Skathi ran in terror, for few could ever prepare for Dragons. The ancient fiends were legends never seen in hundreds of years, not common place for thousands more. In this, she thanked Akatosh, for this one rained the fires of Oblivion's deepest depths upon the innocent folk of this town.
She made it to one of the watchtowers, where the Stormcloaks took shelter. Skathi's experience with them was extorted service. They came to her as a guide through the Jerall Mountains in return for her life. When they passed the Mountains, they still held her captive to keep from their enemies from having a witness. They promised to let her free when they reached the city Windhelm, but then the Legionnaires attacked, leaving such statements void.
As Skathi scrambled through the door, the soldier called Ralof said, "Jarl Ulfric, what is that? Could the legends be true?"
The black clad Nord simply replied, "Legends don't burn down villages," in a way that seemed like he was prepared to go back out and slay the Dragon himself. He may have gotten his gag off, but his Shout surely would not bring it to the ground.
In a moment of rest, the Beast's roar echoed through, earning the room's attention. It was horrid sound, shattering, breaking. Like thunder at night, it told of destruction close to come. Strangely, every cry almost sounded like speech, like another language on its own. Skathi was surprised she could hear this, though warry to tell the others for fear of being labeled mad.
The Stormcloak leader turned to his men and said, "We need to move. Now!"
"Up through the tower," Ralof called, "let's go!"
Skathi picked herself up and bolted up the stairwell with a Stormcloak in the lead. She stepped up the rough and slick steps until a she tripped in time for the wall to burst open and the soldier ahead of her was thrown off by dragonfire.
The outsider collapsed on the landing and curled up. Her heart was racing beyond health or comfort. This day and the day before had strained her soul and body. She didn't want to be in this place, but she didn't want to go any further.
"Kinsman, are you alright?" Ralof asked and put his hand on Skathi's shoulder, earning her whine. The soldier stood her up, much to her discomfort. "Listen," he continued, "See that inn on the other side?"
Skathi looked down and saw still standing rubble of wood and straw. It looked too far to jump, but she suspected that didn't matter.
"Jump through the roof," Ralof ordered.
Skathi would protest, but her speech was lacking her. The sheer stress of this had caused her to go silent. Her thoughts were scattered and dark, leading her to thinking the jump would do her good, regardless if she lived. At least this nightmare would end and Arkay would take her to peace at last.
Before Ralof could say another word, Skathi tossed herself into the ruined inn. On the landing, pain like daggers shot through her shin with an arrow's speed. She stumbled onto a still standing table and heaved, eyes closed shut. She lived and she would have to soldier on to survive this ordeal. Oh, may she soon live in uninteresting times.
Limping with a broken leg, Skathi made her way down to the first floor and out the inn. She looked out onto the quickly ruined village in anguish. She preferred her solitude, but this desolation was beyond what she would wish on anyone. Even on her greatest enemies, she would not want this.
To her right, an Imperial soldier was shepherding the villagers to safety. Skathi saw this and bolted to his promised haven, whether it held or not.
"Haming, you need to get over here," the soldier called to a child, "Now!"
Skathi saw the child, a boy, stood on his own in the inferno, balling at the sight of everything he knew in flame. She could say for sure that he was finding greater horror in this than she ever could. She guided the boy, presumably called Haming, over to the soldier and his neighbors.
Once the boy was safe, fire came down and set a man ablaze. Skathi and the soldier looked in horror as the stream of burning death tore off him and he fell to the ground. He still lived, evident by how he was trying to drag himself over but failing. The light soon set on his eyes and another soul was Arkay's ward.
Still reeling, the soldier ordered, "Gunnar, take care of the boy; I have to find General Tullius and join their defense."
The soldier, who Skathi caught was called Hadvarr, bolted off, the outsider in tow. It was better to keep with those with swords than those without in these crises.
Hadvar looked back and spotted Skathi before crying, "Stay close to the wall!"
