(AN: I had hoped to get up to the current date of the Sigrun and Erik story-line, but found myself running out of things to put in the last chapter. So they're going to be sitting on their hands for the next five days while we advance the second plot here.)

(Speaking of this plot, everybody is all about the third of two options: well, prepare to see the fourth option! You'll find out what I mean once you read this [or if you've played the Thirsk storyline already])

Far Off Yet Near

Unfortunately for Sigrun, getting rid of the rieklings was the easiest part of retaking Thirsk. In addition, they had to clean out the hall of all the filth they had left behind. Despite having taken no wounds - nor having bloodied their weapons in any considerable fashion - the Thirsk warriors showed no signs of cleaning up. They brought their things up from the beach, took seats, and decided to rest up. Halbarn alone seemed interested in doing anything: he had a forge to clean up and get ready for use again, and that meant getting firewood for the hearth as well. While he was outside chopping trees with a borrowed axe, Sigrun and Erik - the ones who had taken the most wounds in the battle - now had to do the hard part of cleaning up.

They only took a little while to bind up their wounds and wipe off the blood before they went to work, amid the layabouts of Thirsk. The only movement they made was when they started calling for mead and Elmus went to look for their old stores.

"This is outrageous," Erik groaned to Sigrun as they were shoving rubbish into a cauldron. "If I wanted to clean shit up, I'd have stayed home."

"This is their hall," Sigrun added. "You'd think they'd want to clean up their own home."

"We need to broom these milk-drinkers fast," Erik commented. Sigrun bit her lower lip to avoid laughing, and instead shoved him on the shoulder.

"Really? Broom? And we're knee-deep in dirt, trinkets, and Shor knows what else!"

"You know what I mean," he returned. "These people are what my da would have wanted of me: complacent with their current lot in life, with no desire to change. They're only going to drag us down with them. We need to find the Skaal, like our initial plan."

"You're right," Sigrun said. "Although..." She looked at them. "Perhaps we could do something about them."

"What do you mean?"

"In my time, the Nords are being eradicated left and right," she explained. "We lost Eastmarch and the Reach, and gods alone know what happened to Solstheim. There will be war with the Dominion soon, I know it. And the more Nord lives die now, the fewer there'll be to defend ourselves once the Second War happens. Every Nord life lost is a serious hurt to our cause..." She looked over at the Thirsk inhabitants. "...even the least of us. They don't need to be abandoned: they need to be rebuilt. Turned into warriors again."

"But how?"

"We need to challenge their leadership," Sigrun said. "Do something about Bujold..."

"Quickly, now!" Bujold ordered. "It's getting dark out there. It'll be night soon and I'd like to sleep in a clean hall."

Sigrun stood up. "If it's that urgent, why don't you come down here and help us?"

"We're exhausted from the battle," Bujold replied. "We'll stay here, thank you."

"Exhausted?" Sigrun asked incredulously. "You hardly killed a thing! How can you be exhausted?"

"We are exhausted from the battle!" Bujold repeated. "It would be best for us to rest now and not over-exert ourselves. Plenty of time for that later."

"If this is how you lead, from the back, then it's no wonder you lost your hall to the rieklings," Sigrun retorted.

Bujold rose from her seat, an angry look on her face. "You know nothing, outsider. I presented the entrails of the beast of Ilfark; I have the right to be chieftain. What glories do you have to your name that you'd even dare to challenge my authority? You know, I could kill you for challenging me."

"Then why don't you?" Sigrun returned.

"Uh, Sigrun," Erik whispered. "Do you really think that's wise?"

"Come on, then!" Sigrun shouted. "You couldn't even kill one riekling when we were taking back the hall. Do you think you could take me?"

Bujold frowned, but did not draw her axe. "Unfortunately, I need you alive. But don't think I've forgotten this insult. Now get back to cleaning!"

Sigrun knelt down and returned to her work, and Erik turned to her with an incredulous look on his face.

"What was that for?" he asked. "Don't we need them to show us where the Skaal are?"

"Yes," Sigrun replied. "And that's precisely why I said that. If she'd drawn her blade against me, I'd accuse her of oath-breaking. As it is, now everyone's seen publicly how little honor really matters to her."

