(AN: And here we see some of the response to the last chapter.)

(I was intentionally wanting to make this story solely centered around Sigrun and Jonna's POVs, but, as you've doubtless noticed, that has proven difficult. This chapter will feature more than one POV, most of them in response to what's recently happened or what's going to happen soon.)

(This chapter also contains some references to a rather popular mod that, unfortunately, causes my game to crash whenever I come near the new zones. Hopefully I'll get to describe "my" version of what those quests involved, while hoping to find a walkthrough on YouTube from someone who got it to work.)

(Just as a warning, this chapter is one of the many reasons this story is rated M.)

Far-Reaching Consequences

The mob was violent, and they descended upon Maven with a ferocity unheard of. She shouted and cursed them, ordering them to let her go; but the bite of the Black-Briars was no longer feared. Years of condescension and abuse had finally caught up to her, and she was in their hands. But not entirely forgotten. Through the midst of the crowds, a burly Nord pushed his way through the angry protestors, picked Maven up and began carrying her out of town. Rotten vegetables and stoned came hurling at both of them, but they struck the large Nord's back. Behind them came Ingun, dragging Hemming after her with tears in her eyes and bruises on her face. The gates were being shut even as they were running towards them, and the large Nord threw the rest of his strength into sprinting with his heavy load.

Just in time, he got Maven out of Riften; but Ingun wasn't fast enough and was trapped just as the doors sealed shut behind them. They continued running, giving no heed to Ingun's cries behind them. They ran until they came to the towers on the northern road from Riften, and there they knelt down at the foot of the towers.

"Here," the Nord said. "You'll be safe for now."

Maven looked up at her rescuer. "Maul? Where...where were you? You're my housecarl. Why weren't you there when they came for me?"

"Some business at the Bunkhouse," he sighed. "Your orders, remember?"

"Don't back-talk to me..." Maul panted. "If it weren't for me, you'd still be a two-septim thug, shaking down beggars for the Thieves Guild!"

"I saved your life!" Maul returned. "Just as I saved your son's life."

"A lot of good you did him in the end," she sneered. "He's dead. Killed because you didn't do your duty to me!"

"Looks like you could use allies right now," Maul replied. "So maybe don't spit in the face of a gift-horse."

Maven slapped Maul across the face. "Don't you talk to me that way! I made the Black-Briar family a name to be feared in Skyrim and Cyrodiil! I saved your precious guild after your little infighting incident."

"And now you're a beaten and bloodied old woman with nothing but the clothes on her back," Maul returned. "So give me one reason why I should stay with you."

"Because in a month's time," Maven said. "I'll be back here in Riften. In another two, I'll have the city back in my pocket again. Then, I'll make them all pay: starting with Eirik and his wife Mjoll." She wiped the blood from her lips, then turned to Maul. "And you're wrong, you troll-brained ape. I'm not entirely without my resources."

"Yeah?" Maul asked. "What resources are you going to use to get back into Riften in a month?"

"Many," she replied. "Thanks to Crixus, I own Honningbrew Meadery in Whiterun; that's capital, septims I can start pouring into my return. And I still have friends in Solitude, and the Thalmor Embassy."

"How are you going to convince them to back you?" he asked.

"I'll speak to them myself," she replied. "If memory serves, there should be one of their agents a few miles north of here. I'll merely convince them that an affront to me is an affront to them; they'll see it my way, and give me all that I need."

"Looks like you don't need me, then," Maul sneered. Maven reached out and took his wrist in her hand.

"But I do," she replied. "I want you to go to Dawnstar. Find the Dark Brotherhood; tell them I'm calling in a hit on Eirik the Dragonborn. No need for the Black Sacrament this time; they owe me this kill, after failing so many times before." She tightened her grip on Maul's wrist. "Don't fail me, Maul. If you do, I'll make sure it's the last thing you do."

Maul shook off her hand and went on his way. Maven, meanwhile, mustered up the last of her strength and pushed herself up onto her feet. Then, taking one last look at Riften, she turned and headed north.

"Revel in your victory for now, Eirik," she said. "But I'll be the one laughing when I'm Jarl again and your head and the head of your wife adorn the lintel of Mistveil Keep."

That evening, there was a great feast in the hall of Mistveil Keep. Ulfric was at the head, in deep discussion with Vulwulf Snow-Shod, the one Eirik had suggested to be Jarl in place of Maven Black-Briar. Jonna was sitting next to Sigrun and Iona, and sharing drinks with them; after her little stunt in the marketplace, she had been dragged off to the jail, but only for Sigrun to arrive and demand her release. Now she was free, and Sibbi Black-Briar's head was mounted above the door of the Black-Briar Meadery: Hemming's body had disappeared, along with Ingun. For now, however, there was joy and merriment for the first time in a long while.

Yet as they were drinking, Sigrun felt ill at ease. Her stomach roiled and grumbled, and the sensation did not depart even after partaking in some food. Again she thought about her mission, and if she was doing the right thing. She had half a mind to take out Bjorn's letter and read from it, but decided against it: there were too many people about to ask and pry about it. Instead she turned to speak with her Father: Eirik was only passively listening, while drinking again and again from his cup. She was surprised at how much he drank.

