Part two of Ulfric's mini-trilogy.

4E 176

"What is it, Hrolfdir?" Ulfric noticed the exiled jarl fidgeting in his doorway, but kept his eyes on his letters, scrawling out and sealing one last request for aid. A courier was due that afternoon or the next, and he had to be ready. Dozens of soldiers were expected from Eastmarch in the coming week, and Rorikstead could support nowhere near that many. Something had to be done. "Is anything amiss?"

"You could say that," Hrolfdir said, brushing nonexistent dust off his burgundy tunic. "There's an Altmer here asking for you. Says she has news you'll want to hear. She'll only speak to you."

Ulfric looked up, his brows furrowed. He didn't know of a single Altmer who'd willingly seek him out. Mer of any derivation found themselves unwelcome among his base. Khajiit and Argonians could keep their distance as well. No, they weren't all dirty thieves or allied with Thalmor, but Ulfric didn't want to waste valuable time separating good from bad.

But a single Altmer female asking for him, personally? If she possessed any information he could one day use against the Dominion, he owed it to Skyrim to put aside his distaste (and fear of the memories and nightmares such a meeting could provoke) and at least give her a hearing. He shivered. "Is she alone? Have our scouts seen evidence of a party?"

"No," Hrolfdir said, crossing his arms over his chest and shifting his weight from leg to leg. "That was my first question, too. The scouts tracked her for a day from the southeast. She's alone."

"I'll see her, and send her on her way," Ulfric said, wincing as he stood up from his desk. He needed a walk and a stretch in any case. Two years had passed since his captivity, and some of the scars still ached. "Does she stink of the Dominion?"

Hrolfdir shrugged. "Hard to say. She's been roughed up, to be sure. She's not high and mighty, like some. A little tarnish on that gold. Ulfric," Hrolfdir said, straightening as they walked out to the main room of Frostfruit Inn. He'd been waiting on something to motivate the man for weeks. Markarth was suffering, and Hrolfdir needed resolution. And action. "Have you made your decision?"

"It's just…not something to be taken lightly. Retaking Markarth from Reachmen…my men already suffered loss during the Great War. I don't want to put them through that again." Ulfric turned, walking backward as he made a sweeping gesture with one leather-clad palm. "Unless I know we can win."

"You!" Ulfric shouted, shoving his Altmer visitor against the stable wall. He lowered his voice as a horse nickered in a nearby stall. "How could you come here? Remember those you and your father slaughtered? Their families are here. Their friends. How dare you? Haven't you done enough?"

"You don't need protection from me, Ulfric. Nor does anyone here. But I can help. I finally escaped my father," Elenwen said, choking on her words and reaching back to massage her aching skull. Ulfric's gloved fingers yanked her braids painfully. "You don't need to fear me, but you need to know –"

Ulfric slammed her once more against the wall, releasing his hold on her hair and backing up. He spat on the ground and swallowed hard, forcing the contents of his stomach to stay down. Elenwen. Gods. Never in his darkest nightmares did he imagine their paths would cross again. "What do I need to know? That you're sorry? That you regret all the things you did? That you only did them because your papa made you? You sang that song already and it didn't move me then, either."

"No. I know you could never forgive me for what I've done. But," she stammered, flattening herself against the wall, "I have to atone anyway. The gods are watching, and they care even if you don't, and this might be my only chance. Once my father finds out what I've done..."

Ulfric struggled between rage and curiosity. She did look roughed up, to quote Hrolfdir. Bruises on her face, her golden eyes ringed with purple circles, blood on her clothes. As thin as she'd been back then, she was nearly skin and bones now. Curiosity won out, at least for the moment. "So what is it, then?"

Elenwen's shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes, unable to meet Ulfric's. "The Empire has allowed my father to quarter in Solitude, in Castle Dour. Until his embassy is complete."

The Aldmeri Dominion accepted the terms of the so-called treaty, the White Gold Concordat, as had the Empire. Neither side claiming victory or nursing defeat. But if what Elenwen said was true… "The Dominion is occupying Skyrim? Is this what you're telling me? The Empire is allowing this?"