"What if she had actually fought you?" Erik asked.

"I would have beaten her," Sigrun replied.

"You think you could?"

"I know I could," Sigrun returned. "But beating her isn't important: getting these milk-drinkers into fighting shape is more important. And thankfully, I have seven years of practice with Jonna to fall back on. I think I can handle it."

They continued to work in silence, taking cauldron after cauldron-full of junk and dumping it into the sea. Once the hall was cleaned, Halbarn had come back with many cords of wood for the hearth and the forge: that was the good news, for now they'd put the cold out of thought. But then they all started clamoring for mead: unfortunately, Elmus had bad news for them. His search of the store-room had revealed that all of their new stock had been fouled by the rieklings: they had dumped the barrels to use for their own purposes, and those that were still full had been stuffed with rotting cheese, dirt, and what smelled like riekling-shit. The older brew was still good, and one of these barrels Elmus had tapped and was sharing for them all.

As the night deepened, they sat around the hearth, drinking from the old mead. Most of them found it delicious, but it was too much for Bujold to stomach and she could barely wince her way through one cup. Of course, once they had all had a round, now there came complaints about how they wanted meat. Some suggested that they go out on a hunt, but Bujold shut them down.

"We just got our home back," she assured them. "There's no need to go off hunting right now. We've got plenty from our supplies to last us another seven days. Solstheim isn't going anywhere: let's just relax and enjoy the time we have off."

"Are you serious?" Sigrun asked. "You just want to sit around here, drinking mead and-and growing lazy and not do anything? Do you want the rieklings to come back and chase you off again?"

"You know, I'm starting to wonder why I let you stay in my hall," Bujold said. "You're starting to bother me with all of your elf-talk."

"Why? Because I want to do something rather than just sit on my ass all day?" Sigrun asked.

"Oh, listen to you complaining!" groaned Bujold. "You complained when you cleaned up, and now you're complaining again."

"Really? I'm the one complaining, when all you and your little band of layabouts did was complain on your beach-side camp? It was this easy to take Thirsk and none of you lifted a finger: gods, you were ready to settle on the beach permanently!"

"How can you tolerate this one?" Kuvar asked. "Give me the word, and I'll toss her out of here. Or better yet, axe her myself."

"No, not yet," Bujold said. She then turned to Sigrun. "I seem to have angered you. I don't wish to have you as an enemy. Can I offer the hand of peace to you?"

"In exchange for what?" asked Sigrun.

"I'll let you know later tonight," she said. "For now, be at peace, rest, enjoy yourself...and lick your wounds."

Sigrun and Erik drank in silence, while the rest of the Thirsk hall cheered and celebrated and sang songs about the heroes of their past. Sigrun's mind wandered in the silence, and she thought of home: of Skyrim. The Medan Empire was like this: living on the glories of the Septim Empire of the past, while simultaneously disavowing them by denying Talos, the founder of that Empire. The problems of the world at large were being reflected here, in the small scope of her own world. And yet, fearfully enough, she felt that this could be her Father. If he kept conceding to the Empire's beliefs, compounded by spending time around people like the future Emperor Crixus, or dragging his feet in fighting the Empire, he would become like this.

Well, she thought to herself, one way or another, it won't happen. I won't allow it.

Night fell swiftly upon the island of Solstheim. The warriors of Thirsk began nodding off one by one: only Sigrun and Bujold remained awake. But Sigrun paid the erstwhile chieftain little mind. Her attention was now on Erik: he had fallen asleep and was now leaning his head upon her shoulder. Normally she would have pushed him off immediately, but he was her only ally on this island and so felt some measure of closeness to him: it was them against everyone and everything here, and such closeness tended to bring people together. Furthermore, as his head was leaning against her shoulder, she smelled his hair. Strong thoughts of running her fingers through his crimson locks, and pressing her body against his firm chest, began to swirl through her mind. But this time, the thoughts of rebuttal were faint and distant: yes, she had a task to accomplish, but she was on Solstheim for the foreseeable future with Erik. Her goals were being sidelined, and the smell of his hair was intoxicating.

