(AN: Yay for an uncreative chapter title [I was also pondering "The Storm Awakens", "Thirsk One", "The Last Dragonborn", "Sigrun: A Skyrim Story", "Rise of the Stormborn", and of course "Skyrim: In Keeping Secrets of Silent Nirn"]! I really poured a lot of me into that last chapter, so I hope you all got to enjoy it.)

(Here we go back to Sigrun, who I now have to have do something equally important, just as badass, to make up for having two VERY long chapters dedicated away from her.)

The Storm Upon Solstheim

The rest of that day was spent in training. Sigrun kept the Thirsk warriors drilling non-stop: targets were made from riekling skulls, set up outside the hall, and they were each required to hit the target nine times before they continued on to their next task. They then made spears for themselves: long spears, able to be used by full-sized Nords. Halbarn was kept busy making heads for the spears, such as had cross-guards just below the spear-head to prevent the charge of a riekling boar. While these were being forged, Sigrun led them in drilling with the staves they would use for their spears. Fortunately, they were much better spear-men than archers. Hilund, the sister of Bujold, approached Sigrun after they concluded their spear practice.

"I'm going to gather up the riekling spears," she said. "If you find any out in the wilderness, bring them to me. I want to make a little shrine to remind us of how we lost Thirsk, so that we'll never forget."

"Yeah," Sigrun nodded. "That's a good idea."

Several hours after noon, Sigrun called the rest of the warriors together and told them that they had to go out into the island and bring back game: none of them were to return without one thing caught, be it as small as a bird. Halbarn, who was busy working the forge, was given charge of watching over Thirsk while Sigrun and Erik joined in the hunt. She realized that the best way to motivate these layabouts, aside from sheer force of will, would be to lead from the front, unlike Bujold's lead from behind method. Together with Erik, they made their way southward. The air was cool and clean, and the ash-clouds seemed to have dissipated.

"I've been thinking," Sigrun said. "Eventually we'll have to return to Skyrim. How will we keep them from falling back into their old ways?"

"Any ideas?" Erik asked.

"Not a one," she returned. "Bujold will likely cause all sorts of trouble for us once I leave. Her husband Kuvar is too spineless: sometimes he's all for improvements, other times he just goes with the flow. Hilund might be waking up; same as Halbarn. But neither of them are leaders; nor are the other three. We need a majority of people here on our side: a proper force that will encourage the others to man up."

"Or woman up?" Erik teased.

"You know what I mean!" she returned. "And then, there's the Skaal. We still need to find them, but Bujold still hasn't been forthcoming with me."

"Do you think she'll try something?"

"She might," Sigrun said. "That's why I need you to have my back tonight. I'm gonna be absolutely worn out with all this training and hunting, it'll be a miracle if I can stay alert."

They went on for several minutes more, going steadily southward. To their amazement, there was little to no ash in the air: all the ash there was was on the ground. Erik looked southward, towards the great black cone rising up out of the sea.

"There it is," he said, pointing to it. "The Red Mountain. I've heard stories about it, but never thought I'd actually see it: even from a distance. They say that this used to be the highest mountain in Tamriel until part of the top was blown off in the Red Year."

Sigrun nodded silently. She had also heard the stories about Ysmir's part in the War of the Red Mountain. She thought also of her Father Eirik, and who or what he truly was: he bore the name Ysmir, Dragon of the North. Was she indeed the daughter of a god? If so, what did that mean for her, not to mention her part in this great war, and that which was to come? Was she really doing as she needed to be doing, spending her time here on Solstheim, when the real battle was in Skyrim?

She turned away from the death and ruin of the Red Mountain and back to the ash-fields. Grim and lifeless they were; centuries of wind and rains came and went, but ash was still dumped over the southern half of the island. There seemed to be no hope for Solstheim ever becoming more than a dead, deserted rock. She went forward three paces and then stopped. Something on the ground caught her attention. She knelt down and took a closer look, with Erik kneeling down next to her. She thought she saw something green in the midst of the pale gray ash. Brushing away the ash, she revealed what had caught her eye: a tiny green bud. There was still life here in this gods-forsaken island: perhaps they hadn't quite forsaken it yet.

Sigrun smiled.

"What is it?" Erik asked.

