(AN: So I was watching a video by a certain YouTuber [who shall not be named] who makes videos about why everyone in Skyrim except for the morons in the Imperial Legion are "idiots". While I don't agree with the majority of what he said and think it's just more banal Skyrim trashing [which is immensely popular, I've noticed], he did make a point about the Black-Briars. Maven treats everyone like crap and thinks she's untouchable because she's buddies with the Empire and the Thalmor: but one day, she'll anger the wrong person.)
(And that day is today!)
A Mended Rift
The three of them were now in a straight. After being dropped off near the pass, they found that they couldn't find their way in the darkness. Calling Odahviing had drained Eirik, and he couldn't Shout again to ignite them a torch, as they had done before. Moreover, Sigrun was not feeling very bold after her first encounter with a dragon; Jonna, meanwhile, was sleepy again after the rush of flying on a dragon's back. Therefore they decided to settle down under the nearest shelter they could find and sleep the rest of the night away. Eirik elected to remain on watch for as long as he could, and wake one of them to replace him when he became tired. With this arrangement, they went out seeking shelter; only they found nothing more suitable than a large boulder against which they huddled with their cloaks wrapped around them.
Eirik's thoughts drifted periodically while he watched and waited. He thought of the house he was building; the home that he would create. He thought of Mjoll, and the little child growing within her womb. Was it really the young woman lying against that rock? He had taken her word for it, since the things he had seen in his short time in Skyrim meant that anything could be possible, and her face was certainly familiar: indeed, there was too much similarity between her face and his own to be coincidence. He thought of what she said, about the dark and terrible fate that Skyrim was set on. He wondered if it was worth saving: after all, the people here were as rude and unwelcoming as the people in Cyrodiil. They chased him out of one town and treated him like garbage, even though he had helped them time and time again. Why did they deserve saving? Couldn't he just stay in his house in the wilderness, raise his family, and let the whole world burn?
He cast his eyes up to the night sky, and spoke to the empty darkness.
"Talos...Shor...Father..." he said. "What should I do? Keep fighting an endless, futile war? What would you have me do?"
Just then, there was a stirring and cries of fear coming from the stone. Eirik crawled over to them and suddenly felt a hand reach up and grab his face. He heard Sigrun's voice panting and sobbing, and guessed that it was her hand that had latched onto him with the strength of iron. He reached over and caressed her head, shushing her and whispering softly.
"It's alright, now," he said. "It's okay. I'm here."
"They're back, Da!" Sigrun sobbed. "They didn't go away!"
"Who's back?" he asked. "What hasn't gone away?"
Sigrun mumbled incoherently for a while, her other hand swatting the darkness in futility. It took him a moment, but the sound of his voice seemed to calm Sigrun down. He sat down next to her and tried to get her to tell him what might be the matter (though in the back of his mind, he was amazed that Jonna hadn't been stirred by her cries and flailing).
"I had a dream," she said. "I...I don't know where it was. Some wooden house. The windows were closed, or it was dark outside, so I couldn't see where it was. There was an old woman...a very old woman. A very old Dunmer woman. I think she might have been over two hundred years. There was a...a ball of light...and that's when she spoke!"
"What did she say?"
"'Arvela, why have you come?'" Sigrun muttered, her voice breaking with fear even as she said those words. Eirik placed his arm around her shoulder and she buried her head against his neck. He didn't even care whether his doubts were founded or not: she needed someone, and he was all she had.
"Then the ball of light spoke," she continued. "And I heard her voice again."
"The old woman?" Sigrun shook her head.
"Arvela." Eirik felt a shiver go through Sigrun's body when she said that name again. Something about her didn't sit right with Sigrun.
"But was there anyone else in the room?" Eirik asked. Sigrun shook her head.
"Only the old woman and the ball of light."
"Then where did Ar...where did her voice come from?"
"From the ball of light."
"What did she say?"
"'We have a problem.'" Sigrun shuddered again, clutching at Eirik as desperately as she could. "She told me time wouldn't stop her. I should have listened, I should have listened!"
"Uh, okay," Eirik stammered, unable to figure out just what to say to her. In her explanation of the past, Sigrun hadn't mentioned an Arvela yet. Part of him wished to say that it was only a dream: but he had been visited in his dreams more than once, and knew that they were more than just images brought on by moldy cheese. Though he did wish that the images of Mjoll turning into a horse that crushed the life out of him while 'riding' him were just that, he couldn't weigh in on her dream without knowing more about it.
Little did he know that even Vaermina's night terrors could be used by the gods he called upon to give him his answer.
The morning dawned upon the Rift from over the Velothi Mountains in the east. Jonna was the first one up: she had slept the night away and found Sigrun's head resting against Eirik's chest. She got them up, and tried to ignore the rumbling in her stomach. She berated Eirik for not waking her up to watch for them, going on about how they could have been attacked and robbed by bandits, or worse. He said nothing about the nightmare that had happened, and Sigrun smiled at him in gratitude. Once they were up, they ate from their dried meat, and then made a short trek up into the mountains toward the pass. While they were walking, Eirik spoke up about their next move.
"Once we close this pass," he asked. "What's our next move?"
"You tell me," Sigrun replied.
"I thought you were in charge, here," he jokingly replied.
"Don't look at me," Sigrun shook her head. "You're the Dragonborn. It's my job to make sure the war ends with a Stormcloak victory, among other things."
"What other things?" Eirik asked.
Sigrun paused for a moment and reached into her bosom, pulling out the letter from Bjorn. When she pulled it out, rolled tightly into a tiny scroll, she unrolled it and began looking for the instructions. To her amazement, the words shimmered and distorted, and then began to re-arrange themselves before her very eyes.
"By the gods!" she exclaimed.
"What?" Eirik asked. "What is it?"
"The words!" she said. "They're changing!"
Eirik leaned over. "What words? I don't see anything."
"I think it might be enchanted," Jonna clarified. "Only she can see them."
"Well, what does it say?" Eirik asked.
"There's..." Sigrun muttered softly. "...wait, I see...shapes and words. It looks like a map of Skyrim! And there's points, here and there. Places marked and underlined: it's the holds of Skyrim!"
Eirik reached into his belt and pulled out his map. "Could you trace the marks here on the map?"
"Yes, I think so," Sigrun replied. "But I'd need something to write with." She turned from the page and looked at them.
"Don't look at me, I don't have an ink-horn," Jonna replied.
