(AN: I've been giving a lot of thought to several Elder Scrolls-based things, some of which have relevance to this story. Chief among them is the fact that the Dragonborn, being Ysmir, could therefore be part of the oversoul of Ysmir/Talos/Zurin, which means that the Medan Empire sank to its lowest point when it was about to kill you merely for expedition during Skyrim's infamous intro scene. The second one, of course, is that now I have to reconcile Crixus' part in this story. He was being set up as the future next Emperor, but obviously that can't happen or else the elves win [again].)

A Shezzarine Goes to Die

Solitude, the fourteenth day of Sun's Dawn. Legate Rikke was on duty, but was making a quick detour to the aviary. A messenger had arrived that morning to tell her that Olynnswe's pigeon had returned from Whiterun with a message: the messenger said to come as soon as possible, but said nothing about what the message was contained.

"Lady Olynnswe said that it was for your eyes only," said the young man.

Rikke thanked him, gave him a septim, and sent him on his way. Then she turned back to Castle Dour. No sooner had she entered but her mood dropped. Elenwen and Thelgil were standing at the table with General Tullius, looking over the map of Skyrim. Once more Eirik's words returned to her mind, amplified by the evidence of her eyes. As she came nearer, she heard what was being said: and she didn't like a word of it.

"...nothing like we've ever encountered," said Thelgil. "Our mages...regrettably, have found no way to re-open the passes." He then turned to Elenwen. "What a shame that Ancano has...disappeared. His information from the Mages College would be invaluable to us." Elenwen scowled at him.

"So?" Tullius asked. "All I'm getting from you people are excuses."

"You people?" sneered Thelgil. "I'll have you know, you decrepit, hairless ape, that your Emperor bowed the knee to 'my people.' Unless you'd like another war on your hands, you should get on your knees right now and beg for my forgiveness. Quickly! I have no patience for your kind."

"I'm not in the business of bowing to anyone, save the Emperor," Tullius replied.

Thelgil haughtily strutted over to Tullius, towering over the older man. "What's this necklace you're wearing under your armor? Perhaps there's something you wish to confess?"

To Rikke's eternal disgust, she saw General Tullius take a knee before the towering elf, a look of venomous hatred in his eyes.

"There, that's better," Thelgil replied. "It's good that you know your place. Now beg, human dog!"

"Forgive my...lack of etiquette," said Tullius. "I'm only a soldier, and unlearned in such niceties."

"Lack of etiquette?" Thelgil tutted. "Oh, I daresay that's the least of your crimes. You'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid. Quickly!"

"Forgive my...rudeness," Tullius said through clenched teeth. "I spoke without respect to your...greatness."

Thelgil scoffed. "I suppose that's the best I can get from you. Though I do see that I'll have to tell Lady Arannelya to double the number of agents in Cyrodiil. You humans have been getting too...impertinent." He walked away, a disgusted look on his face and muttering something about breathing the same air as 'human filth.'

"As to your first statement," Thelgil replied. "There's more we can offer besides excuses. I'll have Ondolemar mobilize Madanach and his Forsworn in the Reach. That will draw off any rebel assault from Solitude."

"And what about the Dragonborn?" Tullius asked.

"My lizard servant has yet to report in," Thelgil replied. "I'll send someone to see what he's been doing at once." Elenwen gave him a furtive glance, to which he turned back to Tullius. "Now, if you'll excuse me, Elenwen and I have much to discuss in private. We wouldn't dream of fighting your little war for you, after all." He walked away with a sneer and the air of a prince offended. Elenwen followed up behind him, looking very irate. They walked into a corridor of the castle, someplace where they believed to be out of hearing distance. Here Elenwen turned on Thelgil, still glaring venomously at him.

"Is it your wish to unmake everything I've worked so hard to achieve?" she demanded. "Do you want the Empire to win?"

"Pardon me if I have to pick up after your failures," Thelgil replied. "Or did not Ancano fail to report his findings at Winterhold on your watch? Did not Ancarion also fail to return that legendary enchanted ice from Solstheim on your watch? And what shall we say of Ulfric, hmm?"

"What of him?" she replied.

"I've recovered his dossier from the Dragonborn's house in Whiterun," he said. "Isn't Ulfric supposed to be an asset? Why haven't you tried to use him to prevent an Imperial victory?"

"He's not responsive," Elenwen replied. "The last time I tried to reach out to him, I had my justicar's head returned to me in a basket."

