(AN: I was surprised at how many of you actually didn't like Crixus: I thought people loved a villain more than a hero [that's what everyone tells me: they think heroes are assholes and villains are the real good guys]. To that end, the last chapter ended with him getting beaten for being a disruptive ass. You're most welcome.)

(I ended up chickening out with this cheap title because I couldn't think of anything better. But next chapter, things are about to get serious. Deadly serious. In other news, I may or may not be slowly bringing in the style of armor from the Guard Armor Replacer mod into this story. Why? Because that armor looks cool, is unique in each hold, reflects a more "natural evolution" from the city guard armor in Oblivion, and is more practical and functional than scales and chains.)

(Slight warning: I'm doing again what I did in my Nativity story. I know that I'm probably going overboard here, but we're more appropriately rated here, and I did make Mjoll a little too suspicious of Eirik in The Dragonborn and the Lioness. Also I'm telegraphing the future appearance of someone [I'll let you guess who it could be].)

Truth Will Out

For two days and nights, Eirik, Sigrun, and Jonna made their way westward. Skirting along the shores of Lake Honrich, they dove deeper into the northern half of the Rift. They arrived at Ivarstead sooner than they had anticipated, and so did not stop for the night. Instead, they made their way down the winding mountain paths into the western Eastmarch. This land they were going to was familiar to Sigrun and Jonna, for they had met Roggi Knot-beard in this area. Jonna's mind went back to him and wondered if he was alive this far back, and what kind of person he was now as opposed to back in the future.

By and by, they came to the ruins of the town of Nimalten. Iona had told them that the town had been burned on the seventeenth day of Last Seed, last year: the very day that Alduin and the dragons made their return. In Sigrun's time, Nimalten had been rebuilt somewhat and was a barricade against the Dunmeri activity in Eastmarch. She regretted that they had never gone there, for maybe things had turned out differently. But then, she remembered, that she would still be going down that doomed path. Her head began to ache again, and she tried to think of better things.

She thought now about the hold guards she had seen in Riften. In her day, the Imperial soldiers were the majority guards in Whiterun, and they wore plate armor of the Legion. But back here, they were wearing scaled gambesons over a short-sleeved hauberk of chains, with a long cloak in the hold's color wrapped around the shoulders and extending front and back. While they were riding, she brought her horse up to her Father's horse.

"Da, I have a question for you," she said. He nodded. "Did you see what the guards in Riften were wearing?"

"Yes," Eirik nodded. "Same stuff as they wear everywhere else in Skyrim."

"Really?" she asked. "You mean every hold across Skyrim equips their guards with just scales and chains?"

"Yeah," Eirik replied. "Must be inexpensive or something. I wouldn't know too much about it; I'm a woodsman, not a blacksmith."

"Doesn't seem very efficient," she noted. "I mean, one good swipe from a sword or axe, and they could lose a limb."

"Maybe, but that's the way it is," Eirik replied.

"Why does that have to be the way it is?" Sigrun asked. Eirik didn't immediately answer. "Da? Why does that have to be the way it is?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, I was lost in thought. Eorlund Grey-Mane said something like that last year. He's the smith of the Companions. Maybe you'll get to meet him and talk to him about it."

"Will we get the chance to?"

"Riften...Valtheim...Whiterun..." Jonna muttered from her horse, just loud enough to be heard.

"What did you say, Jons?" Sigrun asked.

"I was just running over in my head what you wrote on the map," Jonna replied. "I think...I think, one way or another, we will be going to Whiterun."

"So it seems indeed," Eirik returned. "Ulfric said our next target was Whiterun."

"So that's it, then?" Sigrun asked. "The war's started now?"

"Can't keep it back any longer," Eirik sighed. "Looks like you've got your war."

Sigrun frowned, not too pleased with her Father calling the resuming of the civil war 'her war.' It was, after all, the war for the heart and soul of Skyrim. She wondered how much more she'd have to convince him before he believed it.

