They had poisoned the entire palace's mead supply, Ulfric learned later. Everyone had either been paralyzed or rendered unconscious- even the Arentino boy had snuck a bottle and didn't awake for three days. The sole guard outside his door had been killed, his throat slit and left to bleed out like a pig. The lad's wife had just birthed a son.
The assassin had been Brotherhood, which he had already suspected. When Galmar confirmed it, Ulfric took to bed for days. Whenever he closed his eyes he was back in Elenwen's cell, bruised and battered, the shadow of death closing in. He drank heavily, trying to clear his mind. He remembered, so vividly, Rea in these moments.
Before he had started up with Rikke, back during the Great War, there had been Rea. She was a Forsworn warrior to the core, wild and unkempt, and they had met when she had nearly captured him and held a blade to his throat. Ulfric had smashed his head into hers (breaking his own nose in the process) and when their wits returned to each other, he had kissed the blood from her lips. Moments later she was riding him, and after she came on his cock, she punched him in the eye and ran off. She was wild and impulsive and crass and if Ulfric was honest with himself, so much like Svala sometimes it pained him.
He and Rea continued an affair in secret until he was ultimately captured by Elenwen. In one of her more...creative attempts to break him, she had Rea dragged into his cell and placed in front of him. Her brown hair was matted and her eyes swollen shut and Ulfric had wanted to weep. "Still nothing?" Elenwen has asked him, as she noted how moved he was by seeing his lover, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. "A pity." With a motion of her bony hand, a handsome vampire was brought behind Rea. He had piercing red eyes, skin as white as a ghost, and coal black hair, and he smirked at Ulfric when he firmly affixed his fangs to the warrior's neck. Had he screamed? Rea's eyes had rolled back in her head and the color had drained from her skin until she was just a shell. As her body fell lifeless to the floor Elenwen just sighed and left him in darkness once more, the vampire licking his lips as he followed her out.
Was this to be Svala's fate as well? He couldn't say he loved Rea, they were so young and so opposite, drawn together by pure lust and curiosity; it was likely the reason why her brutal death had not caused him to completely unravel at the time. But Svala? Ulfric groaned to himself, rolling over in bed. No. He would not recover from that. Just the thought of her out there, alone, even capable as she was, made him ill.
"Ulfric," Galmar banged upon the door. "You need to get up."
He groaned in response. This had become a daily ritual (of sorts) since the attack. He would drink and sleep the days away, letting Jorlief handling the day to day and Galmar the war. It's not like he was really needed, anyway. As long as the idea of Ulfric was present, what did it matter if the man died?
"Wuunferth is back," Galmar continued with a hopeful tone. "And we need to talk strategy."
"I'll see him tomorrow," Ulfric replied, his voice hoarse from under use. "And I trust you implicitly. Now, leave me alone."
"Ok," he heard Galmar say, and then his door was blown off its hinges with a blast so powerful it shook the walls. Within an instant he was on his feet (ignoring the wobbling of his legs), with an axe in each hand. Only when he saw the familiar faces of Galmar and his court mage did he lower them. "I told you he was in bad shape."
Wuunferth hummed and nodded, pacing around Ulfric and inspecting him as though he were cattle at an auction. "Your father would be disappointed," was all the old mage said and it was more than enough; he felt as though he had been doused in icy water.
"Are you hurt?" Ulfric asked, trying to swallow his shame. "Elenwen assured me-"
"I'm fine," Wuunferth replied, waving his question away. His eyes narrowed at Ulfric. "But I wish I could say the same for you. What happened?"
"Someone sent the Brotherhood after him," Galmar growled. "Poisoned the whole castle too, but someone managed to take the lizard down before he could make good on his contract."
"And why was only one guard present?" The older mage snapped. "Someone of your experience, Galmar, should know better. Now if you'll excuse us, I have some things I would like to discuss with Ulfric. Alone."
Several different shades of frustration colored Galmar's face for a moment as his gaze shifted between the two men in front of him. Finally, with a curt nod to Wuunferth, he slammed the door and left.
"Well," his mage said pleasantly, turning back to Ulfric once more. "You look like shit. Truly, this...assassin attempt has caused you this much grief?"
"Are you implying I'm weak?" Ulfric snarled, uncorking a fresh bottle of mead. "I very nearly died, Wuunferth."
