(AN: This chapter sees some rather significant conclusions to our story, though we're still in the denouement phase and not at the very end yet.)
(If I ever make a story based on Fallout New Vegas, which I'm hoping to play soon, since Fallout 4 runs perfectly smoothly on my laptop, I thought I would have a certain show-down feature the main character use a certain line from the Skyrim courier which appears in this chapter. Sort of a hint for the future: not sure when it will happen, since I'm doing my Fallout 4 story after this one. I'll try my best to not make it "Dragonborn and the Lioness but with guns and nuclear radiation".)
(Before we begin, I wanted to point out that, as per the fan's desires, there is a perk in Skyrim's Ordinator mod that pretty much allows you to spam Shouts one after the other. I'm not terribly fond of that, but I just thought it merited a mention that modders have your wishes covered. Now begins the climactic denouement!)
The Grey Spirit
Early in the morning of the 25th of Sun's Dawn. A little boat was making its way out from the southern shores of the marshlands towards the Solitude Docks. Few marked the approach, for all eyes were looking westward rather than south. Jonna was inside the boat, straining with all of her might to pull the heavy oars and bring the boat to the opposite side undetected. At the end of the 22nd of Sun's Dawn, she had quietly slipped out of the camp of the Stormcloaks and made her way along the shores of the Karth River in search of a boat. She went swiftly, but not swift enough for her liking: she had a date to keep in Solitude on the 25th and wouldn't be kept waiting.
After much searching she found herself the boat and began making her way towards Solitude. Her only hope was that Legate Rikke's mind had been changed by her last letter. It didn't seem likely, considering the content of the first letter she sent after she learned that her last was intercepted: That message was meant for Eirik the Dragonborn only. Do not send me any more messages. That wasn't the answer she was seeking, but she wasn't ready to give up just yet. For there was a reason she had deserted the Stormcloaks at they came to Dragon Bridge, as well as a reason why she had been keeping clandestine communique with Solitude, why she hadn't told anymore about her departure, and why she was rowing a boat towards Solitude ahead of the initial schedule she had sent ahead of her.
It had been at the back of her mind since Sigrun wrote down the names of the cities from the letter that was now missing. She had written down Solitude, the name of the capital of Skyrim. Of course anyone with any sense would know that this would be the endgame for a Stormcloak victory. But Solitude was, among other things, the home of Jordis the Sword-Maiden: Jonna's mother. Four days ago it had been Jonna's birthday: she hadn't felt like she was now a year older, due to being displaced, but it also meant something of greater significance. The other Jonna was now born and alive in Solitude. She remembered the stories she had been told about what her mother saw during the Battle of Solitude, when the Thalmor declared open war and began culling the people of Solitude. But she had gotten out of Solitude beforehand in that time, and as far as she, Jonna, knew, she was still inside with her baby. There wasn't any other choice. She looked back southwestward, towards Markarth and Dragon Bridge.
I'm sorry, Sig, she said in her heart. But my mother isn't as safe as yours. You'll understand, I know you will. If not, then to Oblivion with you!
She rowed with all her might, pushing hard against the choppy brackish waves. Each wave pushed her farther out towards the sound and away from the northern shore; but Jonna was not ready to give up. She pushed against them harder, looking periodically up to the darkened shore. A light was shining on the opposite shore. Jonna's blood froze: was it the city guard? There had been no further messages since the last one: had Rikke betrayed her? Was there now a company of soldiers waiting to haul her off to the Castle Dour dungeons? Or maybe they'd just take her to the headsman's axe straightaway? She hesitated, her mind telling her to go back.
No, she returned. I have to make sure she's safe, even if it kills me.
Slowly the sun rose up out of the reek of clouds in the east: a storm was gathering, moving swiftly westward. And slowly, Jonna brought her little boat to the opposite side. In horror she watched as the lantern moved this way and that, correcting itself against her movements. Whoever it was was certainly waiting for her. She gripped the oars tightly: they were the only weapons near at hand, for her axe was sitting on her belt and couldn't be drawn in haste. At last the hull of the boat ground against the gravelly shore on the farther side. From the lantern came a voice; a man's voice.
