The wind keeps howling, even directly outside of Windhelm. My honor guard is a bit relieved to have arrived, at the very least. I look at the city disdainfully, unhappy with both the amount of snow already piling up around it and the bitter cold that's driving all of us to help both Thalmor. At least Elaath has armor on- the Thalmor wizard just has robes. It's insane to do a traditional weave of cloth and send the person wearing them to the coldest and most Northern place you can.

But, the Thalmor aren't exactly that big on going against Elvish culture. The radical faction that took over my home has always been one hundred percent committed to Elvish heritage and the culture, claiming superiority over all others.

Insanity, I tell you.

Hobbling, as their feet are likely frozen, we approach the gates to Windhelm proper, the Nordic city looking about as inviting as the continuing snowstorm, still swirling around us.

The guards, after glancing at us in an odd way, wave us through, although one stops one of the Whiterun guards to yell something in his ear that the wind snatches away before the rest of us can catch it.

Quill frowns, but leads the way inside, the other guard stepping forward to discuss what the native told him with his fellow.

Shaking his head unhappily, he turns to us. "Apparently, Ulfric has made it so that the Snow Quarter is the only place elves can find lodging now."

I blink slowly, processing this information. The cold might have damaged my brain a tad.

"He did what?"

Quill looks at the ground, clearly intimidated. Did I growl out that question? Who knows. Not me.

The dog beside me barks, his excitement at being in a city growing, especially now that he's mostly out of the wind.

The guard originally told, I believe his name is Cicelle, opens his mouth and repeats it, in such a quiet voice that I'm sure I growled out my earlier question.

I sigh. "Where will we go then?" I gesture to us High Elves, the only ones in our group that aren't human. Well, fully human.

"The guard mentioned there was a Cornerclub in the Gray Quarter. Er, the Snow Quarter." Cicelle elaborates, then continues. "He said that us humans could stay in Candlehearth."

I growl again, though not words this time, just a sound of raw frustration. I have half a mind to march up to the Palace of Kings and murder him on the spot.

But then, a rebellious thought emerges into my head.

"Well, then. He'll have to come and get me from there, won't he." I think about it, and nod my head. "Stay where you will. I'll be in my designated inn."

"With due respect, ma'am, we're not leaving you." speaks up a Legionnaire, and the guards nod.

"We won't either."

A smile curls on my face, actually warm. "Let's hope that they have enough space, then."

I'm…. touched, actually. Not leaving my side, even in these circumstances.

A true Nordic loyalty.

"Hello there," drawls a Dark Elf, the innkeeper. "Welcome to the Gnisis Cornerclub. What brings you all here, with that nasty storm outside?"

"A very much hated errand and task. Could we have lodging here?" I ask the innkeeper, who looks firmly at all of us.

"Your Nord friends can stay at the Candlehearth Hall. City center, right before the gates outside. Can't miss it."

"They don't want to leave me unguarded." I smile at him, taking a seat at the bar. My dog sits at my side, whining for pets, which I happily grant.

"Who are you, to be so important, that you've got a guard?" asks another Dark Elf, coming from behind the bar. He leans against the doorframe, the wood see-through in some places thanks to gaps in construction.

I smile. "It's a secret."

They scoff, but pour me and the others at the bar drinks, pulling up mead for the ones who sit at the table behind me. Elaath nods her thanks when they give her a steaming bowl of stew, and the guard sitting next to her pulls her chair up close to the fire, attempting to warm her up. Another does the same for the Thalmor wizard.

The bartender sets two bowls of stew in front of me. "One's for the dog. What's her name?"

"I'm not sure yet. Maybe something to proclaim my anger at the gods would do it…. Maybe Duggy…." I shrug, placing the bowl on the floor so she could eat it.

"What're you angry at the gods for?" the Dunmer asks, polishing a tankard with a cloth absentmindedly, still maintaining eye contact with me.

