AN: Apologies for the nearly…6 month delay? Has it really been that long? And I also apologize since I know I missed responding so some of the reviews this last time around. I would make excuses, but as valid as they are they are still just excuses. So if you are one of the reviewers I missed I am deeply sorry. For my non-account holding reviewers, know that I appreciated every single review you have given and I am sorry as well for the delay.

I would like to also extend a thank you to DualKatanas as he has helped motivate me and improve my writing. I also would like to apologize for still not finishing his wonderful work Blood and Steel. For those who have not read it, it is probably my favorite Elder Scrolls piece and worth reading.

With that being said, this chapter will start a cascade of events. Some things might not be clear but they will be cleared up in the course of the next few chapters. As always I hope you enjoy and leave a review just as much as I hope I can be better at updating regularly.

CHAPTER 14

Phane couldn't help but smile when he saw the dark-haired Nord ride into town. She wore full armor that accented her strong shoulders and toned arms. Immediately he silently thanked Burn for the recommendation. She was exactly what he needed, skilled, tested, and use to being an obedient servant. The more he thought of his three new recruits the more he saw the value of bringing Lydia into their ranks, woman or not.

"Is that the woman you told me about last night?" he asked the Nord farmer who stood next to him, doing his best to keep his features pleasant despite the man's stench of pig manure and chicken droppings.

The man turned to his wife, looking for her assurance before answering. "Aye, that's her."

"Tell me again what you know of her, Mathies."

The Nord again turned to his wife who, though mannered like an Imperial, appeared more Red Guard than a native of Cyrodiil. "Little. She was a housecarl in Whiterun. Fought with the Dragonborn some time ago."

"Yes," Phane answered dully, "I believe she did. Do you know anything else of her life? A husband, perhaps? Other connections?"

"I don't know much," he answered with a shrug, falling into the silence his countrymen seemed to employ only to annoy the more civilized races of Nirn. Phane, though, decided not to let the man's lack of information bother him. He had asked enough questions of enough people to have a greater understanding of the woman he had met in Riverwood.

"She be joining you, then?" Indara asked, moving to her husband's side protectively. "The Dragonborn, too?"

"No, only Lydia."

"Good."

Phane ignored the woman's continued chatter as he moved away from the couple. Mathies would be useful for his training, but he had little hopes for the man to be involved in his plans much beyond his work in Skyrim. Lydia, on the other hand, already piqued his interest in a much more significant way. Moving towards her, he called out and gave her one of the smiles the countesses of Cyrodiil swooned over. "I'm glad to see you've joined us!"

"What kind of Nord would I be if I didn't avenge my father's death?" she answered, her stony face easing as she met his eye. "You made a compelling argument."

"It speaks greatly of your honor," he replied, holding out his hand in a sign of friendship. Lydia looked at him for a moment before dropping from her horse and taking it, her calloused palms feeling strangely delightful against his smooth skin.

"I recognize that farmer there. Who is he?

"Mathies. His daughter was killed by one of the beasts. We also are joined by Andrian Maro, a son of the late commander, on our crusade."

"An Imperial?"

"A man seeking justice," he answered, motioning for her to follow him down the street a short distance. "I understand you had some role in the war here, but I ask that you forget any past alliances as we begin our adventure."

She frowned, her eyes looking past him as she took in what he had said. Phane could almost see the struggle that was playing through her mind as her jaw tightened and the creases in her brow deepening with each passing moment. When she finally spoke, her words were tight and guarded like a good soldier expressing discontent with their commander. It made Phane smile.

"The war was a dirty business. It's hard to forget things like that."

"Was it worse than a mangled body that has been fed on by one of the wolves?"

"Maybe."

"Will you be able to work with him?"

"Seeing the severed head of a three year old rotting in a basket is enough to leave its mark," she answered, her dark eyes locking onto his. "I don't work with anyone who kills innocents intentionally."

"I see," he answered, stepping closer to her and dropping his voice. "I understand your concerns, but Andrian did not have such a great role in the war. In fact he returned to Cyrodiil shortly after the destruction of Helgen. Can you work with a man who lost a father, just like you? Even if that man wore red instead of blue?"

"You know my concerns," she said slowly, "But I won't put the sins of his countrymen on his shoulders unless he gives me a reason."

"Good! Then it's settled," he said, pulling away with a large smile that he knew made his face smooth into something a sculpture would die to carve. It was one of many well-rehearsed expressions that he was pleased to see worked on even the Nords, stubborn as they were. Lydia smiled with him, just as he had wanted her too, planting the seed of agreeability early into their relationship.

"So where do we start with all this?" she asked as he led her back to the farmer's cottage. "Do you have any idea how to find the monsters?"

"I know many things about the beasts that most don't. I have devoted my life to learning about the abominations, discovering their habits and the signs of being cursed."

"Have you killed many?"

"Only two," he admitted, his fists clenching as he thought of the ones that had escaped him. "They are difficult to kill even in their human form. That is why we need a team."

"Alright, but where do we go from here? Do you have a target in mind?"

Phane stopped and turned to Lydia, his eyes holding hers. "I do, but we aren't ready for that yet."

"What do you mean? Who is it?"

"I think I know where the source of the curse is," he started slowly, making sure she hung on each word. "But it's a den of the monsters, so we need to train, have the proper weapons, and have a plan."

