(AN: Happy belated 8th anniversary of Skyrim! The game that launched me on an epic quest in-game, as well as writing some of my longest and most challenging fan-fics on this website! Now have some fun with another chapter with a meta title that could have five different meanings!)

(This chapter has us dive into something which may or may not intrigue my readers. Based on how only two people are reviewing my chapters, it's a fair statement to make that only the most dedicated are still with me [while everyone else is slagging on my grammatical and lore errors in The Dragonborn and the Lioness]. And given the content of the dedicated reviewers, they may or may not like the direction of this chapter. But you gotta take chances sometimes, right?)

The Measure of a Man

The group left Windhelm and began riding south and west, following the main road. They made good time for the most part. Every now and then, unfortunately, their Dunmer footpad would halt, dismount, turn east, and say three prayers to Almalexia. While generally tolerant of other religions, Serys' prayers involved her dismounting and prostrating herself completely over and over, through the duration of each prayer. After the first one, he asked her what was the purpose of this.

"We Dunmer are very religious," she replied. "I know, our ways seem strange to...people like you. But we always prayed this way before the Tribunal, to ask them for blessings and to simply praise them for the joy of being alive."

"Can't you just do it once a week at Loredas?" Lydia asked.

"Our ways are not like your ways," Serys retorted. "Our gods are living, not dead. We do not selfishly ask them for blessings once a week: we lavish praise upon them daily merely for the joy of praising them."

"Weren't these the same gods that threatened to destroy your people if they didn't worship them?" Mjoll asked. Serys gave her a sour, venomous look: when Lydia looked upon it, there seemed to be something unnatural about the way her face crinkled. But when she turned away, her face seemed as normal as usual.

"Worship after your heart's desires," Eirik said. "But we won't wait for you. We need to reach Valtheim as quickly as possible."

So it was that they continued on while Serys paused for her daily prayers: twice more that day she paused, dismounted, and prayed. Yet after each time, she seemed always able to catch up to them as though she been riding as swiftly as they were. Still they rode on, wondering how they were going to find Aela.

"I'm sure she'll find us," Eirik assured them.

All that day they rode, until at last they found again the hill upon which they had camped at Mara's Eye Pond. However, it was too late to set camp and Eirik had a feeling that they shouldn't go there tonight. Instead, he brought them under the cliff, where they rested behind their horses, wrapped in their cloaks: Eirik at the far end of the row, with Mjoll at his left, Lydia after her, and Serys at the end. Serys kept a ball of fire hovering in her hands, which provided her - and them as well - with some measure of warmth. She turned to Eirik after a while, and spoke to him.

"What do you hope to gain by serving Ulfric?" she asked him.

"A free Skyrim," he replied. "One where we can worship according to our beliefs, without the Empire telling us to forsake our gods."

"That's a noble aspiration," she said. "We share a common enemy with the Empire."

"Do we, now?" he asked.

"Yes," Serys replied. "Some in the Grey Quarter feel an obligation to serve the Empire. Others see that they abandoned us during the Oblivion Crisis, and so we should abandon them in return. If the Empire wins, the loyalists of Hlaalu will be in the majority. But if the rebels win..." She turned to him, doffing her cloak and crawling over to him.

"If the rebels win, it's within my people's best interests to foster goodwill with the Stormcloaks."

"You seem to know quite a bit about politics for a whore," Eirik said.

"People in the New Gnisis Cornerclub talk," she replied. "Especially my customers. And I listen very carefully. Besides, I have other ways of learning things: secret things." She now sat down with her back to the wall, on Eirik's right side.

"I'm curious about you especially, Dragonborn," she continued. "I've heard so much about you. Tell me, did you ever have a chance to encounter a man by the name of Servius Crixus?"

"Crixus?" Eirik asked. "Yes, I know him. Do you know him?"

"From Mournhold, yes," she replied. "He was the Imperial Legate there."

"I thought you said the Empire abandoned Morrowind."

"They had," Serys said. "But it's complicated at the city of Almalexia. The Empire wants what's best for the Empire, and that means Morrowind ebony and...lizards. So they maintained a holding in Mournhold, despite the deposing of House Hlaalu and neither Redoran nor the lizards being part of the Empire."

Eirik nodded. "What do you know about him?"