"And you haven't tried again?"

"I came in person to Helgen to prevent his death," Elenwen snapped. "If that dragon hadn't shown up, I could have used that as leverage over him."

"But you didn't," Thelgil reminded her. "And the second time you came in person, he had you thrown out the humans' little peace summit like a dog. Your continued failures have embarrassed the Thalmor time and time again. Perhaps it is time I take matters into my own hands."

"No!" Elenwen sharply replied. "You would ruin everything I've..."

"Failed to achieve?" Thelgil asked. "I daresay Lady Arannelya would consider my appointment as Ambassador to this wretched den of pale, misbegotten filth as something of an improvement. Perhaps I'd be able to actually do something, hmm? Well, more than the nothing you've done so far."

"Have a care, Thelgil," Elenwen retorted. "My agents are aware of the rebels' activities. They're moving fast, perhaps too fast. We can use this to our advantage, but not if you try to outdo them for fast action!"

"Your incompetence has brought the Stormcloaks to the brink of victory," Thelgil replied. "Or must I remind you that their victory is not beneficial to our ends either?"

"Shh! Not so loud!" Elenwen returned.

"They can't stop us now," Thelgil replied. "They need us, and that will be their undoing. Now, if you'll pardon me, I have to be useful." He sauntered away without looking back. Elenwen scowled at him, then made her way to the dungeons.

"I'm sorry you had to see that, Legate," Tullius stated, after the Thalmor left the war-room.

"Sir!" Rikke saluted, and Tullius returned the gesture.

"Why didn't the Emperor send me someone to deal with these damn Thalmor?" he exclaimed. "I'm a soldier, not a politician; but I have to be both just to prevent another war..." He sighed. "...and I'm not very good at that either."

"Sir," Rikke brought up. "Have you considered that, perhaps, Ulfric is right?"

"Oh, I know he's right," Tullius replied. "But that means nothing to me. We're here to obey the Emperor's orders: and his orders were to restore order...and cooperate with the Thalmor."

Rikke was amazed to hear him admit this. She almost dared to hope that, maybe, he might be reasonable. But then he spoke again.

"Ah, don't listen to me anyway," he said. "It's just my wounded pride at being forced to grovel before Thelgil; he's worse than Elenwen. If we did as Ulfric, every one of the Thalmor in the Empire would become as bad as Thelgil. This is the lesser of two evils."

Rikke nodded. "So, what are your orders?"

"I need you to lead a cohort to Dragon Bridge," Tullius said. "Our best men. Make sure they're well drilled and ready to defend the town with their lives. Oh, and make sure a detachment of battle-mages are sent with them."

Rikke saluted. "Yes, sir."

She turned to depart for her duties. After entering the Castle Dour courtyard, she halted before assembling the cohort. Instead, she swiftly made her way down to the raven aviary. Olynnswe was waiting for her, a sour look on her face.

"What took you so long?"

"I was in a meeting," Rikke replied. "The war has to come first. Now, what do you have for me?"

The Altmer brought forth the tiny scroll her pigeon had brought from Whiterun: a tiny writ was scribbled on the outside of the scroll which read 'Legate Rikke's eyes only'. Rikke opened it and quietly read what was written therein.

I wish for nothing from you, save for news of one Jordis the Sword-Maiden, a huscarl in the service of the Jarl of Haafingar, who is with child. I shall be in Whiterun on the 23rd of Sun's Dawn and shall expect your reply when I arrive.

Jonna Strong-Voice

Rikke was surprised to hear this. She had written her last message in the possibility that the Dragonborn would take Whiterun and receive her message. She was surprised to hear someone else had intercepted her message. What she had heard in the war room at Castle Dour filled her with suspicion. Who was this Jonna? Could she be trusted? Was she with the Stormcloaks, the Empire, or was she a plant for the Thalmor? Could anyone be trusted at this point?

Then her thoughts wandered to Jordis. She was not part of the Imperial Legions, but Captain Aldis - the captain of the Haafingar hold guard and a member of the Legion himself - mentioned how she had been "dishonored" and was remaining in Solitude. Moreover, he had also mentioned of the involvement of two prominent Imperial supporters: one of whom was now dead, but the other was very much alive and rotting away in Castle Dour's dungeon.

Crixus.