"A whole den? Do you think that even with four of us we could do something like that?"

"I think with the four of us leading others that are trained, we could."

"Others?"

Her brow creased in confusion and a wariness slowly built in her eyes. Phane had seen that look before on the Countess of Leyawiin when he had asked for nearly seven thousand gold that was currently being used to smith silver swords. Giving the cautious Nord a small smile, he leaned in closer, letting his hand lightly touch her back. "There will be others, Lydia. Many others."

"Like an army?"

"No, more like the Fighters Guild of Cyrodiil. We need men and women committed to solving the problem of not only wolves, but vampires, witches, and necromancers. All those vile creatures that plague our good lands, kill the innocent, and destroy the hundreds of lives will be our target. I dream of a day when we have trained enough warriors to recognize an abomination and bring it to justice that we no longer have children being murdered in their sleep, or lovers taken too soon."

"I don't know. I have already fought in one man's upstart army and I'm not interested in another."

"This is no army," he said, using his hand to turn her to fully face him. "This will be a guild. Working under the laws of the Jarls, for the holds and its people."

"You would answer to the Jarls?"

"Of course," he answered, giving her a confident yet humble smile. "What are we but servants of the people? I have no desire to start a militant revolution."

Her shoulders relaxed under his hands, marking that she believed his words. Just like a good soldier, he thought as he started walking again, answering whatever few questions she still had. She would be useful to him, he decided. More so than Maro or Mathies. It was obvious that she followed a code of honor and pride, fighting for convictions rather than just revenge. It was the beliefs of someone that had not seen enough of the world to realize that such little ideals were childish and unrealistic. Sure, she had seen her fair share of battle from what he had been told, but unlike Andrian who had been all over the empire, and Mathies who had at least lived both in Cyrodiil and Skyrim, she only understood the Nord way of life.

He could manipulate ideals far easier than the jaded, mercenary outlook of a more worldly person. He could trust and easily predict the reactions of someone that held strongly to simple beliefs, making them the most loyal of servants. Lydia would be just that; his loyal follower, helping him destroy his enemies and gain the power that rightfully should have been his. She would do it thinking that they were helping the people, bringing peace and protection to those she loved. She would be completely blind to the true nature of his plans until they were in place, and by that time her beliefs and ideals would match his own making her rejoice in their rise to power rather than fight it.

Glancing at the dark-haired warrior, he felt that finally the gods were answering his prayers. Things were coming together and soon he would have everything that was meant to be his.

Vilkas couldn't sleep once they had arrived back at Jorrvaskr. It was late into the night and his body was fatigued but his mind wouldn't calm. A new nightmare plagued him, one that was free of wolves but filled with voices urging him to give into his primal rages, moving his hands to react without wisdom.

Closing his eyes, he could still see the face of the man he had killed, his skin covered in dry blood and his eyes wild with insanity. The voice told me to do it, he heard in his head over and over again, building his uncertainty to the mysterious influence he had been feeling for weeks now. He began to question all of his actions; killing the men speaking of the Silver Hand, his anger that constantly was driving him to act aggressively, even the argument he had with Farkas, it was all things he deep down wanted to do and felt the need to do but he had done them without thought and without wisdom. Was this the influence of the beast that raged inside him, longing to get out? Or was he losing his grasp on his self-control and his mind, causing him to become delusional in all of his perceptions?

"Am I insane?" he called out, his words directed towards the gods or whomever it was that cared about the worries of mortals. "Am I being punished for something?"

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. "Vilkas?" his brother's muffled voice came through the door.

"What?" he snarled, feeling his blood heat as if a fire had erupted inside his chest. He couldn't control the temper that had plagued him for years as his nights of poor sleep and the endless questions continued to build.

The door opened slowly, his larger twin peering at him questioningly. "Are you alright?"

"Fine. I just…I just have many things on my mind."

"I know the feeling," his twin muttered, his normally dull features growing dark for a moment before returning to their normal indifference. Vilkas again felt a stirring of curiosity over his brother's behavior, but was immediately distracted from asking his questions by Farkas' quick message. "Kodlak wishes to see you. Something about Elsa."

His gut twisted at mention of the Dragonborn. He had nearly forgotten about her and the mission he had taken her on prior to rescuing the boy and felt his temper flair at the undesired reminder. "Tell him I will come shortly," he snapped, moving to shut the door before Farkas had a chance to argue.

He could sense his brother lingering outside, but he shut his eyes, ignoring the presence as his troubled mind attempted to calm. He could feel the anger deep inside of him, waiting to burst free and bring the wolf with it. It knew that he was breaking. The crazed murder had caused the first major crack in his ability to drown out the constant calling of the blood. His mind was no longer as strong as it had been and he had begun to question the world around him, and worse, himself.

"You are Vilkas of the Companions," he told himself slowly. "You are a student of Kodlak, the brother of Farkas, and the shield-sibling to Aela and Skjor. You are a mentor to Athis, Njada, and Ria. You have saved lives and brought justice. You have protected your family and fought bravely against your enemies. You are an honorable man nothing like that murder of children and devourer of human flesh. You are strong and honorable."

The words felt hollow, but he forced himself to trust in them like he always had. Mistakes were often made in the heat of a mission, and few would question the death of a murderer, insane or not. Still, he could not completely chase the feeling of uneasy dread that lingered deep in his gut as he went to Kodlak's rooms.

