(AN: Let's hope that splitting this chapter in two will be less difficult on me and give more reading time to all of you.)
Of Giants and Elves
The two of them now sought among the dead for means with which to bind their prisoner. Some of the bandits had belts made of rope, which they removed and bound upon the wrists of the Argonian. Sigrun was still unsure about Jonna's choice to keep him alive: the visions she had seen in her sleep were now alive in the waking world. She feared the pain would come back and haunt her at all times; but worse than this, she now began to understand, bit by bit, his part in this tale.
The images floated in her mind, not as painful nightmares, but as memories: memories of a life that she had been part of, that was now fading fast like the noonday sun as it was being swallowed up by the clouds of storm. But she saw these memories now as one who sat on the outside looking in, rather than as one who lived within them. She could see keenly this Argonian accosting Eirik and Mjoll, confessing his undying love for her own mother, and cursing Eirik as a thief and a kidnapper. She saw again a figure hooded and cloaked in black whispering to him. She saw a group of bandits overcome her mother and drag her back to a cave somewhere in the mountains, where this Argonian waited. She saw the two of them in a cave somewhere, arguing furtively: apparently he thought that she was his wife and was angry that she had been 'defiled.' He promised to 'remove the seed of rape' from her pure body, and with a horrifying gasp, Sigrun realized exactly what he meant.
Me, she thought. It all makes sense now. This, this Argonian: he wanted to kill me. This is what Bjorn was talking about, about Dragon Breaks and this Argonian. That's what the pain's from. As long as this Argonian lives, I'll be in pain...until he kills me.
She looked towards the Argonian with disgust. Killing someone she had never met might be a difficult conundrum, seeing as how she did it often when she faced bandits, Imperial soldiers, and other such obstacles. But she had never raised her hand against any child: yet this Argonian was willing to kill her when she herself was a baby in her mother's womb, wholly unable to defend herself. She turned to Jonna, who was pilfering any spare septims she could find on the bandits.
"Jons," she said. "We should have killed this Argonian. He's dangerous."
"Yes," hissed the Argonian. "Just kill everyone who's not like you. How very Nord of you, snow-back. Your dead gods must be very proud of you."
"What?" Jonna asked, running over to Sigrun's horse, where the bound Argonian sat with both hands tied.
"He's done murder," Sigrun said. "And will do more mischief if we let him live."
"If I'm a murderer," the Argonian replied. "Then you snow-backs are a race of murderers and thieves!"
"And you call us bigoted," Sigrun retorted with a scoff.
"We're not letting him go," Jonna said. "He knows about Thelgil; we need to make him talk before he let him go...alive or otherwise."
"I will tell you nothing," replied the Argonian.
"Is that a fact?" Jonna asked. "Do you think because I'm small that I can't kick your ass? Did you not see what Sigrun did to your friend Anita? I can do that twice as hard, twice as fast, and not think twice about it!"
"Anita was never my friend," hissed the Argonian. "She hated all men, and as such wouldn't have had much use for me farther down the line. We were business partners."
"What business did you do?" Jonna asked.
"Collecting, that sort of thing," he replied.
"You mean stealing," Sigrun clarified.
"If I'm a thief, then what shall we say of your people, stealing this land from the Snow Elves?"
"You do know that elves enslaved your people, right? Not Nords," Sigrun stated. "How come you hate us more than them?"
"The dark elves are a dead people," the Argonian began. "We defeated them a long time ago, and now they run here and there, with no place to call their own, while we own the best of their land."
"And you call us bigoted," Sigrun laughed.
"Do not mock me, snow-back! You know nothing of our struggle, of our suffering, our sacrifice!"
"Stay on point, lizard!" Jonna shouted as loudly as she could, seizing one of the horns on the back of his head. She calmed down a measure, and then continued. "You were a thief and you helped Anita steal from others."
"She stole, yes," the Argonian said. "But only from men. She seemed to think it was her life's goal to slay all men and create a world of only women." He scoffed. "A fool's errand, to say the least. She made more enemies that way than friends, and required the help of the rich and well-connected to escape the headsman's axe: that's where I come in."
"You?"
"Yes," he said. "Tavris is well-connected. Has friends in many places, many rich friends. We go from place to place, never caught. Anita liked that, and was willing to set aside her own private hatred of men to escape punishment...and gain money for her own ends as well."
"No honor among thieves, eh?" Sigrun asked.
"You know nothing, snow-back!"
"Call her that again," Jonna threatened. "And I'll drag you behind my horse when we leave!"
"Ooh, threatening me, are you?" Tavris sneered. "Such fragile egos, to be offended by mere words spoken in idle jest. Not that I've endured worse from you, calling me lizard and such!"
"Save your b*tching for someone who cares, Tavris," Jonna retorted. "Now answer my next question: where did you come across Thelgil?"
"I won't tell you."
"Yes, you will."
"Or what? You'll beat me? Torture me? Kill me? Do your worst! The High Justicar promised a much worse fate for betraying his trust."
"You're going to die anyway," Sigrun said. "You might as well tell us everything."
