(AN: So in the last chapter, i finally got some semblance of what Sigrun needs to do in order to have people follow her. But, of course, we also need to go to the Reach as well and see that for herself. When that will happen, however, is another tale. For now, one of many consequences of Jonna's decision must come to pass. I know the impatient, demanding, critics of today want to know everything now and have magic fix everything for them, but doing so will bring dire consequences. In a magical world, just like in the real world, all things are linked and one small choice can have long-lasting and unforeseen affects.)

(Furthermore, two more subplots will be revealed in this chapter. Pay attention, because one of them will be made apparent very soon.)

Sundered

Sigrun awoke after a long, unbroken sleep. She found that she was exactly where she had fallen asleep: with her back against the cave wall, the stairs to her left and Jonna lying against her shoulder. A quick search of her person found that nothing had been taken: even her clothes had not been torn or soiled. Quietly she breathed a sigh of relief; perhaps Roggi was not duplicitous after all. Looking around the cave, she saw that it was mostly dark, save for a few candles which Roggi was now lighting. Gently she roused Jonna from her sleep, then got herself up to her feet.

"Good morning, lass," Roggi said, noticing her awake and alert. "All ready for today's march, are we?"

"Yes, indeed," she replied. "If there's time for breakfast. I'm starving."

"Thankfully, I've been up a'fore you were," Roggi stated. "Huntin' food. There's a pair o' coneys on the spit, already skinned an' roasted. The food I've given ye is in the bag by your feet." Sigrun looked down and noticed two such bags: one for her and one for Jonna.

"What about you?" Sigrun asked.

"Oh, I've already et," Roggi dismissed. "I'll be fine. Now eat up, both o' ye. We gotta fine walk ahead o' us, an' the sooner we start out, the sooner you'll be safely o'er the border."

Jonna eventually came around; she was feeling a bit better, which pleased Sigrun greatly. She told her in brief how they had slept without incident, and after seeing the food and eating some of the rabbit, Jonna's misgivings about Roggi seemed to subside. That is not to say, however, that she wasn't still wary of him.

"All night and he didn't lay a hand on either of us?" Jonna asked. "Must be an odd one, he."

"How do you mean?"

"Like a sorcerer, Sig," Jonna replied. "Always hear strange tales about what spell-casters do in their caves and hovels out in the wilderness."

"Remember, my brother is an apprentice mage himself," Sigrun stated.

"Still," Jonna shook her head. "I'm not sure about this man."

Once they had eaten, they addressed themselves for their journey. After Roggi had sealed away the food and put out the candles, he led the women back up the ladder and onto the islet. He closed the door, locked it, stowing the key beneath his tunic, then covered the door with branches. Then they got into the little boat and rowed back across the lake. Once they reached the other side, Roggi brought the boat ashore and hid it among some branches. Then they struck out south and a little west, following Roggi's lead. For a while, it seemed to the young women that they were going back the way they had come.

"I thought we were going west, not south," Sigrun stated. "Won't we see the cliffs soon?"

"We gotta go outta the ways a pace," Roggi replied. "Gallows Rock is nearby. Haunted, some say that place is: a werewolf died in that there fort many year ago. An' anything as can kill a werewolf ain't to be fucked with."

Sigrun had heard tale of her father fighting werewolf hunters in this very places. Nothing supernatural about it, but she knew that was years ago; before she was even born. Why should it still be a point of fear?

"But you said it was many years ago," Sigrun reasoned. "Surely whatever lived there must be dead by now."

"Maybe," Roggi stated. "But lately, foul folk have been spotted in that there fort. The Sisters o' Strife, for one."

"I remember them," Jonna spoke up. "We encountered them on the road to Whiterun. Bandits, I believe."

"Not merely bandits," Roggi returned. "All women bandits, such as kill any men they encounter: man, mer, beast-folk, don't matter to the Sisters. I've had a run-in or two o' me own. Several time they accepted me hospitality, only to try an' kill me for it. So far, I've been clever enough to evade capture, kill them as try an' kill me. But if they find out where I live, it'll bode ill for me."

"Is that why you led us this far south?" Sigrun asked.

"Aye, lass," Roggi nodded. "But tis only a short distance. We'll be on the right path by an' by."

