(AN: I know i've probably had a chapter with that title in the previous stories, but oh well. Horay for Biblical imagery on my part!)
(This chapter will, hopefully, not drag on too much, as we revisit some of the things that have happened in the years since The Dragonborn Emperor.)
Rumors of War
The morning was still early when the two women came up to the wall of the Sleeping Giant Inn: Sigrun had longer strides and had, for the most part, outpaced Jonna as their path took them downhill, but Jonna was shorter and could run faster, and so she came out victorious. Panting and sweating from their exertion, they wiped their foreheads and Sigrun began counting the septims in her pouch: as the young women had worked with Eirik in his wood-cutting, they often received a portion of the earnings he made off the wood. The "lion's share", as the largest portion was called in Elsweyr and Cyrodiil, went to Eirik, as he supported the entire household with that money. Any gifts of goodwill he received outside of his woodsman's work went to the Sons of Skyrim.
Inside the Sleeping Giant, they found that it wasn't very busy. A short Bosmer hunter in one corner, devouring a steak, was the only one here who wasn't a Nord. Two men sat at the bar, who apparently were merchants on their way to Dawnstar from the Rift: one was an older man with a bald head and long gray beard, the other was younger, with short, reddish hair and a thin, braided goatee. Behind the counter was the bar-keep; another old man with long, gray hair and a short beard.
"Food and mead for two," Sigrun ordered, placing the septims on the table.
"And will you be wanting rooms as well?" the man behind the bar asked.
"Not today," Jonna added. "We'll be going north once we've eaten, thank you."
The two young women took their seats at the bar, seated opposite the two merchants and nearest the door. While they waited for their food, the older of the two merchants turned towards the newcomers and addressed them.
"So you're going north, then?" he inquired.
"Yes, that's true," Sigrun replied. At this, Jonna leaned in and whispered in her ear: "Don't be too gabby when it comes to our business."
"I don't mean to pry, lass," the old merchant continued. "It's only, well, Dag and I are headin' that way, too. And you two look like right proper shield-maidens; the kind as can take care of themselves in a fight."
"Yes, we are," Jonna added. She then noticed the young man looking at them. She shot him a furtive glance, but said nothing.
"Was only wondering 'cuz, if we be goin' the same road," the old man continued. "Perhaps we could hire you as bodyguards. The road's ain't as safe as they used to be, and we'd be willin' to pay you." At this, Jonna seemed more interested and less defensive than before.
"We were planning to go as far as Whiterun," Sigrun answered. "After that..."
"We'll go with you the rest of the way," Jonna interjected.
At this point, Orgnar the inn-keeper arrived at the bar with their food and drink. Jonna began devouring the food hungrily, while Sigrun was more interested in talking to the two merchants, and picked at her food while she chatted.
"So what brings you north?" Sigrun asked.
"We're traders," the old man stated. "Sori is my name, True-Hand I am called because people of my business. Zenithar has been good to me in my many years. This young man is Dag, my apprentice. He's a hard worker, but he still has much to learn. We're on our way to Dawnstar in the far north: lake fish from Riften catch a fine price in the northern holds, where the Imperial tariffs make everything damn expensive."
"Tariffs?" Sigrun inquired, swallowing down a bite of the loaf of bread on her plate.
"The Emperor's new taxes!" Dag stated.
"They ain't new, boy," Sori interjected. "They've been in place for seventeen years." He turned back to Sigrun. "After the Civil War ended, the Emperor ordered that Skyrim be forced to pay the Empire...Shor's balls, what was that damned word? Repair-something..."
"Reparations, master," Dag added.
"There, that's it!" Sori exclaimed. "Reparations. The Emperor ordered the people of Skyrim were to pay reparations to the Empire for starting a war." He turned away and spoke aloud, but was speaking more to himself than to anyone in particular. "It was one man that started the War, and yet the Empire demands that all of Skyrim pay for it. Ain't right, I say." He turned back to the women. "Apologies. I doubt you were around during the War."
"No, I wasn't," Sigrun replied, then took a sip of mead.
"The Civil War in Skyrim," Sori began. "Ulfric Stormcloak, the Jarl of Windhelm, challenged the High King to a duel and won. Then the Empire declared it murder and brought their legions to kill Ulfric: but by that time, he had gained quite a following of men and women who believed in what he stood for."
