Hey everyone. Thanks for following along with this story. It will get better...promise. More action is coming up and Brynhild will soon reveal what she is. :D

Thanks for the reviews. They really help and motivate me. My writing is a little rusty since I usually write magazine articles with a more journalism style of writing.

Feel free to PM me for advice, suggestions, or ideas. Thanks again everyone!

-Lady Luna83

Disclaimer: I don't own the rights to TES. Bethesda does.

Chapter 4: Commitments

After I bathed and changed into clean clothes, I opened the door of my room to a noisy tavern. The table with the group of males had grown to an inn full of rowdy, obnoxious drunks.

I spotted Bret laughing with a group of Nords in the center of the room, a mug in each hand. I liked him better this way: smiling, happy. Much better than earlier this afternoon: somber and sorrowful. He acted like nothing had happened, so carefree and happy-go-lucky. I smiled at the sight.

A majority of the men all wore the same blue and silver armored uniform. I realized it was the same armor Ralof and Ulfric wore in Helgen. Stormcloak soldiers if I remembered correctly.

Butterflies danced in my stomach as I made my way towards Bret.

Butterflies? Bret? That's odd...

"Tigress!" shouted a burley man as he grabbed me from behind, wrapping his large, muscled arms around me and lifted me up in the air. "It's good to see you!"

I went into attack mode and threw my head back, connecting with the man's nose. I heard a crunch as the cartilage shattered from the impact. The man grunted. He let me go and I jumped out of his reach, spun around and readied myself to punch his lights out.

I had just broken Ralof's nose.

"Ralof!" I gasped. "I am so sorry. I didn't know it was you."

"Wow," he said nasally as he held his broken nose, blood gushing out of the nostrils and down his chin. "That was an impressive hit, Tigress."

My cheeks burned, flushing bright red. How embarrassing. What did he expect when you grab an unaware female Nord from behind? A broken nose, that's what. Still, I had to do some damage control.

"Hey Bret," I called. "Help me out here, will you?"

Bret stumbled over to Ralof and I. It's amazing how he could still walk. He looked like he was three sheets to the wind.

Bret placed a hand over Ralof's nose and concentrated on a healing spell. After a few seconds, red light pulsed from his hand, mending the damaged cartilage and broken capillaries.

"There ya go!" stuttered Bret happily. "Good as new!"

Ralof wiggled his nose with a hand, testing Bret's spell work. "I'll keep in mind you don't like surprises, Tigress," Ralof joked.

"Again, I'm really sorry..." I couldn't stop apologizing.

Ralof held up his hand, gesturing me to stop talking. "No harm done. It's actually quite attractive for a pretty little female such as yourself to be able to defend herself if the situation arises."

I fetching hate it when men call me little. I don't mind the pretty part though. I'm okay with a little ego booster.

"Well if you ever need someone to protect you if the situation arises, I'm your pretty "little" female," I teased.

Ralof bellowed, his deep laughter booming in my ears.

He casually rested his forearms over my shoulders and leaned over slightly. His eyes were at the same level as mine. "Tigress, that's exactly what I want to talk to you about."

"Pardon?"

Ralof wrapped an arm around my shoulder and ushered me toward the group of Stormcloak men with Bret right there in the middle.

"First, a drink! Get this little lady a drink!" he ordered the bartender. "We need to celebrate!"

There's that damn little part again.

"Here! Here!" shouted the Stormcloaks in unison as they held up their mugs.

Ralof led me to a small table near the back of the inn for privacy. The barmaid set two mugs in front of us. I quickly grabbed a mug, eager to down its contents.

"To us for escaping the damn Imperials and surviving the dragon in Helgen." Ralof held his mug up. "To the freedom and glory of Skyrim."

"Here, here," I said and clanged my mug against his before I took a swig. I coughed after swallowing the liquid.

"Wow, are you trying to poison me, Ralof?" I choked, wiping my mouth on the back of my hide gauntlet. "What is this?"

"Honningbrew mead," Ralof answered, laughing heartily. "Aye, strong stuff. It will put some hair on your chest."

I gave a slight smile after taking another drink, this time a sip. I tried very hard not to scrunch up my face in disgust. The drink was horrible.

"Why are you in Riverwood?" I asked. "I figured you would be in Windhelm with Jarl Ulfric."

"Actually, I came here for you," Ralof stated, smiling. "After feeling Helgen we reached a Stormcloak camp to rest. The Jarl requested me and a few soldiers to find you. Make sure you made it out of Helgen alive. Thank the Nine you did!" Ralof laughed and pounded his fist on the table joyously. "I figured you would come to Riverwood to meet with my sister. Ulfric wishes you to join the Stormcloaks, to help us fight in the rebellion against the Imperials and those who oppose his rightful place as High King. It seems he's taken quite an interest in you."

I'll admit I wouldn't mind killing those Imperials for the headache they've caused me. And also the attempt to take off my head, but I don't want to be sucked into Skyrim's troubles. That would be breaking the Golden Rule of not getting involved in other people's problems. It seems like I've been breaking that rule lately. Damnit.

"The war is not my fight," I stated.

"You should make it your problem. You're a Nord even though you don't look like any Nord I've ever seen."

