The grey stallion frisked nervously as the small army descended the hill. Uhther pulled his reins back, impatiently. He missed Allie, his old black mare, though he doubted his dependable old warhorse would have been able to manage this steep slope. She was rather long in the tooth these days. Still, she could only have been an improvement on this mount. He supposed Elenwen must have raised this one for parades or pleasure riding as he was certainly not used to being around large groups of armed men and women.

Still, even if it were on the worst mount possible, Uhther was glad to be heading away from the embassy. Two days they had been there. The Blades and the Stormcloaks between them had virtually pulled the place apart in their search for anything that might have been useful. There had been nothing that Uhther could see. Just letters from inquisitors around Skyrim still searching for Talos worshippers that had made Uhther snort. Shrines dedicated to the Hero-God still stood all over Skyrim. Markarth still maintained its temple to the Ninth Divine, in spite of Thalmor efforts. The Thalmor might be powerful, but Uhther had always thought they had bitten off more than they could chew in Skyrim.

Those days had also been given over to disposing of the dead. The men and women that had died in the assault had been laid to rest in Skyrim's soil and then he and the others had raised a stone cairn over them. Elenwen's elves had been piled up and burned.

Elenwen had not been among them. Uhther had half expected to find the ambassador waiting for him in her apartments, spitting defiance at him. But it seemed she had been able to slip away. Likely she had used the same route he himself had used when he had escaped the embassy all those years ago. He probably should have sent men to guard the end of that tunnel but, truth be told, he was glad Elenwen had escaped. Someone needed to carry news to the Dominion and an ambassador's voice would hold more weight than some random soldier. Not to mention, Delphine and Fultheim had seemed a little too eager to get their hands on her. Uhther had no love for Elenwen but he did not think he would have enjoyed giving her to the old Blades.

The sun was rising high into the sky now on the third day since their raid on the embassy and it was time to move on. Uhther had expected a message from Solitude by now, or at least from General Tullius asking him what in Oblivion he thought he was doing. But there had been nothing, not a word. When he had sent a runner to Ralof, he had replied that no one had come out of Solitude since they had taken position.

Uhther had been worried, when he'd sent Ralof and his Stormcloaks off, that there would be trouble if they came across an Imperial patrol or the Solitude guard thought they were blockading Haafingar. He'd known that was a risk, but he could not take the chance that Queen Elisif would not interfere. But now, that lack of trouble or attempted interference worried him all the more. So, he had given orders that morning. They would move on to Solitude, and they would fire the embassy.

He could still feel the heat of the burning building and, turning back, he saw the thick column of black smoke rising above the tree line. Fultheim had suggested leaving a few soldiers there but Uhther had disagreed, pointing out that the embassy had no tactical or strategic position. The aim had been to destroy the Thalmor Embassy, and that was what they had done.

Uhther's attention lowered from the smoke to the soldiers following behind him. Directly behind him was Lydia, her eyes sweeping the surrounding forest, her hand on the hilt of Vaatdeinmaar. Delphine rode beside his housecarl, her eyes no less watchful, and close behind her was Gulrbjorn, the man Ralof had put in command of the Stormcloaks he had given Uhther.

Not that he had done much commanding, especially since the raid. Since then he had spent a lot of his time in the company of Vorstag, one of the Blades, each of them telling stories of past battles and conquests. As time had gone by, Gulrbjorn had spoken less and had grown more and more attentive. Now, he kept his horse at a slow walk so that Vorstag could walk alongside.

Uhther looked down the column. Gulrbjorn wasn't the only one. Each of the Blades was walking with at least one or two of the Stormcloaks and all of them were the ones talking. Uhther saw Ugor, an orc who boasted the longest bow shot of any of the Blades, gesturing as she spoke to three men who had eyes for nothing but her. Even Jenassa, a dark elf who would usually go around an entire city to avoid having to talk to people, had two women in tow whose eyes resembled dinner plates as they listened to her speak.

Uhther could understand. He would likely have been as intrigued by the life of a dragon hunter had he not been who he was. It must seem a life full of honour and glory, which no true Nord would turn away from. He would be very surprised if Delphine did not have a few new recruits by the end of this.

Though that did not seem to be the only thing attracting the Stormcloaks. Uhther had overheard some of them talking to Lydia about the likes of Benor the Bold, Mjoll the Lioness and Faendal Strongbow, heroes with their own reputations who had given their oath to Uhther to become the Sworn Swords of the Dragonborn. More than a couple had walked away from those talks looking thoughtful.

