(AN: I really don't have anything to say here, so...read on and see what surprises await you below.)

The Dragonborn Speaks

Somewhere in the Jerall Mountains, the cold winds were blowing heaps of snow hither and yon, making the Pale Pass impassable to those who went by foot or by horse. On the Cyrodiil side of the border, one lone figure, clothed in black, stood looking northward. Two wars were being fought in that land of snow and ice - for so the people from outside of Skyrim believed it all was: and now a third war was to begin. One that would span across the centuries; the culmination of a grand deception and the fulfillment of a dark prophecy.

The figure turned and pulled its hood up to reveal its face: blue-gray skin, red eyes, and lips curled into a sneer. Behind it, two other figures materialized from out of thin air. The first one's lips curled into a smile. Mysticism may have fallen out of favor among the College of Winterhold, the Synod, and the College of Whispers, but there were still some few who practiced the art. These three were among those who did.

"Why have you brought us out here?" one of the two figures asked.

"What's the matter, Sedris?" the second one asked. "Did this interrupt your latest murder plot?"

"Shut up, Tiraa!" the one called Sedris snarled. "At least I do something against our enemies. What do you do, huh? Whore your services out to the highest bidder?"

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that!" Tiraa replied, her voice dripping with disdain.

"Be silent, both of you!" the third one said. "I did not summon you here to indulge in petty rivalries. Our grand scheme is coming to fruition."

"Is that so?" Sedris asked. "Last I heard, you were running scared because something got through?"

"Hardly scared at all, my old friend and lover," replied the third one. "Merely cautious."

"Ugh, you're always cautious!" Tiraa groaned.

"And you should do well to be more cautious! Still, I believe I have found something that will spell victory for us and the true Tribunal, and death for our enemies."

"The only death I want is my stepson's," Sedris hissed.

"Wouldn't that mean your death as well?" Tiraa asked. "Aren't we supposed to, you know, live forever?" Sedris turned to the third one and winked deviously.

The third one chuckled. "Whether one enemy or a thousand, they will all be dead after we unlock the secrets in this!" The third one reached into her robes and pulled out a book bound in red leather with golden words upon the cover.

"A book?" Tiraa asked.

"Seriously, Arvela?" Sedris asked. "You dragged my saggy ass all the way out here for a fucking book?"

"Read the cover, dammit!" the third one, Arvela, insisted.

Tiraa leaned in and read what was written thereon out-loud: The Voyage of the Red Dog, by Emperor Servius Crixus, 4th Era 207.

"Huh," Sedris scoffed. "Didn't think my stepson had any interest in books, or anything besides women and wine."

"Think, both of you!" Arvela stated softly. "Carefully consider what's written on the cover."

"Wait..." Tiraa noted. "That says 'Emperor Crixus'. He isn't Emperor, is he?"

"In his own mind, maybe," Sedris sneered. She then took another look. "Wait...this can't be right. It's only the 202nd year of the Fourth Era."

"Precisely," Arvela smiled. "This book hasn't been written yet."

"Then how did you get your hands on it?" Tiraa asked. "Have you been in Apocrypha lately?"

Arvela smirked. "I gave it to myself." The other two looked at their companion in disbelief. "In a dream, the same day I told Sedris that something got through, I saw myself standing before me: an old woman, cunning and wise. I told myself where to find a book that I had sent back with my powers of Mysticism: this is that book."

"So?" Sedris asked. "What's in the book?"

"I haven't opened it yet," Arvela replied. "But I told myself that it contained the secret by which I...by which we...could bring back the Tribunal and destroy all of our enemies."

"You have my attention now," Sedris said, but her sneer didn't leave her face.

"So why did you bring us here anyway?" Tiraa asked.

"Because we must use our power together to break through this storm," Arvela said. "There is only one who can stop us, and she lies beyond it."

"Couldn't we just teleport around it?" Tiraa asked.

"This storm is from some kind of primitive Nord magic, which is beyond my knowledge," Arvela murmured.

"So there's something you actually don't know?" Tiraa giggled.

"Why not go by ship?" Sedris asked.

"That would take too long," Arvela replied. "Once she realizes what we're planning, and how it affects her and her future, it will be the end for us. Therefore we must strike quickly and decisively." She turned to Tiraa and Sedris. "Are you with me?"

"Crixus is in Skyrim," Sedris stated. "If we can kill him too while we're at it, then whatever the plan, I'm with it."

"For the Tribunal," Tiraa nodded. "The true Tribunal. ALM-SI-VI."

The three Dunmer witches put their hands together and began to chant the words of spell.