"As did I," the mage replied evenly. "And so have you, many times over of history serves correct. And yet here you sit in front of me, lounging in your own grief and filth. So I ask you again: what ails you?"
"She never came back," he blurted so suddenly it sounded foreign even to his own ears. "She left...again...and she hasn't come back. And-" Talos, the words just kept coming until his throat was thick and tears threatened to spill. Surely there was still a little poison left in him, playing with his mind.
Wuunferth laughed with a shake of his head. "Women are always to blame," he chuckled at Ulfric's grim expression. "Love is the worst illness there is."
"I don't love her," Ulfric snapped sharply. "I just...I want to know she is alive."
"What's the lucky maiden's name?" he asked as though Ulfric had not spoken. Still, the Jarl frowned.
"Wuunferth, you know her," Ulfric sighed. "It's Lady Svala. Bone-breaker?"
A shadow passed over the old wizard's face. "Ah yes. Of course," a slow bitter smile passed over his lips and then, in a flash, was gone. "Do you have any idea where she's gone?"
"We parted ways in Invarstead," he purposely left out her plans to return to High Hgrorthgar. There was something about his friend that was...different. Of course, he had been likely tortured by the Thalmor during his captivity, and Ulfric blanched remembering the care Rikke took feeding and bathing him after his own imprisonment. "Forgive my tone, Wuunferth. I know you must be weary from your travels. Please, rest. We have plenty of time to discuss this further later."
"Of course, my Jarl." While Wuunferth's voice remained even, there was a slight note of irritation coloring his tone. He gave a short bow and departed, leaving Ulfric alone with the bottle and his turbulent thoughts.
As soon as the smell of the salty sea air hit Svala's nose, she knew she was farther away from Winterhold than she originally thought. Solitude, perhaps? Maybe closer to Danwstar? Either way, it meant more time out in the howling wind, building meager shelters, and hunting for food.
Not that she minded, not really. It reminded her of when she had first returned to Skyrim before ending up in the back of that wagon with Ulfric and Ralof, bound for Helgen. Svala had never minded being alone before, as she skinned rabbits and roasted their flesh over a modest fire. The quiet was nice, and a luxury for the Dragonborn. Still, her thoughts always seemed to turn back to Alduin, and Brynjolf, and Ulfric.
Svala tried to write Brynjolf, several times in fact. Each time she intended to agree to his proposal, to tell him her intent to travel to Riften and plan the ceremony at the Temple of Mara. However, whenever her pen took to paper, her mind was flooded with memories of Ulfric in the cave, the feel of his prominent girth stretching her open so deliciously, the sound of his rough voice calling her beautiful. Could she really give that- him- up? It wasn't as though Brynjolf wasn't good in bed (quite the opposite, actually) but there was something about the Jarl of Windhelm that just set her very blood on fire. She was addicted. So much so, in fact, that she began to try and seek out her own pleasure, if only a poor substitute for the man she really wanted. Her orgasms were shallow and underwhelming and only darkened her mood further.
Maybe it had nothing to do with Ulfric at all, she tried to reason with herself. She had let herself grow accustomed to a certain level of...attention since her second life as the Dragonborn had begun. Perhaps she just needed any man (or mer or orc or dremora...) to fill her, or maybe it was stil a side effect of her dealings with Sanguine. Was he still in her mind? Was he playing with her? Or was she just slowly succumbing to madness?
Days passed and Svala continued to trek West, taking down a group of bandits (which she silently thanked Talos for; she had been in dire need of new armor and footwear) and a few packs of ice wolves. When she spotted Thalmor soldiers in the distance, however, her heart nearly stopped. How had they found her?? Her mouth dry, she watched as the gilded elven warriors continued on their path, seemingly oblivious to where Svala lurked in a nearby snowbank.
Huh. Solitude must've been close to a day's ride away, and if they weren't out looking for her, then what exactly were they doing out in Skyrim's wilds? It wasn't as though there was an overwhelming Thalmor presence. There was only one answer that fit- a prison. She had been wondering where Lydia and Wuunferth were being held...certainly the Legion would object to sharing Castle Dour with the Dominion.
She could continue on her way, to Winterhold. Find information about the scroll and get back to the task at hand- defeating Alduin. But still, Ralof's and Rune's faces swam in her mind's eye; she couldn't subject Lydia and Wuunferth to a similar fate.