As always, the old man was sitting at his table, books spread before him like a feast of knowledge. Normally Vilkas would have been excited to see what his mentor was reading, joining in on whatever topic had the man's attention at the moment. Yet with the Harbinger's state of mind being what it was, there was no need to ask. He was consumed with learning about their curse, just as Vilkas' was consumed with questions of sanity.

"What have you come to decide?" the old man asked, barely looking up from one of his old tomes. "How did the Dragonborn perform?"

"She is not worthy of the Companions."

Kodlak sighed, his head shaking as he stared at his young pupil. "And since she is not worthy of the Companions she is therefore not worthy of life itself. That is a most unfortunate judgment."

"I never said such a thing," Vilkas said quickly. "I only mean that she is not a warrior. She should live out her days somewhere else."

The old Harbinger gave his pupil a long look, his tired eyes holding an intensity that his body had been lacking for the last few years as his disease had progressed. It was like staring at the old Kodlak, the strong leader who thought little of death and the life that waited for them after. For a moment, he was the man Vilkas had grown to view as a father, his voice losing the tired anxiety and becoming once more strong and authoritative. "Vilkas, do you remember what I said when you first questioned me on inviting Elsa to stay with us?"

"Only that Vignar felt guilty in doing his duty and you were hopeful that she would change."

"Yes, but more importantly that empathy is trait all good leaders must have. Tell me, in making your decision did you try to understand her? Did you learn anything about her? What drove your decision?"

"She is unable to fight effectively, she is destructive, and barely has the stamina to kill a few rodents."

"Yet she had enough stamina to carry a frightened child back from the wilderness?"

Vilkas felt his mouth go dry. He had completely forgotten about the journey home from the ruin as his mind was filled with fear over his sanity. Yet at the Harbinger's words, he could clearly see her determined eyes staring straight ahead as she marched forward. Even when her arms started to shake, she refused to release the child. He had no answer for where the strength had come from or how she was able to do what she did when the skeevers gave her so much difficulty, just as he had no answer for what drove his actions or who it was that was whispering in his mind.

"What did you learn about her, Vilkas?" the old man pressed. "More than how she completed her task. Tell me what you discovered about who she is and what is at her core."

The young warrior shut his eyes and focused on the past few days, trying to recall anything. He could hear the disappointment behind his master's words and wanted nothing more than to do as his teacher, friend, and adopted father asked.

"She has a friend named Ralof."

"Is that all?"

"I was sent to evaluate her skill, Kodlak, and that's what I did. She is no warrior and should be returned to Lydia's care. We are fighters not nannies!"

"Lydia has gone, Vilkas," Kodlak answered, his pale eyes piercing him as he felt his mouth drop open. "She left while you and Farkas were gone."

"Does Farkas know this?"

"I left her letter to him in his room."

Once more, Vilkas found himself realizing little signs that something wasn't as it seemed much later than he once would have. He had always prided himself in his sharp eye and keen sense of smell, but he hadn't even questioned Farkas' change in mood. "When will she be back?"

"She didn't say and I didn't ask. I have the sense, though, that it will be some time."

"What makes you say that?"

"She took the time to leave some of Elsa's things here," he answered, holding up a small pouch and a tattered looking book. "And after seeing this I am more convinced of her staying here with us."

Vilkas felt his jaw clench as his anger seemed to burn in him with barely anything to spark it. Although no voice spoke to him, he felt the righteous pull of honor and respect. "Kodlak, why can't you see that she is useless? She is not worthy of the Companions just as she is not worthy of her titles."

"So despite her actions with the boy you would still send her out?"

"Yes."

"Where would you have her go?"

"That is not my concern. She could go back to her home. She's not even a true daughter of Skyrim."

"Ah, yes. Cyrodiil, the place she was born," Kodlak answered with a sad smile. "Home to the Empire and run by the Thalmor. A lovely home it would make for any who were not considered a hero of Skyrim's fight for independence."

"Then she could go elsewhere. Have Jarl Vignar petition the High King to have her settled somewhere if she truly can't leave our borders."

"But you see, Vilkas, that is where the trouble lies. I have to admit that even I was not fully aware of how dire her situation was until Lydia provided me the means to enlightenment."

"What do you mean?"

"I always thought it was odd that the High King would turn so quickly on the hero of his war, not to mention the dragon crisis."

"She nearly burned Windhelm to the ground with her shouting! I don't think any king would easily forgive the damage she caused."

"Here," the old man said in a tired voice that seemed to match the deepening lines that marred his skin. "Take the book Lydia left. Read it and learn. She is worthy of us and I fear that we will be calling on her aid before the snows have melted. I need you to trust her."

Vilkas took the book, surprised by the Harbinger's direct statement. Normally his mentor asked questions and directed his thoughts to the correct answer. Yet today there were no soft words and supportive teaching, it was only worry and frustration that seemed to fill him as he dismissed his young pupil.

He couldn't understand the sudden shift in Kodlak, just as he couldn't understand his continued support of the Dragonborn. Perhaps he's hearing the voice too, he thought, knowing how it had warned him about the impending threat of the Silver Hand and their way of life. If it was coming from their curse and the daedric prince that claimed them, then he would not doubt that others were hearing the call as well. Still, deep down he doubted whether this was the case. It seemed like only his mind was plagued with the constant intrusion of another, his dreams restless and dark.

