"Tell it again, Dagur!" Kimund yelled at the bar from across The Frozen Hearth. He and Gavrellius made up half of the small group of Legionnaires stationed in Winterhold. They had taken up residence in the tavern for the night, discussing and speculating about Ulfric Stormcloak's visit to Winterhold around the tables.
The lone off-duty Winterhold Guard had joined the Legionnaires for the first time since they arrived in the city. Dagur figured it was a step in the right direction; he knew for a fact both the Guard held Jarl-if he even was Jarl anymore-Stormcloak in higher regard than most. They simply had held their families and lives in Winterhold higher and had kept their mouths shut when the Legion came looking for any Stormcloaks. The Guard gossiping freely with the Legionnaires was good for the atmosphere in the city; nothing made friends faster than scandal discussed over a few or more bottles of wine.
"Ask the horses! Maybe they'll tell you something new!" Dagur called back, smiling at the rise of laughter out of the soldiers.
"I've half a mind to walk right into the College and ask him myself!" Kimund continued. He poured himself half a mug of mead, finishing the bottle. "D'you think that means we won?"
"Depends on who you ask," Hilsla replied. She took the empty bottle from Kimund, adding it to the growing pyramid of bottles she had balanced on her shield, mimicking the Winterhold crest on it.
"The Empire, I mean," Kimund shrugged in between sips.
"Why the hell else would Stormcloak come marching all the way up here with that woman?" Gavrellis replied. "She probably smuggled him out of Windhelm, maybe she's his mistress-"
"Oh, shove it, soldier," Hilsla said, "That woman is the Dragonborn, and a Thane since before you and yours ever stepped foot in the Hold. Besides, she told me once that she's an Imperial."
He grabbed the bottle of wine in front of her, drained it, and set it back in its original place in one smooth motion. "She's with the Legion? Where's her armor, then?"
Hilsla shrugged. "She was a Battlemage in the Great War. That's about all she told me. I've never seen her in Imperial armor, though I've only seen her around Winterhold a handful of times. Goes straight to the College when she does visit, mostly."
Gavrellis leaned back on the bench. "Never knew we had the Dragonborn on our side. Can she really Shout dragons out of the sky?"
Dagur came over to clear the empty bottles from the table. "Oh, surely you all heard that Shout earlier. I don't know what pissed her off, but the Dragonborn isn't someone I'd cross," he said.
"And now Ulfric Stormcloak is travelling with her," Hilsla mentioned, "and, of course, his Shout is fierce, too." She frowned as Dagur picked the bottles up off her shield.
"Not a pair I'd like to piss off," Kimund said. "I wonder which one of them switched sides. One of them, at least, betrayed either Skyrim or the Empire."
"So, which of us is going to try and arrest them for treason? The guards or the soldiers?" Gavrellis asked. The three looked at each other in silence for a moment.
"There aren't enough Septims in the world to get me to try," Hilsla replied.
"I think we can all drink to that," Kimund said, holding up his mug.
The dragon bones were still strewn across the road, forcing the two horses to walk through fresh snow on the side of the path. Ulfric squinted against the sun glinting a blinding gold on the snow, wondering when scavengers would be by to collect the bones. Already jewelers and blacksmiths were carving down dragon bones into intricate trinkets and weapon handles, sometimes trying to pass them off as ancient artifacts from before the First Era.
Stories of dragons used to charm him when he was young. Ulfric remembered his first trip to Dragonsreach as a boy with his father and being enchanted by the large skull mounted about the throne. He pretended to hunt dragons with the other children around the palace and studied ancient texts about the Dragon War to such an extent that he sought out the Greybeards to be able to translate the passages written in Dovah.
Ulfric's knowledge of the Thu'um originated first out of admiration for dragons and their influence on Nord culture and as a means of worshipping Talos. Of course, he realized the sheer power it had that the Greybeards refused to utilize. The Thu'um could be used for the good of all people, and Ulfric liked to believe that he had only used the Thu'um as a means to the betterment of Skyrim, the land of Dragon Priests and Dragonborns, the land of Talos.