"I've been looking for you," he said. "Got something I'm supposed to deliver. Your hands only." With his other hand, the courier drew forth a single slip of parchment which he handed to Jonna. She took the paper and examined it in the light of the lantern. There was nothing written thereon save for a single sentence:
West along the cliffs and right under the windmill.
"Who gave you this message?" Jonna asked.
"A woman," he replied. "Didn't give a name, but she was wearing Legion gear. Looks like that's it. Got to go."
The courier with the lantern departed, leaving Jonna in the steadily growing light of early morning. She looked about her and saw, looming above her head, the great cliffs upon which the city of Solitude was built. Behind her rose the arch that spanned the sound and came down in a great stone butte on the southeastern side, near the marshes. Upon that arch and butte was built the Blue Palace; the home of the High King of Skyrim. Then her eyes caught the sight of the great windmill on the southern end of the city.
"Under the windmill..." she muttered to herself.
Heedless of what kind of attention she might be drawing to herself, Jonna took off as fast as she could in the direction of the cliffs, keeping the windmill fixed as her compass point. The light was steadily growing, sending orange light off of every surface. In the sun's illumination, Jonna could see, nestled in the stones of the cliff-side, the masonry of a stone facade: in the side of that facade was a door. Jonna made her way up to that door and checked the handle: to her surprise, it was unlocked. She opened the door and found a winding staircase leading upward. It seemed too good to be true: a secret entrance into Solitude? Surely such a massive city would be well-guarded, and all entrances and exits, secret or otherwise, would be known. She could very well be walking into a trap.
"I'm coming, Mama," she said, drawing her axe and running up the stairs.
The stairs were much longer than she thought, and she was soon winded. Worse still, the placement of the steps meant that if she was attacked from the top, she was completely defenseless. Worse still, there were no shafts in the walls of the winding tower and no light to guide her: forcing her to switch her sword to her left hand and feel the wall on her right. Her steps made more sound than she would have liked, loud echoing stomps on the dry stone floor. Any minute she expected the whole fruitless chase to be up and she would have to defend herself on these treacherous stairs.
Suddenly there came the sound of a bell ringing somewhere above her, followed by many blowing horns. Jonna's heart dropped in her chest: the chase was up. They knew she was coming, and even now, she feared, they were coming for her. Taking her axe in her hand, she struck the head upon the stones and shouted.
"Come for me, then! I'll take you all on at once!"
But the sounds continued to ring up above her, and no soldiers came. With the fire of battle igniting in her veins, Jonna ran up the rest of the way, curious as to why no one had attacked her. Could it be that the Stormcloaks had already won through to the gates of Solitude and battle was already joined? What about Dragon Bridge? She had listened more than she spoke on the journey from Whiterun and heard the reports from scouts that the Imperial Legion had dug in their heels on the northern side of Dragon Bridge. Had victory been achieved so quickly?
"Then again, it's Eirik we're talking about," she told herself. "He is the Dragonborn, after all. Maybe he broke through their defenses."
She would not have to wait long to learn the truth. At last she came to a landing where there was another door in the side of the tower. Pushing the door open, she found herself on a wall above the streets of Solitude. All was in chaos. Elves in black robes and moonstone armor were walking about, or riding on horses, barking orders to the townspeople, demanding they stay indoors until they were thoroughly and adequately processed. A great shape passed overhead, hiding the sun, and sending cries of horror wherever it went. City guards in their red colors were running this way and that, some in fear, others with their bows drawn and aimed at the sky. Another voice was heard above them all: a familiar one, one that filled Jonna with wrath.
"There it is! There's the bastard! Shoot him down! Shoot that fucking dragon down!"
Crixus. He was here, in the flesh, at Solitude. She remembered the arrogant voice of the Emperor, who had given her the task of...of...she knew what he had given her, but it was wholly beyond her power to recall it precisely. She longed to be rid of him, to break the spell he had placed upon her, and once again be the master of her own thoughts. She drew her axe and ran down a flight of stairs into the streets, looking for Crixus. She would be his end, one way or another. But just as suddenly as she leaped into the arms of death, she leaped back into the shadows; the shadow passed overhead. Looking up, she saw a massive red dragon flying this way and that, as many missiles flew up into the air after it. Jonna wondered if Sigrun had prevailed against Eirik and he was now flying atop that dragon, preparing to end the war.
