(AN: So here I throw in yet another sub-plot to this story. It might just end up quite longer than I had initially intended.)

(Don't worry, we haven't forgotten this story. It's just taking a lot of time to get written, hitting that tedious point. Thank you to all of you who are still following along with the story through all these years [literally]. This one is for you all.)

Along Came a Spider

From the hold of Whiterun across the tundra to the north, and to the edge of the mountains themselves. The hold guards had been hot on their trail, but had been ordered away. One who was in service to Jarl Nelkir had called them off from the hunt, assuring them that she would carry on the hunt in their stead. Her name was Arvela, a retainer of House Sadras. A skilled battle-mage and orator, her allegiance was not to Whiterun in truth: for she often traded her skills for money, which she sent back to New Gnisis, and Whiterun was not the first place where she had plied her trade.

She rode through the golden plains of Whiterun atop a horse: not her preferred method of transportation, but guar were not accustomed to this region: even in the east, they were having difficulty introducing them into the marshlands of that place and many were dying in droves because of it. But the ecological woes of House Sadras' radical land restructuring was not presently a matter of great concern to Arvela. For now, there was a much more pressing concern: three prisoners had escaped the justice of the Empire in Whiterun, a woman and two men. The men were to be brought back dead or alive, while the woman was to be brought back alive only, by order of the Jarl.

As the sun was on its way down towards Markarth and High Rock in the west, Arvela came upon a fort on the foothills of the mountains to the north of Whiterun Hold: the Halted Stream Camp. Up above the sound of crows, ravens, and even the odd vulture or two, indicated that there were dead bodies nearby. Rather than approach the camp and alert those who might be within, Arvela conjured an Illusion spell of Scrying, which allowed her to see much farther than normally, even for Dunmer. Usually a spell of this type could be bound to an object, or even a living creature, and therefore need not be a drain on a magician's reserves of magicka: but in the field, Arvela couldn't be lugging around massive globes of polished crystal with her, so she would maintain the spell with one hand and guide the little magical orb with the other hand.

With the orb conjured, her right hand waved about this way and that, like a conductor leading an orchestra, sending a magical globe bouncing through the air; while in her left hand, a flat surface - a magical mirror - hovered over her blue-gray palm, through which she saw everything that the orb could see. Her vision shifted, moving over the land toward the wooden walls of the fort. Before her appeared a large mass of bodies, all lying together in a heap; all of them colored by a deathly shade of blue. A look of disgust passed over Arvela's face, and she waved her right hand, moving the scrying orb away from the pile of bodies and up over the wall. This was the hardest part, moving the orb down places that could not be seen with the naked eye: it required absolute concentration, the utmost focus. Even the tiniest distraction would break the spell. Little by little the orb floated over the wall, and into the courtyard of the Halted Stream Camp, giving Arvela sight of everything within. The orb circled over a smoldering fire pit, where two sleeping forms lay nestled together beneath blankets. A smile crept onto Arvela's face.

"There you are," she said.

The night passed over the Halted Stream Camp quickly. The first watch ended, and Erik returned to the little fire: while it was dangerous to light a fire, especially while being pursued, they needed one against the cold, northern nights. Roggi went about his watch, eying the ways east, west, and south, keeping watch as best he could in the darkness. When his head was not befuddled overmuch with drink, he wasn't actually all that inefficient as a soldier. Long years in exile in Eastmarch had given him keen senses for the night watches. So it was for this night as well. Erik meanwhile continued to tend the fire until his eyelids were too heavy to keep open. Eventually he decided that it would be time to wake Sigrun up and have her tend the fire and make ready for the last watch of the night.