"How are your spirits, da?" she asked.

Eirik turned to her. "Good enough. I'm not terribly fond of the whole political web that we're stuck in. All the changes that have to be made to keep Riften stable, changes to the Black-Briar Meadery, getting the Legion out of here. Taking a city's not as easy as I thought it would be."

"Well, you've got help, now," Sigrun replied. "Who knows, things may start looking up for you...for all of us."

"Perhaps," Eirik replied. "But I wish for the days when I could travel freely across Skyrim, doing as I pleased, with Mjoll and Lydia at my side again. That was one of the best parts about leaving Bruma; the excitement of coming back home, of seeing Skyrim first-hand after so many years of nothing but Bruma."

"You may still get that chance," Sigrun replied.

"Not before we've finished the war," Eirik said. "And trust me, it'll happen sooner rather than later, now that we've moved. I doubt the Empire will accept our changing of the guard here in Riften, and will use this as an excuse to go to war. Then what?"

"We can discuss this later, da," Sigrun answered her. "For now, just enjoy yourself. You've earned the rest."

Eirik shook his head. "I didn't think we'd be out here this long. How long has it been, now, five days? Mjoll will likely start to worry."

"You don't think she thinks you can take care of yourself?" Sigrun asked. "Shor's bones, you're you! You slay dragons! If you can't protect yourself, who can?"

"Still," Eirik returned. "Me leaving just like that, with two young women she's never seen before, going off and spending days on end in the wilderness. And let's face it, if you are my daughter, you certainly have her looks. You tell me, what would she think about this? What would you think?"

Sigrun blushed. "I...I don't know, I haven't really had this problem before."

"What do you mean? With her looks, I'd think you'd be fighting off every man in Skyrim, all of them eager for your hand."

"Please, you're embarrassing me!"

"They can't hear us over the celebrating," Eirik said, gesturing to those around them. "Still, what would you think?"

Sigrun sighed. "I don't know. It hadn't occurred to me. I mean, you are my Father."

"But Mjoll doesn't know that," Eirik replied. "We might have to tell her."

"What? No!" Sigrun squealed. "We're not supposed to be blabbing about this to just everyone we meet!"

"But she's my wife, and your mother," Eirik returned. "If anyone else should know, it should be her. I mean, what am I going to tell her? That two strange women took me into the wilderness to save Skyrim and that I touched none of them?"

"Why not?"

Eirik sighed. "Look, we've had some issues last year, okay? There was...something that happened. It really shook her trust in me. If I go back and say what happened, she'll be upset again."

"I appreciate your concern for Ma's well-being and what she thinks of you," Sigrun returned. "But, well, you don't need to worry. She married you, she trusts you: I mean, gods, she's carrying me inside her right now! How much more trusting can she..." At this Sigrun swayed in her seat, clutching her temples with her hands.

"Whoa, steady there!" Eirik said, taking her by the hand.

"Looks like this one's had too much to drink!" one of the Stormcloaks said, which sent jeers and laughter from those around. Eirik smiled and nodded, then turned back to his daughter.

"What is it? What's wrong? Another dream?"

"I...I don't know," she replied. "There was just a strong, throbbing in my head. And I could see..." She trailed off, muttering incoherently.

"I think it's time for you to sleep, now," Eirik said. "Here, I'll help you to a room."

Despite Sigrun's protests, Eirik led her from the hall and into the Jarl's bedroom. Vulwulf would be moving in the next day, along with what was left of his family: his son Arngeir had been slain at his own wedding, along with the bride, a cousin of the now-deceased Emperor. For the present, they were permitted to stay in the Jarl's quarters and enjoy the good life. Eirik placed Sigrun on the bed, despite her protests, and pulled up a chair to sit next to her.

"Gods, I'm fine," she insisted. "It's just a little headache, that's all. I've been having them for a while."

"That's not a good thing," Eirik replied. "It could be Ataxia; they have it quite a bit back in Cyrodiil."

"I don't have Ataxia," Sigrun dismissed. "It's...it's something worse. And it's not something that can be fixed."

"How do you know?"

Sigrun sighed. "I...I don't know. I thought it was fixed when we came back here, but I was wrong."

"What is it, anyway?"

She sat up on the bed. "I've been having visions. Sometimes, when I'm feeling exhausted, or tired, I'll black out and start seeing things."

"What did you see?"

"The Argonian," Sigrun returned. "Tavris, or Tarvis, or whatever his name is. Gods, no wonder I'm your daughter if I keep forgetting things so easily."

"Sorry," Eirik dismissed. "Tell me, what did you see about him?"

"He's been asking around about you, and about Ma," Sigrun replied. "I think he's going to try and kidnap her."

"Damn lizard," Eirik uttered, then suddenly gasped to hear those words coming out of his mouth. "Why did I say it that way?"

"Don't think about it," Sigrun returned. "If anyone has reason to hate him, it's me. He'll try to kill me once he finds out that Ma is pregnant."