"And we haven't got any feathers either," Eirik said. "Not unless your mothers taught you how to shoot a bow."
"Not very well," Jonna replied.
"Nope, I take after you," Sigrun stated.
Eirik reached for his seax. "Maybe this could do the trick."
"What? No!" Sigrun exclaimed. "Don't be drawing your own blood!"
"Why not?" Eirik asked.
"There's got to be another way to write this down!" Sigrun dismissed. "One that doesn't involve you being hurt."
"It's just a scratch," Eirik replied. "I've had worse before."
"Still, I don't want to be touching your blood," she returned. She then paused for a moment. "Wait, I have an idea." She reached over for a fallen branch and gave it to Eirik.
"What do I do with this?" he asked.
"Set it on fire," she returned. "Then once it's black, put it out and we'll use the charcoal to make the marks." Eirik reached for his flint and tinder, and Sigrun gave him a shove again. "Faster!"
He sighed, then held the branch out and shouted: "Yol!" Jonna leaped back with a yelp as fire burst from his lips and set the branch aflame. They let it burn for a few minutes before Sigrun wrapped her hands in her cloak and put the fire out. She then took some of the still hot blackened bits of the branch and began making marks upon Eirik's map, which he held taut for her. Points on the map were now being underlined and circled in black charcoal, which Sigrun blew upon to cool once she had written them. At last she finished and waved her hands into the cold morning air.
"Riften..." Eirik read, tracing the marked places with his finger. "Valtheim...Whiterun...Falkreath...Markarth...Morthal...Dragon Bridge...Solitude. These are cities, towns, fortified towers. Is that what you saw on that blank piece of paper?"
"Yes," Sigrun nodded.
"What do you think they mean?" he asked.
"I don't know," Sigrun replied. "But we can think about that later. We have to close the pass, remember?"
"Oh, yes, right," Eirik nodded. "Let's think about this once we're on our way to Ivarstead."
"Why there?" Jonna asked.
"Well, we're going home after this, right?" Eirik asked. "We'll stop in Ivarstead to resupply, maybe find horses, before going home."
"If you say so," Sigrun sighed, rolling up the page and returning it to her bosom. But the way she said this didn't imply that she was onboard with this decision.
Once they had hidden away any trace of their presence, they girded their loins to take up the last leg of their venture. They walked up the path leading into the hills, following its narrow bends and turns. At last they came to the top of a high hill: before them they could see at least three more hills which the path crested, before descending out beyond view. How far away the furthermost hill was, they could not guess; but they knew with a deadly certainty that beyond those hills lay the northernmost part of Cyrodiil.
Jonna staggered for a moment, as though she would run down the hill into the first snow-clad valley. Eirik and Sigrun held onto her shoulders to keep her steady. In her mind, the young woman could see the dream she had, where she was leaping down the mountain and into the sloping high country of Bruma, speeding on her way towards Lake Rumare. They tried to ask her if she was okay, but she could only mumble and whisper unintelligibly: again her lips were sealed.
"It's okay, Jons," Sigrun told her. "We'll be going soon." She then turned to her Father-to-be. "You ready?"
He nodded, then turned his gaze towards the four hills beyond. "Strun!"
The clouds began to gather and the thunder began to rumble. Even as they turned away, Jonna said her prayer, but stood still before the coming of the storm: she still felt light in the head. It took both of them pulling her away and back down the hill before she snapped back to herself. Then came the long and arduous walk from the pass to Ivarstead.
"How long do you think it'll be?" Sigrun asked, keeping her hand on Jonna's arm. "Till we get to Ivarstead."
"Probably the rest of the day," Eirik said. "We're pretty far south, and if memory serves, Ivarstead is on the foothills of the Throat of the World and the cliffs overlooking Eastmarch. We'll stretch our legs out before the end of the day."
"Oh, don't worry about distance," Sigrun replied. "I've been on foot from Eastmarch to Rorikstead, and from here to Dawnstar. I think I can manage..." She turned to Jonna. "...as long as you're with me."
"So, who are you two to each other?" Eirik asked. "I know she mentioned her mother, was it Jordis? How did you two come to know each other?"
"We grew up together," Jonna panted. "My mother entered your care when you were, well, leading the charge to save Skyrim. I was basically adopted as the unofficial fourth child of your family."
"Fourth child?" Eirik asked.
"Yeah," Sigrun replied. "You and Ma had another child together: a son named Bjorn."
"I have a son?" Eirik exclaimed, a smile spreading across his face. "Named for my own Father?" He let out a proud laugh. "Ah, a daughter and a son! No father could ask for better odds in offspring. But you've only mentioned one."
Sigrun sighed. "The fourth is another girl; a little Imperial from Whiterun named Lucia."
"Lucia..." Eirik mused. "I've seen her before. Little brown-haired thing, always begging in front of the Gildergleam. I adopt her?"
"Well, there's the problem," Sigrun sighed. "You kind of don't have any choice."
"What do you mean?"
Sigrun stopped in her tracks, and turned to Eirik. "There's this...Argonian. Name was Tavris, I think. Anyway, he got it into his head that Ma was to be his wive, and that..." Sigrun trailed off.
"Yes?" Eirik asked. "You were saying?"
"That's him!" she said, with a sudden realization. "The face in my dreams! That's him!"
"What are you saying now?"
"Tavris," Sigrun continued, a frantic light in her eyes. "He thinks he's the Dragonborn, he thinks Ma is his wife and that you stole her from him. He abducts her and takes her to his cave, where he tried to build his own family. That's where Lucia came from: he had adopted her and forced her into Ma's arms."
"Knowing Mjoll's heart, she wouldn't turn down an orphan girl," Eirik replied. Just then he paused and turned back to Sigrun. "You say you've seen this Argonian before, in your dreams?"
"Yes," Sigrun replied.
"What did he look like?" Eirik asked. "Big, scary yellow eyes? Maybe a hood, with mage robes?"
"Yes..." Sigrun nodded. "That's exactly what he looked like. How did you know?"
"We've met," Eirik replied. "He accosted us on our return to Skyrim from Solstheim, after dealing with Miraak."
"What!" Sigrun exclaimed. "Da, we've got to get back home now! If he finds out where Ma is, he'll kidnap her!"
"She can take care of herself," Eirik replied. "Plus, Lydia, Rayya, Ralof, and Aerin are there."
"And he's got who knows how many connections!" Sigrun replied. "We need to get back home!"
"What about our plan?" Jonna suggested.