"And what did he stand for?" Sigrun asked. She had heard of Ulfric from her father, but their encounters had been brief and Eirik always felt cowed in the presence of the Bear of Markarth. Indeed, though her father was the 'Dragonborn', he often spoke of the Thu'um of Ulfric as being greater than his own; strong enough to shake the stones underfoot. She had never thought to ask him anymore, especially about what Ulfric stood for.
"You'll never get a straight answer out of anyone," Sori replied. "Some say he was Ysmir reborn, sent to drive away the scum that have destroyed our beloved country. Quite a few called him a fool, a power-hungry tyrant who wanted to become king himself. If you want my opinion, I say that Ulfric believed Skyrim should be free to govern her own affairs." He sighed. "I was a foolish, cynical man back then. I thought that he had good intentions, but foolishly believed that, no matter who won the War, it wouldn't change the market that existed."
"And did it?" Sigrun asked.
"Aye, it did," Sori stated. "The dark elves of the Grey Quarter in Windhelm stormed the Palace of the Kings and beheaded Ulfric in front of the citizens of the city. The Empire was grateful to them for ending the war for them, so they left Windhelm in their hands. For a time it seemed that peace would return to Skyrim, but that was a pipe dream. Eastmarch is overrun by dark elves; more of them come from mainland Morrowind. I didn't think there were so many after the Red Year. They slew many of the inhabitants of Eastmarch, but many more they enslaved. In the west, the madmen of the Reach, the Forsworn, slew the Silver-Blood Clan and claimed Markarth as their own. And the same thing has happened: more killings, dead-bodies stuck up on pikes at the borders." He turned to Sigrun and Jonna, having drifted off to stare at the wall during his rambling. "Sorry again."
"Go on," Sigrun gently prodded.
"Then the Emperor, the new Emperor," Sori continued. "I don't know how it happened. They said Titus Mede died in his sleep of 'white fever', upon returning from his journey to Skyrim. Absolute horse-shit! Outsiders have been coming to Skyrim since who knows how long, and no one's died of any 'white fever.'" He apologized for rambling, then continued. "The new Emperor hates Skyrim with a passion! He's the one who's raised taxes nine times, to pay for 'reparations' for the War. He's brought in these violent half-orcs, many of them no better than tramps into our cities. Most of the large cities have the Imperial weapons ban enforced; a thing ain't never happened in our lifetime. The northern holds have been crippled the most!"
"How?" asked Sigrun.
"Whiterun, Hjaalmarch, Dawnstar, Winterhold and Haafingar," Sori said, counting them out with his fingers. "Five of the largest holds in Skyrim, and all of them under Imperial thumb. Used to be a man could do an honest day's work and get paid what his employer agreed upon: any foul-play'd be brought before the Jarl. But in the last seventeen years, the Emperor has enforced a new fixed wage, they're callin' it. Said it was to 'protect workers interests', whatever that means. But each year the taxes get higher, and new taxes are added, along with penalties enforced by the Jarls in the Empire's pocket. Used to be a man could do business with whoever he chose: now, it's all gone wrong."
"What's gone wrong?" Sigrun asked.
"You sure to ask a lot of questions, lass," Sori sighed. "If this keeps on, we might be here until nightfall, or until I lose me voice."
"I've never left Falkreath," Sigrun said. "I know very little about the outside world, and I want to know more. If it's all the same with you, I could buy you a drink to help loosen your tongue."
Sori laughed. "I'll take you up on that!" Sigrun then called for Orgnar to bring Sori another drink. The old man, warming up to his audience, continued.
"Sixteen years ago or so," he continued. "The Empire inacted a new law throughout the provinces: folk as did business with Nords would be heavily fined. Here in Skyrim, that's a death sentence. With taxes so high, a man cannot afford to pay the fines for selling their wares to Nords. Many shops went out of business, or were forcefully closed down by the Imperial soldiers 'indefinitely stationed' in Skyrim 'for our protection.' Poor fish-mongers in Dawnstar can't afford to catch enough for themselves, not to mention the rest of the town."
"Please, good lady," Dag interjected. "Forgive my master. He tends to ramble, as you have noticed. He has such hair-brained notions..."
"It ain't hair-brained, it's the truth!" Sori insisted. "The new Emperor would see us all starve to death from all the taxes he can conceive."
"With all due respect, master, that's ridiculous!" Dag returned. "I mean, if Emperor Crixus wanted us dead, wouldn't he just do it outright, instead of wasting time with taxes?"
"Of course not!" Sori replied. "The Empire couldn't be bothered to win the Civil War on their own, they pressed our own men to fight their war for them. Don't it make sense they'd try to get rid of us without liftin' a finger?"