The three of them moved quickly between the trees, led by the skill of Roggi. Their pace remained steady and they seemed to be making good time: the morning was still high, though all about them seemed the same, just a mighty wood of pines and ironwood trees. But though all was green dark brown and little else could be seen, they realized that they were steadily going downward. Any thought that they might have gone amiss did not endure long: at the bottom of the hill they were going, they found a small clearing, in which a small pond lay glistening in the morning light. On the northwestern edge of the pond was a tall cliff, and at the bottom of said cliff was what had once been a shrine. It was weathered and old, and there seemed to be many cuts and gashes upon the stone dais. The icon was gone, but a cross-like dagger had been carved into the stone in the center thereof.

"A shrine to Ysmir," Roggi said. "Who was once called Talos. Let us pause for a moment an' remember the defender o' man. For it be in his name that we do our part to defend Skyrim, great or small."

Jonna and Roggi knelt before the shrine. Sigrun, meanwhile, looked at the shrine and passed her hand upon it. Ysmir was such a strange thing to her: some said it was Talos, others Wulfharth the Undying, and even her father. Which one would she bow before, then? Each was a hero of her people, a line of the Nord race going back to the beginning: the culmination of all that they were, all that they are, and all that they could be. She wondered if her father knew, that he was the incarnate of an old Nordic god, and how he felt about that. Surely she felt small, almost insignificant in comparison: and yet it was her goal to make something of herself, to not merely claim to be descended from the Dragonborn, but to have a legend of her own that men and women would fear and respect.

At length, she knelt beside the dais, with her hand upon the stone and whispered:

"Ancestors, guide my path. Let me save this our homeland, or wait for my arrival at the gates of Sovngarde."

Having said their peace, they betook themselves once again to their journey. From the pond, they began to go almost directly west. The land sloped up, and then began to descend steeply. The loud, endless rushing of water could be heard before them: Roggi urged them onward, for he said that they were nearing the Valtheim Falls, and the border of Whiterun. Down the slope they practically ran, the roaring water growing nearer and louder with each step. At last the trees grew sparse and they came to the banks of a river. It was wide, but not very deep, and there were rocks here and there, at what appeared to be a shallow ford: however, the water flowed swiftly around the rocks.

"This is the White River," Roggi stated. "The main road takes you a mile or two southward. A long stretch o' the legs spared this way."

"Can we cross the river?" Sigrun asked.

"Should be fine," Roggi mused. "Crossed it a'fore meself, when it was fuller."

Roggi tied a rope to an arrow, and then fired it into the trunk of a tree on the far side. The other end he secured to a tree on this side. With this, they then set themselves to crossing the river. The water was icy cold and flowed up to their knees, passing swiftly around them. The rocks were slippery and could not be trusted to hold them. In this slow fashion, they crossed the White River. They were about half-way to the far shore when five figures stepped out from behind the trees. Like Roggi, they were clad in green clothes, so as to hide themselves in the woods. Like him, they were also armed; some with bows, some with axes, others with swords. These, however, were all women.

"Well well well," sneered one of the women: she was tall, her head was completely shorn of hair, and her face bore ritualistic scars. "What do we have here, sisters?"

"It's a trap!" Jonna hissed. "That bastard sold us out!"

"They ain't none o' mine," Roggi replied.

"Is it the Sisters of Strife?" Sigrun asked.

"That we are, sister," the bald woman said. "And you'd be wise to stay out of our way and hand that wrinkled old man to us. We have no quarry with you, only with him."

"Why?" Sigrun asked. "What has he done?"

The bald woman laughed. "You're really in no condition to be asking questions, sister. That current is pretty strong: why don't we see how well you can swim against it?"

"Cowards!" Roggi shouted. "You'd rather kill me than risk a fair fight! What, are ye afraid I'd beat yer ass?"

The bald woman laughed again. "Ah, the frail ego of men. To think you would even be a challenge for us!"

"He's right," Jonna interjected. "We've met your kind before, you 'Sisters of Strife.' Cowards, the lot of you! All talk and no fight. You wouldn't raise your hand against another woman."

