Chapter 39: Shades of Blue
I had never been to Windhelm. In fact, apart from a few family visits to Wayrest and the Imperial City, I hadn't travelled much at all, and never without my parents. I preferred to stay close to home with my people, school and music. Solitude provided everything I wanted and needed by way of society and engagement, and I had been contented to remain there in knowing that once I graduated, I would tour and be inspired by Skyrim with my then accomplished and qualified eyes.
Now I was approaching Windhelm as though it was a stage to perform on, I felt blinded by the dazzling unknowns laid out before me. I wished that I had travelled Skyrim more when the opportunities had presented themselves.
"Windhelm is not difficult to negotiate, so long as we stay clear of the residential areas," Hadvar murmured, when I told him I had never been. "They can be a little labyrinthian," he finished with a sideways smile.
We had adopted the same formation as the previous day, with Hadvar drawing his horse forward to ride beside mine again, as we were yet to encounter anybody else on the northern roads.
I sent Hadvar a small, uncertain smile in return, attempting to suppress the unease I felt when I looked upon his beloved form in that detestable blue armour. He must have felt much the same way about how I was dressed.
A dark curl swung into my line of sight, and I shook my hair out of my eyes for the millionth time, resisting the urge to braid it. It was going to be a nightmare to untangle when this was over.
"No detours once we're in the city, then," I commented quietly. "How do I get to the Palace of the Kings?"
"We," Hadvar tilted his head and raised his eyebrows pointedly, "go through the main gate, around Candlehearth Hall – that's one of the taverns – and then...keep going straight," he shrugged. "You'll see the palace the moment we are beyond the inn."
"It's that close to the gates?" I frowned. Jarls traditionally built their residences at the point furthest from the entryway, I assumed for defensive purposes.
Hadvar shook his head, considering. "No, but it's tall, and the stairs and archways behind the inn all lead directly to it."
"Oh," I pondered. It sounded easy. So why did I still feel so worried about my lack of Windhelm knowledge? To play Giselle (playing me), I knew that I would simply need to stride purposefully through Windhelm as though I had spent a significant amount of time there and knew exactly where I was going – entourage or not. Nobody was going to stop and ask me for directions, or quiz me on how much a loaf of bread cost at the marketplace.
"Do you...?" Hadvar stopped short. I glanced to him; he was staring at his reigns, shaking his head and smirking. "Sorry, I was about to ask your strategy," he all but laughed at himself.
"Ah!" smiling in light of his teasing manner, I added, "Improvisation, remember?"
"I remember," he chuckled, his eyes still turned down. "An approach that would send the Legion into a panic."
"I like to seize opportunities, as they occur," I defended merrily. Recovering from my amusement, but retaining my smile – Hadvar never failed to foster a bright moment when I needed it – I asked, "Does it bother you so?"
"Not at all," he gave me a supportive look. "I trust your abilities. Your serenade last night was evidence of your skills in performing. But I am...used to operating within the Legion's way of doing everything," he raised his eyebrows and paused. "I have forgotten what it is to be...spontaneous," he decided, sending me a soft smile. "It's exciting. You're exciting," he added quietly.
I turned away to try and mask my goofy grin as a flush stole its way onto my face. "Um, thank you. I think?" I laughed.
Before we could continue, Vilkas called back about an approaching rider. Still smiling at one another, Hadvar and I fell back into line.
Once we had passed the rider – a Windhelm guard, alone and patrolling on horseback who gave us a nod as he passed – Vilkas commanded that we ride faster, which made talking to Hadvar impossible for a time.
The further north we rode, the rockier and more frozen everything became, but the horses coped well. I had anticipated that there would be more snow, and there was plenty piled up beside the roads, but I hadn't expected the sheer ruggedness of the mountains that we were traversing. It seemed as though we climbed forever as the morning progressed. My knowledge of Windhelm's geography, from books mostly, told me that we would have to descend soon, unless it was further away than I thought. Windhelm had a port, after all, and ships couldn't sail up and down a mountainside.
While I was reluctant to think over what precise words I would say to Ulfric Stormcloak, for doing so might trap me should he not respond in a way that I had anticipated, my mind naturally swam with thoughts of what lay ahead. Though I knew that there would be little possibility in learning much of it, I ached to understand how my sister had not only come to join the Stormcloaks, but also risen through the ranks to become one of Ulfric's Commanders.
It was this thought that accompanied me while my party and I silently rode on. Giselle was a nineteen-year-old student of the College of Winterhold, of both Breton and Imperial ancestry, for Shor's sake! It made no sense that Ulfric Stormcloak, who was known to deplore any who weren't Nord, had come to rely on her as a member of his army's upper-hierarchy, a position that would require a level of understanding and trust between one another. Perhaps she had been elevated begrudgingly when it had become known that I was Dragonborn, I theorised, so they could take advantage of the status? But then, why were the Stormcloaks afraid of her? And I had heard her myself, issuing orders as she had searched for me at the Nightgate inn. She had sounded like a woman very much in control and used to having her commands carried out.
What had she done?
No matter how I chewed over the facts, I could make little sense of them. There was something bigger, something vital to a conceivable understanding missing from my limited store of knowledge, and I had to accept that I would not discover any great truths to fill the gaps on this journey.
When we crested a particularly steep section of mountain road, Vilkas called for our party to stop. Shaking my hair out of my face as it was swept forward from the change in pace, I glanced to him expectantly as our queue halted.
"What is it?" I asked, when nobody spoke.
Vilkas wordlessly glanced to me, his eyebrows raised, and then angled his head toward something beyond us.
I followed the direction of his nod, and gasped.
Below us, as grim and grey as the expanses of exposed rock around us too steep for snow to cling on, was a sprawling, walled city.
"Windhelm," Lydia announced disdainfully.
It was at least as large as Solitude; perhaps larger, and tall, but the two cities could not have been more different. While Solitude was often windswept, it embodied a beauty and gentility that Windhelm seemed to bear none of.
Windhelm, in a word, was a fortress. A fitting seat for a warlord. The kind of city that one would step into and disappear, and none who heard of it would be surprised.
"Are you ready to do this?" Vilkas asked me.
Closing my mouth, I nodded. For my shield-brothers' sakes, I clamped down on my dread.