"That's ridiculous!" Dag dismissed.
"Oh?" Sori asked. "And what's your answer for these taxes? Do you honestly believe that, after almost eighteen years, the Empire still ain't got enough reparations out of us? Why are they still raisin' taxes and creatin' new ones?"
"Maybe they need the money?" Dag returned, more than flustered. "I don't know, master, but anything is better than what you're suggesting."
"And what could the Empire need the money for, hmm?" asked Sori. "Ain't they rebuilt their holds, or counties, or whatever they're called, from the Dominion War? Why do they need more?"
"I say that the lad is right," another voice spoke.
All eyes turned around to the little Bosmer hunter, who had risen up from the table. One hand was wiping the blood from his mouth, and the other rested at his side. But for some reason, perhaps the pitch-black eyes he bore, the women were a little discomfited at his sudden appearance.
"Right about what?" Jonna asked. Though she had been eating, her ears had not been idle.
"The Empire raises taxes on the Nords because it needs the money," the Bosmer replied. "You Nords cannot accept things the way they are. It is best that you learned to live with the new taxes and not complain about them."
"Or else what?" asked Sori. "We've overthrown tyrants before, you know."
"War is coming," the Bosmer stated. "I've fled the forests of Valenwood to escape its onslaught. The Dominion has patiently waited, biding its time for the moment to strike: that moment will come soon. Perhaps before the year is out. If the Empire doesn't raise the taxes, it cannot raise an army to defend your ungrateful hides."
"The Dominion will not attack Skyrim," Orgnar stated. "It's too remote and their armies will have difficulty crossing the mountains."
"That didn't stop the Dominion from takin' Solitude at the end of the Civil War," grumbled Sori.
"The world is changing," the Bosmer said portentously. "What was once thought secure will soon be tested. If your human Empire cannot protect the lands of men, then the world of men will fall as well. Who knows but that a Fifth Era will soon dawn, one that men will not live to witness." With that, the Bosmer walked out of the inn, leaving them in stunned silence.
"What do you think about what he said?" Jonna asked.
"He's right," Dag stated. "The Empire will use the tax money they've raised to build an army. They will defend us."
"And I say we should look to our arms," Sori added. "Men, women, children, elders. If there is a war coming, we may soon find it on our very door-step."
"Do you think it will really come to war?" asked Sigrun.
"If the Dominion wants war, war it will have," Sori stated. "They brought the Empire to its knees in the Dominion War, there's no reason they won't try to do so again. The yellow-eyes hate us."
"But there's one thing we have that they don't," Sigrun proudly stated. "Whether the Empire stands or falls, Skyrim will not fall as long as the Dragonborn lives." At this, old Sori laughed. Sigrun looked perplexed at this response. "Why do you laugh?"
"I laugh because an inquisitive woman like yourself believes in fairy tales," he returned.
"The Dragonborn isn't a myth," Sigrun stated. "He's real. He is my father."
"Oh, everyone would like to say that, wouldn't they?" Sori chuckled, his beard wagging as he shook his head.
"It's true!" both Sigrun and Jonna said at once.
"Didn't you used to say there was one who was called Dragonborn during the Civil War?" Dag asked.
"That's him!" Sigrun stated. "That's my father, Eirik Bjornsson!"
"Your father is Eirik Bjornsson, firstborn of the Sons of Skyrim?" exclaimed Sori in surprise.
"Yes," Sigrun nodded, a proud smile on her face.
"If I was you, young woman," Sori stated, a serious look on his face. "I'd be careful about who I told that news to, nor go about bein' proud of your lineage."
"Why?" Sigrun asked. "I have no reason to be ashamed of who my father is."
"And gods hope you never have cause to be ashamed," Sori added. "But your father's name ain't worth more than cow shit in some parts in Skyrim. So don't go waving it about like some banner you're proud of."
"What reason would people have to hate her father?" Jonna asked. "He's the Dragonborn, he's the leader of the Sons of Skyrim..."
"Aye," Sori nodded. "Most of whom were former Stormcloaks. And as for his title, it don't mean nothin' to the folk in Skyrim. Some of 'em even blame him for what happened in Markarth and Windhelm."
"What did happen in Markarth?" Sigrun asked. "My father never mentioned going there."