"That's where you're wrong, sister," the bald woman stated. She drew her sword and in one swift motion, cut the rope from off the arrow. The current suddenly surged beneath their feet. Roggi and Sigrun barely managed to keep themselves afoot, but Jonna was swept off her feet. Roggi drew his bow and sent an arrow at the bald woman: she ducked and it struck one of her fellow bandits in the throat. Another one leaped into the river after Jonna, but Sigrun drew out her sword and thrust it into the bandit's chest.

"Sigrun!" Jonna cried out. Turning, she saw the shorter woman pinned against a rough rock, to which she was clinging on against the current for dear life.

"Disperse!" the bald woman shouted. "Fall back, sisters! We found Sigrun!"

"Number One will be pleased," another cheered.

Sigrun carefully walked downstream, following the current, and gave Jonna her hand. As she was helping her up to the shore, they saw Roggi now on the other side, bow in hand, chasing down the Sisters of Strife as they vanished almost as soon as they had appeared. As the two came splashing up onto the bank, Roggi drove his axe into the throat of the bandit, putting her out of her misery.

"Shor's balls!" Roggi exclaimed. "I've never let 'em get away a'fore!"

"We were in the river," Sigrun stated. "And they were on land. There wasn't much we could do about it."

"But what about you, lass?" Roggi asked. "You two have been a'feared o' me, but they left as soon as they heard your name, Sigrun. Almost like they was expectin' you."

"I've never told them my name," Sigrun replied. "I don't know these Sisters of Strife."

"Oh, is that a fact?" Roggi returned. "They just happen to know your name? Didn't you say you'd met them a'fore, Jonna?"

"We did," Jonna said. "But we never told them our names. How they learned them is anyone's guess."

"Yeah?" Roggi asked. "Well, as it turns out, it seems you two is stuck with me for a bit longer."

"Why?" Jonna returned.

"The other three got away," Roggi stated. "I've never let these Sisters get away if they try an' kill me. Now they have, and they'll likely follow me back to me hideaway. I'll have to go with ye as far as Whiterun, let 'em lose me trail." Jonna swore. "I don't like it none either."

"I think that's a load of bullshit," Jonna stated. "You're so clever with wood-craft, as you say, why can't you just lose them?"

"They called for her by name," Roggi replied, pointing to Sigrun. "They'll be followin' us for sure. I can't risk lettin' 'em know where I stay."

"You can come with us," Sigrun said.

"I think this is just some sort of elaborate ruse," Jonna replied. "You just want to go to Whiterun for the beer, then get us good and drunk and fuck with both of us!"

"Well, in the first part, you may be right," Roggi stated with a grin. "Whiterun may not have the finest beer in all o' Skyrim, but it ain't nothin' to sneeze at. As for the second part, didn't Sigrun tell you?"

"She did," Jonna replied. "But I don't believe it."

"Don't believe me, then," Roggi said. "Believe Sigrun. Or don't believe either o' us: your word don't make what I said untrue."

They continued on the other side of the river. But as they were going, Sigrun whispered: "Jons, what's the problem? I told you he didn't touch either of us."

"Just because he didn't do anything last night," Jonna returned. "Doesn't mean he won't try anything again." She was still wary after their encounter with the Sisters of Strife, which did nothing to assuage her doubts about Roggi.

"If you keep this up," Sigrun stated. "We'll be saving Skyrim all by ourselves."

"Fine by me," Jonna retorted. "We don't need anybody else."

"That's where you're wrong," Sigrun added.

Jonna snorted, but made no audible reply. The three of them carried on their path, which was roughly uphill towards the road. They remained silent, each of them lost in their own separate thoughts. But for each of them, their encounter with the Sisters of Strife returned to mind. Roggi was unsure about these women, more of them than Jonna was of him; he was worried that they had deceived him and were with the Sisters. If he could keep them in his eyes and make sure they didn't try to leave to tell their friends about his cave, he hoped that he could be safer. As for the ladies, both of them were going over in their minds their first encounter with the Sisters, while escorting Sori and Dag. None of them seemed to have recalled a moment when any of them let slip Sigrun's given name, and they couldn't recall where they could have met one of them before in their lives.

In no time at all, they reached the road, and began to make their winding way up the side of the mountain towards the Valtheim Towers. For good or ill, the women discovered that the leading of Roggi Knot-Beard had been to their benefit: they had traveled quickly over much ground, most of it uphill as well. By noon, they came to the top of the mountain and saw the Valtheim Towers, standing one on each side of the White River. The ladies both let out a pleased sigh and did not spare a single look behind their backs: they had left Eastmarch and returned to Whiterun.

