Sundas, 19th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202
When Yngve entered the Palace of the Kings, he had expected to find his father upon the main hall's throne, looking down at him. Instead, he heard his father's voice echoing out of the war room off to the side. Yngve was thrown off, but not in a bad way. He put on a confident air and strode into the room.
Before either his father or Galmar could say a word about his return, he reached into his satchel and, one by one, set the ice wraith teeth and the two bottles he had received from Galmar – both still sealed – on the table before them. Galmar looked surprised. His father looked – Yngve couldn't believe it – impressed?
"We'll finish this discussion later," Ulfric said to Galmar, turning to Yngve, who swallowed nervously. "Why'd you do it?" Ulfric sounded resigned at this point.
"I overheard you and Galmar talking," Yngve admitted. Then, defiantly, he added, "why'd you do it?"
His father raised one eyebrow, then pulled a chair out at a side table and sat down, gesturing toward another chair opposite him. Yngve sat as well.
"I wanted to keep you safe," Ulfric began, sounding uncharacteristically at a loss. "Clearly, I've underestimated you," he added, acknowledging the ice wraith teeth and the conspicuously unused potions.
"You don't know the half of it," Yngve muttered, thinking back to Northwatch Keep.
"Oh no?" Ulfric asked. "Then enlighten me."
Yngve took a deep breath. He wasn't sure he had ever planned to tell his father about Northwatch. But now, he supposed he had to. In a way, he was relieved for the opportunity to just get it off his chest.
"Okay, but... I know the stuff I did was stupid and reckless," Yngve said. "Just try to remember it all turned out fine."
Ulfric slowly nodded, and Yngve launched into the story. He told his father everything that had happened to him and all that he'd done from the moment they got separated in Helgen until the moment he returned to Windhelm. Ulfric kept a surprising degree of patience as he listened, although it clearly tested him to do so. By the end of Yngve's story, Ulfric looked exhausted. He took a deep, slow breath.
"Yngve," he said.
"Um. Yes?" Yngve replied, worried that he had retroactively exhausted his father's full patience.
"What were you thinking?" Ulfric asked, letting out a heavy sigh.
Yngve paused in thought. This was the question he dreaded even to ask himself. He still wasn't sure he really knew the answer.
"I guess..." Yngve began, pausing almost expectantly, but going on when his father didn't interject. "I guess I was thinking that I wanted you to trust me, and that if I could do something really... I don't know, heroic... that you'd finally see me as capable."
Yngve's eyes lowered as he tried to explain what his thought process had been. When he glanced back up, he saw a shocked expression on his father's face.
"Yngve, of course I see you as capable," Ulfric said gently. "You've always been very smart."
"But that's not what I mean, Da," Yngve said. "I mean capable."
"Capable of what, then?" Ulfric pressed. He was dodging the issue again, but Yngve wasn't having it.
"Of fighting," Yngve said bluntly. "Of defending myself, and my home, and my people. Da, you have to know by now that's what this has been about."
"Not every leader must also be a fighter," Ulfric tried to explain.
"Maybe not in foreign lands, and maybe not even in all the other holds," Yngve countered, "but here, we both know the truth. Who in Eastmarch will respect a leader who doesn't fight alongside his people? And what happened to High King Torygg?" he asked pointedly.
"I only want to keep you safe," Ulfric reiterated. "But... I see your point."
Yngve could hardly believe that answer. It seemed like he and his father had been stubbornly pushing against each other for so long, he'd started to wonder if they'd always be like that, and it got harder and harder to remember a time when they weren't.
"So... I get to at least know what's going on now?" Yngve asked hopefully. He had been totally shit out of the war not only in terms of actively participating, but also with regard to information.
The rest of the morning was spent bringing Yngve fully up to speed on the war, filling in the gaps in what knowledge he'd been able to gather himself. Galmar seemed enthused to have Yngve on board. Now, finally being a part of the conversation, Yngve was energized by the dynamic of his father and Galmar. They were like fire and ice, he thought, Galmar always energetic and zealous, and Ulfric cool and collected. By midday, Yngve had only one question.
"What next?" Yngve asked interestedly, and Galmar's face lit up.
"Excellent question, cub," he said. "Next: the Jagged Crown."
"The... Jagged Crown?" Yngve asked.