Down in the dungeons of Castle Dour, Elenwen glided like a lich awoken from its crypt. She came to one cell in particular. The prisoner was chained to the wall, both by hands and feet: his chains had a little bit of give to them, allowing him to walk only a little bit in his small cell, but they went taut as soon as he stepped too close to the door. Elenwen approached the cell door, and the prisoner rose up and slowly walked towards her, stretching out the chain to get himself as close to the door as possible. His hands were pulled back behind him, stretched almost to the point of agony: a bitter look was in his eyes as he glared at the elf approaching him.

"Servius Crixus..." Elenwen greeted, a note of condescension in her voice. "All that bluster, all that talk, and look where it's gotten you."

"If you're here to gloat, you can fuck right off," Crixus replied. "I've had enough of this damned country to last a thousand lifetimes. I welcome death."

"Oh," Elenwen tutted with mocking pity. "You really think death will be a place of safety for you? I know what you've done: the sacrifices you've made, the price you've put on your soul. You've perjured your soul for pittance from fickle masters: do you know what happens to people like you when they die?"

"Spare me," Crixus returned.

"A poor soul who surrenders itself into the hands of the lords of Oblivion," Elenwen said. "Is doomed to eternal service in their chosen lord's realm. But you, who have sold your soul many times over: what would happen to your soul when you die and all the lords of Oblivion came to claim you as their own? I doubt even the Psijics of Artaeum could give you that answer."

"So what?" Crixus asked, pretending that her words had no affect on him. "You keep talking, I'll die of sheer fucking boredom, then I'll know exactly what happens."

"I'm not here to kill you, Servius," Elenwen replied, using his given name. "I'm here to set you free."

"Set me free..." Crixus gasped. "Like how you set Ulfric free during the War. I expect you'll want me to be your subordinate and do your bidding for you, then? Hmm? In exchange for this sudden show of gratitude?"

Elenwen smiled. "You've been our subordinate from the first moment you set foot in Solitude. Did you really think that you acted on your own accord when you killed your Emperor?"

"Yes!" Crixus shouted.

"Careful, now," Elenwen returned, holding up one finger. "In the wrong ears, that's an admission of guilt."

"And why shouldn't I say it?" Crixus replied. "All my fucking life, everyone's been saying that our lives, our choices, are not our own. They bellow on about gods and worship, and how they guide the fates of man and all that bullshite. No! I make my own choices, I decide what is wrong and right, and I..."

"...killed the Emperor yourself?" Elenwen replied with a grin. "Will you throw away your life merely to spite the gods?"

"I'm tired of being somebody else's pawn. I'm nobody's pawn! I decide my own fate!"

Elenwen's smile did not fade. "Tell yourself whatever you wish to ease your burning conscience. Just remember that Ulfric isn't the only pawn, willing or not."

"You can't do this to me!" Crixus retorted.

"Oh, but I already have." She turned as though she would leave.

"Why the fuck does it matter if I serve you or not, huh?" Crixus shouted after her. "What possible worth have I?"

"Thelgil..." she said. Crixus gasped when he heard the name. She halted. "You've met him before, haven't you? You know what kind of a fanatic he is."

"Fanatic?" Crixus asked. "Doesn't he believe in everything you believe? That humans are shite and fucking Altmer are the master race?"

"Yes, he does," Elenwen noted. "And I don't mark him for that. Despite his commendable beliefs, his methods are a bit...extreme. So..." She turned around and glided back to the door of Crixus' cell. "Let me explain it to you in words that you'll understand. Thelgil thinks I'm weak, and haven't done the Dominion's job well enough. If he removes me, your Empire is finished."

"And if I leave you in charge, the Empire isn't finished?" Crixus asked.

"Oh, I'll carry on doing what I've been doing," Elenwen replied. "But I'm clearly the lesser evil: at least, as your tiny mind comprehends good as the good of the Empire and evil as anything that harms it." She didn't wait for him to answer but prepared to leave.

"I'll give you time to consider this," she stated. "But I think you'll see reason. After all, it's like you said of the Thieves Guild: remove one enemy, and a worse one will take their place. I'm sure you'll make the right decision: though I wouldn't hesitate, if I were you. The headsman's axe is hungry." With that, Elenwen glided out of the Castle Dour dungeon, while Crixus strained at his chains and shouted after her.

"Shove that offer up your yellow arse! I won't be your pawn, do you hear? I decide my fate!"