Thane of Whiterun. Dragonborn. I reminded myself swiftly, in much the same way that I had, in a previous life, convinced myself that I was an artist who deserved to perform for the aristocracy.
In the corner of my eye, I could see that Vilkas was still watching me warily. For emphasis, I nodded again. "I'm ready."
"Good," my shield-brother murmured. "After you, Commander."
"We need to be in and out of Windhelm as quickly as possible," Hadvar spoke up soberly, before anyone had shifted.
All eyes turned to him. He'd stopped his mare next to mine when we had crested the ridge, but he was addressing the others; his eyes hard.
"If you notice any hint of suspicion -"
"We'll know about it, well in advance," Vilkas supplied smoothly. "Farkas and I can take them out – discreetly," he added with a dangerous half-smirk.
Hadvar accepted this with a serious nod, but proceeded. "I don't doubt it, but still. We don't want to draw attention toward Celeste," he glanced sideways to me; stern and efficient. "If there is trouble – Lydia, you disappear our girl while the rest of us lead the threat away. If we are split up, for any reason," he continued, "we regroup on the upper level of Candlehearth Hall, and try make for the Palace again within the hour. We don't leave anyone behind, and we don't leave Windhelm until this is done," Hadvar added, narrowing his eyes as he looked down upon the city.
"Nobody is going to suspect that I am not my sister," I eased, sensing that he was edgier than he was letting on, though perhaps only because I didn't have a solid plan. "Trust me. I can do this," I told him confidently.
Hadvar gave me an unreadably flat, sideways look. "We know you can."
–
As the Windhelm Guard had no reason to believe that the twin of one of their Commanders would attempt to walk into Windhelm dressed as her, we had no trouble entering the city of grey before midday.
From the moment we had approached the stables outside of the gates I had fallen into my role; becoming silent, but snotty, privileged, and certain of the knowledge that I was above everybody else. Even if Giselle was pretending to be me in name, she would never pick up a lute and make friends with the local mercenaries. My sister was no performer; she would never risk trying to emulate my personality or traits, for then it would have to be maintained. It would have incensed her enough to have to take on my first name, as it was.
My hair was suitably wild, as Vilkas had intended. I resisted every urge within me to push it back; to tame the snaking curls flowing freely around me like a shadowy, tangled mane. Rather than continue to be distracted by it, I insisted that I use it. I did not feel like myself at all with my hair like this, and dressed in the armour of a Stormcloak.
Hadvar had been accurate in his description of our route. Once I strode around the fire pits and inn just within the gates, my entourage flanking me, I could see the Palace of the Kings.
It was tall. More fire pits lined each staircase leading up to the immense structure, and we strode on, emanating our own self-importance. While I was certain that our approach attracted the attention of those we passed, we received no hails.
As we neared, I tried desperately to suppress the feeling that I was walking into a trap – that I would be taken, despite my protectors, and despite the message I bore from one whom Stormcloak could not risk offending. This might be the last time I saw the sky. The stacked wings of the palace loomed over me, threatening to crush my spirit as I glanced up, determined to commit the glimpses of puffy white and shades of blue above me to memory.
When I had drank in the skies and turned forward again, movement caught my eye; blue-clad guards either side of the double-doors leading into the palace. They had seen me, and had stood to attention.
I narrowed my eyes in Giselle's trademark manner. Jarl Balgruuf's axe bounced heavily against my leg as I strode to the door. It was too late to turn back.
"Commander Passero – you're back!" the nearest guard saluted, not making eye contact as he did.
I grimaced and ignored his welcome. "Let me through," I ordered, trying to sound bored.
Within, every fibre of my being was on edge, and buzzing.
"At once," the same guard darted forward, levering the door handle and pushing inward.
The words thank you were on the tip of my tongue, and I bit it to stop myself as I continued forward.
"Whoa, there," the other guard spoke up.
I turned back from within the door arch, crossing my brows impatiently.
He wasn't looking at me, but my followers.
No, my heart hammered. They can't have been recognised.
"You know the rules," the guard who had stopped them drawled. "Infantry don't enter the palace unless they are summoned, no matter who they approach with," he raised an eyebrow at Lydia, who had opened her mouth during his reminder.
Lydia closed her mouth, glancing to me. Over her shoulder, Hadvar was maintaining a flat expression; his eyes turned away from mine swiftly as I met them. Both Vilkas and Farkas were scowling at the guard, but didn't speak.
Fearing that they would start something, or that their wolves might make them start something, I furrowed my brows even more and stepped back outside.
"Return to your posts," I prompted them sharply, in support of the guard who had pulled them up. I would have to go on alone.
Lydia bowed her head at once. "As you wish, Commander," she intoned respectfully.
The men bowed their heads as well, then followed Lydia back down the stairs we had just climbed. The light from the multiple fire pits, brighter than the weakened winter sun behind the clouds, cast their shadows in a multitude of directions as they marched away from me.
Jarl Balgruuf would be furious, was my first thought as I turned and continued on my own, lone path into the Palace of the Kings.
It was dim inside. My eyes adjusted, burning briefly as my pupils dilated. I maintained my confident stride, trying desperately not to think about whether I had just said good bye to my friends forever.
They will be at Candlehearth Hall, I tried to assure myself. Deliver the message, receive his answer, go to the inn.
"Dispose of what's left of the body. We can't have them finding her."
The memory of Ulfric's words at the border camp surfaced at the wrong time. To distract from whatever my fate might be – I was committed to completing this now – I took in what details I dared of the entry hall.
Torches lined the carved stone walls and chandeliers made of iron and chain hung in a line above the feasting table, though most were extinguished. At the far end of the long table in the centre of the hall were figures – all large and looming, most dressed in Stormcloak armour, clustered around several men wearing furs. Beyond the assembly was a well-lit throne on a raised platform; the place where Ulfric undoubtedly liked to sit while he fancied himself High King. I didn't allow myself to look up – none who were familiar with a place would bother inspecting the roof – but I had seen enough when I had entered to know that the ceiling was not too high, as grey as the rest of the building, and carved, though not too elaborately. Several doors framed the main hall – all closed but for the one nearest the throne – and the Bear of Eastmarch hung on blue and white banners above each, and at additional intervals between each.
My boots made little noise on the flat carpets that covered the floor either side of the table, and as such, I was able to inspect Ulfric Stormcloak for moments before my appearance captured the attention of the group.
