General Tullius closed his eyes wearily in a vain attempt to ward off his mounting headache. The medical establishment in another world would have named his ailment a migraine, but the only name the native of Cyrodiil had for his pain was… Ambassador Elenwen. At the moment her exalted high and mightiness was delivering a list of official Embassy complaints against various people and institutions of Skyrim. Were it not for the state of affairs between the Empire and the dominion the meeting would merely be tedious, and likely cancelled. As it was the ranking Thalmor official in Skyrim had the legal right to call for the meeting and he, as military governor, had the legal obligation to pretend to do something about all official grievances. Still, bringing up the goings on in rebel territory was an exercise in futility; how in the name of the Eight is he supposed to bring to justice those who slaughtered the entire garrison of Northwatch Keep when he couldn't bring the leader of the rebellion himself in yet? Clearly it was a Stormcloak raid from the water; both Legion and Elven scouts agreed on the signs left by the boats and the tracks to and from the front gate. Why was she bringing that up again?
"And I would like to bring to your attention the temple of Talos currently maintained in the city of Markarth. This open breach of the White-Gold Concordant cannot be tolerated" she said as she folded up her list and sat back in her chair.
The man did his best not to roll his eyes as he answered. "That is a statement you should bring to the Jarl of Markarth, not of the Imperial Legion. As long as it doesn't involve the war, or the conduct of a member of the Imperial forces, it is out of military jurisdiction. Though I wonder why you bring it up now; the current shrine has been standing for almost one-hundred years. Surely you haven't just noticed it?" He knew the sarcasm was not wise, but the elf had it coming.
Elenwen's eyes flashed at the jab. "It is only now we have had the time for less urgent matters…"
He stopped listening to the elf, staring at the map on the table in front of him as he nodded politely. It really was too hot in the room, though the number of people standing in it might have something to do with it. First there were his officers: Legate Caesennus, Legate Rikke, Captain Hadvar, Sergeant Lucius and his men, and the runner boy… what was his name? Oh well. Second was the Elven Company: Elenwen, her aide, the secretary, and the five or six justiciars. After those came the rest of the group: Thane Bryling, the jarl's representative for the day, her housecarl, several leading people of Solitude, and some extra bodies that the general didn't recognize.
It started as nothing more than a strange feeling on the back of his neck. Someone who had not been through war and many battles might merely pass it off as a draft, but the veteran knew better than to ignore such warning signs. Keeping his face to the map, Tullius began using peripheral vision to try and figure out what was the matter. His glance stopped at Rikke, who suddenly went stiff, her eyes focused on something other than the elves.
Normally her commanding officer would have not thought twice about the legate appearing erect and at attention at all times. But this stillness was unnatural, not to mention how her pupils were dilated. Slowly the general turned his head in the direction of her stare and at first didn't see what the problem was… until he did.
Seeing armed people inside Castle Dour was hardly an unusual sight; not only was the fortress the headquarters for the Imperial Legion in Skyrim, and had been for many years, but it also functioned as the training center for the Haafinger Guard and the prison for lawbreakers in the hold. The carrying of weapons and the wearing of armor was the norm. What got the man's attention first was the tall and broad shouldered man in a different style of armor. Not to mention the great-sword on his back. He looked somehow familiar but Tullius couldn't place him. Then were the four people who definitely looked like trouble. Come to think of it, they were trouble; some of the crew of the Red Wave. The general couldn't imagine what possessed Captain Sofia to come to Castle Dour and cause a problem, but it would be fixed very quickly. What truly surprised the Cyrodiilic man was the last figure in the group. Was that a Blades uniform? They had been disbanded years ago. Who was this? And what was he doing at an Imperial stronghold in a room full of Thalmor and legionnaires?
It was at this point in his thoughts that Elenwen seemed to realize that she did not have the man's attention and glanced irritably over her shoulder to see what was so fascinating that caused the wretched human to so rudely ignore her. She stopped talking instantly. She hissed as she addressed the newcomer.
"You, how can you have the gall to come here?! I suppose though I shouldn't be surprised after what you did at the embassy. No matter what you are doing here, you will certainly regret coming out into the open."
