(AN: This chapter is not necessarily filler, because it does lead up to one of the three main quests in this story, as well as provide insight on how the war is affecting the people of Skyrim and some back-story for one of those people from The Dragon and the Bear that nobody cares about [yes, the Sons of Skyrim])


Road to Riften

It was a grim end to what should have been a good victory. Both Crixus and Jordis had their horse stolen and were therefore forced to go by foot to the nearest town, Dragon Bridge. That Crixus had stolen the horse from the stables of Windhelm he did not mention; if Jordis was in any way as moral as Marcurio, she would deride him for stealing and say that it was just that his stolen goods be stolen from him. Crixus didn't see it that way: he had stolen from the Nords of Windhelm, rebel scum, and that alone justified his behavior. Besides, in Crixus' mind, only what belonged to him was sacred and beyond touch: anyone else's goods or possessions were fair game, but not his own. They didn't have a need for anything he might decide to liberate from their ownership, but he had need of everything he had. That was just the way it was for him.

So it was that they were at the Four Shields Tavern, drowning their sorrows in some good ale. True to his word, he bought Jordis her drink, saying that she earned it for her behavior in Wolfskull Cave. As the bartender, a Nord woman named Faida, walked past the two of them, Crixus called out to her.

"Do you have anyone who can take a message back to Solitude?" he asked.

"Aye, I think I have just the one," she nodded. Crixus then reached into his bosom and plucked forth one of the letters. He tore off a corner of the envelope, then called for some ink and a pen. A young boy by the name of Clinton soon brought up a small ink-horn and feather quill, which Crixus used to scribble quickly his message. Once the message was complete, Faida sent the little boy to deliver the message up to Solitude.

"I don't get it," Jordis murmured. "Why couldn't we have just done it ourselves?"

"We're not going back to Solitude," Crixus replied. "We're going to Riften."

"On foot?" she exclaimed. "And into rebel territory?"

"Not on foot," Crixus returned. "Isn't there a stable nearby where we can purchase a horse?"

"Aye," she nodded.

"Then we'll start there," he added.

"But what's in Riften that we need?" she asked. "It's nothing but a home of cutthroats and thieves."

"That it is," Crixus added. "And that is precisely why we're going there."

"Shouldn't we report the theft of the horse?" Jordis asked.

"It wouldn't matter," Crixus groaned. "We didn't even get a look at the bastard."

At that moment, the door opened and one walked in clad in Imperial garb. It was not the usual Legionnaire armor, though; instead of the leather jerkin and fauld which belonged to the footmen, there was a musculata of darkened leather. Upon the chest-piece was a red diamond with an eye in the center inlaid in silver. As soon as Crixus saw the newcomer, he turned away and buried his head underneath his hood. Jordis, keen on seeing who it was who caused her thane to act so secretively, turned her attention to the newcomer. He was dark-skinned, though his facial features and accent were Colovian, not Redguard. He had a short beard and mustache, neatly trimmed, and when he sat down at the bar, he flashed a brilliant smile at Faida.

"Faida!" the newcomer greeted warmly. "Slow afternoon?"

"Not so much, Gaius," Faida replied, smiling as well. "What about you?"

"Oh, ho ho!" Gaius chuckled. "You know I can't say that."

"Aye, I know," Faida nodded. "But I couldn't be happier, having such a fine, loyal man calling me day in and day out. Just make sure you don't forget me while you're out and about."

"Duty or no," Gaius replied. "I will always carry you in my heart."

"Oh, Gaius Maro!" Faida giggled. "You and your silver Colovian tongue! It's a wonder you haven't got the women back home in tears over losing you. Where was that again?"

"Anvil," Gaius replied. "But the ladies back there will have to do without me. There is only one woman who has a monopoly on my heart." He then turned about and noticed the strange man with his head down.

"What's with him?" he asked Faida.

"Don't know," she replied. "Just did that as soon as you walked in."

"Hey there, stranger," Gaius greeted. "Are you sick?"

"Hmm?" Crixus asked, looking up briefly from where he was. "No, I don't think so. Just tired from a long journey."

"See here," Gaius mused. "Hold your head up, if I may trouble you."

"Why?" Crixus asked.

"My father always told me," Gaius stated. "That only a man of honor will look you in the eye."

Crixus looked up and saw the young man's face, and immediately he was stunned silent. A hundred memories he thought he had forgotten came rushing back as he saw in this young man's face the impress of his father when he was a young lad. Though both of them were now grown, there was no mistaking the similarity, even though the young man was darker than his father. The bundle of letters in his bosom began to burn, reminding him of what he had done for the past twenty years.

"What did you say your name was again?" Crixus asked.

"Gaius Maro," he replied. "And yours?"

"Maro," Crixus mused, avoiding his question. "Maro. Yes, I know the name. They're a wealthy, influential family in Anvil."

