Fredas, 3rd of Frostfall, 4E 201
It was late afternoon when Yngve climbed up the steps up to the corridor that led to Wuunferth's chamber. Despite his confidence in Wuunferth, he was beginning to feel a rising trepidation creeping up his spine. Calixto Corrium had issued a seriously unsettling accusation earlier that afternoon when Yngve had asked him to appraise the strange amulet from Hjerim.
"Tymver," Yngve said as they walked, "you don't think there's any merit to this claim of necromancy… right?"
"None," Tymver said evenly, without a hint of hesitation. "Your father wouldn't have it."
Tymver had a point, Yngve supposed, and it made him feel better – and perhaps a little embarrassed for entertaining doubts about Wuunferth, even briefly. After all, Yngve had known Wuunferth all his life. Of course Wuunferth wasn't practicing necromancy! …Right?
They approached Wuunferth's door, knocked, and were granted entry. Wuunferth greeted them somewhat gruffly, as was his custom.
"What is it?" Wuunferth asked bluntly. "Can't be anything with your hand again already."
"Uh, well… no," Yngve stammered, not quite sure how to go about stating his business. Calixto had said he'd be afraid to confront Wuunferth about the rumors. Yngve wondered, then, whether he should be.
"What, then?" Wuunferth demanded, clearly losing patience.
"There's been a rumor going around, that you've been practicing necromancy," Yngve suddenly blurted out. He didn't exactly mean to just put it all out there so abruptly, and now that he had, he knew how it sounded. It didn't sound good.
"I beg your pardon?" Wuunferth replied, shocked and clearly offended. "Necromancy? I am a member of the College of Winterhold, in good standing!" he exclaimed.
Yngve winced. He had already turned his gaze down to the floor. This was not how he had wanted this conversation to go, and he hated to think that Wuunferth would now think him so untrusting as to buy into it.
"And I'll have you know," Wuunferth continued indignantly, "that the College hasn't allowed necromancy for hundreds of years."
"Well, it's not like I believe it!" Yngve answered back. "But, I found this amulet in the killer's lair! And there were journals in there, full of all kinds of nasty things, about stalking Susanna and killing her… and Calixto Corrium said the amulet was something called a 'Wheelstone' and that it belonged to you," Yngve finally spat out the details. He was talking a mile a minute, trying to explain himself. He didn't like feeling that Wuunferth was insulted by him.
"Hang on a minute, child," Wuunferth said. "I've never kept a journal, I can assure you. And what exactly did this amulet look like?"
"Jade, ringed with ebony," Yngve said. "The jade part looked carved, but it's worn almost smooth. I still have it."
Yngve produced the amulet from his pocket and handed it over to Wuunferth, who took it and examined it closely, occasionally muttering to himself. After several minutes, he spoke to Yngve again.
"I know this amulet well – or, at least, I've heard of it," Wuunferth said, sounding astonished. "This carving once depicted a skull, surely. This appears to be the Necromancer's Amulet of legend."
"Necromancer's Amulet?" Yngve repeated, wide-eyed. Wuunferth nodded.
"So, it appears you were at least half-right," Wuunferth went on. "There is necromancy at the heart of this."
"But," Yngve interjected, confused, "Calixto told me that…"
"Calixto and his books are often confused about such matters," Wuunferth said dismissively. "It happens to the best of us."
"Well… but…" Yngve began, struggling to find his words. "So, what do we do now?" he finally asked, lamely. The conversation suddenly felt anticlimactic.
"Actually," Wuunferth said, "I've been noting a pattern to when the killings happen."
Then why didn't you say so!? Yngve thought. This was exactly the kind of information he hadn't dared to hope for!
"Now that we know they're tied to some sort of necromantic ritual, I think I know when the next might occur," Wuunferth said.
"When?" Yngve asked excitedly.