Tullius had heard that there had been some strange goings on at the Embassy a month or so ago; a party gone wrong, chaos all over the compound, several staff killed. According to some reports several prisoners that had been secretly arrested were freed. For a moment the general almost liked the man; anyone that could get Elenwen that riled had to have something good going for him. His good sense in showing up here might be questioned, but there certainly was talent standing in the room.
The man shook his armored head pleasantly, his accent showing to all who heard his Breton heritage. "My dear Elenwen, it is good to see you too. I am sorry we were not able to talk like you said earlier. But I like to think myself something of a gentleman, and when a woman says she wants to talk later, I try to make it happen. Here I am."
He nodded to the room. "General Tullius, long time no see." He acknowledged Caesennus and most of the soldiers with a nod as well, though he walked over to Captain Hadvar and the two gripped arms like brothers.
"Good to know you're still alive, Prisoner" the legionnaire quipped with a smile, the title apparently being a friendly nickname or something.
"Likewise you crazy nord" grinned the Breton.
What puzzled General Tullius, besides everything else in the last five minutes or so, was how he greeted Legate Rikke. Turning to her, the man bowed his head slightly, and just said "Rikke". The name of his preferred legate, which so many people had shouted, spoken, bawled, screamed, and even spat out, when the Breton uttered it, one might think he was in a temple praying to one of the gods. The woman's commanding officer was baffled; there had never been any indication that Rikke had ever been involved with anyone, however short a time. That was one reason why he chose her more often than others of her rank to make plans and hard choices; there was no question of divided loyalties or entanglements. She had always seemed hard, tough, and all business. Looking at her now Tullius could see how she overall maintained her stern demeanor, yet her eyes told quite a different story, as they seemed to be memorizing everything about the man as he straightened and went back to his party. The general would definitely be having a talk with Rikke later.
It was as the man walked back and turned to face the room again that Tullius had a vague memory of seeing the man do that once before. Narrowing his eyes he asked a question, though phrasing it more like a statement.
"I've seen you before, but where?" He remembered that same walk and way of turning on the heel, but for the life of him the general could not remember where it had been, or when.
"We've never officially met, though like you said we have seen each other before. My name is Gerard DuPont, and I was almost executed in Helgen Square. Strange as it sounds, a dragon saved my life."
Then it clicked in his mind. The Breton in the wagon, the one who had been singing fairly bawdy and comical songs in the wagon almost all the way into Helgen. Apparently one of the troopers had decided the prisoners should be quiet and had rapped the singer on the head with a large stick, knocking him out for a time. For about five minutes after he had returned to Solitude Tullius had wondered what had become of the man, he certainly had not been afraid of death. But with many of the captured Stormcloaks, Ulfric among them, having escaped in the pandemonium of the dragon attack, the general figured it didn't matter if one loose man made it out or not. There were much more important things to worry about.
Looking around the room, Tullius made out four distinct groups: the Legion, Dominion, Solitude, and The Others. He didn't know exactly what the Others were here for, but it was his guess that Team Dominion was not going to let them leave quietly. Damn this, now his head hurt worse. He didn't have any time to rue his aching skull or to decide on a good plan of action as Elenwen chose to make her move first.
"Wearing the uniform of the outlawed Blades makes you as one of them. You are in violation of the White-Gold Concordant and are now subject to arrest by the Dominion. You are now ordered to surrender or face the consequences."
The utter glee on her face verged on disgusting. What was equally repulsive is how she made it sound like there would be no greater treat on Mundus if he resisted arrest and was killed on the spot. The general was about to make an objection to someone making an arrest while still in a Legion building with him just watching when DuPont snickered.
"You Thalmor, you never give up do you; always arresting somebody or other. Is that what you all do for fun? Or is it what you do to the poor bastard afterward that has you so diverted? But, either way, I didn't come just for a social call; this is business."
Elenwen didn't look too curious as she asked in a bored voice: "Entertain me. What are you here for?"
Gerard deadpanned. "You."