"Have you not heard that ancient verse?" Galmar asked. He began to recite it, and so did Yngve.
"Maw unleashing razor snow, of dragons from the blue brought down, births the walking winter's woe, the High King and his Jagged Crown."
"Of course I know it," Yngve added.
"Going back to King Harald's time or even before, the High King always wore the Jagged Crown. It was the symbol of his might and power," Galmar explained. "The crown is made from the bones and teeth of ancient dragons, and is said to contain a portion of the power of every king who has worn it."
Of course Yngve was familiar with the Jagged Crown. He was in awe of its story, but he hardly regarded it as anything more than lore and legend. Who even knew if the crown really existed? And even if it did, who then knew where to find it?
"You... don't really think that's all true, do you?" Yngve asked. "...Do we?" He looked questioningly between Galmar and his father.
"True or not," Galmar insisted, "who would dare deny your father's claim to the throne, when the legendary Jagged Crown sits upon his brow?"
Yngve looked at his father for a moment, trying to imagine the Jagged Crown on his head. He raised an eyebrow. Galmar had an interesting point, he supposed.
"Tell me again why we should waste time and dwindling resources chasing a legend," Ulfric cut in. "We don't even know it exists."
"The Jarls are upset," Galmar said. "They don't all support you."
"Damn the Jarls," Ulfric said gloomily.
"They demand the Moot," Galmar added.
"And damn the Moot," Ulfric replied. "We should risk letting those milk drinkers put Torygg's woman on the throne? She'll hand Skyrim over to the Elves on a silver plate!"
"All the more reason, then," Galmar insisted. "The crown would legitimize your claim."
"A crown doesn't make a king," Ulfric countered.
"But this one..." Yngve piped up. "This one could be a significant symbolic victory – if it exists," he said, looking back at Galmar.
"It exists," Galmar persisted. "And it'll be a symbol of the righteousness of our cause. Think about it – the Jagged Crown! It heralds back to a time before Jarls and Moots. Back to the time when a king was a king because his enemies fell before him, and his people rose because they loved him."
"It would definitely inspire loyalty," Yngve said thoughtfully.
"Skyrim needs that king," Galmar went on. "You will be that king, Ulfric. You must be."
Ulfric raised a hand to his head and massaged his temples. This wasn't how he had expected this day to go, but Galmar wasn't backing down on this. And now he had gotten Yngve on board as well.
"You're certain you've found it?" he finally asked.
"When have I ever been false with you?" Galmar challenged.
"Fine," Ulfric said. Then he turned to Yngve. "Fancy a crawl through a moldering crypt to see if you can't stir up Galmar's Jagged Crown? You seem keen on the idea; you go with him."
"It'll be there, you'll see," Galmar said, giving Yngve a powerful clap on the shoulder that almost knocked him off his feet.
"I'll leave you to plan it, then," Ulfric said, turning and leaving the room to go see to other business.
"How do you know where the Jagged Crown is?" Yngve asked after his father left the war room.
"The location of the crown was lost with King Borgas after the Great Hunt killed him, while he was off on his damned Alessian campaigns," Galmar said. "But legend holds, his body was secretly returned to Skyrim and buried with the crown – but its exact whereabouts were lost in the Wars of Succession."
"Right," Yngve said. "but... you have found it?"
"Aye, through sources that shall remain nameless, I've tracked down what I believe to be the final resting place of King Borgas – Korvanjund."
"Korvanjund?" Yngve repeated. "Where's that?"
"The Pale," Galmar said. "East of the halfway point between Whiterun and Dawnstar." He pointed out its location to Yngve on the large war map. "If the crown exists, it will be there. I've got some things to finish here, then we'll set out. Come well prepared – we could be there for days looking, but it is there."
Yngve did as told, gathering his travel gear back together. Into his backpack, he packed two healing potions... and not much else. He wasn't sure how to prepare for this. He had a tent, a bedroll, and a wood axe all fixed to the outside of his pack. In addition to that, his bow, war axe, lantern, and a survival knife, all on his person. His map stayed in a satchel, so he could access it without having to stop and take the backpack off to get to it. Not knowing what else there was to take, he decided he was ready and went to meet Galmar in the main hall. Hilde seemed to sense that he was preparing for travel, and she insistently followed him out of his room and down the stairs to go with him.
