Hesitantly, the courier followed the Dragonborn upstairs. From below, he could feel the wife's eyes on him. A good looking woman, it was true. He could certainly see how she had been the one, out all the women in the province, to catch the great hero's eye.

He still remembered the consternation it had caused; the news that Uhther Stormfist, Dragonborn hero of Skyrim, had taken a miner's daughter to wife. Most had expected a man so rich in wealth and renown to marry the daughter of a noble family, perhaps a Blackbriar or a Battleborn. The courier and his friends had guessed at Idgrod the Younger of Morthal, a rare beauty by all accounts, after hearing that she and the Dragonborn knew each other. There were even some who had believed the newly crowned Queen Elisif would take the Empire's newest hero as her consort. The courier did not know if that would have made things better or worse in the eyes of Ulfric's supporters.

But it had not come to pass and it was Sylgja of Shor's Stone, the daughter of Annekke Crag-Jumper and Verner Rock-Chucker, simple miners from a small mining hamlet, who now shared the Dragonborn's bed and raised his children.

Uhther himself had now reached the top of the stairs and was riffling through a large chest. The courier glanced over his shoulder and had enough time to glimpse a set of what looked like leather armour made out of lizard skin before a small, leather bound book was pressed into his hands.

'What is this?' he asked the Dragonborn, confused. Uhther looked rueful yet unrepentant.

'This is the reason I fought against Ulfric,' he said, 'it was after I read this that I knew we were all in danger and, if we were going to survive, the empire had to win.'

Nervous but curious, the courier cracked open the small book and began to read. With every sentence, his eyes grew wider and his stomach felt colder.

'Where did you find this?' he breathed. It could not be true.

Mighty Talos, make it not so!

There was a sad look in the Dragonborn's eye, as if he knew exactly what the other man was thinking.

'I was infiltrating the Thalmor embassy,' he said, 'trying to find out if they were the cause of the dragons coming back. There were dossiers on a few people, but that one was among them.'

The courier couldn't believe it. He didn't want to believe it. But there it was. In his hands, the words burning unpleasantly in his eyes. An asset. Ulfric was considered an asset by the Thalmor. The Thalmor who hated and despised Talos worship. The Thalmor, who every Stormcloak had considered the greatest of enemies. The Thalmor who, it seemed, had provided support for the Stormcloaks against the empire. But no, that wasn't right.

'It says that a Stormcloak victory was to be avoided,' the courier said, with the air of a man struggling to find an anchor as he was swept downriver, 'why would they help the Stormcloaks if they didn't want them to win.'

There was sympathy in the Dragonborn's eyes. The courier couldn't help but think he might have had the same reaction to seeing these notes.

'It was my guess, and the guesses of some associates of mine, that it means that the Thalmor wanted the war to last as long as it could,' Uhther said, 'If the Stormcloaks had won, the Thalmor would have been faced with a land full of Nords who wanted them out. As long as we were fighting each other, we were weak.'

'But then why did they support us?' the courier demanded, 'the empire had already bent its knee to the Thalmor, surely they would want them to win?'

The Dragonborn sighed.

'If you think the empire sides with the Thalmor, you are as mistaken as Ulfric was,' he said. The courier spat.

'The emperor signed the white-gold concordant!' he said, angrily. 'He made the Empire servant to the Aldmeri Dominion!'

The Dragonborn fixed the courier with a piercing stare, and he remembered that he was not only talking to the Dragonborn but a legate of the imperial legion. Slowly, Uhther's hand moved to rest on the hilt of Dragon's Breath. He did not draw it, but the courier could not help but move his own hand to the dagger that hung on his belt. A simple thing made of steel. It would be no more use than paper against the dragonbone blade. But still, Uhther did not draw the sword.

'If I were to offer you the choice of fighting me now or bending your knee to my service, which would you take?' he asked, his voice barely rising above a whisper.

The courier tried to master himself, his heart was racing a mile a minute. With a great effort, he held his head high, his grip on the dagger hilt so tight he was sure he felt his knuckles crack.

'A true Nord never backs down from a fight,' he said. Uhther chuckled and moved his hand from his sword hilt.

'You're brave,' he said, 'I'll give you that. But you're a fool. You are outmatched and my weapon is better than yours. You would have no chance of winning. So it was with the Great War. The empire fought bravely with steel against elven arms and armour, which were better. Their tactics were better. Their mages were better. If we had not signed their concordant, we would have been annihilated. And then who would have stood against them?'

'The Redguards kept fighting,' the courier protested, 'they didn't give up.'

'For five years,' Uhther allowed, a sad note in his voice, 'then they too were defeated and signed their own treaty. And now they are sundered from the Empire, making them weaker. Imagine if Ulfric had won and Skyrim had also been renounced by the Empire. The nations of men would be almost completely divided, which is exactly want the Thalmor want. It will make it easier for them. They can take us out one by one when they come at us again, as they surely will.'

The courier opened his mouth, but no words came out. He could think of none. Uhther went on.

'The Empire is not as strong as it needs to be,' he said, 'only three provinces still stand united under the dragon banner. But if you think it an Aldmeri lapdog then you are wrong. The Empire stands ready. And the time is close at hand. Our weapons are better,' he indicated a sword that hung on a plaque on the wall. The courier recognised it as nordic steel, an invention from out of Solstheim, a way of forging steel with quicksilver that made it a match for any elven weapon, 'and this time, we will fight the real enemy, not each other.'

The courier was taken aback.

'But you just said that the Empire is not as strong as it needs to be,' he said hesitantly. Uhther smiled.

'Well perhaps you can assist us. I'm going to need all the help I can get, wherever I can find it. Even now, there are some remnants of the Stormcloaks out there,' he gestured outwards, managing to take in the whole of Skyrim, 'there may be some I could reason with, but I have no doubt there are others who would attack me on sight as the killer of Ulfric Stromcloak. And I do not want that. Not when our goals are the same. Not as it is I who wants to bring Ulfric's dream to a reality.'

The courier thought he understood now. Excitement coursed through his veins.

'What would you have me do?' he asked. Uhther smiled at him in a way that let him know he had been right. His heart positively thundered.

'What is your name, courier?' the Dragonborn asked.

'Alaric,' said Alaric, 'they name me Alaric Fleetfoot.'

'Then, Alaric, I would have you return to Riverwood. Find Gerdur, she runs the mill, and ask her where to find her brother, Ralof. He was a Stormcloak and a good fighter. As far as I know, he's still out there somewhere. Find him, and give him this.' Reaching back into the chest, he pulled out a bundle of scrolls. 'He may ask you to find others,' Uhther said, 'if he does, do it. We'll need as many as we can get. I will expect you and as many as you can find at the Karthspire by the end of the month.'

Alaric took the bundle of letters as if they were a newborn babe. For a moment, he cradled them in his arms. He was part of the story now. The story that would no doubt echo throughout the ages. He slipped the scrolls into his bag and turned back to Uhther.

'I will do this, Lord Dragonborn,' said Alaric, solemnly.