"Just a sign," she replied. "There's still hope, even if we can't see it."

"I like that," he said. Sigrun turned back to him and smiled.

The day passed on relatively uneventfully. Sigrun and Erik found and slew a horker, which they brought back to Thirsk in pieces due to its size. Sigrun was relieved that they found something they could slay without using arrows; and Erik was delighted to try prepare a stew made of horker meat and boiled ash yams. One by one the others arrived as the evening fell upon Solstheim: most of them had small things, such as fish and rabbits, but Bujold had not caught a single thing. Even with Kuvar's help, she hadn't managed to capture even a skeever. That night, those who had made successful catches cooked their meat, or preserved it with salting and pickling: they had made a worthy catch, and spirits were high. What was not preserved they ate, and they had enjoyed the fruits of their labor.

"This is what you should be, warriors of Thirsk," Sigrun told them. "This is what I would have for you: to be self-reliant, self-sufficient, beholden to no one but yourselves. Do this and no man, mer, nor beast, will stand against you."

Her words had some impact on the warriors: some of them mumbled in agreement, while others nodded, raised a half-eaten leg of meat, and went on eating. Everyone was enjoying the food, singing, and sharing the old mead. Sigrun drank little of the mead, for she was weary and wanted some of her wits about her. But she wondered if, at some point or another, she and Erik might have the safety to enjoy a drink or two for themselves. She had seen him fight and she had seen him hunt: and while he surpassed her skill with the bow and was at least evenly-matched in battle, she hadn't shared proper a drink with him.

She wondered why she was thinking about Erik so much. Perhaps it was because he gave her some measure of solace; the dreams and visions weren't so clear or painful when she imagined herself entwined in his arms. But even when there were no horrid images plaguing her sleep, Sigrun found herself thinking back on him over and over. Even now, as the evening festivities were dying down, Sigrun's eyes kept turning to Erik. She held out her hand to his red hair, but then halted; what was she planning on doing? Petting his hair like a curious little girl? In front of the warriors of Thirsk hall? She drew her hand back, and turned back to the fire, thinking about how it was she had found someone who could arouse such thoughts in her mind all the time.

In the glowing embers of the dancing flame, Sigrun's weariness was compounded with heaviness of the eyes. She nodded off and fell asleep by the fire-side. Into her mind she saw Erik face-to-face: his arms wrapped around waist and her arms wrapped around his shoulders. A hot desire burned within her, from the back of her throat to the midst of her thighs, to be as close to him as she possibly could. Pressing her body against his, she noticed a strange light in his blue eyes. The closer she leaned in, the brighter it shone. At last Erik's face disappeared and the light was all and all was light. Then she heard voices:

"You promised me I would have her," an all-too familiar voice hissed. "I went to Dawnstar and she wasn't there."

"Complications arose, lizard," a deep, sneering voice replied. "Be grateful we're still bothering to help you."

"I don't care about complications," the Argonian retorted. "All I care about is that while you're dragging your golden feet, my love is being defiled and deceived by that smooth-skinned ape."

"Careful who you insult," the sneering voice said. "Our reach stretches as far as Morrowind. You won't be able to hide from us anywhere."

The image faded, and Sigrun saw before her a great battlefield in a strange place: a place without snow, where the ground was black and the sky was wracked with clouds. On the one side was an army all of gold: some of them were clad in gold, others had skin that was gold. On the other side was an army tall and grim-faced: many of them Nords, but some of them Orcs as well. At the head of this army were two strange figures: one was an old man whose flesh seemed like the very ground upon which they walked, and red cracks lined his flesh. The other one looked very much like him, but his flesh was not made of the black earth, but of ash. The longer Sigrun looked at the ashen figure, the more she saw that it reminded her of someone.

"Father..." she breathed.

The two armies clashed, and blood was spilled upon the blackened ground. Gold-armored Dwemer, gray of flesh with black beards as long as Sigrun's hair, elves with gold skin and blue eyes, and Orcs and Nords armed in steel, furs, and bone armor. The armies were breaking, the Nords and Orcs were winning. At the head of the army was the Ash-King and the Dark One, and none could stand before them. Now they were pressing towards the slopes of that great mountain, leading into the golden halls of a Dwemer city. Sigrun had never seen the inside of such ruins, but had heard of them from her Father's stories: this looked many times greater than any of the ones she had seen.