"Look!" Eirik spoke up. "Let's just get to Ivarstead first. We can discuss what to do once we're there."
"Da!" Sigrun said, putting her hand on Eirik's shoulders. "If he finds out Ma is pregnant with me, he'll kill me."
"But you're here!"
"I mean the unborn me, inside Ma," Sigrun replied. Eirik's mouth hung in surprise. "We have to make sure that nothing happens to Ma."
"How do you know this?"
"I just do," Sigrun returned. "I...I think it's the dream." She said nothing about the old man and his talk of timelines bleeding into each other: that was too farfetched even for her to believe. Yet it was starting to make sense in her mind: those things she was seeing in her dreams, they were events bleeding together. And if Tavris found Mjoll and killed baby Sigrun before she was born, she might very well cease to be. The thought of it boggled Sigrun's mind, and she rubbed the temples of her head.
"Hey, listen, it's alright," Eirik assured her. "I made a promise to protect Mjoll for the rest of my life, and I intend to keep it. Nothing bad will happen to either of you; you have my word."
In a moment of pure, unadulterated emotion, Sigrun grabbed Eirik's hand and squeezed it tightly. The voice was the voice of her Father, and his words were enough for her. Deep down inside, beyond all the self-doubt and the Colovian education, the man whom she loved as a father was still there, even seventeen years ago.
"Alright?" Jonna spoke up. "Okay? Are we all good? Let's get going, then. We've got a lot of ground to cover, don't we?"
"Yes, you're right," Eirik nodded. They then continued on their journey.
Several hours passed. The sun rose up over the amber-golden forests of the Rift, lighting up their path. A mist was rolling in from the east, which would be here before nightfall, but the forest was otherwise bright and clear. They walked on in high spirits, singing catches of songs or whistling at the top of their lungs. Jonna asked to see the map and spent some time looking at it, as well as the markings that Sigrun had made on it.
"There's something going on here," she said to herself. "And maybe we should find out about it soon."
She stowed the map away and jogged after them: they were both taller than her, and their longer legs meant they could easily outpace her.
"Eirik," she spoke up. "What can you tell us about the Rift?"
"Nothing much," he said. "I've only been here a couple times. The forests are lovely. The city of Riften isn't the best of places for good and decent folk. Though Mjoll could tell you much more about it than I could. She's lived there longer than I have."
"Well, what can you tell us about your time in Riften?" Jonna asked.
"What can I say?" he asked. "The Black-Briars took it over, and I asked for it back at the peace summit at High Hrothgar. But, from what Aerin's told us, they haven't kept their part of the bargain."
"Who hasn't?"
"The Black-Briar Family. They're in with the Imperials."
"Interesting." They walked on for a little while longer, then she spoke up again. "What's the importance of the Rift to either side?"
"Well," Eirik replied. "I'm not a strategist, but I'd assume it's closeness with the Cyrodilic border makes it an important city to hold. Empire wants it to keep funneling troops into Skyrim, and we could stand to holding it to keep them back."
"Are you leading somewhere, Jons?" Sigrun asked.
"Just a hunch," she replied. "I've been looking at the markings you made on the map, and trying to make sense of it. What about Valtheim, though?"
"The Valtheim Towers," Eirik said. "They guard the White River on the one road between Eastmarch and Whiterun. I've been there before myself, several times."
"What worth are they?"
"I don't know," Eirik returned. "Like I said, strategy isn't my strong-suit. You'll have to find someone who is who can help you."
"Talos preserve..." Jonna began, then halted. "Wait, Eirik?"
"Hmm?" he asked, turning around. "Yes, what is it?"
"What do you know about the old names we had for the gods?" she asked.
"Only a little," he replied. "You call upon Kynareth by her old name, if I recall."
"Yes, that's true," Jonna returned. "The old names of the gods: Shor, Kyne, Jhunal, Tsun, Mara, Dibella, the Fox, the World-Eater, and Ysmir..."
"Wait, what?" Eirik asked. "The World-Eater? You mean Alduin?"
"That's the World-Eater, Jons!" Sigrun spoke up, stopping from where she had gotten ahead of them and coming back around this time. "The dragon that da killed."
"Well, I don't think he's truly dead," Eirik replied. "But still, you worship Alduin?"
"No, of course not," Jonna replied, surprised at what she heard. "Never heard of anyone worshiping Alduin. And like you said, he's dead anyway: so what's the problem?"
"Just concerned," Eirik returned. "It doesn't do to call upon such destructive forces as the World-Eater."
"As you say."
"You also said 'Ysmir,'" Eirik said.
"Yes," Sigrun nodded. "That was the name of the ninth god of the Nords; before he became Talos."
Eirik gaped in shock and amazement as he heard these words.
"What?" Sigrun asked. "What is it?"
"The Greybeards called me 'Ysmir' when I visited High Hrothgar," he said.
"They did!" Sigrun returned. "I...wow. This changes everything!"
"How?"
"Da, you should push this!" she returned. "Think of how many people you could bring to our side if you openly declared yourself the return of Ysmir."
Eirik looked down. "I...I don't know."
"No, this could work," Sigrun replied. "You fear the loss of life from the war with the Empire, and what that would mean for the stability of Skyrim and the coming war with the Dominion? Well, this could be the solution! Declare yourself openly as Ysmir, and the people of Skyrim flock to you. Show the Empire that Talos cannot be gotten rid of so easily; show Skyrim that the elves are not as all-powerful as they claim to be. You could actually do this!"
Eirik seemed torn once again, between action and indecision. He looked at the two women, who were both looking back at him eagerly: one the shorter Jonna, and the other Sigrun, the taller one whose face had so much familiarity etched into it. He lowered his gaze, and quietly said:
"Let's get to Ivarstead first."
The rest of the walk that day was long, arduous, and awkward: not a word was spoken between the three of them. They arrived at Ivarstead sometime in the late afternoon, as the sun was starting to disappear behind the clouded spike of the Throat of the World. They arrived at the Vilemyr Inn, which was looking much better than it was the last time Eirik visited this place. Once inside, Eirik ordered food for them as they went and found their tables. There were a few people milling about the inn: most of them were into their mugs, but one of them, a Nord, was plucking the strings of her lute and filling the common room with sweet music. A barmaid approached their table with their food: bread, cheese, and a large bowl of steaming rabbit stew.