Sitting on his bed, he stared at the book he was given, his mind far from what it contained. The voice had been quiet since leaving the ruins, leaving him to finally be able to see what was happening around him with a clear eye. There was turmoil in his family over their curse, love, threats, and even the presence of the Dragonborn. He had never experienced such a rift, hidden emotions, and secret agendas amongst the Circle. The silent divide that had formed in their little group was dangerous should trouble truly come to find them.

A soft knock interrupted his thoughts, followed by his twin opening the door. "I have to deliver the boy to his home."

"I'll come," Vilkas said quickly, rising from the bed. He knew Farkas was looking at him, trying to see if he should refuse the offer, but Vilkas wouldn't let him. He needed to be out of the quiet and distracted from his thoughts. He had begun to fear the silence and solitude he had once loved, knowing that it brought with it questions he feared.

He refused to be a prisoner of his room and of his mind. Tossing the journal aside, he followed his brother confident that in the very least he was a true shield sibling of the Companions, rift or no.

There was something comforting in hearing the quick little breaths of a child sleeping that soothed Elsa far more than any other sound in the world. As she leaned back in the chair next to the poor boy's bed, she let her eyes close and the world to be washed away in the innocent simplicity of a child being safe in bed. For a moment she could forget the deep ache she felt gnawing at her chest and put aside the bitterness that filled her veins. If she kept still and quiet, she could almost believe that her current state was nothing but a dream and that she was at home, living the life that should have been hers.

Yet the momentary reprieve couldn't last. Deep down, she knew that it was only the poisonous hope that somehow still maintained a root in her heart, but that didn't make it any easier to be ripped back to her cold reality with the sound of heavy boots on the hard floor.

"I have to bring the boy home," Farkas' deep voice rumbled.

"He's not ready," she said quickly, opening her eyes and staring at the large warrior as if he were nothing more than a boy himself asking for a sweet roll. "He needs sleep and food."

"He can get that at home. His parents will want him returned immediately."

"They can wait."

"That's not the job. I told you we would sleep and restock our supplies but then he had to be taken home."

"And I told you that any parent that would let their child out of their sight long enough to be taken by a decrepit madman clearly wouldn't miss their child for a day or two more."

Farkas frowned, his face looking more tired than normal and lacking any of the simple cheerfulness that came naturally to him. "No parent would want to wait longer than necessary for their missing child to be brought back home. The boy will survive the short trip without being coddled here."

"Then I'm coming too."

"No," came the voice of Vilkas. "We don't have time to watch you and the boy."

"Then you won't be leaving," she answered, crossing her arms as she stood in front of the child. "Either you take me or you don't go at all."

She could see shock in both of the men's faces, their eyes growing wide as they exchanged a quick glance. Yet she didn't care if she overstepped some idiotic Companion rule or social norm by speaking out against a member of the Circle. All she cared about was the boy and his welfare. He slept soundly now, but like so many children orphaned in the civil war once the exhaustion wore off she knew that the nightmares would start. She could not see the two Nord warriors understanding that sort of thing and she would sooner return to Cyrodiil than leave a fragile, frightened child with either of them.

"Fine," Farkas finally answered, his voice lacking any of the kindness that had once been there. "We don't have time to argue, so gather him up and come along. This trip already will take us most of tonight and all of tomorrow."

Elsa smiled, her smirk only growing as Vilkas stared dumbfounded at his brother. It was a small victory, but she felt a certain amount of pride over getting her way. Quickly waking the boy, she followed the two Nords from Jorrvaskr to the city stables.

"Hail, Companions," the cart driver called at their approach. "Are you in need of my services today?"

"Yes," Farkas answered. "We are going to Stormspring."

"Stormspring?" Elsa asked, a pit forming in her stomach. "In Eastmarch?"

"Yes," Farkas asked, handing some money to the driver. "That's where his family is."

"Is that a problem, Dragonborn?" Vilkas asked, his eyes as cold as his question.

She stared at the man, knowing that he and his brother knew she was banished from every hold but Whiterun. It was no great secret, even if the true reason behind her banishment by Ulfric Stormcloak was more than just debts and a small fire.

For a moment, she considered not going. She knew full well what would wait her in the High King's hold. Yet as she looked at the boy's fearful and confused eyes, she decided that the risk wasn't important. She would not leave his side until she knew that he was safe.

"I'm fine," she answered, climbing up into the cart with the others. Gathering up the child, she felt an odd happiness fill her as he wrapped his chubby arms around her and soon was sleeping again. Closing her own eyes, she could almost picture herself living the dream that she had once had for her life. A home with children that would spend their days happily playing only to cuddle up next to her in front of the fire at night. It was a dream that would never come true, but for the first time in years sleep found her happy in her fantasy rather than the bitter thoughts of reality.

0.0.0

It was well past dark when the lurching cart finally woke her. Neither of the brothers spoke as she looked around to see that they were nearly at the town that was the boy's home. The little settlement was newer, growing out of the ashes of the war and thriving off expansion of Windhelm. The quick spike of the hold's greatest city meant many small towns emerged to provide it with crops, wood, and other essential materials impossible to create in an urban setting. Stormspring looked prosperous enough, with large thatch-roofed homes, neatly kept streets, and a variety of shops and traders showing their wares. It was the kind of town to raise a family in, being big enough to have it's own guard barracks but small enough to avoid the poverty and beggars of places like Solitude and Markarth.