A voice, sinister, mocking, and feminine, whispered from out of nowhere: 'I weave my way into your mind every night and still you remain blind? You really are dense, aren't you?'

Suddenly the scene changed and Sigrun saw a pitched battle: a duel of many warriors. The gray one that looked like Eirik was fighting a golden elf, armed in the bug-hide armor of his people. Besides them was another golden elf, completely naked save for an oversized disc-shaped golden mask upon his head; he was fighting a mohawked golden elf dressed in blue and gold. One of the gold-armored Dwemer was fighting the Dark One; his hands were clad in two golden armored gloves, and he wielded a golden hammer. There was a fierce look in his eyes, this high Dwemer, as he fought the Dark One. Upon the face of the Dark One was a smile.

"You're too late, little blind fool," the Dark One said. "I will soon be complete, and then...all of your plans to destroy my children will be undone."

"Never!" the Dwemer returned. "I will cut out your heart and refute the world you dissembled into being, and we will be the new gods of the sky!" With that, the Dwemer swung his hammer and struck the heart of the Dark One. There was a bright flash, a clang of metal, and then two figures vanished: the Dark One was gone, leaving only his heart lying upon the ground. But the Dwemer was gone as well: nothing was left but an empty suit of armor and the tools of a godless elf, forged in delusions of grandeur.

"Dumac!" the blue-clad mohawked elf cried out.

Then, to her surprise, the bug-armored elf ran her Father through with his sword. He sneered at the dying form, a wicked light in his eyes. The grayed Eirik seized the elf by the shoulders, and with one last breath let out a Shout that Sigrun had never heard before.

"Miin...Al Neh!"

The elf sprang back, cursing and waving his hands about madly. He couldn't see a thing: something about the Grey Spirit's last words had damaged his eyes. Sigrun then saw the last two remaining ones pause from their fight, and gaze in horror at the tools lying on the floor next to the still-beating heart.

"Where's Dumac?" the blue-clad one asked. "Where are the other Dwarves?"

"They have vanished," the masked one crooned, clutching a wound in his bare chest.

"He touched the heart with Kagrenac's tools," the blue-clad one said, pointing to the tools lying next to the heart. "They're cursed, Voryn. Don't let anyone touch them!"

"I'm afraid that's not going to happen!"

In Sigrun's sight, three new figures appeared. One of them bore a long phallic spear, with which it ran the blue-clad elf through the back, lifting him off the ground. The other two gathered about their impaled comrade: one averted his eyes in shame, the other looked on in mocked pity. But Sigrun saw the one that had done the killing: it bore the body of a man, but the face...the face was so similar to another face she had seen. So similar to Arvela's face.

"Sigrun, watch out!" another voice cried out.

In a flash, Sigrun was awake and jerked up: just in time. An axe came down right where her head had laid just a moment ago, burying into the wooden floor. Shocked from the rude awakening, and full of adrenaline from the assault, Sigrun threw herself at the attacker, half-expecting to see that damned elf Arvela sneering down at her, alive again even after she had choked the life out of her.

But it was Bujold, pinned beneath her.

"What in Oblivion is your problem?" Sigrun shouted.

"You're my problem, you elf-lover!" Bujold retorted.

"I'm not an elf!"

"Liar! You're not one of us, you might as well be an elf!" Sigrun punched Bujold in the face.

"Is this your idea of honor?" she shouted. "Trying to kill me in my sleep?"

"Everything was fine before you came along," Bujold said. "I'm just trying to put things back to the way things were before!"

"You were outcasts!" Sigrun shouted. "Cowering on a beach, driven out by a pack of pygmies because of your failure! You're too dense to see beyond your own pride!"

By this time, the rest of Thirsk was awake. Erik was at Sigrun's side, his axe in his hand. Kuvar and Hilund were standing opposite, their weapons raised. The other four were gaping in amazement. But Sigrun was still brimming with fury, and a mere humiliation wouldn't do anymore. She looked up at them.

"Your wife, your sister, your leader, tried to kill me!" she said. "For the sole reason that I wanted to make Thirsk great again! To save it from her own folly! Would you kill me for that?"

Kuvar's face fell in disappointment, and his hand lowered his weapon. "Do what you must, but don't kill her."

