The last time Ulfric was in a carriage, it nearly ended with his execution. The travel carriage was much smoother than the Imperial prisoner cart and far less cramped, though they both had the same number of thieves. Etienne Rarnis sat across from him, lounging in fine clothes and fiddling with the clasp on his pack. The Dragonborn followed behind; she had purchased two more horses from the Riften stables, and was leading them all on her gray horse. They would be taking a shortcut through the mountains from Winterhold to Whiterun, one that was more of a trail than a road. A carriage couldn't fit down the winding pass.
They were making excellent time; carriage horses were among the hardiest in Tamriel, capable of traveling for a full day and night without slowing down once, and doing the same the next with only a short rest between. Only the Couriers' Guild had faster, more resilient horses, mostly because they weren't burdened with a carriage. In the few hours they had been traveling, Ulfric noticed the Dragonborn and her horses were steadily increasing the distance between them and the cart. Carriage horses were by far the fastest method of travel through Skyrim, though Ulfric never really cared for them. The loud scraping of carriage wheels against cobblestones and the boredom caused by sitting in the cart for hours or days led him to prefer riding a horse whenever possible.
He'd expressed this to the Dragonborn, and she had promised to switch leading the horses with him every few hours. She wanted one of them in the cart with Rarnis at all times; Ulfric fully understood. Thieves could never be trusted. Maven Blackbriar could never be trusted, but the Dragonborn still made a deal with her. A copy of the contract was in a pack beneath the cart bench.
She had no idea of what Jarlship entailed. When he questioned her about it, she simply shrugged. "I'll face those trials when they reach me," she said. The Dragonborn wasn't even a Nord, though she was quick to bring up a handful of historical Jarls who were Breton or Imperial. Never elves, though. "Perhaps it's time for a change," she had shrugged. Ulfric wondered where she had studied the history of Skyrim; she was exceptionally well versed on old laws and leaders, almost past his own knowledge.
The thief across from him had started the trip by reading through Ancano's journal and letters, scrawling occasionally with a stick of charcoal in his own journal. After an hour or so, he mentioned something about the carriage bouncing too much to do any real work. The thief occasionally tried to make conversation, which Ulfric never responded to. He hated thieves, and wanted to distance himself from the Guild as much as he could. Even if that meant never speaking to Maven Blackbriar again.
He'd felt a heavy pit in his stomach ever since he saw the Guildmaster at her banquet, but that pit grew nearly unbearable the next day when she openly admitted to hiring this forger, this thief before. And she knew that he was involved. The Dragonborn was barely bothered. The damage to both of their reputations (though he doubted he had much left) would be extensive if proof was found that they were working with the Thieves' Guild. To ignore possible consequences of ones actions, especially the hiring of an illegal group, especially for a matter such as forging the official documents of a Thalmor Agent, were extreme.
But, the Dragonborn insisted they had no choice, a sentiment Ulfric himself always hated. There was almost never true lack of a choice. There were official forgers they could hire, through the Imperial Army, though Ulfric knew that would be far more traceable to the Dominion; they had spies everywhere, especially high up in the Empire. Unfortunately, this was the safest option, for themselves and Skyrim.
Every time the carriage stopped for a few minutes for the Dragonborn's horses to catch up, rest, and switch their lead rider, the thief pulled out the journal and went back to work, however briefly. At least he seemed to take his job seriously.
The carriage driver, Sigaar, was an easy-going man who responded to most things with a shrug and occasionally pointed out interesting looking trees or flowers along the road. Sigaar seemed more than content to listen to the sounds of wildlife, and started the morning by listing the birdcalls he could hear. Ulfric wondered how he could hear them over the clatter of hooves and wheels.
Midmorning on their second day of traveling, Ulfric lifted his head, hearing a shrill-grating roar echoing from not-too-far off, though it was hard to tell. "What in Oblivion was that?" The thief asked, the first time he'd spoken since a teasing joke towards the carriage driver that morning.
"I'm not sure," Ulfric lied. He looked back at the Dragonborn. She was scanning the sky above them, though it couldn't be seen clearly in through the thick trees on either side of the road. She made eye contact with Ulfric and shrugged. Nothing, yet. He wondered how much use the thief, with no weapons (visibly, that is. Ulfric wasn't stupid enough to assume the thief wasn't hiding a dagger under his coat) and limp, and the driver, an axe that had certainly seen better days leaned up against his seat, would be if a dragon attacked.