"More than just that, friend," Gaius replied. "My auntie Selvia is the Countess of Anvil. We're the ruling family of Anvil, everyone knows who we are and of our accomplishments."

Crixus chuckled proudly. "I wouldn't have expected it any other way. I've heard many good things about the Maro family, and to see that they've become the ruling house of Anvil makes an old man proud. But tell me, do you happen to know a man named Severus Maro?"

"He's my father," Gaius replied.

"Ah, then that's where the resemblance comes from," Crixus noted. "You bear the likeness of your father well, boy. You should be proud of him."

"How do you know my father?" Gaius asked.

"We were friends as boys," Crixus replied, his eyes gazing off towards the south in reminiscence. "We were like brothers."

For a moment, Gaius looked over Crixus, muttering 'No' unbelievably over and over beneath his breath. Then suddenly he exclaimed, then turned back to Crixus.

"It can't be," he said amazed. "It-it can't be! He told me you were dead."

"I am dead," Crixus replied grimly.

"No, but..." Gaius exclaimed. "You...you're cousin Servius! Pa always talked about you."

"He did?" Crixus asked, feeling the sting of disappointment.

"Yes!" Gaius replied. "He...he talked about how you and he would go playing through the streets of Anvil. He showed me the old..."

"...the old postern gate onto the South Tower!" Crixus returned. "It was on the wall, if I remember it correctly. Leads right up..."

"...right up onto the wall!" Gaius finished. "He said you two would use it to climb up all the way onto the city walls! Oh, the adventures he would tell! You two seemed to be very close!"

"Yes, we were," Crixus nodded.

"Oh, if only I weren't so busy!" Gaius exclaimed. "I should write to Pa and tell him that you're here, and alive! He'd never believe it if I told him!"

"No, don't tell him," Crixus returned.

"But why not?"

"Let's just keep this our little secret," Crixus replied. "When I'm ready to tell your father, I will tell him myself."

"But why..."

Crixus leaned in and whispered close to him. "I'm on a mission for the Emperor."

Gaius nodded, then added in a hushed tone. "No need to tell me. I'm in the Penitus Oculatus. We live secrets."

Crixus nodded, then leaned back. "So that's settled, then. I have my reasons for keeping secret as do you. I need to leave Dragon Bridge immediately, I have work to do."

"Is there anything I can help you with?" Gaius asked eagerly.

"No, I'm afraid not."

"But if it's, you know," he winked. "Then it would be my duty as a loyal citizen to offer you aid."

Crixus smiled. "You do your father proud with your loyalty, and your country and your Emperor. But..."

"But what?"

"You don't happen to have access to horses, do you?"


It was not long before they were once again on the main road, going south towards Rorikstead. Gaius Maro had delivered on the request for horses, no questions asked, and soon both Crixus and Jordis were on their own horses, galloping across the emerald oceans of Whiterun in summer. Their path did not take them very far, however, before night fell and they were forced once again to make camp. Crixus, who needed to stay awake, let Jordis rest while he tended the fire. For even in summertime, they needed a fire to keep away the wild animals that prowled the plains of Whiterun. They had had nothing to eat, as the travel supplies on Crixus' horse had been stolen; but Gaius had seen this and outfitted them with travel goods that would last them a good ten days journey. These they ate sparingly and, for the most part, in silence. After a while the shadows started to draw around them and Jordis spoke up.

"There's something that's been on the back of my mind, my thane," she said. "Ever since Dragon Bridge, when we met Gaius in the Four Shields Tavern."

"It's not wise to burden yourself with thought," Crixus added. "Your little Nordic minds cannot handle more than one thought at a time."

"You're doing it again," Jordis grumbled.

"And with good reason," Crixus evaded. "I don't want to talk about what went on in the Four Shields Tavern. It's water under the bridge and I'll only make you regret it if you bring it up again."

"I can take whatever you throw at me," she returned.

"Unlikely," Crixus grumbled. "Last time, you went crying to the Jarl like a little b*tch."

"Maybe if you worked with me instead of against me, we wouldn't have any trouble!" she returned. "Gods, why are you so..."

"Logical?" Crixus asked.

"What's logical about your behavior?" she asked.

"Do you even know what logical means?" Crixus returned.

"I know that that young man was overjoyed to see you," she stated. "And you were acting like it was nothing. Nay, worse, you were intentionally avoiding him."

Crixus groaned. "With good reason."

"Why?"

"Because of his father," Crixus groaned an answer at last.

"Why? From what I heard, you and he were good friends," Jordis stated. "What could have happened between you? And whatever it may have been, why should it matter? From what I heard, Gaius' father never said an unkind word about you."

Crixus sighed. "Then he's a good man for it, and it's much less than I deserve." Jordis did not even respond. It was so strange seeing Crixus, so usually proud, haughty and arrogant, acting humble, solemn and remorseful.

