OhmygodOhmygodohmyfuckinggod! :O Do you KNOW how AMAZING all of you are? All of your reviews had me on a giddy high for a whole week! :D If you guys have any idea, how fuzzy i feel. I mean honestly *shakes head* I can't believe that you guys think so highly of something I wrote I mean, GAH! THANK YOU so much everyone, whether you reviewed, favorited, put an alert on this story or you're just reading. From the bottom of my heart, thanks :)

P.S. There might be an exaggeration of the population of Windhelm (a huge one compared with the game) but it's a major city and so would have a population at least in the hundreds, if not thousands.

Force.Balance.Push.

Aftermath

The wounded lay in rows along the stone floor on thick bed rolls. Hours before, when the sun had been high in the grey sky, they had been carried into the temple and arranged along the floor. The pews had been pushed back against the walls, the exhausted priests and healers now slept on the hard wooden benches curled up in thick blankets. At first the healers had properly began to heal wounds with their glowing sparkling magic, but as the number of injured men, women and children that were carried, howling and dripping with blood, through their doors had only increased they had been resigned to simply heal the most life threatening injuries, broken bones were simply aligned with a splint and bandaged, and open wounds had been hurriedly stitched together with thick thread made of horses hair. So many had came through their doors begging for aid, many weren't injured but without homes and so came to the temple searching for safety. But they had not the room for them, so they had turned away the wounded and the homeless regretfully. It had been then that the Jarl had allowed the wounded and the displaced citizens, who had been turned away, into his palace. When the barracks had been filled they were placed in the many unused rooms, and when those had filled the finer rooms had been filled.

Now the exhausted healers lay breathing slow and deep, they were finally able to rest their exhausted bodies. The Temple echoed with the sound of snoring instead of hymns, only the occasional cry from a child followed softly by a whispered song of comfort from a mother, stabbed through the low rumble of sleep. Candles had been blown out and now the only light came from the moon that filtered through the stain glass windows. Purples, reds, blues and greens splintered and shattered against the floor, dyeing the mortals that they hit, turning them into something closer to art, rather than the living that trembled on that line between death and life.

The sound of soft and deliberately gentle foot falls bounced off the walls, a shadow fell over those who slept on the floor blocking the shards of beautiful colours from falling on their faces. The shadow travelled to the top of the aisle, to the altar. The man who owned the shadow knelt before the altar, he lightly gripped the Amulet of Talos that hung around his neck, the only finery he constantly carried on his person, and uttered a quiet prayer under his breath. The prayer said, he rose and turned and stood at the top of the aisle looking at his people. He was normally still and stoic, composed and professional. There in the darkness he allowed the wall to drop and crumble, night's shroud hid the bitter melancholic expression that held the Nord's face, what had become of his city? How could one beast cause so much devastation? Many good soldiers had been lost in the dragon attack as well as wives, mothers and children. Homes had been destroyed, crushed and twisted to become rubble on the ground and the death sentence for those unfortunate enough to have been trapped by their own walls and floors and belongings. He allowed a terrible thought to enter his mind, what if the Dragonborn hadn't appeared when she had? His city would have destroyed, his people slaughtered and he would have died alongside them, fighting for his city and for his people.

A small flicker of anger lightened his blue eyes as his eyes fell on a woman holding her child. Both were peaceful and calm, as if their lives weren't in danger, as if they would wake in the morning and live life like they had before. But they couldn't; the wounded lining the floors, the shattered buildings, the destroyed lives, all of it could have been avoided if the Dragonborn had shown herself earlier. He quickly shook off the spiteful feeling, guilty that he had even indulged the thought. His feelings were irrational; the Dragonborn had saved them, saved them from further death and misery. For that he was thankful, he couldn't fault her on her actions, after all it had been his plan that had failed, not the Dragonborn's. He was, if anything, more to blame for this than she.

His musing was cut short, his peripheral vision caught the flicker of movement, a figure weaved their way through the sleeping men, women and children towards him. The shards of coloured light illuminated the figure; she was dressed in orange flowing robes and moved with the grace and ease akin to a dancer. She stood before him and her eyes met his in the darkness, a smile tugged at her lips and she pressed a hand to his shoulder.

''Jarl Ulfric, go back to the palace and rest, there is nothing you can do here.'' The old Priestess whispered, there was a mothering tone to her hushed and withered voice. Nothing you can do. Ulfric mulled the thought uncomfortably in his mind for a moment, indeed there was nothing he could do for these people, unless he suddenly found a hidden talent in restoration magic, which was about as likely as happening as him and Tullius sitting down for dinner together.