After pushing open the doors of Dragonsreach, Eirik paused for a moment. It seemed like only yesterday that he was being praised by all - even Idolaf Battle-Born - for saving Skyrim from the dragon menace. Now he was making enemies for standing up for his beliefs. As he was about to leave, one of the guards whispered to him.

"Whatever else happens," he said. "The people of Whiterun won't forget what you've done for us, Dragonborn."

Eirik smiled. The guard in Riften had said something similar to him. Into his mind suddenly there came a new thought. What if they could be persuaded? Balgruuf was Jarl, yes, but what if there were others in the city who would be open to hearing him speak? They couldn't all be put into Dragonsreach Prison, not without Balgruuf losing the support of his people. He thought about what Sigrun and Jonna had been talking about for the past nine days. Perhaps now was the time for him to speak up? If war was coming and the lives of every Nord in Skyrim were precious in light of the greater war to come, the war against the Dominion, then it behooved him to save as many as he could. They had to know.

He walked down the steps, mentally preparing himself for what was to happen next. He recalled all the stories he had heard about Saint Martin in Bruma, as well as what his mentor had told him, what he had seen and heard in the past several months during his return to Skyrim, as well as what Sigrun had told him. He came to the statue of Talos, where Heimskr was giving his sermon. He walked up to the older, shorter Nord, and tapped him on the shoulder.

"Well met, kinsman!" Heimskr greeted. "Have you come to hear about mighty Talos?"

"I have to speak to the people," Eirik said.

"These people need Talos, my friend!" Heimskr retorted.

"The Greybeards named me Ysmir," Eirik said. At this Heimskr balked, a surprised look on his face. "What I have to say serves Talos as much as it does Skyrim. Now, please, give me the floor." Heimskr seemed in awe as he stepped away; he did not bow, though. Eirik stood upon the dais where stood the statue of Talos, standing proud over a serpent which he held at sword-point. He called out to the people of Whiterun, but once Heimskr had stopped speaking, they were starting to disperse. He tried again and again, but nothing. How could he make his voice heard?

Then it hit him, like a blow from a mace or a heavy wooden beam to the chest.

"Fus...Ro Dah!"

A thunder-clap was heard in the air over the Wind District, shaking the pink-laden branches of the Gildergleam. All eyes in the Wind District now turned to him, and a few curiosity-seekers came down from Jorrvaskr and the Cloud District, or up from the Plains District. Eirik didn't smile, instead steeling himself for what he had to do next.

"People of Whiterun," he began. "I stand here before you now as Eirik, son of Bjorn, the Dragonborn, Alduin's bane. I do not speak for myself or my own achievements: I speak for the one whose image I stand behind. Talos, Hjalti Early-Beard, Tiber Septim: the founder of the Empire, inheritor of the Amulet of Kings, the sacred oath of the Divines to man. Six hundred years ago, he founded an Empire that stretched from Morrowind to the Summerset Isles. Four hundred years later, his descendant, Martin Septim, destroyed the Amulet of Kings to save Tamriel from the hordes of Oblivion. In doing so, he gave to us mortals the sacred duty to defend and protect this world.

"This Empire, the Medan Empire, the one which rules over us, has failed that divine charge! On their watch, the Empire lost half of their land before the first blood of the Great War was shed! When the Great War began, the Dominion demanded the abolition of our god-emperor Talos, the disbanding of the Blades - the Emperor's personal guard - and the southern coast of Hammerfell: when the Great War ended, the White-Gold Concordant gave the Dominion the abolition of Talos, the disbanding of the Blades, and the southern coast of Hammerfell. To call the outcome of the Great War a victory is truly a sorry, cynical view. The Empire lost Hammerfell: two thirds of the Empire of the Septims altogether lost by the Medes! Now the Empire lets the Thalmor, agents of the Dominion, to roam freely in their last three provinces, imprisoning and killing whoever they wish. This is not victory: this is shameful defeat!"

"You weren't there!" a voice cried out. "We lost so many, how could we hope to win against the Dominion in another war?"

"Hammerfell defeated the Dominion all on their own," Eirik replied.

"Only because we weakened the Dominion enough for them to be defeated!" Rikke spoke up from the crowd.

"Ah, yes," Eirik said, his expression souring as he recognized her face, though her armor was gone and her head was hooded. "The fevered pleas of a dead Empire for relevance. If the Dominion were so soundly beaten, why did Titus Mede give them everything they asked for at the onset?"

"He didn't want war!" an old woman shouted at him. "None of us did. We accepted the White-Gold Concordant because we wanted peace!"

"Yes, that's right!" Rikke returned. "Peace to rebuild and restore the Empire."