And stepping to his right, he opened up a clear shot for one of the Haafinger soldiers standing at the door who held a crossbow leveled at the hip. There was no time for anyone to do much more than gasp, watch, or gasp and watch, as the mechanism clicked, releasing the bolt, which sent the missile sailing across the gap of twenty feet or so, and into the elf's face. The representative of the Thalmor government in Skyrim stumbled back and fell to the floor dead.
"How's that for entertainment?" asked DuPont grimly.
There was silence in the room for about two seconds before the scene went to oblivion. Recounting the story later General Tullius often laughed about the reaction of Thane Bryling to so many weapons being drawn, or conjured, so close to her person. Her housecarl, whose name the Cyrodiil never bothered to learn, was hard put to it to fulfill his stated mission of protecting his thane with his life, when said thane was apparently trying to climb up the decidedly tall man and hide/stand on his shoulders. The general had never heard such a frightened squeal from a woman in his life.
As it was, at the time, Tullius only saw that humorous scene as a backdrop to the bloodbath that began inside the map room of Castle Dour. Almost as one the members of the Legion drew sword, not sure if they were supposed to join in, and on which side, but they were certainly ready. Elenwen's aide didn't waste any time in launching a fireball at the rash Breton, who dropped to his knee to avoid the magic. Captain Sofia created a ward behind him, shielding herself and diffusing the spell. After that the battle was truly joined, with DuPont's forces fighting with the elves. Once it became clear that neither the Altmer nor their enemy was interested in anyone else, the general waived for his men to stand down. He would merely have to deal with the victor, so long as the people of Solitude were not harmed.
Tullius saw quickly that the two fighters dressed in Haafinger guard uniforms were not only with DuPont, but were skilled with their weapons. The one who shot Elenwen was using the legion gladius efficiently; most attacks made were with a thrust, with only the occasional slash. The other removed his helmet immediately, showing him to be a bosmer. Where his bow came from there was no telling anymore, but his aim seemed to be sure, and was quick as well. There was not much room for the two with long weapons, but the first mate of the Red Wave didn't seem to have any problems grabbing her battleaxe in the middle of the shaft and using like a bludgeon, smashing her opponent in the face with the axe head. The large swordsman seemed to have the same idea, his gauntlet protecting his hand as he gripped the blade, using the weapon as much like a spear as a sword. DuPont himself, already having killed one after tripping her onto the floor face first and running her through with her own sword, parried a mace aimed for his head and slammed his shoulder into the wielder, sending both sprawling. Captain Sofia was hard pressed by her opponent and nearly tripped over the dead elf. Ducking under the blade of the spectral sword of the justiciars, she tried to end the fight with a quick stab to his middle, but nearly lost her sword altogether when the elf brought his weapon back around and deflected the pirate's attack. Jumping back again she saw, and then grabbed, the Elven blade jutting out of the corpse's back. Now armed with two swords, one reversed, the pirate captain unleashed a flurry of blows that ended with the elf gasping out his last at her feet. Unfortunately her triumph was short-lived as she did not notice the Elven secretary behind her, who reached up, pulled her head back, and cut the captain's throat with a dagger. There was no time for the mer to celebrate either as one of the late captain's crew, a nord in mage's robes, screamed "No!" and promptly bashed in the elf's head with a mace. The woman continued whacking the corpse and sobbing until Gerard ran over and pulled her off the now unrecognizable body.
And then it was quiet, except for the whimpering of the citizenry, labored breathing of the survivors, and the hysterical cries of the pirate. Blood seemed to be everywhere, even the ceiling. Looking around the room showed the elves to be annihilated. Gerard DuPont and his men had certainly done their work, though they had not gotten away without injuries. The Red Wave had lost not only her captain, but the first mate and another crewmember, a Breton by the looks of him. The leather breastplate smoked in an odd way where the sword had been thrust through armor and body; spectral swords always made Tullius uneasy. The big nord had a burn on his arm where one of the elves had tried to set him ablaze. The bosmer looked to be fine except for a bruise over his eye. The second not-Haafinger guard had lost her helmet, showing her to be another Breton, though a bit older than DuPont. The man himself had blood all over him, was cut on the cheek, limped slightly, and his helmet looked like it had taken something of a hit or two.