Just then, she heard Bujold clear her throat close at hand. She had walked over from the other side of the hearth and was standing next to her, wrapped in a fur cloak and dressed in leather armor with her axe in her belt.

"What do you want?" Sigrun asked.

"The last part of our deal," Bujold replied. "Do this, and I'll take you and your boyfriend up to the Skaal village."

"He's..." Sigrun was about to protest, but then decided that it was futile to argue the point: she was just now envisioning the two of them entwined in the deeper parts of Lake Ilinalta together. "Nevermind. What's the last part of the deal?"

"Now that we've taken back Thirsk," Bujold began. "I need to take a little trip up to Hrothmund's Barrow. He's the founder of Thirsk Hall, and his spirit has always watched over us since the day he was slain by Ondjage the Fell-Wolf."

"Really?" Sigrun asked.

"It's all silly, I know," Bujold dismissed. "But they say that, after presenting a trophy, the chieftain goes to Hrothmund's Barrow and lays their hand on his axe, which is buried in his crypt with him; then Hrothmund's spirit judges them. I went up there with Kuvar as my second, when I slew the Ilfark beast, and was judged worthy to rule as the chief of Thirsk."

"So how does that involve me?" Sigrun asked.

"Your talk has made the others question my leadership," Bujold said. "Not to mention...well, other things. But once I have Hrothmund's blessing again, they'll know who to follow."

"How do you know he'll bless you?"

"He will, I know he will," Bujold smiled confidently. "He's already judged me worthy. The ceremony is just a formality, just a way of reminding him why I'm worthy. And I want you to be there, as my second."

"Why me?" Sigrun asked.

"Well, you did help me take back Thirsk," Bujold said. "All Kuvar did was b*tch and moan and vacillate between wanting to stay on the beach or trying to take back Thirsk before we were ready. He might try to claim victory for himself."

And you aren't? Sigrun thought. Her thoughts raged against this smug woman, barely worthy of the name Nord. She wanted to slap Bujold across the face as hard as she could, pin her down beneath her foot, and shout some sense into her. The Nord way of life was being erased, and here she was bringing shame to it with her actions, and shame to all of the inhabitants of Thirsk as their leader.

Still, she had a job to do, and the Thalmor were likely up to mischief while she waited. Worst case scenario, she and Erik would have to fight them all on her own: she would need these seven warriors - milk-drinkers though they may be - in order to complete her task.

"Alright," Sigrun replied. "Let's go to Hrothmund's Barrow."

The two of them left Thirsk Hall while all the others were still asleep. Bujold took a burning brand from the hearth and used it as a torch to light their way. Erik remained behind, sleeping where Sigrun had sat for a moment: she felt that he could be left alone with the others in there. After all, he had slain seven rieklings before their eyes and Bujold wasn't there to lie about it: what harm could they do to him? The greater fear was what would Bujold do to her. Though she was certain this woman couldn't hold her own in a fair fight, Sigrun was also aware of the fact that she was in a land unfamiliar to her. Bujold may know this land better than she herself - certainly she would know Hrothmund's Barrow better than she would - and could be planning a trap of some kind. She kept her hand on her sword in case something happened.

Yet Bujold spoke little as she led the way further inland, going west into the snows. Then suddenly she halted, frozen in place, and looked fearfully at a large black ruin on the hills up to their right. Illuminated in the light of the two moons, Sigrun saw that the ruin was large, but no light gathered on its black sides: it stood up like a piece of blackness, rising up out of the land. There was something eerily familiar about that, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it.

"What's wrong?" Sigrun asked. "Why are we stopping? Are we here already?"

"Last year, my warriors and I..." Bujold began. "...we were under some kind of spell. I don't know how it happened, but one day we just woke up and started working on that temple up there. I could see my hands growing cold and blistering, I could feel my arms and legs grow heavy, I could hear my throat growing hoarse as words not my own came from my lips: but I couldn't stop myself. It was worse than a nightmare, for there was no waking up from it." She sighed. "Come, let's get away from here as quickly as possible."

