(AN: As you may have guessed from the phrase "whispering wind" I used in the last chapter, I have found myself listening to a certain famous song by one of rock's most famous bands [who, like me, happen to be hugely influenced by the works of Tolkien]. Hopefully that's a bit of magic to make the writing and reading of this story interesting again [another thing that made updating this story so frustratingly difficult before: the absence of fun].)
(To everyone still flaming The Dragonborn and the Lioness, yes, I know I made huge lore errors in that story [some of which I'm still making], but I'm not going to go back and rewrite them [yet]. I'm moving forward with this story. Also, I'm going to bring back another over-poked "plot-hole" from that story into this story: hey, if you make mountains out of mole-hills long enough, eventually it will get someone's attention [see also Rogue One].)
To Claim a Land
The party continued traveling along the main road, going faster than they had before. They had more land to cover now, and the day was already half-way over. The road led them on northeastward, passing Falkreath again on the left-hand side. The road wound on before them, going this way and that; the westering sun caused the shadows of the trees to grow even taller. Dusk would soon be upon the land. By and by, the road stopped winding and instead turned straightly eastward, near Pinewatch. Here Eirik called for a halt and, sitting in his saddle, looked northward.
"What's wrong?" Jonna asked. "Why are we stopping?"
"Lakeview is just a stone's throw from this very place," he said. "Oh, my love. How I wish I could remain with you."
None of them said anything to him or to each other. They waited for him to be done, after which he urged his horse onward and they carried on with their journey.
Now, by and by, the land began to steadily incline upwards, and their horses now trotted rather than galloped. Moreover, the air became cool and crisp and snow was lying upon the frozen ground. A large outcropping of rock, a shoulder of the mountains into which they had come, rose up on their left with the road winding around it on the right. They rode along until their horses finally came around the other side of the massive rock. Before them, they saw, lying in ruins, the remnants of a once walled town. Here they halted, with Eirik looking grim upon his horse.
"Is this it?" Sigrun asked.
He nodded silently. "Helgen."
The ruin lay desolate. The fires had long since died down, but the charred and blackened pieces still clung skeletal to their foundations. The towers and walls, once the hope and strength of the Imperial Red Legions, were now crumbling into disrepair. The women looked on in awe, while Eirik remained grim and silent. None of them knew what this meant to him, the return to Helgen.
"We've got to keep moving," Sigrun said. "Our goal is on the other side of this place, not here."
For the rest of the time that they were within sight and shadow of Helgen, there was dead silence between them. All the bodies had long since been eaten and looted, so there were no dogs or crows to accost them or fill their ears with their doleful cries. If there were any renegades and thieves lurking in the ruins, they were keeping quiet. All eyes watched the shadows, and Eirik would sometimes cast his eyes to the steadily darkening sky. But no dragons came upon them that afternoon; no bandits assaulted them. After what seemed like an eternity, they came at last to the southern end of Helgen and started up the path that a cart took Eirik down on the seventeenth of Last Seed last year to this town. Once they passed out of sight of Helgen, Eirik brought his horse to a halt and turned around to face the ruined town and let out a relieved "Ha!"
"What is it?" Sigrun asked.
"This place..." he said slowly. "...it's been haunting my dreams for months. Now...it's really just nothing. I don't know why it held such power over me." The women did not answer: they knew, or guessed why. But Jonna was not planning on intervening, and Sigrun dared not talk back to her Father. He turned to her and smiled.
"Thank you, both of you," he returned. "I couldn't have done it without you."
"Yes, you could have," Sigrun replied. "You just needed a push in the right direction."
"Well, now you've given it to me," he said. "And for that, I'm grateful." He turned his horse around and began trotting up the path. They came up on both sides of the horse: Jonna at his left and Sigrun at his right.
"There's something that I've been thinking about," he said. "What do you two hope to get out of this?"
"What do you mean?" Jonna asked, breaking her silence at last.
"Well, I've never met either of you before," he said, before turning to Sigrun. "Have I?"
"Would you ask that question if you had?" Sigrun evasively asked, still uncomfortable with lying to anyone; especially her Father.
"No, I suppose not," Eirik replied. "Then again, haven't been very good with details myself. Drove my teachers mad. 'No, you stupid ape! It's Pelinal Whitestrake, not Pelinal Whitestrike!'" The girls laughed, and he chuckled as well.
"Not good with details, eh?" Sigrun asked.
"Talos my witness," Eirik replied. "Especially when it came to learning my letters. Not many Nords are literate, they say in Cyrodiil; and my teachers would point to my writing as proof of why."
"Who were your teachers?" Sigrun asked.