"Have we rebuilt? Have we restored?" Eirik asked. "In the west, Skyrim was fractured by the Reachmen. Imperial scholars pleaded to have the Reach recognized as an independent kingdom, which would have weakened Skyrim!" Eirik paused as he heard those words come out of his mouth. He had read The Bear of Markarth before; it was what had initially created doubt in his mind about Ulfric and the justness of his cause. But what if it had all been a lie? If the Dominion stood to gain from a divided Skyrim, then would they not gain from the Reach leaving Skyrim as well?

"And even here in the other holds, the Imperial forts are crumbling ruins!" he continued. "Desolate, taken as homes and hideaways for renegades and thieves. Our people are being slaughtered by the Thalmor, and the Empire enables them? Is that the Empire you believe in?"

"The Empire is what's keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim!" Rikke repeated. Her heart wasn't quite into these words as before, when she would say them.

"By letting the Dominion's agents roam freely in Skyrim? Acting as they see fit? Having a say in Skyrim's politics? If that is keeping the Dominion out of Skyrim, then I say the Empire has failed yet again!"

"Would you want the Dominion to invade us again?" Rikke asked. "More blood in the streets of Skyrim's cities?"

"You mean more blood than the Empire has already spilled?" Eirik retorted. People gasped in shock at his boldness. "For spill they have. Every man among you - every son, daughter, father, brother - every one who has taken up arms in defense of Skyrim, in defense of her god-emperor Talos, in defense of our traditions, will be given a swift execution."

"As they deserve!" the old woman retorted.

"Don't bother with him, mother!" a familiar voice sneered. "He's Ulfric's b*tch. He wouldn't know the truth if it came and fucked him in the ass!" Eirik turned to his right and saw Idolaf walking down the steps of the Cloud District and joining the throne.

"Behold!" Eirik returned. "A loyal dog. When the Empire says kneel, he kneels. When the Empire says 'Surrender your traditions', he only asks 'for how much?' This is what the Empire wants for us all: to be subservient dogs, to submit to their rule, to bow at their every whim and forsake our traditions when they no longer wish for them to affect their rule."

"My boy is a proud and loyal son!" the old woman retorted. "Your mother would be ashamed if she could see what kind of milk-drinker you've become."

"She speaks the truth," Idolaf said, as he pushed his way through the crowds to stand before Eirik. "You speak of tradition, but you know nothing of our struggle, our sacrifices!"

"What struggle?" Eirik asked. "What sacrifices? The struggle to accept the Empire's gold? The sacrificing of your traditions?" He cast his eyes down at Idolaf. "Tell me, straw-head: how much gold did the Emperor give your father to buy his compliance?" The crowds gasped in surprise at his words: few of them would dare talk so brazenly before a member of Clan Battle-Born.

"I should bash your face in, milk-drinker!" Idolaf growled.

"This is what the Empire has done to the Nord people, Whiterun," Eirik continued. "Turned us into cowards, weaklings: servants who bow the knee to their masters, speak their words when spoken, remain silent when commanded to, and take bribes to sell out their heritage. Things who fight with words and not with fists."

"That's it, b*tch!" Idolaf retorted. "You want to fight me? Get down off that ledge and I'll show you why I bear the name of Battle-Born!"

"Such bold words!" Eirik said, his eyes still on the people. "From what I hear, you only prey on those weaker than you. Like a certain huscarl."

"I don't know what you're talking about!"

"I do!" another voice spoke up from the Plains District side of the crowd. Jonna had climbed up onto one of the benches that sat around the Gildergleam and was speaking up as loud as she could. "Her name was Jordis the Sword-Maiden, of Solitude. She said something that your friends didn't quite like, so he let you violate her!" More gasps from the crowd at this shocking accusation against a beloved and respected member of the community.

"Shut up, b*tch!" Idolaf retorted. "It's lies, all of it. I love my wife Alfhild and respect women too much to do such a thing. That stupid little girl should be ridiculed for her obvious Stormcloak behavior! Fucking ice-brained mongrels!"

"Wait, you did what to her?" another woman's voice called out. All eyes turned to the one who spoke: a middle-aged woman with long red hair.

"Shut up, Hulda!" Idolaf snapped.

"The girl is right," Hulda said to the rest of the crowd. "I run the Bannered Mare. Last year, the fifth of Last Seed, she and her party were making quite a scene. Some kind of discussion..."

"I said shut it, Hulda!"

"...about the death of High King Torygg, or something. I don't pay much attention to politics myself. Anyway, it got heated until Idolaf said: 'Give me the word, and I'll fuck some respect into your little huscarl b*tch.'"