When the first night came, they were now entangled in the woods going north towards the Valtheim Towers. They rode slowly, with Jonna nodding off against Sigrun's horse, and Eirik at her side. None of them could sleep; Sigrun was fearful of sleep because of her visions, and Eirik had to keep watch as they rode. Initially they had intended on sleeping for the night, but decided that haste was what they needed. After all, they were certain that the civil war had started again and now time was against them. Sooner or later the Empire would find out, and then they would have to act before all was lost.

As they rode in the night, Sigrun decided to ply her Father again with what she had thought about earlier that day.

"Da," she said. "If you're right, and the war has started again, will you do what needs to be done?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're fighting for Ulfric Stormcloak, not the Empire. I want to be sure you know that."

"Of course I know that," he returned. "That's why I came to Skyrim in the first place; to join the rebellion."

"But you don't understand," Sigrun stated.

"What don't I understand?"

Sigrun scoffed. "It's so hard that I have to tell you this; you, of all people. I mean, you were the one who told me this growing up. And now I have to tell it all over to you again."

"Tell me what?"

"I never met Grandda, so I can't speak for him," Sigrun began. "But I know you loved him, and that you were hurt when he scolded you in Shor's Hall about siding with the Stormcloaks. But this isn't his Empire; not anymore. They ceased to be that when they signed the White-Gold Concordant. I mean, you're living in the world they created. You should know this better than I!"

"I do know this," Eirik returned. "But, still, the Empire is part of what we are."

"Why does it have to be?" Sigrun asked. "We could rebuild Skyrim in the image of our forefathers; bring back the old Atmoran names of the gods."

"I am not worshiping Alduin," Eirik firmly stated.

"I didn't say anything about worshiping Alduin. I'm talking about truly, truly, restoring Skyrim. The Empire's only dragging Skyrim down with it in a vain effort to prove their own relevance."

"I told you this?" Eirik asked. "When?"

"Many years ago," Sigrun said. "When you told us about the Civil War, and your part to play in it. You always impressed upon us that, one day, it would be our duty to carry on your fight to protect Skyrim, to save her from her enemies. That it was our duty to do this."

"Duty..." Eirik murmured.

"But there's more," Sigrun continued. "You told us about the Champion of Cyrodiil, Crixus' ancestor; you said that Martin Septim, the last Emperor of Talos' lineage, told her that protecting Tamriel's Empire belonged to her people. Well, take a look around you. Has the Empire protected her own?"

Eirik was silent for a good, long moment. He then spoke, slowly and with a certain surprise in his voice. It was as if he was finally coming to see the connection of something he had previously believed only on faith.

"I know that they lost more than half of Tamriel before the Great War even began," he said. "I know they gave the Dominion everything they demanded with the White-Gold Concordant. I know that they surrendered Hammerfell to the Dominion, and then tried to take credit for Hammerfell defeating the Dominion. I know they let the Thalmor run amok in their land, even though they're supposed to be our enemies."

"Yes, that's right," Sigrun nodded. "The Empire is weak, feeble. They're dragging Skyrim down, and you know it. If they win, Skyrim will be dependent on the Empire for as long as they both live. And how will Skyrim fare under a bloodthirsty bastard like Servius Crixus? Or worse, an Elder Council that's in the pocket of the Dominion?"

"I told you all of this?" he repeated.

"Yeah. You said you went to Cyrodiil and helped Crixus become Emperor. You said that was your greatest regret."

Eirik sighed. "Tell me this, Sigrun. If I'm the way you say that I am, how come I told you about Crixus' ancestor, the Hero of Kvatch?"

"To remind us of how he failed to live up to the mandate of his ancestor, and that it was our duty to do what he would not."

Again Eirik sighed and shook his head. "I'm not that man, Sigrun. All I want is to retire to my house in Falkreath, cut trees, and grow old together with Mjoll and our child...well, you, you know. I've done my share of fighting and bleeding."

"What about Shor?" Sigrun asked. "Sovngarde and all?"

"Tsun said I'd be welcome back after defeating Alduin," Eirik said.