"Damn him – the old bear was right again," Ulfric seemed to curse, clenching his fist around a note in his hand; his voice low and grumbling, like thunder.
"There is still the Reach to think of, my Lord," a man by his side encouraged – the only man, I noted, who wasn't wearing armour but finer furred garments. Undoubtedly a steward, I surmised.
"True enough," Stormcloak stood taller, lifting his eyes to the ceiling. "Put out an order for Gar and Hran's men to join Red-Shoal's garrison. I want their numbers-" he lowered his eyes, and in the process, they landed on me.
Despite the adoption of my role, I halted immediately; staring at him wide-eyed like a deer faltering before a bear to consider which way it might swing in order to flee in the opposite direction.
"You're dismissed," Stormcloak uttered in an low voice, palming the note in his fist to the man by his side without even looking at him.
"But – sir-!" one of the assembly cried.
"I said out!" Ulfric boomed.
I startled slightly at his ferocity and kicked myself into action to hide it, recommencing my stride toward the towering Jarl as the others, some muttering to one another and casting me all manner of narrow-eyed glares, filed out.
I didn't see where they went – though I heard doors open and close as I came to a halt several paces before the man who I had vowed to kill, some day in our futures.
His icy-blue eyes seemed wild and dangerous, and had been fixed on me since he had first sighted me, but the rest of his expression was flat, if not grim.
Reminding myself that despite my personal hatred for this tyrant, he was a Jarl of Skyrim and I was here as Jarl Balgruuf's messenger, not as Stormcloak's nemesis, I dipped my head to him.
"I have-"
"Not yet," he growled in an undertone, cutting me off.
I glanced up from beneath my lashes, wary of raising my head fully before he had given me leave to do so. Once he had, I would know whether he thought me to be myself, or my sister, and I could then determine how to explain how and why I had come before him.
Stormcloak's eyes weren't on me any more, but on a point beyond me. I hazarded a sideways glance and spotted a pair of men – the steward and another wearing what looked like a bear pelt, standing before one of the closed doors in discussion.
Ulfric Stormcloak cursed under his breath. I whipped my head back around, lowering my eyes and practising patience.
"Come on," he said through his teeth, then spun around and charged off.
I glanced up, confused, and saw his armoured form retreating toward the open doorway to the left of the throne.
Frowning, I followed tentatively, reminding myself that I had no choice if I wanted to complete my task. I prayed to the Divines that he wasn't leading me directly to a prison cell.
I stood in the open doorway of the room he had brought me to and glanced around. Small. Empty but for a table in the centre with a large map pinned to it, and a few banners on the wall. War room, my mind supplied.
I yelped pitifully as a meaty fist closed around my wrist and tugged me out of the doorway, and into the room.
Crashing into Ulfric Stormcloak, he covered my mouth with his other hand, then twisted my wrist in his grasp, looming over me. The torch behind me lit up every scar on his face, and his eyes shone with an intense, terrifying zeal.
"What are you playing at?" he hissed at me, throwing my wrist away, but capturing my waist with his arm instead of releasing me. "Do you want to draw the Guard to us? In my own palace?"
My eyes widened and I tried to shrink back from him, realising suddenly what I was seeing in his glare. Hunger.
He reaffirmed his hold on my waist, and as though to confirm my new-found comprehension, Stormcloak laughed, but it was an intimate rumbling chuckle that I both heard and felt as a tremor against my chest. Uncovering my mouth, Stormcloak lowered his nose to mine. "Don't look at me like that, Sel," he mumbled, pressing my body firmly against his. "I've missed you."
Before I could fathom a response, or attempt to flee, Ulfric Stormcloak crushed his lips to mine in an intense, devouring kiss.
Paralysed with fear, in both what was happening and what it meant, it took me a moment to react to the hated wall of muscle trying to inhale my face. I tried to speak – uttering only a muffled squeal – then twisted my hands trapped between us and tried to push him away, to no avail. If anything, my efforts seemed to encourage him; he grunted as he ground himself against me and pushed his tongue between my teeth.
I was going to be sick and if I bit his tongue, I would be as good as dead. I was trapped, but a building, burning rage was swelling within me – this man, this murderer would dare kiss me after all he had done to me, to my family?
The white-hot anger swiftly overtook the fearful shock; and gratefully, it instinctively filled the only weapon I had in my personal armoury that could free me; though the consequences might be terrible.
"FUS!" the shout erupted, pushing Ulfric off me. His eyes were wide for an instant as the force rippled over him, and then he recovered, grasping onto the table before he could skid past it, righting himself as he fixed me with a dark, furious glare.
I met him with eyes blazing and ready to strike if he came near me again. Would my shout draw the attention of Ulfric's people, or guards? I hoped that it would. I wanted his closest men to witness this, witness me, the true Dragonborn, delivering my message from Whiterun.
But the seconds ticked by and while we stared each other down, nobody came. Drawing Balgruuf's axe from my hip, I maintained the Jarl's gaze as I held it before me, in my own defence as much as offering it as I had sworn to do.
Stormcloak stood taller, his glower fixed on me and not the axe. "You're not Sel," he accused flatly.
Sel? I hadn't heard anybody call Giselle 'Sel' since we were five years old.
"I am not," I replied at once; a sudden confidence building within my chest. I had caught the great Ulfric Stormcloak off guard, and now he would listen. The wrath coursing through me was serving to steady me, somehow, despite what had occurred and how afraid he had made me feel only moments ago.
"You are making a habit of appearing before me under the guise of another," he made a move to approach me. "Why are you here now, and wearing my colours?"
I held the axe out pointedly between us in warning. "Don't touch me," I commanded in a low voice. Internally, I winced at the childishness of my choice of words.
Ulfric seemed unfazed by my bravado. "You dare enter my home under this false pretence to threaten me?" he barked a loud, humourless laugh. "Do you even know how to swing an axe, Celeste?"
Bravo, ice-brain, my inner-voice taunted him. Amazed by the absence of true fear within me – for the last time I had stood before him at the border camp, I had trembled thick with it – I fixed him with a doubtful expression.
"This isn't a threat," I all but laughed at him. Stormcloak growled and clenched his fists, but I went on, adopting a more efficient tone. "I've come to you on business, on behalf of my Jarl, Balgruuf of Whiterun."