He stared at the back of the dark elf Dragonborn in front of him and thought back on the stories his father had told him of the old Nordic heroes. All of the Dragonborns he had ever heard of, read about, or studied were Nords. When Ulfric had heard the Greybeards' Shout announcing a new Dragonborn, he took it as a sign that Skyrim would prevail over the Empire. He hadn't known that the Dragonborn was actually the Dragonborn until after she had left Windhelm months prior.
Ulfric regarded the talk of a Dunmer Dragonborn as nothing more than unsubstantiated rumors until he watched his Palace doors fly open from an Unrelenting Force Shout only days ago. Even then, he figured it came from Rikke, his old Shield-Sister, until he and the true Dragonborn sent each other flying with their Shouts to start their duel.
"Hail, scout!" The Dragonborn called suddenly. Ulfric lead his horse as much to the side of the Dragonborn's as the rope slack would allow. The two horses were tied together, because the Dragonborn claimed her horse knew the roads, and Ulfric's newly purchased mount needed time to learn them. He understood the chains he was held by, even if the eye could not see them.
A short boy in Imperial armor jogged down the road, his breath showing in bright puffs in the cold. The Dragonborn halted her horse, and Ulfric's stopped behind. "Hail, travelers," he replied, slowing to a stop as he neared the two horses.
The Dragonborn dismounted and fished in one of her side pouches as she approached the scout. "Legate Therel; you report where and on what business?" She pulled a folded piece of parchment from her pouch and briefly held it in the scout's direction before refolding it and returning it to its' pocket. "Reporting alone, it seems."
Ulfric examined the boy from atop his mount. The scout, a young man with a nasty looking scar across his jaw, moved to attention after seeing the Dragonborn's paper.
"I act as a courier from Windhelm, headin' for Winterhold and Dawnstar," the scout replied. "Ulfric Stormcloak surrendered and was taken prisoner."
"Lies!" Ulfric spat. The Dragonborn and the scout turned to look at him, the Dragonborn scowling and the scout looking more than a bit confused.
"Ignore him," the Dragonborn said, meeting Ulfric's eyes in a fiery stare.
The scout shook his head. "I know, sir, seems impossible, but I saw it myself!" The scout said, his eyes wide and locked on Ulfric, as if sharing his disbelief. Ulfric slid from his horse, ignoring the Dragonborn's sternly shaking head. "They led him 'round the city, chained up and all!"
Ulfric marched towards the scout, his shoulders squaring and his jaw lifting with each step. "Don't-" the Dragonborn started, taking a small step to the side to put herself between the two men.
Ulfric easily stepped around her, barely adjusting his gait to do so. "I have not surrendered," he stated, "I have not been defeated, nor will I ever as long as I or any son or daughter of Skyrim draws breath!" He towered over the scout, whose face rippled with recognition of who was speaking to him. "Skyrim will be set free from this Thalmor's puppet of an Empire, I swear it on the graves of all who have given their lives in the name of Talos. So, courier, report that instead of whatever lies you've been given."
Nariilu eyed the two closely, frowning as the scout moved a shaking hand to the hilt of his shortsword and gaped up at Stormcloak. She let the silence settle over them and Stormcloak turn and stalk back to his horse. "Any spare letters, scout?" She said once, twice before the scout seemed to hear her.
The scout pulled a messenger's bag over his head and looked down to grab a letter out of it before resuming his stare at Stormcloak. Nariilu snatched it from his hand, breaking the seal: a symbol of Akatosh overlaid with laurels and an ornate 'ERT'. General Tullius' Imperial seal.
To Respected Jarls, Nobles, Officials, Legates, and Tribunes,
The Skyrim Conflict has ended on 20th, First Seed 4E 202 with the surrender of Ulfric Stormcloak and his rebel army in Windhelm. Terms include release of all rebel prisoners of war provided they swear undying loyalty to the Empire. A fine to cover the costs of their imprisonment may also be levied against the rebels for up to 50 Septims each. This fine is optional but encouraged. Any prisoners that refuse to swear allegiance by 20th, Rain's Hand 4E 202 shall be executed for treason and conspiracy.