Then all heard the sound of armored feet running up the stairs. Knowing the difference in sound between legion armor clinking and Elven, the general knew that one of the Thalmor had gotten away. Great, there would be hell to pay now, once news got back that Elenwen and her party were murdered in Legion headquarters. Gerard seemed to have the same idea, as he turned his head to the wood elf.
"Faendal, go!"
Quick as a wink the archer ran to a window facing out onto the courtyard and opened it. Looking out for just a moment he drew an arrow, waited, and loosed it. Tullius was standing at just the right angle to see the last justiciars almost make it to safety behind the next tower, before the arrow lodged into his head, and he dropped to the walkway in a heap.
The general did a quick head count and knew that his men in the room now definitely outnumbered the "victors", which meant he could make pronouncements as he saw fit.
"You know of course that I have to take you now. Whatever my feelings on the Thalmor are, they were official guests of the Empire, and were just murdered in my office. Drop your weapons."
He wasn't completely sure they would come quietly, but he was confident he could win a fight if they chose to go that way. Gerard DuPont seemed to think there was a third way.
"Oh, I don't think that will be necessary. You see, I just saved your life from the machinations of the Dominion and its agents. Come to think of it, I think I and my friends might be owed a little bit of thanks, considering you stood back and watched us do the job."
General Tullius couldn't believe the nerve and brass of the man. But before he could order his men to attack, the tall nord commented to the bosmer: "Now comes the hard part; getting out of this." Gerard shook his head and glanced over his shoulder.
"No, this isn't the hard part. The hard part was getting Aela to wear a dress."
The legion commander did not have the slightest clue who or what this "Aela" was or why it was so surprising that she wouldn't wear a dress. He didn't care and was about to give the order again when the alarm bells from the Blue Palace began to ring wildly. All the legionnaires tensed up again and looked to the general for orders but DuPont didn't appear worried in the least. To the amazed looks from his own men the Breton shrugged.
"Like I said, convincing that woman to wear a dress like a normal female was much harder than most other things I ever put my hands to."
Looking back at the general he said: "I wouldn't worry about Elisif; there are enough people guarding her she shouldn't be in any danger."
Tullius was puzzled now. "You mean you have people in the palace guarding the jarl, against whom?"
Gerard spoke soothingly, as though he was repeating himself and didn't want to get anyone upset. "It is just like I said, 'Thalmor machinations'. In about ten seconds, I should think…" he paused as a horn was blown from the direction of the palace, "Ah, there it is. As I was saying, your official guests of the Empire were planning on eliminating several key figures in the north, Elisif being one of them. All we did was plant a few skilled warriors inside the palace staff and court so that when the jarl was attacked, which we already knew about, there would not only be some extra fighters, but the Dominion wouldn't even know they were there. That horn was the signal that all is well; the target is secured, all threats eliminated, and none of our people were killed or seriously injured. Therefore, considering I have in fact saved your ass twice now, it would be only polite if you would let us walk out of here unhindered. Oh, before I forget, here are the letters and documents detailing the assassinations."
The Breton woman picked up a satchel that had been dropped as soon as the fight started, drew out a leather folder, and handed it to DuPont, who tossed it carelessly onto the table, knocking a few of the colored flags from their places and scattering them around the map of Skyrim. Glaring at the impudent man, Tullius still took up the binder and began to look through it while he sent that runner boy to go find out what happened at the palace. Just by skimming through it the man knew that there was a lot more planned than shutting down one of the temples in Markarth. If this was true, Skyrim was in serious trouble, both rebel and loyalist factions.
"If you don't mind waiting until word gets back from the palace, I can consider letting you go free for now." He said warily, still not sure how the party before him would react.
"Fair enough" nodded the Breton. "If you don't mind though, I think some of us need light medical attention, so if it isn't too much trouble could you allow us to use some of your supplies to patch ourselves up in the meantime?"