"Shut the fuck up, you red-headed b*tch!" Idolaf roared. "You ain't a true Nord! Why don't you go back to licking Ulfric's ass while you're at it?"

"I'm as loyal as any one of you, and a Nord through and through!" Hulda replied. "If I had known that you followed through with your threat, I would have called the guards on you!"

"This is your Empire, Whiterun!" Eirik continued, gesturing to Idolaf's leather Imperial armor. "We are nothing but slaves to them, to kill and rape as they see fit."

Idolaf turned around the people around him, laughing and smiling. "Come now, you don't believe this milk-drinker's lies, do you?" But what faced him were angry glances and looks of disgust. He turned to each of them in turn, but there was nothing. Even on the face of Bergitte, his old mother, only sadness and disappointment. Suddenly a handful of goat shit was thrown into Idolaf's face; he looked around for the culprit but saw none. Instead, he turned his wrath to the one who had publicly defamed and denounced him.

"You're a dead man, fucker!" Idolaf shouted. With that, he leaped up onto the stage and took a swing at Eirik. But Eirik was expecting this, and seized Idolaf's hand in his hand and began to squeeze it tightly. Idolaf clenched his teeth, trying hard not to cry out as a force many times stronger than he had expected was crushing his right hand.

"What was that about milk-drinker?" Eirik asked.

"Fuck you!" Idolaf retorted.

But Eirik squeezed harder, and a whimper of pain escaped Idolaf's mouth. Eirik then took him by his hair and shoved him down to a kneeling position, his right hand still crushing Idolaf's right hand. He turned back to the people of Whiterun.

"Behold your Empire!" he said. "So easily bending their knees; and they've made us just the same!" He shoved Idolaf off the dais, and into the crowd. They backed away, hissing and spitting at him as he rose up, cradling his right hand in his left.

"You're dead, milk-drinker!" Idolaf threatened as he walked backwards towards the Plains District. "Dead! You watch your back, because you'll find my knife in it!"

"People of Whiterun," Eirik said, turning back to the crowd. "The time has come for us to take our destiny into our own hands. We are Nords first, and should behave as such. If we lose our way of life, then we cease to be Nords: that..." He gestured after Idolaf. "...that is what the Empire wants of us. To become their servants, compliant with their every crime against us like sheep. This war is not merely about worshiping Talos: this is a war for the soul of Skyrim."

"So you would have us join the warmonger and rebel Ulfric?" Rikke spoke up, her voice hesitant.

"Ulfric may not be perfect," Eirik replied. "But he is the only one standing up to the Empire's abuses. If you will not believe him, then believe me. I have proven myself to Whiterun time and time again, slaying dragons and bandits who have threatened your city. I want no land or kingship, or titles of great office: nor have I gained anything from siding with Ulfric. I have lost the friendship of Balgruuf and gained an enemy in Clan Battle-Born. I want to see Skyrim as she once was: a free land of free people, who live by the bravery of our ancestors."

"And what about the Dominion?" Rikke asked. "Would you send Skyrim off to be devoured on its own, rather than protected by the Empire?"

"Skyrim is not being protected by the Empire now, as it sits as its loyal subject," Eirik concluded. "But I count the loss of every Nord in this war a grievous blow for Skyrim's future. If I could use my Thu'um to save every last son and daughter of Skyrim, on both sides, and still drive the Empire and their elven masters out of our land, I would do it without question. And you have my word, the word of Eirik the Dragonborn, that, if we win this war, I will personally guarantee that Ulfric opens negotiations with the Empire and Hammerfell: to stand together against the Dominion, not as master and slave, but as equals."

His speech concluded, Eirik stepped down from the dais. The old priest Heimskr shouted, "Praise Talos! Stormcrown has sent us a savior!"; a few others cheered, but most of the people were shocked and stunned by what they had heard and witnessed. Rikke covered her head again with her hood and turned to leave the Wind District. She was now even more doubtful than before about the Empire after hearing Eirik speak, but especially after seeing him bring Idolaf - in full Imperial uniform - to his knees. She never spoke about it to anyone, but she did not like the presence of the Thalmor in Skyrim: it was a constant reminder that, as much as she tried to deny it and pretend that he was nothing more than a warmonger followed by ignorant boot-licking savages, Ulfric was right about them.

And now she heard from the Dragonborn that he was not only on his side, but not like him. She tried to dismiss the doubts in her head; to remind herself of what she had seen at High Hrothgar, and of her training. But she also remembered how Tullius had acted. But he could be lying; telling the people what they want to hear. But he had indeed slain the dragons: that much was true. And his words spoke to her own personal doubts about the Empire.