"You don't know the High Justicar like I do," Tavris replied. "He has spies everywhere. He destroyed the Dark Brotherhood! Even Sithis can't stop him: how do you think two women will be able to stop him? Better to be the left hand of the Thalmor than to be in their way."
"This is getting us nowhere," said Sigrun. "Let's kill him now and get this over with."
"One more question," Jonna said, holding up her hand. "Where is Thelgil?"
"Where all the Thalmor are, where else do you think?" Tavris replied.
"Solitude..." Jonna muttered.
"Yes. Now kill me and get this over with."
"Yes!" Sigrun hissed. "He'll try to kidnap Mo...Mjoll if we don't." She then took a knife from one of the dead bandits nearby and place it at the Argonian's mouth.
"Picture yourself inside somewhere warm," she said, a fell light in her eyes. "Completely safe, filled with warm water, and without a care in the world. Then someone comes along and fills your water with poison. You can't help but drink it, and now you know that you're slowly dying...all because of someone's hatred for Nords."
"What in Oblivion are you babbling about?" he hissed.
"You tried to kill me before I was born," Sigrun replied. "You won't get the chance to do it again. You'll never threaten my family again!"
With that, Sigrun drove the knife into the Argonian's mouth as hard as she could, her eyes fixed on his yellow eyes. She wanted to have his dead face fixed in her memory for as long as she lived: so that she'd know for certain that he was dead and those visions would die with him. When at last the hissing rattle escaped the Argonian's open jaws, Sigrun rose up and sighed: the rain was still pouring down around them.
"So, that's that," she said. "Now, shall we get on our way to the Stormcloak camp?"
"Yes," Jonna nodded. "Hopefully this rain will let up before it gets too cold. I wouldn't want to arrive frozen to death."
The storm moved southwest, towards Falkreath, and soon the two women rode out from beneath it on their horses. The worst part, of course, was riding into the Pale. The snows were now within sight, and they feared to be frozen by the cold of the upper holds. Their armor was wet and cold, and their cloaks also had been soaked through. Yet, for all of this, Jonna noted that Sigrun was in high spirits. She seemed to have been uplifted by something or other, and cared not for the rain or the cold: she seemed as though she could run from one end of Skyrim to the other on a dare. It made Jonna happy to see her friend and sister in such good spirits.
Yes, she told herself. I think sister is appropriate. No matter what we've been through, she's become as close to me as kin.
For the rest of that day, they galloped northward, following the road. By and by they entered upon the colder regions, and Sigrun and Jonna were both shivering violently. They carried on until the road forked, with one branch turning west and the other east. Here they were brought to a stand-still. Sigrun suddenly regretted her choice to not listen to her Father's advice. She had no idea which way to go, and the memories of her previous journey were now so faint that she couldn't recall anything about them to mind, save only that these things happened.
"Which way should we take?" Sigrun asked.
"I say west," Jonna replied. "The war is in the west. It's likely that we'll find the Stormcloak camp to the west."
Just then, they heard a distant roar coming from the west, and a sound like thunder in the sky. They turned westward but could see nothing.
"Something's wrong over there," Sigrun stated. "Something massive. Probably we shouldn't go west."
"If you say so," sighed Jonna. "Though I'm pretty sure the camp is to the west. We could lose days going east, and we're already nearing the end of our first."
"I know, I know," Sigrun said. "Just the sounds from the west; they remind me of that grahl we encountered. I'd rather not risk running into something like that, especially when it's just the two of us."
"If any giant tries to molest us, they'll have me to face first," Jonna defiantly stated.
Sigrun smiled. "They'd knock you all the way to Hammerfell."
"They can try," Jonna replied. They laughed, and then Jonna turned her eyes eastward. "East it is, then."
The eastward path was possibly more perilous than the westward path. The Stormcloak camp was not along the road, and they could see very little on account of the many snow-clad trees. One could get easily lost in the woods, and soon fall prey to wolves or giants. There were several camps of giants dotting the wilderness of the Pale, in the land where few men ever went. Beyond this, of course, their clothes were cold and still somewhat damp. Yet travel they must, and they had made their choice.
Darkness was now falling upon the land of Skyrim. The sun disappeared westward, behind the Wrothgarian Mountains, lengthening the shadows of evening. Soon it would be dusk and the two women would be benighted. They were now come to the Nightgate Inn, the last remnant of what had once been the wayward town of Heljarchen. In the sixty-sixth year of the Fourth Era, a battle had taken place in this very site: some stories said that refugees from Morrowind had instigated it, while some said that it had something to do with the giants that dwelt in the west. Either way, men were slain and buildings were burned, and in the end when the smoke settled, only Nightgate Inn remained.
As they went forth, they noticed something to the southeast: a light glowing in the woods. Mustering up the last ounces of their strength, Sigrun and Jonna turned their horses towards the direction of that light. Darkness fell upon them and soon they were benighted, wholly within the snowy woods. Their only hope now was to find the source of that light. By and by they heard sounds and men bearing torches and wearing the armor of the Stormcloaks approached the riders. They had found the camp.