"Do you think he'll let me live when he finds out I'm the father?" Eirik asked. "No. He threatens our whole family; we take him together."

Sigrun sighed, then rested her head on the pillow. "This will put our plans on hold."

"Aye," Eirik nodded. "But we have to go home, to make sure she's safe. And, of course, she'll have to know." Sigrun groaned in frustration. "We have to tell her. She'll find out either way, and we might as well tell her straight-out."

"I know, I know," Sigrun protested. "But...I just don't feel right saying any of this. I'm not very good at lying, nor do I enjoy the idea of it. But, I mean, how am I going to convince Ma that I'm her child all grown up now?"

"You've convinced me," Eirik returned. He turned back to her.

"Only because you've seen crazy stuff in your travels," Sigrun sighed.

"Maybe at first," he replied. "But there's other things. You look like me, around here..." He gestured towards his nose. "...and you have her mouth."

"Eww," Sigrun groaned. "Don't tell anyone that. They'll think you're..."

"Well, I've been with your Mother, and I know what..."

"Gross!" Sigrun grabbed a spare pillow and buried her face between it. "I don't want to think about you two having sex!"

"Well, it had to happen," Eirik returned. "That's why you're here. Besides, there's other things about you that tell me you're my daughter."

"Like what?" she asked from beneath the pillow. Eirik removed the pillow and turned to her.

"You have her eyes," he said. "And when you smile, it...it looks like mine." Sigrun covered her mouth with her hands; he reached over and removed her hand. "If I can see Mjoll and I in you, she can see it as well."

Sigrun smiled. "I hope so. Now go back to the party."

"Oh, no," Eirik returned. "I'm not feeling up to it anyway. I think the mead's getting to my head now. I'll just stay here with you and keep guard."

"You should find yourself a different drink," Sigrun said as she threw her head back onto the pillow. Eirik chuckled, then turned away and gazed at the fireplace, and the shadows that danced upon the opposite wall.

In the middle of the night, Eirik woke up to a figure clad in black standing over him, a knife held at his throat.

"Crixus?" he asked.

"Guess again, lad," a Nord's voice returned from beneath its dark mask.

"Who are you?" Eirik asked. "How did you get in here?"

"Through the balcony," the stranger replied. "Laila's security was faulty; you should consider fixing things, especially if you're in charge now."

"You didn't answer my question," Eirik returned. "Who are you?"

The figure removed its knife from Eirik's throat, then began lighting the candles in the room. In a few moments, there was light in the little chamber. Eirik turned to the bed: Sigrun was lying sound asleep, not a sound out of her. He turned back to the intruder, who had doffed his shroud and mask. A Nord with shoulder length, flame-red hair and short beard was standing before him. He looked familiar.

"It hasn't been too long, Eirik," the man replied. "That you don't recognize me. I frequent the streets of Riften. If Mjoll were here, she'd tell you who I was in a heartbeat."

"Are you...with the Thieves Guild?"

"Aye, lad," the man nodded. "I'm the Guildmaster now. Brynjolf's the name. And right now, I have a little proposition for you."

"Yeah? Well, I'm not buying it," Eirik returned. "You and your thugs can pack it in. Maven Black-Briar isn't here to hold your hand anymore."

"Oh, we know about that," Brynjolf replied. "That's why I'm here."

"Here to beg for your life?"

"Hardly anything so dramatic, lad. I know you've been spending time around that do-gooder Mjoll the Lioness, and hearing all that she's said about us. Truth is, we're a necessary ill; if we ain't fleecing the people of Riften, somebody worse would be."

"That definitely sounds like Crixus," Eirik returned. "And I'm surprised to hear such words from you. I'd imagine he wouldn't befriend a Nord."

"Oh, there's quite a bit about our...mutual friend that you don't know. But I'm not here for him; I'm here for you."

"Me?"

"You'll find that a partnership with the Thieves Guild can be very...useful."

"I told you, I'm not buying. So why don't you get out of here before I throw you out."

"Every man has a price."

"I threw Maven out of Riften, I can throw you and your Guild out as well. I have twenty men at my command."

"And we have places of operation all around Skyrim," Brynjolf continued. "We can get you anything you want; anything at all."

"Why are you offering me this? I thought you were friends with the Black-Briars. Shouldn't you be holding a knife at my throat for kicking her out?"

"Politics have never been part of what we do; gold is our god. Maven came to us when the Guild was in a pinch and gave us protection. Now she's gone, and we're looking to do business again."

"Mjoll was right," Eirik returned. "You're just a bunch of cutthroats ready to sell your own mothers out for a bit of coin. You're not getting anywhere with me."

Brynjolf scoffed. "Suit yourself. You'll find that things have changed with the Guild these days: we don't need Maven Black-Briar anymore, but you and your new government might need us. Come see me in the Ratways if you ever have a change of mind."

"The only way I'm going to the Ratways is to drive you from Riften. And don't you ever come near me again or I'll kill you!"