Galmar stood at the long table, along with Tymver, and beckoned Yngve over when they saw him come through the war room. He also carried a backpack with a tent, bedroll, and wood axe. In front of him was an assortment of foods with long shelf life – crispbread, dried meat, salted fish, and the like.
"This should keep you for about a week, if it takes that long," Galmar said. "If it takes any longer, we'll find another solution, or just come home."
Yngve packed his share of the rations, then looked back to his father. Ulfric had been standing a short distance away, watching them get their preparations in order.
"What an odd looking company," Ulfric said, forcing out a laugh. He was nervous, Yngve could tell, but trying to hide it.
"Don't worry," Yngve said reassuringly. In contrast, his newly increased confidence was evident.
"No, no," Ulfric said. "You're right. You'll be safe with Galmar and Tymver." Still, he sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"And Hilde," Yngve added, scratching the large dog behind her ears, as she sat on the floor beside him.
"Sure," Ulfric conceded. "And Hilde."
"We should be going," Galmar said. "We ought to make good use of the daylight we have left."
It was midafternoon now. They could make it a fair distance before nightfall if they left now.
"Right," Ulfric agreed, a little hesitantly.
"Don't worry, Ulfric," Galmar assured him. "I'll watch over your son as if he were my own."
With that, they set off from the palace toward the city gates. Yngve couldn't believe how smoothly the day had gone. He'd expected an argument that would end with him being told no uncompromisingly, not to be headed back out the very same day. In fact, he'd completely forgotten about the ice wraith bite until he, Galmar, Tymver, and Hilde had gotten onto the road outside the city. It didn't worry him, though; he was sure he could still fight if he needed to, and he knew his company would have his back as he'd have theirs.
Despite all the excitement, Yngve soon found that he wasn't terribly excited to be back in the biting wind. He held his fur-lined cloak tightly around his body, hugging himself to try to keep his body heat in. Galmar, he noted in amazement, wasn't even wearing a cloak and didn't seem bothered by the cold, despite his arms being completely bare.
The party arrived at a mill just as the sun was setting. Galmar spoke with the owner, but she had no room to spare them, so they set up camp a short way up the road, where they could find a decently flat area of ground. They set up their tents, built a fire, and shared a meal. Yngve stayed up into the night, just sitting by the fire in thought, well after Tymver went to sleep. Hilde curled up at his side and rested her head on his leg.
"You should be getting to sleep soon," Galmar commented.
Galmar was still awake, taking the first watch for the night. After his watch was over, Tymver would take second, and Yngve third. At Galmar's comment, Yngve involuntarily yawned. He was tired.
"I guess you're right," he said, moving inside his tent to go to sleep.
. . .
Morndas, 20th of Rain's Hand, 4E 202
Tymver woke Yngve in the small hours of the morning to take his watch. There was a severe chill in the air, and Yngve sat close to the fire, his cloak held tightly around his body. Still, he shivered. Hilde remained asleep in Yngve's tent.
The hours until dawn passed uneventfully. Galmar was up with the sun. He allowed a little bit of time before beginning to take down his tent and pack up. Yngve took this as a cue and went to wake Tymver, who was unused to having to wake up early. Before long, Yngve and Tymver had both packed up their own things and, with hardly any daylight wasted, they set off again. Following Galmar's example, Yngve and Tymver both ate as they walked, with Yngve tossing every other bite down to Hilde.
"Make sure you're getting enough to eat for yourself," Galmar said. "Otherwise you'll have no energy for the task ahead."
Yngve nodded and made a noncommittal noise, carrying on anyway feeding the dog. The weather had stayed rather cold, and after a few hours of walking, they stopped to rest and warm up at the Nightgate Inn, a dreary little place along the road. Though it was warm, Yngve had no desire to be there. The place was deserted, and it turned his thoughts back to Mixwater Mill, to Gilfre, abandoned by her own workers and left to muddle through on her own. Had this inn once been thriving as well? Was it his father's fault that it wasn't anymore? Had the war chased away all their business? They took only a short rest before Yngve hurried them back to the road. But, as if the sky were reading Yngve's mind, it started to snow, and the horizon was overtaken by dark grey clouds.
"Just a little dusting," Galmar commented. "Nothing a few true Nords of Eastmarch can't handle.