"Now, let's see," the old wizard continued. "From a Loredas of Last seed until a Middas of Hearthfire…" Wuunferth looked suddenly alert, almost snapping to attention. "It will happen soon. Very soon!"
"How soon?" Yngve pressed.
"I can't say exactly," Wuunferth said. "But you should have the guards keep watch in the Stone Quarter at night. That's almost certainly where the killer will strike next."
Yngve and Tymver left Wuunferth's room at a hurried pace. The Stone Quarter included the market square, the cemetery, and the large central area of the city that included Candlehearth Hall and the main entrance through the city walls. It was already getting into early evening, so there was precious little time to waste. But when they reached the bottom of the stairs and went back into the main hall of the palace, Yngve turned toward the main entrance, while Tymver turned to go farther into the palace, to where they might find Jorleif or Ulfric.
"Yngve, no," Tymver said firmly. "We've taken this far enough, it's time to let the city guards handle it."
"But we know they won't," Yngve insisted. "They don't have the manpower to handle this, they've already told us that."
"How do you know that we do?" Tymver countered. "You have to be honest with yourself, Yngve. You can't do a whole lot of anything right now; you're injured."
"But we don't have time for this right now," Yngve groaned. "Wuunferth said it would be the Stone Quarter at night, and it practically is night. And even if we go to Jorleif, and he goes to the guard captain, and they all agree to do something about this, by then it could be too late." He didn't know exactly why, but the longer they did nothing, the more antsy and nervous he felt about the whole situation. He felt like important things were happening somewhere, and he was missing them. He had always hated this feeling, but never really knew how to describe it.
"Someone could be in mortal danger right now," Yngve persisted. "We have to go handle it ourselves."
"It's not your job," Tymver repeated firmly.
"So, when the next young woman dies," Yngve argued, "what will you say to her family? 'Sorry your daughter, or sister, or mother, or wife was brutally murdered; we knew when and where it was going to happen, but the guards wouldn't protect her, so neither did we'?"
"And what if you're wrong? What if Wuunferth is wrong?" Tymver asked. He could feel himself starting to give in.
"Then at least we tried. We did something," Yngve said. "These people feel ignored. They think no one inside these walls cares about what's happening to them. We're the ones who can show them that we do."
"Fine," Tymver sighed. "We'll watch it tonight, but tomorrow we take it to the guards."
Yngve was bounding out the door before Tymver could even finish his sentence. He moved almost at a run through Valunstrad, almost slipping several times on the ice.
Before he even made it as far as the cemetery, Yngve thought he could hear someone screaming for help. He held his good arm out, brushing his hand along the stone walls for balance as he followed the twists at the end of the path that led to the market. Yngve flew around the corner and slid to a halt, exactly in time to see a man plunging a dagger into the back of a woman's shoulder.
Where in Oblivion is Tymver!? Yngve thought, as a feeling of dread began rising in his chest. He shouldn't be that far behind… Damn it, I can't fight anyone with my hand like this! Still, Yngve realized, he had to do something. This woman, whoever she was, had already been stabbed once. If it took much longer for Tymver to arrive, she might not survive the wait.
Looking around his immediate vicinity in alarm and confusion, Yngve found a loose chunk of ice, about the size of a grapefruit, and picked it up. Without thinking too hard about it, he clumsily lobbed it with his usable, non-dominant hand toward the killer and the woman. It only hit the man in the calf, but it was still a relatively hard toss. It was enough to take his attention away from his victim.
What Yngve hadn't counted on, in his frantic state of mind, was that this would shift the killer's attention onto him. He hurriedly tried to ready for an attack. His war axe – the only weapon he usually carried inside the city – was hanging at his right-hand side. This would normally be where he would want it, but his right hand was unusable. He thought so little about this weapon – almost never having had to use it – that he hadn't even considered that he might switch sides while his right hand was injured. As a result, he had to fumble with it, first to get it into one hand, then to get it into the other. Meanwhile, the killer had begun running full tilt in Yngve's direction. Panicking, Yngve scrambled backwards, trying to decide how to react. But the killer only gave him a hard shove against the wall behind him and ran past.