"Some priests from what used to be the Temple of Talos in Bruma," Eirik said. "My guardian had the coin to give me an education. He wanted me to be able to read the old books, and know the truth of our cause."
"And what cause was that?"
Eirik chuckled. "I'm sharing the story of my life, and here I don't know the first thing about either of you." He turned to Jonna. "Strong-Voice, is it? Do you call yourself that or do others call you that name?"
"I call myself that name," Jonna returned. "Others call me b*tch or worse things to that effect."
"Doesn't that bother you?"
"Not really," Jonna replied. "I haven't been out-drunk by any man in all of Skyrim yet, so I know my worth. Besides, they're just words. They only gain power if you let them."
"What if what they say is true?"
"Only one who can change you is you," Jonna said. "You had the final say in coming here, you walked through Helgen and came back alive."
Eirik nodded, but said nothing further to her. Instead he turned his attention to Sigrun.
"And what about you, Stormborn?" he asked. "You know, there's something familiar about you. Right around here..." He reached up and stroked his nose. "...can't put my finger on it."
Sigrun said nothing.
"What about the name? Where did that come from?"
"Slew some Dunmer slavers in Eastmarch," she admitted. "In the middle of a storm."
"Dunmer slavers?" Eirik asked. "I think you've got that wrong. The Dunmer aren't slavers anymore, not since House Telvanni was destroyed by the Argonians."
"House Dres," Jonna clarified.
"Was it Dres? I can't remember all the names of those Dunmer Great Houses. But anyway, the Dunmer aren't slavers, not in Skyrim anyway. They're farmers, tillers of the land; not slavers."
"Trust me, they were," Sigrun stated. Jonna then cleared her throat loudly, and Sigrun cowed under her friend's intense gaze. She had said too much.
"Well, if you say so," Eirik said. "Now, let's get going."
The road wound its way back and forth, going deeper and deeper into the mountains. They were now totally within the regions of snow, and the women, unaccustomed to the cold, had to wrap their cloaks tightly about themselves. Eirik, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the cold. The air grew cool and crisp around them, and here and there they could see, in the last light of the day, tiny flecks of snow. The road continued for a long while, until at last it came to a long, narrow causeway naturally formed in the rock. On either side were the walls of the mountain, and directly before them they could see torches burning. In their light they saw the gatehouse of the Silver Road that wound through the Jerall Mountains and joined at last to Cyrodiil.
"Looks like we've got company," Eirik said, pointing to the lights. They were coming closer to them. The girls rested a hand on each of their weapons, while Eirik had his eyes fixed on those approaching. Soon enough, they were close enough that the light of their torches illuminated their faces and the riders could see them. Each one was dressed in Imperial leather armor.
"By order of the Emperor, the borders have been closed," the soldier decreed. "Turn around and go back the way you came."
"We have business here," Jonna said. "We won't be long."
"Are you deaf as well as stupid, Nord?" the soldier retorted. "I just said the border is closed. Whatever your business is, it will have to wait until the war is over and the Emperor opens the borders again."
"Do you know who I am?" Eirik asked.
"Some dense barbarian?" the soldier retorted.
"I am the Dragonborn," Eirik replied. "I stopped the dragons and the vampires last year. I'm Thane of Whiterun and Falkreath, and as the Jarl's servant, I request that you let me pass and conclude my business."
"I don't give a fuck if you're Tiber Septim himself!" the soldier retorted. "You're not getting past us, and that's a fact." The soldier drew his sword, as did those bearing torches behind him. "You're starting to piss me off. Go now, or me and my boys will beat some sense into you."
"Don't you know there's a truce?" Eirik asked. "You attack us, you'll be responsible for starting the war again. I wonder how General Tullius will reward you for blackening the honor of the Empire?"
"He's bluffing, sir!" one of the men spoke up.
"He's admitted to being one of the rebels," another said.
"We could charge him with antagonizing us," another soldier said. "Tullius would believe it, and we'd be blameless."
"Are you willing to take that chance?" Eirik asked.
"Are you willing to die?" asked the first soldier. "Because we're willing to kill. The border is under attack; to arms, men!"
Sigrun and Jonna kicked the flanks of their horses and held on for dear life as they started galloping about the ravine. The soldiers rushed Eirik's horse, who reared up on its hind legs and sent him on his back into the snow. They didn't have a chance to rush him, for the girls turned their horses around and doubled back on them, drawing out their weapons and swinging at them with axe and sword. The soldiers were forced to defend their flanks, and many of them were staggered by the rushing blows of the weapons against their own blades.