A single black arrow came whistling from the battlements behind her, in the direction of the Blue Palace. It struck the dragon, and it began to flounder. Fear entered Jonna's heart. The dragon wheeled around towards the Blue Palace and then struck the ground with a terrible crash. A host of moonstone-clad elves marching in double-time made their way under the wall and towards a collapsed building. She ran towards it, but then realized her folly. There were dozens of armed elves gathering around this beast: more so than city guards. What had happened? Where was the Imperial Legion? Where were the rest of the Solitude city guards? Why were there Thalmor soldiers in Solitude? Jonna's heart dropped again: there was one directive that they had failed to meet. Thelgil had made it to Solitude. And now, it seemed, the Dragonborn had fallen with his dragon.
"We failed..." she said.
The ruin of the dragon began to smolder and catch fire. Jets of orange and blue flame coursed through the air up onto the walls of Solitude, towards the one who had slain the dragon. As flesh, sinew, and scales began to burn away, the bony skeleton showed two figures lying amid the rubble of the house which Odahviing smote with his ruin. The largest of the figures began to stir, groaning loudly. Armor made of dragon-bones, or perhaps some divine intervention beyond the comprehension of mortal men, had saved him from serious injury. Eirik was sore bruised, but no bones were broken. He turned over and looked upon the other figure next to him: that of Sigrun. He couldn't tell if she was dead or just how badly she was wounded: she looked no different now than she had when they mounted the dragon's neck. That is to say, bloodied, broken, and emaciated. Then she let out a pained groan. Eirik was so relieved that he paid no heed to the marching of boots upon the cobblestone streets of the city.
"Sigrun!" he said with relief. "Are you alright?"
Sigrun groaned, rolling one way and then another on the stones where she lay.
"Shor..." she muttered. "I didn't...except...to see you...until after I...crossed the bridge..."
"Sigrun, it's me," Eirik returned. "It's me, Eirik. Your Father."
She opened her eyes. Though they opened, she could not see clearly. She turned to the figure she thought had been Talos and feebly reached up to touch his face.
"Da?" she muttered. "I thought I was...dead..."
"No," he said, shaking his head. "No, my girl. You're alive. Tell me, are you hurt?" Sigrun feebly nodded her head. "Can you stand?" She tried to move and groaned in pain.
"I can't feel my leg!" she cried out, fruitlessly slapping her right thigh.
"It's okay," Eirik said, holding her with one hand behind her head. "I've got you. Don't move. Just stay there." Eirik felt something hot upon the hand that held his daughter's head. Gingerly he removed his hand and examined it: upon his hand was a deep, dark stain of blood that was not his own. The back of Sigrun's hair was stained and matted with dark red blood.
Just then he heard a haughty laugh. Looking up from his daughter, Eirik saw a face he had seen only once before, when Crixus had saved him from an untimely execution in Solitude: narrow, sallow, slant-eyed and permanently bent into a sneer. This was Thelgil, the High Justicar of the Thalmor.
"Such an ignorant, pretentious ape you are," he laughed. "To think that you could fly in here and make demands on us!" He chuckled. "Look at you, now: nothing without your precious little dragon. And your little servant...is she dead? Not dead, but dying?" He chuckled again. "But you've over-extended yourself, I'm afraid. The Thalmor control Solitude now, and after you've been killed, we will own all of Skyrim. Then...the rest of your pathetic human empire."
Eirik forced himself to his feet and reached for his sword: the great-sword of the Skaal was not in its scabbard. Looking about, he couldn't immediately see it. The elves in moonstone armor around him laughed and Thelgil sauntered over to him.
"No dragon and no sword?" he asked. "You're completely alone. You leaped out to seize victory, only to have it snatched out of your hands by the master race."
"You're wrong, elf-bitch," Eirik said.
"What did you call me?" Thelgil returned.
"I'm never alone," Eirik replied. Then, before the Thalmor High Justicar could speak, Eirik let out a mighty Shout. "Hun...Kaal Zoor!"
The storm broke upon Solitude, and from its dark clouds came five bolts of lightning, wreathed in blue and orange flame. Each bolt struck the ground before Eirik with a deafening boom. And when the flash had faded, five figures stood before him. Four of them he knew: Felldir, Hakon, and Gormlaith had stood at his side and Lydia's as they faced down the World-Eater. Kodlak Whitemane he knew, but was surprised to see again. Apparently the little ritual to cleanse his spirit had been successful, and he now feasted with the rest of the brave in Sovngarde.