"Everything, really," she replied. "Grew up in Anvil, had a brother, lost his mother when his brother was born. They say he had a Dunmer stepmother, who raised him for the rest of his life." Serys sighed. "Such a waste, I'd say. All that culture, all that sophistication, gone into raising such a pathetic excuse for a man. Then the War broke out and he ran away to war, leaving behind his father and stepmother to die."

Eirik shook his head. While she spoke with sympathy toward Crixus' stepmother, Eirik couldn't help but wonder if there was more to what she was saying. A man merely didn't become the way Crixus was by accident. How had Crixus' stepmother been a waste to raising him? What had she done to him? Just then, another thought entered his mind.

"My lord?" she asked.

"Hmm? Oh, no, I was just thinking."

"About what? Tell me."

"I was an orphan myself," Eirik said. "A man found me and took me to Bruma and raised me. I was just thinking how alike Crixus and I were in this regard."

"You're nothing like him," purred Serys. "You're a levelheaded human. Crixus? He's obsessed with superstitions and shadows. By Muatra, he still thinks he's in love with a camp-whore he met as a boy in the Legion."

"What?"

"You heard me," she nodded. "Got his stones off with a camp-follower as barely a teenager. Fell in love with her like a fool, then was shattered when he saw a Nord soldier riding her the next time he went looking for a romp."

"Is that so?" Eirik mused. "So that's the reason he hates Nords?"

"Reasons have nothing to do with it," she replied. "Crixus rarely operates under reason, though he thinks himself governed by it."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"He's a very dangerous man, Crixus. His loyalty to the Empire will drive you to a confrontation, and you must be prepared to kill him when that happens."

Eirik sighed. "I must admit, it would be a relief to be rid of him. Perhaps you're right. Maybe one day I might be forced to kill him."

In the darkness, Serys smiled. "Enough about Crixus. Tell me about yourself. I've heard you have this power, the Toom."

"Thu'um."

"Whatever. Basically you can Shout and things happen. Is that so?"

Eirik nodded. "Yes, it is so."

"What things can you do with your To...I mean, Thoo-um?"

"I can push back any object and send it flying away from me," Eirik began. "Breathe fire and ice, summon storms, dragons, spirits of the Tongues...even clear the skies."

"That could be very useful," Serys said. "You could save both our people. You could end the war in a day, or fly yourself to the top of the Velothi Mountains and Shout the ash-cloud away from Vvardenfell and Solstheim."

Eirik chuckled. "I don't think I could do that."

"Sure you could," she replied. "They say the heart of Shor lies beneath Red Mountain, and Shor is the dead-god of man. If anyone could cause the Red Mountain to stop covering our lands with ash, it would be you, a man."

"It's not that easy," he returned. "Taking the Dragon language into me and speaking takes a lot of effort. I can't Shout over and over in quick succession. It would destroy myself."

"Interesting. And, uh, what other limits are there to your power?"

"Why are you asking me this?"

"Because I've heard many stories, and I want to see if they're true. They say Tiber Septim, the founder of your wester Empire, used the Voice to turn the Imperial Province from a wild jungle into a boring little forest. Could you do something like that?"

"I don't know," Eirik replied. "Maybe? If I practiced more and meditated on the Dragon tongue. I've managed to create a Shout that can heal grievous wounds, but, I..."

"But what?"

"I don't know why I'm telling you all this," he said. "I barely know you."

"I've been told," Serys said in reply. "That I have a very good disposition: people feel very comfortable around me. Perhaps you feel that as well, and that makes you open up to me?"

"Perhaps," Eirik replied. "But now I must sleep. We still have another day of travel ahead of us, and we must reach the end with the strength to fight." He leaned against the rock and tried to sleep, his head periodically leaning over to sniff the golden head leaning against his shoulder.

When morning finally dawned - the twenty-seventh day of Morning Star - they were all of them sore from sleeping outdoors. Eirik vowed that one of the first things he would do once he had the funds was purchase a tent for them to sleep in. To their surprise, Aela was waiting for them, fully dressed and ready for battle: she had caught their scent sometime in the night and had followed them here. As they were preparing to resume their journey, Mjoll noticed that Serys had moved from her position by Lydia, and was now resting her head against Eirik's right shoulder. She frowned, but said nothing as they were getting ready. They ate sparingly of their supplies - dried meat and water from their skins - for breakfast, while Serys stretched herself out eastward and prayed to Almalexia again. While they were thus getting ready, Mjoll approached Eirik as he was placing his sword on the saddle-bag of his horse.