Now things were not so dire as before, so now they went on roughly at a slower pace. To their left the Throat of the World rose to an impossible height. Before them the golden roofs of Whiterun glistened of gold in the light of the noonday sun, and to the north the mountains were still covered in snow. All seemed bright and clean, especially after the rain and darkness in the lower valley. Sigrun and Jonna spent many a quiet minutes merely breathing the cool, clean air. There was a thick scent of fire and death in the air of Eastmarch, and to breathe the open air again was like water upon a wilted leaf.

"Aye!" Roggi commented after many long minutes of silence, broken only by deep, full breaths. "Tis good to breathe freely again. But what will we do next?"

"You said it yourself," Jonna stated, her first words that were not distrustful of Roggi. "We're going to Whiterun."

"But I thought we were going to Dawnstar," Sigrun interjected. "Remember Havi and his sword?"

"I haven't forgotten it," Jonna chuckled, patting her thigh where it was tied to her belt. "But we can go there once we've stopped at Whiterun first."

"Wait a moment, not so fast," Sigrun interjected. "Roggi, you said you were afraid that we might be followed by this Sisterhood of Strife, or whatever they're called. And if they are following us, then they must have heard your resolve to come to Whiterun. Will they not follow us there and wait for us to leave, then track you on your way back? Jons and I have been north before, we can lose them in the Pale, and then after we've delivered Havi's sword, we can return to Whiterun once it's safe."

"No!" Jonna said insistently. "We're going to Whiterun first or we're going nowhere, and that's that."

"Well, okay!" Sigrun said, taken aback by Jonna's sharp reply. "But don't you remember how we were treated there? Why would you want to go back there?"

"The beer," Roggi interjected.

"Shut up!" Jonna snapped, turning quickly to Roggi. She then turned back to Sigrun, lowered her head and, after a brief pause, spoke aloud. "Sig, I...I want to go there because I think my father is there."

Sigrun blinked in surprise. "Your father? Jons, Eirik is your father."

"I mean my real father," Jonna replied. "While we were parted, I learned that my father, my real father, could be found in Whiterun. I think his name is Idolaf Battle-Born or something."

Sigrun's eyes were large with surprise and quiet worry. "Jons, you know what kind of person Idolaf is! Remember all those stories our father told us? Eirik may not have been your birth-father, but he raised you with Lucia, Bjorn and I, reared you in our home, treated you like another daughter!"

"Yes, I know all the stories that your father told," Jonna replied: there was something unwholesome in the way she called him 'your father.' "And I am grateful for raising me; truly, the only one who did more for me than him was my own mother. But all those stories, all the things your father said he did? Who's to say those things actually happened? What if your da merely exaggerated what he did because they disagreed on the matter of the Civil War?"

"Are you calling my father a liar?" Sigrun asked, anger burning in her breast for the one person she never thought she'd be truly angry at in her entire life.

"No, never!" Jonna retorted, shocked suddenly at the truth of her own words brought so bluntly back to her. "But, like he himself said in those stories, your da wasn't perfect. He made poor decisions, he got drunk and did crazy things, he despaired. By his own words, he wasn't perfect; it is perfectly reasonable to assume that he hid the whole truth of what went on between himself and my father."

"You just called my father a liar again!" Sigrun said.

"Dammit, Sig, what do you want me to say?"

"The truth, Jons! Why do you want to go looking for Idolaf Battle-Born?"

"You wouldn't understand," Jonna sneered.

"And why not?" Sigrun sympathetically asked.

"Because you have a father!" Jonna shouted. "A real father! And a name that you carry with you for the rest of your life! That's all that I want! I thought that you, dearest sis, could understand that!"

"I do understand..."

"You don't!" quoth Jonna angrily. "All you care about is home and Lucia! She's your sister, isn't she?"

"You both are!" Sigrun replied, her heart breaking at Jonna's fierce words. But she willed the springs in her head to assuage the flood of tears now filling to the brim. "I wouldn't have come on this trip with you if I didn't care about you..."

"And yet you don't want me to meet my real father, is that it?" Jonna asked. "You have your father, but I can't have mine?"