But what about Mother and Father? she thought. What would they think of me if I rebelled against the Empire they served? How could I ever face them in Sovngarde when I die? Dammit Eirik! It was so much easier to think of you as an ignorant brute.

There were some who received Eirik with praise. His family had joined in from behind, and Jonna had spoken up about her mother. Even as he left, she turned to look at her 'father' and quickly turned away in disgust. There was a cold light in his steel blue eyes: no warmth or kindness toward her. Instead, even after he had breathed threats against Eirik in the shame of his departure, he turned to Jonna and spat at her.

"You should have been drowned at birth," he snarled at her.

If there were any further doubt in Jonna's mind, they were put to an end there and now. In her time, he was a sad, sorry, broken man who wanted her only as a way to keep his name alive.

But her anger and disgust were quickly dissolved as Eirik returned to them. Mjoll threw her arms around his shoulders, and Sigrun wrapped both of them in a warm embrace. Jonna noticed that Sigrun had joined them, with Erik following on behind her.

"I just heard the end of your speech," Sigrun said. "I didn't know you were so eloquent!"

"Thanks, I think," Eirik returned. "I must say, I had some help and experience."

"So, what's the next plan?" she asked.

Eirik sighed, as the weight of what had happened was now dawning upon him. "I tried to make Jarl Balgruuf see reason, but he got angry at me and revoked my title and huscarl."

"He didn't!" Mjoll returned.

"That he did," Eirik said. "Now I have no place to put you all for the night."

"Excuse me," Hulda said as she passed by them, the Plains District almost completely empty. "If you need a place to spend the night, come to the Bannered Mare. I'd be more than willing to put you up, provided you pay of course."

"We have money," Eirik said. "And thank you very much."

"I only wish I had known what he did to that girl," Hulda said. "Might have spoken sooner; though I doubt it'd have made much good. His family's too well connected."

"Perhaps things will change now," Jonna said. "I saw the looks on their faces as he left. It'd take a certain kind of mad to turn a blind eye to what he's done."

They made their way back down to the Plains District. Sigrun took Erik over to Warmaiden's to purchase a weapon for him, while Eirik sent the others on ahead to the Bannered Mare and he made one last visit to Breezehome. He opened the door and walked inside: Lydia was standing over the central hearth, preparing the fire for the evening meal.

"Lydia," he said to her.

"Yes, my thane?" she asked, rising to her feet. "What do you need?"

He heaved a heavy sigh. "You've been a good friend, and a loyal servant...and, you were my first. You were there for me in Sovngarde, when we stood down the World-Eater and triumphed. You were with me at Volkihar Castle, when we slew the vampires. You're practically family..."

"Something's wrong," Lydia stated. "You're not nearly this sentimental, even on your good days. What's happened?"

Eirik quickly explained what had happened at Dragonsreach, and how Balgruuf had renounced his title and taken her back into his service.

"I..." he concluded. "I don't know what will happen to you now. Maybe taken into the guard, like Iona in Riften. But, in any case, this is farewell."

"No," Lydia returned.

"What?"

"Just that," she said. "I don't accept Balgruuf's decision, and he can shove it up his ass."

"But he's your Jarl!" Eirik replied. "Aren't you bound to him over me?"

"You're my thane, Eirik," Lydia began. "Like you said, we've been through a lot together. I have a say in the matter as well, and I'm not leaving you."

"But Whiterun is your home," Eirik continued. "This is the place you've grown up in! If you stay with me, you'll be a fugitive: never welcome back here unless...unless the Stormcloaks take the city."

"So?" Lydia asked. "I've traveled across half of Skyrim with you, haven't I? I had practically moved in with you at Lakeview Estate. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Eirik."

"You mean it?" he asked. "You're willing to defy the Jarl's command...for me?"

Lydia nodded. Eirik walked over to her and swept her up in a massive embrace. She patted his shoulder, taken aback by his sudden display of affection. Once he parted, she placed her hand on his shoulder and said with a cheeky grin: "Just don't make me carry all of your burdens, now." Eirik chuckled.

"So, what else did the Jarl demand of you?" she asked. "Did he say anything else besides 'Give me back Lydia and Breezehome?'"

Eirik nodded, and presented her the axe. Lydia's eyes widened with surprise and one hand went up to cover her mouth.

"He gave you an axe?" she replied.

"Chucked it at my feet," Eirik clarified. "Not really as a gift, you see."

"Shor's balls, this is...this is a lot to take in! You must have really angered him to get this kind of response."

"What does this mean?"