"Balgruuf sent you?" he bit out.
Satisfied that I had managed to surprise him again, I smirked. "Did I not just say so? After all," I challenged, "I would not dare, as you put it, to enter your city under any other pretence. And I am wearing your colours, sir, as a courtesy to you," I all but spat. "To protect the intricate web of lies you have woven. I am not here today to pageant your supporters or reveal that the Dragonborn has not and never would side with the Stormcloaks, as you have led them to believe."
Stormcloak's eyes burned with a seemingly relentless fury, but finally the Jarl unclenched his fists and flattened his grimace. "What is your message, Thane of Whiterun?" he rumbled. He was trying to sound unaffected, but I could still detect the hint of scorn.
I bit a retort back, reminding myself that I had to keep control of this conversation. "This axe," I glanced down to it, then held it out. "Jarl Balgruuf asked that I deliver it to you."
Ulfric eyed me warily as he stepped closer, holding his hands out to hover over my offering.
"And his words?" the Jarl asked, his eyes shimmering slightly and glued to the axe.
"He asks you to stand down," I voiced, unemotional and unmoving.
Stormcloak's hands stilled. "Stand down?" he thundered; his eyes flashing as he tore his gaze up to stare at me with accusation.
"Correct," I reaffirmed, quickly and quietly, meeting him boldly but ensuring I didn't wear my fury so readily as he did. I didn't like that he was standing so close to me again, either, and I wanted this task, and truthfully this war, to be over. Personal grudges aside, I schooled. Speak for Whiterun, for Skyrim – not yourself, or your parents.
"As your friend," I sighed, lowering the axe a little, as it was too heavy for me to hold up for such a length of time, "Jarl Balgruuf would ask that you end this war; this bloodshed. He would ask that you take his axe and stand with the Jarls again. If you agree to do so, Jarl Balgruuf has sworn that he will stand by you at the moot, when it is called," I explained cooly.
Ulfric lowered his hands to his sides; his fists clenched once more. "So. Galmar was right," he muttered to himself. "Again," he added through his teeth.
Ignoring his interjection, I proceeded. "Will you accept?" I asked. My tone made it sound like a challenge, but Ulfric didn't seem to hear me.
Instead, his shoulders somewhat fell, and in his eyes I caught disappointment. Surprised to see him put off guard at all, let alone in this regard, I took a step back and furrowed my brows, peering at him curiously. "You...believed that Jarl Balgruuf would join you?" I whispered, aghast. "After all you have done?"
Ulfric's icy-blue eyes shot up to pierce mine, and despite hating the man before me, I regretted what I had said. It was clear that he had, and my comment had sounded like a jeer, as a result.
"You know nothing of this war, you traitorous child," he muttered.
He was baiting me, but I wasn't certain as to why. I avoided rising to it and instead sighed again, glancing away to hook Balgruuf's axe back onto my sword belt. There was no point in offering it again. "Well," I shrugged. "There's our answer," I murmured, unimpressed.
I dipped my head, as was expected of me, and made to turn away. "Jarl Stormcloak, I take my leave," I added tightly.
Before I had taken a step – before I had even finished turning, I felt his thick fingers close around my upper arm, and tug.
I whirled back around to face him; my eyes narrowed to slits. I was not here to antagonise him, but I would not be manhandled, no matter who he was. "Unhand me," I demanded through my teeth.
"Take your coward of a Jarl a message, errand girl," he grated, gripping my arm even harder. I steeled myself not to react despite the pain he caused; I had feared him when he had descended on me, because he had surprised me, but I would not fear him again.
"Tell Balgruuf that a new day is dawning," Ulfric narrowed his eyes, "and that the sun rises over Whiterun," he finished menacingly.
I didn't move a muscle. "We will be ready," I replied flatly.
"And, Celeste Passero, know this," he wasn't finished with me, but released my arm with a small shake. "When Whiterun is captured, you and I will talk again."
Smirking at Stormcloak and suppressing every urge to rub at my aching arm, I took a step back. "We shall see."
I meant to turn away then, but more words flew from me before I had realised I would say them. "Should I bother asking why you kissed me when you thought I was Giselle?"
It was Ulfric's turn to smirk now, and his eyes darkened. "Why do you think?" he rumbled.
Breathe, I reminded myself as I yearned to FUS the smug look off his face. Just breathe. Stormcloak hates anybody who isn't Nord. He'd never...he wouldn't. And Giselle wouldn't give herself to such a brute – she has always been so disdainful of...and turned her nose down on...
Taking a few more backward steps toward the door with my eyes on Stormcloak all the while, I shook my head to try and dispel the confusion. I shuddered out a long breath in an attempt to steady myself.
"If you have laid a single hand on my sister-"
"She is her own woman," Ulfric cut me off.
With a jolt, I recalled that Giselle had said those words to me on the day we had gone to the Temple to farewell our parents. The memory of her quiet, oddly wistful disclosure as we had walked beside one another now turned my blood to ice.
Stormcloak wasn't done. "If I have laid hands on your sister," he told me vaguely. "It is because she wanted me to."
"But she's a mage! And you hate Imperials!" I spat out before I could stop and think.
Ulfric Stormcloak laughed; a low, rumbling, terrible laugh that rocked me where I stood; he might as well have used a thu'um on me.
"Our lives might mean nothing to you," I pleaded over the sound of his amusement – why was I pleading? "But – you took our parents – the people who brought us into this world. Why take her too?" I implored, terrified by what I had discovered and begging for it to be a ruse.
"Celeste," Ulfric shook his head, his laughter ebbing as he did. "Sel is right about you," he rumbled thoughtfully, meeting my gaze; the trace of amusement still present and making the icy depths shimmer.
I swallowed down a lump in my throat at his easy, comfortable use of her childhood nickname again. How wrong it sounded when said by him.
"You are a creature of absolutes," Ulfric declared, "where the world exists in black and white. You should go back to that world," he nodded toward the door leading to the main hall. "Go, and remain there, where you are comfortable. Sing songs about how all Nords hate all magic users, and all Imperials reject Talos."
He was still laughing at me, and I narrowed my eyes, despite his words making me feel small and naive. He wanted to belittle me; wanted me to slink out of his palace weakened.