"What do you mean?" Jordis asked, her tone now one of solemnity rather than interest or annoyance.

Crixus reached into his bosom and pulled out the bundle of letters. From them he pulled out the first few and handed these to Jordis, while he kept a hand on the rest. For the first time in almost twenty years, the letters' seals were broken one by one and Jordis began to read out-loud the words that were written therein.

Dear Servius,

I apologize that it has taken me four years before we've spoken again. But the War has driven us apart and it took me at least a year to find out where you were posted. There's so much we have to catch up on, you and I.

I wept when I heard that your father had died. He was a good man, always kind to us both. My father Gentonius also is no longer with us. He died at the Battle of the Red Ring. Though to say that all news from Anvil is bad would be wrong. Uncle Surius has also remarried. The family all misses you and asks about your welfare, for they know that I have been looking for you ever since the War ended.

May the gods be with you and may this letter find you swiftly.

Your loving cousin, Severus.

She then picked up another one, which was dated some time on the first of Last Seed, 4E 185.

Dear Servius,

I write with wonderful news. Gaius is almost three now. He looks like his mother, though the others say that he has my features. He is easily as strong as both of us and is always laughing about something. He will have two worthy cousins to play with when he's old enough. As I told you before, old Uncle Spurius has had two more children. I barely recognize them these days, if ever my duties send me back home. Alcedonia will be ten next year and she's already grown so tall. Quintus is a little rascal, always causing trouble. Reminds me of us. I've also heard that cousin Hieronymus' wife Fralia is with child, due sometime next year.

As for me, well, as I have said before, there is not much concerning my duties that I can write concerning. Livia keeps telling me to leave off writing you. She says that you're dead. I refuse to believe you're dead. There have been no death-reports out of Morrowind as far as I can tell. Your work leaves you busy, this I know, but I write on, in the hopes that one day you will see these and come back to us, to your family.

Your loving cousin, Severus.

In the dim light of their camp-fire, Jordis quickly skimmed through a few other letters, all of them bearing more or less the same message. Severus, 'your loving cousin', was writing about the things in his family. There were never any acknowledgements of responses, or even of lack of responses; Severus seemed to just write more letters with the hope that there may be a response.

"You received all of these letters over so many years," Jordis asked. "And yet you never read them? Not even opened them?"

Crixus shook his head.

"Why?" she asked. "I mean, if I suddenly received a letter from a childhood friend, with whom I was as close to as a brother, I would read it immediately."

"I don't know why I didn't read them," Crixus responded. "And I don't aim to share my reasons with you."

Jordis sighed, then handed the letters back to Crixus. Once he had them, he held them in his hands for a moment. He felt them in one hand, as if the opening of the letters and Jordis reading them had lessened them somehow. He cast his eyes towards the little camp-fire babbling away into the night: it would be easy to be rid of these letters forever. He had specifically not ordered a fire-resistant enchantment placed on the letters, and they could be torn as well. It would be so easy...and yet he could not, he dared not, bring himself to destroy them.

"Get some sleep," he said at last, placing the letters back into the bundle. "We have a long road ahead of us."

"It's alright, my thane," Jordis replied. "I'll take the first watch."

"No!" Crixus insisted. "I don't need to sleep. I'll take first watch."

They went back and forth for a while over who would take the first watch. Jordis, as a housecarl, was obliged to serve her lord. But Crixus, fearing what the night would bring, did not want to stay up. So it was that they continued long into the night, until at last Jordis fell asleep in her insistence that she would take the first watch. Crixus took one of the bed-rolls from the horse - for Gaius had been sure to outfit them with supplies for the journey, as what they had had been stolen - and placed the blanket part over her while he turned back to the fire.


The morning dawned cool and windy, the sun peeking its uppermost head over the Valtheim pass. Crixus had stayed up all night, tending the fire. When Jordis finally awoke, they did their best to bury the remains of their fire and hide all traces, then they packed up their things onto the horses and took off once again. If all went well, they would be at Whiterun by that afternoon, though Crixus had no desire to stay there if it could be helped.

They rode all that morning, the emerald plains of Whiterun passing swiftly all around them like a great rolling ocean. For a long while they met nothing along the road to confront them. By midday, they found the Great East Road that stretched from one end of Skyrim to the other. Here they decided to increase their pace by traveling on the paved and cobbled road rather than the dense, springy and sometimes rabbit-hole laden, turf. In the distance, they saw the tiny speck of an old stone tower built during the hey-day of the Empire. From what they could tell, it was still standing and, for all they knew, still used by the Jarl of Whiterun to guard the western end of the road leading through his hold.