This was all the time Eirik needed to get back onto his feet and draw from the horse's saddle the Blade of the Skaal. With the strength of five trolls, his blade tore through flesh and bone, heaving an Imperial soldier's right arm clean off in one blow. Again Sigrun and Jonna made their runs upon the Imperials, swinging at them from the sides while Eirik took them on from in front. Sigrun's sword was turned again by one of the Imperials, but Jonna's axe found its mark on a leather helmet: the hungry blade tore through the leather and left a nasty gash in the man's head, sending him to the ground, clutching at his wound. A mortal blow, but not instant death.
Eirik brought the sword up to fend off a blow, then pushed against his opponent and drove the cutting edge of his blade into his chest. The blade did little against the leather, but gave Eirik enough room to push him back. He brought his sword around and took off a soldier's head, then followed up with a parry to turn the blow of another. Two had fallen, one was wounded, and there were yet five more to be accounted for.
An arrow came whizzing past Eirik's head and struck his horse. The poor beast gave a cry and bolted off back northward and downhill, to avoid the arrows.
"Fifty lashes to the one who loosed that arrow on us!" the first one who spoke, obviously a commander or legate, shouted.
Sigrun and Jonna came back again for another round, bringing their weapons down upon the enemy. The axe of Jonna cut through the back of one soldier's neck, taking him down instantly, while Sigrun's sword glanced off another soldier's blade.
"Jons, the gate!" Sigrun shouted: she guessed that one, if not two, of the other Imperials were on the gatehouse waiting for them. Jonna turned her horse about and charged for the gatehouse, throwing her axe as she came under the eaves of the gate at the shape of an Imperial soldier. The axe founds it mark, and the archer fell down to the road. Under the protection of the gate, Jonna leaped off her horse and plucked her axe from the soldier's body, just as another arrow came skittering off the stones of the road mere inches away from her hand. She waited by the side of the gatehouse, hoping her enemy would come down to face her.
Meanwhile, Sigrun was galloping around the last two soldiers on their feet: a foot-soldier with a sword and the commander. Eirik had the commander in his sights, and was now using holding the Blade of the Skaal with two hands. Sometimes he would fend off their blows, using the blade as a staff, and then attempt to thrust between weak points of the commander's steel plate armor. The soldier and the commander were now back-to-back, with swords facing outward. Eirik came in with a thrust of the sword, and the commander dodged the blow, only for it to cut the arm of his subordinate behind him. But from her vantage point atop the horse, Sigrun noticed something amiss. The wounded soldier who Jonna's axe had sent to the ground was on his feet again and coming at Eirik from behind.
"Da, look out!" she cried out instinctively.
Eirik turned about in time to see the soldier coming at him from behind, and, kneeling down, brought his sword down to take off his legs. Instead of cutting straight through, the blow shattered his kneecaps and the soldier fell to the ground in agony, crying and screaming. Eirik got back onto his feet and, with one swing, brought the bladed hilt into the neck of the commander: an aptly named murder-stroke.
Behind them, at the gatehouse, Jonna had dispatched the last soldier with a bloody blow of the axe, which painted her face red. Meanwhile, Eirik dispatched the mortally wounded and crippled soldier with a blow to the throat: a quick death. They had survived the assault, and were panting heavily. Their blood boiled, making the cold, evening air bite even harder, and the breath to blow from their lips like the breath of a dragon.
"Are you okay?" Sigrun asked. "You had their attention the whole time, I was worried they'd have gotten you."
"No, I'm fine," Eirik replied. "I've had worse scrapes than this." He thrust the blade of his weapon into the snow, and, leaning heavily upon the hilt, turned to Sigrun. "You called me 'Da', just now, during the fight."
"I did?" Sigrun asked, her brown eyes widening.
"Just who are you, anyway?" he asked. "And what do you take me for? Do you think I'm as foolish as these Cyrodilians say I am?"
"It's just Imperials," Sigrun replied. "Or Colovians."
"No back-talk!" Eirik retorted, and Sigrun jumped at the raising of his tone of voice. "Tell me who are you, and why you want me to close the passes for you; the truth, this time!"
"You would never understand it."
"Try me," he returned. "I've seen some crazy things in my life."
"It's not important!" Sigrun protested. "What matters is saving Skyrim."
"No, not this time," Eirik returned. "If war breaks out again, it'll be the Thalmor that benefit, not Skyrim. For all I know, we may have started the war right here and now. Now I want to know whose hand has been manipulating me to this end: I won't be the puppet of the Thalmor! So tell me who you are and what you want of me."
Sigrun sighed, looking this way and that for Jonna. She could not see her in the gathering darkness. Without her to strengthen her, she caved and asked for a torch. All the Imperials had tossed their torches into the snow and extinguished them, and these were lying around them. Eirik found a torch and started fumbling for his flint and tinder.
"No no, don't do it that way," Sigrun chided.