"Really? Don't kill her?" Sigrun returned. "She's tried to kill me twice already! I have every right to kill her here and now, to prevent more of this folly from happening!"

"If you kill her, I'm leaving," Kuvar said.

"Me too," Hilund added.

Sigrun looked down at Bujold, pinned beneath her knees, then suddenly recalled the plant she had seen in the ash-fields. Killing her was justified; it would have been no more than she deserved. She had every right to do it: unlike Arvela, the blood-fury that was upon her now - the storm that had made her slay the Dunmer in Eastmarch - would make killing her easy. But she wasn't an Imperial; she wasn't even a Thalmor. She was a Nord, as poor a one as she may be. She hadn't been sent to Solstheim to kill people, but to save the Skaal: saving lives was just as much her purpose as winning the war for the Stormcloaks.

"We need each and every one of you," Sigrun said to the warriors. "War is coming, one in which the Thirsk warriors will earn such praise as they have never had before. I cannot afford to lose any one of you..." She then turned back to Bujold. "...but neither can I afford to let this second betrayal go unpunished." She turned to Erik. "Give me her axe." He nodded, and reached for Bujold's axe. Then, fighting her struggles, Sigrun stretched Bujold's left arm out to its full length.

"If you cross me again," she warned. "I'll take more than your hand; that's a fucking promise!" Taking the axe, Sigrun brought it down upon Bujold's left wrist. She let out a bloodcurdling scream, weeping and crying and cursing, as blood stained the wooden floorboards of Thirsk Hall. Sigrun climbed off her victim and stood by herself, blooded axe in hand, as she looked down at her handiwork: Bujold's left hand lay still and motionless upon the floor. All the warriors gaped in awe at what they had witnessed, while Kuvar threw himself to his wife's side. Bujold lay curled helpless in a ball on the floor, cradling her bleeding wrist.

Erik walked over to her, a grim smile on his face. "That was pretty cold of you: I like it. But we still don't know where to find the Skaal. And now I doubt Bujold will help us." Sigrun walked over to Bujold and placed the bloody head of the axe against her neck.

"Haven't you done enough?" Kuvar asked.

"Just you try me, I dare you," Sigrun retorted; Kuvar gave her no answer. She then looked down at Bujold. "Two times you've tried to break your oath to me, Bujold the Unworthy. Bujold the Oath-Breaker. Bujold the Half-Hand. Tell me now where to find the Skaal: I won't ask again."

"North," Bujold whimpered. Nothing more came from her the rest of that night, only sobs and weeping.

Sigrun then spoke to the rest of the Thirsk warriors. "Erik and I are taking a short leave of absence. We will return, and when we do, we expect each and every one of you to remain vigilant. Fight, train, hunt: keep your blades sharp and your wits keen. If you lapse back into your old ways, I promise that I won't leave this island until I've whipped each one of you into shape." She then took Bujold's bloody hand and threw it up into the air; then with a swift motion, she drew a knife from the tables around the central hearth and threw the knife towards the hand. The knife pierced the middle of the palm and pinned the hand to the staves of the roof. Even she looked at her work with amazement: it was the first time she had thrown something and actually hit her target.

Every dog had its day, even the unlucky ones.

Despite Erik's pleading, Sigrun decided to embark for the Skaal village immediately: she could not sleep and was still on edge from being attacked in her sleep. She had a greater understanding for her Father's killing of Idolaf: in such an instant, she was a few inches away from doing the same as he. Gathering up her belongings and her sword, she left the hall with Erik in tow after her. Once they were outside the hall, she looked up into the night sky. It was uncommonly clear, and the moons shone brightly. Unfortunately, she knew very little of the stars and couldn't chart a course at night by their light.

"Erik!" she called back. He came to her side. "What do you think: which way is north?"

"You're asking me?" he returned. "I've never left Rorikstead before."

"And I've never been to Solstheim before," she replied. "But this is still the same sky we have back in Skyrim: we're even far enough north that the sky shouldn't be too different."

Erik sighed, then looked about this way and that, trying to find some landmark by which they could set their course. At last a smile came upon his face as he saw a sinister red glow far to the south, on the edge of the night sky.

"There," he said. "I think I've got it. That's south that way."

"How can you be sure?"