Once the guards saw their gear, they led them back to the camp at once. There, among the company of armed and armored soldiers, Sigrun saw Talvi and Erik sitting by the fire. The giantess rose up from her place and ran to greet them: first Sigrun, then Jonna. The younger woman was amazed and a little startled by the sight of the half-giant: Erik did not stir from his place. They went immediately to the fire in the midst of the Stormcloak camp, and there warmed themselves as best they could. Sigrun noticed that Erik said nothing to her; he didn't even look in her direction, if it could be helped.
After they had warmed themselves and taken food, the captain of the Stormcloak host came to Sigrun and asked for their report. They told them that Whiterun had been taken by the Stormcloaks and were now looking westward, towards their next goals: Falkreath and Morthal.
"That's good to hear," he said. "But I fear that we have ill to report over here. Something has stirred up the giants: or someone. They're moving on all the roads and passes from here to the old Dwarven ruin of Mzinchaleft. We won't be able to march with them on the run."
"What about the Legion?" Jonna asked.
"Our scouts say that they have two camps in this region," the captain replied. "The closest one is near High Gate, to the northwest: it's close enough to provide support to Morthal in case of an attack. The other one is up in the mountains, north of us but just south of the Tower of Dawn. It's too remote to be of any threat to us, unless they're reinforced from the High Gate camp."
"What would happen then?" asked Jonna.
"They'd be able to assault Dawnstar," said the captain. "And with a supply from Morthal, they'd be able to cross the frozen wastes and attack Winterhold. Windhelm would be in danger from an attack from the north."
"What about Fort Dunstad?" Jonna asked.
"Sealed up tight, and with those giants about, we wouldn't be able to make any meaningful assault."
"Then we have to take Dunstad," Jonna said. "Then march on the High Gate camp. We'll cut off their supplies and march on Morthal."
"Ha! Not unless you have an army behind you!"
"How many men do you have here?"
"One hundred and fifteen," he replied. "But that won't be enough to stand against the giants."
"Is there no way around?"
"It would take time," the captain replied. "We'd be trudging through deep snow for many days, and there's word of a blizzard on the mountains that might blow down this way."
"We're expecting reinforcements in ten days," Jonna said. "Once they've arrived, we'll begin marching west."
"Unless those giants can be taken care of," the captain answered. "There will be no march here."
Jonna sighed, then turned about to look for Sigrun. She had been silent this whole time, and she was curious as to what she was thinking. She saw her gazing at Erik, a look of sadness on her face. Jonna gave Sigrun a shove on the shoulder, turning her attention back to the matter at hand.
"What do you think?" Jonna asked. "About the giant problem."
"Hmm? Oh, yes. Um...uh..." Sigrun paused for a moment, catching herself as her thoughts drifted to Erik and then back to the waking world. "What about Talvi? She's a giantess. Maybe she could do something about them?"
"We've tried," said the captain. "But she won't go anywhere near them. Never said why, and no one has the stomach to force her."
"Maybe you can talk to her?" Jonna suggested. "Try and convince her to help?"
"Oh, yes," Sigrun nodded. "But I think we'll need a rest first. It's been a hard day today."
The two of them now settled down in their warm clothes and warm cloaks next to the fire, next to Talvi. Jonna asked the giantess many questions about herself, about Solstheim, and what strange creatures that dwelt there. As for Sigrun, she made her way over to Erik. She was determined to get to the bottom of what was bothering him.
"Hey," she said slowly. "Are you alright?"
He gave her no answer.
"Listen, you've been acting strange ever since we arrived. I thought something was wrong. Can you tell me what's troubling you? Maybe I could help."
Again there was no answer. She made no response, but instead looked into the flames. Something inside her was feeling rotten. She had slain Tavris, the one who had threatened her family and tried to kill her: she should be feeling elated and relieved, especially since the pains and the visions would now be gone. Instead she felt horribly alone and detached, so close to one she had been so intimate with and yet farther away from him than if he were on Atmora itself.
"What am I to you?"
Sigrun was so surprised at his words that she was amazed that he had actually spoken. She turned about and looked at him: he was not looking at her, but into the flames as well.
"What do you mean?"
"You said that you never said that you loved me," he said. Sigrun's eyes welled up in horror. "So what am I to you, then?"
"It...it wasn't like that," Sigrun dismissed. "I didn't mea...I only meant...it was because...oh, you wouldn't understand!"
"What don't I understand?"
Sigrun scoffed. "Come on, surely you've had your way with many farm-girls and tavern-wenches at Rorikstead."
"Not a one!" he retorted. "I didn't lie to you when I said it was my first time. So tell me, what don't I understand?"
Sigrun stammered as she tried to speak, but found that she couldn't find any words to say. What she had thought was so important had now been done away with completely. How could she explain it to him in a way that he could understand? She tried instead to dismiss his words.
"I don't believe you," she said. "You've certainly had relations with someone else. Why else was it so good..." She gasped to realize what she had let out of her mouth.
"You used me for your own pleasure," Erik retorted. "And all that I was to you was a tool to scratch an itch. Is that all I was to you?"
Anger was rising up in Sigrun: anger that he spoke the truth and cut her to the heart. She wanted to hit him, to shut him up, to silence his words. She now felt the weight of what she had done: she wished now for a thousand beatings from Mjoll rather than what she was now feeling. In her rage, she kicked at a burning log and railed on Erik.
