(AN: Wow, has it really been almost a year since I last updated this story? Well then, it's a good idea I'm back for a while to keep on writing. Well, for this one, I decided to throw out my retort to an age-old criticism of a certain high fantasy trope. Just watch and see what will happen.)

(Also, I've noticed a lot of reviews popping up on my older fics. I'm not reading them anymore, since those stories are completed [and the ones that are getting reviewed are 100% just flames]. I might go back and revisit Exodus again, mostly because of my reading of Legends of the Jews: but aside from a few other things planned, I'm not going back to my old stories and reading all the hate. If you want to get my attention, review the newer stories [like this one]).

The Old Man

They walked on for what seemed like an eternity. The amber waves of the tundra of western Whiterun continued onward, under the swiftly rising sun. In the distance, the main mass of the Throat of the World began to appear, looming tower-like out of the tundra and burying its silver head in the lofty clouds. Beneath that they could see the golden roofs of Whiterun glistening in the morning sun. But all was not well; the golden roofs of Whiterun did not glisten so brightly. A thin pillar of smoke wafted up from the hill upon which the city was built.

"Do you see that?" Erik asked, pointing eastward.

"Yes," Sigrun lied; in truth, her eyesight was not very keen. Likely another issue that made her less than adequate at hunting.

"What do you make of it?" Erik returned.

"I...I don't know," Sigrun replied, stumbling over her words. She had made a boast which she could not carry out, now that she was being called upon it. "What do you think?"

"I've never been this far east," Erik said. "But I did hear rumors of the killings in Whiterun. The Jarl puts anyone who disagrees with him or the Empire's rule to death; but I never heard a thing about burning."

"Hmph," Sigrun shrugged. "Maybe he ran out of room on the city walls."

"That's hardly something to joke about," Erik replied.

"Just shut up and go on ahead," she ordered.

The two of them continued on, walking toward the distant sight of that city. As they went, they scanned the golden fields this way and that; one could see for miles on the plains and little could be hidden from sight. Only the distant view of Whiterun could be seen before them. More than this, quiet filled the mid-morning air. The wind moved so gently that it made not a sound, and no birds cried above their heads in the blue expanse. Even the sounds of herds of mammoths, led to pasture by their giant shepherds, became distant and faint before at last fading away entirely into the background hum of the plains.

It seemed that they were quite alone out here on the tundra. Or, if perchance they would meet with assaults, they would be spotted more than a mile away and so could not take them by surprise. On the other hand, they were particularly open to any and all eyes that might be looking for them. Therefore as they walked forward, Sigrun would cast her eyes over her shoulder, to see if she was being followed by the Sisters of Strife. Seven times in one hour she looked behind her, but there was no sign of approach.

After the seventh glance, she turned back around to keep an eye on Erik in front of her, and suddenly stopped short.

"Erik, stop!" she whispered. He stopped and turned back to see what had caught her attention, but she held up her hand to silence him and then pointed away to her left, toward the north.

Rising up out of the ground there appeared a stone standing solitary in the midst of the plain. It looked rather far off, at least two bow-shots away from them, and rather slender; not at all like the large standing stones raised by the ancient Atmorans, upon whose bodies runes were carved. But there was something else about this standing stone; something more astounding and alarming.

"Do you see that?" Sigrun whispered. "That stone rising up out of the plain?"

"Well, yes, I see it," Erik shrugged.

"That wasn't there last time I looked," Sigrun replied. "Did you see it before I pointed it out to you?"

"Hmm," Erik mused. "Come to think of it, no." He furrowed his brow, looking out again. "Strange."

Sigrun rubbed her eyes, hoping that she was imagining things. When she looked again, she stuffed her knuckles into her mouth to keep from gasping out. It seemed that the stone had moved closer to them. It was bad enough that she couldn't make out whatever it was, due to her less than sharp eyesight, but now it seemed to be coming toward them. She tried to think of all the wild creatures she had heard tales about that could possibly be that large: wild wolves, tavern brawls, and Dunmer slavers were one thing, but she hadn't faced anything truly larger than her. One hand shielded her eyes from the sun while the other reached for her sword.

"What are you doing?" Erik whispered, noticing that she was reaching for her weapon.

"That thing is moving toward us," Sigrun replied in a hoarse whisper.

Erik chuckled. "No, that can't be. It's a stone."

"Look again!" she hissed. He looked back out.

"Shor's bones, it is moving!" Erik exclaimed in a furtive whisper.

"Get your bow out," she said to him. "We just may have to fight."

Erik reached for his bow and fitted an arrow upon the string, but did not bend it. Sigrun meanwhile drew out her sword and hefted her shield into position, her hand upon the center-grip. Both of them kept their eyes on the stone-like shape. For the moment it seemed to have halted, as though it knew that it was being watched and so became still again until it was ignored.

"Quick," Sigrun hissed. "Fire an arrow at it."