"The red light on the horizon," he said. "I'm guessing that's the Red Mountain. So we just go directly opposite that way, and we should be fine."

Sigrun smiled. "Thank you, Erik. Never would have figured that out without you."

Erik assumed a self-confident smile as he followed on behind her. "Glad to know I'm so invaluable."

Sigrun chuckled. "You know, I wish you were half this charming back in my time."

"I wasn't?"

"No," she replied. "You were very grim: I guess living on the border of the Reach did that to you."

"Huh," Erik mused. "So, I'm guessing that you knew me back in...in your time? How did we meet?"

Sigrun bit her lower lip. "You were my prisoner. I found you out in the middle of the golden plains of Whiterun and made you my prisoner."

"Was I...misbehaving?" She was glad that it was dark and he couldn't see how fiercely she was smiling.

"I had just escaped from some...bandits, and meeting a grim, armed adventurer wasn't something I was prepared for."

"I see. Well I hope that you remember me as I am now, and how we met now, and not back then."

"Why?"

"I'm much better looking now, being younger."

"That you are," Sigrun muttered, then let out a tiny yelp as she realized she said those words out loud.

"Well," Erik said, clearing his throat. "Um...you're not bad yourself either. Sorry, I've never been with someone...I mean around someone so forward."

"I guess being around these milk-drinkers has made me care less about pretense," Sigrun replied. "Now come on, we've got to find the Skaal."

They made their way steadily northward, under the cover of night. The moons were their only light, and they used it and the distant glow of the Red Mountain to light their way. Sigrun kept her sword drawn as she advanced; she was still not entirely sure the rieklings wouldn't attack again. But apart from that, they had encountered so little opposition so far that she wasn't ready to press her luck just yet. Erik followed on behind her, with his hand upon the axe-haft. On and on into the night they went, and yet they saw and heard nothing but the wind whistling through the stones and trees.

Suddenly Sigrun stopped and hissed at Erik, holding her left hand back to stop him. A rustling noise had been heard near at hand off to the left. Through the trees they could see the faint light of a torch, and a figure bent over near to the ground. From out of the darkness, the snout of a bear came into the light. Sigrun guessed that the beast was about to attack the figure while their back was turned: she had little time to lose. She threw her sword, hoping and praying that she'd land another hit like with Bujold's hand. Unfortunately, the sword hit a branch with a loud twang and fell harmlessly into the snow.

Fortunately, that was just enough sound to rouse the attention of the kneeling figure. It rose to an imposing height, drawing a hunting spear from the ground and attacked the bear. In the darkness, the two looked like a bundle of furs, one indistinguishable from the other. The attack was over in a moment; a figure much taller than a bear on its hind legs rose up from the snow, brushed itself off, then turned to Sigrun and Erik. A voice, feminine but uncharacteristically deeper than most women's voices, spoke to them.

"My thanks to you, strangers," the voice said. "If you hadn't come along, that bear might have been the end of me."

"Somehow I doubt that," Erik muttered to Sigrun, who stifled a giggle as she turned back to the giant woman.

"Just glad I could be of help," Sigrun said. "Who are you?"

"I am called Talvi Snow-Mane," said the tall woman. "By reason of my hair. And what are your names?"

"I'm Sigrun Stormborn, and this is Erik the Slayer. If I may ask, what brings you out here this late?"

"Hunting," she replied. "The Skaal need food, and we're short of manpower as it is."

"Did you say the Skaal?"

"Yes," Talvi nodded. "I am Skaal."

"We've been looking for you for days," Sigrun said. "Uh, the Skaal I mean. We're here to help you."

"Oh?" Talvi returned. "We could use the help. This winter has been a difficult one." While she was speaking with them, Talvi knelt down by the bear carcass and said a strange prayer over the beast's body.

"Who, or what, is the All-Maker?" Erik asked. "And what are you doing to that bear?"

"Oh, outsiders, are you?" Talvi asked with an inquisitive hint in her voice. "I've never met folk from outside Solstheim. The All-Maker is the creator of all things and the source of all life: and it is to the All-Maker that all life returns. We don't kill without need, and when we must take life, such as in a hunt, we thank the beasts that we send back to the All-Maker."