"And what about Skyrim?" Sigrun asked. "Who will defend them if not you? You saw how they flocked to you back in Riften. They will do that again, if you would only lead them. You say you're not that man, da? But you are; you know you are. You just need to see it for yourself: I pray that you don't have to see all the horrors first before you realize it."

"The horrors of war?" Eirik asked. "I've seen a few of them."

"Have you?" Sigrun asked. "Have you seen bodies hanging from the walls of Skyrim's cities? What about Bruma?"

"Bruma?"

"The purging of the Nords from Bruma."

"That happens?"

"In a few months from now. Crixus has the Legion work with Count Edvald of Bruma to wipe out the Nord population of Bruma."

Eirik shook his head. "Edvald is an ass, but I doubt he'd do anything that rash. Besides, rumor has it he was recently deposed. Can't do much purging when he's not count."

"Still, when that happens, it's too late to do anything. That's..." She paused for a moment; not in pain, but in realization. Even as her Father did when she asked him about the Empire's state.

"What is it? Are you in pain again?"

"That's why I'm here," she realized. "To get you ready to protect Skyrim while there's still hope for us all."

"I'm always ready to serve the people of Skyrim," Eirik replied. He sighed. "And, it seems, my fighting days aren't quite over yet either."

They rode on in silence for the rest of that night. At one point they heard a rider passing swiftly by them through the night. They pulled their horses to the side and stood their ground, but the horseman did not stop or challenge them: apparently they were in great haste and could not be bothered engaging them. Wolves howled in the forest, and a few came close to the horses; but after Eirik cut down a few of them, they refused to show themselves again.

Morning dawned bright and early behind them, and the sun followed them all the way up to the Valtheim Towers, casting a brazen glow upon the amber fields of Whiterun. The golden roofs of the hold shone in the sun, and Eirik sighed with happiness; a welcome sight after a long night's journey. But for Sigrun and Jonna, those golden roofs were deceptively bright. They had had more than a rough time in that city the last time they were there; thankfully they were not going back there right away.

They followed the road southward, skirting the flanks of the Throat of the World. They crossed the river at the bridges and journeyed on south and west, heading into the mountains and forests of Riverwood and Falkreath. This town, while under the protection of the Jarl of Whiterun, was close enough to Falkreath's border that they were sometimes considered part of each other, back in the days before the nine holds were officially partitioned. At Riverwood, Sigrun's heart lightened; they were now coming upon familiar territory. They did not stop at Riverwood, for the day was growing old and they had to be at Lakeview soon.

By late afternoon of the second day, the horses finally made their way to the foundation of the house. Ralof had hired some of his friends, as well as his brother-in-law Hod, to help with the building in Eirik's absence. The foundations were in, and now they were starting on setting up the frames. As the newcomers arrived, Lydia left off from the work and made her way over to Eirik's horse.

"My thane!" she greeted. "It's been almost eight days! Where have you been?"

"Riften," Eirik returned.

"Sigrun, Jonna!" Erik cried out from the work area. They raised their hands at him, but Sigrun kept her eyes fixed on him. He had doffed his shirt for working in the heat of the day, and she couldn't help but notice his body, dripping with sweat and hardened from a life of farming. A quick shove from Jonna jolted her back into reality.

"They're talking about us, Sig!" Jonna said, gesturing to Eirik and Lydia.

"Your wife will want to speak to you at once," Lydia said. "A word of caution, my thane; she's not very happy."

"I expected as much," Eirik sighed. "Very well, I'll speak to her first." He turned back to the women. "Stay here until I get back. We might have things to discuss after I talk this out with Mjoll." He walked off to find her, while the young women dismounted from their horses. As they were leading them to the nearest hitching tree, Lydia followed them.

"Jonna, is it?" she asked.

"Yes?"

"Have you ever been to Whiterun?" Lydia asked.

"Once or twice, yes," Jonna nodded.

"What about Solitude?"

"No, I haven't."

"Hmm," Lydia paused for a moment, deep in thought. "Do you know the Battle-Borns?"