Rikke was kept busy for the rest of that day. At Thelgil's request, Tullius had sent a cohort of hardened Imperial veterans to reinforce Dragon Bridge, and she was to take part in ordering their placement. It angered her to see a Thalmor ordering Tullius about, ordering Legion soldiers about. It spoke to the seeds of doubt that Eirik had planted in her: try as they might to pretend that the Thalmor were 'on their side', now the truth was starting to become apparent. The Empire's agency was stripped from them, and now they were at the command of the agents of the Dominion.

These here were the best soldiers of the Empire: some of their captains had fought in the Great War. Murmurs were heard by Legate Rikke among them; apparently they also knew, or guessed, what was going on upstairs. The presence of the Thalmor High Justicar hadn't gone unnoticed. Whenever she came around the soldiers to hear them speak, they would go mysteriously quiet and carry on about their business.

"Something's wrong..." she muttered.

It was an hour past midday, and Rikke was going to the mess-hall: during deployment, they usually ate rations on a tight belt, but being garrisoned in the big city allowed them to feast on food culled from the local farmers and fishers. On her way thither, Rikke made a slight detour toward the Blue Palace to have an audience with Elisif. She wanted to find this Jordis and ask her about what had happened. As she walked through the streets, she saw the awed glances of the people of Solitude at her Imperial Legion uniform and colors. Not every face was friendly, unfortunately. Rikke had taken it for granted, being that Solitude was so cosmopolitan that it might as well be a little piece of Cyrodiil here in the Fatherland, but now it hit home to her: the Empire was bleeding Skyrim dry in more ways than one.

Up to the doors of the Blue Palace she went, making her way up the stairs, past the courtiers and attendants to approach the throne room. Here she saluted in Imperial fashion towards the young Elisif - much younger than she herself.

"Jarl Elisif," she greeted.

"Legate Rikke, I presume?" the young woman asked. "What can I help you with? I'm afraid we've already exhausted our reserves of grain to feed the arm..."

"What I believe the Jarl is trying to say," the weasely Erikur interjected. "Is that we're very grateful for the continued support of the Imperial Legions against the rebels. If there's anything further we can provide, don't hesitate to let me know."

But Rikke did not turn to the toadying courtier. "Jarl, I believe you have someone in your service by the name of Jordis the Sword-Maiden."

Elisif's eyes widened. "Oh, yes, I do. She's the huscarl of our friend, the noble Servius Crixus. Do you happen to know where he is? He has been often at court, but hasn't visited me in some time."

"My...My Jarl, you don't know?" Rikke asked.

"Know what?" Elisif asked.

"Crixus has been placed in the ward of Castle Dour," Rikke replied. "For high treason." A sea of gasps filled the court.

"Treason!" Elisif exclaimed. "This cannot be! Falk, why haven't I heard anything about this until now?"

"Please, lady Elisif," the steward Falk Firebeard placated. "This is hardly a matter worthy of your consideration."

"I daresay," she replied. "Crixus is imprisoned here in my city and I'm the last to know about it?"

"I assure you, my lady," Falk lied. "I heard this the moment you did."

"Did I not hear you say to Thane Bryling," Erikur asked. "That this news would bring great distress to the Jarl?"

"Please, I don't want fighting!" Elisif commanded. But the two courtiers continued bickering among themselves. Rikke didn't have time to waste, and so let out a loud shout in the stern militaristic tone she was accustomed to using. Everyone in the palace turned to gape at her. She cleared her throat, then turned back to the Jarl.

"Apologies, my Jarl," she said. "I've only come here to speak with Jordis. Do you know where she is?"

"Yes," Elisif replied. "She returned to us a few weeks ago and has been in seclusion ever since. My huscarl Bolgeir will show you where."

"Uh, excuse me, Elisif," Falk interjected. "I don't think it's wise to let..."

"I'm in haste!" Rikke replied. "Will directions suffice or not?"

Elisif then spoke to the large bald man in armor behind her. This man, Bolgeir Bearclaw, directed Rikke to a room on the northern wing of the Palace, in one of the guest rooms. Rikke came to the door she had been told to knock at and did so. There was no immediate answer. She knocked again, and then there was heard shuffling from the other side of the door.

"Who's there?" a woman's voice asked.

"Legate Rikke," came the answer. "Let me in."

The clanking grind of a key being turned in the lock sounded from the other side, and the door slowly inched open to reveal a blue eye in the opening.

"What do you want?" the woman asked. "I told Captain Aldis that I was on leave. If you want to recruit me for the Legion, it will have to wait."