Brynjolf ran to the balcony and leaped off it. When Eirik ran over to its edge, he found that he had vanished into the night. There was no trace of him. Sigrun was groaning and tossing where she slept, and Eirik went back to her side. Eventually he himself would have to sleep; there would be a long return journey ahead for them. They'd have to buy horses and make haste back to Falkreath for to reunite with Mjoll, and tell her the truth. And then?

Eirik sighed. "And then, Talos guide us."

Many miles away, on the slopes of the Velothi Mountains, high above the festering marshland and salt-flats of the Eastmarch and slightly to the west of the Dwemer ruin of Kagrenzel, a lone camp sat nestled among the snow. To this unmarked camp came regular messages from the Imperial Legate Fasendil in Riften, reporting on activity in the lands owned by the rebels. These messages then found their way westward through the Valtheim Pass, then on to Rorikstead before heading north into Haafingar. Where they went afterwards was little concern, for there they were safely in Imperial territory and would not be assaulted.

For this camp belonged not to the Imperials, nor the Stormcloaks, but to their common enemy; the one setting both of them against each other to work their individual ruin.

That evening was cold and dark. The leather tents flapped madly against the wind, and no matter what enchantments the moonstone-clad Altmer soldiers and justicars used, the northern chill bit to the bone. Within one of these tents, illuminated by the light of a lantern, a tall Altmer, clad all in black, was examining a map of the eastern half of Skyrim; stretched out upon the same table where stood the lantern. He seemed to be in deep disagreement with the other Altmer standing across from him.

"I've received no such orders from Elenwen," the other one said.

"Elenwen is incompetent," the tall one replied, his voice deep, measured, and full of haughty menace. "She let the war come to a close against our itinerary. It's our duty to stoke the fires before they reconcile."

"Heh, I think we've done quite a bit of work that would take centuries to undo," the other Altmer returned. "Making an open attack..."

"Is necessary at this point."

"Will it fail, like your staged assault on Rorikstead?"

The tall one hissed. "Never mention that again, if you value your life!"

"Ooh, I appear to hit a nerve."

"Your head will be hitting the bottom of a basket if you don't mind your tongue!"

"Just the same, it appears even you have underestimated these ignorant savages."

"I can't be everywhere at once, you know."

"Not even with your great magicka?"

"Not yet, at least."

"Well, it seems that even the Great Thelgil of Alinor isn't all-powerful."

"Keep talking, and yours will be the first head I cut when I come to power."

"If you come to power, that is. Another blunder like Rorikstead and Elenwen might have you recalled."

"The assault on the Orsinmer stronghold in the hills is only a diversion," Thelgil replied. "Ensure that the Dunmer in Windhelm have been properly armed and riled. My sources tell me that Ulfric left the city a few days ago. If we can take his castle now, the Stormcloaks will be shattered but not broken. They'll be fighting from hill to valley in this gods-forsaken shite-hole; chaos will grip the east."

"And you'll get all the credit," the other Altmer returned. "I doubt Ondolemar will be as receptive of you in the Reach."

"He will," Thelgil replied. "Especially once he hears my plan to..." At that moment, an elven soldier clad in moonstone armor ran up to the tent and saluted. "What business is so important that you interrupt us?"

"Our scouts found a Nord woman on southern side of the camp," the soldier replied.

"Hmph, kill her," Thelgil replied. "I care not for these fat, ignorant snow-backs."

"She wants to speak with the commander, sir," the soldier returned. "She says she's important; that Elenwen would want to hear what she has to say."

Thelgil stroked his bare, tapered chin. "I assume this snow-back b*tch has a name?"

"Maven Black-Briar."

"Bring her here," the other justicar ordered. The soldier saluted and departed back into the cold darkness outside of the tent.

"It would be wise to avoid going over my head in the future," Thelgil returned. "My family is very well-connected back home on Alinor. With a single word, I could have your family records checked. Weren't some of your ancestors members of the Psijic Order?"

The justicar scowled. "You wouldn't dare."

"I can and I will."

"She's an important asset of ours," the justicar returned. "She's very well-connected. Her information has been valuable to our operations here in the Rift."

Just then, the soldier returned with a very disheveled, exhausted-looking middle-aged Nord woman, dressed in what used to be fine robes, with dark hair that was starting to look a little gray. Old bruises marked her face, and her clothes were stained with dirt and Divines know what else; the stink of her caused the Altmer in the tent to hold their noses and look away, like the imga that imitated them when they came in contact with humans.

"Auri-El's cock, woman!" Thelgil swore. "You smell even worse than the rest of your misbegotten race! Have you come fresh from wallowing in the shite-hole?"

"I've walked all afternoon and most of this night to get here," Maven returned, her voice hoarse and dry. "I have bad news to give my friend Elenwen."

"Your friend?" Thelgil laughed. "I believe you're mistaken. Elenwen makes acquaintances with important people, not shite-swilling savages."

"I am Maven Black-Briar," she returned. "Friend of Elenwen and Jarl of Riften, by decree of General Tullius."

"Alright, you have my attention...for now," Thelgil sighed. "Be quick about your business."