There were many in the Stormcloaks who had not wanted to speak of the Blades or the Sworn Swords, and they now walked at the back of the column shooting contemptuous looks at those who walked ahead.

Privately, Uhther thought it was a shame that none of those brave men and women were expressing any interest in the Legion. For what lay ahead, the northern forces could use fighters like them, just as it had in the old days and during the Great War. But he knew there was no hope of that. Too much bad blood had come between the Nords and the Legion thanks to Ulfric Stormcloak. Though Uhther could not say he could blame them. Indeed, he had come close to joining the Stormcloaks. Had it not been for… well that was all in the past now.

What was important was what was happening now. He had tired of waiting for Elisif's message so now he was going to present himself to the queen.

Uhther was no fool. He knew exactly what his attack on the embassy would mean. The Thalmor would move north to Skyrim and invade, just as they had Cyrodiil during the Great War. What the arch-mage and her psijic had revealed had only made him all the more certain of that fact. He had handed them the excuse they needed. But that was just it, Uhther wanted them to invade.

One thing that he and Ulfric both agreed on was that the Dominion and the Empire had carried on with this silent war for long enough. He wanted them to come so that he might face them on the field of battle. There he would show them the power of the Dragonborn.

The only question was, would he have the support of Elisif and Tullius, or would he and his new unlikely allies stand alone? For Safiya and Llirvalie would have to join. They had all agreed that the Snow Throat Tower must be protected. If the Thalmor came, they would have no choice.

He hoped he would have all of Skyrim at his back. Alone, with what he would have at his command, he would stand a chance. If he had the aid of the queen and the great general, they would have more than that.

The grey stallion whinnied and reared, almost throwing Uhther off. Uhther cursed and got the beast back under control so that he could look at what had so disturbed it.

A man shaped gap in reality, glowing with eldritch light, was walking towards him. With each step, the light solidified into a familiar figure.

'Quaranir!' Uhther exclaimed, moving his hand away from the hilt of Dragon's Breath. The psijic inclined his head.

'Dragonborn,' he replied, 'it is good to see you well. I'm sure you are on important business, but there is an urgent matter I need your help with.'

Uhther blinked with astonishment. What help could a sorcerer possibly need from him?

'I'm going to speak with the queen,' was all he could say before Quaranir cut him off with a raised hand.

'It will not take long,' he said, 'and, rest assured, it is urgent or I would not have come.'

There was a strange look in his eye that made Uhther curious. He turned back to look at Delphine.

'Keep going to Solitude,' he said, 'make camp outside the city walls, send word to Elisif that you mean no harm to Haafingar or the people of Solitude and that you are not there to make war. Tell her I will be joining you soon and beg an audience when I am there. Then send word to Ralof that he and the other Stormcloaks are to join you.'

Delphine nodded in acknowledgement of the orders. Uhther turned to Lydia.

'You will go with her as my representative,' he said, 'get word to Jordis that I will have need of her upon my return.'

Lydia did not look happy at those words but she too nodded.

Uhther dismounted from the stallion and walked to stand beside Quaranir.

'So, where are we going?' he asked. In answer, Quaranir stretched out his hand, which Uhther took.

He was suddenly aware of a strange sensation, as if his body had become somehow fuzzy. Everything went, if not dark, then shadowy. Then, as soon as it had started, it was over. Uhther was aware of a shift in temperature and the fact he was standing in snow looking up at a building he knew well.

'Heljarchen Hall?' Uhther turned, in some confusion, to face Quaranir. The sorcerer had brought him to his estate in The Pale, the place he had nicknamed "The Armoury". 'Why have you brought me here?'

'Because I know this is where you store the great weapons and artefacts that you have found over the years,' Quaranir said, smoothly, 'stored under the watchful eye of, perhaps, your most ferociously loyal housecarl and a powerful mage in your service. And we shall need one of those artefacts for what lies ahead.'

'Why?' Uhther said, hesitantly. There were many dark and powerful items held in that house, which was why he'd given it such hardy protection. He doubted there was another such trove in all of Skyrim. 'What lies ahead?'

Quaranir smiled, but there was no pleasure in that smile. Rather a sort of grim tiredness.

'We will be going to Whiterun. To deal with the problems of Jarl Balgruuf and so that you may speak with an old friend,' he said, solemnly, 'and to do both, you will need the Wabbajack.'