The Imperial Legion will be firmly established across all of Skyrim within days, and rebel activity is expected to cease posthaste. Advise all citizens of the Skyrim Province and near its borders to rest easy knowing that their livelihoods are no longer in danger due to the aggressions of extremists.
Drafted and volunteer soldiers of the Imperial Army should expect to return to their normal livelihoods by the end of Rain's Hand. Trade routes are now safe and encouraged between Skyrim and other Imperial Provinces, as well as between the Holds of Skyrim.
Glory to the Empire
General Tullius
Nariilu glanced over the letter. "How many couriers did Tullius send?"
"A-about twenty, sir."
"Well," Nariilu huffed , "stay out of trouble, scout." She mounted her horse and placed the letter in her saddlebag. The horse picked up a slow trot. "You're going to make it impossible to keep you alive, aren't you?" She muttered after she determined them to be out of earshot of the scout.
"Would've made a damn good song if you cut my head off," Ulfric replied.
"It'll make a better song when we kill Alduin. Last time I was in Solitude, I stopped by the Bard's College, and turns out they're already writing it," the Dragonborn said. "They weren't writing one about you, death or triumph."
"You really think you can defeat Alduin, the World Eater?" Ulfric asked. "It won't matter how many you have behind you; the old legends proclaim him to be the harbinger of the end times." Tale after tale always somehow twisted its way back to the Firstborn of Akatosh. Every mention of him was either a warning or account of his power, wickedness, and destiny.
"I remember hearing that the great Bear of Eastmarch could face any odds and win," the Dragonborn said. "Now isn't the time to be defeatist. As much as I'd love to have another Dragonborn to fight alongside, I'm the last one. You're about the closest thing there is, and we're the best chance Tamriel has."
"He will devour the world just as he has before."
"He's been defeated at least twice times, now. Once by the Dragon rebellion and the ancient Nords, and again by me not too long ago," the Dragonborn said. "I had help then, and I'll need it again."
Ulfric chuckled. "If you defeated Alduin, why is he still alive?" He recalled the Dragonborn running for her life back in Helgen; surely she wasn't referring to then?
"He fled like the coward he is," she replied. "I haven't been able to track him, hence asking one of his Lieutenants." The Dragonborn sighed. "He's likely in Sovengarde. If so, we can't get to him until he leaves. Perhaps killing his second in command will get his attention and bring Alduin to us."
Ulfric thought on this. The Dragonborn was fully prepared to summon Alduin to Whiterun, one of the most populous cities in Skyrim, behind Solitude and Windhelm, and one that was constructed with much more wood than either. Not to mention that fighting Alduin's ally, and a beyond powerful one at that, would leave her and everyone else already tired, perhaps even wounded and dead.
"Do you want to bring Alduin to Whiterun?" Ulfric finally spoke. Killing his second in command would leave the World Eater furious, and after seeing Alduin level Helgen in minutes, he felt a knot in his stomach imagining the damage and death in Whiterun.
"Divines, no!" The Dragonborn said. "I'd much rather go to him than put anyone else in danger, but if he is summoned, the plains around Whiterun are sparsely populated. Well, there are many giants, but I've seen a camp of giants kill a dragon more than once." She paused, rolling the reins between her hands. "You may be right; Alduin might be unstoppable. But I can't afford to think that way, neither can you, or Skyrim, or Tamriel."
"If you deny the possibility, you can never be prepared for it to happen," Ulfric replied. A silence befell the pair with only the sounds of the horses' hooves and distant howling of wolves being heard.
The Dragonborn's head lowered slightly in thought. "And how would you prepare for the end of the world?"
The question caught Ulfric off guard. He figured there were three choices: revel in your dying moments, pray for mercy from the Divines, or fight against the certainty of the end in empty hopes of changing it. Ulfric supposed he would enjoy dying with honor, if he had any left, even against insurmountable odds, but kept his choice to himself. The Dragonborn likely already knew his answer.