"How am I going to light the torch, then?"
"Use your Voice?"
Eirik held the torch as far out as he could with his hand and shouted "Yol!" at it. He and Sigrun balked in surprise as a gout of flame escaped his lips and reignited the torch. At Sigrun's suggestion, he held the torch aloft as she came into its light. Again he froze as he saw the face staring back at him: such a familiar face.
"Tell me who you are," he insisted. "You...you look like Mjoll; in the face and the mouth...except the nose. It-it looks like..."
"Yours?" Sigrun asked. He nodded.
"Who are you?"
When Jonna came back from cleaning her face in the snow, she found Sigrun deep into conversation with Eirik; telling him their secret. She practically ran over to her side and threw her hands over her mouth to silence her. Sigrun told her off and said that she was telling him the truth, then continued. Jonna crossed her arms, looking up at Sigrun with disapproval, as she continued to spin her tale. At last she came to the end, leaving Eirik breathless and speechless.
"Well?" Sigrun asked. "Aren't you going to say something?"
"What is there to say to this?" he asked. "It...it sounds unbelievable." He scoffed. "But then again, I've seen the faces of the lords of Oblivion, stared down the World-Eater three times, fought vampires that could crush a man's skull with their bare hands, been beyond the veils of death, to Sovngarde, and back. What right do I have to disbelieve anything anymore?"
"You mean you believe me?" Sigrun asked.
Eirik exclaimed, burying his face in his hands, then turned back to look at her face, illuminated by the torchlight.
"I...It's just so hard to wrap my head around," he said. "That I should become a leader of men, and...and live long enough to have more than one child!" He chuckled. "Are you the one inside Mjoll right now?"
"Yes," Sigrun replied, casting her eyes to the ground awkwardly.
"By Ysmir!" Eirik exclaimed, rubbing his face and beard. "That's why you look so much like me: because you're my...daughter!" He exclaimed. He turned to Jonna. "And who are you?"
"The daughter of your enemy," Jonna replied, hanging her head in shame. "Idolaf Battle-Born."
"You're a Battle-Born?"
"I'm a bastard," Jonna said, her voice full of pent-up frustration. "He raped Jordis the Sword-Maiden because her thane wanted her silenced. I'm the product of that."
"And who was her thane?"
"Crixus."
"Servius Crixus?" Eirik asked. "By the gods, I knew he was an ass, but this is a different kind of low! He really did that just to silence your mother?"
"Yes!" Jonna retorted. "He saw her as a tool and gave her away to his friend to do with her as he saw fit." Eirik chuckled. "This isn't funny!"
"Oh, no, it's not," Eirik returned. "I laugh because Crixus always blames our kin-folk for things he himself does: drunkenness, whoredom, betrayal..."
"My mother wasn't a whore," Jonna said, clenching her jaw. "Idolaf violated her!"
"I misspoke, apologies."
"Wait, betrayal?" Sigrun asked. "What do you mean, betrayal?"
"He killed the Emperor."
"He did what?!"
"Crixus killed Emperor Titus Mede. I didn't hear the full details, but I know that he did it. I heard the Thalmor Ambassador blackmailing him with it, and later he admitted it to me himself."
"Da, you mustn't have anything more to do with Crixus," Sigrun warned. "He's evil!"
"He's been less of an ass to me lately."
"It's probably part of his scheme."
"What scheme?"
"To keep you away from Skyrim while the Empire wins the war!"
"What?"
"That's why we're here," Sigrun concluded. "To keep the Empire from winning the civil war. The attack on Rorikstead was a ruse to provoke the sides into war. The Empire was then going to march their legions into Skyrim through Falkreath and the Rift and capture Ulfric, but he escaped to Windhelm. Crixus then took you to Solstheim, where you were in prison while the Empire laid siege to Windhelm..."
"And they won in the end," Eirik mused ruefully.
"Not exactly," Sigrun returned. "Their Dunmer allies in the Grey Quarter killed Ulfric and handed him over to them. But it didn't stop there; they took over Eastmarch and began killing the local Nords, while at the same time, the Reachmen took the Reach and the Thalmor took Solitude. You and the Sons of Skyrim lifted the siege of Solitude, but Skyrim never recovered. Crixus went back south and became Emperor, with your help I might add, and proceeded to break the Nords."
"What could he possibly do to break the Nords?" Eirik asked. "He's all bluster."