"It's complicated," Jonna returned.

"Why?" Lydia asked. "Seems pretty straightforward."

"Look, quit harassing her," Sigrun interjected. Unlike Jonna, she was at Lydia's height and wasn't intimidated by the huscarl.

"I'm not harassing your friend," Lydia replied. "I just want to know something." She took a look at Sigrun and her mouth gaped open. "By the Nine!"

"What?"

"Alright, who in Oblivion are you two?" she asked. "You just show up out of nowhere and take Eirik off into the wilderness for eight days. And why in Shor's balls do you look so damn familiar?"

"What do you mean?" Jonna asked, taking a step closer to Sigrun, crossing her arms to look more defensive against the inquisitive huscarl.

"I'm not stupid," Lydia stated. "I grew up in Whiterun, I know everyone who lives there; especially the important families. You, Jonna, you look like a Battle-Born, and you..." She turned to Sigrun.

"Yes?" Sigrun asked, crossing her arms. "And me? What about me?"

"No no, it can't be," Lydia dismissed. "Impossible. Besides, you're far too old and look nothing like me."

"What are you getting at?"

"Something's going on here," Lydia stated. "I don't know who you are or what business you have with my thane, but I'm going to find out. And if you mean to bring harm to my thane or ruin his marriage, you'll have to answer to me." She walked off, eying the two of them suspiciously as she left.

"What was that about?" Jonna asked.

"She suspects us," Sigrun answered. "We need to tell them."

"What? No!"

"We're already on thin ice with m...with Mjoll," Sigrun whispered; correcting herself in case even a hint of their talk was picked up by anyone. Already they could hear loud words being spoken from behind a group of trees a bowshot off from where they stood. "Better to let them in than keep up this charade."

"But who are we letting in?" Jonna asked. "I don't know anything about this Lydia, or what kind of person she is or if she can be trusted."

"She's a huscarl," Sigrun replied. "If anyone else can be trusted with this secret outside of family, it's her. Besides, Da always spoke very highly of her."

"Family secret, huh?"

"No, you must not have been paying attention!"

"Well, can you blame me? It's your family history: I have none!"

"Don't start this again, Jons. You're part of our family. You're not some stranger. Now..."

At that moment, Eirik came walking back to them, looking rather grim. Sigrun's mouth gaped open in horror. What if something had happened? Had the worst happened? Had she ruined her own parents' marriage on account of her mission?

"What is it?" she asked.

"She knows about what we did in Riften," Eirik said at last. "I don't think she believes it, though." He turned to Sigrun. "You'll have to tell her, though. She needs to hear it from your own mouth."

"Why me?" Sigrun asked.

"I think you know." He then sighed and walked off. Sigrun then turned to Jonna.

"I'm going to tell her," she said. "Don't try to talk me out of it. I saw the look in his eyes. Something's wrong. I...I can't let what needs to be done get in the way of them."

"So what should I do, then?" Jonna asked.

"Go tell Lydia," she replied. "Might as well get her off our backs as well. And pray that they see reason."

They embraced, for what felt like the first in a very long time. Their eyes were watering as they parted, Jonna to face Lydia and Sigrun to face her mother. Sigrun prayed under her breath for the Divines to be with her as she made her way towards the grove of trees. She could feel sweat coalescing upon her palms at the prospect of facing down her mother face-to-face and having to tell her everything. Would she believe her?

At last, far too soon, she stood before the Lioness. As soon as she saw the look in her mother's eyes, she froze. There was something distrustful about the way she was looking at her. She looked upon her own daughter like a stranger, if not a potential enemy. Sigrun could feel her knees shaking, and her tongue swelling within her mouth. Mjoll stood before her, arms crossed, and gazed suspiciously for a long while, and then spoke.

"My husband tells me that you and he went on a little adventure," she said.

"Yes, that's right," Sigrun replied.

"He said you were gone for almost eight days," she continued. "That you went to Riften and spent the night there. Is this so?"