"Shut up, shut up!" she shouted. "You're being stupid!"
Erik said nothing, but kept his gaze on the fire. Sigrun wished that he had responded: that he had railed on her as angrily as she had railed against him, if only to give her a good excuse for having him away from her. But he said nothing. Instead she felt rotten and turned away, trying to will sleep upon her as she felt very small and mean. The last thing she heard him say before she fell asleep was this:
"You're right. I was stupid."
Morning rose upon Lake Yorgrim: the fourteenth day of Sun's Dawn. The Stormcloak camp started hurrying about, preparing to move out. Weapons were sharpened, armor was girded, horses were laden, and men said prayers to Talos in preparation for the day of battle ahead. Jonna had been lying next to Sigrun and was rousing the other up. They had to move quickly, for the soldiers around the camp were quite hasty and vigorous in their preparations. Several men were dousing the fire and sliding snow over the ashes, when Jonna noticed a small red dot on the ground near where Sigrun and slept.
Blood.
Sigrun, meanwhile, was talking with the giantess Talvi, asking her to help with the giants.
"I can't do it," Talvi said. "I barely survived the incident with the grahl, and that thing was young and close to my own height. The giants here are taller than me. If I tried to fight them, they would break my bones as easily as a twig."
"Couldn't you do something, though?" Sigrun asked. "Anything? Just enough to get them out of the way?"
"I don't know what I could do to help you," Talvi stated. "And I won't open my legs for them, if that's what you mean."
"At least someone has some principles," Erik muttered.
"Shut up Erik!" Sigrun growled.
"Why? Because you know I'm right?"
"Focus!" Jonna interjected so loudly that Sigrun yelped.
"Jons!" Sigrun exclaimed. "I didn't know you were there."
"Well, I am here," Jonna said. "And we've got a job to do, so stop talking and start packing." She went off to find their horses, to see if they were properly tended to and ready to depart.
"Talk," Sigrun muttered to herself, then turned to Talvi. "Do you know the language of giants?"
"Yes," Talvi nodded. "It was all I spoke as a child. Why?"
"What if you could talk to them?" Sigrun asked. "Tell them that we're not a threat...or get them on our side. We could win over Morthal within nine days with an army of giants behind us."
"I told you," Talvi repeated. "I can't do it. They'd take one look at me and laugh before they broke me."
"I have faith in you, Talvi," Sigrun said. "I believe you can do it."
Once the camp was packed up, Sigrun told the commander that she, Jonna, and Talvi would be going to parley with the giants. He told them of Tumble Arch Pass, a little way to the west, where they were last seen. No sooner had they left but Erik joined up with them, his axe in hand. He said that he was going for Talvi's sake, and not for theirs: this made Sigrun angry, but she made no complaint on the matter. Perhaps having another person at her back would give Talvi more confidence.
The soldiers began their march towards the main road, to lead them to Fort Dunstad, while they would be going west and a little south towards the giant camp. Their journey, however, was the least enjoyable of the two: the road to Tumble Arch Pass led them through the tall, snow-covered trees: here visibility was nigh impossible and they could be ambushed at any time. Sigrun and Jonna rode on their horses, while Talvi and Erik walked together through the deeps of snow. To their amazement, all was quiet: no singing of birds, no howling of wolves, no roaring of giants, dragons, or other monsters. Only the sound of the snow crunching beneath their feet and hooves, the occasional snorts of the horses, and their own breath, could be heard.
"Something's wrong," Erik said at last. "It's too quiet. Where are the giants? I thought they'd be moving all about us, since we're on the march."
"Do you want someone to attack us?" Sigrun asked.
"Maybe I would," Erik replied. "At least then we'd know where they were."
"You won't find them here," a voice spoke from near at hand.
Immediately they halted, looking this way and that for the speaker. The trees were empty, the sky was empty, and there was nothing before, behind, or to either side of them.
"Who's there?" Sigrun demanded.
"Someone...and no one at all..." came the vague answer.
Again they looked around them, but saw nothing.
"Who are you?" Sigrun shouted again.
"I am whatever I am needed to be," came the disembodied voice in reply. "I am a helpful sorceress; a wicked old witch. A tender lover. A vicious enemy. A sagacious old aunt. A knife in the back..."
"Shut up and answer the damn question!" Sigrun retorted.
A sound of disgust was heard. "You Nords are all the same, aren't you? So impatient, so narrow-minded, so...binary." There was a flash and four pairs of eyes turned around to the east.
There stood, in the deep prints which they had left in the snow, a woman dressed in a gray robe. Her hood was thrown back and a blue-gray face with red eyes was revealed: a Dunmer. The eyes were not looking directly at them, but seemed to be focused upwards and to her left: she seemed as though she was bored by what was happening and wholly disinterested in those before her, even though they were all armed and one of them was a half-giant.
"Who are you?" Sigrun asked warily. "You seem familiar."
"Perhaps I am, or perhaps there is something..." she began, and then stopped short. "You know what? I don't even care to bullshit you anymore, so I'll just say it."
