Summary:
Bjorn continues his quest for revenge, and reunites with an old "friend". Bjorn continues to struggle with his inner demons. Amirah makes an important revelation to Bjorn.
As the companions walked away, Wulfmir called out from behind them, 'Hey! I'm not on my knees now. Why not finish what you started?' Struggling to maintain balance, Wulfmir clumsily stood up and charged at Bjorn.
"Well, if you insist," Bjorn responded dryly.
Wulfmir staggered as he charged, but Bjorn swiftly decapitated him in one clean swing. And so was the end of Wulfmir the Unmerciful. He died a death a man like him always dreamed of dying. Bjorn wanted to punish him, but a glorious death in battle was no punishment to one like Wulfmir. Was it worth it? He thought to himself.
Bjorn sheathed his sword, now appearing conflicted. Grishnakh approached, offering a high five, and Bjorn reluctantly reciprocated, failing to hide his dissatisfaction.
"You finally got the bastard! Way to go! And you just defeated a werewolf! A true legend of Tamriel. We ought to go to an inn and celebrate," Grishnakh danced with excitement.
"Yeah, you're right. Finally, he's gone," Bjorn forced himself to mirror Grishnakh's energy.
"What's wrong, Bjorn?" Amirah intuitively sensed his lack of enthusiasm.
"I don't know. It's just all those years I wanted to kill him," Bjorn looked at Wulfmir's severed head on the ground, "and now I can't."
Amirah smiled and kissed Bjorn on the lips. "I've said it before, Bjorn, holding onto vengeance won't undo the past or heal your pain."
"Please," Grishnak butted in, "don't make me throw up."
Amirah chuckled at Grishnakh's remark, then turned her attention back to Bjorn. "He has a point, you know. Celebrate the victory, don't dwell on the past. There's still much to be done, and we need you focused."
Grishnakh, still animated, interjected with liveliness, "Exactly! Let's find an inn, raise a toast to our fearless leader, and maybe discover some good company for the night."
Bjorn, catching Grishnakh's drift, teased with a loving gaze at Amirah, "You mean you can find some company, Grishnakh. I've already found mine."
"Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, you knucklehead. A one-woman man," Grishnakh chuckled, then turned to Amirah. ""Bjorn's been going on about you for ages. Nice to finally meet you. I have to admit my friend has good taste."
"Thank you, Grishnakh," Amirah replied, her eyes twinkling with amusement. She then imitated Grishnakh's low brutish voice and added, "You knucklehead."
The three of them let out a good laugh, which offered Bjorn a temporary relief from his inner turmoil.
"Maybe you're right," Bjorn agreed hesitantly, " Let's find an inn, but keep it low-key. I don't need a celebration getting out of hand."
As the group made their way to the nearest inn, the atmosphere remained a mix of joy and reflection. Bjorn couldn't shake off his new existential crisis, yet Amirah's presence brought a sense of comfort amid the internal turbulence.
As they settled at a table, Grishnakh raised his tankard high. "To Bjorn, the werewolf slayer! The legend of Tamriel!"
The room erupted in cheers, but Bjorn's eyes wandered, lost in contemplation. Feeling the urge to express himself, he stood up, grabbed his lute, and began to play. The haunting melody filled the tavern, drawing the attention of the patrons. The crowd gradually fell silent, captivated by Bjorn's impromptu performance. His fingers danced over the strings, each note carrying a piece of his soul. Once he finished his performance, he sat back down next to Amirah. The internal tumult persisted, despite his best efforts to tame it. Amirah's eyes met his, and she offered a reassuring smile, understanding the silent storm within him.
Grishnakh, eager to shift the mood, began recounting exaggerated tales of their battle with Wulfmir, drawing laughter from the patrons. Despite the camaraderie, Bjorn's mind still lingered on the futility of vengeance and the void it failed to fill.
Amirah, still picking up on Bjorn's inner chaos, offered him support," "Hey Bjorn, maybe it's not all about getting even. Your journey's about more than just fighting. It's about finding your own way forward, you know?"
"You're right Amirah," With a tender smile, Bjorn kissed Amirah on the forehead, silently thanking her for her wisdom and understanding.