Bujold continued westward, while Sigrun cast one curious glance up at that temple. Was this the very site where her Father had entered Apocrypha and faced down the Dragonborn Miraak? Her mind went back to Eirik, and she wondered how he fared and how her mother and the girl as dear as a sister to her were doing back home; and if the war was going their way as she had hoped.

Turning aside from the temple hill, they carried on through a snow-drift filled with the bones of dragons: the remains of an old battleground, now all but forgotten. From there, they began to turn north by northwest, and left the temple ruins behind them altogether. They passed together through a glacier, with massive walls of ice on either side. Above their heads, the Northern Lights danced exquisitely in the night sky, bringing a smile to Sigrun's face. The appearance of the night lights always made her feel at home, as though the spirits of her grandparents - Bjorn and Signy, whom she had never met - were watching over her from Sovngarde.

Once they passed through the glacier, they started wending their way through the snowy mountain passes, striking a bee-line directly northward. After many long hours of walking, they found themselves near a wall of stone with only a way westward to go. This way Bujold led them, her brand flickering in the cold, northern wind. At last they came to the edge of the wall and found themselves standing before an imposing ruin built into the side of the mountain.

"There it is," Bujold said. "Come on, now. Let's get inside before anything comes for us. I want to get this over with as quickly as possible."

They entered the ruin and found themselves inside a dark, cold room. Bujold seemed to know the way, for she went around with her brand and lit several ancient braziers that now flooded the room with light. Bujold led the way into the tunnels of the barrow, and Sigrun followed after her: glad at least that the bitter cold of the outside was behind her. But now she was fully within Bujold's grasp: she had no idea of how to get back without her. She whispered beneath her breath the steps and turns they were taking: if the worst happened, she'd have to find her way back without her and needed to know the way.

A little ahead there was a rumbling sound and a rush of water. Sigrun followed after the sound and saw Bujold lighting braziers in a large room. The air was damp in here, and there was still an inch or so of water on the floor that sloshed and echoed loudly as their feet passed through it. Beyond the water they came now to a stone, set on a pedestal. Within that stone was a great two-handed axe with two blades on either side. Bujold was smiling widely as she approached the axe.

"Here we are, at last," she said. "The axe of Hrothmund the Red. Stand back, while I perform the ritual." She then reached out and placed her hand upon the shaft of the axe. There was a sudden burst of cold wind that ruffled Sigrun's hair: the brand flickered but did not go out. In the darkness, a voice of an old Nord warrior whispered upon the wind.

"Another comes to seek my blessing for the leadership of Thirsk Hall."

"Yes!" Bujold cried out. "It is I, Bujold the Intrepid. You blessed me in the past, and now I've rid the hall of rieklings and returned it to its rightful owners."

"And well it is that this has happened," the voice whispered again. Then there was silence. Both Sigrun and Bujold's hearts skipped a beat in that deathlike stillness. Then there was the rush of cold air and the voice spoke once more.

"But I have always watched, and know that it was your softness that lead to your own exile."

"No!" Bujold objected. "I...it wasn't me, it was them! They didn't want..."

"You were their leader: you allowed your fellow warriors to grow weak while the dangers around you mounted."

"But I reclaimed it!" she returned.

"Do you think I am blind? I know that you cared not for your hall, only your wounded pride. Your axe was not bloodied by a single drop of riekling blood: you have done nothing worthy of honor."

"But Thirsk! Think about Thirsk! Who will lead them if not me?"

"Perhaps it is best for a band in the wilderness to have no leader than a poor one." Silence once again. "Still, I sense the presence of another...far off...yet near." The cold wind blew upon Sigrun from the back, pushing her forward. "Let this one touch the axe."

"Are you...are you insane?" Bujold retorted, aghast. "She's not one of us! She's an outsider!"

"I know that it was by her hand that Thirsk was reclaimed. I wish to test her spirit." Suddenly Bujold sprung back, as if her hand had been burned: she let out a yelp and cradled her hand, quite shocked by what had happened. Sigrun, meanwhile, took a step closer and placed her hand upon the pommel of the axe.