The fifth face was one that he hadn't seen in many years, and never would have expected to see again in the waking world. A tall, fair-haired woman stood alongside the other warriors. She was dressed in a hauberk of chain-mail, and in her hands were a sword and a shield. But it was the eyes that Eirik remembered: brown like his own. So many times he had seen those eyes in his memories from long ago: long before Helgen, or his time in Bruma, or even before meeting Sven Stone-Fist. A tear came to his eyes and his lips soundlessly uttered the word: Mother.
But there was no time to speak. For the Thalmor noticed the new arrivals and changed from a haughty to defensive stance.
"Slay them all!" Thelgil demanded.
"Kill every elf in sight!" Eirik returned. "For Skyrim!"
A melee broke out in the streets of Solitude: heroes of ages old, those who had fought dragons and monsters, now turned their swords and axes upon the Thalmor. There were plenty elves to spare, but they themselves could not be touched. Above them the storm broke, sending rain and thunder crashing down upon them. The streets of Solitude were turned into a charnel house as heads and limbs went flying. Eirik, meanwhile, stood empty-handed by Sigrun's side, striking with his fists any elf who dared approach him. Few dared stand toe-to-toe with him, for a gray mist clouded their vision as they came near to him and they were driven mad. In the midst of this battle, the one warrior-spirit he hadn't seen now strode through the carnage toward him.
"My son!" Signy called out. She drove her sword into the skull of a fallen Altmer and hung her shield upon the pommel, then turned to him. There was a smile on her face.
"Mother!" he cried. "Why are you here?"
"I heard your father and Vilja talking about your arrival during the battle with the World-Eater," she replied. "I'm afraid I wasn't there to see you, so I asked the gods leave to answer your call the next time you summoned help from Sovngarde." She reached out with an ethereal hand and placed it upon his cheek.
"You've grown into a fine, handsome man," she said, beaming with pride. "No daughter of Skyrim could have born so fine a son as you."
"You...you're not angry with me?" Eirik asked. "I remember da, he was disappointed that I sided with the Stormcloaks..."
"I'm not your father," Signy said slyly. "And while his heart is bound to the brothers he fought and bled beside in life, mine is not as your ancestor Anhilde the Knight." She leaned in and kissed his cheek.
"Come, my son," she said. "We have elves to kill!" She stepped aside and, walking over to the bones of Odahviing, reached underneath and pulled out something large that had fallen beneath it.
"I think you'll be needing this!" she called out, and with such strength as Eirik had never seen her wield in life, she heaved the mighty sword at him as though it were an apple. She then picked up her sword and shield, struck the blade upon the target, and gave a loud cry: "I am Signy, daughter of Grelmod, and mother of Eirik the Dragonborn, Ysmir returned! Face me and despair!"
With his sword in his hands once again, Eirik now strode into the thick of the battle, cutting down any elf that appeared before him. Only he kept himself relatively close to the bones of Odahviing, where Sigrun lay.
When Jonna heard the clap of thunder and the Thu'um of Eirik, hope leaped into her heart. He wasn't dead, and if he wasn't, then Sigrun might yet be alive as well. With her axe in hand, she made her way towards the thickest of the battle. She had a hard time not being trampled; though she wasn't shorter than a Bosmer, she was slightly less than average height when it came to Nords, and the Altmer were taller than even male Nords. She pushed and shoved, and sometimes drove her axe into the Thalmor soldiers in order to force a way. But there were so many that it seemed she would be at this all day. Moreover, the press of the melee was spreading outward. Jonna found herself being pushed towards the courtyard of the Bards College and away from the ruin of the dragon.
Suddenly a door of the Bards College was opened and Jonna was pulled backwards inside and the door was thrust shut behind her. Looking up for her rescuer, Jonna saw the woman she had seen in the Wind District of Whiterun: the one who had been a staunch supporter of the Empire and had spoken up to Eirik during his speech.
"You!" she exclaimed.
"Jonna, I presume?" Legate Rikke asked.
"How did you know?"