"We should be getting close anyway," Yngve commented absently, admiring the different shapes of the snowflakes that landed on his gloved hand.
"Aye," Galmar replied. "Should get there well before sundown."
A short way later, Galmar, seeming to know exactly what he was looking for, veered off the cobbled road and onto a faint path branching away southward into a wood. Yngve would've missed the path if Galmar hadn't guided them to it, even if he were specifically looking for a trail. Not too far off the road, they were greeted by a Stormcloak soldier.
"Hail, Galmar," the soldier said.
"What's the situation?" Galmar asked.
"Some Imperials are camped out around the entrance, staying nice and warm around their fires," the man replied with disdain.
"What's the Legion doing here?" Galmar asked, surprised. "Damn Imperial spies..."
"They don't seem to know we're here yet," the soldier added.
"Should be fun for us, at least. If they're keeping themselves comfortable, we'll slip in and send them to their graves that way," Galmar said, then turned to Yngve. "Ready to spill some Imperial blood for Skyrim?"
"I'm ready," Yngve said. He felt trepidation about killing people, but didn't want to let it show after how hard he had worked to get here.
"I'll show you where we've made our camp, and you can drop off your travel gear there," the soldier told them, turning and leading the way. He brought them to a camp with a total of six soldiers, among them Ralof, whose expression brightened when he saw Yngve.
"Great to see you getting in the action," Ralof said enthusiastically.
After the three of them set their travel gear down, Galmar surveyed the camp and took command. He called everyone to gather around him and began to speak.
"Listen up. These Imperials aren't here by coincidence," Galmar said. "Their spies must have found out we know about the crown, and they don't want us to have it. But they won't stand in our way."
Galmar paused, and Yngve, surrounded by the small group of soldiers at the camp, heard scattered grunts of agreement. The soldiers were getting hyped up for a fight, but trying to keep themselves reined in, so as not to draw the attention of any nearby legionnaires. Galmar continued, addressing the soldiers.
"I know some of you are ex-Legion, and may know men on the other side, but remember this: they are the enemy now and they will not hesitate to kill you."
The soldiers hushed, and Yngve reflected on his father's own history, once a proud legionnaire himself, Yngve knew. Friendships had been destroyed and families split down the middle over this rebellion. Yngve told himself that it had to be worth the sacrifice – he would find a way to make it worth their sacrifice.
"Keep your wits about you and watch your shield brother's back. Ulfric Stormcloak is counting on us to bring him back that crown, and that's exactly what we're going to do!" Galmar finished rousingly. "Now follow me. Quickly and quietly. I want their guts on the ground before they even know we're here."
Everyone readied up, drawing their weapons and moving forward into the trees. Yngve couldn't even see Korvanjund yet, but he trusted Galmar, who seemed to know precisely where he was going. As the soldiers got into a loose formation, Yngve took up a position toward the rear and drew his bow. He hoped Galmar and the others didn't take it as cowardice; Yngve knew he was a far sigh better as an archer than in melee combat. Hilde and Tymver kept pace on either side of him.
They moved through an arch into an area that looked like a courtyard and ambushed the Imperials they found there. Those in the front rushed in, as Yngve stood at the top of a set of descending steps and carefully, but quickly took aim. His first arrow soared over the fracas to an opposing archer, striking him squarely in the elbow and taking him out of the fight. The thought crossed his mind to show mercy and let the other archer live, but as Yngve considered it, he saw the Legion archer desperately swaying toward the nearby door into the tomb, and he knew he had to finish it. He couldn't let the legionnaire warn whatever troops were inside. He slung another arrow across the way, striking his target in the back of the neck and watching him slump over.
Meanwhile, the militia soldiers below had taken out three more Imperials and were closing in on the remaining two. Seeing a cheeky opportunity, Yngve drew again, careful not to make any sudden movements as he aimed. The two remaining Imperials hadn't noticed Yngve, too concerned with the more proximal threat posed by the Stormcloak melee forces. No one anticipated Yngve's arrow sailing in above the heads of the Stormcloak militiamen and nailing one of the Imperials directly in the right eye. The other only had a split-second to look shocked before a Stormcloak axe came crashing down on him, cutting a wedge between his neck and shoulder.