As they went down the road, they espied another small speck on the eastern horizon. As they drew closer, they could see, afar off, that the speck was actually a small group of specks. Whether the caravan was going exceedingly slow on the road, or whether Crixus and Jordis were, against their conscious thought, picking up the pace to keep up with said caravan, is not entirely known; but what is known is that slowly the two began to draw nearer until keen-eyed Crixus could discern exactly who it was that was on the road ahead of them.

"It's alright," he said to Jordis. "It's the Khajiit caravans. They won't harm us."

"How do you know?" Jordis asked.

"I've met them before," Crixus added. "Saved them from an ogre. They wouldn't be so Nordic as to forget my help that easily."

Jordis rolled her eyes, but said nothing. Crixus' words did not seem worthy enough to start another argument. Instead she kept her eyes on Crixus, who seemed to be turning his course towards the caravan. Though she had her own doubts about being entangled with the Khajiit, she followed after him as she was sworn to do.

Minutes passed as they continued their approach. At length, it became clear that the caravan were aware of the newcomers, for they halted for a moment and allowed them to approach. As the newcomers made their approach, Crixus noted that three Khajiit placed themselves between the caravan and their approach. Crixus brought his horse up front and held up his hand.

"Friends!" he called out. "We come in peace."

"Who is this one that speaks?" one of the Khajiit asked.

"I am a stranger to you," Crixus replied. "Why should I give you my name? I am merely passing on my way to the east."

"We were told to look for one of your description," the Khajiit replied. "Khajiit have keen eyes, can see much from a short distance."

"Is that so?" Crixus asked.

At this, a rather important-looking Khajiit walked out. From there, Crixus noted that he was dressed in fine clothes and had his gray mane combed and braided. Furthermore, he also bore a sword upon his belt.

"This one has seen you before," the important Khajiit stated. "Not in person, but in words. And words fit your likeness well enough. Is your name Crixus?"

"How do you know my name?" Crixus asked.

"Ma'dran spoke of you," the Khajiit returned. "He spoke of your friendship to him and his caravan, and that you told your name to him. You are a friend of the Khajiit."

"And who are you?" Crixus returned.

"This one is called Ri'saad," the Khajiit answered. "He leads the caravans in Skyrim and is chief of this one, on its way to Whiterun." He then spoke something to those gathered around him in Khajiiti, at which they lowered their weapons and the one called Ri'saad welcomed Crixus and Jordis into their company. At a word from Ri'saad, the caravan continued its march eastward with Crixus and Jordis traveling along with them.

All the while, however, Crixus spoke to Ri'saad about the fortunes of the Khajiit caravans. While they were not allowed to board in the cities, their business was good enough. Both the rebels and the Imperials were willing to buy from them and they were better off for it. There had been a few battles with the wild creatures or bandits, but the caravans had fared well and had lost none.

"So, then," Crixus added. "You've been in contact with the other caravans, right?"

"That is correct," Ri'saad returned. "We meet up when we can and share the stories of our fortunes over the camp-fires. That is where Ma'dran told me of his encounter with you. Though he did not say you had anyone with you."

"Just my fortune," Crixus groaned. "Nevertheless, when you have these meetings, you have cause to see hear quite a bit of news from these parts."

"Correct."

"Is there any news from Riften?" Crixus asked.

"Ah, Ri'saad sees," Ri'saad said knowingly. "This one things that all Khajiit are thieves. That they should know the goings-on of all thieves in Skyrim."

"I didn't ask about the Thieves Guild," Crixus retorted. "Just about Riften."

"Everyone knows the low repute of the City of Thieves," Ri'saad returned. "Your words make you no better than the Nords, who fear us and will not let us into their cities."

"Don't turn this into a issue of race!" Crixus groaned through clenched teeth. "I just want to know what has been happening in Riften!"

"How dare you..."

"Ri'saad, please!" a female Khajiit in steel armor interjected.

"This is never our lot back home!" Ri'saad added as a grim aside as he turned back to the caravan.

"Excuse Ri'saad, friend of the Khajiit," the female Khajiit said to Crixus. "He has suffered much under the locals. Though his little enterprise has been fruitful, he misses Elsweyr as much as we all do."

"Mmm," Crixus nodded.

"Khayla knows much, tells few," she returned. "Listens to the words of Akhari's caravan, the group that visits Riften. Kharjo is friend of Khayla's, tells her many things. Word in Riften is that the Thieves Guild is on the rise. The guild owns Riften with the Black-Briars, but they have much influence. Might even have greater influence in time."

"In time?" Crixus asked.

"Despite what Ri'saad says," Khayla replied. "He has considered an alliance with the Thieves Guild. Fences would bring in much gold, and there would be a network to expand the influence of the Thieves Guild. To the stone city of Markarth, even to Windhelm. We would all benefit."

"Then what's the problem?" Crixus asked.

"As you can see," Khayla stated. "Ri'saad is touchy regarding that subject with those who are not Khajiit. We have had little talk about it in our meetings. But, if this one was willing..."