"That armor might be different," Rikke commented. "But you're wearing rebel colors. And the gate's been sealed, so unless you came in on that dragon, you got my note."
"You...you saved me," Jonna said. "Why?"
"I've believed in the Empire my whole life," Rikke replied. "I was ready to die, to kill for it, on a whim. But after hearing the Dragonborn speak in Whiterun, and all the other things I've heard and seen...what meaning does my life have, now that the Empire is dead?"
"Is that why you saved me?" Jonna asked. "To give your life meaning?"
"Don't talk, just listen!" Rikke retorted. "This is no time for an argument: Solitude is turning into a war-zone because of the elves...the same ones the Empire let into our realm. This Thelgil isn't like Elenwen: he'll do something, and if the Empire won't respond, then you'll have to do."
"The Stormcloaks will be here soon enough," Jonna said. "All I'm here for is Jordis."
"She's in the Blue Palace," said Rikke. "Come, I'll take you there."
So it was that the next time the side door of the Bards College was opened that two Nords leaped out of into the fray: Jonna and Rikke, blue and red in their Stormcloak and Legion regalia. They fell upon the elves that were pressing near the door, cutting and hacking them down one by one. With Rikke's height and size and Jonna's fury and relentless tenacity, they broke through the press of Thalmor soldiers and set off running towards the Blue Palace. But as they approached the door, a large figure in Legion armor with blond hair and a thick yellow beard stood in their way. He wielded a great war-hammer in his hands, and a stern look was upon his face.
"Of all the kinsfolk I had pegged as secret traitors," the big man said. "I'd have never guessed it was you, Legate. Crixus was right to suspect you."
"Who the fuck is that?" Jonna gasped, panting for breath.
"Torgrim, stand down!" Rikke ordered. "That's an order!"
"To Sovngarde with you!" Torgrim roared, and took a swing at them with his great war-hammer. The two women went left and right to avoid the large Nord's attacks. Here they were faced with an opponent they could not easily defeat. Larger opponents were always trouble for Jonna, due to her size, but that hammer was deadly: regardless of the new armor, hammers could shatter shields and break armor and bones easily held, especially in the hands of mighty ones. With her axe and Rikke's sword, it seemed that there was very little hope for them.
They circled around him, looking for a weakness. On and on they fought, as the melee behind them continued. The more Torgrim swung and miss, or when his blows struck the solid stone, he became weaker and each blow was wider and heavier than the last. Suddenly he swung his hammer and Rikke leaped at him, burying her blade in the shaft of the hammer. The two were now stuck and Torgrim had to drop his hammer and resort to his fists. A swift strike dazed Rikke, and he pulled her sword from his hammer-haft. Just in time as Jonna, taking advantage of Rikke's feint, came at him from the side.
"Too slow!" he laughed, and brought Rikke's sword to bear. Jonna couldn't stop herself in time and impaled herself upon it. She gasped for air as she looked down, the sword sticking out of the right side of her belly. Above her loomed Torgrim, victorious above her.
"Save a seat for me at the table of Shor in Sovngarde, kinswoman," Torgrim said.
Suddenly, even as Torgrim was reaching for his war-hammer, Jonna ripped the sword out of her belly and shoved it up into Torgrim's armpit, where the Imperial Legion armor offered no protection.
"Let's go together!" she retorted.
They stumbled back from each other, bleeding profusely from their wounds. But Torgrim's blood was under great pressure from the fury of battle and his heavy exertions, and his wound bled out quicker than hers. He fell to the ground, muttering something under his breath, and broke stones no more. By now Rikke had recovered from her daze and ran to Jonna's side.
"Dammit, girl!" she swore. "You shouldn't have taken the sword out! You might have lived if you'd kept it in until we..."
"Take...me..." Jonna gasped. "To Jordis!"
Meanwhile, Eirik and the heroes of Sovngarde were driving the Thalmor soldiers apart. Thelgil had sent all available soldiers to respond to the dragon attack, in the hopes that even if Eirik had used the Voice, there would be plenty of replacements to kill him. But now that was turning against them. Those in front were being hacked to pieces, while those immediately behind them started pushing back and spreading out from the crash-site, fleeing for their lives amid the storm. The fiery heroes pursued them every which way they went. Eirik's heart was lifted, despite the storm: victory was near.