"I must be mad," she muttered to herself, making sure Sanguine's Rose was firmly attached to her hip before skulking off after them. Her days of pickpocketing helped her keep pace; close enough to hear snippets of conversation, but far enough so that she remained undetected.
"...should be receiving word any day now. I know that Trearil is expecting things to go smoothly," came the arrogant voice of one of the guards and instantly her blood went cold. It hadn't quite occurred to her that she would be led directly to her tormentor.
"Why wouldn't it?" The other scoffed. They were heading towards the main entrance of the keep. Archers patrolled the parapets, Svala noted with displeasure. Once more she cursed her shortfalls in archery. She would need to play this smart- there was no way to take down all of them. "Justiciar Trearil is-" she had no desire to hear the rest, inserting her blade into the throat of speaking soldier, enjoying the way blood gurgled past his Altmer golden lips. The other guard spun around at the sound and she hurled her dagger at him, striking him directly between the eyes. With a final jerk he crumbled to the ground where she buried him in the snow, stealing the armor of the other before doing the same.
Her disguise made it easier to sneak past the sentries and allowed her to stroll directly into the keep. However, once inside, she found defenses sparse. Whenever she did happen upon a guard she killed them silently, usually pressing their own dagger into their back. Svala moved quickly, as she was essentially leaving a trail of corpses directly to her own location. She just needed to find where the prisoners were held...
Unfortunately, it was the sickening smell of burning flesh that led her to the interrogation chamber. As she neared the room she could hear the crackling of electricity and the smooth, haughty Altmer tone questioning a groaning man. "I assure you, I can do this all day. Now, what exactly do you know of this Dragonborn?"
Svala's heart stopped, her hand twitching on the grip of her sword.
"Nothing!!" The man wailed as the interrogator shot more lightning at him. "I swear!! I wasn't even in Whiterun when the dragon was killed!!"
"Where were you, then? Joining the Stormcloaks?" The Thalmor mage sneered and she saw red.
"FUS RO DAH!" She Shouted and the mer went flying off his feet smacking soundly into the stone wall behind him. She threw herself on top of him, pinning his limbs beneath her and holding a dagger to his throat. "Where is he? Where is Trearil??"
"Release me," the interrogator snarled, and she could hear the lightning crackling to life in his palms. "And I promise I won't hurt you more than necessary."
"Trearil," she repeated again, pressing the dagger harder against his skin. Beads of rich red blood welled up against the blade. "Where is he?"
"On assignment." The Altmer gasped. While his face was bored, she could feel the erratic beating of his heart, like a skittish rabbit. "Not here."
Svala studied him carefully for a moment before nodding. "I believe you," she said before sliding the dagger across his throat. Sprays of warm blood struck her face. She barely noticed, straightening herself up and scanning the torture chamber. The harsh breathing from the prisoner strung up on the wall did her head in.
There was a log on the table, next to various bloodied torture instruments and dirtied linens. She skimmed the tome, finding it to be a dossier on Thorald Grey-Mane. She pocketed the dossier, turning her attention to the man in front of her. His hair was dirty and matted, but under the grime it was clearly silver. "Thorald?"
"Aye," Thorald confirmed, lifting his head as much as he could muster to stare at her. "Help me." Wordlessly she removed the shackles from his wrists, catching him as he crumpled to his knees. She forced a healing potion (from her own pack) past his lips, satisfied when color began to return to his face.
"Can you fight?" Svala asked him, already handing him a sword from a nearby weapons rack.
"Aye," Thorald confirmed, uneasily taking to his feet and holding the sword. "But we need to leave- now."
She shook her head. "You go. I need to look for the cells."
Grey-Mane look conflicted as he stared at her, before finally admitting he could lead her to where the prisoners were kept. "But then we leave, quickly."
"Trust me," Svala laughed bitterly. "I have no interest in becoming a Thalmor prisoner." Again.
Thorald led her down a series of winding corridors before bringing them to a sudden halt. "Where there's one there's more," he murmured to her.
Svala was already squinting, trying to make out the faces of the prisoners in the cells lining the walls. "You're free to go," she reminded him. "I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself."
"I don't doubt it," there was a smile lacing Thorald's voice. "But I'd like to lend a hand just the same."
She had barely finished nodding at him before taking off in a silent sprint and cracking the neck of the guard on patrol. The entire maneuver took mere seconds and she smirked at the dumbfounded look on Thorald's face as he stood there, uselessly clutching his sword. "You're lookout. I need to find some people," she told him, beginning to pace in front of the cells, her heart hammering in her throat.