"Yes?"

"As Khayla said," she added. "Khayla hears much. Knows that Ri'saad is homesick for Elsweyr. An ounce or three of moon sugar would make him more willing to accept the offer."

"I'll consider this," Crixus nodded. Though he was aware that he had no moon sugar on his person.

"Excuse me, my thane," Jordis interjected. "Why are they so nice to you?"

Crixus chuckled, then told her the story of his time among the desert-walkers. It took a little bit of time to tell the tale and time was on their side. Mid-day was still not long gone and the rest of the day was still before them: Crixus was more than able to take his time telling the tale, and indeed he did. At the end, Jordis grinned widely.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing," she returned. "It's just a strange thing to hear you acting so civil to people. Never would have believed it had I not heard it nor seen the results of it with my own eyes; not even sure if I believe it. Perhaps it would be a good idea to be more civil to those who you meet."

Crixus scoffed. "And why's that?"

"You might have warmer receptions where you go," Jordis stated. "Who knows, you might even find some friends in time."

"I get what I want either way," Crixus retorted. "And I don't want friends. Remind me to tell you what happened when I crossed the Pale."

"What happened there?" Jordis asked.

"I'm not ready to talk about it in full now," Crixus added. "But suffice it to say that everyone in my group died except one other. Who knows, perhaps I really am charmed..." At this, Jordis noticed that Crixus became a bit grimmer and sullen, gazing down at his right hand as if it disgusted him to look at it.

"What's wrong, my thane?" she asked.

"Not now," Crixus returned, hiding his hand underneath his traveling cloak.


They went on for the rest of the day, parting ways with the Khajiit caravan just a little south of Whiterun. Crixus and Jordis would cross the bridge over the White River and go on their way to the Valtheim pass, then onward to Eastmarch and then farther to the Rift. It was getting on towards evening and the light was dimming upon the plains of Whiterun behind them. In the air off to the right, on the foothills of the Throat of the World, there was a great howling of wolves. Crixus and Jordis paused for a while to gather wood and light torches, but they went quickly to avoid being caught by the wolves.

Every moment they spent looking for good branches or striking Crixus' flint felt like an hour. The very shadows around them seemed to be teeming with running wolves, howling and snarling. The horses knew what was wrong and were neighing nervously, pawing the ground with their hooves in fear. Yet they were able to get their torches ready and lit, and the wolves did not attack yet. But as they mounted up again, they saw, just before them on the road, a small fleck of light, like a torch, bobbing down the road to meet them.

Then suddenly they heard panting and snarling all around them. The two horses were pawing the ground madly, snorting and neighing in fear. Crixus and Jordis were hard-pressed to keep them under control. None of the wolves they had encountered thus far had been this menacing, and it angered Crixus that they were being so severely waylaid by mere wolves. Yet he could not contain his horse long enough to reach for his sword; it was his only means of fighting off enemies, there being not enough light for shooting.

But what they did not observe was that the little light they had seen but a few moments ago was getting closer and closer. Had they the strength of will to turn from their own problems and listen to what lay beyond, they would have heard the sound of hooves coming to a stop and heavy boots landing upon the stones of the street. But all supposition and guessing was made for not, for there was a loud roar and a large figure came rushing out of the darkness and into the vague light of their torches. There seemed to be consternation among the wolves as a sword was being drawn and suddenly one of them went down with a loud yelp. Another shout was raised and another sword drawn. The newcomers were attacking the wolves, driving them off. Three died before the rest of the pack scurried back into the darkness.

"Thank you, whoever you are," Jordis called out to the shadows.

"Don't say that just yet," Crixus stated. "They might be bandits."

"Who's there?" a woman's voice called out from the shadows. Crixus saw one of the torches, that had been discarded to the side of the road, was picked up and a familiar figure with red hair and red war-paint on face strode towards them.

"Shor's balls, not you!" Eisa Blackthorn groaned.

"Who's this, thane?" Jordis asked. "Do you know her?"

"Unfortunately, yes," Eisa stated. "He led five of my friends to their deaths."

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" Crixus groaned. "I didn't fucking kill your friends, they ran afoul of this god..."

"Watch what you say about the gods, stranger!" another voice called out from the darkness. It was a woman's voice, but deeper than usual.

"Why?" Crixus chuckled. "What are they going to do about it? Strike me down in mysterious ways?"

"You hate the Divines too?" Jordis asked. "Is there anything you don't hate?"

"I love fucking lusty wenches in taverns and corner-clubs," Crixus added with a grin. "Does that count?"

"And who are you, girl?" Eisa asked. "To go traveling with this cursed man?"

"My name is Jordis, and I am his huscarl," she announced.

"Housecarl," Crixus corrected smugly.