An arrow came whistling down from the wall and skittered on the ground at Eirik's feet. A figure, all clad in black, descended from the wall and came to rest on the ground before Eirik. The hood was removed and Eirik knew the identity of his foe, as well as how Odahviing had been slain and his soul was devoured. Bald and with a short, scruffy beard upon his face, the same smug grin was still flashing back at him.
"Crixus..." he returned, a scowl of hatred on his face.
"Didn't think I'd be here, did you?" Crixus asked. "Thought I'd be at the front-lines, killing you mongrel apes with the rest of the Legion, right? Well, fate has taken a strange turn lately...ever since you refused my invitation to the moot."
"That was a lie!" Eirik retorted. "You planned to cart me off to Solstheim and keep me there while you killed Ulfric and placed us under Imperial rule!"
"Under your rightful masters!" Crixus replied.
"Well, you're too late!" Eirik countered.
"Am I?" Crixus asked. "Because where I'm standing, you have no army except a bunch of ghosts who will leave you in a moment. And then what? You're still just one man against the Solitude guards and the best of the Red Legions and the Thalmor; and now you can never summon your pet dragon again!"
"I freed all of Skyrim in less than a month!" Eirik returned. "I'm more than just some thug in the wilderness: I am Ysmir reborn, the Dragon of the North."
At this, Crixus made a most unusual response. Rather than fear or mock, he exclaimed triumphantly and pointed at Eirik.
"I knew it!" he shouted. "Everyone said I was crazy, but I fucking knew it! You're the Grey Spirit!"
"That I am," Eirik replied.
"You've been trying to destroy me my whole life!" Crixus retorted.
"I've barely known you," Eirik returned.
"Wrong!" Crixus shouted. "You stole my goddess from me. But you won't take the Empire from me!"
"Bold words from the man who murdered the Emperor," Eirik replied.
"He was weak!" Crixus returned. "He betrayed Martin, he betrayed the Empire, and he betrayed me! He didn't even try to save himself when I came for his life! Not like me: I won't go down without a fight, and you can bet your lover's fat white cunt on that!"
At this, Eirik charged towards Crixus, sword in his hands. Crixus had no weapon on him but his bow. The shaft barely survived two blows from Eirik's sword before it burst asunder and Crixus leaped into the bloody melee and took up an elvish sword for his weapon. Eirik charged at him and swung again, but Crixus had to leap aside to avoid the blow. So it was that the long overdue battle between the two of them began. Crixus knew that he was outmatched, for his strength lay in his cunning and skill with a bow, while Eirik was as strong as a troll; moreover he had reach on his side, what with his long arms and great-sword. Therefore Crixus moved more than he swung his blade, trying to keep his distance and find an opening. But Eirik's armor was augmented with rings of Morrowind ebony, the hardest and most valuable substance of the east: his blade could not penetrate the gaps in the dragon-bone armor, for there was ebony chain-mail there to protect him.
Kicking up the dust on the ground from the building that Odahviing smote in his ruin, Crixus let out a desperate Shout: "Yol!" A ball of flaming dust blew into Eirik's face, sending him backing away and swatting at the air to defend himself. With his opening, Crixus now charged in, swinging and thrusting his sword at the one place unprotected by bones or rings: Eirik's face. Eirik held the gauntlets of his armor up in front of his face, holding off the stabs and slashes as best he could. Suddenly he stumbled over the body of a slain elf and was now on the ground, his sword falling from his hands.. Crixus glowered over him, grinning from ear to ear: he had gotten the victory.
"Die well, bitch," he said as he thrust his sword into Eirik's face.
But to his surprise, Eirik reached up and seized the sword with his bare hands. Unfortunately for Crixus, moonstone was an inferior metal. The sword broke as Eirik pulled it apart, and kicked Crixus back away from him. Rising to his feet, he took his sword in his hands and lunged at Crixus. Now he was fleeing for his life again, weaponless as Eirik came after him with his great-sword.
"You think you can kill me?!" Crixus shouted as he leaped onto the ruined second story of the crumbled house. "Thelgil tried to kill me, but Sithis wouldn't allow it. My own bitch of a stepmother put a curse of everlasting youth on me. I cannot die!"