As for Sigrun, she found herself in the midst of some great fog. Over and over again, she saw faces leering out at her from the midst of the fog: angry faces, all of them full of hatred and venomous spite for her. One of the faces was an Argonian face; at least, after the manner of Argonians as she knew them from reading about them. The yellow eyes were full of wrath, following her with murderous intent. Another face leered at her from out of the darkness: a bald-headed mer, half of gold and half of ashen gray-blue. One eye was blue, and another red: this one had done murder, of the most personal kind, and was planning to do so again. Other faces she saw in the darkness as well: some of them grim, some of them sad. Some of them faces that she had known, others completely foreign to her. For a moment they looked at her with the intent to kill, and then for another moment they lowered their gazes and closed their eyes, as though they saw nothing. Sometimes the sad faces would look on her, and Sigrun could catch glimpses of mouths moving, all of them asking the same thing over and over.

Why?

Sigrun tried to run, but the fog was thick and dark and obscured all direction. And no matter where she went, the faces and the eyes followed her; always pleading, always threatening. Why? Why? Why?

"No!" Sigrun whispered at the faces. "Stop! Don't look at me! What did I do?"

The faces continued to glare at her. Soon the darkness became nothing but faces: Nords, Imperials, Bretons, elvish faces, and always that damned Argonian. Their gaze pierced through to Sigrun's heart, sapping her strength, eroding her resolve, and causing her to crumble to her knees, quivering in fear. Why, they demanded over and over of her. Why? Why? Why?

"No, please, stop!" she begged, sobbing and whimpering. "Don't look at me! I didn't do anything, what did I do? What did I do?!"

For her, she was sobbing and whispering silently into the darkness. Yet for the men around her in the waking world, she was flailing about in her blanket, crying out with a loud voice. Erik gave her a shake with his hand on her shoulder, but she flailed her arms about, swatting his hand away as she tossed and rolled about in her sleep. Suddenly her left leg gave a jolt, as if she had missed a step while walking, and suddenly she leaped awake.

"Wha-What's going on?" she gasked. "Where's the Argonian that wanted me dead?"

"I-What?" Erik asked, surprised at her answer. "Sigrun, there's no one here but us!"

She looked about and saw, in the glare of the camp-fire, Erik and Roggi staring back at her. She made no answer, yet into her mind came a brand new thought which hadn't occurred to her even when they were in Whiterun. Eventually, these two men would be asking her what purpose there was to continuing to follow her. She was very little to them, of course: to Erik, she was even less, since she was practically his jailer. She realized that having their company would certainly be welcome in her journey to return to find Jonna and return the sword to Havi, and even further on toward her grand design of saving Skyrim. But how could she convince them to follow her when she had no clear purpose or plan ahead of her? 'Saving Skyrim' was a very vague goal, and she had no idea where even to begin in this monumental task. She would have to convince them to act against their own self-interests in order to serve her purposes.

But she had no idea how to begin, where to begin, or even how to have these two men give their aid to her when, so far, they had no reason to do so?

For the rest of the evening, she could not bring herself back to sleep. Instead, she relieved Roggi and took to the last watch of the night. For her part, she saw little in the darkness for the rest of that night. Her eyes were heavy, but the images she had seen that night filled her with dread. It was all that she could do to keep herself from falling asleep as she paced the wall of the Halted Stream Camp. Hours upon hours passed and still no sight or sound of anyone could be heard or seen.

At last the dawn broke. Sigrun roused the others from their sleep and they took stock of what they had. There wasn't too much in the bandits' stores as far as food went. They would have to find food for themselves on their way out. For the present, they took their spears and their axes, as well as the sword and shield that Sigrun wielded, and assayed to leave the camp. Erik and Roggi removed the bar and pushed open the gate, when they saw something that was quite the surprise. Before them, but a few yards away from the gate, was a rider sitting upon a horse: the rider's features were concealed by a heavy traveling cloak with a hood pulled down over the face. Upon the horse's saddle there lay a bow and quiver, which gave them pause.

"Where did this fellow come from?" Erik whispered.

"I have no idea," Sigrun whispered back. "I never heard anyone approach all night and all this morning, I swear!"

"Seems yer not as perceptive as all that, kinswoman," Roggi returned, to which she glared at him then turned to the rider.

"Good morning," she said to the rider in a clear, loud voice. "What brings you to this place?"

