never used it. But then it occurred to Eirik that Crixus never cared about fairness or rules: if he wanted to beat him, he would have to dispense with honor for a moment. He could not, with that enchanted black blade, find a way to defeat him.
"Fus...Ro Dah!"
Both of them shouted at the same time, for Crixus had guessed Eirik's mind and knew which Thu'um he favored. At that moment thunder broke out from the storm around them and, with the sound of their Thu'um, no one dared approach them now: to those who who were still braving the rain to watch them, it sounded like the gods themselves had come down and were speaking through these two. Both Eirik and Crixus were thrust back, Crixus slamming against a wooden wall and Eirik against one of the seller's booths behind him. Eirik crawled onto his feet, but saw before him Crixus drawing his bow and fitting an arrow into the string.
"I'll do it if I have to," said Crixus. "Now stand down!"
Once again, Eirik's being was filled with the same fire and disregard of anything that had filled him when he charged Windhelm. For too long his own desires had been sidelined for the good of all of Skyrim, and all it had gotten him was pain, suffering and loneliness. Not today. Today he was determined to take what had long since been denied him: vengeance against this agitator who had made his life miserable ever since they had met. It would end today. With a roaring battle shout, he rose to his feet and ran towards Crixus, sword in hand.
Suddenly he slammed against the wooden rail to his right, an arrow having struck him. He looked towards Crixus, whom he assumed had fired the arrow - he could see no one else - but suddenly his vision began to go blurry. He thought he saw a dark shape flounder and then fall, but his own world was growing dark as well. His mind also began to grow numb as darkness engulfed him. The last thing in his mind was Mjoll the Lioness; she it was who had been in his thoughts every moment since they were parted.
Forgive me...
(AN: I'm gonna keep this author's note mercifully short, since you were all waiting for this battle [and so was i]. I also got to write out some of Eirik's reasons [or lack thereof] of going to Windhelm instead of going after Mjoll. That is something that will haunt him for a while, since they were kind of hurriedly married.)