"Don't be a b*tch," Eisa stated. "She wants to call a Nord title by the name the Nords who made it gave it, let her call it that." She then turned to Jordis. "And I pity you, girl. To be tied down to this man is a punishment worse than anything I could imagine. My advice to you is to leave him; leave him now before he leads you to your death."

"We just met," Crixus spoke up. "And already you're giving orders to my ward?"

"I am honor-bound to serve whom the Jarl tells me to serve," Jordis stated.

"No need talking to her about honor," Crixus added. "She's a bandit, she has none."

"Neither do you, high and mighty Imperial," Eisa added.

"My thane!" Jordis shouted. "Do you mind if we know who our rescuers are before we shout them to death?"

"Oh, getting cheeky, are we?" Crixus asked. "I suppose I'll have to remember that. But as for these, I only know Eisa Blackthorn. As I said, she is a bandit of no great prestige."

"I was part of Hajvarr's White River gang," Eisa stated. "I'd say that's prestigious enough."

"And who's your friend?" Jordis asked.

Out of the shadow there loomed a tall figure. Easily this woman was the tallest woman Crixus had ever seen, standing head and shoulders taller than himself. For, though the voice was deeper than wont, the form was that of a woman, clad in furs and leather, with steel shoulder plates and a steel fauld, but no greater armor than that. In her hands was a great-sword, one of the famed two-handed swords frequently used by Nord berserkers in battle. It was easily as long as Crixus was tall, yet the woman wielded it as though it were nothing.

"My name is Helga," she replied. "Daughter of Alfar Strong-Hand, commonly called 'the Mountain.'"

"You found more whiny b*tches to put up with you, Eisa?" Crixus chuckled.

"The only one who's whining here," Helga noted. "Is you, Cyrodilian."

"Don't call me that, you over-grown Nordic cunt!" Crixus seethed.

Helga laughed. "And what will you do if I don't obey you?"

"I'll stab you in your sleep!" Crixus retorted. "Even a giant can be killed if you stab the heart."

"Would you have preferred that we left you to the dire-wolves?" Helga asked.

"The what?" Crixus asked.

"Dire-wolves," Eisa stated. "Driven down from the mountains by something, I'd say. Probably an ogre. They're as big as saber-cats and can crush a man's skull in their jaws."

"I thought they were only a legend," Jordis noted.

"Trust me, they're real enough," Helga added.

"Is everything in Skyrim made to kill people?" Crixus asked.

"Only weak, milk-drinking Cyrodilians," Helga noted.

Crixus' teeth were clenched so tightly, it seemed as though he would grind them to dust. For all of her strength and bluster, this Helga was not easily roused by his taunts. Even when he spoke ill of the gods, she did not seem to be very affected. He felt as though he was losing his touch, and that alone angered him. Why fortune was bringing him back to Eisa he did not know, and he would have cursed fate for bringing them together, if he believed in it.

"What brings you out on the road so late in the day?" Crixus asked.

"Am I not free to go where I please?" Eisa retorted.

"That remains to be seen," Crixus stated.

"I was escorting Helga to her home in Nimalten," Eisa grudgingly replied.

"Like she needs an escort," Crixus scoffed.

"We've grown fond of each other," Helga added. "She's the only man or woman in Skyrim to beat me in an arm wrestle - not an easy task, by far."

"Oh," Crixus grinned devilishly, finding a keen way to be avenged on Eisa for how she treated Marcurio and himself while they were in the Pale. "Is she your lover now? Thought you'd pilfer the wizard's purse now, would you?"

"Shall I have Helga rip your tongue out of your mouth?" Eisa retorted.

"Not a good choice of a lover, mountain," Crixus stated. "She can't take the fire of ridicule without b*tching like a dog."

"I don't fancy women," Helga stated, no offense or anger in her voice. "And if I did, she'd have to be strong enough to best me in battle. Which, as you can see, Eisa is not."

"Helga, you're not helping anything!" Eisa interjected.

"Truly," Helga chuckled. "I could easily pick you up and throw you."

"Are we going to be hurling insults at each other until the morning comes?" Jordis asked.

"You should tend to your huscarl, Crixus," Eisa noted. "It's not wise to have uppity servants."

"She's right," Helga noted. "There may be more dire-wolves. We should set up camp."

"Fine, but where?" Crixus asked. "We're on the edge of the plains, in case you don't know. There's farms to our left and the foothills to our right."

"Jon Battle-Born in the Bannered Mare said there were caves in the foothills as well," Helga noted. "We can find shelter there."

As it was dark, they all agreed to seek for shelter. Though they did not find a cave, they did find a small sheltered cove in the rock, with large stones on the north and southern sides, keeping out the wind and unfriendly eyes from around. Here they were allowed to build a fire, around which they huddled with their horses for warmth as they ate. Crixus, who had noted Helga's mentioning of Clan Battle-Born, struck up conversation while they were thus warming themselves.