Erik seemed rather intrigued by what he had heard, and stroked his beard. Sigrun, meanwhile, was trying to stay focusing on her task at hand.

"What things do you need help with?" Sigrun asked.

"Some of my people have gone missing," Talvi replied. "That was the reason I was called out from the north. But I doubt you two want to stay out here in the dark and cold. Come, let's go back to the village: it's not far."

Talvi took her torch and handed it to Sigrun, then began dragging the bear carcass along behind her as they walked on in front of her. As they went, Talvi would direct them on which way they had to go: she obviously knew the way to her own village better than they did, and so they followed her directions. But as they went, Sigrun wondered about Talvi. She had heard some of the stories of her Father's journeys on Solstheim and didn't recall any mention of this giantess. What had changed?

Thankfully, the giantess saved her the trouble of asking.

"So, you're outsiders," she said. "Would you be from Skyrim, by any chance?"

"Yes," Sigrun returned. "We are. Why do you ask?"

"You said that you were here to help us," Talvi said. "From what I heard, only one outsider has helped us in recent times. Do you know the Skaal-friend, the one who bears the Bloodskal blade?"

"Uh, what?" Sigrun asked.

"Our shaman had another name for him," Talvi replied. "She called him...Dragonborn."

"Dragonborn!" Sigrun exclaimed. "Yes, we know him very well. He is my..." She was about to say 'Father', but then remembered that she wasn't in her own time. "...leader. He's a great friend of mine. He's the one who sent us here to help you."

"Indeed?" Talvi asked. "What's he like? I was not in the village when he walked Solstheim last year, and never had the chance to meet him."

Sigrun exclaimed. "You'd have to see him yourself to know the answer. It's...kind of hard to explain."

"As you say," Talvi returned.

"But tell me," Sigrun said. "Where were you when he was here? He told me a little about his journeys here and never mentioned you."

"That's a tale and a half, little one," Talvi chuckled. "Last year, when the evil whispers came up from the darkness and corrupted the Stones, I fled north." She let out a heavy sigh.

"What's wrong?" Sigrun asked.

"I feel ashamed for what I did," she said. "I ran when my people needed me, and hid in a cave. I'm head and shoulders above most men, certainly every woman, and I ran. All-Maker alone knows why I was allowed to live after forsaking my people."

"Was there a choice to fight?" Erik asked. "I mean, if you had stayed, what good would you have done?"

"I...I don't know," Talvi sighed. "This evil sorcery was so great that it enslaved all the thinking beasts of Solstheim: even the elves and rieklings. Our chieftain was even ensnared by it!"

"Then there wasn't anything you could have done," Erik returned.

"I...I know," Talvi dismissed. "But I knew my place: it was in the village, with my people. And now...I'm not sure anymore."

"What do you mean?" Erik asked.

But Talvi said no more except to give them directions this way and that, to the village. In a little while, they entered a small cluster of wooden buildings whose steep roofs were covered in thick layers of snow. Talvi led them to the largest building, into which she dragged the bear over to the still burning fire-pit in the center. Sigrun and Erik followed her into the large structure and toward the warm glow of the fire. They gathered around her as she began cutting off the fur and the choicest parts of the bear for preserving.

In the light of the fire-pit, they had a chance to get a better glimpse of this giant woman. She was dressed in thick clothes made of fur and animal skins. Though they had imagined her to be much taller in the darkness, she was indeed of an imposing stature, uncommon to that of most women: Sigrun estimated that she must be almost seven feet high when standing upright. The hair on her head was silvery white, shaved on both sides of her head, and tied back into a ponytail on the backside of her head. Her face was damasked with ornate blue paint, though they could not guess what shapes she bore.

"Are you a giant?" Erik asked.

"Half-giant," Talvi replied in a low voice. "There ain't too many of us left on Solstheim: they've all returned to the All-Maker, one by one."

"I'm sorry," Sigrun said.

"I hear there are many giants in Skyrim," the large woman said, as she worked on the bear. "Wouldn't mind seeing them one day, before I return to the All-Maker myself. Come, help me with this bear, and we can talk some more."