"Something they cursed me with. No matter what I do, I think they'll keep it in place." I take a swig of my mead, feeling the warmth from the alcohol already beginning to spread through my system. It's nice, to feel warmth again. Wait, will alcohol be the only way I can do that from now on?

I shake the thought away before it can fully grip me, and turn my attention back to the bartender. "So, how is Windhelm under Ulfric the Pretender's rule?"

He scoffs in disgust. Or something akin to it, only reinforced by his next statements.

"He pretends all right. The only people he cares about are his precious kin, the Nords. Leaves us Elves to rot in this decrepit corner of the city. He won't even let Argonians or Khajiit inside the city! High elves will probably be next on his banned list… You travelling with Thalmor doesn't help anything. I bet the guards were hesitant to let you in."

I nod, remembering the dirty looks and the pause before allowing our group in. "We do have some humans among us, though, so that probably helped…"

"Of course it did. If they turned away Nords, Imperials, Redguards, or even Bretons, Ulfric would be fuming, no matter if they came in with elves or not. If it's a group, it's even more difficult to pick and choose the way Ulfric wants them to." He sniffs disdainfully, switching out the glasses to polish another one. "But why do you have an honor guard, and why would you, an elf, be travelling with one to Windhelm, of all places?"

I grimace, hoping to avoid this, but not caring enough to really try and wiggle out of it.

"I have to do something I don't wish to and give up my freedom for it. Saving lives, you know, all that heroic stuff- after I've already done something like that."

He shakes his head. "I've seen your like before. It'll get better. Monsters- if you're married to one, that is- they can be slain."

I smile slightly, thinking about it. "As tempting as that sounds, it wouldn't be wise."

"How unwise?" he asks, his rag stilling a bit as his interest in the conversation piques.

"Very much so." I smile sadly, eyes dimming with a bit of sadness.

"There's always the Dark Brotherhood…. I would suggest the Morag Tong, too, but they only operate with state-ordained murders." the bartender suggests, somewhat jokingly, somewhat serious.

I chuckle at it, though storing the idea away. "I'll think about it, for sure."

He smirks in reply, and moves on to serve his usuals, trickling into the Cornerclub, most looking tired and worn out. I bet if we went to the Candlehearth, not a Nord in there would look like they did as much work as these elves do.

My heart twinges…. I can't do anything to change Ulfric's mind about these conditions…. Or can I?

I take another drink as I consider the question, glancing around the room at the elves… The only humans in the tavern are part of my honor guard.

That…. Is a problem.

Why would he segregate elves and humans? Better yet, why the beastial races too? They're not even allowed in the city! It's not unusual to not allow Khajiit into cities, the notorious thieving skills of the cat race hitting the stereotype home, but Argonians?

I sigh, thinking about Ulfric the Pretender and his actions towards his populace. Hostility inspiring hostility… Not a good combination.

Something stills the conversation in the inn, though. Or club. Cornerclub. Why is it called a Cornerclub? Oh, who knows.

The yelling outside- that's what's stalling the conversation.

Who, of all people, would be insane enough to go out on a night like this, wind and storm and snow and all, to yell about the supposed inferiority of a race of people?

I stand, hearing only snippets of his one sided conversation, but enough to know that if I'm going to be here, in this city, with a husband who ignores this kind of slander, I'm going to do this, no matter.

Pushing the door aside, I walk into the street, the dog following me closely, maybe sensing my agitation.

I catch the last part of this idiot's phrase… "... gray-skin filth!"

Amazing. Not even two sentences he's ever spoken to me, and I hate him already.

"Hey! Stop shouting insults at these people! They have a hard enough life without your stupidity butting in on it." I cross my arms in front of my torso, glaring at this guy.

"I'm a Nord! This is my land!" he argues with the solidity of a toddler.

"Your people migrated here from Atmora, and drove the Snow Elves to extinction to conquer this land. It's not yours anymore than it's mine." I shrug, my argument based in logic and facts.