They ate heartily, though Sigrun and Jonna seemed the more hungry of the three of them. While they were sitting together, they saw the table across from them was starting to become rather lively with conversation. A small group of men in travel-worn gear were talking to a woman with flame-red hair in the steel armor commonly worn by the huscarls of the nine holds. Eirik often cast his eyes over his shoulder to see what they were talking about: the woman looked familiar to him. Jonna was busy eating and pouring over the map, while Sigrun noticed her father's careful glances.
"What is it?"
"That woman over there," he said. "I think I've seen her somewhere before, but I can't place it."
"You could go over there and ask her," Sigrun said.
"No, it looks like they're in the middle of some business," he said. "Best not to interrupt them."
"I could listen in," Sigrun suggested.
"If you wish," he returned. "Just don't make it obvious you're listening."
Sigrun nodded, then perked her ears in their direction. From their discussion, she discerned that they were sellswords traveling west by way of Ivarstead and had passed through Riften. They had some business with the Black-Briars and had asked for an escort. The woman, a guard in service of the Jarl, had been sent to escort them this far. She would be going back to Riften in the morning, and they were trying to extend her contract.
"...could use a strong fighter," one of the sellswords said. "We'd even split the earnings."
"I'd rather not." the red-haired Nord guard returned.
"C'mon, kinswoman! Is you a Nord or isn't you?" another challenged.
"My heritage is not in question," the guard stated. "I have duties to the Jarl, whoever that may be." Sigrun noted that these words were spoken through strained teeth: was there something about the current Jarl she didn't approve of?
"Besides, word on the street is things are about to get much more dangerous here in the Rift," she continued. "Would be a good idea for me to be scarce."
"Why's that, red? Got something to hide."
"I'm a life-long resident of Riften," the woman replied. "No one stays clean in this town for long. And if the rumors are true, this town is going to be attracting a lot of heat in the next seven days."
"Oh? Why's that?"
"They say the moot's been called to convene at High Hrothgar," the woman said.
"The moot!" one of the sellswords exclaimed. "By Shor, the war's not over and the moot's been called already!"
"What's n' this 'bout, red?"
"I don't know," she returned. "Could just be idle chat coming from the Ratways. But if that's the case, then General Tullius will be coming this way very soon; and I doubt he'll be alone. Riften may not have changed hands after the peace treaty, but Eastmarch is still held by the Stormcloaks. He'd be a fool to come to Ivarstead alone."
Sigrun's face blanched when she heard the news. She turned back to the others and told her what she had heard.
"This is bad," she told them. "The moot is a trap. It's purpose is to draw Ulfric out of hiding so the Empire can kill him."
"Then have we failed?" Jonna asked. "Has Rorikstead been attacked even though we foiled the attack?"
"But we closed the passes," Eirik stated. "The Empire can't get reinforcements."
"Yes," Sigrun nodded. "But I doubt the Empire doesn't have plenty of soldiers left here. We'll need to do something."
"Like what?" Eirik asked.
"We could fortify this place," Jonna stated. Eirik looked at her like she was crazy. "What? It's not far from the cliffs, and we have the high ground. Plus, we took a fort once with only four people, and that was without the Dragonborn."
"The guards wouldn't take kindly to that, I fear," Eirik sighed. "They've been against me from the moment I entered Skyrim. I doubt they'd help me."
"Even if you declared yourself openly to them?" Sigrun suggested.
"Not right now, please."
"It's a suggestion."
"One I'm not entertaining." Eirik rubbed his face with his hands.
"What if we prepared a trap for the Imperials?" Jonna asked.
Eirik chuckled. "Three against a legion or more?"
"Dragonborn?" she asked. "You should have no problem defeating a legion or two. Who knows, if you get wounded, we might just be able to catch up with you."
"I'm flattered," Eirik chuckled. "But I'm not sure about that either. We didn't come prepared to do war."
"Wait..." Sigrun said, a clever light in her eyes. "What if we tried your idea, Jons, but just...changed it around a bit?"
"What do you mean?"
"Yes, tell us," Eirik urged.
"Well, you said that Riften is controlled by the Empire right now, correct?" Eirik nodded. "Maybe this General Tullius is counting on that, that's why he's called the moot here. He's hoping that even if Ulfric isn't captured by his troops, he has nowhere to retreat to. What if we took that advantage from him?"
"How?"
"What if we took back Riften?"
Eirik laughed. "We might as well fight the Imperial Red Legions face-to-face," he returned. "It'd be just as crazy."
"Why not?" Sigrun asked.
"Well, for one thing, Riften is a walled city," he returned. "Maven Black-Briar is bound to have a garrison with her. We won't be able to just walk up and demand that she hand the city over. We'd need an army just to even attempt to assault the city."
"Come on, da!" Sigrun protested. "You besieged Solitude with a handful of men! How can you be concerned about numbers?"
"I haven't besieged Solitude."
"Not now, later. But..." She paused again.
"What?" he asked. "What are you thinking about now?"
"What if you had an army? Could you take Riften then?"
"I suppose I could," Eirik returned. "But that would be an act of war. We'd be truce-breakers."
"Technically, the Empire never returned the city, didn't they?" Jonna suggested.
"But still, attacking Riften head-on with an army would be an act of war."
"Who said anything about attacking head-on?"
"What are you getting at?"
"Just this," Sigrun began. "What that red-haired woman was talking about, the moot? We send a letter to Ulfric: tell him about the trap, ask him to come to Riften with a small number of men. Nothing too large, he has to keep a garrison in Windhelm. Then we take Riften with his men. Once General Tullius arrives..."
"Excuse me," a voice said. They turned around to see the red-haired woman standing beside their table.
"Yes?" Eirik asked. "Can I help you?"
"I wanted to tell you to keep it down," she said. "There are unfriendly ears in Ivarstead, who might report your words to Maven Black-Briar." She then pulled up a seat and joined their table.
"I'm Iona," she returned. "I overheard what you were saying."
"You were listening to us?" Jonna asked.
"I grew up in Riften, girl," Iona replied. "Watching and listening were key to surviving." She then turned back to Eirik and Sigrun. "You have it out for Maven Black-Briar, I take it?"
"Maybe," Eirik replied. "What's it to you?"
"Just that," Iona returned. "I'm not a fan of the Empire or its friends; especially the Black-Briars. While I'm not as naive as your wife, I know the Black-Briars aren't good for Riften, despite what the old Jarl Laila Law-Giver used to say. Since Maven's in bed with the Empire, our goals run together."