Once the festivities ended, Amirah and Bjorn settled into the room they had rented for the night. It was small. comfortable and charming. A perfect spot for them to forget the rest of the world existed.
They made love once again. Bjorn absorbed the moment, hoping it would last forever. After what seemed like an eternity, their bodies interlocked, hearts beating fast, their intimate dance came to an end. As the euphoria slowly faded, Amirah hesitantly withdrew from Bjorn's hold. An awkward silence followed before she hurriedly reached for her clothes.
Bjorn, sensing a shift in Amirah's demeanor, eyed her with genuine concern. "What's wrong, Rah-Rah?"
Amirah stumbled over her words, anxious about how Bjorn might respond to the topic she was about to bring up. "If we're truly going to be together, there can't be any secrets between us."
Bjorn looked confused, trying to understand where she was coming from. "I've been honest with you, Rah-Rah. Cordelia is part of my past. I only ended up with her because I couldn't find you, I didn't know where you were. But my heart has always been with you. There are no more secrets."
"No, I'm not talking about Cordelia," Amirah clarified, her voice trembling with the weight of the revelation. "I never told you, Bjorn, but we have a daughter!"
"A daughter?"
"Yes, soon after we separated, I discovered I was pregnant," Amirah confessed, "once she was born, my father gave her away to a family in Cyrodiil. I named her Tava Storm-Bear."
"Wait, a daughter? I'm a father? " Bjorn was struggling to process what Amirah had said.
"Yes, Bjorn," Amirah affirmed. She looked at Bjorn with a mix of vulnerability and hope.
Bjorn's mind raced as he went through a rollercoaster of emotions. The revelation of fatherhood brought a blend of astonishment, joy, and a tinge of regret for the lost years with his child.
"Why didn't you tell me?" Bjorn sounded slightly hurt.
"We hadn't seen each other in years, Bjorn. It wasn't the first thing I wanted to say to you. Getting used to you being back in my life again, when I thought you were dead all this time was enough of an adjustment at first."
"Tava... our daughter." He spoke the words as if testing their reality.
Amirah nodded, her eyes pleading for understanding.
"Why would your father give her away?"
Amirah's stare turned distant. "Well, as you know, he disapproved of our union. The idea of his Redguard daughter with a Nord, especially one like you, didn't align with his views. He decided she would have a better life with a family in Cyrodiil, far from the complications of our history. Plus he didn't want me to have the burden of raising her on my own."
There was an awkward silence, the revelation still a delicate truth for Bjorn, one that awaited embrace.
Amirah held his hand and looked at him with a soft smile. "There's a better future beyond vengeance, Bjorn. Once we've dealt with Zalam-dar, we can go to Cyrodiil and find Tava. Imagine the life we can build together as a family."
Bjorn smiled subtly. "That does sound amazing. But… am I ready to be a father?"
Amirah placed her hand on his shoulder and kissed his cheek. "Yes, Bjorn. You're a good man. That's why I don't want vengeance to consume you. Your parents would have wanted better for you."
"You're right Rah-Rah," Bjorn said reflectively, "But I'm not sure I can let this go."
Amirah squeezed his hand affectionately. "You can, Bjorn. I believe in you."
Bjorn stood, beginning to dress. "Let's have another drink and get some sleep. This is a lot to take in."
They shared one last drink—mead for Bjorn and wine for Amirah. Bjorn played his lute while Amirah danced and sang along. Though it had been years since she'd done anything musical, her talent remained as vibrant as ever.
After their performance, they made love one last time and fell asleep, holding each other close. The next morning, Grishnakh burst into Amirah and Bjorn's room. The two of them reluctantly woke up and quickly pulled the covers over themselves.
"For the love of Tall Papa, Grishnakh," Amirah's irritation and embarrassment were evident in her voice, "you ever hear of knocking?"
"There's no time! Krozdog is under attack!"
"What? What do you mean," Bjorn jumped out of bed and quickly dressed, he no longer cared that Grishnakh was present, " we need to help them. Who's attacking them?"
"That noble we quarreled with a while back. The one who caused the incident that got me banned from the stronghold," Grishnakh reminded him.
"Louis Lariat," Bjorn said harshly, a look of bloodlust gleaming in his eye, "I told him I'd remember his name and he'd better not start trouble again. He's going to regret this."