"No, he's much worse than you think," Sigrun continued. "He ordered a mass rape of the Nord population of Bruma by auxiliaries from Orsinmer; the half he didn't rape he put to the sword. Once he became Emperor, he outlawed the Nord practice of carrying seaxes and other weapons, and forcibly relocated his generation of half-Orcs into Skyrim: they filled up the streets, overburdening the already weakened holds. The Thalmor had free reign in Skyrim, even after you and the Sons of Skyrim drove them out, and Legion forces were garrisoned in every hold: corporal punishments were given out on a whim, especially against Nords. Rows and rows of people were hung from the walls of Whiterun to die: I saw them with my own eyes!"
"You think outlawing the worship of Talos was bad?" Jonna asked. "He outlawed the Companions, and I'm not entirely convinced he wasn't behind the burning of Jorrvaskr."
"Jorrvaskr burned?"
"Yes!"
"Much more is going to burn if we don't do something now," Sigrun said. "The Dunmer enslaved the population of Eastmarch and used them as force labor to reshape the east in the image of Morrowind. Hundreds of acres of land was wantonly burned and sewed with ash just to make it more like their wretched homeland. But worse than that, the spirit of the Nord people was crushed. No one wanted to fight anymore, no one believed in Skyrim anymore. That's the future we're from, that's the future we're trying to stop: but we need your help. We need you to stand up and fight for Skyrim."
Eirik looked at both of them, still dumbfounded by all that he had heard. He sighed, burying his face in his hands.
"Alright, let's suppose that I agree to this plan," he replied. "Close up the pass here, and then in the Rift, and then what? Go to war again? Play right into the Thalmor's hands? They want this war to keep going. How can I act when the very enemy I oppose uses my actions?"
"They want a divided Skyrim for as long as they can, to weaken the Empire," Sigrun retorted. "Don't keep the war going indefinitely: win. Take back what's ours and drive the Empire out with their tails between their legs."
"But how?" Eirik asked. "Public sentiment is against the Stormcloaks from here to Markarth; especially in Markarth after what Ulfric did there."
"The Markarth Incident," Sigrun replied. "We know about that: why should you put your faith in a book written by an Imperial scholar, not a son of Skyrim? Markarth is part of Skyrim, and should remain as such."
"But what about Windhelm? If what you say is true, then there's no way to stop that from happening. The Dunmer will take over Windhelm and kill Ulfric: he and the other Nords brought this upon themselves with their treatment of the dark elves."
"What are you saying?" Sigrun asked. "That all those who died deserved it? Da, the elves are free-loaders. We let them stay in Skyrim because of the Red Year, and they chose to live off our charity rather than rebuild their own homeland, even after we gave them Solstheim to inhabit. You like reading books written by outsiders against our people? Why not read Athal Sarys' Dunmer of Skyrim? He's the dictator of Windhelm in my time, what he calls 'New Gnisis.' They think all this land belongs to them and that we're the ones who should be driven out for them. War with the Dunmer was inevitable, Ulfric only expedited that war by fostering antipathy for the mer.
"And you know what? He's right. Letting them stay in Skyrim will only weaken her, not strengthen her."
"That's not very good of you to say that," Eirik retorted. "Gods, how did I raise such a hateful daughter?"
"You try holding to those lofty Imperial ideals when you're in chains, being shipped off to be sold as a slave by the same people you're defending! Gods, I thought you were better than this!"
"Better than what?" Eirik asked, rising to his feet. "Hating people different than me?"
"They hate you, no matter how much you bow and scrape before them!" Sigrun shouted. "Gods, they worship three traitors!"
"Some could say the same thing about Talos."
"Who, Crixus? Fuck him! Why should you care what your enemy says? All he has are words; his words have no power over you."
"But he's right, dammit!" Eirik shouted, his voice causing the stones around them to rumble. He breathed to calm himself down. "He's right. I am an ignorant Nord, barely able to read or write, dressed in bones and furs: a savage."
"So what?" Sigrun asked.
"What?"
"You heard me! Who cares about what Crixus says? You yourself says that he does everything he accuses you of doing: so why bother yourself with his opinion? He's a b*tch anyway. And don't you dare say that you're an ignorant savage, because you are much more than that!"
"What am I?"
"You're the Dragonborn! You're the savior of Skyrim; the slayer of dragons and vampires. You move mountains and armies with your Voice. All of Skyrim looks to you and respects you, you only need to ask them. But more than that, you're my Father!"
Eirik looked at the young woman before him, her eyes flaring intensely. She felt rather uncomfortable under his gaze: it was her Father's eyes, true enough, but there was something different about the way he looked at her now than how he had before. Perhaps it was because he was looking at her now not as her Father, as she had always known his look.