"They are. They don't trust the jarls, I heard him say. Because of Talos. I mean, Tiber Septim," she said, her back stiffening as he glared her down. "Old habits die hard, Ulfric. I am who I am."

Ulfric nodded, pacing a little before her. He'd given up on the gods years ago, even if his countrymen remained faithful. How could he expect anyone else, much less an Altmer, to feel what he couldn't? "What else?"

"Legions," Elenwen whispered, wringing her hands in the fabric of her ruined gold gown, crusted blood flaking off and dotting the bare ground under their feet. "Titus Mede has authorized two legions to occupy Skyrim as well."

"The Empire and the Thalmor are occupying Skyrim together?" Ulfric stopped pacing and walked toward her again. "As allies?"

"That's what it looks like."

"I can't believe it. You have to be lying," Ulfric said, advancing closer. He narrowed his eyes at her visible shudder. "They signed that gods-damned treaty. Why sign if they're just going to-"

"What else do you expect?" Elenwen blurted out, and shrank back under Ulfric's stony gaze. "H-Hammerfell fought for them during the war, and they abandoned them. Completely disavowed. And you. They left you to…to me. And my father."

Ulfric stood silent, reflecting on the glut of emotions swirling in his gut. He wasn't truly surprised, he realized after a moment. What Elenwen told him was unpleasant to hear, but not all that shocking. Had he expected something like this from the Empire? Maybe. He'd verify the truth of her words, and if she lied again, she'd pay. "How did you get away?"

"While father was cozying up to the general in Falkreath, I ran," she said, holding her arm out to display a nasty cut on her bicep. "I cut myself to leave a false trail, right to a cave in the north. Turns out, there were Hagravens there. If my father followed my trail, no doubt he'd believe me dead. And Hagravens…do things to their kills, so…"

"Smart," Ulfric grunted, begrudgingly. Hagravens left few remains. He hooked his thumbs in the pockets of his black tunic and furrowed his brow. "Where do you go from here?"

Elenwen clamped her lips together, and stared at the ground. Then she chuckled. "I have nowhere to go. I disavowed my people and my family. Maybe some temple –"

"You'll stay with me. As my prisoner," he said quickly, "as much as I was yours. You can't possibly think I'd let you out of my sight." Ulfric watched her. Resist. I dare you, fight me. Please.

She nodded, her eyes flicking over his shoulders as they fell, just slightly, at her meek assent. "I understand. Check out my story. You'll see. I'm telling the truth."

Ulfric walked past the small room in which he'd quartered Elenwen and stopped, doubling back to the guard he'd assigned to her detail. "How long has that been going on?" A loud wail sounded from within, and Ulfric jerked a thumb toward the wooden door.

"All night."

Ulfric grunted and motioned to the guard. "You're dismissed for now. Go get something to eat." He waited until the guard disappeared down the hall before opening the door. "A conscience is a hard mistress to serve." He watched as Elenwen's back straightened in her bed. She didn't turn over to face him.

"It is. I've hated my father for years. So many years. But being among those who hate me is…it's hard," she said, and sniffed. "I didn't realize…it's like I've been slapped all day. The looks…"

"Can you blame them? We were embroiled in a war that claimed most of their friends and kin. Because of you."

"I can't blame them, of course, but…I did what I did because I wanted to stay alive. Remember when I told you I wasn't as noble as you? That I couldn't make the decision you would make, to let yourself die for someone else?"

Ulfric nodded, and rolled his eyes. She couldn't see him with her head buried in her pillow. "Yeah."

"I don't know who I am anymore. What am I even doing here?" She pushed up on her elbows and turned to him then, her red velvet nightgown plunging, showing an expanse of smooth, golden skin and a glimpse of rounded breasts.

Where'd she acquire such a get-up? He was far too polite to ask. Elenwen hid her face in her hands.