He glares at me. "We don't want your kind here! No elves at all! Go back to your Imperial masters, Thalmor dog!"

I arch an eyebrow. "Do you intend to just throw words at me all night, or are you too much of a coward to try and prove that elves are weaker than Nords?"

"I'll fight you, a hundred gold, and you'll get out of the city with the rest of this filth!" his words slur- obviously he drank a bit more than he could handle.

"I'll match the hundred gold bet, but I can't tell anyone what to do, where to go, or how to live." I counter offer, already ready to fight him.

"Fine! Then you'll just leave!" he runs towards me, probably very fast in his mind, and throws the first punch.

I duck out of the way, the drunkard's fists flying everywhere. Clumsy…

I put my own fists up, a bit unsure about this, as I've never fist fought anyone before. But I'll be damned if I let him try and control me.

Unsure of how to fist fight anyone, much less a drunk and unpredictable Nord, I throw a punch at him, managing to connect with his shoulder.

The first punches have been thrown…. I wonder how this'll go for me. For either of us.

True to Nordic fashion, he was still standing- even while drunk, in blistering cold, and having taken some hits… some hard ones, if I do say so myself.

I'm a bit ashamed to admit that I'm in similar shape- with the bruises from his own hits. A crowd of somewhat drunk, somewhat sober people is around us, cheering for either side- it's not quite equal parts Nord and Elves, but the Nords are the loudest, so it feels about half and half.

The crowd chants behind me as I raise my fists again, the Nord going in for yet another swing, roaring as he approaches. Quickly, I lash out before he can hit me, side stepping him as neatly as I can on somewhat uneven and slippery ground. I'm not quite quick enough to dodge the entire blow, but it's better than facing it full on.

My fist collides with his shoulder again, sending him veering off, the crowd catching him and throwing him back towards me. They've circled us in a ring, boos and whoops of joy coming from all sides.

"You…. elven filth!" the man calls out, stumbling towards me, and I grit my teeth, trying to retain control of my Voice and my temper in one. "Ya got no right to be here, in our city!"

"What right have you?" I ask, and approach him quickly, tired of this fight.

"I'm a Nord!" he shouts, and swings at me. My own swing hits him in the stomach, sending his veering from where it was aimed as he doubles over in pain. It ends up hitting my chest, the blow glancing off my armor and perhaps causing a bit of damage from the decorative crest.

"This land was the Snow Elves before Atmorans invaded and drove them underground." I say, kicking his side, the man groaning in pain.

I back off, letting him stand up in time for one final rally against me.

"Go back where you came from!" he screams, rage and alcohol mixing to form some sort of suicidal berserker rage, making him run at me with fists drawn back.

I charge at him as well, letting one of his swings connect with me as I slam both fists against the sides of his head, dazing him.

I say nothing as I drag him over to the wall of the city, and slam his head further into the stone protecting us from the wind.

He's out cold, and will probably have a killer headache tomorrow. I don't even bother to take the gold he now owes me- like I want money that's touched the hands of a man who hates me and my kind.

The crowd cheers, the Nords hissing and booing for the most part, but a couple who just wanted to see a good fight joined in with the Elves. Soon enough, the crowd disperses, the night cold enough to drive even the Nords inside somewhere.

My honor guard accompanies me back into the Gnisis Cornerclub. All around me are smiles, and I'm thinking, with all the claps on the back I'm getting, I'll be sore there tomorrow, rather than where I was actually hit.

"Round of drinks, on me!" I call out, and another cheer goes up, the bartender happily pulling up drinks of every kind and flavor he has, as I pull out a coin purse and set it on the table, the metallic clink lost in the chaos of the tavern, which now has my guards and a lot of Dark Elves starting to sing some songs.

I watch, content to simply watch, as I pet my dog and drink my sujamma, the bartender winking at me and assuring me, "You'll like it, trust me, serjo."

This feels…. Right. Well, not right, but at least good.

I hope that the rest of this stay in Windhelm is even a little bit as nice as this.