None of the Imperial soldiers seemed to cry out or make much noise between taking wounds and dying, something Yngve had noted before on his journey to Northwatch Keep and back. He supposed the shock of receiving a mortal wound might simply be too great to allow for much of a reaction. In any case, with the Imperials outside the tomb vanquished, the Stormcloaks gathered around Galmar.
"That's the way I like it," Galmar growled triumphantly. "Short and bloody. They never knew what hit them." He glanced especially at Yngve as he said this.
"But do not make the mistake of underestimating the Legion," Galmar went on. "Plenty of them are Nords, same as us. We had the advantage of surprise this time, but things may not be so easy from here on out."
Galmar surveyed the group. Most looked ready, if a bit somber. Yngve felt confident, to his own surprise. He hadn't expected this mission to involve combat. Neither had his father, he was sure, or else he'd never have been sent. But things were going fine – going well, in fact. Clearing out the Imperials outside had been easy. Now all that remained was to go inside and retrieve the crown.
Ducked down and moving as quietly as possible, they entered the tomb. Inside was a makeshift camp, a group of bedrolls laid out around a fire and a rack of weapons. The Stormcloaks carefully moved from the entryway into a larger, cavernous chamber.
"Pick a man and put him down," Galmar said in a gruff whisper. "We attack on my signal."
Yngve took aim, and when Galmar said go, he let an arrow fly, kneecapping the Imperial he was aiming for. The man dropped, clutching his knee, and another Stormcloak finished him. The rest rushed forward, and though Yngve would have preferred that they took their time, he didn't like the idea of being left behind by himself. The ruin gave him the creeps. So, he advanced with the rest, providing support from the back line, until they came to a narrow corridor and stopped.
"I don't like the look of this," Galmar said, halting the group. "Perfect spot for an ambush. Ten to one they're just waiting for us on the other side."
He was right. The rest of the group wasn't as quiet or light-footed as Yngve was naturally, even when they were trying to avoid detection. Alone, Yngve may have remained unnoticed up to this point, but there was no way that they hadn't made every Imperial soldier in the place aware of their presence.
"But there isn't any other way through," one of the soldiers piped up.
"You sure about that? Then please, be my guest and go strolling on in there. We'll stay here and watch your back," Galmar said, his tone sarcastic and challenging.
The soldier didn't reply, and neither did anyone else. The silence was uncomfortable.
"Not so sure?" Galmar said. "Then perhaps we should take a moment to look around a little, eh?" He let this sink in a moment, then turned to Yngve.
"Yngve," he said. "You're a clever cub. Why don't you check this place out, see if you can find another way through."
"Hold on," Tymver objected. "I can't let you send him in first."
"Tymver, it'll be fine," Yngve insisted. "I can do it." He couldn't have Tymver – or Galmar either, for that matter – giving him anything resembling special treatment. Especially in front of the soldiers. It was bad enough that Tymver was obviously there specifically to accompany Yngve, and didn't stray from his side.
"We'll charge in to help as soon as we hear anything on the other side," Galmar assured Tymver.
That was good enough for Yngve, and he turned and wandered back into the thus far explored area of the tomb before Tymver had a chance to raise another objection. It looked as though there had once been a walkway above them, which was now collapsed. So, Yngve backtracked up a set of stairs they had come from, and surely enough, found a way to the upper landing on the other side. This put him directly above the cramped corridor that Galmar and the others stood around now.
"See anything?" Galmar asked.
"A passageway," Yngve replied in a hushed voice. "I'm following it," he said, bow in hand, with an arrow at the ready as a precaution.
Slowly, carefully, Yngve followed the narrow passage in front of him. It wound right, then left, and opened up to another large room. Yngve was on a long walkway above two levels of the room. There were indeed Imperials in here, planning to ambush by the looks of it. They hadn't noticed him yet, so Yngve drew back the arrow he had readied. He took aim on one soldier, figuring he could take one out and cause a distraction, then back into the passageway he had come from for cover. But, as Yngve took his aim, the floor under the Imperials' feet caught his eye. It looked wet and shiny. Oil, Yngve thought, adjusting his aim. Practically the entire floor was covered in it. Instead of shooting one enemy, he could aim for the burning lanterns hanging from the ceiling above them.
In a matter of seconds, Yngve had shot at and knocked down three lanterns, lighting up the oily floors below. The Imperials screamed as the fire burned their legs, jumped up onto their clothes, and spread all over them. They panicked, finding no escape from the sea of flames that covered almost the entire floor.