"Shit!" Yngve heard himself call out as his shoulders made contact with the stone. He regained his balance and turned around to give chase. Nice try, he thought, but I know exactly where you'll try to hide. It had to be Hjerim. Yngve ran as fast as his feet could carry him over the ice, back toward the house. He almost collided with Tymver, who was just rounding the corner as Yngve was reaching the stairs leading up to where the entrance to the house was.
"Tymver! You scared the crap out of me!" Yngve exclaimed, startled. "There's a woman in the market, she's hurt! You have to get help!" Without further explanation and without waiting for a reply, Yngve bolted up the stairs and into Hjerim.
There was no sign of anyone in the main room of the darkened house, as Yngve stepped inside. He could see light floating out the open door of the secret room behind the wardrobe, however, so he readied himself, gripping his war axe firmly in his left hand, and began to slowly walk toward it. He had to admit to himself that he was nervous. He knew he might be at a disadvantage, as he hadn't ever done any combat training with his left hand. For a moment he thought that maybe he should have gone for help and sent Tymver into Hjerim to deal with the murderer. But in the moment, he had felt irrationally afraid of losing the killer. He couldn't let him get away, and he had to know who it was. Besides, he figured, how tough could this killer really be, if he had to sneak up on defenseless women when they were alone?
Bracing for a fight, Yngve stopped right outside the door to the wardrobe, off to the side of the secret room's threshold, where he wasn't visible to the man inside. He took a deep, slow, quiet breath and began to psych himself up for it, when he suddenly heard the sound of the front door unlatching and swinging open, then slamming shut. To Yngve's stress-addled mind, it was the loudest noise in the world. The door opening was followed immediately by a chorus of "who's there?" from two directions. Yngve recognized the voice by the door as Tymver.
Damn it, Tymver! Yngve thought, I told you to go get help! That woman could be bleeding out!
As Yngve was admonishing Tymver inside his head, the murderer flew out of the secret room and ran straight into him. Yngve was knocked to the ground, as the infamous Butcher stood over him, covered in blood and dagger in hand. Yngve couldn't believe his eyes.
"…Calixto?" he asked, shocked. "But, you… I trusted you…"
Calixto looked down with a strange glimmer in his eyes. Yngve had always known him to be a kind and sociable man. He could hardly believe that this was really it, that this was truly the man behind the string of brutal attacks that had plagued all of Windhelm, that this was the conclusion he had been working toward.
"Ah-ah!" Calixto shouted sharply, grabbing Yngve by the top of his sleeve, at the shoulder, and pulling him up roughly. Calixto held Yngve close in front of him, at knifepoint. "Don't even think about it!"
Now that Yngve was facing the same direction Calixto was and could see Tymver's stance over near the door, he understood. Calixto was using him as a human shield, against Tymver and anyone else who might follow into the house. Calixto easily knocked Yngve's war axe to the floor and kicked it away, toward the back of the house.
"But… why?" Yngve asked. "Why are you doing this? How could you do those things to those women?" He didn't understand how Calixto, who he thought of as a friend, could be this monster, the Butcher.
"You never should have come here," Calixto spat, in a voice so dripping with disdain that he hardly even sounded human anymore. "You should have just shut up and sold me back my amulet, and then gone and minded your own business!"
"Calixto, it's over," Tymver warned. "Let the boy go."
As Tymver was speaking, Yngve squirmed and twisted, trying to find a weak point in Calixto's hold. But the old museum keeper hadn't lost his focus, and continued as if Tymver hadn't even spoken. Yngve shuffled his feet around, but couldn't escape Calixto's grip.
"Ah, but now," Calixto went on, his voice sounding sickeningly sweet, "now you'll get to be a part of my great opus! You see, I will have to kill you. But you're so young, it'd be a shame to see your limber body go to waste! I'm sure I can use some of your tendons and ligaments – perhaps even some of your skin!"