"And how can you help us?" Sigrun asked. "Who's to say you're not working for the Black-Briars?"
"If I was, I wouldn't be talking to you," Iona replied. "Now, do you want my help or not?"
"Yes," Eirik hastily said. "What can you offer us?"
"Only a swift way into Riften, without being noticed," she replied. "There's a small manor, Honeyside, on the northwestern side of town. It has a backdoor that leads out by Lake Honrich: if you want to get people into Riften without the guards seeing them, that's your best bet."
"Why are you helping us?" Sigrun asked.
"Let's say that I owe the wrong people in Riften money," Iona answered. "And that I'd be willing to do anything to get out of that debt."
"Even betray your city to the Stormcloaks?" Jonna asked.
"Ulfric has the right of it," Iona stated. She turned back to Eirik. "You were right: Vulwulf Snow-Shod should be Jarl instead of Laila. But the Black-Briars refused to accept your treaty. This would not be a betrayal: it would be returning Riften to its rightful owners, as the Empire agreed to but refused to carry out. Now, then, what's your plan?"
Eirik turned to the two young ladies at his side. Jonna said nothing, but Sigrun gently nodded. Eirik then turned to the three women before him, a smile appearing on his face.
"First thing, I need to write a letter and have it delivered by the swiftest hand."
"I can arrange that," Iona replied. "Where's the letter being sent to?"
"Windhelm."
The City of Ysgramor, many miles to the north. A city gripped with snow, ice, and turmoil. Rumors of a murderer roaming the streets of the city were being whispered from Candlehearth Hall to the New Gnisis Cornerclub in the Grey Quarter. The cold, austere stones of the ancient city now seemed ominous: something or someone was lurking among the shadows, waiting to prey upon the unsuspecting and weak. Those in Candlehearth said that it could be either the Dark Brotherhood or a Dunmer from the Grey Quarter: those in the New Gnisis Cornerclub blamed the Nords, Argonians, or, even, fellow Dunmer refugees of House Redoran. Besides this, the tension between the populace was mounting. In the streets of the Grey Quarter, Athal Sarys was preaching to his fellow Dunmer, elaborating on the vileness of the Nords, who, by all rights, should be their servants rather than them being their servants: after all, what right did a Tribunal-worshiping Dunmer have to serve a vile, brutish, soulless, savage? Damn the fact that it was in their own land and that the Dunmer were merely refugees here: to Sarys, Nords must serve Dunmer no matter where they are.
In the main areas of the city, those who were not eying their fellows out of fear were busy discussing current goings-on in the world. Snowstorms were forming along the southern mountains again, blocking access to Cyrodiil. In the west, it was rumored that Madanach, the king of the Reachmen, had escaped from Cidnha Mine and was at large. Farther to the east, it was said that the Skaal of Solstheim were experiencing hardships of their own: some claimed that the Bloodmoon would soon be upon the island. With the dragons driven away and the vampire menace reduced, the minds of the sons of Skyrim turned once again to the war. A truce had been called, but how long would it last? Could the Empire be trusted to keep their word, when they had broken their oaths to the people of Skyrim before?
Up to the Palace of the Kings, the great hall in the northernmost center of the city, came a single courier, dressed warmly. He had traveled two days from Ivarstead to reach this place, as he had been directed to and paid. He was only a simple Nord, not affiliated one way or another in this war, but even he feared to enter the Palace of the Kings. He had heard the rumors of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and leader of the rebellion; how he had shouted High King Torygg apart with his Voice. Such a reputation would clearly lead one to be feared, even if such tales were exaggerations by his enemies. Nevertheless, the courier approached the gates of the Palace warily.
Past the great iron-bound oaken doors he went, and tiptoed his way into the great hall. Its high, vaulted ceiling was imposing, as well as the long table stretched out before the throne. Made of stone, the layout of the Palace was intentionally set after the fashion of the great halls of the Nords of old. There were people at the table, some eating, some drinking, some bickering in frustration at the things that had happened in Skyrim recently. The man paid them little heed as he made his way to the throne. His approach had not gone unnoticed. Two very large guards strode out from the sides of the hall and approached him.
"Hold it, kinsman!" one of the guards announced. "No one gets past here without the Jarl's bidding."
"I have a message for Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak," the courier said.
"Let him through," a man standing beside the throne said. The guards stepped back and let the courier approach the man who had spoken.
"I am Jarl Ulfric's steward, Jorleif," he said. "Any business you have with the Jarl, you come to me."
The courier reached into his bag, and pulled out the letter, which he put into Jorleif's hands. The steward broke the seal and opened the letter, making sure there was nothing unfavorable within. Once he was sure it was sealed, he dismissed the courier and walked over to the room adjacent the great hall. Inside, the leading generals of the Stormcloak Rebellion were standing around a table, upon which was spread a map of Skyrim: they were planning their next move, once the treaty ended.
"My Jarl!" Jorleif spoke up. From among the generals, all of them tall and imposing Nord men, one particularly tall one stood up and turned towards the door.
"What is it, Jorleif?" Ulfric spoke; his voice was deep and grim.
"A messenger arrived with a letter for you," the steward said. "It's from the Dragonborn."
A murmur rippled through the crowd of those around the Jarl. Some snarled in disgust, others uttered 'Praise Talos', and some merely whispered among themselves. Ulfric strode through the crowd and took the letter from his steward's hands. Herein were the contents of the letter:
To Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and True High King of Skyrim,
Greetings.
If you have heard rumors of the moot being summoned at High Hrothgar to select a new High King, do not attend. The Empire is planning a trap for you there in a hope to end the war. I know that I have not been swift in the fulfillment of my duties; may that now come to an end. I beg you, my Jarl and King, to instead come to Shor's Stone in secret with a small company of men before the Nineteenth Day of Morning Star: no more than twenty. There I shall give you the Rift and we shall discuss the War and how to swiftly drive out the Empire.
Talos guard you,
Eirik Bjornsson, the Dragonborn.
Ulfric folded up the letter and held it in his hand, then looked over at the table. Galmar was standing at the head of the table, with another letter beneath his hand: the notification of the moot. He dismissed the other generals, then gave the letter to his right-hand.
"Our Unblooded friend wants us to take back the Rift," Ulfric said.
"Shor's balls!" Galmar exclaimed. "I've been dying for some action lately!"
"Do you think this is a trap?" Ulfric asked.
"Only one way to find out," Galmar replied.
"So we should go, then?"
"Aye, we should."