I shook my head as my resolve rose within me, hot and determined. "You're wrong, Ulfric," I said in a low voice. He pursed his lips at my use of his first name, but I continued before he could say anything. "Giselle doesn't know me, and neither do you. We live in the same world, and it is the one where Akatosh chose me to be His Dragonborn. Remember that, next time you look upon my sister. Remember that, next time you talk to your generals, or stand before your armies," I raised my eyebrows to him. "Remember that some of them only follow you because of me."
I spun on my heels and charged from the war room before he could reply. "Because Divines know, I remind myself of that very fact several times a day," I muttered regretfully.
–
I was such a mess of adrenaline as I marched away that I didn't realise I had exited the Palace of the Kings until I felt tiny flakes of snow kissing my cheeks.
Halting, I glanced up, confused and wondering if the snow was real; if I was real. Thick, low snow clouds were aloft.
I huffed at the sight of the closed-in skies; whiteness puffed before me as I breathed.
What just happened?
No. Do not even think on it, I changed my mind, shaking my head and charging on. Get out of Windhelm. Get as far away from Windhelm as you can, before you think on it.
If I stopped and allowed myself to recount what had occurred; what I had learned, I would crumble. I was still in the cold, grey heart of my enemy's fortress. I had to maintain the pretence that I was my sister, if I, and my friends, were to make it out of the city alive.
I strode purposefully to the inn, ignoring the looks cast my way by the townsfolk and officers that I passed. They will be upstairs in Candlehearth Hall, I assured myself. It is where Hadvar said we should meet, if we were split up.
Barely taking notice of anything but a change in temperature and humidity as I entered the inn through its side door, I thundered up the stairs and glanced around the upper common; my eyes wide. An urgency to leave pressed upon me and I felt like a wild, desperate thing as I searched the room.
The music stopped, making me aware that there had been music to start with, but I had failed to notice it until it was absent.
I spied the resident bard; a Dunmer woman dressed in creamy-white with wild hair the colour of flames. Her eyes were fixed on me, startled; her hands poised over the strings of her lute cradled in her lap.
It took me another moment to realise that the inn was silent, and both patrons and staff alike were watching me. No, not watching me – watchful of me, as though I were a snake dropped into a pit of mice and they weren't certain who I would strike at first.
Around the central hearth, a familiar head appeared. Lydia's eyes widened and glanced me up and down when she saw me, but only for a second, and then she was on her feet.
"Break's over, lads," she chorused. "What are our orders, Commander?" she asked as she hastened over; her green eyes full of relief.
I blinked as I nodded. Around a scratchiness in my throat, I did my best to emulate Giselle's snipe again. "We've been reassigned; that is all you need to know. Come, we leave at once," I nodded to her, and the men as they also emerged.
Farkas looked surly yet somehow uncertain at the same time; an expression which made him appear younger. Vilkas wore no expression, though his silvery eyes were glazed with a raw fury. I wondered what they were picking up from me at that moment? My confusion? Fear? Anger? Had the inn been too far for them to sense what had occurred during my interview with Stormcloak?
I met Vilkas' eyes and narrowed my own, ordering in a low voice, "Ensure that we are not followed."
My shield-brother nodded once.
Before I turned to lead them out, for in front of even this audience appearances had to be maintained, I caught sight of Hadvar.
He stepped toward me with no external signs of concern or fondness betrayed by his manner, but I could see through his facade.
His eyes flickered to the axe at my hip. Hadvar seemed just as furious as Vilkas at that moment; just as coiled, and guarded.
Of course he was angry, I reasoned. As the axe was still in my possession, it was as clear as day that Whiterun was going to be attacked.
But I couldn't help feeling as though this fresh knowledge had only added to his anger over something else, and as I led my party from the inn and toward the stables, I had to wonder; what had they done – what had they learned, while we had been separated?
–
We maintained a tense silence as we rode our mounts as fast as we dared along the roads leading south. The afternoon was frigid; the snow had set in, but for once, the cold could not reach me.
I tried to plan ahead, for improvisation had not served me as well as I had hoped today. My duty to Jarl Balgruuf was done; my duty to my shield-brothers would come next. We would spend the night at Mixwater mill, and then split up. I would go north with the twins and Lydia would take the axe back to Whiterun in my stead. Once I had freed Vilkas and Farkas from their wolves, I would make directly for High Hrothgar, despite the impending attack on my new home; on those I loved. It might be months, years even, before I could return to Whiterun, so I needed to put it, and what lay ahead for its people, out of my mind. Others would fight this battle.
Right. So, Lydia to Whiterun, Companions to Ysgramor's tomb, and Hadvar would leave…
I pushed back my combined dismay over leaving both him and Whiterun, and forced myself to be logical. There was more happening here than two young fools in love; we were not at liberty to follow our hearts. Hadvar would go to Solitude to advise General Tullius of what had occurred, so that the Empire might assemble the aide that Jarl Balgruuf would undoubtedly now request of the Imperial Legion.
I mulled over and over this plan as though it were a mantra to sustain my outward calm; a distraction from the discovery that my sister, my twin, was entangled with Ulfric Stormcloak.
–
Nobody spoke until we had tied off the horses and trudged into the worker's cottage.
The moment I stepped into the dark, now cold common room, the door was closed behind me, and Lydia swept me into a fierce hug.
"By the Gods, little one," she sounded strained; her hand rising to my tangled hair to hold me to her. "What did he do to you?"
"Give her some air," Vilkas instructed Lydia gently.
"Give her to me," Hadvar spoke over Vilkas in a rush.
I felt his hand on my shoulder; gentle and tentative, and so unlike Stormcloak's rough grasp that I wanted to weep. Lydia let go as Hadvar turned me, and I gratefully fell against him, burying my face in his chest. Comforted by his closeness at once, I clutched at the front of his armour and shuddered out a focussing breath.
"I have never been so afraid in all my life," Hadvar hissed into my hair. "Why did you go in alone? We could have regrouped – figured out a way to make them-"
"Stop, please," I managed to get a word in, though my voice was wavering and weak. Hadvar held me tighter to him, but said no more; his form trembling with restraint.
I remained in his arms, my eyes closed, listening to the sounds of the cottage. My companions didn't speak, but I could hear all that they did; the snap of twigs; the tap-tap of a knife as it chopped something on the table; the strike of a flint; the crackle of fire; a kettle being filled with water. A symphony that promised refuge and solace, led by the soothing, rhythmic thump-thump of Hadvar's heart.