"We're nearly there," she whispered, nudging the child awake. "You're nearly home."

The boy sat up, his eyes blinking away the heavy sleep. "We're here?"

"Yes," she answered as the cart slowed to a stop. Rising, she led the boy to the edge where Farkas quickly lifted him out while Vilkas spoke with the weeping parents. Elsa felt her heart ache as the boy rushed get to his mother's outstretched arms, not even sparing a glance back at her. It was an old pain of loss and regret as she watched the stream of tears from the child's mother and the way he clung to her for safety and comfort.

Stop watching this, she ordered herself as her mind quickly filled with the images of the people she had loved. This could have easily been her sister in Bruma, comforting one of her children after they had fallen in the street. Or her brother, stonily keeping his feelings hidden under a façade of strength and gratitude to a stranger that had helped his family. Yet they were dead, just as her own hopes and dreams had died nearly ten years earlier. There would be no children in her life that ran to her for comfort, no husband to be the strong rock anchoring her family during dark times. There were no nieces and nephews, no sisters or brothers. There was no one and there never would be.

"Are you alright?" Farkas asked suddenly, making her jump as she tore her eyes from the happy family.

She looked up at him, recognizing the longing that shone through his eyes. For the first time she felt a sort of understanding for a member of the Companions as she read his defeated expression. Turning away from the loving scene, she felt her old bitterness biting the back of her throat. "Families aren't for warriors."

"It's done," Vilkas called, moving towards them. "We should stay in the inn for the night."

"Fine," his brother answered dully.

Making their way to the inn, it was a quick process of getting food, finding their rooms, and laying in their beds with little room for talk or chatter. Elsa was more than fine with Vilkas' surly glares and Farkas' gloomy silence. She had nothing to say to either of the Nords especially now that her purpose was done. Instead, she let her little fantasy from earlier fill her mind as sleep took her.

It was barely dawn when a loud pounding on the door woke her. She groggily opened her eyes only to see a man dressed in Stormcloak blue bursting through the door. Had it been a decade earlier she would have been on her feet, sword in hand, but her reflexes were still sluggish and she barely managed to sit up when thick arms wrapped around her, yanking her from the bed.

Her first instinct was to struggle, but she smothered it as the realization of what was happening settled in. Ulfric knows I'm here, she thought darkly as a memory of flames and a job left undone filled her mind. She had pushed the thoughts away over the last decade, anger and sorrow mixing with her drinks to leave her incapacitated. Yet now as she was shoved from the inn, Farkas and Villkas in tow, and her hands were roughly bound she could only think of the revenge she sought and the wrongs she had suffered at the hands of the High King.

"What's going on here?" Vilkas called out as they were loaded into a prison cart. "We're members of the Companions. We have broken no laws."

The driver turned back to them, his face full of righteous conviction. "Only criminals travel with criminals."

Vilkas turned to his brother before giving her an icy glare. "You. You are the cause of this!"

Elsa shrugged, closing her eyes as she ignored the world around her. It was what she had done in Helgen, though at the time she actually feared the unknown fate that was waiting for her in the Imperial stronghold. She had been ignorant then of who were her enemies and how they operated, but in the aftermath of the war she had learned a hard lesson in trust. Ulfric Stormcloak had showed his true colors that horrible night in Solitude and his failure to finish what he started was just one more piece to the complex puzzle of Elsa's life.

Still, Ulfric was no fool. He understood the power of public opinion and how to be patient. She had witnessed firsthand how he would wait for an opportunity to do what he wanted without having to get his hands dirty. Everything he did, from sparking the war to starting what would be a cascade of banishments for Elsa, he did for his own hidden agenda all the while twisting it so that he looked like a wise and just ruler. But she knew the truth, and although it would not do for the High King to personally call for the head of the Dragonborn ten years earlier, she had no doubts that that was the fate he had in mind for her.

"Where are you taking us?" Farkas asked.

"Windhelm," the driver answered curtly, as if it should have been obvious. Where else would they go but to the seat of power in Skyrim? True, the High Kings traditionally sat on the throne of the Blue Palace in Solitude, but Ulfric Stormcloak had refused. It had been a large piece of gossip in the markets for weeks, the peasants quoting his retort that the Blue Palace had been tainted and that he would never sit in a chair once occupied by a Thalmor's mistress. Instead, Ulfric had made Windhelm the new capitol, far from the borders of Skyrim and the corrupted influence of the Mer. As such, the city had grown exponentially in the last decade, the market expanding with the expulsion of the dark elves and the palace adding numerous additions to fit the growing court.

Yet to Elsa all of it seemed like a lie. As they entered the city she couldn't help but see the old stone buildings and think it was no different than Helgen. The skeletal remains of the once proud city covered by new wood and rock to hide what it had been before the return of the dragons, before the civil war. There had been a time when she had looked at Windhelm as a second home as she worked with the Stormcloaks to secure Skyrim's independence, but before the war ended her eyes had been opened to the hungry power-grabbing that was Ulfric Stormcloak.