"Then assemble the men," Ulfric replied. "No green recruits: only those who've tasted battle. We leave as soon as they're ready."
The eighteenth day of the month of Morning Star. Somewhere in the village of Shor's Stone, on the north-south road from Riften to Eastmarch. After a hearty breakfast, Eirik went out to do what he did best: chop wood for the local villagers. As for the women, they were busy training with their weapons in a clearing just outside of the village. Iona was armed with a sword and a shield, and was holding her own against both Sigrun and Jonna. Eirik came upon them after a while, and watched their sparring from a distance. He was pleased to see how skilled they were with their weapons.
"You'll be ready for battle by the time Ulfric gets here," he called out to them. They paused from their sparring and turned to him.
"If he comes," Jonna returned.
"Do you think he'll come?" Sigrun asked.
"Possibly," Eirik hoped. "Gods willing."
"It's been four days already," Jonna replied. "We haven't heard a word from the north yet. He might have refused the summons."
"Then pray that he doesn't," Eirik stated. "Now, while we still have some time, let's go through the plan again."
"Get in through the back door of Honeyside Manor," Iona said.
"Distract the guards in the city center while the rest of you march right up to the gates of the keep," Jonna added.
"Take Maven Black-Briar and her family hostage," Sigrun concluded. "And claim the Rift for the Stormcloaks."
"Yes," Eirik smiled. "Simple enough."
"I still think dragging them out into the public square is a bad idea," Sigrun stated. "If Maven is as powerful as you say, she's bound to be able to get some message across if you take her out into the public view. She might even be able to escape."
"The people of Riften need to see her day come to an end," Eirik replied. "It will strengthen their faith in the cause, and go a long way to..."
At that moment, the sound of horses could be heard galloping down the road southward. Eirik was up and looking out toward the road, and his heart lifted. The shapes of twenty-one horsemen could be seen galloping down the road to Shor's Stone. He strode out to meet them, with one hand held up in greeting. At the sight of him, they halted. The largest of the horsemen paused and removed his hood.
"It's been a long time since the peace treaty, Dragonborn," Ulfric said.
"I take it you got my message?" Eirik asked.
"Yes," Ulfric replied. "And I came with men. Now tell me why I'm out here, of all places."
"We're taking back the Rift," Eirik replied.
Ulfric paused, a surprised smile on his face. "That's good to hear, but wouldn't the Empire see this as an act of war? I'll be damned before sullying my name as a truce-breaker."
"We're not going to war to claim Riften," Eirik replied. "We're merely taking back what I ordered Tullius to surrender to you, but he never did."
Ulfric grinned. "I see. I presume you have a plan to carry this out?"
"Yes, I do," Eirik returned.
"Good," Ulfric said, as he dismounted from off his horse. "Let's hear it."
They had precious time left, and only a small amount was spent with planning. Eirik and Ulfric both knew that word of their arrival would be spreading fast, and they had to act even faster. Eirik laid out the plan that he, Iona, and the women had laid out for the recapturing of the Rift. Ulfric was intrigued by the plan, and agreed to it: though he stated clearly that he was putting his honor on the line if they were caught.
"You're asking me to risk my reputation if we're caught or captured," Ulfric returned.
"You've taken more than your share of ill-repute, my lord," Eirik stated. "If it's to secure Skyrim, what's more to you?"
Ulfric grumbled. "Very well. But this had better work. I doubt we'll have a second chance if we fail."
Iona was the first one to depart Shor's Stone, going alone back to Riften to ready Honeyside for them. By noon they started their departure; no more than two people at a time every ten minutes, and each group arriving at the northwestern side of town, near the waterside. They had to go swiftly but carefully, and stay off the road to avoid being spotted by the Imperial soldiers on the road to Riften. Eirik left in the third pair, Sigrun in the sixth, Jonna in the ninth, and Ulfric at the very last pair. The afternoon was waning, and the shadows were lengthening when they arrived at the backdoor of Honeyside. Iona opened the door for them and let them in quickly, closing the door behind them.
"The front door opens into an alleyway beside Haelga's Bunkhouse," Iona told them. "You shouldn't attract much attention, but don't come out all at once. The town center should be rather busy right now, so the guards will be on the lookout."
"How about Mistveil?" Eirik asked. "How many guards are in front?"
"Just the two at the gate," Iona replied. "There's a line of petitioners before the gate, waiting to speak to Maven Black-Briar, so getting in shouldn't be too difficult...if you're not spotted in the town center, that is."
"Leave that to me," Jonna said.
"Once we're inside Mistveil Keep," Ulfric asked. "What then? Do you really believe Maven Black-Briar will hand Riften over to me just for the asking?"
"No," Eirik returned. "But she'll be more willing once we've brought her before the people."
"What!" Ulfric asked. "I thought the whole point of this plan was secrecy!"
"Getting into Mistveil will require secrecy," Eirik replied. "But proving our legitimacy will be another thing."
"I've heard of your other candidate," Ulfric said. "Vulwulf Snow-Shod is a loyal Nord, and a friend of the cause. I pray Talos he accepts the jarldom."
"Oh, he will," Eirik returned. He then walked to the door, his fingers nervously fidgeting the pommel of his sword. Sigrun pawed her way through the soldiers in the crowded and steadily warming room, and came to her Father's side.
"You okay?" she asked.
"I'm just thinking about Mjoll," Eirik sighed. "She should be here, at my side, as we tear down the Black-Briars. It's her great beast to slay, as she says it: and now I'm taking that from her."
"I think she'll understand," Sigrun smiled hopefully.
"Do you?" Eirik asked. "Whoever she was in your time, she's not the same here. It took her months to trust me, even after we were married. Granted, I..." He sighed.
"Yes?"
"It's nothing," Eirik said, shaking his head. He never quite got out of his head the memory of that one night in Riften. Going back to Fort Dawnguard made things all the worse when he saw her face among them. He never told anyone about it, for the incident itself was an embarasment and a half; but he seemed to never be able to forget it.
"Unblooded?" Ulfric asked.
"Hmm?"
"Are you ready?"
Eirik nodded. "Yes, my lord. Give the order."
"Isn't this your plan?"
"Aye, but you are my king. You give the order, and I obey."