I stuck like a sore thumb. My dark chocolate brown hair and lean, muscled build aren't what throw people off. It's my golden eyes and bronzed skin. And the three inch scar running from the bottom of my right eye to the middle of my cheek. I thank Hircine for that. I've always embraced my exoticness, but it doesn't work when you're trying to blend in and not draw attention to yourself amongst the typical fair-haired and pale skinned Nords.

I'm also paranoid about getting injured. A cut or gash would prove I'm not entirely human. My silvery crimson blood is a dead giveaway I'm Daedra. And Daedra are not lovingly welcomed with open arms in Skyrim. I could have been done for by the Imperials when they caught me. I should have been done for. I bled enough from those arrow wounds to expose what I was, but the Legion was too focused on catching myself and my other wagon mates to pay attention so something so simple like the color of my blood. Thank gods it dried to a human blood color by the time I was carelessly tossed into the wagon. But still...I was lucky. Too lucky actually.

"I will not be involved in a rebellion of Nords against Nords," I insisted.

Ralof narrowed his ice blue eyes at me. I've seen that look before. Many times. He's trying to figure me out.

"What part of Skyrim do you hail from, anyways?"

Crap. He went there. He wants details. Background information. The chances of laying low are diminishing by the minute.

Bret stumbled to the table with that same shit-eating grin.

The butterflies returned. I've never been so happy to see that twerp.

"Bryn!" Bret stammered. "Didja hear there was a dragon spotted right outside of town?

"The same dragon from Helgen?" I asked, extremely relieved for the change in conversation.

"Nay, it's a different dragon," interrupted Ralof. "Saw it with my own eyes just outside of town circling the area. Bad news if you ask me. Definitely a bad omen of things to come."

Oh gods, another dragon? I barely survived my last encounter with one of those oversized, flying reptiles.

"Bryn, let me get you another drink. They have this amazing Honningbrew mead!"

Yuck.

I smiled but declined. I do enjoy a strong drink, but that Honningbrew was pure rubbing alcohol. Put hair on your chest indeed.

"So you're Bryn?" Ralof asked as he sat back in his chair, eyeing me up and down. He's doing it again.

"Brynhild," I corrected.

I could tell he was curious about me. Fortunately he didn't ask any more personal questions.

Ralof continued to tell me about the necessity of the Stormcloaks. I listened with semi interest about how the Aldmeri Dominion invaded Cyrodiil and forced Emperor Titus Mede II to sign the White Gold Concordat, resulting in the ban of Talos worship across Tamriel.

I remember that day clearly. I was living in Anvil at the time of the signing at the Imperial Palace. The Aldmeri believed Talos wasn't a god because he was a mortal man, therefore should not be worshipped as one of the Divines. I couldn't believe signing a simple piece of parchment could end the worship of the mortal hero-turned-god.

Stupid Altmers thinking they're all high and mighty with their self-proclaimed "superior" race.

Superior race my ass.

But I wasn't aware how many Nords in Skyrim revolted, claiming no document, government or organization could forbid their worship of their beloved god. The Stormcloaks, led by Ulfric, declared war against the Imperials, who enforced the White Gold Concordat and also wanted Skyrim to join the Empire. Other Nords, including the former High King Torygg, preferred Skyrim as part of the Empire, claiming it was safer for the citizens if Skyrim joined the Empire.

"So that's why Ulfric killed the High King," I mused, finally understanding more in detail why Skyrim was in a state of chaos.

"Aye," replied Ralof. "Torygg supported Skyrim in joining Empire, thus honoring the White Gold Concordat."

I've tried to isolate myself from politics as much as possible. However, I believe no one has the godsdamn-given right to declare who and who not to worship in Tamriel.

Also, I think it's pure skeever crap if the Empire thinks it has the right to rule over Skyrim. Skyrim should remain an independent sovereign country outside of the Empire's rule. But what do I know? I haven't claimed Skyrim home for two hundred and seven years.

Am I claiming Skyrim home now?

Ugh...maybe.

For some strange reason, I feel like I'm being summoned here. Called home. Cyrodiil is currently in a state of disarray and had been since the Aldmeri Dominion take over. Fetching Altmers. I don't care to reside in Elsweyr, Morrowind or any other country either. There seemed to be some disaster occurring in each of the nations. Tamriel was falling apart.

I'll see where this ride takes me. I'm always game for a good adventure. Perhaps Skyrim will allow me to move on from the past I've desperately been running from.

I'm tired of wandering. I want a home. A place to start over. But I want a home free from the Empire and free to worship all Nine Divines. I'd gladly fight for that freedom.

"How did Ulfric kill Torygg?"

"With a sword," answered Ralof simply, then took a sip from his mug.

I knew there was more to it than a sword, but I decided not to push Ralof for more information.

We sat for several minutes in silence, each of us trying to figure out what the other was thinking.

At that moment I decided to stay. I won't return to Cyrodiil. I'm committed to Skyrim. No turning back now.

I sighed heavily.

"Ralof," I breathed.

Ralof leaned forward, listening intently and eager with what I had to say.

"I will aid Ulfric and the Stormcloaks against the Empire."

Ralof raised his eye brows, a faint smile on his lips.

"So you'll join?" he asked, hopeful.

"Yes, I'll join."

-0-

Short chapter this time. I am almost done with the next one. It picks up after that. Next chapter will be posted tomorrow. Be on the look out for it!