"It's a dragon," Sigaar spoke up. "I hear in Shor's Stone they started putting out goats for 'em to eat. Keeps them from burning down the whole town. Might be where it's coming from."
"Ever seen one before?" Ulfric asked.
"Tons. Maybe even more than the Dragonborn," Sigaar chuckled. "Lots of dragons live in the mountains, and most of my business is traveling to Winterhold, Whiterun, and Falkreath. No shortage of mountains on those routes."
The thief blanched. "Do they ever attack?" He asked.
"I've heard about other carriages being destroyed, but, so far, I've never had to fight one off. They usually just fly over." Powerful wings blew Ulfric's hair around as the dragon flew low overhead, as if Sigaar had summoned it. The Dragonborn's horses startled, but the carriage horses continued on. "See?"
Suddenly, the dragon turned midflight, circling back around and landing hard on the road in front of them. Sigaar stopped his horses and reached for his axe. "Dovahkiin!" The dragon roared. "Zu'u bo oblaana hin laas fa un thur!" (I have come to end your life for our master!)
Ulfric turned to the Dragonborn, hurriedly trying to get the horses off the road. She nodded at him, and he grabbed his sword and jumped over the side of the carriage. Thur, a rare word in Dov, very few throughout history had been called that. The highest of the Dragon Priests and the Old Kings from the First Era, mainly. And, of course, Alduin.
"Gahvon nu, zu fen bolaav hi dinok votth nii faaz!" The dragon continued, stalking towards the carriage on its wings. (Surrender now, and I will grant you a merciful death!)
Nariilu dismounted, hoping that the horses, all tied together, wouldn't be able to scatter too far before she dealt with the dragon. It's mottled red and black scales were battle-scarred, perhaps from last week, perhaps from not too long ago. Sigaar had grabbed his axe and stood up on his platform. She hoped he wouldn't do anything dangerous, and that the dragon was one of the ice-breathers. Etienne had hidden under the cart bench.
"Zu'u fen ofun hi fin med, nuz laasiil piraak nii balaan," Stormcloak responded. (I would offer you the same, but your life holds no value.) The dragon paused, tilting its head when Stormcloak spoke.
"Hi los nii Dovahkiin, nu hi tinvaak ol Dov. Sonaak saraan fah drogiils vokrii?" (You are not Dragonborn, yet you speak as a dragon. A Dragonpriest, waiting for your masters to return?)
Nariilu wished she knew what they were speaking about. She was annoyed that Stormcloak seemed content to carry on a conversation with the dragon rather than attack it, or at least tell her what it was saying. Divines, she didn't have time for this. At least Stormcloak was distracting it. "Joor, zah frul!"
The dragon roared as it collapsed to the ground, writhing in pain. "Vomindok daar? Sonaak! Krii Dovahkiin ofan midiil hi fen rel drog!" It said, its voice shaking and cutting out occasionally. (What is this? Dragonpriest! Kill the Dragonborn and give me your loyalty, and you will rule as a king!) Nariilu ran at it, shooting off ice spears with one hand as she drew her sword with the other.
"The eyes, before it recovers!" She yelled as she passed Stormcloak. He ran along side her, keeping up with her easily even though he was weighed down by his new armor and she was in college robes and a cloak. Nariilu briefly wondered how agile he'd be in light armor before refocusing on the task at hand. The dragon flung it's massive horned head around wildly as it fought Dragonrend's influence, faster than it should have under the effects of multiple ice spells. Nariilu jumped back to avoid being hit by it. A clear shot at it's eyes wasn't possible, and it's neck was too well protected by bony spikes. Nariilu cast ice storm, a last-ditch effort to slow it down, feeling the temperature drop around her as sharp hail battered the dragon. If it weren't so close to the carriage, if she hadn't wasted all her magicka on weaker spells, Blizzard would've worked better, though Nariilu wondered if even Blizzard would have any noticeable effect on the powerful beast.