The oil burned away quickly, leaving the stone floors blackened from fire. The Imperials writhed on the floor, trying to put themselves out, still alive but screeching in pain. Yngve stood on the platform above, shocked and wincing at their screams. He didn't know what he had expected, but he now realized it wasn't this. What had he done? True, these Imperials would have died today, one way or another, but Yngve hadn't realized how unnecessarily brutal the trap he had set on them would be.
With the flames gone, the rest of the Stormcloaks rushed in and finished the burned Imperials with their own weapons. Then they forged ahead, apparently unimpacted by the immense suffering they had just ended. All Yngve could do was trudge forward with the rest.
Going through the next area, they found a trail of bodies – but not Imperials, and not Stormcloaks. These were much older corpses. What in Oblivion are these Imperials doing with the dead in the tomb!? Yngve thought, outraged.
"Ah!" Yngve suddenly heard Galmar call out from up ahead. "The Hall of Stories! We must be getting close now."
Galmar had pushed open a large set of heavy double doors. Beyond them lay a long room, its walls lined with detailed stone carvings and ancient inscriptions.
"I've heard of this," one of the soldiers said, her voice filled with recognition and awe. "They say these walls show the history of the ancients who built this place."
"Too bad we can't read these carvings," Yngve said, walking through the hall and gazing up at the inscriptions. "Who knows what secrets we'd uncover?"
"One thing at a time, cub," Galmar said. "We're here for the crown. Any of these carvings show a crown?"
At the end of the hall was a massive carved door with three rotating rings, and a claw shaped depression in the middle. In front of it lay two dead Imperials. This must be the end of the line, Yngve figured, and the door must trigger a trap.
"Even if one of these carvings tells us exactly where the crown is, I'm betting we're going to have to find a way through that door," Yngve said.
"Everyone see what you can figure out. Check out all the carvings. Let me know if you find something," Galmar ordered, as he turned to inspect one of the carvings.
Yngve walked over to the large ornate door and looked it over. The two dead Imperials were covered in stab wounds. And, surely enough, when Yngve looked closely at the archway above the door, there were holes. Trying to open the door had triggered spears or something to thrust out of them. As he stepped forward to inspect the door itself more closely, Yngve nearly tripped over what looked like a large ornamental black claw on the floor. It clattered across the floor before Yngve bent down and picked it up.
"What's that, now?" Galmar asked.
"I'm not really sure," Yngve said, showing the claw to Galmar.
"Hmm..." Galmar said, looking at it. "It looks like a claw from a statue." He turned back toward the carving he had been studying. Yngve couldn't quite agree with his assessment.
"I wonder what it's used for," Yngve muttered as he turned back to the door.
He turned the claw over in his hands a few times. It was all black, ebony he supposed, with three emblems on the palm. They depicted a wolf, a moth, and a dragon. The same wolf and moth appeared on the door, but reversed – and there was no dragon, only another moth. But the claw clearly lined up with the depression in the middle of the door. So what was the trick?
Yngve looked closely at the large emblems on the door. He wasn't even fully as tall as the middle one, so he started at the bottom, staring intently at the image looking for some kind of useful detail. After a few moments, he looked at the middle one. He stood up on his tip-toes to look closely at it, holding his balance with his hands against the stone ring it rested on. He wasn't seeing anything useful, when suddenly the ring gave under the pressure of his hands and slid to the right, making a soft, slight grinding noise.
"What have you found?" Galmar asked, his attention drawn by the sound.
"Maybe a key," Yngve said excitedly.
The middle ring had rotated around and now displayed a moth instead of a wolf. It almost seemed too easy, but Yngve found that all three of the heavy stone rings on the door were movable, and in no time he had the door configured to match the palm of the claw. He was just about to try the claw in the depression, when Tymver stepped forward.
"Wait," Tymver said warily. "We don't know for sure what that's going to do."
Yngve's grip on the claw tightened somewhat possessively. "What do you mean, we don't know what it's going to do? It's going to open the door," Yngve insisted.
"What if it triggers the trap?" Tymver asked.
"It won't," Yngve pressed, annoyed. He was sure he was right.
"I can't have you being the one to test it," Tymver argued. "If something happened to you..."