"I need to speak to you," Rikke said. "It's important."

"Speak to me about what?"

"About Servius Crixus."

At that, the door opened a bit wider and Rikke saw a young woman standing before her. She was only an inch shorter than Rikke, with blonde hair and blue eyes. Instead of steel armor, as was customary with huscarls, or even the armor of the Solitude guard, she was wearing a simple linen shift. Looking below her bosom gave Rikke all the answer she needed: the young woman was heavily pregnant.

"What's he done this time?" the woman asked.

Rikke grimly grinned. "You've definitely spent time with him."

"More than anyone should," she said. "Now, Legate, are you going to tell me what he's done or shall I start guessing?"

"In due time," Rikke replied. "Are you Jordis the Sword-Maiden?"

"What's left of her, at least," she sighed. "Soon I will be Jordis the Sword-Mother instead."

"Is that troubling?" asked Rikke. "You know, there are ways to..."

"No!" Jordis firmly replied, placing one hand protectively upon her stomach. "No reason to punish a baby for someone else's actions."

"I'd like to ask you a few questions, if it's alright with you," Rikke said. "First, may I enter?"

Jordis let Rikke enter her chamber and offered her a seat. She offered her food or water, but Rikke refused both. She feared that it would be long work in wheedling out the truth from Jordis, and she'd be missing her mess altogether. Less time spent on other things the better.

"So, what did you want to ask me?"

"About your child," Rikke began. "Who was the father?"

Jordis swallowed hard. "Idolaf Battle-Born."

"You know about what happened to him?"

"Yes." Jordis nodded. "His death was less than what he deserved. Still, I should like to thank the one who did it."

Rikke smiled grimly. "I've heard that Crixus was involved in some way or another."

"Yes, you mentioned him at the door," Jordis nodded. "He was involved, though he didn't do the deed, as I said before."

"How was he involved?"

"He fell into the favor of the Jarl," Jordis began. "And she gave him me as his huscarl. But he hated me: said I was a useless wallflower, among other things. Never took me into battle, never appreciated my knowledge. Then, last year, just before the dragons came back, I was part of a conspiracy of his."

"A conspiracy?" Rikke asked. This piqued her interest: maybe this would lead her to discover how, or why, he killed the Emperor.

"Yes," Jordis nodded. "He was in touch with an old war hero from Windhelm, Brunwulf Free-Winter. The plan was to lure Ulfric Stormcloak out into the open, capture him, and kill him to end the war quickly." Rikke was surprised to hear this.

"He didn't mention anything else, did he?" she asked. "Something that might be...unscrupulous?"

"Well," Jordis sighed. "He did mention Roggvir. He was...essential to Crixus' plan. Then the conversation changed to Roggvir's 'crimes.'" She gestured with her fingers in the air to signify what she thought of the accusations.

"You don't believe he was guilty of treason?" Rikke asked.

"Look, I'm a servant of Jarl Elisif," Jordis replied. "I do as she commands, and that's it. You Imperials call us lawless beasts and invalidate our laws whenever you wish, but we still have traditions. Now, Roggvir was no saint, but he wasn't a traitor...if your General Tullius wants to kill me for that, he can try."

"You would endanger the life of your child?" Rikke asked.

"I was there the night Torygg died. It wasn't a murder, no matter what you s-hey!" She lurched and tenderly caressed her stomach.

"This is probably a bad time for you," Rikke apologized. "I shouldn't have barged in like this."

"No, no it's fine," Jordis winced. "This baby just loves kicking me in the most painful places. I'll live...at least until you tell Tullius about this meeting."

"I'm not here as an Imperial Legate," Rikke replied. "I'm here as one seeking answers. Now finish your story. What happened when the conversation changed?"

Jordis sighed. "Crixus was not happy that I told him what I told you here and now. Idolaf was there as well, and he became even more infuriated. He asked Crixus permission to rape me into silence: Crixus gave him leave, and that's that."

Rikke couldn't help but let out an amazed gasp. Of all the horrible things she had heard about Crixus, not to mention his crass behavior in person, this seemed to be as bad as his great act of treason. Sure, the Empire itself was in the habit of telling its citizens what to believe, how to believe, and punishing those who disobeyed them. But, for her militaristic mind, Rikke thought that stripes would be a better punishment for an errant huscarl than to be the plaything of a Battle-Born. She thanked Jordis for her time and went back to Castle Dour: she now knew precisely where she would be going once her daily duties were concluded.