"The spirit of the Hawk rests heavily upon you. You have the determination of the Whale: unbowed, unbent, and unbroken. But you are cast adrift on the ocean of time: stay the course, return when you are ready, and I will grant you my blessing." The wind suddenly died down, and Sigrun was left standing there, shocked by what had just happened.

"So that's it, then?" Bujold asked, shouting into and at the emptiness. "You'll just forsake me like that? After all I've done for you and your damned hall? What about all those who came before me? Didn't they bring us to this point? Why is it all on me, huh? Why is it my fault?!"

"You heard what he said," Sigrun replied.

Bujold stopped shouting, her voice quivering with sorrow. "What if he didn't say anything?"

"What do you mean?"

"You heard the wind, and nothing else," Bujold said. "We don't have to listen to some disembodied voice: we don't need him. Thirsk needs a chieftain, no matter what some old ghost says, and I'm all they've got. I won't be embarrassed again!"

Sigrun couldn't shake the feeling that Bujold reminded her much like the stories her Father told her of Crixus: how he would refuse to accept the Divines, no matter what proofs he had been shown. She wondered if it was this absurd arguing with the Dwemer of old: or perhaps no one dared argue with them, as they had sound-magic and mechanical might to assert their godlessness over everyone who objected.

"What you're asking me to do," Sigrun replied. "Goes against everything I believe in."

"Oh, don't worry," Bujold assured her. "You don't need to lie. Just don't tell anyone what you heard here. We can start our own traditions, after our own tastes, and those who come after us can plead and grovel before this axe if they wish to. I mean, it's not like we worship Hrothmund or anything. Sure, he was our founder, but he wasn't a god: we don't need him. We're alive, he's not: we look to ourselves for strength."

"Strength?" Sigrun returned. "Look at you! You're a fraud, a coward, and now you're a liar. And you want to drag me down with you into your deception? Well, let me tell you something, Bujold the Unworthy: the gods are very real, and they watch our actions and judge us when we die. I won't be party to your lies."

Bujold frowned. "Then I guess there's no further need for you...except to prove myself against you." With that, she drew her axe and came in for a swing. But Sigrun was expecting this, and drew out her sword. A swift parry sent the axe flying out of Bujold's hands and out of reach. The erstwhile chief ran for Hrothmund's axe, to pry it out of the stone and swing it in her desperate defense, but Sigrun brought her blade against Bujold's throat.

"You're not getting out of this that easily," she said. "We had a deal."

"And you broke it the moment you decided to judge me!" Bujold replied.

"Not only a fraud, a coward, and a liar, but an oath-breaker as well!" Sigrun exclaimed. "What other lows will you sink to?"

"Fuck you, milk-drinking b*tch!" Bujold sneered in a slow, disgusted tone of voice. Sigrun punched Bujold in the face, and sent her sprawling to the floor.

"Your words mean nothing to me," Sigrun said. "Not when I slew five rieklings and seven Dunmer slavers, and I doubt you've even killed one person in your whole life."

"Liar!" Bujold shouted, as she crawled over to her axe. "I slew the Ilfark beast! I claimed its..." But Sigrun was already on top of her. Kneeling down with both of her knees, she pressed Bujold's face into the ground and her body nearly flat. She then raised her sword and placed it on Bujold's neck.

"Tell the truth, if you're even capable of that," Sigrun said. "With your life on the line: did you truly slay the Ilfark beast?"

"Fuck you!" Sigrun pressed the blade deeper into Bujold's neck.

"Tell me the truth!"

"Alright, alright!" Bujold groaned in reply. "The beast was old when I found it: sick and dying. Wasn't too hard to sneak up on it, slit it's throat, and carve out its belly. Kuvar backed me up before Hrothmund. Alright, I told you. Now kill me: as sure as the sun rises in the east, I'll kill you for this."

"You're not ready to die yet," Sigrun replied. "I still need you to help me find the Skaal...and other things."

"What else do you need?" Bujold groaned. "Kill me and take my tongue as your trophy."

"I've thought of a better use for you."