Silently, he walked away from them up the road. Sigrun called after him, but he gave her no answer. She and Jonna followed after him, but he gave them no answer; he continued walking silently up toward the gatehouse. He stepped over the fallen bodies and passed under the gatehouse to the other side: just a few short miles away was the northern border of Cyrodiil. It had been his home for most of his life, more than he had lived in Skyrim. Sigrun's words rang in his ears: had he been influenced by the Empire more than he had believed? He had come to Skyrim almost a year ago with the intention of joining the rebellion, and yet here he was, playing advocate for the ones who had oppressed, were oppressing, and would continue to oppress, the people of Skyrim. His home. For though he had grown up in Cyrodiil, he was born in Skyrim.
At last there came an answer. But there were no more arguments. No defense for the actions of a dying Empire, or the words of her subjects. No objections to what had been said. Only one word was given: only one word was needed.
"Strun!"
The wind rushed about his Thu'um, and the snow began to swirl. But not the gentle swirl of a soft wind: the vanguard howls of a great blizzard. The night deepened and thunder began to rumble. Suddenly there was a brief moment of blinding pinkish light near at hand, an instant of utter silence, followed by the loudest crack one could naturally conceive of in their heads. Half of the gatehouse burst into flames from the blast. The three of them ran out from under the gatehouse as lightning struck here and there, the wind caught up, and snow began to blow all around them.
"By the Nine!" Eirik exclaimed.
The crack of thunder spooked Jonna's horse, and it took off into the darkness. Sigrun was barely able to run up and take the reins of her horse before fear mastered it. The other two followed on behind, periodically looking back at the storm gathering behind them. Once again, Jonna prayed that Kyne bless the winds and keep back the Imperials for as long as they needed.
"Why do you call Kynareth by her old Atmoran name?" Eirik asked.
"That's the name our ancestors used for her," Jonna replied. "And it's the name I choose to use. If we're not part of the Empire, we may as well act like it."
Eirik said nothing, for his eyes were still fixed on the guardhouse, catching fire amid the storm.
"Dammit!" Jonna swore. "We're down to one horse! We'll never reach the Rift in time."
Sigrun, holding the reins of her horse, came back to the small group. "We should bury these bodies first. If the Empire comes here and sees dead bodies lying around, they might blame the Stormcloaks and start the war again."
"I thought that's what you wanted," Eirik curiously probed.
"On our terms, not theirs," Sigrun replied.
Eirik agreed, and then he and Jonna began hiding the bodies in the deepest drifts of snow. The other two near the burning gatehouse they dared not go back to get, for the lightning strikes were so great they feared to be struck by a random blast. Six bodies were put into the snow, and the blood and limbs hidden as well. When they finished, they were all feeling the cold of the region.
"So, what do we do now?" Jonna asked. "We have one horse and have to be on the other side of these mountains."
"We just keep heading east," Eirik said. "I've crossed these mountains many times. We'll find a way."
"If we're entangled in the mountains, we'll lose time," Jonna reminded him. "And every minute we waste brings the Empire closer to victory."
"We don't have any choice," Eirik replied.
"Maybe we do," Sigrun suggested.
"What are you getting at?"
"Da, didn't you use a dragon to fly you to Skuldafn?" she asked.
"Yes," he replied. "Odahviing, the Snow-Hunter."
"Can't you summon him again and use him to fly us over the mountains?" Sigrun asked. "We'd get there much faster than on horseback: certainly much faster than on foot."
Eirik sighed. "I don't like doing that."
"Why not?"
"Because it shows my dependence on the power of these dragons," Eirik replied. "I'm supposed to be slaying dragons to protect Skyrim, not using them to my advantage. Besides, what would happen if my throat was cut, like Talos, and I couldn't use the Voice anymore? What then? I'd be no different than any other ordinary man, and if I relied on that power all the time, then I would be worthless without it."
"Gods, stop asking yourself 'what if'!" Sigrun groaned. "You don't live in the future. You live right here, right now; and we need to get over those mountains, find the pass, and close it. You're really hamstringing yourself, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"You could end this war in a day," she replied. "Summon a dragon, fly up to Solitude, land on the roof of the Blue Palace, and demand the Empire leave Skyrim or you'll burn down the city."
"No, never!" Eirik retorted, shaking his head. "I would never do that, even if I had no other choice. What kind of man would I be if I behaved like Vivec to the people of Vvardenfell? Threatening them with death and destruction to make them bend to my will?"
"Who?" Jonna asked.
"Vivec?" Eirik asked. "One of the three gods of the Dunmer Tribunal. Legends say he stopped a massive stone that Sheogorath hurled from Aetherius before it crashed into the city that bore his name. He said that if the Dunmer people stopped worshiping him, he would let it crash upon them." He chuckled. "And they say Talos was a tyrant!"
"You're rather learned in foreign myths, aren't you?" Jonna asked.
"I learned much in Bruma," Eirik replied.