"Now, excuse me, lasses," Roggi interjected. "If I may..."

"Shut up!" both Sigrun and Jonna cried as one.

"I have a solution for this here problem," Roggi continued. "Let's first go to Whiterun an' sample the ale there, eh? That way, you, Sigrun, can show as you care for Jonna's search for her da, an' you, Jonna, can see as Sigrun ain't too proud. How's about that, eh?"

"Roggi..." Sigrun started.

"Done!" Jonna retorted. "Sigrun can prove her trust in me by accompanying me to meet my real father." Jonna then went on her way down the road heading westward. At the rear, Sigrun approached Roggi and whispered into his ear.

"How was that any business of yours, old man?" she whispered.

"I ain't that old, now," Roggi stated.

"Don't be a fool!" Sigrun retorted. "This is a family matter, and you're not family."

"Not yet, at least," Roggi shrugged, which earned him a blow to the shoulder from Sigrun. "A man can be sworn as a blood-brother, can't he? Still, y'all ain't too bad, you lot. I heard you yourself mention Eirik as your father: suppose it's too much to hope as him bein' the same Eirik as slew a dragon all them year ago. Still, if he's the same as leads the Sons o' Skyrim, I'd be welcome to be sworn in as one o'them. And surely Jonna's da ain't worse neither."

"I take it you never left Kynesgrove," Sigrun said. "I've heard stories about this Idolaf Battle-Born, all bad."

"At least give 'im the benefit o' the doubt," Roggi returned. "For Jonna's sake?"

"I don't and I won't," Sigrun stated. "A drunken oathbreaker, long on talk, who corrupted the Companions, does not seem like a good person to me."

"We'll know soon enough, I trow," said Roggi.

The walk back to Whiterun was quiet and solemn. No one spoke a word to anyone else in the little group. The closer they came within sight of the walls of Whiterun, the sight and smell of hanging bodies made them all quite grim. However, Sigrun noticed that Roggi was now no longer trailing behind but was now up at the front talking to Jonna. Apparently his little arbitration stunt had made him a little less threatening to Jonna, who found it easier talking to him. At the back, Sigrun was shaking her head: she could see it, though Jonna was occupied with her need to find a father that she already had, and it made her wonder if she had been too hesitant in trusting this strange man from the woods in the first place.

But what was more pressing on her heart was Jonna's behavior towards her. It was true that Lucia and home were always on her mind, though she hadn't intimated such to Jonna during their travels. She had always felt that she had enough love in her heart for both of them, just as much as she had for both her mother and father, and enough to spare for Bjorn. Why was it, then, that Jonna seemed to be angry about that, and urging her to make a decision? What had happened since their separation in Winterhold that had caused her to behave this way?

At last they arrived at the gates of Whiterun. Jonna asked the guards about Idolaf Battle-Born, and after they had relieved them of their weapons (much to Roggi's dismay and disapproval), they directed her to Dragonsreach in the Cloud District. Up the hill they silently went, passed the Bannered Mare where they had their fight almost a week ago. Sigrun had no desire to stay there if it could be helped, as she guessed that they would be spotted and she had no desire for trouble. They turned north and continued up the rise until they came to the Wind District. They came into a small pavillion paved with stones, where nearby a fountain of water rushed noisily down from Dragonsreach at the top of the hill. Near at hand, however, another voice was drowning out the sound of water: two voices, that is. One was a human, a bald-headed Imperial man in orange robes with a red sash upon his shoulder, upon which was the Red Diamond of the Empire. The other was a high elf, the first one Sigrun had seen in a while. Whereas the Dunmer were grim and ghastly with their skull-like protrusions and red eyes, the Altmer seemed as though their entire being was built for mockery. Aside from being taller than everyone else, the way the mouth curved, the narrow eyes squinted, and the tilting of the elongated head seemed permanently bent in a sneer. This high elf was dressed in black robes with armor that was made of gold with white embellishments: upon his breast was a tabard with the charges of a black and white shield, with two crossed swords behind it. The Altmer was nearest and it was his words which Sigrun caught first, then the priest.