"Should I be worried?" she asked.

"About what?" he replied.

"That Dunmer woman," she said. "I found her lying against you this morning."

"Mjoll..."

"I'm being serious," she insisted. "She's a whore, and I don't feel comfortable having one of them around you, especially after what happened last time."

"I've already paid for that," Eirik sighed. "And by Shor, I haven't betrayed you at all since I put the ring on your hand in Riften."

"See that you don't," Mjoll returned.

Eirik nodded, then continued with his preparations. He helped Mjoll onto the back of his horse, and then climbed up in front of her. Aela climbed onto the back of Lydia's horse, who was now trotting up alongside theirs.

"I can kill her for you, if you like," Lydia suggested. "Just say the word."

"No, no, not yet," Eirik replied. "We'll wait until we've taken Valtheim before we decide her fate."

They continued their journey together, with Serys following on behind as before. They made relatively good time, for it was only midday when they reached the winding path that would lead them to the Valtheim Towers. Here they slackened their pace, so as to not draw attention to themselves. While they thus trotted through the tree-flanked path, Eirik had a moment to spend with Mjoll for the first time since Sigrun and Jonna's arrival.

"I've been thinking," he said. "Once we've taken Whiterun, we'll have Morthal and Falkreath to take. Those should be fairly easy: they're not well-defended. I could walk in and take those holds by myself."

"Don't let it go to your head, dear," Mjoll said. She would have perched her chin on his shoulder, but for the jostling of the horse's rump would send her chin bouncing uncomfortably against the dragon-bone shoulder-pad.

"After that, it's the Reach and then Solitude," he continued. "Seems so easy, it's almost too good to be true. In any rate, we'll be in the Reach again. Remember the last time we were there?"

"With Esbern and Delphine at Cloud Ruler Temple?" she returned. "Yes, I remember."

Eirik shook his head. "Not a place I'd like to visit again. It's so...empty and lifeless. Nothing but stone crags." He sighed. "But we'll have to go there. And we'll have to take Markarth for the Stormcloaks."

"You're not looking forward to it?"

"No, not at all," he shook his head. "I've never been fond of the Dwemer or their contraptions, and Markarth is a gutted Dwemer city. It will be a very difficult nut to crack. And also..." He sighed again. "...there's Ulfric's own misdeeds in Markarth to consider: that's what made me decide on the peace summit, reading The Bear of Markarth. If I go with him to take Markarth, how will I prevent a repeat of the Markarth Incident?"

Mjoll frowned. "I remember being very upset with you at the time. But now that we've moved past that, shall I share some of what I learned when I was in the Reach? Had to pass through there on my way to High Rock, you know."

Eirik smiled; he loved hearing about Mjoll's journeys. "By all means."

"There are many stories about what happened in Markarth," she began. "Some say that the Forsworn were savages and slaughtered hundreds; some say they were peaceful and rarely ever punished anyone. Then when it all ended, just as many stories erupted. Some say Ulfric's demands were refused, others say that no demands were made, and they merely slaughtered everyone who hadn't sided with them initially."

"But which one is true?" Eirik asked.

"I doubt we'd ever get a proper answer to that," she returned. "The Reachmen would sooner kill us than talk to us, being Nords, and there aren't many people left alive from that time who'd give an honest answer What matters is what you think?"

Eirik sighed. "If I had my way, I'd never set foot in the Reach again. But if I have to, I'll make sure it stays under Ulfric's control: and if I can prevent another bloodbath, then I will."

Mjoll smiled and kissed his cheek. "You make me happy, love. Tonight, perhaps, we can enjoy some time alone again?"

"After we've bloodied ourselves," Eirik replied.

Sometime in the afternoon, they brought their horses to a halt within sight of the two towers of Valtheim. They tied the reins of their horses to the trees, letting them eat the green grass that grew there, while they hid among the trees and planned for their assault. Serys had conjured an orb of sight and was conducting it round and about the towers to survey the area for them. After a while, she waved her hand and the orb that was hovering in her hand vanished back into nothingness.

"Both towers are heavily armed," she said. "I could forty bandits."

"Eight for each of us?" Aela grinned. "And here I thought it'd be difficult."

"So how are we going to take them?" Mjoll asked. "Run in and cut them all down?"

"Unfortunately we're on lower ground," Serys commented. "They'd have us pinned for sure."