The Jarl's only response was a slow and somewhat disheartened ''Aye.'' He stepped down the aisle with as much softness as before. Before opening the heavy doors he whispered a quiet prayer. Once outside he stood on the temple steps for a moment breathing in the chilling night air, burning away the sweet smelling incense from his nostrils and thick silver coat. He thumped down the steps, his boots sure and confident on the ice. A Nord met him at the bottom of the steps, though his face didn't show it, his crossed arms gave away the slight irritation at having to wait.

''If you felt the need to wait for me, it could have been inside.''

Galmar scoffed ''Bah, and wake everyone with my heavy lumbering steps? No, I would rather face a bitter wind than a sharp tongue of a Priest.'' Though the bear-skinned Nord was indeed correct, his feet were by no means quiet and controlled. There was another reason that the man wouldn't step inside the temple, or any temple for that matter. Though he of course believed in Talos, much like every self respecting Nord. But he unlike others, solely kept his prayers for his bedroom, were he would kneel at the end of his bed and utter quiet words to Talos and the Divines. The older man hadn't set foot inside a Temple for many a winter. Despite being life-long friends, Galmar had never disclosed to Ulfric as to why he never set foot inside a holy building. Ulfric had never shown any desire to know or understand his second's actions, after all each man did what he did differently to the next and besides they both had their own secrets and ways private to the world.

The two men began to ascend the steps towards the Palace of the Kings; they marched in easy tandem of each other. The snow howled at their backs and lodged itself in their beards.

''I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't had seen it with my own eyes.''

''What?'' Ulfric asked turning his head to face the older man.

''That the Dragonborn is a Breton, a little lass like that would be better as a man's wife than the Dragonborn.''

''Aye, the Gods certainly work in mysterious ways.'' Ulfric said dryly.

They stepped inside the Palace of the Kings, the delicious heat and warmth of the palace welcomed them as they made their way down the main hall towards the war room. Once inside the war room they were greeted by the sight of an exhausted Wuunferth sat unceremoniously in a chair. Wuunferth was a Nord of restraint and composure, but now it seemed he was so spent that he had no care for the correct etiquette and composure that he normally possessed. The Jarl and his second sat besides the mage, none of the men spoke, a pensive silence held the three men as they ran over the day's events in their minds.

''We mustn't show any weakness. Tullius will certainly try and use this dragon attack to his advantage and try and take back Whiterun.''

''Ha. If Tullius thinks he can take back Whiterun just because we've been knocked off of our feet he's deluding himself.'' Galmar replied.

''It doesn't mean he won't try and take that chance.''

''Don't worry the men won't falter. Not even a dragon attack will make the men lose their courage,'' Galmar's eyes hardened ''not while there is still breath in my lungs, and an axe in my hands.''

Galmar's constant determination and audacity never failed to amaze and amuse Ulfric. It was men like Galmar that Skyrim needed, especially now. The momentarily grin dropped as Ulfric was reminded again of the dragon attack. If one dragon could bring a major city to its knees in not even a full afternoon then they truly commanded unimaginable power. And if the Dragonborn could bring down a dragon in not even in a full hour...Ulfric's brain fizzed with the excitement of the possibilities of having the Dragonborn under his banner. Speaking of the Dragonborn...

''What of the Dragonborn and her companion, Wuunferth?''

''Her companion, her brother I believe, aided in the rebuilding in the city. Though he referred to the girl with a name different from what we know.''

This pricked the Jarl's interest, the girl had an alias that meant she had something to hide, which meant that she couldn't be trusted, she was a threat. What kind Ulfric wasn't sure, but if she was one, there could be little he could do against her with the city and his men in the state that they were both in. Galmar and Ulfric exchanged quick glances, both had drawn the same conclusion. ''And of the girl in question?''

''She is recovering in one of the rooms.'' Wuunferth's eyes dropped to the floor.

''When she wakes I wish and audience with her.''

''Ulfric, I believe that may not be the best idea,'' Ulfric raised an eyebrow there was a flicker of irration in his eyes, Wuunferth's lips pursed as he found the correct response ''even when she wakes her...condition...will be unstable for a few days. Give her time before you question her.''

The old mage was biting his tongue about something...something important. For now Ulfric let it be, if it was truly that important he would question the mage another time, when they both weren't so exhausted and much less irritable.

''Very well Wuunferth. I'll question her when you decide her to be fit.''

There was a flicker in the old mage's eyes; Ulfric decided that it was just the candle light playing tricks on his exhausted mind.

So what do we think? I know not much happens in this chapter, it will get more interesting next chapter, which should be uploaded on Sunday :)

Fun Fact: For the first two days after I uploaded the last chapter the story stats didn't register any views, it registered reviews but had nothing on views. Not even a zero, just two blank days. Congratulations! You did what that stampede did to Mufasa to fanfiction :L All I can say is well done.

Have a wonderful week-end!

~Marie