Stormcloak ducked beside the dragon, slashing at its shoulder. He flinched when a piece of hail hit him in the head; she'd only been able to finish the cuirass of the ebony armor in time. Balimund was finishing the rest of the set and promised to send it to Whiterun by courier. Nariilu held out her sword in the path of the dragon's head, letting it force its own head onto the tip, gashing open its jaw. The dragon screeched and tried to force a take-off; it only rose a few feet above the ground before crashing down. Stormcloak was pushed down by its massive wings as it tried to fly. If he hadn't he would've been crushed by the falling dragon.
It was almost free of Dragonrend. "Shout at it!" Nariilu called, moving to attack it's shoulder, bringing her sword down with two hands.
"Fus, ro dah!" Stormcloak Shouted as he scrambled up, barely catching Nariilu in the Shout. She stumbled, missing her attack, but somehow managed to stay on both feet. There was a wet muffled rip as a large section of the dragon's wing tore free, falling to the ground as a scaly blanket.
The dragon roared, pushing with its wings once more and, astonishing Nariilu, taking flight. "Zu daaniil, Dovahkiin! Hi nis viik dovah!" It taunted, rising above the trees even with half it's wing missing. (I am your doom, Dragonborn! You cannot defeat me!) It still absorbed Nariilu's ice spears without flinching.
"Damn," she muttered, ready to turn and run to the carriage to get her bow. Suddenly, the dragon wobbled in the sky as it began to turn. It crashed to the ground, hidden beyond the trees, making a hideous cry as it splintered trees with its own body. She paused, taking a second to catch her breath and exchanged a look with Stormcloak before they both jogged off into the forest.
The dragon had impaled itself on multiple trees. It's torso was suspended the height of two men above the ground, a tree punching a hole in its undamaged wing. Blood poured down the trunks with each movement the dragon made as it tried in vain to free itself. "Krosis," Stormcloak said, relaxing his stance as he stared at the trapped dragon.
"What?" Nariilu asked. Stormcloak gave her a puzzled glance. "Nevermind." She stalked towards the dragon and stood on a boulder, throwing her sword into its exposed stomach. She jumped off the rock, grabbing her sword and dragging it in a massive cut through the beast, landing hard on the ground. Nariilu stepped quickly out of the way as its insides because outsides on the forest floor. She sat down outside of the growing puddle of gore, listening to the death wails of the dragon and catching her breath.
"You can't speak Dov?" Stormcloak asked, wiping off his sword in a bush. "The Greybeards didn't teach you?"
"It hasn't been very high on my list of priorities," Nariilu replied. "What was it saying?"
Stormcloak paused and listened. "Right now, it's cursing us to multiple planes of Oblivion and begging Alduin for forgiveness." The dragon gave one final ear-splitting wail and fell limp against the trees.
Nariilu steeled her body for its soul to rush in. It was a high she was sure Skooma addicts would kill for. All the thousands of years of supposedly eternal life flowing through her veins, filling her with pure ecstasy. She would rid Tamriel of dragons just in search of that bliss alone, prophecy and expectations be damned. It added to the itching hum beneath her skin of dozens of other souls she had devoured. She shivered as the souls were disturbed by the unfamiliar addition, twisting violently before settling down into a bearable crawl once again. "And before, when you…you talked to it?"
"It offered you easy death in return of your surrender, and thought I was a Dragon Priest. It was a very old dragon, likely from before Nords learned the power of the Thu'um."
This dragon, old or not, had known a new Shout. Nariilu welcomed the knowledge tingling in the base of her skull. Once she caught her breath, she'd test it out. "Why aren't you breathless?" She asked. Stormcloak was standing there completely fine, as if he hadn't just shouted a dragon's wing off.
"I've trained in the Way of the Voice for decades," Stormcloak said, "even after I left the Greybeards." Nariilu stood up and moved out of the way of the dragon bones settling in the trees, just in case they fell. "Traditionally, you learn breath control before you learn Dov, and learn Dov before you learn Thu'um." A thin trail of blood trickled down his forehead. "I find it hard to believe that the Greybeards would let you skip over the mundane side of Thu'um."
"They didn't want to," Nariilu chuckled, remembering how Arngeir had insisted she meditate in front of the Words they burned into the floor for hours, even though she had understood them in seconds. At least he was never there when she found Words in Crypts. "I'm the Dragonborn. I don't have to follow tradition."
"No, you don't," Stormcloak muttered, almost too low for her to hear.