"Hail to you as well," the rider said: it was a woman's voice. "You need have no fear of me. I come to bring you assistance."

"What kind o' help could ye give us?" Roggi asked.

"Only that the hold guards are combing the tundra, looking for the three of you," the rider replied. "You certainly gave Jarl Nelkir's men some trouble yesterday, and no mistake."

"We know this," Sigrun returned. "So we ask again: what help can you give us that we don't already have?"

The rider paused for a brief moment, the hood turning to Sigrun. "I can tell from your speech that you must be the leader of your little band: you sound articulate and learned, more than this one. I doubt the ginge can even speak at all." Erik growled angrily at the rider, who didn't seem to consider him, keeping her attention on Sigrun. "I can appreciate that."

"Don't insult my companions," Sigrun retorted. "Just answer the question: what kind of help could you give us that we don't already have?"

"I don't know," the rider shrugged. "Aren't you even the least bit curious as to how I managed to sneak by your valiant watch through the night?"

Sigrun looked at the others, neither of whom seemed very pleased with this newcomer, and then turned back to the rider. "It'd be nice to know, yes."

"I am a skilled battle-mage," the rider replied. "Learned in the schools of magicka. It was a simple Illusion spell I used to hide myself from your sight. Such magicka could be quite useful in getting across the plains of Whiterun undetected, especially for three fugitives such as you. Am I not correct?" Sigrun paused, looking inward to weigh the merits of the rider's request. She then held up one hand to the rider.

"Let me speak with my companions first," she offered. The rider's hood nodded, and Sigrun brought Erik and Roggi closer together in a tight huddle, and spoke to them in hushed tones. "What do you think? Should we take her up on her offer?"

"Not a chance," Roggi dismissed. "I tell ye, there's somethin' afoot 'ere. Somethin' 'bout this lass seems...off. I reckon she ain't kin-folk, and that bodes ill fer us."

"She's offering us help!" Sigrun hissed.

"Mark me words, lass," Roggi said. "There's few folk in Skyrim these days as offer help fer naught. She'll be wantin' sommit fer herself."

"What about you?" Sigrun asked, turning to Erik.

"I don't like her either," he said. "But, well, if she's offering help, we certainly need that, don't we?"

"Mark me words, this won't bode well," Roggi repeated.

Sigrun sighed. "You're right...Erik. You, Roggi, should remember that you asked us to trust you without much reason to do so. Now you're asking us to do differently to someone else...why?"

"A bad feelin' I have 'bout this'n," Roggi uttered.

"Well, we'll have to keep a close eye on her, then," Sigrun added. She then turned to the rider. "Alright, let's say we're wanting your help, stranger. Show us a sign that you can be trusted in return: take off your hood and let's see your face."

There was a moment of heavy silence between the four of them. At length, the hooded figure made a slow, measured reply.

"Why should I take off my hood?" she asked.

"You want us to trust you right off, having first met you?" Sigrun asked. "Well, you've gotta give us reason to trust you. So come on, now, show us your face."

"Look, do you want my help or not?" the stranger retorted, a hint of shortness in her voice.

"Of course we do, but..."

"Then you'll have to play by my rules," said the stranger. "And I say that I get to keep my hood down and my identity secret from you. If you don't like it, then you don't really need my help and I'll leave."

"But..."

"No buts!" the rider retorted firmly. There was a pause as she collected her breath. "Now, do you want my help or not?"

"A-Alright," Sigrun spoke up. "Alright, we'll play by your rules."

"Good," the rider's voice softened. "Now then, what course shall we set?"

"Northeast, into the Pale," Sigrun replied.

"Then that is our road," the rider stated firmly. She dismounted from her horse and offered them to secure their gear upon it, while she cast several enchantments upon them. Sigrun and Erik deposited their weapons upon the horse's back, but Roggi looked with suspicion and wariness at the hooded figure, muttering words in a foreign tongue and sending dull, basso thuds into the air with her words. The last one made the ground beneath their feet tremble slightly, and Roggi staggered, a worried look in his eyes.