The second day of Sun's Dawn: the aforementioned sun was on its way up, sending the Sea of Ghosts dancing with auburn flames, mirroring the brilliant sky. Already there was a cool, fresh smell on the wind: as if a sweet-smelling gale was blowing away the scent of the southern ash-cloud. Halbarn was one of the first ones up awake, and began heating his forge. Not only would there be steel to forge, he would have to repair some of the weapons and armor they already had. He saw a sight now coming eastward from the center of the island that made him stop in his pressing of the billows: the stranger holding Bujold by the hair with her sword at her throat.

"What's going on here?" Halbarn asked as they approached the Thirsk Hall.

"Open the doors," Sigrun said. "All of you need to see this."

"Don't do it, Halbarn! That's an order!" Bujold strained, but Sigrun jerked her head back.

"Do it," she ordered.

Halbarn left the forge and pushed open the doors. Those inside were starting to rise, many of them quite hung over from the previous night's revelry. Therefore it was indeed a shock to see their leader being dragged into the hall with a sword at her throat. Kuvar drew his axe and Hilund her mace, and they took battle positions, as though they would leap at her and try to wrest their wife and sister from her grasp.

"I'll ask you to take your hands off my wife and let her go!" Kuvar demanded.

"I'm sorry," Sigrun replied. "But I don't take orders from any of you." She then called everyone to attention. "Last night, Bujold took me on a little trip up to Hrothmund's tomb. Would you be so kind as to tell your fellow warriors what happened up there?"

"Not on your life!" Bujold strained. Sigrun pulled her hair back tighter and pressed the blade of her sword into her neck.

"Then I will tell it," she turned to them. "Bujold the Unworthy sought the blessing of your spiritual guide, Hrothmund the Red. He told her that she had led you all to your ruin, and that she was unworthy to lead you. She then tried to attack me, but I got the better of her."

"That's guar-shit!" Bujold snapped.

"How do you explain how you got yourself like this?" Halbarn asked.

"You're fools, all of you!" Bujold shouted. "Following after an old ghost in a ruin. Honey, you yourself said we've lost sight of our past. Maybe that's a good thing, yes? We don't need the past if they don't support us, right? We should forge our own traditions..."

"You make me sick," Sigrun said to her, then threw her to the ground and placed her foot on Bujold's neck. She then turned to the others.

"Her leadership has made all of you soft, weak, complacent. That ends today! Everyone here must work, everyone here must hunt, and everyone here must fight: it's time now to turn this bunch of snowberries into a proud group of warriors!"

"Not with her!" Kuvar said, pointing to Bujold.

"Honey, please..."

"You've brought shame to all of us, don't bother denying it," Kuvar replied. "And I can't stand to look at you anymore. Get out of my sight: run into the wilds, prove yourself the old way. Maybe we'll come looking for you then!"

"Kuvar, I'm your wife!"

"That only makes my shame deeper," Kuvar said.

"If she's leaving, I'm going with her," Hilund spoke up. "She's my sister and I won't let her wander Solstheim all by herself."

"That's enough, all of you!" Sigrun shouted. "None of you are leaving until I say so. You are all going to train with your arms: you are all going to train with the bow and learn how to hunt game properly. Now, are there any objections?" No one dared speak up to her, for in her wrath they saw, echoed if only for a moment, the same kind of fury that struck down seven Dunmer: in her presence, they knew they were unworthy and so did not stir to oppose her.

Erik rose up from where he was sitting and shouted loudly: "Hurrah!" He raised his axe up high, but there were no other sounds of cheer afterward. All were too stunned and shocked to see their leader so debased by an outsider.

"So..." Sirkjorg spoke up. "Does that mean you're our leader now?"

"No," Sigrun replied. "I am not your chief, and so I have the freedom to come and go as I will. But I will not leave Solstheim until I've whipped you all into shape, and that's a fact."

"Then by whose authority do you get to boss us around?" Herkja asked.

"By my own strength, and the blessing of Kyne upon me as Stromborn," Sigrun replied. "I have made your fraud chieftain my b*tch. Until such time as I can give you a proper trophy, you answer to me. Enough standing around, here; let's go to work!"

(AN: And there we have our fourth option! Hope you enjoyed it.)

(Don't worry: next chapter we'll be back in Skyrim. Things are really starting to feel like they're falling into place now: so that's a good thing.)