Ulfric smiled, then turned to his men and gave them instructions. Iona cracked the door open ajar and examined the street outside. Once she was sure that no one was watching the entrance to Honeyside, Jonna was let out first. Eirik and Sigrun were next, throwing their hoods over their faces as they stepped out into the streets of Riften. They kept their heads down, periodically looking this way and that. Sigrun noticed Jonna climbing up onto the well in the middle of the town center and begin her distraction: speaking loudly about how the Empire left them at the mercy of the Thieves Guild, and elaborating on other crimes of the Empire.
The guards' attention was directed at her: now was their chance. Eirik and Sigrun made their way towards the line of people standing out front of Mistveil Keep; Sigrun chanced to look behind and saw a small group leaving the door of Honeyside, even as folks were shouting at Jonna to be quiet. Quietly they slipped into the line, unnoticed by the guards. Then, one by one, the others started joining in with them. Eirik looked back and tapped Sigrun's shoulder; the guards were pulling Jonna down from the well in the center of town.
"Get inside, all of you!" Sigrun whispered. "Now!"
Eirik began pushing his way through the crowds, while Sigrun passed the news to those behind them. Slowly but surely, the group of nondescript, hooded and cloaked adventuring travelers began pushing their way into Mistveil Keep. Sigrun now joined behind her Father and Ulfric. The keep had a few guards here and there, a hooded man dressed in leather, a foppish dandy standing beside the throne, and a woman of middle-age with dark hair sitting upon the throne: Maven Black-Briar. Now the group were all within the keep; but they had not gone unnoticed.
"Guards!" Maven's voice shouted from the far end of the hall. "Close the hall!"
Eirik threw off his hood and began advancing towards the throne.
"You again," she sneered at him from where she sat on her throne. "I should have sent the Dark Brotherhood for you when you first set foot in Riften. You've been a persistent thorn in my side!"
"Maven Black-Briar," Eirik said, ignoring her words. "I ordered the Empire to relinquish control of Riften back to the Stormcloaks; your presence on the throne is a defiance of that edict."
"I care nothing for your war or your treaties," Maven replied. "I've spent too long pretending to serve while I owned Riften beneath the Jarl's ignorant nose; now the time for pretense is over. Guards, kill him now." The guards in the hall drew their swords.
"Stormcloaks!" Eirik commanded. Twenty-two behind him drew their weapons and readied themselves for battle.
"This is a violation of your own treaty!" Maven shouted. "You'll hang for this, all of you! I'll make sure General Tullius and Elenwen find out about this! I'll..."
"You'll what?" Eirik asked. "Talk to your friends in the Imperial City? Have them send troops to take back the city?" He chuckled. "I think you'll find that quite difficult, considering the paths have closed again."
Maven's eyes widened in surprise, as she gripped the arm-rests of her throne. "Don't just stand there, kill them! Kill them all!"
"But, my Jarl!" one of the men replied. "Ain't that the Dragonborn?"
"I don't care if it's the Emperor himself, I gave you an order!" Maven challenged. "Or should I have the Thieves Guild pay your family a visit tonight?"
"Your man is right to fear me, Maven," Eirik returned. "I am the Dragonborn."
"All I see is a dead man," Maven retorted. "Now kill him!"
"He does not stand alone," Ulfric said. He stepped forward, his axe in his hand. The guards cowered back, fearful of the one of whom the rumors had told tall tales.
"Ulfric Stormcloak," Maven sneered. "Do you intend to Shout me to pieces, like you did Torygg? You need me; my sources tell me your little rebellion isn't doing very well. I'm sure we can come to an arrangement that would see you...properly supplied?"
"She lies," Eirik said. "She's in bed with the Empire; she'll use your trust to undermine the rebellion, not help us."
"Silence, fool!" she retorted, then turned to her guards. "Am I surrounded by traitors? Somebody kill him!"
"Worry not, mother," Hemming, the dandy behind her throne, said. "I shall deal with this simpering milk-drinker." He stepped out from behind the throne and drew his knife. "Come, then, coward. Face me, or all of Skyrim will know that the Dragonborn is a cowardly milk-drink..."
Eirik seized the hand that held the knife, and began twisting it. Hemming cried and sobbed, and strained to free himself, but he could not. Eirik squeezed his wrist until the fingers released their hold on the knife; then he punched him square in the face, sending him staggering backwards with blood dripping from his nose and mouth. He took a step closer, but Hemming crawled back and hid beneath his mother's throne.
"What's the matter, little boy?" Eirik asked. "You talk about how skilled you are with fighting, yet you can't stand up against one 'simpering milk-drinker?'"
"Fuck you!" Hemming shouted. "Mother, kill him now! Don't let him take me!"
"Shut up, Hemming!" Maven hissed. "You're embarassing me!"
"Now then," Eirik said, as he approached the throne where Maven was sitting. "If you'll be so kind, leave your seat and come with me."
"And if I refuse?" she retorted.
"I don't think you're in any position to refuse me anything," Eirik returned. "The passes are closed, there'll be no help for you from the Imperial City. If your men so much as move a muscle against us, Ulfric and I will Shout you and your whimpering son to pieces; and what Imperial army, Thalmor agent, thief, or assassin will save you then?"
"You're bluffing!" Maven retorted.
"I have twenty men at my call," Eirik said. "And they're all in here, with you. How many do you have?"
"Five times that in city guards and Imperial soldiers!" Maven snarled.
"And you've shut them out," Eirik replied. "I only see...eight soldiers here." He looked back at Sigrun, who was watching him keenly but wordlessly. He then turned back to Maven.
"I can also summon a dragon to swoop down upon Riften and burn your city guards and your Imperial garrison," he threatened.
"Now I know you're bluffing!" Maven laughed. "Your threats aren't very credible, Eirik. You need this city, so you wouldn't harm it."
Eirik was now standing on the same step as the throne. Maven seemed unbent and defiant before him; behind the throne, Hemming was cowering in fear.
"Guards!" she repeated. "I demand that you slay this upstart thug at once!"
"They're not coming, are they?" Eirik asked.
"What have you done to them?" she returned.
"Don't ask me, ask yourself."
"I will never submit to you!" she sneered.
At this, Eirik reached down and picked Hemming up by the throat, holding him up before his mother. She made no response, nor did she even flinch at the sight of him coughing and weeping. She seemed positively disgusted by him.
"Come with me," Eirik demanded. "Or your precious firstborn son and heir will die before your eyes." Sigrun gasped to hear her own Father say such words. Even more surprised was she at Maven's response.
"Do it, then. He's a failure."
"I'd urge you to think twice about that," Eirik replied. "You're too old to have more children, and where's your other son, by the way?"