The Cyrodiil nodded. That man would probably cause trouble for the general later, but Tullius certainly could understand taking care of one's command. There was no reason for the others to suffer because the Breton talked far too smoothly for his own good. Healing potions, crèmes, and bandages were brought from their supplies below and those that were hurt were tended to. The civilians were calmed down and asked to wait before going outside, as that could very well help stir up a general panic, which is one thing Tullius would not have.
Speaking of things that he wouldn't have, the general saw the looks Gerard and Rikke were giving the each other when they thought the other wasn't looking. As mentioned before, Tullius had no inkling that the legate even could have feelings for someone else, like that at least. Not to mention the fact that she had a history that wasn't apparently as clear or straight as she let on. Between reading more thoroughly the de-coded plans, the code key, the encrypted originals, and watching the scene in front of him, the general was getting annoyed again. If true, and the man had the sinking feeling it was not a hoax, the Dominion was intending to declare war, and try again as it were. For some reasons known only to those in Alinor apparently, the decision had been made to have the war sooner, rather than later, and on two fronts. Skyrim was to be the second front. With the new Jarl of Solitude eliminated, and a large portion of the command staff of the Imperial Legion in the north as well, most of the imperial supporters and sympathizers would be without a leader. Ulfric would once again declare himself High King. It would be unlikely that all of the jarls would agree immediately; there would be delays, if not outright opposition, which would lead to more instability. Cyrodiil would be invaded, then Skyrim. With the civil war going on, it might not matter whether or not the Legion was recalled to defend the Heartland; Skyrim would probably fall. If the northern legions were lost, the Empire would have to sue for peace even if a battle was never fought in the south at all.
One bright spot was the mystery of Elenwen bringing all the bullshit complaints to him was explained; he always had his staff present when dealing with the Thalmor ambassador, or at least nearby. Officially this was so he could ask his people questions or have them answer requests by the ambassador or her staff. The more prosaic reason was so General Tullius would not feel so outnumbered when the Altmer showed up with sometimes over a dozen people. The general may not have recognized the word psychology, but many of the basic principle were well know to him. He had been her target. Presumably the jarl had been considered the easier target and therefore Elenwen had detailed eight, plus herself, to deal with him and his people. A nord might be pleased that an elf brought nine souls to try and take him down, but Tullius considered himself a practical man, and ignored any feelings of pride at the idea.
Looking up showed the general that having given the injured all the care they needed for the moment, Rikke was walking purposefully towards where the two Bretons were standing together, discussing something that the woman seemed to think more important than the man. From where he sat at the table he could make out just a little of what they were saying.
"Yes Delphine, I know you want me to get him involved. But you know full well I'm not going to be the one to convince him of anything. Alain is perfectly happy where he is and more than pleased not to see me; we didn't part on very friendly terms."
Delphine was insistent. "Yes, we all know how you two parted, but you have to try. Even if everyone unites against them it still could go either way. We need all the allies we can get."
The man of Cyrodiil didn't catch what was said next as Rikke came to stand in front of the two and they stopped talking. The woman Delphine gave DuPont a look and walked away, clearly intending to revisit the subject again. Tullius was deciding if he wanted to discuss this unfortunate personal development of his second-in-command's, the Thalmor plans, or wait for news from the palace, when he heard the distinctive crackling sound of frost magic on his left. He barely had enough time to see that one of the elves was not quite as dead as all thought, and had a ten inch or so piece of magical ice suspended in the air, when the mer launched her spell towards the two he had just been thinking of. Every soldier in the room turned to find where the noise came from, most of them having been shot at with such magic at one time or the other. Gerard, seeing the oncoming ice spike, shoved Rikke out of the way, only to take the shot himself.
The elf was quickly killed, with the others being checked again to make sure they were as deceased as thought before. Rikke didn't know the Breton had been hit until she got off her knees and turned back to Gerard, where she saw the frozen dart embedded in the breastplate. Immediately she called for a healer, even as she made him lie down, and began to act a bit more like an extremely concerned, and emotionally involved, woman. The sight was jarring to her commander, who had never seen her like this, even on the battlefield.