I breathed deep, calming breaths, steeling myself for the task ahead. They were part of this; our plight was not all about me and they needed to know what I had discovered. All of it.
When I felt able to speak, I sighed into Hadvar's chest, though kept my eyes shut so I would not have to look upon him in Stormcloak armour again. "Whiterun is going to war," I murmured.
He shuffled; his hands slid to my waist, then he leaned back to observe me. I turned up to meet his stormy-grey gaze and the regret I saw there made my heart twist and ache.
"Why do you look at me like that?" I asked quietly; my voice barely a croak.
Hadvar's brow furrowed in confusion and the look was gone. "Like what?"
I reached up to lift the open-faced Stormcloak helm off his head. "As though I have broken your heart," I shuddered, casting the helmet away; I cared not where, and it clanged noisily against the floor beyond us. I thought I heard Farkas curse in alarm.
I implored quietly; "What happened to you all in Windhelm?"
Hadvar's hold on my waist tightened and his eyes seemed brighter. "In due time," he said thickly.
Gods, something did happen to them.
I bit my bottom lip, my eyes pleading. "Are you all right?"
Hadvar loosened his hold and took a step back, motioning toward the hearth. "Come. You are cold," he sighed, flickering me an uncertain glance. "And we have a long night ahead of us."
–
As dispassionately as I could manage, I detailed all that had occurred in Ulfric Stormcloak's war room.
I left nothing untold, though I glossed over the moment Ulfric had forced himself on me. It had been how I had discovered the nature of his relationship with my sister, so while I could not pretend it had never happened, I made sure not to elaborate, for Hadvar's sake as much as my own. While my companions reacted with varying degrees of outrage, and Hadvar stood swiftly and paced closer to the fire when I told them, he returned readily and sat again, grasping my hand and holding it securely for the rest of my report.
"That is the whole of it," I finished, blinking back the tears that had risen over the course of my speech. I had acted rashly, I came to realise, through reliving the moments. Had I been more careful – better prepared even – I might have been able to convince Stormcloak to end the war tonight. I should have done anything – and everything – within my power to ensure his acceptance of Balgruuf's offer.
But I hadn't. I had been proud and too ready to dredge up my personal grudge against him. I had used FUS on him, for Shor's sake!
"This certainly puts a new light on Giselle's involvement in the war," Vilkas grumbled, sitting back and crossing his arms. "It sounds as though they have been...acquainted, for some time."
"It explains, and confirms...many things," I shuddered, closing my eyes. Her aloofness toward our family during her visits home. Her desire to return to her friends. The Stormcloaks using our garden to flee Solitude on the night of the High King's murder. The Empire's willingness to detain me when I emerged from Stormcloak's tent on the borders. All of it.
While I didn't understand how they had first met or overcome their individual prejudices, I had to wonder if it even mattered. It was what it was.
But it did give me some hint of why the Stormcloaks were afraid of Giselle. If Ulfric Stormcloak won this war, she might become the High Queen of Skyrim, should he legitimise whatever it was that they had together – and given her status and my family name, the match would not be frowned upon. The Stormcloaks must have been cautious of the influence her position naturally held over him.
"An attachment, a marriage even, would certainly assist their cause," Lydia rested her arm on the table and her head on her hand as she glanced to me. "The Dragonborn and Ulfric Stormcloak, united for life. It would be as though the Divines had sanctioned his desire to become High King," she shook her head, frowning. "Given that they are not wed – to be honest, Celeste, I wouldn't be surprised if the relationship was a ruse, put in place to rally more support for Ulfric's cause."
Shuddering, I shook my head. "No. The way he..." I faltered, glancing down to my hands. My open palms looked so small and worthless, rested on my lap. My tongue stalled and twisted, refusing to speak of how real his kiss and grasping hands and intense gaze had felt. We had been out of sight of his armies. If it were a ploy, he would have had no cause to do what he did.
Reconsidering the course of the conversation, I looked up to her and decided it was time to move on. "Lydia I need you to leave at dawn with Balgruuf's axe. Whiterun must be warned, and fortified against attack."
"Me?" Lydia looked betrayed as her brows furrowed.
"Yes," I glanced away and fixed Farkas with a steady expression, for I feared that if I turned to Vilkas his very look would make me falter. "I am to travel north with my Companions. We have business to attend to, before I can make the journey to High Hrothgar."
Farkas looked confused, and glanced warily to his brother. "But if Whiterun is going to war..." he drawled uncertainly.
"Exactly," Vilkas supported swiftly. I closed my eyes to avoid looking upon him still.
"Our duty was to return you to Whiterun, and that is what we shall do," Vilkas instructed pointedly. "Companion duties will have to wait. The city will need all the hands it can assemble, if we are to make it through a direct attack."
Frustrated by his undermining my plan so swiftly, my determination to do what was right and finally free them swelled. My eyes flew open, flashing as I turned to him. "Then this is where we say good bye," I snapped, "for if we are not to fulfil my oath at Ysgramor's tomb, I have business with the Greybeards that must be attended to."
For only a fraction of a second, Vilkas looked hurt, but the look was gone so swiftly that I might have imagined it. His expression hardened, and he grimaced.
Hadvar squeezed my hand. "Celeste," he whispered consolingly. "You don't have to-"
"Don't try to stop me," I turned to Hadvar, my eyes filling with tears again, but my anger at myself was too thick to allow them to fall. "I will be of no use to Whiterun in battle, and no use to Skyrim so unprepared as I am. I must go."
"Damn the Greybeards," Vilkas spat. His brutal tone made my heart leap and I visibly startled.
He was leaning forward and his eyes were hard, and cold. "They hide upon their mountaintop, unaware of all going on below them. Do you wish to be their puppet, to become as blinded as they?" he challenged. "An unfeeling anomaly whose destiny is to be determined by an indeterminable amount of training from a group of reclusive old men? Is that how you truly believe you can best serve Skyrim?" he thundered, rising to his feet.
"Vilkas, steady on-" Hadvar interjected.