"...where has holding on to your traditions brought you, people of Whiterun?" the Altmer asked. "Your sons have been killed, your daughters have been killed. Families have been torn apart, entire towns destroyed. And for what? Because a few drunken elders will not accept that times are changing? That holding on to outdated notions of godhood will only lead to further bloodshed and destruction? The Stormcloaks failed to recognize this, and now they are no more. The Companions, also, are a relic of a bygone era. This is not the age of savagery and brutality, but of learning, of education, of reason and logic. The Fighters Guild is a civilized organization, one that will bring peace and order to Skyrim; for all people, not merely Nords. Not only that, but the Fighters Guild will not stand idly by and watch werewolves, foul beast-folk of the daedric prince Hircine, slaughter your cattle, murder your children, rob you of your livelihoods! For, make no mistake, people of Whiterun, the Companions are certainly of such stock. Did I say they were friends of werewolves? Nay, I say that they are werewolves, mongrel beast-folk, worshipers of Hircine and his craven hag-raven witches..."

"...man cannot achieve godhood!" the priest said, echoing the words of the Altmer Fighter. "Talos is a lie! A myth fabricated by warmongers, malcontents, and workers of mischief, as a banner for their war against all those who are not man! It is a banner to which many have flocked over the ages, and in the name of this false god, men have died. Now we are reaping the fruits of those great misdeeds! The man, Tiber Septim, a Breton, and not a Nord, betrayed his lord Cuhlecain, and thus the Reachmen came to be, the true masters of the west. It is because of Tiber Septim that they were marginalized, and because of those who fought in his name that they were slaughtered and demonized! If we extend the hand of friendship to these people, whom rabble-rousers and malcontents such as this so-called Dragonborn and his band of rogues, the Sons of Skyrim, have labeled as enemies, if we invite the Forsworn and the Dunmer into our cities, our homes, and our hearts with friendship, brotherhood, and with open arms, we will truly be doing the work of the Eight Divines!"

Sigrun rolled her eyes at the first nonsense, but was almost ready to pick up a stone and see if she could hit the bald patte of that damned priest. How dare he mock her father! How dare he, in the safety of the walls of Whiterun, ask them to welcome the Dunmer in with open arms, as they steal, rape, pillage, and murder! What made her even angrier was that there were many in the crowd who were Nords; and yet they remained silent. Was no other voice to be lifted up in defense of her home?

But Jonna did not stop here. Instead she carried on up the stairs straight ahead, passed the noisy fountain, and up to the lofty great hall: Dragonsreach. At the top of the stairs, before the doors of the great hall, there stood Imperial guards to bar the entrance. Jonna told them that she had business with Idolaf Battle-Born. The two guards exchanged glances with each other, then one snickered.

"What business do you have with the Jarl's fool?" the other guard asked.

"He is my father," Jonna said, not taking heed to what they called him. "And I demand that you let me speak to him at once."

"Or what?" the guard that laughed finally said. "You ain't got no weapons, there's nothing you can do about it!"

"Now, wait a moment," the other guard interjected. "Now, maybe we should let the young woman in to see him. I mean, she says that he's her father."

"Caius, what in Oblivion are you..." The second guard cut him short and Sigrun saw him wink at his companion. Already she didn't like the looks of where this was going.

"After all," the one named Caius said. "The Battle-Borns are still a noble and respected clan in Whiterun. Olfrid's son would like to know if he had any heirs to carry on the family name. He certainly needs 'em, I'd say." They both burst into laughter. Jonna furrowed her brow, angry that these Imperial bastards were making fun of her father. Roggi knew very little about this whole situation, and so kept silent. Sigrun, however, could see that they were setting something up at her expense.

A moment later, the guards composed themselves. "Right this way, citizen. If you please." They stepped back and pushed the huge oaken doors of Dragonsreach open. The three of them walked softly into the long hall with its high, vaulted roof.

It was dark inside; the braziers and torches along the sides of the hall burned low, and there was no fire upon the pit at the table of feasting. Slowly they made their way forward, up a few stairs and down along one side of the feasting table. They were now near the throne room and a little light illuminated the throne: a young man with dark hair slouched lazily upon the high-backed chair at the top of another small set of stairs. From the darkness the sound of a sword unsheathing was heard, and the three of them froze in place. The young man held up his hand, then quickly got up from his chair and made his way down the steps to meet them. Sigrun felt a knot appear in her stomach: she had seen that face before, in the darkness of the Dragonsreach dungeon but a week ago.