"That...would be really helpful," Sigrun replied, taken aback by the woman's frankness.
"Mmm, maybe, but it won't help you in the long run," she said. "My name is Tiraa Vilenis, and I am the one who will be killing you...Sigrun Eiriksdottir."
Sigrun gasped. "What did you say?"
"Oh yes, I know who you are, and where you come from. Not that it matters, though. I'm sure to win this little encounter, and if I don't...well...the dead keep their secrets, don't they?"
"Why do you want to kill me?" Sigrun asked. "I've never met you before..."
"Neither did Tavris, but he tried to kill you too," said Tiraa, quickly flashing Sigrun a knowing wink before resuming her aloof demeanor. "But, well, it's a bit more complicated with me, though."
"Why?" Sigrun asked.
Tiraa shrugged. "You've been a thorn in the side of my...well, I'm not sure what you n'wahs would call them. What do you call someone who used to be a friend, co-conspirator, colleague, lover...and then betrayed you? I mean, they're not an enemy, because you'd still feel bad about their death."
"What are you babbling about?" Sigrun asked again.
Tiraa rolled her eyes. "Her! You've been a thorn in her side. And when I defeat you and bring her your head, she'll see that I'm not one to be fucked with...well, not that way, at least."
"How have I been a thorn?" Sigrun asked. "How could I have been a thorn, if I've never met you or your...ex-friend?"
"Oh, you have met her before," Tiraa replied. "Do you really not know? Have you forgotten so easily? It'd be a shame to let you know: those who ask need not know, after all..."
"Cut the Dunmer bullshit and tell me!"
"Oh, manners!" Tiraa exclaimed. "You humans and your incessant desire to have everything handed to you on a plate! Is it any wonder wizards go mad, what with your kind coming to them for everything? 'Curse my neighbors for me!', 'Heal my dying child!', 'Make me handsome!', 'Make me smart!', 'Make me pretty!', 'Make me rich!', me me me me me!" Tiraa's voice rose in pitch as she mocked those who came begging for magical boons.
"Well, shouldn't you help out if you have the power to do so?" asked Jonna.
"No!" Tiraa retorted. "I worked hard to acquire this power. It is mine to keep as I will, and not share if I choose not to."
"What a b*tch!" Jonna uttered.
"You think so, don't you?" asked Tiraa. "Well maybe I am, with all the things I've done to countless people over the centuries. But there's one thing that none of you ever consider, especially when begging for wizards and witches to just snap their fingers and fix all your problems for you..." Her eyes widened in sympathy. "...I don't even think she understands it, not yet at least."
"And what's that?" Sigrun asked.
"Boredom," was the answer that Tiraa gave. "With the world at your fingertips, everything becomes trivial. What's an enemy if you can just snap your fingers and banish them to Oblivion for the rest of their lives? What joy does life have if you can keep someone alive with cordials and spells, postponing death to the uttermost limit until every moment is weariness? What value do looks have if you can change them at a thought? What worth is money if you can conjure or transmute enough gold and ebony to make every last drake worth less than shit? And knowledge! You spend your whole life searching for the answers only to find that you could just wave your hand and have any answer to any question ever asked in all of history in a moment."
"Do you really believe that?" Sigrun asked. "That you're doing people a favor by keeping back power from those who need it?"
"Why, yes, I do," Tiraa replied. "The little people have never seen the spiritual atrophy of having everything at the tips of your fingers: it's best to let them labor for something and enjoy the fruits of their labors. Or you can choose not to believe me, of course. The Light of Knowledge could just be the darkness of ignorance, and Seht a blind idiot god."
"Seht?" Sigrun noted. "You mean Sotha Sil, one of the three Dunmer gods. But he's dead, isn't he? Been dead for centuries."
"'What is divine can never die,'" Tiraa quoted, rolling her eyes as if repeating words she had heard spoken to absurd, nauseating lengths. "Well, so they said at least."
"And yet they died," Sigrun noted.
"So did your wester gods, and yet you still worship them, as though your prayers could bring them back to life."
"I've seen Kyne's breath at work in the world!" Jonna stated.
"And my Da is the Dragonborn...Wulfharth reborn," Sigrun replied.
Tiraa's eyes widened with horror at the mention of Wulfharth, and she now looked at them. "Well, that makes things a bit more interesting. Not as interesting as Landfall, but, well, a mer must take what she's given...for the present." She pointed with her hand to Jonna. "You saw the wind and nothing else." She turned back to Sigrun. "And you have made your 'da' a primary threat. You better pray to your dead gods that you kill me: because if not, then his life will be in danger as well."
"And for that, you die!" Sigrun said, leaping off her horse and drawing her spear. Realizing that it was now time to fight, the others drew their swords and Jonna leaped off her horse. But Tiraa seemed unperturbed by their assault and merely yawned.
"What? Am I supposed to cower in fear and beg for mercy at the sight of you brandishing your blades? I'm a step away from CHIM, I'm practically a god."
"And I'm the child of the Dragon," Sigrun returned. "What does that make me?"