"Good night," Ulfric said, and shut the door. He wasn't sure what Elenwen wanted from him. Sympathy? Affirmation? Well, he couldn't give it, he snarled to himself, and walked out to the small table between their quarters.

Was he doing the right thing, keeping Elenwen here? Unbidden and unwanted, memories flooded his thoughts as he let his mind wander.

Ulfric limped through an underground passageway, slick with water and moss and slime. Trying to keep up with the lithe Altmer in front of him was a punishing task. Even after Elenwen's healing, mangled feet connected to crooked legs didn't make for much of a stride. Finally, they reached an ancient wooden trapdoor. He stopped at the ladder and looked around with narrowed eyes, half expecting Lorcan to show up and dash his hopes once again.

Although, what hope did he have? He'd betrayed the Legion, the Empire. He'd not been able to protect his friends and brothers. What life did he have to go back to? Would his father even take him in? Would everyone know what he'd done? Ulfric wasn't sure he could live with himself, in any case. He would know, even if no one else did.

"My father isn't coming, if that's what you're wondering. This isn't a trap."

Ulfric frowned. "I don't have a choice at this point. I have to take the leap," he said, accepting the pouch of food and potions she held out. He knew what Elenwen was. He couldn't believe anything she said, even if her father did treat her like a sub-human. Definitely lower than mer. A spark of memory kindled in his mind. "So what did you do?"

"Do?" She blinked.

"To disappoint your father," he said, and his eyes widened at her obvious distress. She'd stumbled back a step and her face reddened from neck to hairline. "He said something about it weeks ago. Before he…before I…" Ulfric swallowed. Before I betrayed my country, my emperor and everyone I love.

Ulfric hadn't seen Lorcan since the day the demented interrogator had pranced into his cell, crowing that the Imperial City had fallen, that they'd captured it just a few days after he'd broken. "And why are you helping me anyway?"

"I told you already. My father was going to kill you, and-"

"Yes, but why do you care? Yeah, you hate your father, but you don't have any reason to want me alive."

"No," she said. "No I don't." She waited, but Ulfric crossed his hands over his chest and stared her down.

"Fine, and then you'll leave? I'd hate for this to be for naught. It's going to be hard enough convincing him you finally managed to Shout me down. At least he'll blame himself for letting you have so much rest and isolation," she said and paused, shivering.

"I was sent to Anvil. Second largest military presence after the Imperial City. Plus the Mages' Guild there was second to none, and very involved in the fighting. And…the Fighters' Guild," she said, staring at the ground. Ulfric could swear there were tears in her eyes, but it might have been the gold shimmer. Damn Altmer, they were too hard to read.

"There was…someone. I was the enemy, but he didn't know that. Thought I was an innocent female caught up in the chase. I…developed feelings for him, and my father found out. I'm not going into it further."

"What, wrong pedigree for daddy? Not shiny enough?"

She stared at him. "You could say that. He wasn't Altmer. Wasn't even mer."

Ulfric stumbled and huffed, shifting his weight from leg to leg. "You were involved with…you had feelings for a human? Wait, was he a human? Khajit? Argonian?"

"Imperial, if you must know. So that's how I disappointed him. His own daughter, a blood traitor. And it's not like we were wed, although I…"

Her face softened, and a faraway look crossed her eyes for a moment. But it disappeared just as quickly, and she frowned and pointed at the trapdoor. "Go. I'm already regretting this."

The candlelight on Ulfric's table flickered, its airy whooshing loud in the dark inn. Elenwen's crying had silenced, and the guard hadn't returned from his break. Ulfric leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes.

Before he slipped away into sleep, an odd thought crossed his mind – Elenwen never explained why she'd helped him escape. He wondered why, for a moment or two, but eventually the exhausting day caught up to him, and he gave in, once more, to the swirling darkness of his dreams.

"You were right."

Elenwen whirled around on her bed, hastily pushing something under her pillow, behind her back. "What?"

"What are you doing?" Ulfric tried to peer around her, to get a look at her hands.