"The Stormcloaks have taken Riften," she returned. "Surely this violates that treaty the Empire signed with them?"

"We wouldn't know," Thelgil sneered. "We were kept out of that particular treaty, if my sources are correct."

"Come on," Maven chuckled. "You're Thalmor. Nothing happens in Skyrim that you don't find about sooner or later. Now I'm going to need a new change of clothes, a letter sent to General Tullius and Elenwen, a stiff drink and a bath."

Thelgil laughed as he turned around. "Do you presume to order me?"

Maven's expression hardened. "I am your friend, and I've been abused. A hurt against me is a hurt against my friends, and that includes the Thalmor."

"No, you pathetic old woman," Thelgil sighed. "A sleight against you is a sleight against you and you alone. You do not order or command us."

"They humiliated me!" Maven shouted. "Dragged me out of my own keep, kicked me out of my city, my home! They killed my boy right before my eyes, dammit! I want blood! I want heads to roll!"

Thelgil chuckled. "Oh, how very...dramatic."

"But...but I've been a friend to the Thalmor! I've eaten and drunk with Elenwen and Lady Arannelya. You people have made me promises..."

"I wasn't there for those promises," Thelgil replied. "And even if I were..." A wicked smile crept across his face. "...shall a master indeed be held to the promise of a slave?"

"Slave?" Maven retorted. "Now you listen here, bright-eyes. I run things in Riften! I have friends back in the Imperial City; important friends, friends with the Thalmor. They will hear about this, and I'll make sure your career, your life, whatever you hold dear, is ruined for this insult!"

Thelgil steepled his fingers together, looking down at Maven for a solid, silent minute. He then turned to the soldier. "This woman has traveled long and hard to get here, and you leave her standing? Please, put her on her knees; she'll feel much better that way." The soldier forced Maven onto her knees.

"What is the meaning of this?" Maven demanded. "Unhand me, you pathetic little elf! I'm a friend of the Thalmor; you can't do this to me!"

"You'll find that there's surprisingly little that I can't do to you," Thelgil replied. "Did you really think that you had any kind of news to give us? We have eyes and ears in Riften, much faster and more reliable than you. We know that the Imperial garrison were forced to leave the city of Riften. We also know that your 'connections' with the Imperial City can't get to you under deep drifts of snow." He held his hand over his mouth in mocking surprise. "Or didn't your many contacts in the Thieves Guild inform you of the sudden storms that have closed the southern border again?"

"But did they tell you who overthrew Riften? That is a tidy bit of information, I take it. One Elenwen would kill to have."

"Humor me, human."

"The one they call the Dragonborn. Eirik of Falkreath."

Thelgil's eyes widened, and he stroked his bare chin again. "Aronnin! Write a letter to the Embassy, tell Elenwen that...the Dragonborn has taken the Rift." An Altmer scribe bowed and began writing.

"So, that's it, then?" Maven asked, eagerly. "You'll let me go? You'll help me take back the Rift?"

Thelgil tutted at her. "When did we agree to that?"

"But...but I helped you! I'm your friend, remember?"

"Ah, yes, the last rasping cries of a dying old cow, desperately clinging to relevance." Thelgil removed a moonstone knife from his belt. "Not too unlike the Empire that you love." He knelt down before her and lifted her head up to look into his eyes.

"You'll pay for this insult!" Maven retorted.

Thelgil shook his head. "I'm afraid that you've sorely misjudged us. You were not a friend, you were an asset. Like the Colovians, salivating after everything the damned Akaviri left in their wake, you lusted for power and so bowed lower than your kinsmen before your betters. I'm...afraid...to say that you've outlived your usefulness to the Dominion." He tutted again.

"It's too bad you abused your own servants," he said. "Perhaps they would have been there for you in your time of need. As it stands, no one stood up for you when you were thrown out into the wilderness. And now, look at you: a feeble old wreck, not even worth thirty minutes." He shook his head. "Such is the way of humans; always striving for greatness that is just beyond their reach." Then in one swift motion, he drove the knife in his other hand into Maven's heart.

"But greatness will never be yours!" he sneered. "It belongs to the Altmer; the master race." He then pushed her onto the floor of the tent, and rose to his feet.

"Get rid of it," he ordered the soldier, pointing to the body. He then walked over to the other justicar.

"Now then," he said. "I'll be leaving for the Reach as soon as possible. Send a detachment to the Orsinmer stronghold, as requested. And send two agents after this...Dragonborn. We've dealt with him before; we must be cautious when dealing with him again."

"But what about the Rift?" the other one asked.

"Keep watch, but from a distance," Thelgil instructed. "We'll let him make the next move."

"And then?"

Thelgil grinned as he turned his eyes westward. "Then...the weakening of this land begins in truth."

Morning in Riften. A crowd of people gathered about the doors of Mistveil Keep, even as the ordination of Vulwulf Snow-Shod took place inside. But those without were not here to see a local landowner become the next Jarl, nor were they here to catch a glimpse of the Bear of Markarth, the leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion, who was rumored to be here in the city: they were here for someone else.