As Calixto spoke, he seemed to become more and more excited. Yngve still could hardly make sense of the situation, but he could feel Calixto's dagger pressing more and more firmly against his throat, digging sharply into his skin. Tymver looked calculating, but Yngve couldn't tell what his plan was. Calixto continued his deranged speech.
"True, you're no woman. But such beautiful, well cared for skin! I'm sure it'll do nicely to—"
Wham.
Calixto was cut off by a sharp kick to the groin, which Yngve had positioned himself to deliver while the older man was distracted with his own crazed monologue. They both toppled to the floor. Calixto, groaning in pain, managed to maintain his grip on Yngve's clothing and drag the boy down with him. Yngve tried to reach for the dagger, still in Calixto's grip, but was met with wild slashing from Calixto, who was desperately trying to regain control of the situation. He managed to slash Yngve's left forearm, causing Yngve to recoil and try to put distance between them.
Yngve scrambled backwards, putting a few feet of floor between himself and Calixto. He clawed and pawed at the floor, looking for anything he could use as a weapon. But he found nothing, and Calixto, regaining his composure (if one could call it 'composure'), was scrambling forward across the floor to close the gap. Yngve thrust his right foot forward, delivering a hard kick to Calixto's face, knocking the man's head back and stunning him.
Tymver took this opportunity to rush the scene. He swung low with his warhammer and landed a solid blow to Calixto's ribs. Yngve heard a loud crack, followed by a weak moan, and the clatter of Calixto's dagger dropping to the floor. Tymver reared back and readied to strike again, but Yngve called for him to stop. Tymver looked down at him questioningly.
"He's not retaliating anymore," Yngve said, picking up Calixto's dagger from the floor and then retrieving his war axe, which had slid several feet away when Calixto had kicked it.
"I don't think he can," Tymver said. Calixto was still breathing, but laboredly, lying in a crumpled heap at their feet. "This man deserves to die for what he did to those women."
"Certainly," Yngve agreed. "But we aren't the ones who get to decide when or how. We can't just take the law into our own hands. It's not our job."
"Technically, I think you probably can," Tymver grumbled. "But, fine. We'll find a guard to come and arrest him."
"And we'll get help for that woman," Yngve said, his mind having cleared enough to remember. "If you haven't just left her to die out there already."
"I didn't," Tymver insisted. "I flagged down a guard and sent them."
Yngve looked at him somewhat skeptically.
"Even if I hadn't," Tymver continued, "my obligation is to protect you. I wasn't gonna watch you run into this place like you did and just go the other way."
"You know, if you hadn't made all that noise coming in the door, I wouldn't have needed your help," Yngve said.
"Sure," Tymver replied.
The two stepped out of Hjerim, leaving Calixto on the floor, to find the walkway through Valunstrad bustling. It appeared as though nearly every guard not already on duty at that time had been called to help search for the Butcher. Tymver and Yngve stopped the nearest guard and explained what had happened, leaving her and her colleagues to handle Calixto from there. But when Tymver turned back toward the palace, Yngve turned toward the market again.
"What is it?" Tymver asked.
"I want to go see if the woman he attacked is alright," Yngve said. He sounded like a concerned child. Tymver silently trailed after him.
When they reached the market, they didn't see anyone in the area except the guards. There was a splatter of blood on the icy ground between Niranye's and Hillevi Cruel-Sea's stalls, but the victim was no longer there.
"Where is she?" Yngve wondered out loud, looking around the area, trying to decide who looked like they were in charge of the scene.
"Back again, little lord?" Yngve heard a familiar sounding voice say. "Don't tell me you're making a habit out of turning up on the scene every time a woman is attacked. Too much of that mischief, and we'll have to start suspecting you." It was the same guard Yngve and Tymver had first encountered when Susanna was killed.