"So is it straight to the executioners block?" she asked the guard as they passed up a wide, open street that ended in the shadows of the towering palace. He was young and probably only remembered the war vaguely through the clouded memories of a child. She doubted he could even guess the atrocities committed by both sides during the fighting. The innocent blood shed to bully the other side into backing down, women and children slaughtered in their beds in acts of revenge. She regretted ever being involved.

"The High King has ordered you tried for treason."

"Oh is that what I am now? A traitor?"

The youth looked at her, his eyes filled with disgust. It was the same look she got from the different city guards after she finally had been subdued enough to be arrested for whatever crime she had committed that day. Destruction of property, assault, owing more gold than she could even fathom being able to repay, all of it had led to the other holds following Windhelm's example of banishing her and stripping her of any titles she had once held. She doubted whether the boy even believed that she had once been held in high regard throughout the providence.

"You're a danger to the hold's safety," he recited with an obvious belief in the words. "The High King has ordered that should you disrespect his courtesy of banishment that you would be tried for your conspiracy and treason."

She couldn't help but laugh at that, ignoring the urgent expressions of Vilkas and Farkas that she keep quiet. "Conspiracy and treason? When did I commit those crimes?"

"You shouted at the High King and burned half of the palace down," the guard replied.

"Yes, I did do that when you were what? Eight? Maybe ten years old? Though I was just following the example Ulfric set with Torygg. Perhaps the High King should be put on trial for the crimes he committed as a traitor? But I suppose the victor gets to decide what laws are followed and when. Murder really isn't murder if it's done for the good of the country, right?" she asked lightly, hiding the anger that was starting to build deep within her.

It was like the glowing coals of old wrongs and terrible deeds were being fanned the further they traveled into the city. Things she had already paid for in pain, blood, and death, but that wasn't enough for Ulfric. She had yet to sacrifice her own life for the man and his unworthy country and she knew that he was the kind of man that did not let loose ends go untied.

The boy stiffened in his seat at her words, showing the sort of blind loyalty that Ulfric seemed to inspire. "I don't know why the High King even banished you in the first place, traitor. He should have killed you instead, but he is merciful."

"No, he's not," she answered darkly before settling back into her seat. The guard looked back at her, his smooth skin and chubby cheeks looking ridiculous under his armor. He was a far cry from the soldiers that fought the civil war on either side.

Vilkas gave her another earnest look, willing her to be quiet while Farkas stared into space, almost not caring that their hands were bound and they were being carted like criminals to the High King. Laughing again, she felt Vilkas kick her roughly in an attempt to make her stop.

"What's so funny, scum?" the guard snapped, turning to stare at her again.

"Oh I was just thinking how the last time I sat in a cart with my hands bound it was Ulfric Stormcloak who sat next to me and a red uniform calling me a traitor. Things don't change much, do they?"

The boy stared at her, his mouth falling open a bit as he processed what she said. It was strange how easily people could forget the smaller details of messy things like wars. From what she could tell in the times she had been sober enough to remember a conversation about the High King, not many spoke of how he was the one that started the actual fighting; That he was the one that murdered his predecessor with the power of the Voice and that many had considered him the traitor at the time. Still, he had acted very swiftly against his enemies after winning Solitude, causing many of the nobles to forget their former ties and beliefs in the face of Ulfric's punishment of what he liked to call war crimes. It had been easier with the peasants who were more focused on the danger coming from the skies once the fighting had stopped. What was human war when a dragon could engulf an entire city in fire and ice in a matter of moments?

The dragons were probably the reason most never heard about the cruel deaths that happened in the basement of the Blue Palace. The tales of nobles fleeing to Cyrodiil went unquestioned and she had been too wrapped up in her own grief to use her power and popularity to expose Ulfric for what he truly was. Then she had succumbed to her own weaknesses, leaving few to actually listen to her slurred words of torture and murder.

A cold fury swirled in her as the gates of the palace grew closer and the thought of meeting the man who had robbed her of a life she barely had time to even dream of. She had tried to settle their score years ago, of course, but it had failed. If I had been sober he would have died.

"This is bad," Farkas whispered, pulling her from the self-loathing she was beginning to feel over what had been publically called the Drunken Fire of Windhelm in an attempt to hide her real motives while slandering her name during the height of her fame. It had been quite clever of Ulfric not to publically proclaim her a traitor at the time as many more followed her than they did him, but now things were different. She had lost her reputation and supporters along with her homes, her titles, her fame, and her fortune. She knew that she was only alive now because of Lydia and, more importantly, that she had lost her will to be in the world anymore, making little trouble for the High King in her drunken grief-filled stupor that had lasted nearly a decade.

"The Companions are no traitors," Vilkas answered, his light eyes flashing towards her angrily as he spoke. "We have an honorable reputation. The High King is wise and will not include us with her."

She laughed again, ignoring the dumbfounded stares and gasps of the people that lined the narrow city streets. "I wouldn't be so sure of his wisdom, Vilkas. Cunning, yes, wise, no."

"Quiet!" the guard shouted as he reached the palace gates.

They all complied as more soldiers appeared and quickly escorted them from the cart and through the large doors that led to the great hall. Elsa took in the grandiose changes the High King had made to his once dreary stronghold, adding velvets, furs, and jewel encrusted decorations along the stone walls. She barely recognized the throne room, the wide-open hall a far cry from the narrow, cold room it had once been. Yet, none of that compared to the changes in the man that lorded over the room.