"It's an old Nord tradition," Lydia said. "To give someone an axe is a challenge to a duel: if the receiver keeps the axe, then the duel is off. But if they give the axe back, then there will be a duel."

"Why would Balgruuf challenge me to a duel?" Eirik asked.

"I don't know," Lydia sarcastically stated. "Calling him a sell-out in front of his court and family would have been my first guess."

"It had to be said," Eirik returned. "I can't believe I thought so highly of him before."

"So, what are you going to do?" Lydia asked.

"Do? Well, I'm not going to do anything just yet. Not until we've spoken about it at the Bannered Mare."

"I don't mean in the long-run. I mean about this axe. Are you going to return it or not?"

"Well, what would be the consequences if I kept it?"

"Your reputation would be called into question. Basically that you slandered the Jarl and refused to back up your accusations when challenged. If you think Idolaf gives you shit, wait till word gets out about this!"

"But I don't want to kill him," Eirik replied. "I still appreciate what he's done for me."

"Even now? After he's taken your house and huscarl from you? Besides, you didn't challenge him, he challenged you."

Eirik sighed. "So we return the axe?"

"First, we return this," Lydia removed the key from her belt. "Then we go to the Bannered Mare and talk it over with your family. You can leave off returning the axe until you've made a decision about it."

Eirik smiled. "Thank you, Lydia."

"Sure thing, my thane. Now, if you don't mind, I'll see that these get into the hands of the guards. Don't wait for me, I'll be around the Bannered Mare shortly."

Eirik turned and left Breezehome, heaving a heavy sigh as he stepped outside. He didn't know if he'd be back here, to this place that had been a home to him through all the chaos of the dragons and vampires: the place where he and Mjoll had made love for the first time. He turned his right shoulder to the house and made his way toward the Bannered Mare.

The day was growing old and his limbs were aching with weariness when Eirik entered the Bannered Mare and found the table where his little family was seated. They offered him some food to eat, which he partook of little by little, as he shared with them what had happened in Dragonsreach. Mjoll was surprised at the Jarl's decision: she knew the tradition of dueling better than he had. Sigrun listened intently, while Jonna ate from her stew without much thought for what was being said.

"So?" Sigrun asked. "What are you going to do?"

Eirik shook his head. "I don't know. I'm sure you've heard the speech I made."

"Yes," Sigrun nodded. "A fine speech, as I said before. But what happens now? Do we follow up with this?"

"Follow up?"

"Gods, Da, don't be so naive!" Sigrun groaned. "You're got the attention of the people of Skyrim. You've told them your intentions and you've laid the truth before their eyes. You should have some idea of what you want to do next."

"I fear my words fell on deaf ears," Eirik sighed. "They did not throw off their shackles and come flocking to my side. Likely because they've heard similar things from old Heimskr."

"I don't think his flinging goat shit at Idolaf did anyone any favors," Sigrun muttered.

"He did that?" Eirik asked.

"Yes, I saw him do it," Sigrun replied. "Were you not looking?"

"I was focusing on the crowds, and Idolaf."

"Well, do you think you got through to them?" Sigrun asked.

"Most likely not."

"So we've failed, then? All we got was an axe out of this?"

"More than axe," Mjoll groaned. "It's a challenge for a duel."

"Ma, what's wrong?" Sigrun asked.

"I don't feel so good," she returned. Sigrun's face blanched and she reached over to take her mother's shoulder in her hands. "It's probably nausea. It'll pass eventually. Think I'll turn in early." She turned to Eirik and placed her hand on his cheek. "Do whatever you wish; I'm behind you till the end." She leaned in and kissed his cheek, then rose to her feet.

"Jons, go look after her," Sigrun said.

"Why me? She's your mother."

"I need to plan here!" Sigrun insisted, a stern look on her face.

"Yes, sir," Jonna sarcastically replied as took her bowl and went after Mjoll. Now only Eirik, Sigrun, and Erik remained at the table. Erik said nothing, for he determined that this was family business. Nor did he understand much of what they were talking about anyway.

"As I was saying," Sigrun continued. "We have an axe, that's it. But that doesn't have to be it. You can return the axe and challenge Balgruuf to a duel."

"I don't want to kill him," Eirik said.

"Then don't," Sigrun replied. "Just fight him to fight blood, or disarm him or take him to the ground or something. You did that just fine with Idolaf."

"Balgruuf is a different person than Idolaf," Eirik replied. "He's nearly as tall as me, and likely as strong."

"But he's not Dragonborn, you are."

"If you're suggesting I Shout him apart, like Ulfric did Torygg, then I won't do it."