"Do you mean Sedris Ulver?" Eirik asked. "I met her."
"Liar!" Crixus shouted. "She's dead. I buried her myself!"
"She's certainly dead now," Eirik returned. "I made sure of that. And now that I've seen her, I think I understand you better."
"Fuck you!" Crixus retorted. "You don't know me! You're a mongrel ape, a Nord! You know nothing!"
"I was orphaned myself," Eirik replied, lowering his sword. "And maybe if Sven had been as bad as Sedris, I would have turned into a monster like you."
"You think that makes us similar or some shit?" Crixus challenged. "We are nothing alike!"
"No, we're not," Eirik replied. "I made my choices, and you made yours. And now we stand opposite each other: even if I weren't the Grey Spirit, you're the only one who can stop my plans."
"Because I'm Dragonborn too?" Crixus asked. "Well you can take it, because I don't fucking want to be Dragonborn!"
With that, Crixus leaped down and landed on Eirik with a mighty crash, sending his sword out of his hands once again. They now wrestled on the ground, one trying to master the other. Crixus tried in vain to wrap his hands around Eirik's neck in a choke-hold, but the dragon-bone gauntlets were so dense that every time Eirik struck up at Crixus' head to fend him off, Crixus' vision went gray and he saw stars. At last, unable to keep hold of him, Crixus let loose and rolled off of Eirik's back. As he got back onto his feet, he tasted the tang of blood upon his lips. Eirik's blows had struck so powerfully that the bruises on his head were bleeding.
"Do you feel that?" Eirik asked, rising up off the ground. "That's called fear. Your stepmother's magics can't save you now: they're broken, and soon you will be too."
"You don't know shite about fear!" Crixus retorted. "I faced fear when I stared down the Dominion at the Red Dog Pass!"
"And I stared down the World-Eater," Eirik returned. "I knew fear like you wouldn't believe...and now I know who and what I am." He took up his sword once again. But when he spoke, a different voice spoke from his mouth.
"I am the one your Empire forsook," Hjalti's voice said. "And as you denied me, so now I am here to deny you."
"It can't be..." Crixus breathed. "It...no!" He reached down and picked up another elven blade and charged at Eirik. Up came the great-sword, blocking and parrying each blow.
"I won't believe it!" he said. "I refuse to believe it! You're not real!"
"I am," Eirik's voice replied. "Your Empire tried to kill me at Helgen, but I am not so easily killed."
"You're nothing to me! Do you hear that? Nothing! Even if I can't kill you, I'll escape; I always do. And then I'll be back with more Legions: you haven't faced the mighty of the Imperial Red Legions! And when I have, this little rebellion will die with you!"
"I think you'll find that quite impossible. You see, I met your brother and sent him back to Cyrodiil in the company of the Blades. He has orders to rebuild the Empire...against its true enemy."
"I don't believe you!"
"There will be no more Skyrim against the Empire. It will be as it always has been: man against mer."
"No!" Crixus shouted, as he threw himself against Eirik, furiously slashing and hacking with his sword. Eirik fended off blow after blow, switching between half-swording and holding his great-sword with two hands. Crixus was starting to wear out with each blow, going slower and wider as he went. He went for a diagonal slash and Eirik, half-swording, held his great-sword up and caught the grip against his cross-guard. With a great thrust, he yanked the sword out of Crixus' hands. Still dumbfounded, Crixus stepped back as he eyed his opponent.
"You think you've won?" Crixus shouted. "I am Servius Crixus! I am death incarnate! I cannot die! I will not die! I am the savior of Morrowind and Cyrodiil from the evil of Skyrim! I am the one who defies the gods themselves to their own fucking faces! You can't defeat me! I..."
But he never got the chance to finish his boasts. In his arrogance, he failed to pick up a sword, thinking that, as before, Eirik would be daunted by his words and he would be able to say whatever he wanted. But as Crixus prattled on, Eirik at last had enough of him. Taking his sword with both hands, he drove it into Crixus' stomach as hard as he could, lifting him up off the ground a foot. Crixus gasped in horror as he looked down at the blade piercing through his body.
"Enough out of you already!" Eirik said.