In the great hall, Eirik was preparing for the journey back home. Iona suggested that they return home by a different path, and not the one they had come through initially. Sigrun suggested calling the dragon Odahviing again, but Eirik quickly shut it down: nothing would present a bigger target for pursuers than a dragon flying across the sky. To that end, it was decided that the three of them would purchase horses from the stables and ride to Ivarstead, rather than going north to Shor's Stone. From there, they would skirt down the winding paths into the western reaches of the Eastmarch, scale the path to the Valtheim Towers, then follow the White River back to Falkreath by way of Riverwood, then turn south at Oakwood and return home.

"You've done this city a great service," Iona said. "If you ever have need of me, send word and I will join you if I am able."

Jonna was busy wrangling up food for the journey; dried, salted meats, and water and mead to sate the appetites. Eirik, meanwhile, went to speak to Ulfric about his next move.

"Whiterun will be our next move," Ulfric returned. "It's the key to taking Skyrim. Galmar and Jorleif will make the preparations, once I finish business here and return to Windhelm."

"What you're talking about," Eirik said. "That means the war will be starting again?"

"Don't be naive, my friend," Ulfric replied. "We may have taken Riften without shedding much blood, but the Empire will certainly use this as an excuse to go to war. Sooner or later, the war would begin again."

"I trust I've proven myself to you now?"

Ulfric chuckled. "Continue to fight for Skyrim, for the cause, for Talos, and for me, and you'll have nothing to fear." He put his right hand upon Eirik's shoulder. "I promise you this: before the first day of First Seed, you and I shall raise our cups in Dragonsreach, when the Stormcloak banners fly over Whiterun."

They parted, and Eirik went to find Sigrun and Jonna; the time had come for them to set out on their journey. The three of them gave their farewells and best wishes to Ulfric and Jarl Vulwulf before stepping through the great oaken doors of Mistveil Keep. Before them a crowd of people from the city of Riften stood, cheering loudly and madly. Eirik was surprised to see this: for all of his time in Skyrim, he had been of the belief that the people, especially the hold guards, had as little regard to him as the dirt on the streets. Now he was seeing the people cheer for him and call his name over and over again: Dragonborn! Dragonborn! Dragonborn!

"Hail to the savior of Riften!" one cried out.

"Hail to the savior of Skyrim!" another added.

"Hail Ysmir Reborn!" a third shouted.

Eirik could scarcely believe what his ears were hearing and his eyes were seeing. Yet it was true. Even worse was the fact that everyone was pressing about him, eager to touch him as he and the women tried to make their way to the gates of the city. The hold guards now stepped up and cleared the way for him. On and on he went, amid the deafening cries of the crowd. As they approached the gates, they were opened before him and Sigrun and Jonna went to the stables: Eirik, on the other hand, was stopped before leaving. One of the city guards had doffed his helmet and was standing proudly before him.

"Dragonborn!" he said. "It's my honor to stand before you."

"Why are they doing this?" Eirik asked. "Why are you doing this? A few months ago, I was hated by everyone in Skyrim. And now this?"

"Word of your deeds has stretched far and wide," the guard replied. "And now you've ridden Riften of the Black-Briars. Whatever else happens, we'll always be grateful for what you've done for us, Dragonborn."

Eirik patted the guard on the shoulder, even as Ulfric had done to him, then turned to join Sigrun and Jonna on the long journey from Riften to Falkreath.

No one wanted to be at this meeting in Castle Dour. After the disgraceful loss of Northwatch Keep late last year, Elenwen was on thin ice. Thelgil's arrival in Skyrim meant that the Dominion had doubts about her efficiency in carrying out their plans for the Empire in this region. Before leaving for the east, he had given her a part to play, and that meant being part of the Empire's meetings. Not like they had a choice in the matter; she could always threaten them with war for withholding secrets, or remind them that the White-Gold Concordant gave her legal right to be present at their meetings. This made the other two people here - General Flavius Tullius and Legate Rikke - uncomfortable. It was an open secret that the Empire was at the mercy of the Dominion; no matter which way they tried to gild the dung-heap, whether that they had soundly beaten them in the Great War or that they had barely survived the War, the Empire was embarrassed. But of these two, Rikke was the most embarrassed: every time Elenwen strutted into Castle Dour to listen in on their plans, the more she, Rikke, felt that Ulfric was justified. She tried to tell herself over and over that he was nothing more than a thug, that Skyrim's fate depended on the Empire being strong and united. Yet Elenwen's presence only reminded her that everything she told herself was wrong.

The fourth person at this little meeting was none other than Servius Crixus. He had fared no better under the Thalmor, especially considering that he was supposed to be acting on the Emperor's behalf to weed out their activities in Skyrim. Yet in the past year, all that had happened was him serving the Thalmor regardless of his intentions. Titus Mede was dead, by his own hand, and were it not for the assault on Northwatch Keep, the Thalmor might very well be farther along with their plans than they were. More so, he knew about Thelgil's arrival in Skyrim: he had narrowly escaped death at his hand. Being so close to her made him nervous: but he was a soldier, and had to serve the Empire, and what was going down at this meeting involved him.