"Fine, fine," Sigrun groaned in frustration. "But you're going to have to come to grips with the very real possibility of fighting, and probably, killing him. And then what? You're perfectly positioned to become Jarl of Whiterun yourself. Then you can hand the city over to Ulfric Stormcloak without shedding blood."

"I would be shedding Balgruuf's blood," Eirik said. "As I shed Hemming's blood."

"Isn't this a war?" Sigrun asked. "Look, I don't like shedding blood either. Trust me, it was a big shock for me to kill someone in cold blood rather than killing slavers in the rain. But it comes easier for you than for me, it seems."

"What's gotten into you?" Eirik asked.

"What do you mean? I'm helping you plan!" Sigrun returned. "If you won't decide for yourself, then I'll have to decide for you."

"Fine, fine," Eirik replied, in similar fashion to how she had said it just a few moments ago. "I'll return the axe, just...just let me finish my meal and sleep. I won't fight him at half-strength."

They finished their meal in awkward silence. Afterwards they went upstairs to their rooms. Sigrun followed Eirik into his room to discuss their plans, while Erik went off to find a room for himself. A few minutes later, Lydia entered the Bannered Mare and, after getting directions from Hulda, went upstairs to their rooms and sat outside Eirik's room. Inside, Sigrun was rummaging through her belongings and found the letter from Bjorn. As she opened it up, she noticed that the words had changed again.

"Hmm, this is curious," she said.

"What is it?" Eirik asked.

"The words have changed again," she replied. "It's not a map anymore. Just a short scrawl."

"What does it say?"

"'Thalmor mining stalhrim on Solstheim. Keep this letter with you and read it often.'" Sigrun sighed in frustration. "Well, how does this help us?"

"Did you say Thalmor?" Eirik asked.

"Yes, but I've only heard rumors of Solstheim," Sigrun replied.

"What did you hear in your time?"

"Nothing good, unfortunately," she said. "Redoran owns the whole island, the Skaal are almost all gone, and Thirsk Hall has fallen into decay after it was taken over by rieklings. I don't know, that's all I heard. I never went there myself."

"The Thalmor thing is troubling," Eirik said. "There's no Talos-worshipers on Solstheim. Their presence there spells trouble for all of us. We should investigate this."

"No! The war is important."

"The Empire isn't the major threat, the Thalmor are. We should stop them as soon as possible."

"You are not running away from me, Da!" Sigrun returned, trying to assert herself. "We have a war to fight and..."

"And what?" Eirik returned, rising to his feet. Immediately Sigrun's bravado shut down as she saw her father standing before her, stern and assertive. "The real enemy is the Dominion; they must be stopped above all else. Who is the child and who is the father here?!"

"Sorry," Sigrun meekly uttered. Eirik walked over to his bed and stretched himself out upon it.

"I see I wasn't hard on you growing up," Eirik said. "You've got an impish streak in you that I don't see coming from Mjoll."

"We can't just wait for something to fall into our laps, Da," Sigrun said. "The Empire won't wait..."

"Nor will the Thalmor," Eirik added.

"That's why we have to figure out a plan before they do," Sigrun replied. "If we don't...then all of this will be for nothing."

"I know," Eirik said. "Now let me get some sleep and I'll challenge Balgruuf in the morning." He laid back down, but couldn't quite get to sleep. Leaning up, he whispered over to Sigrun: "I'm sorry for yelling at you."

"I forgive you," was all she could say.

They fell asleep one after the other. Erik slept alone in one room, snoring like a log. Jonna had taken Mjoll to her room to deal with her nausea, and she had passed out on the bed; Jonna slept on the floor, snoring loudly as well. Lydia slouched against the side of the door to Eirik's room, trying in vain to keep her eyes open: after all, she was a fugitive for disobeying Balgruuf's orders, and she had to make sure the guards didn't catch her here.

Sigrun, meanwhile, was plagued by dreams of three red-eyed old women leering out of the shadows at her. These then transformed into an Argonian, and she felt pain all around her body. With a pained moan, she stirred from sleep, only to see a large shadow leaning over the bed where Eirik was sleeping.

"Da, look out!" she shouted.

Eirik awoke to find someone leaning over his bed. Thinking fast, he held up his hands to fend off the attacker: there was a sharp pain in his right arm and then he hit something solid. Something, or someone, was pushing down upon him with something sharp.

"Assassin!" Eirik shouted.

Within minutes, the door was open and Lydia came barging into the room to pull off the assailant. An elbow struck her in the face, which angered her and she clung to the assassin's back, refusing to let go. Mjoll and Jonna came next, both of them clad in little else but their under-shirts and simple linen trousers. Mjoll added her strength to Lydia's and managed to drag the assassin off of the bed. Jonna, meanwhile, had a candlestick with a lit candle in her hand; presumably she had grabbed the nearest thing and hoped to hit the attacker with it as hard as she could.