"And what do you propose we do, wench?" Lydia asked. "Drop our pants, invite them to fuck us, and then stab them in the back the first chance we get?" Serys gave her a venomous glare, then turned to Eirik.

"Let me stay behind and cover you while you run in and cut them down, as you so brilliantly suggested," she replied.

Aela shrugged. "That's not a bad plan. Get me up onto the towers and I'll give them a few arrows as well."

"What about me?" Lydia asked.

"You stay with Mjoll," Eirik said. "We may need you and Aela to have your shields ready. Now, let's do this."

Mjoll and Aela hid behind one tree, Eirik and Lydia behind another, and Serys knelt beside a third and said her prayers before going into battle. Eirik looked out from behind the tree and viewed the walk between here and the gates of the southern tower. It would be a long walk in the open to get to the door.

"Are you ready?" he whispered to Lydia. She nodded.

"Before we do this, one small question."

"Can't it wait?"

"More of a professional one, Eirik. Have you seen the girls in battle?" He nodded. "Are they any good?"

"Fair enough, I'd say."

"How are they with a shield?"

"Haven't seen them use it yet."

"Well, it wouldn't hurt to make sure they have shields. Having more shields would certainly give us an edge in battle, especially if we're arming the Stormcloaks with spears. The old tales speak of how many enemies broke upon a Nord shield-wall."

"Let's discuss this after we're done here, alright?"

"Fair enough, my th...Eirik."

Stepping out from the shelter of the tree, Eirik made his way toward the southern tower. Three bandits noticed his arrival and arose from their places, hands on their weapons, slowly approaching Eirik. Behind him walked Mjoll, with Aela and Lydia after her, each of them bearing a shield.

"Just where do you think you're going, kinsman?" one of the bandits asked Eirik.

"By order of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm and future High King of Skyrim," Eirik began. "These towers now belong to the Stormcloaks. Surrender now and there'll be no need to kill you."

The thugs threw their heads back in laughter.

"You're asking us to surrender to you?" one of them asked.

"I'm not asking, I'm telling you."

"Ice-brain, in case you can't count, there's forty of us!" the first one said. "That's four times the number of fingers you have! And how many are you? One? Four? You can't expect to hold a fort with only four men."

"I don't need an army to beat you," Eirik returned.

"What you gonna do? You gonna shout at us and make us leave?" the bandit asked, which sent hooting laughter from his companions.

"Yes," Eirik replied. "Fus...Ro Dah!"

There was a clap of thunder, and the three bandits went flying. One was thrown against the wall of the tower with a mighty crack of bones; another flew off his feet and went sailing down towards the White River, and the third was pushed against the open door of the southern tower and broke his neck upon the stone doorway. Above their heads was a shout of "To arms!" heard, and Aela and Lydia brought up their shields as the other thirty-seven bandits rose up to defend their hold. Suddenly a whooshing sound was heard and a ball of fire struck the top of the tower with a mighty crash, sending those on top instinctively crouching in fear.

Eirik made his way into the tower and began making his way up the stairs, cutting down anyone that came before him. Immediately behind him came Mjoll, wielding Grimsever, and Lydia and Aela, each one with a shield in their hands. Once they gained the stop of the stairs, Lydia planted herself in the doorway, with her shield raised, and guarded the bridge to the other tower. Mjoll and Eirik stood behind her, half-swording any who tried to attack her over her shield.

"I'll take the tower!" Aela said, as she continued her way up the next flight of stairs to the top level of the first tower.

Meanwhile, fireballs were being hurled from the trees by Serys, sending the bandits cowering to cover or incinerating them on the spot. A body came flying down the stairs from which Aela had just been up, and Eirik chuckled: she was clearly making quick work of them. Meanwhile a brutish bandit threw himself against Lydia, toppling her down and breaking through her defense. He was skewered from both ends by Eirik and Mjoll, and then thrown back down the stairs to join his fellows. Eirik helped Lydia back onto her feet, and she took her defensive position, bracing against the floor-boards.

"How many is that?" Eirik asked.

"I counted two on the steps," Mjoll answered. "Then three up here, plus the three you Shouted down."

"I have four!" Aela shouted from above.

"Twelve down," Eirik said. "Twenty-eight to go."

"Looks like I have some catching up to do!" Lydia added. Just then, another bandit came charging at her. She turned aside his blow with her shield and sent him stumbling off-balance, then drove her sword into his side. She gave a triumph cry of "Thirteen!"