The once hawk-eyed, grim Jarl now had all the airs of a well-fed prince. His clothes were rich and heavily ornamented, while his crown made his sloping nose and narrow eyes seem regal rather than calculating. Still, she could see traces of the man she had once thought of as a friend and ally, his eyes following her like she was a pest needing to be exterminated. She wished she had recognized that look earlier in their relationship for what it truly was, instead of believing him to be merely thinking about the war and his strategies. Then she might not have trusted him and accepted his invitation to the Blue Palace that fateful night.

She was pulled from the bitter thoughts as the soldiers roughly forced her and the two Nords to their knees before they cutting their bonds. Around her came the muttering of the various courtiers that had taken up residence in the King's city, her name quickly being followed by words like drunk, reckless, and traitor.

"Why are you here?" the High King called down from his metal and stone throne. "I made it clear you were no longer welcome in my hold."

Elsa stared up at him defiantly, the blood rushing to her cheeks making her face feel hot. "I'm doing a job, Ulfric," she answered, deliberately refusing to use his title. "I have debts and city fines to pay, remember? Isn't that why you mercifully banished me years ago?"

"No, your banishment was for the danger you posed when you shouted at me and nearly destroyed the city in a fire. That was my mercy then, banishment over a death sentence for your attempted murder."

"My, my, my. So we're not calling that a drunken mistake anymore? Now I tried to murder you?" she laughed, feeling her hatred for the man building just as she had the night she had attempted to end his horrible life. She was tired of the lies, both about her and his apparent mercy. Her next words caused a wave of gasps to fill the crowd as her smile took on an almost maniacal gleam. "You're being hypocritical considering that all I did was shout at you, which is something, if I recall, that you did to the last High King."

"What are you doing?" Vilkas hissed while Farkas put a hand on her shoulder to stop her while Ulfric stared at them dangerously. She ignored them, pulling away from the large warrior's grasp.

"And you fucking deserved it."

The guards on either side of the hall moved restlessly, but they kept in their places with a small wave of the High King's hand. She watched him as he put on the mask of a merciful and wise ruler, hiding the cruel and unforgiving nature that was naturally his. "Elsa, you were instrumental in the war and destroying the dragons. For that and that alone I have turned a blind eye to your disrespect that borders on treason. But I cannot keep doing this. I cannot turn a blind eye to your destruction and the danger you pose to my people or to me as their ruler. I warned you what the punishment would be if you ever returned here."

Elsa felt her lips form a grim line as her mind returned to the last time she was in the city, the fear in the king's eyes when she attacked followed by both of them fleeing the roaring flames that consumed a greater portion of the old palace. She had only heard of his banishment only after she had woken from a drunken binge that erased much of journey to Whiterun, Ulfric's warning coming in the form of an assassin.

"You are forcing my hand, Elsa," Ulfric continued in a voice dripping with false sadness. "You are no longer a savior. You have put lives at risk with your drunken displays and show clear disregard for the decrees I have made to keep the people of Skyrim safe."

"Really? I'm the one putting lives at risk? I think my little fire incident is nothing compared to the lives that were risked when you decided you wanted to grab at power. No one asked for a war, but you gave that to Skyrim, along with all the death and destruction that came with it!"

Ulfric's face slipped a little, the dangerous glint in his eyes surfacing while the crowd gasped in shock. Yet he recovered quickly, taking on his diplomatic tone that at one timed had fooled her into thinking he was a good man. "The Imperials were destroying Skyrim and it's people. All here would have died at their hand if I did nothing. Those that sacrificed for the war hold the highest honor in my kingdom."

"Really? Because if I remember correctly, my lord, I sacrificed a fucking lot for you and your cause and I am seeing no honors being laid at my feet. You should have had a parade to honor me being in town by what you say, not having some green boy pick me up like…well like the Imperials did outside of Helgen. Hell, I should at least be able to walk around in the fucking middle of no where for all that I have sacrificed for your worthy cause."

"Others sacrificed just as much as you, if not more, and I have rewarded them, as I would have you. But you persist in trying my patience, Elsa. You continue to commit crimes against Skyrim and its people and I cannot allow that. No matter what your deeds were in the past. Your sacrifices don't outweigh your crimes."

"Really? Others sacrifice just as much as me, Ulfric? I wasn't aware of anyone else having the defiled heads of their mother, father, sister, brother, nieces, and nephews delivered to them in baskets. I don't recall anyone else having their neighbors and friends gathered into a temple and being burned to death merely for being affiliated with them. Please tell me who else lost what I did for your fucking war. Anyone?" she shouted, looking around the room. "Did what happened in to my family and to Bruma happen anywhere in Skyrim?"

Ulfric stared at her, his face grim. "No one else had your power, Elsa. You can't expect the Imperials to attack others in the same–"

"Wait!" she interrupted, ignoring the king's continued attempts to quiet her. "I'm such a drunk I barely remembered! The Imperial slaughter at Bruma is strangely similar to what happened in Solitude!" she gasped dramatically, turning towards the crowd as if she were the star of a play. "How could I forget about the children who were gathered in the dead of night and struck down like lambs in a slaughter? Or the screams of the innocent wives of soldiers and lords were put to a cruel and agonizing death just for living in a household that happened to be wearing the wrong color."