"Nothing," she stammered, patting the pillow and bedcovers, as though performing an ordinary daily chore. "You just startled me."

"Don't try that on with me, Elenwen," Ulfric said, and stepped past the threshold. She'd hidden something under her pillow. What was it, a letter from her father? Proof she was up to her old tricks? "I'll ask you one more time. What are you doing?"

She sighed heavily and handed Ulfric a crumpled sheet of parchment. Ulfric scanned it quickly, a puzzled expression wrinkling his face. "What in Oblivion is this? It reads like your eulogy."

"I've been here two weeks. You or that guard watches my every step. I get death threats, and I'm afraid you're never going to believe me," she said, her hand moving back under her pillow. "Believe that I'm on your side."

"You think that pushing me to retake Markarth, to fight in the Reach…you think that's being on my side? How's that?" Ulfric huffed. Elenwen had been vocal about the plight of Markarth over the past week. Hrolfdir had even taken to using her name when addressing her instead of his usual barked 'Thalmor!' Ulfric had no idea why Elenwen cared about a Nord city, but he couldn't shake the feeling that she was up to no good.

"You're the only one who can do it. Everyone else is busy toadying to the Empire. You could be king of Skyrim. You could-"

"Wait," Ulfric interrupted, something she'd said just registering. "What death threats?"

"How do you think I was going to accomplish what you just read in that charming missive of farewell? Some concerned citizen sent me a bouquet to go along with his prose," she said, handing him a bunch of plants.

"Deathbell and nightshade? You were going to eat these?" Ulfric threw them down, advancing. A guard outside stepped to the open doorway, alarmed by Ulfric's raised voice. Ulfric waved his hand and nodded, and the guard sat back down.

"Well," Elenwen said, her face pale except for a bright red splotch on each cheek, "what else am I supposed to do?"

"You said you want to help. So help. Killing yourself seems the easy way out."

"You can't protect me, Ulfric," she said, her tearful eyes narrowing at his slumping shoulders. "I was hoping my death and that missive would inspire you. You could retake the Reach and become everything that I, the Dominion, the Empire... everything we all tried to take from you."

"Well, that wouldn't have done it," Ulfric said, whistling softly under his breath. He didn't remember Elenwen being quite so dramatic. "And as I was trying to explain before I walked in on this…this farce, you were right. My spies from Solitude confirm justiciar presence at Dour. Along with Imperial troops, far more than necessary to garrison the emperor's vacant dwelling."

She looked up at him, her golden eyes wide with fear. "They saw my father? You- you believe me?" She jumped up from the bed and threw herself into his arms, pressing her breasts against his chest. "Thank you, Ulfric. Thank you for telling me. I know it means little to you now, but I really am on your side."

Ulfric pulled back, his heart pounding. Racing in his chest. What in Oblivion was wrong with him? Elenwen was a damned Thalmor. She'd hurt him. Torn his friends and brothers to shreds. He couldn't be reacting to her as a woman. But… "That remains to be seen. And yes, I can protect you. Whoever sent those plants will be dealt with."

"This just came." Ulfric held a slip of parchment over Hrolfdir's plate. The increasingly bitter jarl was deep into his third breakfast. Ulfric hadn't been able to count that morning's mugs of mead. "Did the Reachmen allow you to leave Markarth peacefully last year? Or did you leave because they threatened to kill you?"

"They threatened a lot of things. Kept my son to ensure my good behavior," Hrolfdir said, his lips curling under his moustaches. He reached for the parchment with a wavering hand. "Better to fight another day, we thought, and somehow we could get Igmund out of there. But we were-"

"This isn't a time for hindsight or regret," Ulfric said, placing the parchment firmly in Hrolfdir's grip. It'll end up in his soup otherwise. "If this is accurate, Madanach is killing Nords involved in an attempt to take back the city. Hundreds of them."