Eirik looked out across the doorway and saw the rest of them barricaded in the tower. Fireballs and arrows came whizzing at them, sending them cowering behind their shields or beneath the battlements. Seven more had been slain by Serys' fireballs, bringing the total remaining bandits to only twenty. A group of five were now advancing across the bridge: two of them walked before with shields raised, the others had long, two-handed weapons in their hands to reach over their comrades' shields. Eirik advanced across the bridge to meet them, his sword in his hand but held down and not in a ready position.

"Fus...Ro Dah!" Eirik shouted.

The five of the bandits went flying back, thrown this way and that, falling away from the power of Eirik's Thu'um. Behind him came Mjoll and Lydia, weapons drawn. Now they had gained the northern tower, and Eirik was tearing through the fur and leather-clad bandits one by one: two more went down by his blade, and Mjoll joined him at his side and took down another two.

The battle had ended for the bandits in a rout; seven of those who were wounded or otherwise unharmed dropped their weapons and ran as fast as they could. Five of the boldest and doughtiest ones remained to fight, despite the rising odds. Eirik and Mjoll were now on their way up the north tower. One of the bolder ones was skewered by both of them. They took the top of the tower now, with Lydia following up behind them. Three of the bandits were now being engaged by them, and they were not faring well. One by one, they dispatched the bandits, then turned around, weapons bloodied, to the last one. The Dunmer bandit shook his head, let out a whimper, and threw himself off the tower. There was a cry of pain below, and Eirik, Mjoll, and Lydia came to the edge of the tower to see what had happened: the Dunmer had survived the fall but had broken his leg, and was now hobbling away. Eirik and Mjoll went back down the stairs after their quarry, while Lydia waved her sword in the air, signaling Aela that the other tower had been cleared.

Meanwhile, Eirik had come down the north tower and had overtaken the Dunmer bandit. He pressed him to the ground with his foot and readied his sword for the final blow. Then Serys appeared and stepped in front of him.

"Please!" she begged. "Show mercy. He's beaten and can't fight again. To strike him down now would be cruel!"

"He's a bandit!" Mjoll retorted. "The worst kind of scum!"

"Even reavers are people," Serys returned. She turned back to Eirik, who paused and lowered his sword. She then knelt down at the Dunmer's side and whispered something into his ear which none of the others heard. With that done, he limped away as best he could.

So the battle had ended. Of the forty bandits inhabiting Valtheim, thirty-two had been slain by five people. Seven had fled for their lives and one other had been spared. Aela and Lydia began searching the groups of the two towers, while Serys went to join them in their search. Meanwhile, Mjoll stood a moment longer with Eirik: her face was still stern and disapproving.

"What's wrong?" Eirik asked. "We've won the day."

"A month ago," she said. "You wouldn't have hesitated to put your sword through that scum. But now because that Dunmer whore says no, you obey her?"

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"Something's wrong," she replied. "I can feel it, even if you can't. This strange woman shows up and suddenly you're taking her along with us, confiding in her, and obeying her commands."

"I told you," Eirik replied. "I haven't betrayed you at all."

"Maybe not with your body," Mjoll stated. "But you're being influenced by her. It has to stop."

Eirik sighed. "Alright, I'll talk to her."

"No, I will," Mjoll returned. She turned her way and went looking for Serys in the tower. The first one had Aela looting the bodies of anything valuable and disposing of them, but the Dunmer wasn't there. In the second tower, she found her searching a chest that had been stowed away in the sleeping quarters of the bandits. As Mjoll approached her, she cleared her throat loudly.

"I need to speak to you now," she said.

"Can't it wait till nightfall?" Serys asked. "That won't be but a few hours off."

Mjoll walked over to Serys, laid her hand on her, and pulled her face up from the chest. "No, it can't wait."

"Take your hand off me!" Serys demanded.

"I know that you've been getting friendly with my husband," Mjoll retorted.

"That's his fault, not mine," Serys replied, trying to brush off Mjoll's hand: she couldn't do so. "I haven't encouraged his advances. Talk to him about it."

"I have, and now I'm talking to you."

Serys' face twisted in disgust. "Oh, I see what you're really upset about. You're jealous that your husband found someone who can do more for him than you can."

"What are you saying?"