"We can talk about gods and what's right and wrong later," Sigrun interjected. "Summon the dragon so we can get out of here."
"I can't," Eirik replied. "Not yet. The Storm took quite a bit out of me."
"Can't you Shout more frequently?"
"No," Eirik shook his head. "Arngeir said that when mortals used the Voice, they were speaking with the power of the gods: something most mortals were not supposed to have. If I tried to Shout again, so soon after using the Voice, it could damage me."
"That's convenient," Jonna scoffed.
"I didn't make up the rules," Eirik returned. "I just have to abide by them."
Sigrun didn't say a word. She was pondering what he had just said. She admired that he was, for the most part, not one to break rules; it was this that gave her such a strong sense of justice while growing up. But it was not without its drawbacks, as with all things. She sensed a quiet resentment in his words, a frustration at always being bound to this or that, being unable to act freely and according to his own wishes.
"We'll find some cover," she said at last. "Then, when you're ready, say the Word and take us east."
Eirik grumbled. "Alright."
They found a place beneath a group of trees, where they huddled for warmth in their cloaks. The only horse they had left was tied to the trees with them, standing in front of them to shield them from the cold. Once the torch went out, Jonna fell asleep onto Sigrun's shoulder. She now sat next to her, with her head resting on the taller one's shoulder, while Eirik sat on Sigrun's other side. They waited and waited, as the storm continued to rage, sending razor-sharp wind and blinding snow billowing through the pass. After a while, Sigrun decided that it was time to get going: but instead of being forthright, another idea came to her mind. What if she could convince Eirik to act as she saw fit by using his own Colovian logic against him?
"Da," she began. "Earlier, you said that you didn't make the rules, you just abode by them."
"That's right," he replied.
"What if you didn't have to?" she asked. "What if you could act in accordance with your own mind and heart, and not as other people dictated?"
Eirik chuckled. "A funny thing for you to say, seeing as how you're trying to convince me to go to war with the Empire. As for the power of the Thu'um, I have no intention of testing my limits with Shouting."
"I wasn't talking about me or the Voice. I'm talking about the Civil War."
"And I gave you my answer."
"But consider this, da," she continued. "How many lives you could save if you rode into Solitude on a dragon's back and ended the war straight away. Sure, some people will sneer and curse you, but all of Skyrim would bless you for bringing the war to a swift end, would they not?"
Eirik shrugged. "Perhaps. But then again, doesn't a Nord desire death in battle and glory after in Sovngarde?"
"So they do. But answer me this: your objections to the war starting again have less to do with Nords dying than with the Thalmor. What do they gain by this war?"
"The destabilization of the Empire, in preparation for their second war."
"You almost sound like you want the Empire to win."
Eirik sighed. "Well, to be honest, Crixus had almost convinced me."
"Fuck him," she repeated. "Who of us better knows what Skyrim is under the Empire? Tell me; do you honestly believe that Skyrim would be better off under the Empire's boot than free to choose its own fate?"
Eirik looked down at the snow before his crossed legs. "I've seen what they do to Talos worshipers. And I know that they give the Thalmor free reign to act in Skyrim. This always bothered me: why should the Empire let her enemies have free reign to act as they wish in Imperial land?"
"Because the Empire is weak," Sigrun replied. "You know this to be true, yet you defend them when they will not defend you."
Eirik turned back to her. "You seem to have all the answers, don't you?"
"I had the best teacher," she returned, a sly grin on her face. He chuckled, then turned away again.
"Still, the sons and daughters of Skyrim will have to fight the Dominion once this war is over, no matter the outcome. The more we fight, the fewer there will be to defend our land."
"Then end the war now, decisively," Sigrun retorted. "Use the dragon to fly us to Solitude and demand the Legion's departure."
"I told you, I won't do that."
"Then how do you propose to liberate Skyrim without the use of dragons, hmm? Dragging the war out, more lives lost? Come on, let's hear it."
Eirik sighed. "There's other ways to do this, ones that don't make me and Ulfric tyrants."
"Like what?"
"I stop running," he said, a finality in his voice. "And lead the charge, taking the war to the Empire. Let the people of Skyrim see their hero on the field of battle, fighting and bleeding with them, rather than a terror in the skies. That might win them over more effectively than forcing them to kneel under pain of being burned alive. With me at the head, perhaps we might actually be able to march on Solitude and end the war before more lives are lost."
"Then commit to that," Sigrun said. "No more second-guessing or doubting yourself. You want the war won? Then win it."
Jonna stirred from where she lay and moaned. "Can you two keep it down? Trying to sleep here."
"No, you gotta get up now," Sigrun replied, and helped Jonna onto her feet. It took a while, but eventually the two women were standing beneath the tree. Sigrun turned to Eirik.