"Very dangerous," Tiraa answered. "Which is why I have to kill you. So sorry about that, really. I'd rather just be a mirror and wait around for something to change...something more interesting. Ooh, should I tell you about the world of Tomorrowind? I know, your kind have no place in it, but surely you can be open-minded enough to imagine a world where you don't exist, right? I've made all the underside of the flat wheel of Nirn a great machine of gears and moving parts, the noble Dunmer live upon the moons, and every one of them is outfitted with this magnificent box that transmits images directly onto one side: like a permanent scrying globe on your head!"
"What?!" Sigrun asked.
"Oh, yes, I forgot," Tiraa added with disappointment. "You're a human, and a Nord at that: you couldn't even comprehend this if you tried. I do pity you, having such small minds. You wouldn't last long against Arvela once she's finished mantling: she'd break your minds."
"Arvela!" Sigrun shouted. "Is she your friend? What is she doing? What is mantling?"
"Oops, I think I said too much," Tiraa replied, holding one hand coquettishly over her lips. "No one's supposed to know about...that. If she let on, that was her fault. Take it up with her...if you manage to survive."
"If?" Sigrun asked incredulously. "There's four of us and one of you, and one of us is a giant. You don't even have a staff or any other kind of weapon! How do you expect to defeat us?"
"Oh, I don't need a staff," Tiraa replied. "I've killed dozens of people without even lifting my hands. I have something much more powerful to defeat you: you see, your Emperor...well, not your Emperor, as he's dead now. But the one from your time..." The way she said this while looking directly at Sigrun and Jonna clued them in to precisely who she was talking about: Crixus.
"He sent us a little book, some log about his sea-voyages," she continued. "But there was a code: some hidden gematria he picked up on Artaeum, mixed with his own divine apoplasia he learned from his time in Mournhold. Sedris never figured it out, and Arvie thought she was so much clever than all of us: but I cracked the code first. And now I wield the power of the dead dragon: I don't even need to fight you. I'll let you fight him and watch as he tears you apart."
"Him?" Sigrun asked, looking to Erik for fear that she might turn him against them.
"No, not him," Tiraa laughed. She then threw up her right hand dramatically, gesturing behind her back. A great white beam of light appeared behind her, burning with the intensity of the sun. Suddenly the beam split and began to spread apart, like two great doors. Beyond them all was dark, and a great wind rushed, blowing Tiraa's robes and sending her silvery-blonde hair swirling about.
Out of the darkness there appeared a great shape of man-type: twice the size of any giant, but three times the size of Talvi. What it was, no one now in Skyrim could have said. Its hide was as blue as a glacier, and its clothing was made of the pelts of great beasts and bound with the bones of trolls and giants. Its hair was black, and it had a great black beard that went down to its waist: no face could be seen, for it wore the skull of a mammoth, tusks and all, upon its head. In its massive blue-white hands was the anchor of a ship, which it wielded as a weapon. Dread filled the hearts of all that saw it: Talvi fell to her knees and covered her head with her hands.
"Him!" Tiraa said, gesturing to the monster behind her. "A creature of the Mythic Era, from the time before your wretched race left Atmora: the father of the fathers of the giants. Now...it's time for you to die."
The large beast started lumbering towards them, unaware of Tiraa's presence. Jonna was looking to the other, taller, members of the party for answers, as her first inclination was to run behind the nearest tree: true, it wasn't the proudest desire to ever pass through her mind, but she doubted if Jordis, Eirik, or even Idolaf, ever faced something like this in their whole lives. Erik had his eyes on the beast, trying to look for a weak spot: he had been issued a bow and a quiver of arrows when he departed with the Stormcloaks from Windhelm, and was sizing up the monster for a target.
Sigrun, meanwhile, was trying to get Talvi to move; or better yet, to fight.
"Talvi, get up!" she shouted. "We need you!"
"I can't!" the giantess wailed, shaking her head fearfully. "It's too big!"
"It's too big for us!" Sigrun urged. "And you're the only one who can possibly help us. Now get your ass up and help...move!"
At that very moment, the monster swung the anchor in its hand, bringing it down upon the two of them. Sigrun had leaped aside and went face-first into an icy-cold drift of snow. She got up in time and saw that Talvi had moved herself: thank Talos for that! Unfortunately, though she moved, she wasn't in any condition to be fighting. Sigrun let out a frustrated grunt and punched the snow, then got herself back onto her feet. She would have to be doing the fighting herself, it seemed.
"Erik, shoot at it!" she shouted.
By this time, Erik had drawn his bow and was aiming for one of the eye-holes in the mammoth-skull helmet that it wore. He let an arrow loose, but the beast moved its head just a few inches to one side and the arrow skipped off the dense bone and fell harmlessly to the ground. Erik swore as he knocked another arrow and took aim. Sigrun swore, but said nothing to him: her mind was on formulating a plan to take down this creature.
"Jonna!" she called out. The shorter one ran over to her and came to a sliding halt at her side. "I'm gonna hold up my shield..."
"In case you haven't noticed, Sig," Jonna uttered swiftly in one breath. "That thing will flatten you in one hit, shield or no shield."
"Just listen, will you?" Sigrun shouted. "I'll hold my shield up like a platter, about at my knees. You run toward me, and I'll push up as hard as I can. Then you take that axe and dig it into its leg."