"Yes, but it's not what you think it is," Sigrun returned.

"And how do you know what I think it is?"

"Well, I mean, I wouldn't do...that! Gods above, he's married!"

"Damn right he is," Mjoll insisted. "And yet two fair young women carried my husband away from me for eight days into the wilderness and then to Riften, without so much as a word, and you expect me to believe that nothing happened?"

"Well...yes."

Mjoll sighed. "I wish I could believe you, girl. I want to believe you." She stood up from where she was leaning against the bole of the tree. "But this isn't the first time he's done something like this."

"You...you mean he's...cheated on you?" Sigrun asked, aghast.

"We weren't together at the time," Mjoll replied. "But we both fancied each other. But the fact that he went back there with two young women is troubling. Why else would he sneak off?"

"Wait, wait," Sigrun interjected, a look of disgust on her face. "I don't know what happened before, but nothing happened between us. I swear. Gods, the very idea!"

"What do you mean by that?"

"I mean, that you would doubt his word!" Sigrun retorted. "He's done so much for you!"

"And what about what I've done for him?" Mjoll replied. "I've put myself in grave danger, many times over, for his sake." Her lips quivered. "And now I'm carrying his child, and he might have been unfaithful to me? What am I supposed to think?" She took a step closer to Sigrun, which made the young woman tremble.

"And you, acting all hurt and innocent, the chief suspect...and those eyes! You tell me: what am I supposed to think?"

Sigrun swallowed hard, then dared to look her mother in the eyes.

"'Pinch with three fingers, pull back to your eyes, and breathe out before release,'" Sigrun quoted.

Mjoll's eyes widened. "What did you say?" Sigrun repeated those words. "Why did you say it like that?"

"You know those words?" Sigrun asked.

Mjoll nodded. "I know them. What does this have to do with you?"

"You want to know what you're supposed to think?" Sigrun replied. "Well, I'll tell you straight out, and you can decide for yourself whether I'm telling the truth or not."

"Alright," Mjoll said, taking a step back. "I'm listening."

"Many years from now," Sigrun said. "A kind, wise, and powerful woman told a little girl those very words, when she taught her to use the bow. She said her father told her those words; that he wanted her to be a hunter when she grew up." Sigrun let out a gasping chuckle, her eyes watering as she spoke. "I was never very good at it."

"Where did you hear those words?" Mjoll asked.

"Is it so hard to guess?" Sigrun asked. "Look at my eyes, m..." She took another step closer and couldn't believe her eyes. Her mother's lips were indeed very similar to her own.

"Who are you?" Mjoll gasped.

"That woman I mentioned," Sigrun said. "Is you. And that little girl..." She looked down at Mjoll's stomach; hidden beneath her clothes and unnoticeable at this stage. She then looked back up into her mother's eyes, so similar to her own.

"That little girl is me."

Meanwhile, Jonna made her way over to where Lydia was washing her face from the heat and sweat of working and starting a fire for the evening meal. She didn't make her presence known yet, as she was still trying to mentally ready herself for what she was about to say. She tried to put on her best, bravest face; steeling herself as though she was going into battle, and tried to imagine Sigrun at her side. She was within earshot, but for now she couldn't call upon her presence to give her strength.

"Huscarl!" she called out.

"Yes, what do you want?" Lydia asked, not turning around as she started striking flint over the tinder.

"I have something to tell you," she said. "But first, could you turn around and look at me?"

"Can't you tell me this way?"

"I need you to look at me," Jonna insisted. "It'll make more sense if you can actually see me."

Lydia sighed, then stood up and turned around. "Alright, I'm here, I'm looking at you. Now what did you want to tell me?"

"You were right," Jonna sighed. "About me. I am...part-Battle-Born."

"I knew it!" Lydia smiled. "You have the look of one. Who's your father? Olfrid?"

"No," Jonna sighed again. "Idolaf."

Lydia scoffed. "Yeah, sure. Idolaf's your father. Did he beget you when he was three?"

"I'm serious!" Jonna replied, a hint of bitterness and harshness in her voice.