"No, for her sake, she will hear this," Vilkas shot him a warning glance as he placed his hands on the table and leaned toward me. "You have more feeling in your soul than any person I have ever met. You don't run away when things get complicated – every time it has, I have seen you stand your ground, and fight. The Celeste Passero I know would not turn her back on her people in their time of need. And that," he emphasised, "is what makes you the Dragonborn. Not your ability to use the thu'um, or a recess within your mind that is inhabited by some ethereal wyrm, but your humanity – your compassion."
Glaring at his last, I stood as well, detangling my hand from Hadvar's in the process. "Will my compassion make Skyrim safe again?" I scathed quietly. "Do you think a dragon would stop burning villages with its breath and listen as I sing it a pretty song about togetherness?" my voice rose in volume and passion.
"It might!" he fired.
I ignored his deliberate, yet obscure reference to the hold I had over their wolves. A dragon was not a werewolf; a dragon did not have humanity to appeal to. My volume increased and I shook as I spoke. "All my training amounted to nothing before Ulfric Stormcloak, and he is just a man. Whiterun is now a target, because of my failure!" I spat, clenching my teeth. "If Akatosh really did put a dragon in me, then I must find somebody who can help me make sense of why, and strive to use it, as the Divines intended," I insisted, taking a step back and shaking my head in the face of his determination to make me stay. I had never expected him to try to stop me from going to High Hrothgar, and realised then that his wolf must have made him speak out. It wouldn't want me to go on alone.
I searched Vilkas for truth to my theory. His shoulders fell and his eyes betrayed anguish before they turned down.
Hadvar's hand found mine again and he tried to urge me back to my seat. I remained standing for the moment, though I twined my fingers with his in thanks for his gesture; his contact.
"There is no point in this arguing," Lydia spoke up quietly, breaking through the tension. "We love you, Celeste. We are trying to protect you," she sighed. "Though some of us go about expressing our fondness by contrary means," she added with an unimpressed glance in Vilkas' direction.
Lydia's words encouraged me check my tone before I spoke up again, and behind my frustration there was only confusion and fear of loneliness to be found. I didn't want to leave either, but I had little choice.
"You knew that this day was approaching," I made my confusion plain, though my shield-brother no longer looked at me. He would feel it; nothing could stop him from feeling it. "If you will not go north with me now, then Mixwater mill," I glanced disparagingly about the cottage, "must be where we say good bye."
Silence met my words, and for a time the only sounds were the crackle of the fire in the hearth and the whistling wind rattling the windows to disturb it.
Finally Hadvar detangled his hand from mine and pushed his chair back, rising.
I followed his movements, meeting him with questions that I left unasked. His eyes met mine fleetingly, then he looked at his feet. His shoulders sagged as he made for the dormitories.
"Where are you going?" I asked; my voice small as I sank into my seat, hoping it might bring him back.
"To pack," Hadvar sighed, glancing back over his shoulder. "You're right. You're always right. It's time to say good bye."
Sitting up straighter, I glanced to Vilkas, Farkas and Lydia briefly, before calling after him. "What, now?"
He was out of sight and didn't respond. Sitting back, I cursed myself for becoming frustrated with my friends, with those who I considered family, and after a moment's consideration, pushed my own chair back and stood. Everybody appeared to be hurting, but Hadvar's unhappiness seemed somehow deeper than our impending farewell and the prospect of another battle in the war he had been part of since it began.
"I'm sorry for yelling, Vilkas," I murmured, turning away.
"Where are you going?" Lydia asked, perturbed.
"The same place as Hadvar," I hesitated, taking a steadying breath before confirming tightly; "To pack."
–
I stood in the open doorway to the men's dormitory. My bag, lute and bow were in the other room; it would be the work of a moment to retrieve them. Something else, something the others hadn't told me or perhaps didn't even know was plaguing him, and I yearned to lift the weight from his shoulders, if I could, before we parted.
His back was to me and he still wore the Stormcloak armour. He was sorting through his pack, and his Legion armour was laid out on the bed beside it. The sight of it called up a memory of our journey from Helgen to Riverwood. I had knelt in the flowers, overcome by the beauty of the valley laid out before me, and when I had turned back to Hadvar, the misty look in his eyes had given me reason to pause.
That was the moment, I realised with a somewhat exasperated smile. That was the moment I started to fall in love with him.
Made steadier by the happy memory, I stepped into the room and to his side.
"Hadvar," I cleared my throat, brushing my hand over his shoulder.
He glanced at me, smiling a small smile that did little to dispel the torment I found in his eyes.
I returned the smile, though I felt sad. "Be careful," I tried to laugh. "I will sing Age of Aggression, to bring you back to me," I warned in jest.
"I'm here," he spoke and turned fully, placing his hands on my shoulders; his tone quiet but reassuring. "You know that I don't like good byes," he murmured.
"I remember," I hushed. "But...I can't help feeling that there's more to this..." I lifted my hand; pressed my palm to his chest, over his heart. "This..." I searched, trying not to lose my train of thought as I gazed up into his eyes. "Hadvar, tell me what happened in Windhelm?" I asked softly.
Hadvar's eyes flickered to his pack, his armour, and then back to me, full of melancholy. His hands drifted down my arms to settle on my hips. "Time is too short for us, my love," he murmured. "Let us stop torturing ourselves by reliving the horrors of the day," he ducked his head.
I leaned back a little, searching his eyes for the truth, and he stilled. "Tell me?" I whispered.
"Can't I kiss you first?" he begged.
Who was I to refuse? When I didn't answer, he glanced hesitatingly from my eyes to my mouth, then waited no longer and pressed his lips softly to mine. He groaned with relief when I wrapped my arms around his neck and tilted my head to deepen the moment. For a time, the past and future were distant and insubstantial as we took solace from each other's presence.
He broke our kiss suddenly, only to lower his mouth to my neck, and I grasped his shoulders for purchase as I felt his hands fumbling with the buckles of the Stormcloak armour I had worn to Windhelm.
"Hadvar," I murmured, breathless. "What are-?"
"I want you out of this armour," he lifted his head, clenching at the blue cuirass and tugging. His eyes flickered over my face, his pupils dilated and his eyes longing. "I want you," he added in a murmur.
My fingers drifted up to the spot on the back of his neck that I knew he liked. "Likewise," I whispered. "But Hadvar," I leaned back again, shaking my head. "Not like this. Not now. I remember what you said to me yesterday. You would only regret it."