The rest of that night Sigrun and Erik spent helping Talvi skin and butcher the bear. They talked in a low voice, for there were several other people sleeping in this large structure, which Talvi called the Great-Hall. Their talk was mostly about what had happened in Solstheim lately. It had been a hard winter, and there was still this whole month to look forward to more snow and ice. Game was rare, and several of their number had gone missing: among them Baldor Iron-Shaper, their smith. His was the hardest loss, for he forged and repaired the tools and weapons they used for farming, fishing, and hunting. Things had been looking quite grim, and there were whispers that the Bloodmoon, Hircine's Wild Hunt, would once again come to the island.

"But then," Talvi concluded. "Last night, our shaman felt a change in the air. The cold winds abated, and the ash from the Big Mountain in the south moved away. And now you've come to help us, sent by none other than Skaal-friend the Dragonborn. The All-Maker is surely with the Skaal!"

"That's...good news," Sigrun replied, slightly confused.

"It is," Talvi nodded. "And now that you're here, you'll help us find our missing blacksmith."

"Yes," Sigrun nodded. "Now, what can you tell us about his disappearance?"

"I don't know, I wasn't there," Talvi replied. "But if we wait until morning, we can ask Deor Woodcutter. He'll know."

For what little of the night was left, Sigrun and Erik slept before the fire-pit, their heads nodding against each other. Too soon for their tired bodies, the morning came. Talvi gave them each a bowl of steaming hot stew that she had prepared during the night while they slept: it was warm and filling, and the meat inside was greasy, coarse, and sweet. Once they had eaten their fill, Talvi told them that she had spoken with Deor while they were eating.

"He said he saw two elves taking something south and west the day that Baldor disappeared," she said. "Now, then, are you ready to go? We should leave as soon as possible."

Erik and Sigrun were indeed ready; they had little else with them save for what they had brought from Skyrim and had at Thirsk. Talvi had a spear that was at least eight feet long; the spear-head was made of a strange kind of material that looked like ice, but shimmered in the light. Upon her back was a great bow as long as Jonna was tall, and a quiver of arrows sat along with it, strapped to her back.

"Are you any good with that bow?" Sigrun asked.

"Yes," Talvi returned.

"Good," Sigrun said. "Because Erik is only decent with a bow, and I'm worse than he is."

The three of them went out of the Great-Hall as quickly as possible. Now that the sun had risen, they could use it guide them on their way. Unfortunately, it seemed that they would be going the direction of the ash-fields. As they came to a halt on the edge of the village, Sigrun looked back towards the warmth of the rising sun, when she saw someone coming running toward them from the village. This figure was dressed similarly to Talvi, though it was of average height and clearly not a giant: the closer it came, she saw that it was a young man close to Erik's age.

"Wait!" the newcomer cried out. "Wait for me!"

"Nikulas!" Talvi said, turning about. "What are you doing here?"

"I heard from Yrsa that outsiders had come to the village," he said. "And that you were taking them off on some business in the southwest. I'm coming with you."

"This isn't the time for that!" Talvi retorted. "We're just coming back."

"I know," said Nikulas in reply. "But I want to help. I want to get my first real taste of adventure: I want to prove to mama that I can face whatever the world has to throw at me."

Sigrun couldn't help but be moved by this young Skaal's enthusiasm. It reminded her of her own wanderlust, what had driven her to go with Jonna's crazy idea about setting out initially. So it was when the giantess turned to them, to get their opinion on the newcomer, she nodded: "We need all the help we can get."

So it was that four of them left the Skaal village on the third day of Sun's Dawn, each of them armed: Sigrun with a sword, Erik and Nikulas with one-handed axes, and Talvi with a spear and bow. Talvi was leading the hunt with her long strides, and the three of them were barely able to keep up with her. Yet keep up with her they did, to the best of their ability. As they walked, Sigrun kept her eyes on Talvi, while Erik spoke to Nikulas. Their talk was heard by Sigrun: Nikulas was eager for adventure and longed to prove himself in the world outside of their village. Their talk turned now to Thirsk, for they were now passing it by on their left-hand side. Sigrun learned that Hrothmund the Red, the spirit who had recognized her as the future leader of Thirsk, was of old a Skaal himself, and had left the village hundreds of years ago to establish the hall.