Hrolfdir took a minute to read the shaky penmanship. "They're killing citizens of Markarth? We have to go now, Ulfric. If the people are trying to fight back, there might be a chance for us. And you're the only one who can help. The other jarls are too busy trying to get their holds back in shape. They have no soldiers to spare."

"I haven't been gathering followers over the past year to throw them against Reachmen. Against witches. I want to fight for Skyrim. For an independent Skryim. Against the Empire and the Dominion."

"Without the riches of the Reach, Ulfric, that will never come to pass," Hrolfdir said, his words convincing even as his drunken manner and accompanying belch were not. "And I swear to you, if that day comes, I will be at your side."

"And you'll allow Nords to be Nords? To worship as we please? Despite the treaty?"

Hrolfdir nodded. He knew Ulfric wasn't a religious man, but his troops and followers? They would disperse right quick if they thought they weren't fighting for every bit of their freedom. And what would it hurt? Would the Empire even know? "You get my city back, I will be in your debt."

Ulfric rose from the table and stalked across the main room of the inn, knocking on Elenwen's door. He stormed in, the Altmer's face a mask of surprise at his obvious unease.

"Madanach's killing Nords in the Reach. There's been an uprising."

"Are you going?"

"I'm still undecided," Ulfric said, shaking his head as he leaned against a wooden dresser. "I'm curious about why the Empire hasn't come yet. Or Istlod. The Reach has been under Madanach's rule for over a year now. Why would he sit in his palace and let witches chip away at his country? Kill his citizens?"

Elenwen sat gracefully down on her bed, her Nord-style blue tunic a little large on her still-too-slight frame. "If my father has anything to do with it, he's keeping them away."

"Why?" Ulfric knew why. He understood things hadn't been right in Skyrim for a long, long time. But he needed to hear someone else say it aloud. Even someone like Elenwen.

"Why not? Lorcan and the Dominion can control a divided Skyrim. A province under a weak king who won't lift a finger to aid his holds, his people. Why would my father work to change that? Now, if a strong ruler came to power," Elenwen said, standing up and walking closer to Ulfric, her golden eyes alight with something Ulfric couldn't quite comprehend, "one who held the loyalty of his subjects? A man who loved Skyrim and held the best interests of the people in his heart, rather than power and riches? Well…you'd see Lorcan move quickly."

Ulfric backed up to stand in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest. He only wanted to fight for a united and free Skyrim – his plan wasn't to rule. But if Istlod wasn't coming, if the Dominion kept him and the Empire away…what else could be done?

Elenwen looked up from her pillow as the brazen door to her chamber (her tiny chamber, she couldn't help but note. More like a storage closet.) opened and a huge shadow filled the doorway. She shielded her eyes from his lantern's light. "Ulfric? What-"

"So, you were right," Ulfric said, taking a long sip from the jug of wine he carried in his other hand. He didn't know why he was seeking solace in drink. He'd won, hadn't he? The Reach was free. Talos's temple reconsecrated. He'd just witnessed Madanach and his witches executed after weeks of Hrolfdir's hemming and hawing. The jarl still felt insecure on his throne and hadn't wanted to execute valuable prisoners, but Ulfric wasn't about to let enemies of Skyrim live.

He watched Elenwen sit up in bed and push her hair back. Was she his enemy, after all this time? The past few weeks had been uncomfortable. Awkward, even. Elenwen's newly-found smile had transformed her face, and Ulfric could barely find the woman who'd abused him in her laughing, joyful eyes. "About the Empire, the Dominion, Markarth…everything. What else are you right about?"

"Ah, what do you mean?"

"Oh, don't play coy with me now," he said, gesturing to the plunging neckline of her purple nightgown. Where did she keep coming up with these fetching garments? "It doesn't become you. You've been throwing yourself at me for weeks. Why? What's your game plan?"

Elenwen dropped her coy smile and leaned back against the bronze headboard. "You're right. It doesn't become me. But I have no game plan. This is no game. You-"

"The Dominion's perfect jewel harbors tender feelings for the filthy Nord? No better than beasts, you and your father called us, not so long ago. What changed?"