"I have no idea what you're talking about, I –"

"No, Ulfric! You know exactly what I'm talking about," she shouted. A hushed silence fell over the hall, the courtiers looking nervously from her to the High King as her accusations poured from her mouth. Ulfric, though, seemed unaware as he glared down at her, his hawk-like features narrowing as she continued. "Where is Elisif, Ulfric? Where are her Thanes and guards? Where are their families? Where are Siddgeir and Igmund? Or Idgrod Ravencrone and his household? Tell me, where is Balgruff ? What were his children's crimes when you had them slaughtered? Or the families of guards who were doing nothing more than following an oath they swore?

"They fled to Cyrodiil, everyone knows that."

"No, they didn't! I watched them writhe on the floor as your poison set in. And you wanted the same thing for me. You turned on me so quickly, Ulfric. I gave you a fucking crown and saved this thankless world from the dragons, but you were afraid, weren't you? You were afraid of my power and later you were afraid of what I might say and who might believe me. Killing me here today would be nothing more than finishing the slaughter you ordered that night in Solitude."

"No, Elsa," he boomed, standing with his fists clenched. "I have nothing to fear from you or anything you could say! And it pains me to see your mind so far gone. Shouting nonsense like a madman in my hall, I had hoped to see you better. I was lenient with you before, only banishing you after you drank yourself to oblivion and then used the sacred power of Talos to nearly destroy my city. I didn't punish you as I would have anyone else for the same crime because of what you did for us. But this, this…tantrum just proves that my hopes for you were for nothing. Your mind is poisoned by your weakness. You are a danger to everyone in Skyrim and I cannot, as High King, allow you to destroy the good that has finally come to our people. I cannot risk that you'll use your power again and harm an innocent life."

"I only shouted after you tried to kill me! I was only in Windhelm that night because you drug me here in shackles after I destroyed Alduin. Do you really have all of these people fooled?"

"What are you talking about? You're drunk right now, aren't you?" he said with a wave before turning to a few of his frowning thanes. "This is the raving of a drunken lunatic!"

A few people laughed and nodded, some even going so far to say that they could smell the drink coming from her. Elsa felt the fury building in her as they started to mock her, claiming that she was mad or drunk, or any number of foul things the people of Skyrim had taken to saying about her. These were people that owed their lives and fortunes to what she had done, yet they looked at her as if she were nothing more than an annoying fly, pestering them during an afternoon tea. Pushing her chin out, she glared at those around her before turning back to the satisfied smile Ulfric wore. "I am not drunk!"

The crowd laughed harder, the High King leading the cacophony with his deep rumble. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as a heat rose to her throat as it had in the years of the Dragon Crisis. She felt her nails bite into the skin of her hands as the continued to laugh and mock her, their jeers cutting into her as deeply as any sword. Deep within her she felt the stirrings of the power she had been denying for years. It burnt her lungs and tore at her gut to escape, just as it had after she had given the final piece of herself to the greedy bitch that was Skyrim. These were the people that caused her family to be murdered. Their king was the man that had caused her to lose her faith in humanity. She had bled for them, killed for them, and allowed pieces of her life to slowly die for them. She hated them, each and every one.

"I'm not drunk," she called out again, her voice hard and cold. Still they didn't listen. Closing her eyes, she let her rage fill her as the ancient words she had barely used since Alduin moved to her lips. "Faas Ru Maar!"

The affect was immediate. The laughing stopped and the crowd paled as fear began to fill them. A woman began to cry, followed by another, and another as the rest moved towards the walls, cowering as they saw her for who she truly was.

Moving towards Ulfric who sat frozen to his throne she dropped her voice low, the large hall echoing her words so that all could hear. "I followed you. You promised me I could avenge my family after what the Imperials did to Bruma, but I only found death and suffering. You have taken just as much from me as the Empire has and I will not forget it, Ulfric Stormcloak."

"Elsa, I –" he started, but she cut him off with a frown.

"You claim you want me sober, Ulfric. Well here I am!" she shouted, thumping her chest. "I'm sober. How do you like this Elsa? Is she less offensive than the disgraced debtor and drunk? Is she more pleasing than the child you manipulated to win a war? Do you like what you see, High King? Do you like what you have created?"

The king remained silent as Elsa felt the heat drain from her, leaving in its place a cold fury that was so different than the rage she had felt during her drunkenness. Dropping her voice, she stared at the man she had once sworn allegiance to with nothing but hatred. "The things I know, Ulfric, about you and the war would be enough to start another. Do not test me and do not ever send your guards for me again. If you do, so help me, I will bring the fury of the dragons to your city so it can burn like mine did. I will kill every soul I sacrificed my life to save and my vengeance on you will be worse than any nightmare that has ever plagued your sleep. Now you have been warned."

Silence fell over the hall as she turned her back and walked away from a man she had once respected and gladly followed. Yet he had shown his true colors, just as the rest of Skyrim did once she was all used up and could no longer be manipulated. He was a fool to not trying harder to kill her over the last few years, but then again she always knew he wasn't one for getting his hands dirty. That is what made him a true son of Skyrim. He, like the rest, would let another fight their fights only to hate their hero when the smoke had cleared and they had used all that they could.

No more, she thought, her nails biting into the skin of her hand. I will never act the savior for these people again.