"You're okay, it's okay, you're going to be all right, just hang in there." she said in a rush. She raised her head up to look for a healer but didn't see anyone of that profession yet. Tullius didn't like what he now saw in her eyes; there was a wild look that didn't bode well, whether the Breton lived or not. This was going to get messy.
Those around quickly got to work getting some of his armor off and trying to staunch the blood. Fortunately for them, the armor of the Blades was well designed and simple to remove. They changed Gerard's position slightly, placing his head in Rikke's lap, as clean rags were put around the magical ice. Hadvar glanced at Delphine and she gave an imperceptible nod; she knew. The legion captain hadn't known that DuPont was the man who had been in his legate's past, but he had figured out there had been someone. All he knew for certain was that when the civil war had started, the relationship, like so many other things in Skyrim, had been broken. Whether she left him or he left her Hadvar didn't know, but it was sure that Rikke had been hurt by it. It probably wouldn't matter much now; if something resembling a healer of almost any caliber didn't show up soon, Gerard DuPont would be on his way to Atherius.
The injured man never looked away from Rikke's face once the people had arranged him how they wanted. The woman had stopped talking and was concentrating on holding his head still. It had been an age since the two had been in a similar position, it felt like even longer. Gerard gave her a little smile, the blood showing in his teeth as he did.
"You're still beautiful, you know that right?" he asked softly.
Rikke gave a short laugh. "I was never much to look at. You just have bad eyes."
The Breton raised his brow at that. "Is it bad sight if I like what I see?"
She almost lost her composure when she heard him say that. For just a moment, Rikke could almost imagine they had never been apart. Gerard had always been the more light-hearted of the two; yes, the cup might be half empty, but hey! We've got a cup! Let's go fill it up with something. That was how he had been for as long as the two had known each other. As children, when it was raining too much to play, he would say "Cheer up Rikke, the sun is shining. Let's play soldiers and bandits in the barn". When the girl, who very much liked being in the sun and not wet, would reply crossly "Dummy, it's raining and dark; the sun isn't out." Her partner in crime would shrug and say "Somewhere it's shining". As the two grew up their attitudes remained nearly the same. Rikke was the down to earth and sensible one, whereas Gerard was the one who came up with all the excellent ideas and plans that probably should never even be attempted, let alone have their elders know about.
The village expected the two to marry; as some of them joked "they already act like a married couple now, might as well make it official". Seeing the two come down the street arguing was not an unusual sight. Another normal feature was the vehemence, and the volume, involved in their disputes. "That DuPont Boy" had a knack for irritating the most self-controlled girl for miles around. Once Rikke got angry, a body had a tendency to know it.
Any hope for a union between nord and Breton ended with High King Torygg's death. Once the civil war turned the various holds against each other, the people followed suit. Rikke believed the Empire, and its legion, was necessary to protect Skyrim from the Dominion. Gerard on the other hand didn't think the legion allowing Thalmor agents to roam the countryside and arrest whomever they wanted, qualified as protection. The upshot was that Rikke joined the legion and never saw Gerard again, though she had news occasionally by letters from home. After the first few pieces of mail none of her friends mentioned him by name, or often, but for a year or so she had an idea how he was doing. Then, two years ago, all references to him ceased. It was as though he never even existed. A month after she noticed the lack of hints towards any eligible men in messages from home she took a short leave and went back to the village. It became instantly clear as to why the DuPont family was not mentioned. The graveyard now held two more occupants. With his parents dead and his brother gone to be a monk who knows where, Gerard had disappeared. After burying his mother and father, Gerard, now the head of a one person family, went into his house, and wasn't seen again. Naturally after a few days some people went in to make sure nothing bad had happened to him, but all they found was a clean and neat house with a well written sheet of paper on the table detailing who in town got what out of the house. It was almost like a will, except they didn't have to wait until another person died.
All her memories of him flashed through Rikke's mind as she held him, willing a healer to get there in time. She noticed Gerard wore some kind of chain on his neck under his armor. Taking one hand off his face she reached down and pulled on it, revealing a small pendant. She recognized it as it had been hers. It wasn't all that elaborate, just a simple decorative border around the edge and the symbol of Akatosh done in silver. Still, what it meant caused her tears to slide down her nose, dropping onto Gerard's face, which didn't seem to bother him too much.