There were mostly women, Nords exclusively, their eyes listless and dull as they watched her. Svala felt sick, the feeling of phantom hands violating her. How many of these women had Trearil done the same to? Was that solely their purpose, their reason for being imprisoned? No. She breathed deeply, trying to dispel the rage burning within her. She needed to find Lydia and Wuunferth.
"Excuse me," she whispered to one of the women. "Have you seen a Nord woman, a warrior, with dark brown hair? And an old Nord mage, a male?"
The woman didn't turn her head to look at Svala-she stayed slumped against the wall of her cell. "No warrior," she answered in a hollow, brittle voice. "But aye, there was an old mage."
Was? "Where is he now?"
"Dead," came a different voice from a different cell. "Like all of us soon. So go now before you end up sharing the same fate."
She couldn't leave without seeing a body, before making absolutely certain Wuunferth was really dead. She knew Ulfric- she knew that his tawny beard smelled like pine and spice, that he often spoke in his sleep, that he liked snowberry marmalade on his sweet rolls...so she knew how he would react upon hearing a dear friend, a member of his court, had been murdered by an enemy. Given that the keep was not crawling with Stormcloaks, it was safe for Svala to assume that Ulfric didn't know his mage was dead. "Where is he?" She repeated.
"More are coming," Thorald urged from the end of the corridor. "We have to go!"
"Wait!" She hissed to Thorald, finding the levers to unlock the cells. They sprung open simultaneously revealing the various prisoners who were too weak to leave them. "Go! Get out of here!" She could feel their blank, dull gazes watching her, even after Thorald started to pull her away.
"I wasn't done!" Svala snapped, struggling against the hold the Nord had on her. "I need-" her voice died in her throat as the smell of decay hit her ultra-sensitive nose. "Bodies. I need to see-" her gaze fell on a cart shoved into a corner, heavily ladened with various corpses. Before he could react, she wrestled herself out of Thorald's grip by jabbing him in the stomach with her elbow, running to the cart and carefully sorting through the pale, swollen flesh.
Her heart nearly stopped when she found him.
He didn't look anything like the Wuunferth she remembered- his cheeks had sunken in (whether a result of death or imprisonment she couldn't be sure) and he was naked, showing the various purple and yellow splotches of old injuries marking his throat and ribs. His limbs protruded unevenly, like a puppet with cut strings, and his eyes bulged open, glassy and empty. Her stomach roiled.
"You there," came the commanding voice of one of the Altmer guards. There was two heading straight towards her. "Make yourself useful and throw out the refuse, rather than just staring at it. I mean honestly the smell-"
Before she could stop herself, she was Shouting, unable to quell the bottomless rage bubbling within herself. She watched the fire issue from her own mouth as though witnessing the scene from above, unable to move or think. The Mer shrieked as the flames ate away at their golden armor, ate away at their golden skin inside the molten metal. She saw Thorald in the shadows, his mouth agape, staring at her in a mix of horror and wonder.
When the fire reached the oily stone floor and ignited, she found her feet, grabbing Thorald's hand and sprinting wildly forwards. It was sheer luck that she managed to find a ladder, leading upwards to safety, considering her companion was too stunned to direct her. They were led out onto one of the sentry posts of the keep, coming face to face with Thalmor archers. "Down!" She cried and grabbed Thorald's arm tightly as they jumped.
With a groan they landed in the snow as arrows whizzed by their heads. "Can you stand?" Thorald's voice sounded muffled, as though he were speaking underwater. She tried to nod but could only groan in response. Air wouldn't reach her lungs. "Hey, hey, talk to me!"
Svala closed her eyes and breathed deeply, the pain in her body thrumming like a second heartbeat. "Fine," she rasped out, shakily making to her feet and clutching Sanguine's Rose as a crutch, which is only when it dawned upon her to use the weapon for its intended purpose. A dremora visualized in front of her before sprinting in the direction of the keep, shouting about blood and the Void. Satisfied, she collapsed once more into the snow.
"Come, we must move," Thorald's voice was now so close to her she could feel it...in fact she could, as he was pulling her to her feet and helping her walk through the snow. "Dragonbridge isn't too far from here, that's where they get their supplies, we can make it..." but Svala was too exhausted to listen, her eyes droopy and unfocused as she faded in and out of consciousness.