"No," Lydia replied. "No, because he's about the same age as Eirik. And you, you can't be much older than..."

"Eighteen."

"Eighteen? Gods, you look like you could be my age! Still, I doubt Idolaf was having children at twelve years old."

"It's...complicated."

"Try me," Lydia replied. "I've seen some strange stuff in my time."

"This is really strange," Jonna warned.

"Like stranger than going to Sovngarde and coming back to tell the tale?"

Sigrun sighed. "Well, the reason that it doesn't make sense to you is, because...I was only just born. Like maybe a few months ago, if I was even born yet."

"What?"

"You see, I'm from eighteen years in the future," Jonna began. "Same as Sigrun. Something bad happened in the future, and we're here to set it right."

Lydia seemed lost in thought for a moment; her brow furrowed, her lips pursed, and her eyes looking upward. "That's not what I would have thought."

"Look, I know it sounds crazy," Jonna replied. "And, trust me, I barely understand any of this myself. But I'm here, and well, you were right about me."

Lydia was unreadable. Jonna wished that she'd just laugh it off, or at least try to rationalize it in some way. She also realized that she had no way of convincing this huscarl of what she was saying.

"So what was it you came here to fix?" she asked at last.

Jonna was taken aback by this. "What? You believe me?"

"Like I said, I've seen some pretty strange stuff; this certainly takes the top place. Now tell me what you're here to do."

"Keep the rebellion alive," Jonna replied.

"The Stormcloak Rebellion? Well, in that case, I don't see any harm in you. My thane's part of the rebellion himself, and you're wanting to help the rebellion. Seems our paths run together." Jonna sighed with relief. "There's just one thing, though."

"What's that?"

"What's a Battle-Born doing helping the Stormcloaks?"

Jonna cleared her voice. "Well, to be honest, I'm not exactly a Battle-Born."

"But you said..."

"Yes, I did. Idolaf is my father. But my mother is...someone else."

Lydia gasped. "I'm so sorry."

"He raped my mother and I'm the result of that. I don't bear the name Battle-Born because my mother didn't want me to have anything to do with him."

Lydia's eyes suddenly widened. "Your mother wouldn't happen to be Jordis the Sword-Maiden, would she?"

"Yes, she is! How did you know?"

"I was with her just last month, at the Siege of Volkihar Castle," Lydia began. "Oh, the things our masters don't know when we huscarls get together and talk!" She stifled a smile when she saw that Jonna was still looking serious. "She said that there had been some kind of...trouble between her and one of the Battle-Borns. She said that Jarl Elisif forced her to be quiet about it, since it would mean a disgrace to one of her supporters. Pretty gutsy of her; but then again, I think Crixus might have had a hand..." She then realized that she was rambling, and stopped.

"I asked you about Solitude because you look like Jordis," she concluded. "More than Idolaf, by far."

"That's not what you said before," Jonna commented.

"Well, I apologize," Lydia replied. "I didn't know any better. But hey, don't worry. You're among friends now."

"Friends?" Jonna asked. "Just like that?"

"Well, I don't know about your story," Lydia said. "But I'm on good terms with Jordis, and if you're really her daughter, then I suppose that puts you into my charge."

Jonna breathed easily for a while. It felt good to tell her secret to someone; much better than she had initially felt. She wanted to hug Lydia or say thank you out loud, but she didn't say anything or do anything yet. She just stood there, a smile on her face.

"What about your friend Sigrun?" Lydia asked. "Who is she?"

"Oh, you wouldn't believe me if I told you," Jonna chuckled.

"Try me."

"Eirik!" Mjoll called out.

All eyes turned toward the large Nord as he walked towards the grove of trees where his wife was waiting for him. Hod made a joke about a whipped dog, but Ralof shoved him in the shoulder. A hushed silence fell upon the group as they waited and listened for the outcome of what they had heard only the beginning thereof. Mjoll's outburst had been quite loud, and though Sigrun had been quiet in her speech, the sudden exclamation of Eirik's name caught them all by surprise. Once he appeared by the trees, Mjoll pushed him over to Sigrun's side, then stood before the two of them, arms crossed as she looked them both up and down.