Erik nodded, drew back the bow, then relaxed the string with a furrowed look on his brow.

"What is it?" she returned. "Why don't you shoot?"

"The stone's gone," Erik said. "I just had my eyes on it, and now when I drew the bow back, it disappeared."

"How could a stone just disappear?" Sigrun asked.

"What?" Erik asked. "Moving was fine, but disappearing you couldn't believe?" Sigrun gave him a sour expression.

"Perhaps I can answer that for you."

Both of them turned about with a gasp at the sound of the third voice: it was the voice of an older man, speaking as though he were but six long cubits behind them. As they turned around, Sigrun's eyes widened even more as she recognized the wizened, shadow-clad figure that had chased off the wolves many nights ago.

"Who are you?" Sigrun demanded, drawing her sword and brandishing it before the figure. "What do you want with me?"

"Peace, Sigrun," the old man said. "I mean you and Jonna no harm; lower your weapon."

"How do you know me?" Sigrun demanded again.

"I know everything there is to know about you, Sigrun," the old man replied. "But I cannot answer you in full as to why I know what I do. My time in this plane is very short indeed, and the longer I stay here, the weaker I become. You will not find Jonna in Whiterun, Sigrun. Go north, into the snows of the Pale. Upon the road to Dawnstar you will find a tree that has been knocked onto the road by a snow troll. In its lair you will find Jonna, alive and well."

"What?" Sigrun exclaimed. "What is she doing up there? And how do you..."

"I must go," the old man returned. "Do not seek for me in Mundus, for you shall never find me. When I have regained my strength, I shall find you again and tell you more." With that, there was a flash of green light, which sent the arms of Sigrun and Erik up to shield their faces. Then, just as soon as it had appeared, the light faded. There was no sign or sight of the old man anywhere upon the fields.

"Who is Jonna?" Erik asked.

"Mind your own business!" Sigrun snapped.

In truth, she was only slightly annoyed that he had disrupted her concentration. Her mind was more preoccupied with what she had just seen and heard. Who was this old man? How did he know who she was or where Jonna was? She had heard tales of her father's many journeys and the less than cordial encounters he had had with certain mages in his time, which lent themselves to some rather telling warnings about tangling in their affairs. But into her mind came the incident with the wolves. Of course Jonna would have given an excuse that this was a trap, since she had believed that this old man had led the wolves to them; but for herself, she believed that he had driven them off. In her mind, there was something else about this old man, something that drew her in; it was not a madness, for she was in full control of her faculties. Also, surprisingly enough, she hadn't seen any of the mind-numbing apparitions which had been appearing to her lately.

She wondered if the old man's presence didn't have something to do with their absence.

As for Erik, he was still standing beside her, wondering at her inaction and why she remained silent. He returned his bow to his back and the arrow to its quiver, then turned back to her.

"So what's the plan, then?" he asked.

"Excuse me?" she returned.

"Well, I thought we were going to Whiterun," Erik stated. "But this guy seemed to know you and..."

"I said drop it," she sighed.

"I'm still your captive, more or less," Erik replied. "Unless you're planning on letting me go."

"No, you're still my captive," Sigrun returned.

"Then where are we going? I want to know what's been planned for me, if that's alright with you!"

"Will you s..." Sigrun began, but stopped short. Just then she had a mental picture of herself standing before the old man, who, like now, was not answering her questions but being cryptic. She realized that she would have been just as eager as Erik to know what he knew, especially when it pertained to herself. Only he was just, so...

"Listen," she said, after taking a deep breath. "I don't know what's going on right now, and frankly I don't care. All I know is that we're going to Whiterun and that's that. We can figure things out once we get there. Now can you live with that?"

Erik grinned. "I suppose I don't have an option either way."

Sigrun balked slightly at his smile. It wasn't exactly the response she had expected for what she had said to him. She gripped her sword tighter in her hand, walked over behind Erik, and having him go in front, continued on her present course to Whiterun.

(AN: Pardon me for sounding like an old geezer for a moment [I was born in 1990 and I still remember late 20th century things, like Blockbuster, VHS, cassette tapes, phones that were for calling people and used cords, and the Blue Dress scandal], but from my constant viewing of videos by online movie critics, I've begun to notice a trend among critics of the epic fantasy. These people seem to all agree that the protagonist deserves 100% full disclosure at the outset of their journey, before they have even begun to grow: and if even a little bit of information is withheld, even for the protagonist's own good, the mentor is decried as cruel, malicious, evil, and worthless [and some people, like Chris Avellone, go out of their way to show their disdain for said mentor figures by creating a game where THEY are the villains!])

(Well, I'm fed up with that criticism, so I decided that I'd display just why that's an awful idea in this very story.)

(Also, yay, one chapter after almost a year of inactivity! It was so short, but I've been burned out on writing almost all this year, so let's at least be grateful for something small. But things are about to get very weird going forward.)