"Enough!" Galmar boomed. "I'll do it."
Before anyone could argue further, Galmar had grabbed the claw from Yngve and fitted it into the middle of the door. The rings slowly spun to show all dragons, then the door gradually lowered into the floor.
"Good work," Galmar said, tossing the claw back to Yngve. "Alright everyone, keep your guard up. No telling what we'll find down here," he added, as everyone readied and eagerly crossed the threshold. Yngve shot Tymver a thoroughly irritated look and moved out with the rest.
The next chamber they came to contained yet another locked door. Yngve was beginning to wonder if this was all some sort of setup or joke. But nonetheless, Galmar called to him again.
"We'll spread out and see what we can find. Yngve, do what you do best. See if you can find the way to get that gate open."
While the rest looked around the floor, Yngve headed through a side passage to an upper area overlooking the room. Across a narrow walkway, he found a handle in the wall and pulled it.
"That's done it!" Galmar shouted. "Alright, let's get moving!"
Just then, the graves along the walls burst open. Yngve couldn't believe his eyes. The ancient corpses in the tomb were stepping out of their resting places armed and readying to attack.
"Steady now," Galmar called, though he, too, seemed shocked. "They may be uglier than Imperials, but they'll go down just the same."
The Stormcloaks put down the draugr with ease before Yngve had time to react. He cautiously made his way back across and down to join them, side-eyeing the now empty graves along the walls. He had thought draugr to be only a legend. A myth. A ghost story for kids. How could this be real?
They entered the main crypt, and it was an eerie sight. A corpse, sitting atop a throne, with a crown on its head. Was that the Jagged Crown? Would this corpse be a draugr too? Yngve was frozen. He didn't want to approach it. Instead, Ralof did.
"Hey, there's a crown on this corpse. Is this the one we're looking for?"
Just then, two draugr burst out of standing graves right next to where Ralof stood. Yngve managed to break his fearful trance and shoot at one, as everyone else rushed in. By the time one was dead, the crowned corpse had risen as well. These draugr were powerful and didn't go down easily, even with eight people attacking them. But, eventually, they fell.
"Yngve," Galmar said at the end of the fight. "Get the crown off that draugr."
But Yngve's feet took him past the dead corpse on the ground, almost as if they knew some secret. He could hear whispering – or shouting? – filling his ears. It got louder as he walked toward the sound, unable to resist. There was a glowing inscription on a wall a behind the dead king's throne.
"What is this?" Yngve knew he said, though he couldn't hear himself.
Suddenly, his vision went dark – but he had to keep walking. The glowing part of the carving was all he could see, and the whispering and shouting seemed to take on a blurring, electric quality, until he got closer, right in front of it. Suddenly the noise reached a climax, and everything clarified. Yngve shook his head and looked at the carving, but now it looked totally normal and the shouting and whispering were gone. So, Yngve walked back over to the dead draugr and retrieved the Jagged Crown.
"Good," Galmar said. "Tomorrow, you and Tymver head out. Get to Windhelm as quick as you can. Tell your father he owes me a drink. We'll stick around here and see if we can find anything else useful. But for now, it's late. We've all earned some sleep."
Yngve nodded and headed with the rest back toward the exit. They set up their bedrolls inside, using the shelter of the old tomb. Yngve dreamed of his mother, that she was proud of him.
Author's Notes: Again, I really hate putting author's notes at the end of my stories, but in case anyone still reads this, here's to address an anticipated gripe. There's not a lot of action here, and even I expected there to be more. To write this fic accurately and keep it as "realistic" as possible, I am writing it concurrently with a Skyrim play-through. It's how I keep track of things like travel time/speed (using my own research/judgment on things like rest times/duration - so yeah it's still a little unrealistic I'm sure), the calendar, random creature/NPC encounters, and weather (thanks to mods). On quests such as the Jagged Crown, where Yngve is accompanied through the dungeon, the NPCs tend to do all the dirty work for him. I'm not sure that's terribly unrealistic given that he's a noble and in this case the NPCs are all in his family's service... but anyway, that's why there wasn't a more epic boss fight scene - the NPCs literally had cut down all the enemies by the time got Yngve into the room. There will likely be more combat action in later chapters as they follow Yngve into quests that don't have a bunch of NPC combat allies rushing ahead through the place as fast as possible. :P