"I trust you understand the reason why I've called you here," Elenwen opened.

"You didn't call anyone here, Elenwen," Tullius replied, his teeth set. "You came to my keep and requested a meeting because you said you had important information."

"I summoned, and you obeyed," Elenwen clarified. "Say it however it suits your fancy, but the truth remains the same. Now then, I'm a busy woman, so let's get down to business. My sources tell me that there was an attack just this morning, on the twenty-first day of Morning Star."

"Glad to know your sources can tell you things the minute they happen," Crixus scorned. "Half-way across this arse-fuck of a country!"

"Cease your colorful evocatives, Crixus," Elenwen replied. "One would think your time in Mournhold would have given you an ounce of propriety." She then turned back to Tullius. "As I was saying, an attack happened this morning. Stormcloak rebels attacked the peaceful village of Rorikstead and burned it to the ground, in clear violation of your little treaty."

"No need to remind me of the fact that you weren't part of the peace summit, Elenwen," Tullius returned. "We all know about it."

"I may not have been allowed there, but I still decide what happens in Skyrim," she replied. "And I wish to know what the Empire is going to do about this rebel aggression."

"We'll do what we should have done at High Hrothgar," Rikke stated. "Take Ulfric's head."

"I guess even a Nordic cock-sleeve can have a brain from time to time," Crixus commented. "At least if she serves the Empire."

"Hold your tongue, Legate," Rikke retorted.

"I can think of a much better place to put my tongue," Crixus replied, with a wolfish grin that mirrored his acquaintance Idolaf Battle-Born. Rikke turned bright red, and her hand gripped the hilt of her sword.

"Really!" Elenwen groaned.

"That's enough, Crixus!" Tullius barked. He turned back to Elenwen. "You want us to go to war before the treaty ends? It would blacken the name of the Empire."

"Oh, I think you're doing that quite nicely yourself, actually," Elenwen replied. "Still, even though you're human, you have a brain: use it. Come up with some pretext to do as your little soldier said: get Ulfric to come to you, then kill him."

"And just what are you getting at, Elenwen?" Tullius asked. "You've never expressed interest in a swift end to the war..."

At that moment, a soldier in Imperial garb came into the meeting room. Tullius turned to the soldier, a stern look on his face.

"This is a private meeting, soldier!" he ordered.

"Your pardon, General!" the soldier returned, beating his chest in salutation. "But I bring news from the east. Urgent news."

"Let's hear it."

"The Rift...has fallen."

"What? When did this happen?"

"Three days ago," the soldier replied. "Stormcloaks sneaked into the city, took Mistveil Keep, and threw Jarl Maven out of the city. We were forced to leave, on pain of death. I never ran so fast in my life!"

"Ran!" Crixus exclaimed. "Namira's rotten cunt, are you an Imperial soldier or a fucking Nord? You don't run!"

"That's enough, Crixus!" Tullius snapped. "When I want to discipline my soldiers, I'll do it myself!" He turned back to the soldier. "Do you mean to tell me that you let Ulfric Stormcloak take the Rift without even putting up a fight?"

"We had no choice, sir," the soldier replied. "He has the Dragonborn with him. We...we've heard stories about him. They say he can move mountains with his Voice. He killed a god several months ago!"

"There, you see?" Elenwen interjected. "The Stormcloaks have struck first! The Empire need not sully it's precious name now by going to war."

"I'll get to you in a moment, ambassador!" Tullius snarled, before turning back to the soldier. "Why didn't you send a message to Bruma and ask for reinforcements?"

"Sir...the passes!" the soldier replied. "They've all been closed! It...it doesn't make any sense. They should be opening up by now, but..."

"But what?"

"Snow-storms have been spotted in the mountains. The passes, they're closed again! We couldn't call for help from Cyrodiil!"

"Dammit," Tullius muttered beneath his breath.

"This utter shite-hole of a country!" Crixus exclaimed. "Can't just stick to one fucking weather at a time!"

"Crixus..."

"I'll bet my arse that cock-sucker Eirik is behind this!" Crixus retorted. "He used the Voice, I've seen it before. He can clear skies with his Voice, he probably used it to close the passes for his lover Ulfric."

"That's a bold accusation, coming from you," Rikke noted. "You were singing his praises only a few days ago."

"Why don't you shut your whore mouth for once your miserable g***-d***ed life?"

Rikke took a swing at him, but Crixus ducked and punched her square in the nose.

"Legate!" Tullius shouted. "I won't have brawling in my war room!"

"She started it!" Crixus returned. "She taunted me!"

"Quite a petulant child," Elenwen commented with a sly smirk.

"I don't care who started it, I'm finishing it!" Tullius retorted. "Forty lashes. Report to Captain Aldis."

"For defending myself? Are you fucking se..."

"That's an order, soldier!" Crixus scowled as he walked off. It wasn't the first time he had been beaten in his time with the Legion; and thanks to his uncanny good fortune and seemingly inexhaustible youth and vigor, they barely made any impression on him. Once he left, Tullius turned back to Elenwen and Rikke.