"What happened to the woman who was attacked here tonight…?" Yngve asked hesitantly.
"Don't worry," the guard said. "She's okay. Nurelion, over in the White Phial, was woken up by all the commotion. He took her into the shop and he's treating her wounds now." Even the guard sounded relieved.
Yngve let out a breath he felt like he had been holding for weeks. The women of Windhelm had been facing this harrowing ordeal for months, and finally it would be over. He felt a swelling feeling his his chest, like it might burst open. Tymver escorted him back home through the walkways of Valunstrad, but Yngve knew he had built up too much nervous energy to just go to his room and sleep.
"We should go straight to Jorleif," Yngve said as they walked toward the palace.
"Now you want to," Tymver jokingly scoffed. "How do you even know he'll still be awake?" Tymver asked, raising an eyebrow.
"With this many guards out here… they were conducting a manhunt, Tymver," Yngve said. "Of course Jorleif's awake."
Yngve burst unceremoniously through the palace doors. He could hear his father's voice murmuring through the open door to the war room. Jorleif stood near the base of the throne, looking dead serious.
"Gods!" Jorleif exclaimed, as Yngve rushed over to him. "What were you doing out? I'd have thought you were up in your room."
"That killer," Yngve said, "the Butcher. It was—"
"Calixto Corrium," Jorleif finished. "He's already been taken into custody, down in the dungeon. Looked like someone really did a number on him."
Yngve felt relieved. He knew it was completely nonsensical, but part of his mind had been worried that Calixto would find some way to escape, in the window of time between Yngve and Tymver leaving him in Hjerim, and the guards going in to arrest him. Just as Yngve was deciding not to mention his involvement in Calixto's apprehension, Jorleif, who, in the dim lighting of the palace interior hadn't noticed immediately, suddenly loudly blurted out.
"Yngve! You're bleeding!" he practically shouted.
Yngve groaned. He had nearly forgotten even sustaining any injuries from Calixto, with all the energy that had welled up in him during the fight. Now that the excitement was wearing down, Yngve could feel the long gash in his arm and the shallower cut across his neck. It stung, and there was no way he'd be able to lie about it.
Surely enough, Ulfric entered the main hall almost immediately after Jorleif's outburst. Worse, he seemed to have already made some quick deductions about the situation, based on the recent goings-on, and on Yngve's less than stellar record when it came to doing as he was told, as of late.
"Where," Ulfric said. It was far more a command than a question, and he didn't hide the fact that he was displeased.
Instinctively, Yngve reached across his torso with his other hand and grasped the injury, as if to hide it. But he was so unaware of it up to that point – distracted by all the excitement, urgency, and relief – that even he didn't expect it to sting as much as it did, or to be as soaked. The wound itself felt hot, but the cloth of his sleeve around it, saturated with blood that had already leaked out of the gash, was cold and wet.
"Come," Ulfric said, turning on his heel and beginning to walk purposefully through the war room, toward the stairs. Just seeing the amount of blood soaking through Yngve's sleeve, he could at least anticipate that the wound needed treatment in order to heal correctly.
Yngve trudged up the stairs after his father. He expected to be put into his room and confined there until further notice, but instead Ulfric led him to the end of the corridor, to his own room. Yngve lingered just outside the doorway, hesitating.
"In," Ulfric said, and Yngve followed.
Yngve kept his head down, but his eyes wandered around the room. He couldn't remember when the last time he stood in this room was, but he knew nothing had changed since then. Nothing had changed since his mother had been alive, except that she was no longer there. Her personal effects were still exactly as she had left them. It made Yngve feel like he was trespassing on some sacred ground.
"Sit," Ulfric said, gesturing toward a small round table with two chairs and tearing Yngve away from his thoughts.
As Yngve shuffled over to the table and sat, Ulfric gathered some things from various shelves and surfaces around the room. When he came wordlessly back over to the table, he laid out a washbasin, a pitcher of water, a bottle of wine, a rolled up linen bandage, and a knife.