"There we are," the rider returned. "Now we won't be visible to any hostile eyes. We'll arrive in the Pale before evening."

"What?" Sigrun exclaimed. "I'd have thought it would take us at least two full days to cross that region, especially on foot."

"Not so," the hooded rider stated. "I also cast a spell of endurance upon us. Our limbs will not tire, and we'll go three times as fast as we would normally."

"How did you do that?" Erik asked.

"Magicka," the rider replied; there was an air of smug satisfaction in her voice.

For the rest of that day, they walked under the Alteration spell. For Roggi, he felt as though he was in a perpetual drunken state, yet fully in command of his faculties. To Erik and Sigrun, the world about them looked as though they were running while they only moved at a brisk walking pace. For many long minutes, the rider said nothing, but led her horse ahead of them with one hand upon the reins. After a time, the rider spoke back to them, addressing Sigrun as they walked.

"What brought you to Whiterun?"

"I was on the run," Sigrun replied. "Then I found this one..." She gestured to Erik, but did not nudge or prod him with her sword. "As for how we got out of Whiterun, I...I don't really know myself."

"And what do you hope to find in the Pale?"

"Shh!" Roggi shushed. "Don't tell 'er nothin'! Ain't wise t' spill all yer guts t' anyin' ye jus' met."

"Look who's talking," Sigrun scoffed. She then turned back to the hooded rider. "Find my sister, then go on to Dawnstar."

"What waits you at Dawnstar?"

"Why should we tell you?"

"You shouldn't," the rider retorted. "It's not meet to trust random strangers. But, perhaps, since I have given you aid, you may have some impetus to show me more trust and respect in this regard?"

"Maybe," Sigrun replied. "But we need allies, and a little trust can go a long way: especially if the company is true."

"Oh? And am I true? Have you judged that so quickly? I haven't even asked payment yet for my services to you." There was a scoffing sound heard from beneath the rider's hood. "Your companions certainly don't trust me, yet you do. Why?"

"They have their reasons. As for me, I'm just one person. I can't save Skyrim all on my own. I need the allies."

"And what about your traveling companions? Are they not allies?"

Sigrun looked back at Roggi and Erik, and then answered slowly. "They're free to do as they wish. I would like that they stay with me: I could use their help."

"Perhaps," the rider replied. "The ignorant and stupid do have their uses, especially when they make up for their weak minds with strong bodies. But it is you who should ask them if they wish to travel with you or not. A leader must become familiar with their followers and cater to their needs, or else they will lose confidence in that leader and disband...or kill them and choose a new leader for themselves."

Sigrun sighed. The faceless rider was right. "Not yet. Let's get to the snows and find my sister first. Then we'll talk."

"I have more to say to you, though," the rider stated.

"Oh?"

"You said that you wish to 'save Skyrim.' Pray tell, what are you saving Skyrim from?"

"The woes that have befallen us."

"And those woes are?"

"The Empire, the Reachmen, and the Dunmer. Not to mention the Dominion."

"Indeed?" the rider scoffed. "And is temporary discomfort so great a burden that you would exchange it for total annihilation?"

"What do you mean?"

"The Empire has blood on their hands, this is true," the rider began. "They have done many shameful and dishonorable things: the withdrawal of troops from the outer provinces during the Oblivion Crisis, the corruption of the Elder Council, the dissolution of the Blades, not to mention the Medan potentates who occupied the Red Throne. But there is much of value with the Empire: they bring stability which the wild provinces are incapable of bringing for themselves: wild provinces like Skyrim, for example. Now the Empire is weak, and ready to fall: to rebel against the Empire for any petty, imagined injustices would be to destroy your last and only hope of protection against the Dominion.

"As for the Reachmen and the Dunmer, they but want their land back. To you, they are woes and villains: but to them, you are the villains and the aggressors. It is necessary for a leader to see both sides of every issue: nothing is ever black and white. There are shades of gray everywhere one looks: levels of evil and good actions in every person, no matter how one's misguided elders may educate them. What a Nord thinks is good is likely considered harm to all the peoples of Tamriel: likewise, what a Nord finds detestable is often the most reasonable and beneficial choice for all people involved."