"Nothing changed. At least not you. You are…as you ever were. I, on the other hand-"

"Your heart softened?" Ulfric drank a little more. He should stop. But he wouldn't. How else would he find the courage to say what had been burning a hole in his heart longer than he'd like to admit? "I'm no gallant Imperial, eager to save the innocent maiden fair, Elenwen. I know who you are. What you are." What was he doing in her chamber, then?

"Stop," she said, wincing and sitting back up, her legs crossed underneath the red blanket. "I understand your hesitation, but at least listen, and stop taunting me with my own confession. This is difficult enough under your glare, your obvious mistrust and hatred. But you…I wasn't lying, Ulfric, when called you noble. Your decisions…noble, your heart pure. You sacrificed the safety of a nation to save a child – an Altmer child – from seeing her Altmer mother brutalized and killed. That's something I've never forgotten."

Ulfric's stomach lurched, and he set his lantern down on a table and closed the door. Elenwen might be the only person in Skyrim who'd see that act as noble. Gods, when everyone finds out…

He forced himself to look into her eyes. "Maybe you can convince me you're telling the truth."

Elenwen rose, and unlaced her gown, slowly, her fingers shaking as the purple silk fell open, exposing inch by lovely inch of smooth, golden skin. Months of peaceful sleep and adequate food had done wonders. Her cheeks glowed with a berries-and-cream blush, her breasts and hips curved lush and soft and rounded.

Ulfric's eyes widened, and he drained the last dregs and let the jug fall to the ground. He tried to fight himself, clenching his jaw against his weakening resolve, but it was no use.

He tumbled her back down to the bed, kissing her lips and neck with an abandon that surprised even him. His heart raced, and he ripped his gloves off, slipping his scarred hands under her gown. Her soft skin caught on his fingers. Claws, more like. He pushed up, his eyes hardening, just a little.

Women had thrown themselves at Ulfric over the past two years. Opportunities to touch soft skin and kiss tender lips hadn't been scarce. But those women hadn't known why leather covered every inch of his skin, even his hands. Especially his hands, he thought, curling one knotted fist in front of his face.

Elenwen knew. She…she made me this way.

His head swam amid drink and sorrow, and Elenwen pulled him down once more, grinding her hips against his.

Ulfric felt her soft neck under his fingers, and watched Elenwen's lips part in a crooked smile. Need pooled in his belly as she snaked a hand down to his leggings, her fingers slipping under the waistband.

A jagged bolt of fear shot through his spine and he pulled himself back. Sweet Talos, what was he thinking? He was still a man, desperate for companionship, warmth, even love. But sex? Impossible. He knew. Ulfric stared down at the woman still writhing on her sheets, one breast artfully peeking out from her purple gown. She knew it, too. She made me this way.

"What do you think's going to happen here, witch?" He backhanded her, his head spinning as a drop of blood appeared on her lip. Her father hit her like that. No, don't think about it. Don't…

"Ulfric?" Elenwen's voice broke, and she raised a hand to her cheek. "Why?"

"Why? You were there," Ulfric snarled, his teeth bared. The last shred of compassion fled his seething brain, replaced by boiling, white hot anger. Good. "You and your father. You know very well what you did to me. How did you think this was going to end? Did you fucking forget?" He tugged at the waist of his leggings, pulling them down an inch, the lantern light shining on silvery scars covering his abdomen. "Do you want to see it again? Revel in your handiwork?"

Elenwen's eyes widened, and she sat up, the drop of blood on her lip running down her chin. "I did. I did forget. Oh gods, Ulfric. I'm-"

"Sorry? You're sorry?" He backhanded her again, grinning as his fingernail caught smooth skin below her cheekbone. A small, red line appeared, and the blood spurred Ulfric on. Years of anger, fear, and loneliness erupted, and he pulled her up by the neck with one hand and slammed her against the brazen door, his other hand twisting in her hair. "You're not sorry yet. But…"

Elenwen struggled in his grip for a minute, then stilled. She slumped.