"Well, hello there, ladies," the young man said with a devilish grin and an unwholesome intensity in his blue eyes. "It's been a while since the dungeons of my hall, hasn't it?" Jonna was looking at the shadows, while Sigrun was more concerned about what this fellow might do.

"Oh, there's no need to worry," he said in answer to Sigrun's unspoken word, without looking her in the eyes. "I won't do anything to you...yet. Little concern of mine are you, Eirik's daughter, and you also, old drunk. But you..." He turned to Jonna. "I know what it is you seek."

"I seek..." Jonna began.

"Your father, yes," the young man nodded. Sigrun noticed he hadn't blinked once since approaching them. "I know. And I have every intention of letting you see him and speak to him." He took a step back and, in a nasal call that grated Sigrun's ears, cried out: "Fool! Come here, fool! Master has some fine folk here to see you!"

From out of the shadows, there came the jingling of tiny bells. An old man came hobbling out of the darkness; most of the hair had fallen off from his head, but the curled mustache and long, pointed beard still remained, caked with dirt, grease, and Divines only know what else, and bare of all color. He was dressed in the most outlandish fashion: he wore no shoes, but his legs were clad in old Colovian tights, one red and the other white, with a short, frayed skirt of many tassels about his waist, and bells at the end of each tassel. He wore a gaily colored surcoat that was also from Cyrodiil, and upon his head was a tall-peaked Colovian fur cap. He walked with bent back and head bowed low to the ground.

"Why are you standing up?" the young man said in a mocking tone. "Don't you know it's rude not to bow in the presence of our honored guests?" With that, the young man struck his fool across the back with a wooden switch, and sent him crashing to the floor face and knees first.

"I beg your forgiveness, Jarl Nelkir," the fool said.

"Oh, you do, don't you?" Nelkir, the young man, replied. "Don't I know you're always spitting in my dinner the first chance you get?"

"Never, my Jarl!" the fool cried, cowering upon the ground with hands covering his head.

"Are you calling me a liar, then?" Nelkir asked. He then gave three hard strikes from the switch. Sigrun noticed that he seemed to enjoy beating his fool, for he was smiling with gleeful pleasure with each strike and each yelp the fool uttered.

"Never, my lord!" the fool whimpered. "Please, have mercy!"

"'Have mercy! Have mercy!'" mocked Nelkir. "Haven't I heard that enough for the past twenty-seven years? My father was merciful in his days, Balgruuf the Greater. And do you know what that got him, hmm?"

"He died tragically, my lord," the fool uttered.

"Yes, that's right, fool Idolaf!" Nelkir cheered, sending the switch cracking across the fool's ass and laughing as he leaped in shock. "And don't you let anyone tell you otherwise, do you know why, fool?"

"Because you'll know it!" the fool said.

"That's very good," Nelkir nodded. "Now, since you're down there, why don't you lick clean my boots, hmm?"

"My lord, please..." begged the fool.

"Come, come, now," he insisted. "You didn't clean them last time, and now I've got guests to entertain, and your father's come to visit. Be thorough, now, I've stepped into some rather nasty goat-shite."

"Please, stop it!" Jonna, who had endured more than enough, interjected.

"Why?" Nelkir asked without a hint of pity. "He's my fool and I can do as I like with him." He looked down at his feet. "Well, fool, what are you waiting for, a hand-written invitation? Start licking!" The fool crawled towards Jarl Nelkir and began to lick his boots. With a loud laugh, Nelkir gave him a kick in the ass and struck the switch across his back for good measure.

"Ha! I can't believe you were actually doing it!" he laughed. "You sick little piggy! That's why you're the fool; Idolaf the Fool!" He cackled loudly, and it grated Sigrun's ears to hear it. But she couldn't stop staring at the form of Idolaf Battle-Born, lying on the ground, huddled like a baby, weeping to himself and trying to pick goat-shit out of his beard.

The stories she had heard told that he had done some terrible thing, for which he had his manhood ripped from him when her father and the Companions regained Jorrvaskr. What exactly he had done, however, was never told. But it seemed, at least to one who had never had such as he, that Idolaf had been broken by that incident. Nothing remained of the arrogant, milk-drinker who preened about the streets of Whiterun, starting fights with anyone who did not hail the Empire upon first beck. That he had allowed himself to come to this miserable state was, in her eyes, pathetic: he was not a man, and even less than a 'woman' if he had been so broken by his lack of manhood. She felt pity for it, but only insomuch as one would feel pity for a rabid dog that must needs be put down.