"This young woman claims to be our daughter," she said, in a much quieter voice than before.

"Yes, I know," Eirik replied. "She told me while we were traveling."

She said nothing as she looked the two of them down carefully. Doubt rested in her eyes.

"You don't believe her?" Eirik asked. "Come, now. You've traveled much farther across Tamriel than I have. How many stranger things have you seen than I have, and you can't believe her?"

"I'll need proof," Mjoll said at last.

"What more proof do you need?" Eirik asked. "I mean, you can see her face. She has your eyes, and my nose." Sigrun blushed and tried to hide her face.

"She could have made that up to hide what happened back in Riften," she replied.

"What?!" Eirik exclaimed. "Love, you know me. You know I have never, and would never, be unfaithful to you! As Talos is my witness, I'd sooner die than lay hands on another woman."

"Yet you did, remember?" Mjoll asked. "Back in Riften, even."

Eirik sighed. "That was before we were married, and drink was involved. And, possibly, Sanguine."

"And this time is different?"

"Yes!" Eirik insisted. "She told you so herself."

"And you believe that she's only here to help you win the civil war?"

"Yes," Eirik replied. "It's all she ever talks about." He turned to Sigrun and shrugged: it was true, after all.

Mjoll said nothing.

"I would never come between the two of you," Sigrun said. "I mean, gods, you're my parents. I'm only here to..." Mjoll held up her hand to silence her.

"Come with me, both of you," she said at last.

The three of them walked down from the homestead, going north towards Lake Ilinalta. At the water's edge, Mjoll told Eirik to wait for her as she and Sigrun waded out into the water. Once it came up to their knees, they halted. Sigrun felt a little at ease, standing once again in the cool, clear waters of the lake she had grown up alongside all her life. But then she saw the stern look on Mjoll's face.

"Pull your trousers down," Mjoll ordered.

"What?" Sigrun exclaimed.

"You say you didn't sleep with my husband?" Mjoll asked. "Well, here's one sure way to know. Now take them off."

"But you're a woman! You're my mother!"

"If that's so, then I've likely seen you naked before," Mjoll returned. "Trust me, I don't like this anymore than you do, but I need to know for sure. Now go on, now."

Very sheepishly, Sigrun unfastened her belt and, reaching underneath her chain-mail hauberk, let her pants come down to just above her knees. Beneath her pants, she wore a linen cloth wrapped around her lower extremities. It must have stank to heavens, from the many days of not being washed. Sigrun was uneasy as Mjoll approached her and pulled the cloth down as well. A cold hand reached between her thighs and she let out a whimper.

Then suddenly Mjoll stepped back, a look of surprise in her eyes. Still feeling uneasy, Sigrun pulled her linens back into place and hiked her soggy trousers back onto her hips.

"Oh, child, I'm so sorry!" Mjoll sobbed. To Sigrun's surprise, Mjoll threw her arms around her and wept into her shoulder. "I'm sorry I didn't believe you."

Sigrun sobbed into her mother's golden hair. There was no need for words right now.

That very same day, many miles to the north, Rikke was kneeling before the post in the courtyard of Castle Dour. Her breastplate lay to the side, and her tunic had been removed save for the strap of linen that bound her breasts in place. Captain Aldis stood behind her, with a thin wooden stick in his hand; a little ways off stood Crixus. He had just finished his forty lashes and was looking nonetheless for ware: a servant from the Blue Palace was seeing to his wounds, but he still bore a defiant smirk on his face as he watched her receive her punishment, Black-Briar mead in hand.

Captain Aldis called out each strike as it came down upon her back. Rikke gritted her teeth and clenched her fists as the stout stick tore red welts into her back with each blow. She had undergone such severe discipline in her early days of the Legion: both of her parents had shown her the scars on their backs from their time of service as well. Most women would have broken down in tears and screams at the first blow, or even the second. But she was a Nord, and a soldier of the Imperial Red Legions. Though her tongue was still, her body shook with the force of each of the captain's blows.