After much walking, they passed the half-sunken ruins of an ancient Dwemer fortress. They dared not go thither: Talvi said that nothing 'of the All-Maker' existed in there, and Sigrun was in no hurry to venture down there either. Her Father said little about his time in those ruins, and Mjoll certainly had very horrifying memories to share. Beyond this impressive ruin, they came at last to the ash-fields. To Sigrun's surprise, the air was clean and fresh: she could breathe freely, as though she was standing on the shores of Lake Ilinalta once again. Periodically she would hear the cries of birds in the air, or of other things. The change in the weather had been noticed by birds and beasts, who were now moving about in the clean air. It filled their hearts to hear the sounds of living things once again.

Suddenly, Talvi called for a halt. They were on the borders of a forest. Some of those trees near at hand were still half-alive, but most of them away southward had been burned and blackened and were choked with ash. As they halted, they noticed the air was still and there was a humming as though of many bees. Suddenly they saw the reason for why Talvi had halted. A thing stepped out from the side of one of the living trees: it was about the height of Talvi, and looked vaguely human, but no human was this thing. Its skin looked like the limbs of a tree, bare and bark-less, but it was clad in bark and its limbs were like the twisting, grasping branches of trees. Its hair was a tangle of leaves and short twigs, and there was a queer light in its eyes.

The tree-thing stood before them, saying no word but gazing at Sigrun intently. The buzzing continued, and Talvi and Nikulas kept their hands on their weapons, while Erik had already drawn his axe. Sigrun didn't draw her sword, but looked curiously at the creature. The buzzing subsided and there was a creaking sound, and into Sigrun's mind she had the distinct impression that this creature was asking her a question: a question without words, a question spoken in the mind with no need for the tongues of men.

Has life come to this land again?

"Yes," Sigrun muttered, nodding her head; though she had no idea why she said those words.

The tree creature turned back to the forest and was seen no more by them.

"What was that?" Erik asked.

"Spriggans," Talvi said in answer. "The breath of the All-Maker in the trees. They're usually a lot more mean, though. I've never seen this happen before." She turned to Sigrun. "What happened?"

"I don't know," Sigrun said, shaking her head.

"You should know," Nikulas said. "It spoke to you, and you answered it."

"I...I don't know," Sigrun insisted. "I've never seen them before, and I have no idea what it wanted or...or why it didn't attack us."

"Hmm," Talvi muttered. "Perhaps I should tell this to our shaman. Frea Stornsdottir may be able to tell us this riddle."

"Let's keep going," Sigrun said. "Whatever happened here, we still have our task ahead of us."

They now traveled westward, keeping the trees on the left-hand. None of them wished to venture back into the ash-fields, or venture among the trees with creatures like that around. Sigrun insisted over and over that she had no idea how the spriggan hadn't attacked them, or what had happened with it. It was a marvel to her more than to them: for she had no idea why even those words had been spoken by her own mouth. On and on they traveled, until they saw the mountains to the right hand northwards gather southwards to bar their way. In the dell here, where the arm of the mountain reached southward, they saw a forlorn lodge sitting here, on the edge between ash and snow. Here they also halted, for Sigrun saw something that made her heart chill. Tall figures were pacing about the land around the hut. All of them were dressed in sable, and they bore weapons of moonstone and malachite: their faces were yellow, their eyes were thin and squint, their heads long, and their faces were twisted in perpetual scowling.

So at last Sigrun came face-to-face with the Thalmor, the chief enemy of the Empire and the Nords.

(AN: So this chapter went all sorts of places. Sigrun saw the Battle of the Red Mountain [sort of a combination of the Nord and Ashlander versions], laid down the law in Thirsk, and help a half-giant Skaal find their missing villagers on Solstheim with a half-giant! Talvi Snow-Mane is based on a house mod by Elianora called Skaal You Need which comes with a follower called "Wynter": I changed the name to the Finnish word for "winter" so that my version is "sort of" original. One reason for bringing her along was - as you may have guessed - the Pale front, as well as having a Solstheim companion follow us into war: can't bring Frea as she has responsibilities.)

(Some great author [at least he's considered great] said something critical about what I did in the story, to the tune of 'if you get the story to a certain point and then take it in a different direction, did you really go on the first half of the journey?' [don't quote me, I'm pulling it from memory]. Well I'm making it work by threading thematic elements from the first twenty chapters into the rest of the story [not to mention Arvela and the book]: so I kind of got to have my cake and eat it too, so to speak.)