"Safe from you," Maven retorted.
"This is getting us nowhere!" Ulfric stated. "Either gut the b*tch or give the command to attack!"
Eirik turned to Maven, and saw that she was still stone-faced and resolute. He turned over to Sigrun and nodded for her to join him. He gave Hemming into her hands; she was surprised at how easy it was to keep him under her control. He then turned to Maven, seized her by the hair, and dragged her out of her seat and towards the doors.
"Open the doors!" Eirik said. "Riften needs to see this. Sigrun, follow!"
Ulfric's men took the beams off the doors and pushed them open. Eirik walked into the crowded center of town, dragging Maven behind him; next to him came Sigrun, who had her arms wrapped around Hemming's neck, and was dragging him along with her. The rest of the soldiers joined on behind, to protect them. But there was no resistance. Down the stairs they went, and into the center of town. All eyes gazed at them in shock and surprise; especially those who were natives to Riften. Even the guards did not move to attack or rescue the Jarl; they were too amazed to see her finally brought down to their level, to be treated as they themselves had been treated. It didn't seem possible that this could ever possibly happen. They believed she was beyond the hand of any but the Divines; and now they were witnessing it happen before their eyes.
"I'll kill you for this!" Maven threatened.
"You've been trying since I came to Riften so many months ago," Eirik replied. "But it ends now." He then stood up in the stall where once Brynjolf used to ply his phony wares, and spoke in a loud voice.
"People of Riften!" he said. All eyes were on him. "Too long has your city lived under the thumb of the Black-Briar family. Too long have you lived in fear, cowed under pressure from Maven and her thugs. If the Empire cared about you, they'd have appointed a better ruler over you when they took this city than this woman!" He held her up to their eyes.
Cries and jeers were thrown at her, as well as rotten fruit and balls of spit.
"But a new day is dawning, Riften," Eirik returned. "I, the Dragonborn, servant of Skyrim, and a servant of the true High King, Ulfric Stormcloak, am here to tell you that the time of the Black-Briars is done!" There were scattered cheers; most of them were murmuring among themselves.
"She'll kill you for this!" one of the people cried out.
"Hold him up, let them see him," Eirik told Sigrun. She then walked over and held Hemming up to view.
"You know who this is?" he asked the crowd. Many voices cried out 'Yes!', 'Boo!', or variations of taunts and threats, as well as the rotten food.
"Let him go!" a voice cried out from the crowd. "He's done nothing to you!"
Eirik hesitated. He turned to Sigrun, who shook her head.
"Ingun!" Maven cried out. "Do something right for a change and have my peopl..." Eirik put his hand over her mouth.
"But perhaps you're still in doubt?" Eirik asked. "You still think she has some power over you? Let me show you what's happened to her power." Eirik then drew his own seax from his belt and thrust it into Hemming's chest.
"Hemming!" Ingun cried out. She pushed her way through the crowds and came up near to them.
"Let my mother go!" she demanded. "Are you so bloodthirsty that you'd murder an innocent man in front of everyone?"
"He's not innocent, and neither are you!" one of the people shouted.
Ingun turned around to retort, and suddenly found herself faced with a very angry mob. Not one of them feared her or her mother anymore. Rotted food and spittle were being lobbed at Ingun, who was covering her face with her hands and crying for mercy. Eirik nodded at Sigrun, and she dropped Hemming into Ingun's arms, while he returned to address the crowd.
"The Black-Briars' day is done," Eirik continued. "From now on, Riften will be ruled by those who love Skyrim and her people more than Imperial coin! Riften will be ruled by those who will not be corrupted by bribery nor deceived by false testimony! Riften will be ruled by the Stormcloaks once again!"
Cheers began to rise from the crowd after each of Eirik's sentences; each one stronger and louder than before. The people of Riften were on his side; an incredible feeling of ecstasy rushed over him. He had never been in such a situation before, where he was receiving the praise and admiration of so many people.
But now the mob was turning. They were demanding that he give Maven over to them, so that they might give her proper Riften justice. Their cries were becoming louder and louder. He released his hand from Maven's mouth.
"They want your blood," he told her.
"Do it," she sneered. "Kill me, if that's all you're good for is murdering people."
Eirik chuckled. "Oh no, you mistake me. I'm not here to kill you; I'm here for Riften. I ordered that Riften be returned to the Stormcloaks; you disobeyed me, and now I'm here to set things aright."
"The Empire will kill you for this!" she returned. "I'll make certain to tell Tullius of this blatant, barbaric act of war!"
"You're pretty brazen for a woman who's lost the jarldom and your son," Eirik returned.
"I still have Sibbi," she replied.
Eirik smiled. "Not for long." He then turned to Sigrun. "Go to the prisons, Iona will know the way. Get Jonna out of custody, then kill Sibbi Black-Briar." Sigrun went off to do as she had been bidden.
"Kill me, damn you!" Maven snarled. "All you want is blood, then kill me! Kill me, or I'll never rest until you're choking on your own blood! Kill me, or you'll lose their hearts!" Eirik lifted her up and whispered into her ear.
"I think we'll let them decide," He then pushed her into the crowd, which went wild as they were crowding around themselves, eager to take a piece of their oppressor. As Eirik stood there, Ulfric came to his side.
"Well, that was nicely handled," he stated. "What happens to Riften now?"
"We rule," he replied.
"We?"
"Well, you will," Eirik said. "Until we find a suitable replacer."
"Then what?"
"Then..." Eirik sighed deeply. "...then, we take back Skyrim."
(AN: At last, the Black-Briars have been taken down a notch!)
(Another long chapter for you all to enjoy. Lots of stuff happening in this chapter: trying to tie back things mentioned in the first several chapters later here, so the sudden transition isn't too jarring. Also, I wasn't sure if Iona appeared in The Dragonborn and the Lioness already [though I'm sure my clever-eyed readers will not hesitate to tell me that she did and I messed up], so that's why Eirik recognizes her in the Vilemyr Inn.)
(PS - while this series isn't technically a "modded" take on Skyrim, I do want to give a shout-out to the Bijin Warmaidens/NPCs/Wives mods for making some of the best women in Skyrim even better! Iona was the reason I ended up choosing that mod for my own playthrough [and that version is sort of my headcanon version of Iona for this story]. This might not be the last reference to mods [unfortunately, I can't put pino in here unless it's in the Shivering Isles, and most certainly Sofia will NOT appear])