"Now, then, fool!" Nelkir shouted. "Get up and meet your guests. This is Jonna, daughter of Jordis, and Sigrun, the daughter of your old enemy, Eirik Bjornson, I believe." The fool crawled across the floor and looked up at Sigrun.

"So, you're that milk-drinker Eirik's brat, eh?" he said. Then he spat directly in Sigrun's face. "A cunt and a b*tch was your da! I could have beaten him myself with my bare-hands, were he not such a coward, hiding in that forest of his, licking the ass-hole of that self-righteous cow he calls a wife!"

"You son of a b*tch!" Sigrun returned, and kicked him in the stomach. Jonna leaped between them and Nelkir burst out into laughter.

"Quite a mouth he has, eh?" Nelkir said. "Just be sure to give him a good kick in the face if he gets uppity."

"Sigrun, how dare you!" Jonna shouted.

"You heard what he said about my parents!" Sigrun retorted.

"He's my father!" Jonna stated. Behind her feet, Idolaf cowered. When he heard those words, he quietly muttered to himself, "I don't have a daughter."

"No, he's not!" Sigrun retorted. "You have parents! Three of them, that love you! You want to give them up for this?"

"He's my family, Sigrun," Jonna said with deathly seriousness. "And if you strike him again, you are no sister of mine. Now, I think that it's best if you leave."

Sigrun did not know what to say. She looked at her beloved Jonna's eyes and saw only anger. She could not hold the piercing gaze of Jarl Nelkir for long, but she saw only sadistic enjoyment in them when she briefly viewed his blue eyes. Roggi was of no use whatsoever, standing silent behind her, and further beyond him came the distant sounds of laughter. Idolaf cowered when she looked down at him, which made Jonna set her face against Sigrun as though...

As though she were an enemy.

Against her desire, Sigrun willed the springs in her head to remain assuaged as she stared down Jonna. Yet she could not hold the look of shock at being betrayed that crept onto her face.

"Alright, Jons, you win," she sighed at last. "I'll leave. Divines smile on you." Without another word, she turned her back and left Dragonsreach. Roggi did not follow her, though she did not expect him to do so. Once she passed the doors, she saw the two Imperial guards laughing; their laughter was put to silence when they looked into her eyes, blazing with wrath and sorrow.

Down the stairs she went and into the crowd still in the Wind District, heedless of two hooded figures that took notice of her and began to follow on behind. From there she hastily made her way back down into the Plains District, then back out to the gate where she took from the guards her sword and Havi's sword. The day was not yet old and she still had plenty of the food Roggi had given her. Without a second look back at Whiterun, Sigrun walked down to the bottom of the hill, and then turned right, towards the north.

As she was walking, her restraint gave out at last and the springs of her head were loosed: large, hot tear-drops rolled down her cheeks. She had been forced to make a choice between protecting Jonna and remaining her friend and sister. She would have preferred to choose both, and even now she felt that her place was at Jonna's side. But she knew that she could not in good conscience remain there with that piteous thing that she called a father. It still baffled her that Jonna could choose to defend someone that had insulted the people who raised both of them.

Suddenly a sharp pain pierced her shoulder-blade, then a feeling like tiny icy daggers spreading out across her back, then she fell forward and knew no more.

(AN: Many things happened in this chapter, to be sure. I hope you all remained patient as i got this one together. Thankfully it took less time than the last ones have.)

(I didn't mean to have them separated so soon, but i wanted also not to throw a certain plot-important character into the mix so early on. So things get a little bit interesting this way, and we get to see the consequences of Jonna demanding the secret knowledge. Also had to earn that M-rating with the language [as if the descriptions of severed limbs during Sigrun's escape in "Stormborn" weren't enough]. As for Sigrun herself, she is smart, doing a bit more thinking than talking, and knows how to hold her own in a fight, but her perception of her surroundings isn't the best. It's another reason that she's also not a very good hunter. Not necessarily clumsy, just not always aware. Can't make her "too perfect", am i right?)