"Well, now that that's taken care of, let's get back to the matter at hand," he said. "I'll get the men ready for war."

"Excellent," Elenwen smiled. "I knew you'd see reason. How soon can I expect your men to be ready?"

"Tomorrow," Tullius replied. "I take it trying to trap Ulfric is out of the picture now?"

"He's acted first, has he not?" Elenwen replied. "Only a fool waits until the heads of his bodyguards are thrown at his feet before acting." Tullius and Rikke scowled.

"Do you have any further reason to be here?" Rikke interjected.

"Silence, soldier!" Tullius demanded. He turned back to Elenwen. "If there's nothing else, ambassador?"

"Oh, why of course not!" Elenwen taunted. "I wouldn't dare presume to order you around, or tell you how to run your little war." She then picked up her skirts and walked out of the war room with the air of a queen. Once she was gone, Tullius turned the soldier and dismissed him to the barracks in Castle Dour. Once he left, he then turned his fierce gaze to Rikke.

"I expected better from you, soldier," he said. "Ten lashes. Report to Captain Aldis."

"For speaking out against that arrogant elf b*tch?"

"For starting that brawl with Crixus," Tullius replied. "You've made the Empire appear weak and fragmented before our enemies."

"An enemy we let sit in on our private meetings!" Rikke retorted.

"You're on thin ice, Legate," Tullius threatened. "Keep back-talking to me and I'll give you forty lashes, just like that son of a b*tch Crixus. I will not be made a fool in front of the Thalmor Ambassador. You may be my second-in-command, but you're still my subordinate. You come when I say, you go when I say, you speak when I say, and you will remain silent when I tell you to. Is that clear, Legate?"

Rikke saluted. "Yes, sir." She turned to leave.

"I haven't dismissed you, Legate," he said. Rikke stopped and turned back to the General.

"Sir?"

"I want to know more about this Dragonborn," Tullius said.

"You know plenty about him already, sir," Rikke returned. "He licks Ulfric's ass, just like the rest of the war-mongering thugs in Skyrim."

"I can get such 'colorful evocatives' from Crixus any time I wish," Tullius said. "But I've only seen him twice: at Helgen, and again at the peace summit. I know he supports the Stormcloaks, but I want to know why. If anything that Crixus tells me is true, he was raised in Bruma and his father was in the Legion."

"Sir, he's a rebel. If you're implying that he's anything like me, you're mistaken."

"I'm not implying anything, Legate. I'm giving you an order: find out more about this man, this...Eirik the Dragonborn. Find out who he is, if he can be convinced to join us. I want to know about him from one of his own damn countrymen, not an old war dog with a chip on his shoulder."

At that moment, another Imperial soldier arrived in the room, with a falconry glove upon his arm and a raven perched upon it. In his other hand he had a message, which he placed in Tullius' hand before nodding and leaving. Tullius opened the message, then angrily threw it onto the table with the map of Skyrim upon it.

"Damn this country!" Tullius roared.

"Sir, what is it?" Rikke asked.

He turned to her, anger in his eyes. "Shouldn't you be reporting to Captain Aldis?"

Rikke nodded, then left Castle Dour. Tullius, meanwhile, was fuming as he looked at the map of Skyrim. He had been far too long in this country which he neither respected, nor cared about its traditions. He knew the Empire was weak, and the real enemy was, as Rikke reminded him, sitting in on their private meetings and learning their every move. But instead of rebuilding strength here, or better yet in Cyrodiil, they were going to war again. And now, it seemed, the passes in Falkreath were closed as well. Skyrim was completely isolated from the Imperial Province to the south.

He looked over the map carefully. There were some narrow passes to High Rock, where he might convince the Legions of Daggerfall and Wayrest to support him; but those would take time. The sea, of course, still lay open: but that would take even longer. Morrowind was closed, thanks to House Redoran's increasingly anti-Imperial policies, and there were no passes from Skyrim to Hammerfell, especially since they weren't on good terms with the Empire anyway. It seemed that Flavius Tullius would be stuck in Skyrim for a lot longer than he had initially anticipated.

The Eight give me strength, he thought to himself.

(AN: So things are certainly heating up in Skyrim. Had to go back and forth between several POVs here, hope it wasn't too confusing.)

(Reading back, I noticed that I wrote Eirik incredibly inconsistently. At some times, he's strong and sure of himself and badass, and then other times he's meek and easily cowed into submission. I suppose I wasn't very sure about what and who I wanted him to be until around The Dragonborn Emperor. I would say that my writing has improved, but it really hasn't: I am the Long Man of this website, and as many of you will doubtless point out, long doesn't necessarily mean "good", especially when my writing is a mess [and I don't mean spelling]).

(But enough self-bashing. We now have a ticking clock over our heroes' heads: why is Sigrun prone to bouts of weakness? The war will start again, but when? We have three pieces on the chess-board who are poised to make their next moves. And will Mjoll believe it?)