"I heard you mention the Battle-Borns before," he stated. "Are you a friend of the Empire?"

"Aye, that I am," Helga proudly stated, passing the sheep's skin of water to Eisa. "Nord blood founded the Empire, and Nord blood shall uphold the Empire. Thus it has always been."

"Right," Crixus smirked. "Except Tiber Septim was no Nord. He was from High Rock, that makes him a Breton."

Helga laughed. "Are you daft? He was from Atmora!"

"You say he was from a frozen dead land and you say I'm daft?" Crixus laughed.

"Even if he was born in High Rock," Helga continued. "That don't make him not a Nord. If a Nord is born in Morrowind, does that make him a dark elf?" Crixus scoffed. "And who are you to mock the founder of the Empire? Are you a friend of the rebels?"

"Fuck no!" Crixus stated loudly. "I am a loyal servant of the Empire of Cyrodiil."

"You certainly sound like one of the bad guys, to me," Helga noted.

"Then your judgment is false," Crixus replied. "Especially since you assume that because I mock Talos, I am a rebel. A fool would make such a claim; don't the rebels worship Talos as a god?"

"I don't know about any White-Gold nonsense," Helga stated. "You Cyrodilians can pass whatever laws you like down south. Up here in the north, we always worship the founder of the Empire, as is his due. The rebels like to forget that the same god they worship founded the Empire they hate."

"You speak treason, mountain," Crixus said. "There are no gods. And if there were, Talos would not be a god. A traitor he was, a back-stabbing, plotting murderer."

"It is not treason to worship the gods, friend," Helga replied.

"I'm talking about Talos," Crixus retorted. "I mean, there's nothing worthy of worship about him; one would be better off worshiping the daedric princes of Oblivion! And it is treason to worship him, especially if you claim to be loyal to the Empire! The Empire banned the worship of Talos."

"As I said," Helga returned. "You can pass whatever laws you like in Cyrodiil. As for me and mine, we'll worship as we always have for generations. No law is going to change that."

"That's what you think," Crixus chuckled. "But if you plan on serving the Empire, you better start paying attention to their laws. All this talk of Talos is bound to get you thrown in the stocks, or executed as a Stormcloak sympathizer."

"Jon Battle-Born says differently," Helga stated.

"Oh really?" Crixus asked. "And when do you get all of your knowledge from Jon Battle-Born?"

"The family are loyalists," Helga began. "Jon says that his brother, Idolaf, is a spy working for the Empire. He passes them information that comes in and out of Whiterun, especially about activities in the eastern holds. His brother Jon told me that he gets quite a traffic of Imperial soldiers at their house. Many of them are Nords, some of them even wear their amulets of Talos under their Imperial uniforms."

"Then they are traitors," Crixus stated. "And they shall hang as they deserve."

"Do you honestly believe that?" Helga asked.

"I believe what the Empire says is right is right," Crixus replied. "The Empire has never been wrong since the Nord blood died out of the Septim line and we got decent folk like Uriel VII and Martin. The only one who wants to make the Empire appear to be in the wrong are those damn elves in the Dominion: they want to drive us apart, the easier to kill us all."

"Well, at least we can agree on that," Helga noted. "Damn elves are poisoning our people from the inside."

"I wouldn't go quite that far," Crixus interjected. "The Dunmer aren't poisoning anyone."

"The King of Skyrim let them have Solstheim, for gods' sake!" Helga returned. "And what do they do? Do they return to their own land? No! They stay in our land, eat our food and refuse to pay our taxes or help the Empire against the rebels!"

"They're not obliged to do anything for us," Crixus replied. "The treaty that let Morrowind into the Empire stated that the Dunmer would be able to keep their laws and customs, unmolested by the interests of the Empire or her people."

"And what does that bring, then?" Helga asked. "Slavery the Empire is obliged to ignore. An entire people living with us for free with no obligations, while we're obligated to bow down to their every need and want!"

"You know, that kind of bigotry isn't allowed in the Empire," Crixus smugly stated.

"And what about you and your hatred for Nords?" Helga retorted.

"Oh, fuck you, you pale Nordic c..."

"Can you both shut up?" Eisa interjected. "Gods, you're liable to bring the wolves back with all your shouting and arguing!"

"She started it!" Crixus pointed.

"Actually you did!" Eisa stated.

"She's right, my thane," Jordis added.

"Shut up, b*tch!" Crixus snapped.

"You don't get to call your huscarl a b*tch," Helga glowered, a threatening tone in her words. "Not when she gives you faithful service despite your hatred of her."

"Give me a fucking break!" Crixus groaned. "Am I surrounded by little Nordic b*tches who complain about everything I say or do?"

"That's enough!" Eisa shouted. "Now, as far as I know, Morrowind ain't part of the Empire no more. So that law don't apply to dark elves no more, right?"