"Don't play dumb with me, snow-back," Serys sneered. "We're both women, and I know what squirms inside your belly like a parasite. You won't mean anything to him once you're fat and unable to keep up with him in his battles and journeys."

Mjoll punched Serys in the face, sending her crashing onto the chest she had just opened. As the elf was recovering, Mjoll's eyes widened in surprise. For a brief moment, she thought she saw a face different than the one that Serys usually bore. Old, wrinkled, soured; familiar.

"Stay away from my husband!" Mjoll demanded. "If you so much as touch him, then by Ysmir, I'll kill you."

"Don't tell me what to do, you bloated snow-back netch!"

Mjoll took another swing at Serys, but suddenly her fist came to a halt. With a lurch she tried to move her hand, but found that she couldn't move. Every inch of her was frozen. The elf woman stood before her, a condescending glare in her red eyes and her lips curled into a frown.

"All that muscle and not a single thing you can do," she sneered. Then, to Mjoll's horror, the elf seemed to grow in stature, her flesh turning from gray-blue to pale pink, her eyes from red to amber, and her hair from black to golden-red; the pronounced brow melted away, leaving no trace that she was anything other than...herself.

"They'll never know that you're gone," the witch said with a smile, then pressed her forefinger to her lips, and made her way out of the chamber.

Eirik was in the southern tower, looking for any provisions that the bandits may have been keeping for them. They would have to spend the night here and leave in the morning, and he hoped that they could scrounge something up so as to save their traveling supplies for the road ahead. While he was thus engaged, Mjoll came back into the tower.

"There you are," he said with a smile. "So? How did it go?"

"How did what go?"

"Your talking to with Serys," he clarified.

"Oh, that! Uh, well, I told her that...that."

"Huh?"

"I told her what I said I was going to tell her."

"And? How did she take it?"

"Oh, there's no reason to worry about him. She agreed to disagree and departed."

"A pity," Eirik mused. "We could have used her magic to hold the towers."

"Yes, yes indeed," Mjoll nodded. "But it's probably for the best, right? I hate competition, after all."

Eirik chuckled. "Oh, you don't need to worry. There's no woman I'd rather have than you, in Skyrim or out of it."

"Is that so?" Mjoll smiled. "Well, then, how about showing me just how much you mean that tonight?" Her hands gripped Eirik's hind-quarters, which made him smile uneasily.

"Fine by me," he replied. "What's gotten into you?"

"Oh, you know what they say about pregnant women," she smiled, then leaned in and nibbled on his right ear before sauntering off. Eirik was bemused: Mjoll never sauntered in all of the time he had known her. Yet the way she had been around him was intoxicating, if not a little unnerving. It aroused in him a desire to do all sorts of things with her. After all, the talk he had with Serys about his powers had reminded him of the Dragon Aspect Shout: he wondered if he could replicate the night of his departure to Skuldafn, if not make it even better, by calling upon his powers to aid him.

As the sun sank behind the Wrothgarian Mountains in the west and plunged the Eastmarch into night, the little group was sitting around their campfire out front of the northern tower. They had managed to find some supplies and ate heartily for the first time in a while. Lydia and Aela were surprised that Serys had departed so suddenly, without so much as a peep. Mjoll seemed to be intoxicated with love, constantly petting and groping Eirik to such a degree that even Lydia was feeling uncomfortable. Eirik, meanwhile, found that nothing could take his mind off of how much he wanted to tear off Mjoll's armor and mount her here and now, regardless of present company.

Nothing, that is, except one thing.

Periodically he would look east, into the gathering gloom. The last rays of the sun turned the distant clouds in the uttermost east blood-red. The Red Mountain was billowing toxic smoke and ash into the sky once again. He knew that the winds would carry that north, right over Solstheim; right over to Sigrun. He thought of how she fared, and how Solstheim was faring under the harsh billowing of the ash-clouds. How long could they last with the southern half drowned in centuries of ash? Perhaps, as Serys had suggested, he could use his power to breathe life into Solstheim; Talos had done it to all of Cyrodiil, and he was the god-emperor, the Dragon of the North. But so was he, Eirik, Ysmir, the Dragon of the North; and Solstheim was much smaller than Cyrodiil.