Late afternoon. Rikke had been relieved and was making the long hike from Dragon Bridge to Solitude. The finest soldiers in the Legion were now defending the one land-route to Solitude. The rebels wouldn't be able to get past it now. There were, however, precious few Imperial battle-mages to fill the order that Tullius had given: the passes in the south and east were covered with snow and still impassable. Thalmor mages had been added to the Dragon Bridge cohort; now there were Thalmor at the bridge as well as in Solitude, augmenting the city guards who were on the southeastern walls. More than a few voices of the people of Solitude were raised in dismay at these arrangements. Again Rikke feared the worst: was the Empire to be dependent on the Thalmor, the very people who wanted them dead? For how long would this be? Surely if the Civil War continued to rage on, this nightmare would become a reality. For so it was, despite what Erikur and other ignorant, ambitious fools believed.

Upon returning to Solitude, Rikke made her way to the Castle Dour dungeon in search of Crixus. She found him alone in his cell, sitting down with his chains about him; he was still bound, but since he was close to the wall, he could sit without great difficulty. She approached the bars, and the chains rattled as he looked up at the newcomer.

"Fuck off," he said. "I'm not taking your kind today."

"What a mess you are," Rikke said, disgust in her face as she spoke. "You, an Imperial, a highly-renowned veteran of the Great War, and you killed the Emperor."

"I told you to fuck off," Crixus grumbled. "I'm not in the mood to be talked down to by shite-wearing, piss-gargling, straw-heads!"

"What right do you have to be so full of yourself?" Rikke asked. "You've hated me since the first day you came to Solitude, and yet it's not a Nord who sits in the dungeons, guilty of treason."

"Fuck off, b*tch!" Crixus repeated. "You know nothing."

"What I know," she replied, crossing her arms. "Is that you had Idolaf Battle-Born rape your huscarl to shut her up, then you killed the Emperor. What don't I know?"

"What you don't know," Crixus returned. "Was that I was helping the Empire by silencing that useless b*tch. It don't matter if what she said was true or not: it strengthens Ulfric's cause, and she had to be silenced for the good of the Empire."

"Oh," Rikke retorted, not believing his excuse. "And killing the Emperor was for the good of the Empire as well, I suppose?"

"You wouldn't understand."

"What don't I understand?"

"Anything."

"You'll have to be more specific than that, I'm afraid."

"Why? Did it go over your head, you filthy Nord? Did I use too many big words? Maybe I should consult the ABCs for Barbarians to help you understand all that you don't fucking understand!"

"What is it with you and Nords? What do you have against us?"

"Because you think you're so special!" Crixus returned. "You think that your little god makes you the bleeding-fucking-heart of the Empire. But it was Colovian blood that was shed before that scum-sucking Breton pig Tiber Septim was ever born. Alessia, Pelinal Whitestrake, the Remans: these were the true gods of men. Don't buy any of that elven bull-shite they say about Pelinal being a machine like those Dwemer constructs: they wouldn't dare attribute success and rulership to a human, so they concocted lies about him being not human. Kind of like everything surrounding Tiber-fucking-Septim."

"I don't need a history lesson right now," Rikke returned. "I need answers."

"You don't deserve nothing but to lick the asses of your Colovian masters," Crixus replied. "That's the duty of every fucking Nord."

"Stop bullshitting me, Crixus!" Rikke shouted, assuming her authoritative voice. "Give me a straight answer!"

"You don't deserve a straight answer!" Crixus shouted back, in equal authoritarian tone. "You Nords act like everyone should bow down to you and shite. But you're barely human. I've lived longer than you have, b*tch, and I've seen what those Nords do. The Dunmer are right; you people have no souls. All you do is drink, kill, and breed more of your bastard race to be a blight on the earth. You may as well be daedra: there's hardly any fucking difference!"

"So that's the answer, then?" Rikke asked. "You hate us merely for us being Nords? Just like the Thalmor hating everyone who isn't like them...or Ulfric with the dark elves."

"Ah," Crixus chuckled. "But that's not true, is it? I can't be like the Thalmor, because I'm in fucking Skyrim where your people are in the majority. I couldn't possibly be like Storm-cunt and the Dunmer, because I'm not in a position of power...plus I'm not a fucking Nord either!"

"You're full of shit," Rikke said, shaking her head.