When the final blow landed and no more came, she finally exhaled. She would be sore for a few days now. She tried not to look at Crixus as he taunted her, telling her how easily she got off her punishment. Gently she put her tunic back onto her swollen, aching back. She would have to see about tending to it herself: unlike Crixus, she had no connections to Jarl Elisif to take care of her for her. Instead, she made her way back to her quarters in the castle, taking her breastplate along with her.

Once inside, she searched in her small chest of supplies for a healing salve. She found a minor one, made from wheat bran and crushed blue flowers found up in the high mountains: not very strong, but it would suit her needs. Taking off her shirt, she applied it to her back as best she could, wincing against the pain. When at last it was all done, she placed the bottle back and looked at her tunic.

She had a new assignment ahead of her: seek out Eirik the Dragonborn. She did not wish to carry this out, especially considering, as General Tullius had suggested, how much they had in common. She didn't know if this was just Colovian prejudice or a true assessment: she told herself that it was the former. It was so much easier to kill her own people when she thought of them as ignorant thugs, opportunistic bandits, enemies of the Empire, rather than people. Now she would have to be brought face-to-face with one of the strongest supporters of Ulfric Stormcloak. She would have to come face-to-face with the fact that he wasn't some effeminate toady, as she told herself - and as Crixus was prone to say of all the Nords, Stormcloak or not.

Walking over to the chest in her room, she rummaged through it until she found something precious, something hidden at the very bottom of the drawer, where few would look to find it: an axe-shaped amulet of Talos. Tiber Septim made the Empire; so why was the Empire denying him? Why was it a lie to worship the founder of the Empire she fought to defend? The scene earlier today had brought home just how much of a hold the Thalmor had on the Empire: they were their enemies, yet they pandered to their every wish, and let them operate in their Empire? What kind of Empire would let their sworn enemies operate freely in their own land?

No, she told herself. I am a servant of the Empire, a loyal daughter of Skyrim. My duty lies to the Empire first and my faith second.

She had said this over and over, for every month the Empire was still at war with Skyrim. She had to tell herself that they were the bad-guys, the Stormcloaks. They were the ones who were causing chaos in Skyrim with their war: why couldn't they just submit to the White-Gold Concordant like everyone else? Why couldn't they just submit...submit to their enemy? But not everyone had submitted: Hammerfell rejected becoming the Dominion's client-state. They had defied the Empire, and now they were no longer part of the Empire. But they managed to beat back the Dominion; only because the Empire weakened them first. But if the Empire had so weakened the Dominion, why were they kowtowing to their wishes? What had the Empire really accomplished with the White-Gold Concordant? They brought peace after years of war. But had that peace been worth it? Had the Empire rebuilt in the almost thirty years since the Great War ended? Of course they had, she told herself; but why were they still letting the Dominion operate in the Empire? Wasn't the Empire supposed to be keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim? That's what they told themselves, that's what she told herself...right as a Thalmor justicar haughtily pranced into view.

"Mother, Father..." she said, placing the amulet back into her drawer. "Forgive me."

(AN: So there goes this chapter. I hope things are a little calmer now.)

(Two things I want to bring up. First, when I initially conceived the idea of a spin-off AU Kingmaker saga, Eirik wasn't going to be as noble as he sort of is here. He was going to be a wholly different character, more upfront about his aspirations of becoming king and bedding every woman he could find. That was obviously too great a departure from his character, so that was cut when I decided to go back with this storyline [and has now been officially closed with this chapter].)

(The second thing is Rikke. I wrote her very poorly initially, basically having everyone who was on the Empire's side look down their noses at the Stormcloaks [they kind of do in-game, but I made it worse]. And now I have to rewrite her, basically. How she will turn out I won't say, because that would be spoilers. I'll let you all speculate and suggest and whatnot, as we prepare at last for the journey to Whiterun.)