"It always applies," Crixus groaned. "So long as Dunmer live in Imperial lands."

"Whatever, it don't apply to us," Eisa returned. "Now quiet down. It's getting late and we'll all need our strength for the night watch."

"I'll go first," Crixus stated. "I don't sleep, I'm your best choice."

Whether they were all annoyed with Crixus and didn't want to start another argument, or whether they did not want to sit up for hours on end that night, they decided that Crixus would indeed take the first watch. One by one they went to their beds, though Crixus noted that Eisa did not sleep together with either Helga or Jordis, even for warmth as the Nords did on such damnably cold nights. While he was sitting up, eying the shadows outside of their camp-fire, Jordis whispered to him from where she lay. Hearing her voice, he looked over his shoulder at her.

"Why do you do that?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Always try to run down anyone who has a contrary opinion to you?" she asked. "I swear, you spend more time arguing than fighting."

"My habits are not up for debate," he evaded.

"If I'm to protect you, to serve you," Jordis continued. "You're going to have to trust me."

"I trust no one."

"You don't have to tell me that," Jordis added. "I'm surprised anyone puts up with you, the way you're always jumping down everyone's throat."

"I'm not jumping down peoples' throats," Crixus groaned.

"You know what I mean!" Jordis groaned, gritting her teeth to hold back the frustration that was rising up inside her. "And stop trying to make me seem dumb!"

"You're a Nord, you can't help being dumb," Crixus stated. "That's just the way your race is."

"Fine, be that way," she groaned. "But don't ask for me to relieve you on the next watch."

"Disobeying your charge now, eh?" Crixus grinned. "Perhaps I should tell the Jarl you're an unfaithful servant."

"And now you're doing it to me!" Jordis returned. "Gods, its like every time a Nord opens their mouth in your presence, you have to start an argument with them!"

Crixus sighed, turning away from Jordis. "What else should I do?"

"What?"

"There's no meaning to life," Crixus replied solemnly. "We're born, we live, we die and that's it: no afterlife, no Aetherius, no sovereign-guard, or whatever the fuck you Nords call it. Nothing. Might as well enjoy myself while I'm still alive."

"And that gives you the right to pick fights with every Nord who crosses your path?" Jordis asked.

"Yes," Crixus nodded. "It's fun seeing these big dumb brutes turn red as ash-yams with anger as I overwhelm them in a battle of wits. Makes the moments in between eating, drinking and fucking more interesting." He turned back to Jordis. "And you should be honored."

Jordis scoffed. "Aye, honored to be insulted by a depressed old man."

"No, honored that I should consider you a worthy opponent," Crixus returned.

Jordis scoffed again. "Worthy? As I recall, you wanted to keep me at Proudspire because you thought I wasn't strong enough or experienced enough to fight."

"Right, and you're still that way in my eyes," Crixus stated. "But, being raised in the Palace, among the only people in Skyrim with any kind of culture, you're capable of presenting even a little bit more challenge than the usual yam-faced Nords. This mountain, too: I wonder where she was educated. She doesn't talk the way most Nords do and speaks with authority."

"Careful, my thane," Jordis returned. "One might think you're actually showing respect to someone who isn't you; especially a Nord woman."

Crixus rolled his eyes. "Go to sleep. Plenty of time for arguing later."

As Jordis returned to her roll, Crixus shivered against the bitter cold. He hated how cold Skyrim was: he hated everything about Skyrim. Even the darkness he hated, though the nights were as dark here as in Anvil, or in the Llewynn Pass in the Dragontail Mountains, or in Mournhold. But for him, the darkness was exactly as he had stated before. It was the nothingness in which all life died, the only thing awaiting him when his life, already half over, was done.

But what made him even more worried, and what drove him to hate the dark even more, was the knowledge that this was not all that awaited him. For in the darkness, as sleep tried to pull his eyes shut, he thought he saw the pale glowing eyes of a rotted, dessicated corpse, leering out at him from the shadows. Even the wind seemed to carry her words to him, the same three words over and over and over again.

Obey your Mother.


(AN: This chapter originally had them reach Riften by the end, but then I decided that introducing secondary characters deserved a full chapter dedicated to them and pushed "The Pursuit" to the next chapter. Since i can't afford to be subtle with my readers, i will just spell it out: Helga is obviously not a member of the Sons of Skyrim, but she is related to one of them. As i said above, i wanted to capture the idea that the Civil War really did split families apart [i know we have douchey Idolaf who stops looking for Thorald the moment the Empire tells him to heel, but i wanted division within one family, not a Montague vs. Capulet thing]. I also made her arguments stronger than the Imperial guard NPC [that whole "what the rebels like to forget..." bs, which is insulting since the Empire is the one letting the Thalmor persecute the Nords]. What do you think?)