"You kept it, all this time?" she asked thickly.
"I told you" he said slowly, his eyes beginning to flutter, "I'll keep it till the end of time".
Rikke didn't have anything to say to that. DuPont nodded.
"And that, is what I intend to do"
He took in a breath and gave her a grin that reminded her of years gone by. Everyone knew what happened when half-way through the next intake of breath it stopped, and his head went limp in the Legate's hands.
For a moment Tullius thought she would get up, dust herself off, and ask what his orders were. That was what he would have expected Rikke to do before today. No matter what happened, or how badly the plan had gone, one could always depend on Legate Rikke to not snap and keep going. But as he saw the woman go still, he knew then that nothing would ever be the same again. With her back to him, the general couldn't see her face, but he could see the expressions on both Delphine's and Captain Hadvar's faces and knew she was devastated. Even the armor of the legion couldn't hide the shake of her body as it was racked with silent weeping as she began to gently rock back and forth. Delphine quickly switched places with Hadvar and held the younger woman as both began dealing with their loss.
The door was flung open with a bang and everyone in the room that cared, raised their weapon, only to put them down again. The newcomers though armed and ready themselves lowered their own weapons on seeing the elves strewn over the floor, and filed quickly in through the door. The general recognized the armor of the first man. He had been in Skyrim long enough to know about the wolf armor of the Companions, and what it apparently meant in this case. A good dozen or so of the palace guards looked in and decided to wait outside until further orders were given.
As surprising as seeing a Companion involved in this was to General Tullius, what surprised him even more was seeing Jarl Elisif's court mage, Sybille Stentor, come in second. There was an entirely different kind of wildness in her eyes as she scanned the room. The Legion commander had wondered at times if it was just a trick of the light in the palace that made the mage's eyes seem to glow oddly, but here in the castle he was positive there was something unnatural about the woman. Well, she was a Breton, and so far Tullius had no luck whatsoever with the natives of High Rock. Lastly was a redheaded woman with a bow, an arrow at the ready. What stood out to the general with the nord was although her clothes were fine, there was blood on them, and the skirt was mostly torn off, only coming down to her knees. The traveling boots she wore were as incongruous as just about everything else about her.
The three had obviously come to the castle prepared for a fight, but all fight left them on seeing DuPont. The two Nords that just arrived and the big one that came with DuPont stood together and bowed their heads in respect, if the general was any judge. Sybille's face had the only non-irritated expression that Tullius had ever seen on her face before: regret. The woman that many in the palace were actively afraid of, and who, if the reports were true, was not concerned about the safety of any of the test subjects of her experiments, was actually sorry for this man to die. General Tullius sighed to himself. Nothing made sense today.
With Rikke's first wave of grief over, and the work of clearing the room begun, Delphine formed an impromptu meeting around the map table. The general knew right off that although no one was going to ask him to leave, the Breton woman didn't care much whether he liked what was said or not; she was leading the meeting. Annoyed, but without the cursed headache now, he listened.
"We need to get word to his brother. He's the only family he had left." Delphine didn't sound all that thrilled at the idea for some reason.
The Companion, Vilkas as the others called him, raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I don't know if that is such a good plan. If I heard the story aright, they didn't part on good terms the last time; nearly destroyed the inn at Iverstead.
The big nord, who seemed to be the brother of Vilkas, chuckled. "Yeah, now that was a good fight"
The redhead glared at him, and he got very quiet. Tullius, still bothered about being all but ignored in his own office, asked: "Fine then, who is this brother that we may or may not want to tell?"
Delphine looked at the general, exasperated. "His name is Alain; he's up at High Hrothgar."
"High Hrothgar? You mean with those Greybeard fellows?" General Tullius was confused again, for the umpteenth time. "What is he doing up there?"
Delphine looked sadly at Rikke, who was sitting next to where Gerard DuPont had been laid and staring into space, and said quietly: "He's the Dragonborn".