"You'd know all about shite, wouldn't you?" Crixus asked. Rikke rolled her eyes away, and Crixus rose up and strained at his chains to shout after her. "Wouldn't you, you snow-backed b*tch?! Go and lick the ass of General Tullius like a good little slave; that's all you people are worth, isn't it?"

"They say that talking to oneself is a sure sign of madness," a voice echoed from the gathering darkness in the cell.

"Who's there?" Crixus asked, looking this way and that, eying the shadows.

"Then again," the voice said. "I've found that a more sure way to tell someone is going mad is when I start making more and more sense to them."

Out of the darkness there stepped a man in a Colovian doublet, half-purple and half-red. He seemed to be an older gentleman, with silver-gray hair and goatee, and he walked on a cane with three faces on its head. When he looked at Crixus from the other side of the bars, a yellow gleam was in his cat-like eyes.

"And just who the fuck are you?" Crixus asked. "Come to mock me as well, have you? Get in fucking line."

"Ooh, you're so arrogant," the man said. "You know, you really should show some respect to a prince: especially a daedric prince. But more important than that, to an elder."

"I don't respect anyone," Crixus asked. "Haven't you heard? I'm the man who slew the Emperor."

"That's why I've come," the old man said. "I want to hear a confession from you. Not the kind of last rites supreme unction sort of nonsense; I want to hear you tell me why you did it. Why a loyal soldier of the Empire killed his Emperor." The old man placed his forefinger to his lips. "It'll be our little secret."

"And why should I tell you?"

"You're a person of great interest to the lords of Oblivion; to me especially. You're an instrument of change; I like change, though not altogether at once. And what you've done will send ripples across all of creation: past, present, and future. But why did you do it? Was it really Sithis? Were you just a pawn of forces beyond your power? Did the gods you despised finally get the better of you in the end?"

"You...you know about Sithis?"

"More than anyone else you know. I've been called many things; the Sithis-shaped hole in creation is one of them. What does that mean, though? What does it mean for me to be the Sithis-shaped hole in the world?"

"I could care less."

"Couldn't care less. Dear me, and you say Nords are dumb!"

"I don't care what you are! I've never worshiped the gods. What did they do for me, hmm? Nothing! They left me and my brother at the mercy of a dark elf witch, they let the Empire crumble even though we had the victory, they had me tossed aside like a worm into the shite-hole of Mournhold! So you tell me why I should worship the gods!"

"Because I've seen them," the old man said. "Oh yes, I have seen them. I've felt their power and even...stood in their presence. Mortals really should worship the gods that made them: it's as much a part of you as your own cock."

"I'd sooner cut off my own cock than bend my knee to any god."

"Even if they stepped in to save your life?"

"What?" Crixus looked up at the strange old man. "What the fuck are you on about?"

At this, the old man passed through the bars as though he were a mist in the cold morning. But when he stepped through, he seemed to have shrunken and grown young. Instead of an old man, a woman of middling age with dark hair and blue eyes stood with Crixus inside his cell.

"You always ask why the gods don't help you," she said. "Well, now they are."

"And just who the fuck are you?"

"I'm Sheogorath," she said. "The Daedric prince of madness, lord of the Never-There, Fourth Corner of the House of Madness, Sovereign of the Shivering Isles, the Sithis-shaped hole in the world...Hero of Kvatch, Champion of Cyrodiil, and your ancestor. You can even call me Valeria if you wish: just...not Ann-Marie."

"And how the fuck can you help me?"

"By giving you the key to your own freedom," she said. "I've been watching over your family line for two hundred years, and I'm not going to let you ruin everything I've worked so hard to build."

"What do you mean?"

"You were supposed to the Dragonborn," she began. "I gave myself to Martin Septim to insure that Cyrodiil would have an heir and the Septim bloodline would never die. The blood of Tiber Septim flows in your veins, Servius."

"No," Crixus said, shaking his head. "I...I'm not a Septim. I won't be a Septim! I refuse to be a Septim! I am a Crixus! This is who I am! I refuse to be related to a fucking Nord!"

"But you owe your life to a Nord, you know that," the woman said. "Not only Eirik, but his ancestors. It should be both of you leading the charge against the elves, he as High King of Skyrim, you as Emperor of Cyrodiil: with Hammerfell behind him and High Rock behind you. Instead you indulged your own self-pity and doomed us all. Akatosh allowed Eirik's children to do their part to clean up your mess, and now I'm doing mine."