Sigrun paused as she heard these words. These were much different than what her father and mother had taught her. She turned to Roggi and Erik, who each shook their heads in disagreement. She did not know whether they shook their heads because they did not agree with the rider's words, or if they did not trust her as they hadn't since they met.

"You seem to be highly educated," Sigrun stated.

"So do you," the rider replied. "That is why I reveal these things to you. You have the wit and wisdom to understand and comprehend such weighty matters: certainly more than those fools that follow you."

"Could you lay off the insults?"

"They are fools and nothing more! Be wary of them, young woman. They have one thing on their minds at all times; you will see."

"I...I don't believe that," Sigrun replied.

"Ah, but you are young and still naive. In time, perhaps, you will see where their tiny brains are fixated upon. I only pray to the Three-in-One that you do not lose your virtue on account of your naivete."

"Three-in-One?" Sigrun asked. "Who are they?"

"I misspoke," the rider replied, as if realizing that she had said too much. "We must keep our eyes ahead of us. There will be time enough for talk later."

While they walked, Erik and Roggi became increasingly frustrated with the haughty tone of this magician with whom Sigrun was now so betaken. Roggi, the one with the fewest scruples, saw that the time for words was past. He reached for his sword and prepared to throw himself at the mage, when all of a sudden things seemed to slow down to a crawl around him. None of the others were aware of what was going on save for himself: then he saw the mage move toward him, oblivious of the still figures of Erik and Sigrun frozen in place around them.

"What in Shor's balls?" he asked.

"It is none of your concern, little man," the rider sneered.

"I don' know who y'are," Roggi stated. "But I don' trus' yer fancy magicks more n' I can throw ye."

"Your ignorant colloquialisms amuse me," said the hooded woman. "Even more than your petty threats. Now take your hand off your sword: you've no need for weapons."

"Oblivion be damned if I don't!" Roggi replied, and drew his sword. To his surprise, he saw that he was holding onto a mushroom.

"Now you listen here, little man, with whatever brains you have," the rider said. "I have business with that woman: business that requires her to be alive. You will remain with her and keep her safe from all harm. If you don't..."

"What, you'll kill me?" Roggi asked.

"No," the rider replied. "But death would be a preferable alternative to what I'd do to you. Being lost in the realms of Oblivion...is a terrifying prospect. You might never get back to the waking world: and if you do, you'll never be the same. Can you imagine? An empty husk, a shell of the man you once were, impotent and pathetic: unable to do anything but live on for the rest of your broken life, unable to die...with nothing but the screams of your kin to keep you company."

Roggi's eyes widened in horror at her words. Into his mind came everything that had happened in his life since the sacking of Shor's Stone. He feared to be trapped in that world for the rest of his life.

"So, will you help or choose for yourself a fate worse than death?"

Roggi nodded. "I'll help ye."

"Good," the rider replied. "Oh, and don't bother telling Sigrun about this: if you break your silence, then I will break you."

There was a flash and suddenly Roggi found himself walking once more in that leering, pseudo-drunken stupor. He walked on after the others, but kept a wary eye upon the rider. If he did not trust her at the beginning, he was sure that there was more than something afoot with her now.

(AN: As you noticed, this chapter did NOT end with blacking out. I think a lot of my older chapters ended that way because of my struggle with colitis. For this one, however, I strained really hard to force myself to write again and get something new out. It isn't the 7k chapter that I hoped it would be, but it's something to satisfy everyone who's been begging for me to add more to this story.)

(I see also a lot of people following and favoriting The Dragonborn and the Lioness. Surprising, considering all the flames I got while writing that story. I haven't read any reviews since finishing it, for obvious reasons. If you want a more immediate response, I suggest reading and [especially] reviewing this story. Don't be too harsh, though: I'm still trying to get back into the swing of writing.)