"A courier went out of his way to find us, apparently Louis and a group of mercenaries slaughtered most of the inhabitants of Krozdog," Grishnakh handed Bjorn a slip of paper "Here, look at this, they are asking us to come to face them, or they'll kill everyone!"
Bjorn read the letter out loud, "If the bold Nord savage and his wretched orc companion don't face me, I will slaughter these green-skinned barbarians like the animals they are. Let this be a lesson to those who don't know their place, and don't honor their betters''
Bjorn crumpled the letter in his fist, hatred burning in his heart. Any minute the Louis Lariat was breathing, was a minute too long. Grishnakh, too, looked ready for action, while Amirah put her hand on Bjorn's shoulder hoping to calm and center him.
"We have to go there at once, who knows how many they've killed already," Bjorn declared, his jaw clenched. "We go to the stronghold, and we put an end to this once and for all."
As the trio left the inn to confront the looming threat and protect Krozdog, the festivities of the previous night felt like a distant memory.
They stopped at the Caravan Company Depot on the way to pick up Amirah's brothers Jamal and Karim. Jamal was drunk as usual, but that never interfered with his fighting abilities.
As they approached Krozdog, the aftermath of a merciless assault unfolded before them. Lifeless bodies of fallen orcs lay strewn across the grounds, their proud defenses shattered by Louis Lariat and his mercenaries.
Chief Kurdan, symbolizing strength for the orc community, lay motionless in a pool of his own blood. The severity of his wounds painted a haunting picture of the fierce struggle that had unfolded.
Bjorn gritted his teeth at the catastrophic sight. The weight of guilt settled upon him; he could have killed Louis the last time he saw him, but the lessons Kurdan taught him didn't allow for such actions. Now, Kurdan paid the price for his teachings of honor and discipline.
Louis and his mercenaries were further ahead. The arrogant Breton sneered as Bjorn, Amirah, Grishnakh, Jamal, and Karim approached.
"Well, well, if it isn't the valiant heroes. I'm afraid you're too late to save your friends," Louis mocked, reveling in the devastation he caused.
Bjorn unsheathed his sword, his voice filled with uncontrolled rage. "Your quarrel is with me, Louis. You could have left them out of this!"
Louis cackled, "Don't worry, you'll be joining them soon."
The clashing of swords and casting of spells began with an aggressive intensity. Bjorn cut through Louis's mercenaries like a knife through butter. Louis was a dead man, and Bjorn was going to make sure he'd pay. Amirah and the others fought alongside him, their adversaries quickly realizing they were outmatched.
Before long, all of Lariat's men lay dead on the ground. Louis, mortally wounded, attempted to lift himself up off the ground but failed. Bjorn, fueled by burning rage, approached him with an intensity that reverberated through the blood-stained walls.
The black dragon in his mind's eye appeared once again, this time welcoming him with open arms. Weakness and honor had allowed this tragedy to happen in the first place. He wouldn't make that same mistake twice.
"I won't grant you the luxury of a quick death," Bjorn said fiercely, "but if you give me the names and locations of every member of your family, you might suffer slightly less. Karim, I know you have something to write with in that handbag of yours. Have it ready."
Karim stumbled over his words, unsure of what to say. Amirah stepped in angrily, "Bjorn, what's wrong with you? His family had nothing to do with this!"
"Nonsense! He thought he could get away with anything because of his family name," Bjorn seethed. "Well, now I'm going to wipe his family name off the map."
Bjorn turned to Louis, "Where is the rest of your family?"
Amirah, watching the scene unfold, felt a shiver run down her spine. She stepped forward, pleading with Bjorn to come to his senses. "Bjorn, you're going too far! This won't bring Chief Kurdan back or undo the damage that's been done."
Bjorn's eyes, filled with a mixture of anger and sorrow, bore into Louis Lariat. He pounded his face irately with his fist. Louis's false confidence shattered, leaving behind a terrified, powerless being.
Caught in the maelstrom of his emotions, Bjorn struggled to maintain control. Amirah felt inclined to stop him, yet her state of shock and disbelief at his behavior kept her from doing so.
"Bjorn, stop! This isn't the path," Amirah implored, her eyes scanning for a glimpse of the man she thought she knew in his turbulent glare.