She ignored him and stood, moving to face a bush, hoping that her new Shout wasn't one that only affected living creatures. "Iiz!" The bush gained a thin coating of ice over it. Nariilu frowned. Weak. She'd have to find the other Words and dragons who knew them, before she could really use it. "Useless," she muttered. "Any injuries?" Ulfric shook his head, providing enough movement for the blood to slip down past his eyebrow. He blinked and rubbed at his eye. She took a step closer held her hand towards him, channeling a bit of magic into healing whatever cut was hidden by his hairline. "We'd better get back to the carriage. I hope the horses haven't fled."
The rest of the trip was boring. Nariilu almost wished another dragon would attack, though the few others they heard stayed far away. Sigaar wasn't much of a conversationalist, then again, she wasn't either, and his little quips about the road they were on grew few and far between after they passed Windhelm. There wasn't much on the road past there besides rocks and snow. At least the horses all seemed to be alright, more or less. They'd startled bad during the dragon attack, and while they couldn't run, they bucked and kicked for all they were worth. Sigaar had run and calmed them down, though he wasn't able to completely prevent injuries. Nariilu had been trying to heal up a nasty gash in a new horses flank, which had been going well considering how unskilled she was in restorations on Mer and Men.
Etienne had been impressed. He wasn't a fighter, he admitted, though he could hold his own if he had to. "I'm a thief for a reason," he said. Sigaar half glanced back briefly before turning back to the road, either not listening or pretending not to. "It's easier to not get caught in the first place. But, if I do get caught-" Etienne mimed swinging a weapon.
"Hold your own against who?" Nariilu asked, eyeing his skinny frame and damaged leg.
"I've beaten guards before, with just me, my sword, and my battle prowess."
"And where is your sword?"
He frowned. "The Guildmaster won't let me carry it anymore. I've fallen before, and he doesn't want me to slice up my hands." Etienne held up his hands for emphasis. "Besides, this is an undercover job. You ever seen a mage with a sword?" Nariilu blinked. Had he missed the fight against the dragon completely? Well, he had hidden under the bench as soon as it landed. "I'm kidding. We're poor enough and only have enough swords to go to those who need them."
"The Guild is tight on money?"
"Not that the Guildmaster would ever admit it, especially to a client. Even Maven's money isn't making a dent in our debts." Nariilu pressed him for more information, but he stopped giving useful answers. The slight upturn of his mouth as he dodged questions made her wonder if he had been lying about the Guild's financial situation.
The Imperials had mostly broken the blockade of Windhelm, though a red tent was still set up near the stables as they passed. Two soldiers leisurely guarded the bridge from stools placed around a fire, not bothering them or anyone else as they passed. Nariilu nearly stomped over to them to give them a sense of duty but decided against it; there were few other travelers and the ones that were passing through the gates were exiting. Banners decorated with the Imperial sigil of Akatosh dotted the outer walls of the city.
Nariilu was concerned Stormcloak would break away from the carriage and lead the horses to the city he longingly looked at as they passed by Windhelm to cross the White river. She wondered how Jarl Free-Winter was doing. After all this Alduin business, she'd have to stop by and see how things were turning out. And meet her new Housecarl. She should really stop by while she was there, but judging from how Stormcloak had turned away and was staring at the ground, he shouldn't be inside Windhelm's walls, yet.
A snow bear feeding in the middle of the road a few hours south of Whistling Mine was about the only thing that broke up the monotonous trek up the mountains. The dragon bones blocking the road had been pushed to the side, thankfully. If they were still there, they'd've had to clear the heavy skeleton themselves, a task that could easily take upwards of an hour. "Anyone want it's pelt?" Nariilu asked. No one answered. Sigaar stopped the cart on Nariilu's command and she climbed down, catching the bear's attention. It growled at her, moving in front of its meal to protect it and scare them off.
She lifted both hands and cast a fear spell at the bear. It ran off, and Nariilu grabbed the half-eaten meal, barely recognizable as an elk, by the hoof and dragged it to the side of the road. She wiped the blood off of her hand with fresh snow and climbed back in the cart. "Sigaar, are we making it before nightfall?"
"If you want to leave your other horses behind, yes. With them, no. At our current pace, we'll arrive some time after dusk."
Nariilu sighed. The sooner they could make it to Winterhold, the better, but they couldn't just leave behind the horses. At least their short stop had caught them up to the carriage.