"I will never regret you," he vowed; his breath warm as he smoothed the cuirass across one of my shoulders, then ducked down to kiss the exposed skin gently.
"Yes, you would," I closed my eyes at the sensation, my mind at war with my body. He was warm and comforting and here, and the opposite of everything that had happened today. He could cancel out the bad, distract me from the painful truths – and I could be the same for him. I gasped in surprise as he clenched the Stormcloak cuirass I wore, easing it up. He must have managed to unbuckle it without my noticing, because it slid up without any resistance. I lifted my arms as he drew it over my head, and he threw it aside carelessly, his arms encircling me again and his fingers gripping the under tunic I had worn beneath it.
"That's better," he whispered, holding me back from him with a brief, playful look up and down.
"Not quite," I arched an eyebrow, glancing over him pointedly.
Swiftly, he released me and tugged the cuirass he wore up and over his head. As with the other, he cast it away uncaringly. "Better?" he asked, his voice rough and low.
I swallowed as I drank in the sight of him. Hadvar bore my roaming gaze, his exposed chest heaving as he watched me with a voracious expression.
Better was an understatement. When he'd removed the armour, he'd taken off his under tunic as well, and now stood before me in only a pair of dark, loose trousers that were hanging low on his hips. His chest, torso, broad shoulders, and strong arms were bared to me, and he was beautiful.
Transfixed, I rested my hands experimentally on his forearms; brushed my fingertips up, along his arms; placed a soft, gentle kiss to his sternum. He twitched, but remained silent and watchful of my every move.
"This isn't fair," I breathed as I leaned against him, closing my eyes as he wrapped his arms around me. Between us, my hands roamed where they dared, caressing soft skin and corded muscle. "You are teasing me, now," I whispered plaintively.
"Never," he murmured, placing a kiss to the top of my head.
"Then why?" I retreated only far enough to look up to him. My eyes felt wide as I held his stormy gaze for a moment, before remembering that I had questioned him. "Why change your mind now," I whispered, "when there is no privacy, and no time?"
Hadvar remained quiet for a while, and I leaned against him again while I waited for him to consider, running my fingertips through the dusting of dark red hair on his chest.
Eventually, he sighed and regretfully stepped back from me, shaking his head. "You are right, again."
Masking my disappointment, I cleared my throat. "I am?"
"Yes," he turned away, a little frustrated, running his hand through his hair as he sat on the edge of the bed we had shared the previous night. For a moment, he rifled around in his bag, then he withdrew a small, wide-toothed comb, and shuffled back further on the bed, offering me his free hand.
"Can I help you with your hair, love?" he asked; his eyes devoted.
"Oh," I flushed, suddenly embarrassed by the reminder; it must have been in a dreadful state by now. Taking his hand, I let him turn me around and guide me back so that I sat on the edge of the bed with him. His legs swung either side of me, pressed alongside my own, and for a moment I thought, hoped, that he would run his hand along my thigh, draw me back onto his chest, ease my hair aside and resume kissing my neck.
He didn't, though – and instead began to test the comb against various sections of hair, hitting lots of snarls. He was moving very gently, though, and soon had a small handful of curls in his hand to work at.
I wanted to smile back over my shoulder at him; wanted to say something, but remained still, and quiet. With his hands occupied, I was certain that he would talk soon, if I left him room to do so.
He did, though faltered over his choice of words several times. "I...got talking to one of the staff at the inn," he murmured, laying the detangled section of hair in his grasp over my shoulder. At once he began to work out a second section from the dark mass.
"Hmm?" I prompted serenely. I had to admit that I found this activity...soothing.
"I was going mad thinking about you on your own with..." he stopped, and it was a moment before he restarted. "I thought to make myself of some use, and directed some casual inquiries after news of your sister," he sighed.
I tried not to react, but I couldn't help but tense.
"You don't need to hear this," he immediately began to retreat.
"No, please," I whispered, forcing myself to relax, glancing over my shoulder. "I will not hide from the truth."
He frowned and nodded, tilting my head gently so that it faced front again before he resumed combing the section in his hand.
"The woman I spoke to...talked of an event that had occurred a few weeks earlier. I told her that I had been away," I felt him shrug behind me, "and she was eager to gossip."
"What event?"
"A...very public execution," he faltered again, and I had the thought that he was checking me, again, for my response.
I couldn't help but react. "Soldiers from the Pale?" I whispered fearfully.
"No," he exhaled swiftly, his hands busy with my hair again. "No, this was a Stormcloak execution, in the main square of Windhelm."
At once, I understood in part what he was going to relate, and why he was so hesitant to speak of it. My mouth dried as I made myself ask; "Who did she kill?"
After a tight pause, Hadvar continued regretfully. "A...another soldier. A man who I considered a brother, before we went to war," he added in a mournful murmur.
I felt the blood drain from my face and I half turned to face him. "Hadvar," I lifted my hand to his cheek in sympathy. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't be," he encouraged me to turn away once more, and resumed combing my hair before he continued with; "Ralof...made his choice."
"Ralof?" I confirmed, aghast. "Giselle killed Ralof?" I couldn't help but turn again as I remembered the man who had captured me, who had spoken to me of a voice of truth; the man whom Ulfric had ordered extract information from me before the camp had been set upon by the Imperial army.
My eyes widened as I regarded Hadvar's downcast expression; another memory surfaced. Hadvar and I had crossed paths with Ralof while we had been escaping Helgen. The two men had yelled at each another briefly, before we had gone our separate ways.
"Oh, Hadvar," I whispered, leaning against him and wrapping my arms around his neck. "Why would she do such a thing?"
"Nobody is certain," Hadvar exhaled weightily, shuddering a little as he did. "Though it is understood that Ulfric Stormcloak encouraged it," he huffed. "I will spare you the details of how she did it," he muttered.
Closing my eyes, I grasped Hadvar a little tighter as a fear of what my sister had become surfaced. This was why everybody was so afraid of her; it had nothing to do with her relationship with Stormcloak himself. "I...don't know what to say," I admitted quietly, shamefully.
"You don't need to say anything," Hadvar spoke gently, grasping my thick under tunic tightly. "Ralof made his choice," he repeated as he leaned forward, resting his chin on top of my head.
"As did Giselle," I added darkly. One day – perhaps years from now, sure, but one day – I would face my sister. And I would make her answer. For everything.