"Are you insane?" Jonna asked. "He'd kick me all the way to Hammerfell!"
"Just try!" Sigrun said. "We have to do something, if Talvi won't help us!"
Meanwhile, the monster was looking at each of them with a strange curiosity. Its small red eyes, hidden beneath the mammoth-skull, were fixed on Talvi. The rest were like ants to him: less than a sixth his own size. But she looked like a child of his race: a small, malformed little brat fit only for being drowned or exposed to the elements. Wrath filled its heart and its focus was turned towards her, almost to the disregard of all else.
Sigrun prepared her plan. Running to her horse, which was neighing furiously behind a tree - yet hadn't bolted - she took her shield and then ran towards the beast, taking a knee and holding out her shield upon her shoulders with both of her hands.
"Kyne, give me wings so that I may fly!" Jonna shouted as she drew her axe and ran towards Sigrun.
As soon as the shorter woman's foot touched the shield, Sigrun pushed upwards with all of her might, sending Jonna flying through the air behind her back and towards the monster. Jonna swung her axe and buried it deep into the monster's lower calf; with both hands she held on for dear life, fearing to let go but fearing also the monster's inevitable response. Sooner than she liked, it came. Feeling the bite of the little flea's axe, the monster started flailing its leg and kicking madly, desperate to be rid of the stinging pain. Jonna was tossed about harder than she had ever been in battle, and felt as though her brains were being scrambled inside her skull even then. Her knuckles ran white as she gripped the shaft of her axe, daring not to let go even for a moment of weariness.
It was in that moment, with Jonna crying out as she was tossed about on the monster's leg, that Talvi suddenly felt a change come about her. The dread and the terror was still there: this thing was worse than ten grahl, certainly it must be an ancient, one of the ancestors of the giants. These were spoken of only in whispered legends and tales, revered as gods among the giants, and now here she was, a half-giant, facing one of them. And she was cowering in fear, while her friends, unfathomably tiny compared to this ancient, had more bravery than she did. She felt infinitely small, but also as hard as stone. She would not let them die in battle against this monster: at least, they would not die alone and unaided, for what little aid she could give them.
Talvi rose to her feet and let out a great roar, then took up her spear and charged at the monster. An arrow came from Erik's bow and stuck fast in the creature's right shoulder. Sigrun let out a laugh and ran to Talvi's side: she was thrusting and stabbing violently upward at the monster's legs and groin, hoping that it felt pain there as other males did. Sigrun then turned to the giantess at her side.
"How far can you throw me?" she asked.
"How far do you need?" Talvi replied.
"At least onto its chest," came the answer.
"That I can do," Talvi stated. "Just as soon as I...be ready when I call you!"
The giantess evaded a blow from the anchor, then thrust her spear into the hand that bore the anchor: the spearhead went straight through the massive palm, and the shaft was broken as the beast swung its hand back against the deadly spike. It dropped the anchor and roared in pain, cradling its wound with its left hand.
"Now!" Talvi roared.
With both hands, she seized Sigrun by the shoulder and leg and heaved her as hard as she could towards the thrashing giant. Sigrun flew through the air with a battle-cry: it was stifled in her throat when she dove headfirst into the lower extremities of the monster's beard. The beast reached up to grab her, but a hack at its leg from Jonna sent the hand away. Sigrun was now clinging onto the greasy strands of dank, dark facial hair, pulling herself up slowly to reach the monster's head. Just then, the tusk of the mammoth-skull it wore swung past her and persistently pressed her forcefully against the beast's upper chest. Sigrun cried out, feeling crushed between the monster's chest and the hardy tusk. Without thinking, she suddenly released her grip on the beard and seized hold of the tusk as it swung painfully past her. She was now swinging back and forth upon the monster's head.
But the others hadn't been idle. Jonna was being flung this way and that, as the monster kicked its leg back and forth to rid itself of the stinging, biting axe and its wielder: one swift thrust of its bleeding leg and she was flung off and thrown against a tree. Erik let fly another arrow into the beast's chest, burying it into its icy-blue hide. Talvi, meanwhile, had seized the anchor and was attempting to wield it. It was almost too much for her to lift, and she struggled to keep a solid grip on the icy cold iron. With all her might, she shoved the anchor forward like a battering ram and caught the monster's right foot off-guard. It tripped and went backwards down into the snow. There was a bright flash and a loud cry of pain.
Talvi was the first to act, dropping the anchor, she ran towards the monster's hand and tore out the head of her spear. Still filled with the rage that had overcame her and gave her the will to act, she leaped onto the beast's shoulder, tore off the mammoth-skull, and drove the head of her spear into its neck. Erik, meanwhile, was making his way over to the monster's chest: Sigrun hadn't let go of the tusks and had fallen face down on top of the monster, but she was not moving. Jonna was breathing heavily as she pulled herself off of the tree and waddled over to the scene of the battle.
"Sigrun, are you okay?" Erik asked, nudging her with his hands.
There was a retching sound, and then a cough, and Sigrun then rose up on all fours.
"What happened?" she asked slowly, as if waking out of a dream.