"Self-pity?" Crixus shouted. "How fucking dare you! It wasn't self-pity, it...it was a scar! That Nord bastard fucked my goddess like the soulless devil that his race is! But I didn't wallow in self-pity over it, oh no! My rage became iron and it filled my veins, making me stronger, turning me into the man I am today! I am my scars!"

"And you spent so much time in Mournhold, you're beginning to sound like a dark elf. Will you try and steal godhood for yourself, as they did?"

"Leave me alone!" Crixus shouted. "I want nothing from you."

"Very well," she smirked. "Then I won't set you free."

"Wait, wait, wait a minute!" Crixus replied, his tone changing. "You-you said you were going to set me free!"

"I was going to set you free," she said. "But your impertinence is really starting to make my other half want to come out and tear your entrails of your throat."

"Other half? What other half?"

She smiled. "Valeria Vulcanis, Jyggalag, Sheogorath: they're all up in here." She tapped her temple with her staff. "It's quite...maddening, having three minds about everything, and each of them at odds with each other. But that's the way I've been for the past two hundred years: you don't see me whining and crying about it. 'I am my scars!' You sound like a petulant little child, shunning healing to seem edgy and different for its sake alone." She laughed. Crixus said nothing.

"You wanna know why I killed him?"

"Yes, yes, I do!" the woman said, an eagerness in her eyes as they changed from blue to yellow again.

"Because he abandoned me," Crixus said, hanging his head. "It was a final defiant gasp against everyone who abandoned me..." He gasped, as though he were weeping.

"Your mother died," the woman replied. "She didn't abandon you."

"Don't you fucking..."

"So that's it, then? You got left for dead in the Wrothgarian Mountains and decided to kill your Emperor for it? You let your own selfish desires destroy an Empire more than Ulfric's rebellion did?"

"You know nothing." At that point, the woman brought her staff down upon Crixus' head.

"How could a fifty-year-old possibly presume to think that he knows more than a god?" she asked.

"Then strike me down," Crixus replied. "Put me out of my misery. I've had enough of everything."

"Oh," she pouted. "Not yet. I'm afraid I'm not quite done with you." With that, she reached into the pocket of her doublet and pulled out a skull. She seemed to be talking to the skull, asking it to relinquish something from its mouth. After a few moments of this, she plucked forth a key from the skull's teeth and dropped it at Crixus' feet.

"What's this?"

"The key to your chains," she said. She then reached into her pocket again and pulled out a mushroom about a foot tall: this 'pocket' of her doublet seemed much larger than it appeared. From the mushroom's cap she pulled another key and threw it on the floor next to the first one. "And that's for the door. Chop chop, now; before I change my mind." She then returned mushroom and skull to her pocket - into which they slid easier than one would think for their size - and she made for the bars of the cell.

"You just dropped the keys at my feet?" Crixus asked. "Why couldn't you have just removed the chains and opened the doors yourself?"

"Enough with the whining already!" she shouted. And even as she did, the woman was gone and the man was there, glaring at him from the other side of the bars. "You mortals are so lazy: you whine and b*tch and moan about how we never help you, and then when we do, you say 'it's not enough!' Maybe I should just take the keys back and have a good laugh when your head rolls tomorrow!" He was now up against the bars.

"I gave you the key, Crixus," he said. "But only you can unlock the door...or you can languish in this cell, b*tching and moaning about the gods and how everyone's unfair to you till your head comes off. It's your choice: it's always been that way." The old man flashed Crixus a cheeky grin, and then disappeared into the shadows. He never saw him again.

Crixus now looked down at the two keys before him. Freedom, just out of reach: or was it? He still had his skills as a thief about him, and could retrieve what he wanted if he really tried. It wouldn't be the end for Servius Crixus, not yet at least. Let these mad gods and fools berate him all they wanted: he would have the last laugh when he slew the Grey Spirit and triumphed over Ulfric as the true champion of the Empire.

He smiled as his big toe landed on one of the keys.

(AN: What will Crixus do? Will he aid Elenwen or the Empire? Can he help the Empire when he's a fugitive?)

(I thought things would be less hectic after my brother left and mine was the only opinion driving this story! Many ES fans still hate the Stormcloaks, mostly because of Morrowind or Oblivion nostalgia, or they actually believe the Empire's dogma [and ignore inconvenient parts about the Empire's weakness], or they're chaotic evil types who actually like serving the Dominion! So I've got their pro-Imperial arguments to answer as well!)