"As I said before," Sori stated. "The Forsworn leader Madanach was broken out of prison, but no one knows who did it. After he escaped, he rallied the Reachmen and took the city. After that, it was a blood-bath, from what I hear. Unlike the dark elves in Windhelm, the Forsworn slaughtered all the Nords in Markarth. Remember what I said about heads on pikes?"
"Now I remember," Sigrun nodded, feeling rather foolish for not paying attention.
"But how was that Eirik's fault?" Jonna asked. "Especially if he never went to Markarth."
"Didn't say it was his fault," Sori returned. "I just said folk think it's his fault, on account of him being a former Stormcloak. It ain't just that, though. Some blame him for keepin' the Forsworn and dark elves in our lands a'purpose."
"Now why would he do that?" asked Jonna.
"Who knows?" Sori shrugged. "Some say he's an elf-lover himself, others that he got too much learnin' in Cyrodiil, it made him soft. Some even say that he's nothin' more than a charlatan, gettin' rich off the misery of others."
"That's a lie!" Sigrun shouted, slamming her fist on the table. "My father would never do that to anyone!"
"I ain't say I believe it, I'm just sayin' what I've been told," Sori replied, holding up his hands dismissively.
"You have to admit, though," said Dag. "It does make sense."
"What makes sense?" Jonna asked, fingering the bread knife.
"There are rumors that this Eirik Bjornsson fled to Windhelm before it fell," Dag said. "Then a few days later, Ulfric's dead, the Dunmer take it over, call it New Gnisis, and he's turned tail and fled. Makes you wonder, doesn't it?"
"Wonder what?" Jonna returned, standing up from her seat, knife in hand and a look of rage in her eyes.
"Jons, no," Sigrun said, placing one arm out to assuage her friend.
"Let me go!" Jonna protested. "I'll wipe that grin off that little milk-drinker's face if he talks about your da like that!"
"Ain't no need for a brawl," Sori interjected. "The lad didn't mean no harm. He just don't know when to keep his dumb ideas to himself. He'll apologize..." He turned back to Dag. "Won't you, lad?"
"I didn't do anything..."
"Apologize to the lady!" demanded Sori.
"My apologies, my lady," sighed Dag.
"There's no need," Sigrun shook her head. "It was just a few words."
"You can't let them talk about your father like that, Sig!" Jonna replied.
"We've promised to protect them on the road," Sigrun said. "There may be a time where we'll have to defend da's honor, but it's not now." Jonna scowled at Dag as she lowered the knife and returned to her seat.
"Well, then," Sori stated. "If that's all settled, I think we're done here. If you ladies follow me, I'll show you to our cart and we'll be underway."
"Good," Jonna added, glaring towards Dag. "The sooner we reach Dawnstar, the better."
"Oh, we won't reach Dawnstar for another two days," Sori stated. "Not including our journey from here to Whiterun. We'll likely spend the night there and be on our way in the morning."
"Gods give me strength," Jonna sighed as she pushed her finished plate back towards Orgnar. Sigrun had also finished and added her plate and cup as well, but while Jonna followed the two merchants out of the Sleeping Giant, she lingered at the bar.
"You didn't happen to see a wizard dressed in black pass through this town, did you?" she asked. Orgnar shook his head. With that, she left the Sleeping Giant Inn and made her way around back, where she found Jonna and the two merchants by their carriage. Dag was helping Sori hitch the horses, who had been drinking at the water-trough, while Jonna was fingering the haft of her axe.
"There you are!" Jonna exclaimed. "I was wondering what was keeping you."
"I wanted to ask about the stranger we encountered at the Stones," Sigrun replied. "But there wasn't any news."
"I'm telling you, it's nothing good," Jonna repeated. "Either a wizard or a werewolf."
"What's that about werewolves?" Sori asked. "Do you think we'll meet 'em on the road?"
"If we do," Jonna confidently stated. "We'll let you peddle their hides."
"Ha ha!" Sori laughed. "That's the spirit! Now climb in the back of the cart, we ain't got all day."
The two young women placed their things inside the cart, then climbed into the back, with Dag climbing into the front with his master. Sori then cracked the reins and the wagon set off at a swaying rumble along the cobble-stone main-street of Riverwood.
(AN: So here is another chapter update. Thankfully shorter than the last two, but i've had difficulty getting any writing or music-recording done. And it doesn't seem to be improving any time soon.)
(I had planned from the beginning that Eirik was going to be generally ignored or hated across Skyrim. This parallels real-life situations, where the war-hero is reviled upon completion of their great task. More on why as the story progresses, as i don't want to give too much away at the starting gate.)