"I think it's dead," Erik answered. "Let's make sure."
"Okay, okay," Sigrun gasped sleepily. "You go on ahead, I'll catch up with you..." She crawled forward across the monster's body on her hands and knees. By this time, Jonna had approached the wreck and was gazing in horror at the place where Sigrun had risen. On the bare stomach of the monster, plain to see in contrast of its blue-white skin, was a dark red patch. She climbed onto the monster's body and took Sigrun by the hand, lifting her up onto her feet. Jonna gasped, covering her mouth in horror at what she saw.
From Sigrun's mouth and going down to her breastplate was a large dark stain of blood, that appeared to have been vomited out of her mouth. Jonna immediately took Sigrun's arm and placed it on her shoulders as she helped her off the monster's body.
"Did it get you?" Jonna asked.
"Wha...what?" Sigrun asked.
"Did the monster get you? Were you injured?"
"It-it crushed me, if that's what you're asking," Sigrun replied, slurring her words. "I...I think I'll be fine."
"No, you need to sit down and have some rest."
"Gerroffme, Jons!" Sigrun begged. "I'm no milkdrinkah! I feel fine."
"Sigrun!" Talvi cried out. "Over here! I found that witch."
With Jonna's help, Sigrun walked over to where Talvi and Erik were now standing. Tiraa, who had disappeared during the battle, was now lying crushed underneath the monster's body. Thin, ragged rasps of breath were coming from her lips. The four of them now stood over the Dunmer's body, looking disdainfully at her.
"She doesn't have long for this world," Talvi said. "Should we put her out of her misery now? The All-Maker would hate for her last moments in this life to be suffering."
"She...she tried to kill us..." Sigrun slurred. "Da...da...da-forget about her! Let her suf..."
"Steady on, sis," Jonna said, holding Sigrun on her feet.
"I...I thank you..." Tiraa breathed. "Thank you...all of you..."
"Are you mad?" Erik asked. "You're dying and you want to thank us?"
"Yes," Tiraa nodded softly. "At last...it's all over. The boredom...the tedium...finally...something I can't have..." She laughed ruefully.
"You mean..." Sigrun gasped. "You mean...you wanted us to kill you?"
"I told you..." Tiraa replied. "I've become...bored of life...having everything...no meaning...no worth. At least this...is a change." She let out a loud, strained cry. "Agh, it hurts so much. Didn't know...dying would be...so painful. Please, kill me now. Take away...this...pain..."
"My...my sword!" Sigrun cried out. "Where's my sword?" It had fallen from her hand when the monster fell. Erik went and searched around a little, but could not find it. Instead, he gave her his axe. Tiraa looked up at Sigrun, her last "Thank you" on her lips, before the axe came down into her neck. She left the axe in the elf's neck, and Erik took it back up. Meanwhile, Jonna led Sigrun over to the tree she had been thrown against and set her down to rest.
"So..." she breathed. "What happens next?"
"Now you rest," Jonna said.
"Can't rest..." Sigrun retorted. "Still have...duty...war...mission..."
"What's up with her?" asked Erik, as he ran over to see what was happening. "Is she exhausted?"
"Yes, but this is worse than exhaustion," Jonna replied.
"Are you hurt?"
"Why...do you...care?" Sigrun breathed.
"Can we talk about that later?" he returned. "You look pretty badly wounded."
"Leave me alone," Sigrun sighed. "I'll be fine."
"Hey!" Talvi cried out as she ran over to the tree. "Can one of you help me with this ancient's head?"
"His what?"
"His head," Talvi returned. "I think I know how to solve our giant problem."
"Well, she's hurt," Erik said. "We can't just leave her like this."
"I'm not leaving her side," Jonna added.
Talvi groaned, then went back to the monster's body to remove the head herself. Sigrun, meanwhile, was feeling herself slip into subconsciousness. Her mind was on the witch they had encountered. Why hadn't she fought back? If she was as powerful as she said she was, surely she would have done something. The words she had said to her rang in her mind: was it possible to become so disillusioned with everything that one welcomed death? Not for the sake of eternal glory in Sovngarde, but merely as an end; a relief from all the troubles and vexations of the world. She hoped that she would never come to such a point. She wanted life, and maybe the warmth of a hand upon her cheek, the laughter of children, or at least a good death in battle and then...
Her eyes slid shut and all thought ceased.
(AN: If I've said it once, I've said a dozen times: ultimate power breeds laziness. If you have no struggle, then the reward is meaningless. I hope I've exemplified that once again with the least evil of our trio of antagonists.)
(The "ice titan" came from a mod that I found, which I really loved and wanted to throw in as something "more" than just a giant for our heroes to fight. I wanted it to be larger than a normal giant, though I ended up going for a "conservative" 24 feet [as opposed to the 30 feet I had originally intended]. Hey, it's still very tall, though not quite at the titanic 100+ feet of Og of Bashan [if I may make the comparison].)
(Sorry about the cop-out ending for this chapter, but I was running out of ways to end it, especially after, well, you read it. We'll definitely find out what happens in the next chapter. Sort of like how Tolkien wrote Return of the King.)