Ignoring her words, Bjorn dashed over to Karim with his hand extended. "Your staff, hand it to me," he commanded. Karim, intimidated by Bjorn, handed it over without asking any questions. Bjorn now embraced the dragon within without reservation.
"For Kurdan," he cried out, and with cruel satisfaction, he unleashed a torrent of fire that engulfed Louis. Louis screamed out in agonizing pain, and an eerie, unsettling smile formed on Bjorn's face.
"Isn't it beautiful?" he said to Amirah, unconsciously mimicking the words his sister had once said to him.
Before he knew it, Amirah pulled out an extra dagger she had strapped to her ankle and threw it at Louis's heart, killing him instantly. Bjorn glared at her, disappointed.
"He suffered enough, Bjorn."
"Suffered enough? He killed Kurdan!"
Amirah started to cry, "Bjorn, I don't even know who you are anymore. You've changed."
"No, I haven't!" Bjorn was defensive, "I've just gotten smarter. If I hadn't been limited by my foolish sense of honor, I would have killed this bastard long before this even happened."
Amirah looked at Bjorn and saw a stranger wearing his face. What happened to that innocent young boy who wrote her that beautiful love poem when they were kids? She never would have guessed this was the man he'd grow into.
"What makes you better than him then, Bjorn?" Her voice cracked with sorrow as she blurted out those words.
Bjorn had nothing to say in return. He looked down at his feet. His feelings of satisfaction at having avenged Kurdan now changed to despair.
"I'll meet you at camp later. I can't even look at you right now."
Grishnakh gave Bjorn a reassuring pat on the back, "Don't listen to her, Bjorn. You did what had to be done. I'll meet you at camp."
"Take care, Bjorn," Karim said as Bjorn handed his staff back to him, "Don't take what she said to heart, my friend. My sister is disappointed because she knows you're better than this. Don't let vengeance and anger consume you. It did with our father Umar, and look how he is now, just full of hate and resentment."
Lastly, Jamal came up to Bjorn and wrapped his arm around him. He was drunk as usual, struggling to maintain his balance, "I..um…I have nothing to say, man. I think I'll go lie down somewhere and get some rest."
The following morning, after an awkward and quiet night at camp, Bjorn, and Amirah made their way to Reachtown to confront Margaret. Grishnakh parted ways with them, figuring that Amirah and Bjorn needed more time alone to work out their differences.
While Margaret appeared to be Breton, she was one of the Reachmen. The Reachmen, also known as the Reachfolk or Witchmen of High Rock, were a race of humans native to the Reach in southwestern Skyrim and the neighboring Western Reach in the east of High Rock, where some Reachfolk families originated from. They were believed to be closely related to the Bretons. While Reachmen were distinct, they were also mixed with other races that made up Man, Mer, and even Daedra. Similar to the Bretons, the Reachmen had Aldmeri blood running through their veins. This heritage stemmed from the Direnni Hegemony's occupation of the Western Reach in the early First Era.
Reach-town was inhabited by these people, and many of the residents were refugees or descendants of refugees from the siege of Markarth. The villagers, many of their faces adorned with tattoos (Margaret and a few others being an exception to this), cast wary glances upon the outsiders. They distrusted anyone who wasn't one of their own.
Despite the unfriendly welcome, the townspeople quickly opened up and revealed that Margaret was staying in a charming little cottage on the outskirts of town. Neighbors spoke highly of her, praising Margaret as a heroic bounty hunter and a true child of the Reach. Word had reached them about the demise of Wulfmir, the father of her child. Surprisingly, there was no mourning for his loss.
"Just another hateful Nord," one remarked, "She's better off without him."
When they arrived at Margaret's cottage, Bjorn took it upon himself to sneak in through the window. He directed Amirah to distract the villagers and stand guard outside.
Once inside, Bjorn ransacked the place looking for Margaret. Hearing the commotion, she rushed out of her bedroom to see what was the matter.
Margaret was startled as she noticed Bjorn, her reaction akin to encountering a ghost. Quickly composing herself, she assumed a fighting stance, her sardonic smile betraying a hint of surprise.
"You? How are you here? My spiders didn't finish you off?"