Once the others had finished eating, Lydia went to the south tower to keep guard while Aela said that she would patrol the grounds for any wild beasts or surprise ambushes from the other bandits. No sooner had their shadows departed from the fire but Mjoll buried her face into Eirik's, stroking every inch of him and pulling off his armor. Eirik's mind went nearly numb as he closed his eyes and began to feel his way around removing her armor as well. In very little time, they were both completely naked, with her hands reaching between his thighs and his hand running up and down her back. They stopped suddenly as they reached her shoulders.

"Where's your scar?" he breathed.

"What?" she replied.

"The scars," Eirik muttered, feeling across her body. "They're gone!" He opened his eyes and stared at the person who bore Mjoll's face, but whose body was not hers.

"Who are you?" he asked. "Where's Mjoll?"

"What do you mean?" she returned. "I'm Mjoll, your wife. Now come, give me all that you've got. I've been aching for your sword ever since we left Windhelm!"

"No!" Eirik interjected, pushing her off him. Then, to his horror, the image of his wife disappeared and something else crouched before him, clad in the same blue robes as before. But now the face was old, withered, and the lips permanently bent in a scowl.

"Shor's bones!" he breathed, and placed his hands over his manhood.

"I must commend you, Dragonborn," a familiar voice purred: but it was harsher and less soothing than before. "You've got more brains than most of your people, certainly more than the rest of your sex. Most men would have taken me and thought nothing of it."

"Serys?" he asked. "Why did you deceive me?"

The harsh old Dunmer voice cackled. "You fool! Serys Ulvan does not exist. The name, the face, it was all a sham I created so that I could get close to you."

"Then who are you? And why would you want to sleep with me? To ruin my marriage?"

"Oh, I've ruined many happy couples with my sorcery," the old woman replied. "Many a grieving widower have found comfort in my arms, only to find themselves hopelessly wrapped around my finger, with only death as their salvation. I never cared one wit about their marriages, nor do I care for yours; no more than Almalexia cared for her marriage to Indoril Nerevar when she lay with his councilor Vivec and plotted his downfall.

"As for who I am, I doubt you've ever heard of me. Crixus might have told you, but then again, he believes I'm dead and buried: and why shouldn't he? I killed a Dunmer maiden and hid her body in a grave next to his wretched father: he has no reason to believe otherwise. But soon, every single snow-back in this wretched country will know my name."

"That's not an answer," Eirik returned.

"Ah," the old witch sneered. "But he who knows need not ask, and he who asks need not know."

Eirik reached for his great-sword and, faster than the witch could move, brought its tip up to her neck.

"Tell me the truth," he demanded. "No more elvish games, or I will give you my sword: but you won't like it at all."

"Oh, you think the world revolves around you, Dragonborn," laughed the old woman. "It does not: Morrowind is the center of Nirn, it always has been. The heart of a slain trickster didn't fall to Skyrim or Cyrodiil: but Morrowind. I defy the powers that destroyed my beloved homeland, and, sooner or later, we will see Morrowind restored...and all you n'wahs slaughtered like cattle! But you can't stop it: it's already begun. I've armed the populace of the Grey Quarter, and now they'll show you insolent n'wahs who is the master and who is the slave."

"I trusted you when you said that your people weren't all vile," Eirik said. "I gave them mercy when you asked for it."

"And you shouldn't have," she returned. "Only a fool takes a nix-hound whelp into his breast in the hopes that it won't bite him." Eirik pressed the point of his blade closer to her neck.

"Keep it up," he replied. "Don't think I won't do it."

"Ah, but you won't," she sneered. "Death is the lot of man, but I am not a man. I am a goddess, Mother Morrowind reborn at last to cleanse Nirn of the white devils of Skyrim in the burning fires of hope. You can't kill me, you foolish little man."

"Can't I?" Eirik replied. Then with a swift, firm thrust, he drove the blade straight through her throat. The old woman gasped and gagged as blood spurted out of her mouth, a look of shock and horror in her red eyes. A strange sensation washed over Eirik; the same feeling he had when he slew a dragon and absorbed its soul, but there was no soul to absorb from the wretched old Dunmer woman. It seemed strange to him that the killing of this one Dunmer would cause him to feel so accomplished, as though he had done a great deed, something that had been foretold of him: a fate unknown, unheard, at least fulfilled. He felt stronger, vibrant, awake, alert, and more alive than ever.

Just then he heard Aela's voice crying out for him. In a moment she came running up to the campfire and suddenly halted.

"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Why are you naked?"

"Aela!" he returned. "Uh...it's not..."