"How are you feeling?"
"I feel that I could Shout again," he said.
"Then do it," Sigrun replied. "Just to get us over these mountains."
Eirik shook his head, then looked up to the sky and Shouted: "O...Dah Viing!"
Within a few minutes, the roaring of the blizzard was intensified by regular rushing of wind being blown back, as though by great wings. In the gathering gloom, they could feel the beating of the wings, though they could see little. The ground trembled, and they became aware that something had landed before them: they could see nothing save for a gleam of blue eyes.
"Drem Yol Ok, Dovahkiin," a deep voice rumbled. "What do you seek?"
"Odahviing," Eirik replied. "I need you to fly me and my companions across the mountains to the southward pass in the Rift."
There was a moment of silence, and a deep rumble from within the darkness. "Zu'u niid zaam. You have already done me a great paak by calling and imprisoning me. Surely the old one has told you that it is a great affront for a dov to be summoned by a joor? Now, however, you ask me to do for you the duty of a zaam and carry you wherever you will. Grik pahlok."
"You let me ride you before," Eirik said.
"Mmmm, paaz," grumbled Odahviing. "Our ends coincided. I could not leave the hofkahsejun before Alduin was defeated, and you could not reach Skuldafn without me. Un oblaan aav ol gein. But now, while I regard the strength of your thu'um, I am not your servant."
"I only ask to be carried over these mountains," Eirik replied. "Our horses ran off, and we cannot reach the pass on the other side in good time, not without you. Like you yourself said; 'it's wise to recognize when you have only one choice.'"
There was a deep growl, and the blue eyes went out for a moment, then opened again. "Paaz. I will fly you over the mountains. But do not expect me to serve your every whim."
"Thank you," Eirik replied. "Gods willing, this will be the last time." He then turned to the others and led them onto the back of the dragon, walking blindly in the darkness. Both Jonna and Sigrun followed along, but they said nothing. Following his lead, they climbed onto the back of something large, cold, and very rough. Without warning, they felt themselves thrust forcefully against the cold scaly back of the beast.
"Hang on!" Eirik cried out. "This is going to get rough!"
They clung for all they were worth onto the back of the beast. The cold night air rushed past them as the dragon took wing and, with eyes able to see better in the night than theirs, flew east. Jonna was swearing at the top of her lungs, while Sigrun hugged the dragon's back, shaking and shivering.
Soon enough, they felt the air grow slightly less cold around them. There was a great trembling thud, and they landed on the ground.
"Here is your destination, Dovahkiin," the dragon grumbled.
Eirik was the first one off, and helped Jonna and Sigrun to dismount from the dragon's back. Without another word, Odahviing took wing and soared off into the night's sky. Slowly but surely, the sound of wings beating the high winds faded away from their ears.
"Are you two alright?" he asked.
"Yes," Jonna said, nodding. Sigrun said nothing. Eirik shook her, and she spoke again, in a small, feeble voice.
"I felt...like I was a flea in the presence of the gods..." she muttered.
"Dragons can make you feel that way," Eirik assured her.
"I shouldn't have opened my mouth," she said, shaking her head.
"It's alright," he assured her. "He's gone now." She nodded. "Come, let's find the pass."
Sigrun followed along, but she was still shaken. In her time, eighteen years after the downfall of Alduin, dragons were as much a myth as they were on the 16th of Last Seed, in the 201st year of the Fourth Era: the day before Alduin's return. It was comfortable and easy to think of dragons as nothing more than tools, things that could be easily used and easily discarded: especially when her Father was the Dragonborn. But then to feel the awful presence in the dark, and to hear the voice that caused the towers of the Empire to tremble, suddenly dragons were very real and very large. Sigrun's suggestions of using the dragons now seemed like the foolish notions of a child, and she blamed herself for ever speaking them aloud.
Well, she thought inside. We'll just have to think of another way to win this war.
(AN: Well this turned out to be quite a lengthy chapter. I hope I've clarified that Eirik is not going to use the dragons to end the Civil War. I know you all might want a cheap and easy way out [because that's what people who say "just use the Eagles/dragons/hyperspeed ramming" to solve every problem really want], but that's not going to happen. Blood has to be spilled, and not just Elven or Imperial blood. That's one thing I liked about the Civil War, the difficult decisions you had to make [especially around Whiterun]: just wish they didn't make the Stormcloaks so one-dimensional [or the Empire complete morons who let their enemies have free reign to do as they please].)
(Speaking of fun stuff, keen-eyed readers might recognize a little something from the book Deathly Hallows towards the end of this very long chapter. Hope you enjoyed it too!)