First, Ulfric took the knife in his hand. He gestured for Yngve to extend his arm across the tabletop, then cut the cuff of Yngve's sleeve, freeing it from his wrist and allowing the fabric to open. The sleeve was now split all the way from cuff to elbow, giving Ulfric full access to the wound. He looked closely for a moment, then stood again and handed Yngve a towel, which had been next to the washbasin.
"Press," Ulfric said simply, and Yngve held the towel firmly against the wound.
Meanwhile, Ulfric rummaged through several other drawers, looking for something. Once or twice, Yngve thought he could hear his father muttering to himself. Finally, he returned to a table, this time with a needle and some catgut. Yngve looked nervous and uncertain. Finally, Ulfric spoke a complete sentence.
"The good news is that it doesn't look like it needs to be cauterized," he said.
"What's the bad news?" Yngve asked, as he watched his father lift the towel and evaluate the wound again.
"This is still going to hurt."
Ulfric positioned the washbasin underneath Yngve's extended arm. Then, he opened the wine bottle and poured it over the gash. Yngve winced hard, and hissed air out between his clenched teeth, but held his voice still inside his throat. Having expected Yngve to yell or cry out, Ulfric looked over at his son with a somewhat curious expression.
"That… really stings," Yngve said.
"Yes, it does," Ulfric said. Despite his exasperation, he was moderately impressed.
Next, Ulfric rinsed the wound with a lesser amount of water. Then, he threaded the catgut through the needle and prepared to suture the wound.
"You know how to do this?" Yngve asked. He sounded more skeptical than he meant to, and saw his father frown. "That's not what I meant," he insisted quickly.
"Just hold still," Ulfric said.
Carefully, he pushed the needle through Yngve's skin and began the process of stitching up the long cut. Yngve drew in a sharp breath and tensed up.
"Relax," his father said gently. "You're fine."
The suturing was finished in silence. Yngve was sure he was still in for some sort of punishment, and didn't have much to say. Ulfric was focused, trying to make quick work of this task for his son's sake. After some time, he finished, clipped the end of the catgut between the knife blade and his thumb, rinsed Yngve's arm once more with water, and, after drying it thoroughly, wrapped it snugly with the linen bandage.
"Don't leave yet," Ulfric said sternly, before Yngve even had a chance to try to slink away.
Heaving a sigh, Yngve hung his head and remained in the chair. If there's one thing Da never forgets, Yngve thought glumly, it's when I'm in trouble.
Ulfric pushed the washbasin and the other, smaller tools off to the side. For a moment, he just sat and evaluated the situation again, pulling his thoughts together. Yngve, across the table, felt scrutinized, and shifted several times, unable to get comfortable. Finally, Ulfric sighed heavily and began to speak.
"I can't get my head around your behavior lately," he said. "It seems that, at every turn, you're determined to do whatever you want to do, regardless of what you're told." There was a note of resignation in his voice, though he tried to hide it.
"But I didn't do a bad job," Yngve said pleadingly. "I found the real murderer. Doesn't that count for something?"
"Surely," Ulfric granted. "And the whole city is grateful, whether they know it was your work or not."
Yngve lifted his head slightly. Even though it was clear his father was still disappointed in him, this praise felt good to hear.
"And you took on this task at great personal risk," Ulfric continued.
He sounded noticeably less pleased than he would have sounded, had he been speaking to someone else, Yngve knew. But Yngve didn't want to accept this as a criticism.
"Someone had to," Yngve answered back. "The guards weren't going to find the time, they told us that outright."
"That doesn't mean you have to rush headlong into a dangerous situation, the way you did," Ulfric started to reply.
By this point in the conversation, Yngve could feel himself starting to lose control of his emotions. He wanted to yell at his father and shake him until he understood – until he remembered what it had felt like to lose someone. Stop making it about me! he wanted to scream. This whole room is filled with reminders of Ma and you still can't work out that this is about the murdered women!