"Are you hurt, my love?" Mjoll asked.

"Just a scratch on my arm," Eirik returned. He then turned to the assassin as Jonna was approaching with the light from the candlestick.

"Let me go, you filthy little b*tches!" a familiar voice demanded.

"Idolaf?" Eirik asked. "This is a new low, even for you. Can't fight me face-to-face, so you try to stab me in the back as I sleep? Coward!"

"I'm not the one hiding behind women, milk-drinker!" he retorted. "Do their asses taste as good as their cunts, now?" Mjoll thrust her knee into his face, which stained the blond hair around his lips red with blood.

"What should we do with him, Eirik?" Lydia asked.

"Kill him," Jonna replied. "He's a mangy wolf; he needs to be put down."

"You can't kill me!" he retorted. "I'm Idolaf Battle-Born! Lay a hand on me, and my father will sick the Dark Brotherhood after you! He'll sick the Empire after you, the Thalmor, bandits! You'll be banished from Whiterun, all of you! You'll be outlaws, hunted down to your dying days!"

"I think we've heard enough out of you," Eirik said. He turned to the bed, took one of the sheets, and wrapped it tightly around Idolaf's neck. He then turned to Jonna. "Would you do the honors?"

"Why me?" she asked.

"He raped your mother," Eirik said. "She deserves justice."

Jonna looked down at Idolaf, indecision in her eyes. "I used to want to meet my father, to see if he wasn't as bad as I had heard. Now I see that it is. I should want this more than any of you...but I don't."

"He has to die," Eirik replied. "If not, he'll try again."

"Yes, that's right!" Idolaf gagged. "I'll try again, and next time I won't fail!"

"You said he was a rabid wolf who needed to be put down," Eirik reminded her.

"That's true," Jonna said. "But...I won't do it. If I kill him, I'll have to look into his eyes and he'll be with me for the rest of my life. I won't give him that power over me." She looked down at Idolaf and spat in his face, then kicked him in the groin and turned away.

"Then I'll do it," Eirik said. "He tried to kill me, it's time we put an end to him." He started to tighten the makeshift noose he had made around Idolaf's neck. Now his face was turning red as his hands reached up in vain to grab at the rope.

"Keep in on his knees," Eirik said to Mjoll and Lydia. "Make sure he dies as he lived."

"Don't k..." Idolaf sputtered and gasped. "Don't kill me...please! I have a son...he needs his father..."

"Oh?" Eirik asked, pausing for a moment from strangling Idolaf. He seized him by his beard and held his face up by it. "You want me to spare your life?"

"Yes, please! I have a child, I have a family that needs me!"

"You have a family?" Eirik asked. "You have a child?"

"Yes, Lars," Idolaf nodded. "He needs his father."

"So do I," Eirik replied sternly. "And you almost took me from them." With that, Eirik placed his hands on both side's of Idolaf's head and twisted as hard and as swift as he could. There was a sharp snap, resounding loudly at this time of night, and then Idolaf's body went limp. Mjoll and Lydia let him fall to the ground as Eirik turned to Sigrun: she was gazing at him in horror. It was the first time she had seen her father commit cold-blooded murder: even as she had done with Arvela.

"My father and mother were taken from me, when I was young," Eirik said to her. "I'd do anything to keep that from happening to you."

Sigrun slowly made her way over to Eirik and wrapped her arms around him in an embrace. Mjoll also joined in the embrace: she had the same loss as well, and also carried his child inside her. Lydia went to check on Jonna, who had went back to her room. Erik was the last one to arrive at the scene, and gasped at the body lying before them.

"Gods! What happened?"

"He tried to kill me," Eirik replied. "But I killed him instead."

"We gotta get out of here," Erik said. "Someone will see this: they'll call the guards."

"Yes," Eirik nodded. "We will have to leave."

"Where will we go, though?" Erik asked.

"Windhelm."

(AN: So much stuff happening in this chapter, it ended up getting split in two!)

(For those of you wondering [or fearing] that Sigrun might be overshadowed by Eirik, worry not. She has her own story to tell, and we'll get to see even more of her in the coming chapters [I have a really good feeling about the next one, as far as her character development goes].)

(As you may have guessed from this and other stories, I'm operating on the assumption that the inns and taverns in Skyrim are much larger than they're depicted in the game. I hope you're accepting of that bit of creative license, since it makes the inns all that more "immersive.")