Ulfric relaxed his hold for a second, and Elenwen took advantage of his hesitation and punched him in the stomach. A bolt of lightning streamed from her fingers. It grazed Ulfric's arm as she ran. He fell, hitting his head on the table as he went down.

A flash of purple against the brazen door was all he remembered when he awoke the next morning to the worst hangover of his life, the shame of what he'd done like a knife in his gut. Ulfric asked around Markarth, but no one remembered seeing Elenwen flee, and after a week or two, she was forgotten by everyone but him.

"I'm sorry Ulfric," Hrolfdir said. His torch cast shadows across the brazen doors of Understone Keep's dungeon. "I truly am. But I had no choice."

Ulfric looked up, not bothering to shield his eyes. The Empire had come last week to enforce the White Gold Concordat. Word had gotten out, the general shouted during his demand for entry into the city, that Talos worship had been permitted.

Ulfric huffed, his breath frosty in the chill cell. Markarth and The Reach under control of witches didn't faze Istlod one bit, but worshipping the hero god of the Nords? Insulting the Dominion's delicate sensibilities? Ulfric swore, and grinned at Hrolfdir's flinch. "I'm sick and tired of hearing that from people who don't mean it."

"I do mean it. But I couldn't risk my son and the citizens of the Reach. Not again. I had to open the doors."

Ulfric bowed his head, exhaustion and shame edging out his anger. He'd gotten word yesterday that his own father had died. Hoag had been healthy, in his prime – had Ulfric's actions been his undoing? And Ulfric still had no idea what had become of Elenwen after he'd assaulted her, and no idea how long he'd be stuck in this cage.

Skyrim had needed help, and Ulfric thought he'd been in the right. All he wanted to do was free Skyrim's people, his people. But he'd been thwarted at every turn. "What you mean is that you have your city back, and no intention of losing it again. If all you have to offer is platitudes, you can go, Hrolfdir. I'm in no need of such things."

The jarl nodded slowly and took his torch from the sconce. Ulfric braced himself for the darkness, but Hrolfdir paused with his back to the cells, the torchlight dancing in his hand.

Should he tell Ulfric about the woman? Their relationship had seemed almost cozy in the end. Maybe he'd want to know, but on the other hand… Hrolfdir sighed and cleared his throat. "The Altmer woman, Elenwen? The one who disappeared after we retook the city?"

Ulfric's stomach leaped. Had she been found? Was she all right? He endeavored to keep his voice steady. "What about her?" More than two months had passed since she'd disappeared. Why was Hrolfdir only mentioning her now?

"She's…she's here, Ulfric. With the Dominion watchdogs. And her father, Lorcan. She was right. He's First Emissary. The embassy is complete, and she's going to be stationed here as his representative. Every hold city gets one," Hrolfdir said, bitterly. "I haven't spoken to her, but I'm surprised she's back with her father after how he treated her. Do you think-"

"Just go," Ulfric said, his fingers clenching around the bars of his cell. Hrolfdir was an idiot. But I am, too. He felt a Shout burning in the back of his throat, but it died as mortification and guilt racked his body. If Lorcan were in Markarth, it was only a matter of time before he told everyone what had happened, that Ulfric was responsible for the sack of the Imperial City.

And it was his own fault. He drove Elenwen back to her father. Would the Empire and the Dominion have noticed Markarth if he hadn't? If he'd only controlled himself? No, he knew the answer to that question. And even as he knew it, he stilled, his blood churning through his veins. He deserved everything that happened to him. But Skyrim didn't. Skyrim still deserved to be free. "Please. Just go."

Ulfric leaned his head against the bars. All this work just to end up back in a cage, his beloved country whittled down to a glorified territory overnight. He thought back to Elenwen, that day she'd healed him, before her father had broken him and his brothers beyond repair. She'd looked at him, stared through him, her eyes hollow and haunted even then. He'd never forgotten her words, and now, years later, he thought he finally understood them.

Sometimes pain is just the beginning.