Yngve's eyes wandered the room, looking for the right way to explain himself. They settled, finally, past his father's shoulder, on an ornate box across the room, which Yngve knew held most of his mother's jewelry – all except those items that had been left out elsewhere in the room, the last time she had been in here.
"Those women," Yngve said, his eyes not leaving the box. "They needed someone to stand for them, and no one else would."
"And…" Yngve went on, pausing as if on uncertain footing, not sure if he should continue. "And… I remembered Ma…"
As he said this, Yngve nearly choked on the words. His eyes stinging, he broke eye contact with his mother's jewelry box, nodding his head forward and trying to wipe away the tears he could feel forming, but they kept coming. Ulfric looked stunned.
"Yngve…" Ulfric said gently.
"And their families. They lost someone they loved, just like we did," Yngve went on, before his father could say any more. "How could we just ignore that when we know what it's like?"
"Yngve, no one was ignoring it," Ulfric said. "It was a difficult position we were all in. And, truly, as long as you were going to insist on investigating it anyway, I'm glad that you've given those families closure."
"But you could have been killed," Ulfric went on. "You can't continue to act so recklessly. Eventually, you will run out of luck."
"But I had to find out," Yngve said. "Because what if… what if it was the same…" he trailed off, unable to get the rest of the thought out of his mouth.
"It wasn't," Ulfric said. He knew what Yngve was asking, without having to hear the rest.
"How could I know that?" Yngve asked, letting his longstanding frustration seep into his voice. "You never talk about what happened. Never."
"Because it's not what I want you to remember," Ulfric explained. He had kept strong emotions about his wife and her death deep inside himself, which were now threatening to break his voice.
"It's not the way you should remember her," Ulfric repeated. "She wouldn't stand for it. She at least deserves to leave behind a memory that makes you happy to think of her. You deserve that, too."
At this, Yngve let go of whatever control he still maintained over his emotions and released a long, slow, shuddering breath that he didn't even know he'd been holding. He slumped over the table in front of him, resting his head on his right forearm. He let the pent up feelings shake out of him, crying into himself. Feeling a hand on his shoulder after several very long moments, he looked up to see his father had moved to stand next to him, his eyes also looking misty.
"You're tired," Ulfric said gently. "You should rest. Go to bed."
Yngve laughed softly. He hadn't been given a bed time in years. But his father was right, and it was getting late.
"I'm sorry," Yngve said. "I know I've only been apologizing and making excuses, but really, I mean it."
Ulfric sighed. He was less and less sure how to handle that aspect of the situation, the more Yngve explained why he was doing the things he did.
"I can't fault your intentions," Ulfric conceded. "But you still disobeyed me. Again."
Although he couldn't pretend he liked hearing it, Yngve simply nodded in agreement. He knew he would receive a consequence for his actions, and he would accept it.
"For now, you need sleep," Ulfric said. "We'll figure out what to do with you later."
Author's Notes: (I really hate adding author's notes at the end... -_-) Thanks to anyone who has kept reading this far! Especially after the several months long, unannounced hiatus in the middle of uploading the chapters. And a special thanks to those who left reviews.
What I'm really here to announce is that I will be taking a planned break from this fic for a while, because I need to spend time working on my two companion fics, [From Past to Present] and [Night without Stars].
Here's why: I write these fics by recreating my old Skyrim playthroughs; the travel speed, the random encounters (or lack thereof), the weather (and travel delays it causes), and much of the NPC behaviors and dialogues are strongly based on what happens in-game. Because these three works are intended to take place concurrently, it makes the most sense to me that I should write them concurrently, especially given that each of these characters are members of different factions, and some of the things they do may affect each other.
If you've enjoyed this story or have constructive suggestions about how I can make it better, please consider leaving a review and/or giving my two companion fics a read while I am getting them caught up!