"Wow!" she exclaimed, her eyes trained below his waist. "I mean, I know I've seen you naked before, but I had no idea..."

"Hey! Eyes up here!" he returned. "What did you want me for?"

"Huh? Oh yes! I found something very strange in the north tower."

"What did you find?"

"Your wife, the Lioness," she returned. "I thought I was seeing things, so I called for you and came running up here, and I find you with a dead elf? Just what in Ysgramor's name is going on here?"

"I'll explain later," Eirik replied. "Tell me where you found Mjoll."

Aela led Eirik away from the campsite and into the lower part of the north tower; before they left the campfire, Aela took a burning branch to light their way. Eirik hadn't even bothered to dress himself; the feeling of vibrancy was still hot upon him. In the tower, they found, to Eirik's surprise and relief, Mjoll collapsed on the ground. She was just now starting to rise up as they approached, her face turned to a chest sitting in the corner.

"Mjoll!" Eirik exclaimed.

"Eirik!" Mjoll exclaimed, throwing her arms around him, hardly aware of the fact that he was completely naked. They held each other for a very long time, either unwilling to relinquish their grip on each other. Mjoll buried her face in his beard and Eirik smelled her head; it was exactly as he remembered it.

At last, the moment came.

"Uh...dear, don't you think you're missing something?" she asked.

Eirik parted from the embrace, caressing her face. But he hadn't said a word to her yet. Instead, his mind was thinking back on what had filled his mind moments ago, and how that had ended. He feared that this might be another trick.

"We need to bathe," he said.

"Um, sure," she replied. "But I don't see why that can't wait until tomorrow."

"Now," he returned. "Aela, bring a light. We'll need it."

"What's the meaning of this?"

"Hun, you were right," he returned. "That elf witch was doing something."

"What happened?" she asked. "Last thing I remembered, I was going to give her a piece of my mind; now you're here and you're stark naked."

"I'll tell you everything soon," he said. "First, we need to bathe."

"Why do we need to bathe?"

"I'll let you know," he said.

By now, the four of them were all aware of what had happened. Eirik had Lydia watch the north tower, while he had Aela move the body to the south tower and stay on watch there: Mjoll was uncomfortable having Eirik naked in front of another woman, and so insisted that she not watch them while they bathed. To that end, Aela made them make-shift torches out of firebrands and tall branches, which she placed on the banks of the White River before she went onto her guard. With these two lights, Eirik waded out into the White River and began to bathe himself. On the southern bank, Mjoll was undoing her armor slowly, still perturbed by what was being asked of her. Once she was completely naked, she followed Eirik into the water. In the light, he looked on her bare shoulders and breathed a sigh of relief: there was the bite of the Orc's axe in her shoulders, exactly as he had seen it before. He threw his arms around her, kissing her forehead over and over.

"Oh, my love!" he whispered. "It is you! I'm so relieved!"

"Well, yes, it is me," Mjoll replied, then noticed that someone else was pleased to be so close to her. "Uh, if you were in the mood, you could have just asked me."

"No, it's not that," Eirik said. "Love, you were right. Serys tried to seduce me. She even appeared as you; a spell, I think. But she didn't have the scars, so I knew it wasn't you."

"Wha..." Mjoll began.

"It's alright," he said, wrapping his arms around her. "I killed her. She won't be bothering us again. There's no other woman for me in all of Tamriel except you, Mjoll. You know that."

Mjoll smiled as she pressed her face into his chest. "I do." And once again, all was well.

(AN: At last, one of the three is dead! And, as some of you might have divined, it was actually...Crixus' stepmother! I know, horribly unoriginal pseudonym for her to come up with, since it sounds exactly like her real name, but since Eirik didn't know about her, it worked just the same. I wanted to drag her story-line out even longer, but this chapter was getting tedious to write, so I decided to cut her off early. That phrase "he who knows need not ask and he who asks need not know" is something of a mantra I feel Kirkbride's disciples live by, sort of gatekeeping "trve kvlt RPG" from people they consider "filthy casuals" [like me], but especially as a cheap way to avoid defining their own neologisms [like Amaranth, CHIM, Landfall, Tomorrowind, AMA, mantling, or whatever bs words they invent but refuse to define])

(So while I was brainstorming what will happen later on in this story, I realized that someone else is still alive thanks to going back in time. I have plans for him, though his will likely be the hardest position.)