"You should have just killed me yourself, Margaret. Now I'm going to make you regret you didn't," Bjorn spat back at her with vehemence.
"Well, silly boy, let's finish this!" she stated matter-of-factly.
Margaret was noticeably without her usual brass fingernails. She readied two daggers in her hand, egging him on to take the first blow.
Soon after the battle began, young Siward, Margaret's five-year-old son, wandered into the room."Momma, what's happening?" he asked, his innocence clear, as if the world outside the shelter she'd made for him was unknown.
Margaret's heart raced as she attempted to protect her son from the peril that encircled them. Her mind was torn between the threat from Bjorn and her desperate desire to shield her child.
In the heat of the fierce conflict, a fateful moment arrived. Bjorn's blade veered off-course and found its unintended mark. Siward, caught in the crossfire, cried out in agony as the blade went into his heart. The room was filled with the gut-wrenching sound of a child's pain.
Amirah, who had been silently observing from the window outside, rushed into the cottage, her eyes wide with horror. As the relentless waves of grief washed over Margaret, she knelt beside her fallen son.
A chilling silence descended upon the room. Siward's lifeless form lay on the floor. In this terrifying and tragic moment, the vendettas of their past faded away.
Margaret screamed at Bjorn with a haunting level of anger and hopelessness, "You've taken everything from me now, Bjorn."
Bjorn, now in shock was speechless. His eyes landed on a mirror across the room and he saw the black dragon staring back at him once again. Soon it faded and he saw something far worse, it was Zalam-dar with a proud smirk on his face.
Amirah was overcome with a sense of disgust and dismay. She couldn't reconcile the man she had believed in and loved with the man who had committed such a deed. It couldn't be the Bjorn she had known all these years.
My father didn't lie to me. He did die that day with his parents.
Margaret locked eyes with Bjorn. "If I'm a monster," she said, her voice filled with evocative bitterness, "what does that make you?"
Amirah trembled as she spoke. "I can't... I can't be with you after this, Bjorn."
"I understand, Amirah. I wouldn't want you to be a part of this darkness."
Now saying one of the hardest things she ever had to, Amirah continued, 'Tava, our daughter, she will never know who you are, Bjorn. And after this... I can't allow her to be anywhere near the destruction that follows you.'
With those words, Amirah turned and walked away. A somber expression lingered on her face.
Bjorn, still in shock, dropped his sword and fell to his knees beside Siward's lifeless body. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached to touch the boy's cold cheek.
"I'm so sorry," his voice barely audible. "I never meant for this to happen."
Margaret moved closer to him, her tears mingling with his. "And I'm sorry for what I did to your parents," she said remorsefully. "I can never undo the pain I've caused you."
"Last time we spoke," Bjorn remembered, "you talked about grey areas. You said nothing is black and white and that the world is more complex than simplistic ideas of good and evil. I understand now what you mean."
Margaret nodded, "You know, I always thought my son was the only thing that kept the human part of me alive. I thought if anything ever happened to him, Margaret would be gone, and only Hagraven would survive. But I was wrong, only Margaret remains now."
"I understand what you mean," tears started running down Bjorn's cheeks, "I've been struggling with my own darkness recently. I've been conflicted on whether to live with honor or to give into my rage. I thought my honor made me weak, and that it got my friend Kurdan killed. But I realize that's not true. If I had never confronted Louis, if I had just let his snide remarks go that day at the tavern none of that would have happened. Kurdan would still be alive. If I had not been full of rage today, your son would still be alive. "
"Bjorn, I," Margaret couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth, "I want you to know I hold no ill will towards you for what happened. I know it wasn't intentional. If anything, I blame myself for this. For the way I lived my life. If you'd have me along, I'd like to join you on your quest to stop Zalam-dar. It'd be my way of making this right once and for all."
"Margaret, we've both been consumed by darkness, and it's time to break free from its grasp. If you're willing to join me on this journey, to face our shared enemy and find redemption, then together we'll forge a path toward the light. Your past doesn't define you any more than mine defines me."
In silent agreement, they wrapped each other in a tight embrace, forging a shared sanctuary of forgiveness and acceptance. In the quiet of that moment, the scars of their shared history seemed to fade, leaving only the raw vulnerability of two broken souls seeking redemption.