As he pushed Crixus off of his sword, something happened that Eirik had never seen in his entire life. Seven daedra of varying colors and types - a daedroth, a winged twilight, a golden saint, a scamp, a crow the size of a grown man, a Keeper from Apocrypha, and a naked seducer with blue skin - appeared out of nowhere. Their appearance filled Crixus with an uncharacteristic fear, and he eyed each of the daedra with horror. Then from among them appeared an eighth figure: what it was only Crixus could rightly see, but Eirik saw a shape, of man-height, but it was like a black shadow with no discernible features upon it. When the shadow appeared, Crixus truly became fearful; he fell to his knees and wept and begged for his life. Each of the figures reached out and placed a hand upon Crixus (the crow pecked at him with its beak): when they did, a ball of light passed from Crixus' body and into the daedra. The shadow embraced Crixus and took an eighth ball of light. Crixus cried out and another one escaped from his mouth and disappeared. Then, as swiftly as they had appeared, the daedra vanished. Crixus' body, pale and lifeless, fell to the ground: his soul riven from his body and split into eight pieces. Or was it nine? What happened to that piece?
Eirik walked over to the body and gasped. The body of Crixus had withered, as though the work of many years' aging had happened in the blink of an eye. A skeleton of papery skin clung to his old bones, his mouth ajar in his last gasp of horror. The visage was quite frightening, reminding Eirik of vampires. He nudged the remains with his foot and they disintegrated into ash.
So came Servius Crixus to his end.
Sigrun heard all the commotion around her, the Shout of her Father, the warriors from Sovngarde, and the storm above them. She yearned to be part of the battle. This was the reason she had come here, why she had risked life and limb to fight and die at her Father's side in the battle of Solitude. Amid great pain, she turned herself over even as Eirik and Crixus began their duel. Her right foot was broken and did not move, but she had use of her hands and her left leg. She crawled after them, groaning in pain every step of the way. All she could think about was getting over to her Father's side.
This was what she was here for, wasn't it? She couldn't think clearly: when the dragon fell, she fell off its back onto the cobblestone pavement and had broken the back part of her skull. But more than that, she found that she couldn't remember much of anything. She knew that Eirik was her Father, and that she had to be at his side, but why that mattered she couldn't recall. Even the memory of other things - her Mother Mjoll, Lucia and Bjorn, Jonna, Erik the Slayer, Roggi Knot-Beard, Lydia, Serana, Talvi - was fading.
At last she came up within a few feet of her Father, even as he was engaging in his final moments with Crixus. Sigrun was shivering violently: perhaps it was the storm that increased her own feeble condition? She held out her hand and called out to him.
"D..."
But at that moment, he drove his sword into Crixus' stomach and something worse happened. Sigrun let out one last violent cough. Blood poured out in copious amounts from her open mouth, and then something else fell out with a sickening splat onto the ground before her in a mess of blood and fast-dissolving offal: her tongue. Sigrun couldn't speak, she couldn't even cry out. Her quaking hand reached down into the bloody mess, as if to take her tongue and force it back into her mouth. But it dissolved before her eyes into a pool of red. Blood was now pouring endlessly out of Sigrun's mouth. She never knew one person could bleed so much. She tried to lift her hand, but a great chill was passing over her. She fell hard face-down onto the ground, and broke her nose. Her eyes never closed, but darkness consumed her amidst violent chills that made her whole body shiver. She knew no more.
(AN: And so many things end in this chapter: but the story isn't over yet.)
(The Heroes from Sovngarde appearance was something I decided on relatively recently, and chose to have Signy appear, since she didn't appear in the main story. There is a slight discrepancy with her depiction: I forgot what color I gave Eirik's eyes, though I'm pretty sure they were brown like his hair. However, I gave his father blue eyes and the woman I had in mind for his mother [actress Diane Kruger] also has blue eyes...as does Clive Standen's Rollo, who Eirik basically evolved into over the course of the first story. I ended up going with brown just to keep things "consistent" [I hope])
(I decided to stop censoring one word here, in homage to the last time Eirik fought Thelgil in The Dragon and the Bear. I was originally going to save this for another story entitled David and Solomon: Kings of a Nation, particularly where Saul calls Jonathan a "son of a bitch" [as that is historically accurate], but I'm nowhere near starting that one. So I thought I'd drop that b-bomb here.)