Ulfric woke up when the cart stopped moving again. He stretched his shoulders, ready to get back on the horses for what would likely be the final stint of their journey. "A pleasure traveling with you," Sigaar said. Ulfric blinked and looked around, noticing that they were finally in Winterhold. The College cast a shadow across the main street; Secunda was hidden behind the main tower. Masser left a reddish hue across the snow.
The Dragonborn was already leading the horses to the stable behind the inn. Ulfric heard muffled songs from inside; it wasn't even late enough for the small city to be quiet. The thief eyed the steep ramp leading to the College. Ulfric slung the last two packs from the carriage over his shoulder and stepped off, holding out a hand to help the thief down. He mumbled a brief thanks. The Dragonborn reemerged from behind the inn moments later, pointing for Ulfric to go towards the ramp. She shouldered a single saddlebag. She slipped inside the inn.
Ulfric waited by the ramp with the thief. "Wizards are too good for stairs, eh?" The thief complained. He'd given it a few foothold tests; it was slick with ice. The warmer early spring weather had partially melted the snow and the night chill refroze it into a solid sheet. Ulfric recalled watching the Dragonborn nearly slip off when there was ample crunchy snow for her boots to hold on too. The thief alternated between making jokes about the one guard they could see, stationed outside the Jarl's Longhouse, and wondering if there was anything worth taking in the city proper to the point where Ulfric found himself hoping that the mages at the College had some sort of anti-thief spell. "I mean it, do you think they even lock their doors here?"
The thief would probably pass out from excitement when he discovered that none of the student's bedchambers had doors.
The Dragonborn emerged from the inn, a Khajiit and high elf trailing her. Ulfric's stomach dropped, the Dominion had already sent another Agent, two this time. "Why aren't you two inside yet?" She hissed as she neared.
"Oh, you expect me to fly up this mountain?" The thief said, gesturing to the ramp and then to his lame leg.
"This one cannot fly?" The Khajiit said, pulling up the hood on his College robes. Ulfric couldn't tell through his accent if he was joking. He scoffed. "Novices."
"Shut up, J'zargo," the Dragonborn snapped. Oh, Ulfric remembered J'zargo. Self-important and possibly a little more than crazy. He wondered if the Housecarl Iona had sold those scrolls he hid in the Dragonborn's things when she wasn't looking, or if the Dragonborn had discovered them and done something else with them. Either way, he wanted absolutely nothing to do with any experimental magic. "Go back to the Hearth."
"And miss meeting the Thalmor's replacement?" J'zargo shrugged and smiled at Ulfric.
The Dragonborn scowled. "Who-"
"It's a small College, Nariilu," the high elf explained. "We all know." She nodded at Ulfric, mouthing her thanks.
"Just lift the ward so Etienne can get in."
"Right. Come." Faralda began up the ramp. Ulfric noticed her feet weren't actually making contact with the icy surface; as she walked higher sigils could be seen forming just under her boots for her to step on.
The Dragonborn and J'zargo followed, and Ulfric took a step forwards before all three of them stopped when the thief cleared his throat. He faked a smile and waited. "Melt the ice," the Dragonborn ordered.
"You do it, it's good practice," J'zargo replied, pausing at the foot of the ramp, extending claws that glinted in the moonlight. He leaned forwards and stuck them in the ice sheet.
"J'zargo." The Khajiit rolled his eyes so hard his entire head moved. He jumped off the ramp and sighed, raising his hands. Fire spilled from his palms, instantly melting the ice wherever he aimed. J'zargo walked up the ramp, exposing moist old stone beneath as he went. The Dragonborn offered her shoulder to the thief on his bad side, helping him climb. Ulfric followed last. "Alright, let him in," she said when they all reached the top.
"He has to preform a spell, first," the high elf said. "Towards the sigil, please."
"Divines, Faralda, just let him in! He doesn't know any spells, and might I remind you the sooner we get him in and working, the better."
"I don't care if Julianos himself wanted to get inside without casting a spell! The ward can't be lifted for anyone except a magic user who has proven themselves-"
"Are you ladies done bickering?" The thief interrupted. He made a big show of cracking his knuckles. "Observe." He stood in the center of the sigil and cast a spell. Blue energy surrounded him briefly, before disappearing seconds later.
Faralda shrugged and stepped aside for them to pass. "Don't slip," she muttered.