Just then, the Dragon landed atop the stone wall and peered across his work. Pressing herself against the bricks, the outsider saw the glowing red eyes of the beast. One cannot claim to know the mind of a beast like this, but it seemed proud of its actions here. It seemed like all it had done was giving it some semblance of pleasure.
When the Dragon took flight, Skathi and Hadvarr bolted to a group of soldiers with General Tullius at the center. Battlemages and archers lined the walls, flinging magicka and arrows the monster in flight. If nothing else, it was a sign of the legion's dedication to their duty.
"Hadvarr!" the General cried, "Into the keep, soldier; we're leaving!"
Skathi couldn't blamed them; this was death.
The soldier and outsider bolted to the tallest building in the village and came face to face with Ralof. The two soldiers gave piercing gazes at each other like daggers. It seemed more personal than they were on opposing sides of a war. It seemed a remorseful hatred, like they once knew each other.
"Ralof!" Hadvar barked, "You damned traitor. Out of my way!"
"We're escaping, Hadvar," Ralof replied "You're not stopping us this time."
"Fine. I hope that dragon takes you all to Sovngarde."
"You!" Ralof called at Skathi, "Come on, into the keep!"
Skathi was given a choice: follow the Stormcloak or the Imperial. Questions roamed her mind. Who could keep her safe? Who would die in retreat? Would she be forever an enemy to the Empire if she followed Ralof? Or would she be left behind by Hadvarr for foolish reasons? None of these should be considered by a stressed mind.
In the end, Skathi chose to go with Ralof and bolted to where he was. Had the Dragon not attacked, the Empire would've had her head, and the Stormcloak didn't seem to wish her harm. Even when Ulfric's party extorted her services, he wasn't among her harassers. He was a safe bet, better than the soldier that was ordered to bring her to the chopping block.
After Skathi limped into the keep, she found Ralof crouched over a dead body. It bore armor and colors like his own, making them comrades in arms. Formerly, given he was now in Arkay's charge. The soldiers sighed after a long silence and stripped the fallen Nord's armor off and presented it to the outsider.
"Here," he said, "You need it more than he does."
Skathi took the gambeson donned the ragged armor, setting aside her fur wrappings. It seemed baggy, but not too ill-fitting. It was hopefully not damming of her more masculine attributes. It was an unfortunate addition to this accursed day.
She picked up the axe and swung it around. She was used to spears and bows, so she had expertise when it came to these. She could say it didn't feel cumbersome, so at least there was that.
Suddenly, Skathi heard a something down the hallway, past the doorway. Clinking, clattering metal strung together on something moving. Imperial soldiers in heavy armor, surely. Ralof motioned to stand to one side of the door as he took the opposite. The closing footsteps sent fear down the outsider's spine.
As the two soldiers entered, she saw one was the captain that sentenced her to die. In a rage, she brought her axe down onto the Imperial's head. It didn't break her helm and only dazed her, so Skathi grabbed her from behind and jammed the blade into her neck. Her death rattle almost overshadowed the sound of Ralof slaying the other Imperial.
Skathi took a moment to calm down, the blood fresh on her hands. She stared at it, unblinking. She hadn't killed anyone for years, not since she went into the wilderness. The sensation came back like trauma. Fear of a god's judgement, the thoughts of what a person was and what could have been, the knowledge that everyone this woman knew would never hear her voice again.
Monster.
"We need to leave," Ralof said, gentling leading her away.
The travel through the tunnels was horrible. The air was stuff and stale, toxic. They passed through a torturer's chamber and Ralof killed the soldiers there. There were none alive except them, so they took some supplies and left. They saw some figures in the hallway, but the ceiling fell between them and they were cut off.
Throughout, Skathi reframed from killing anything. They were faced with Imperial soldiers, but she did nothing to support or undermine her companion. Frostbite Spiders blocked their path, but she let Ralof deal with them. There was a bear, but she just led them around the beast. She had her fill of blood and death today.
After the bear, they found a way out of the caves. Skathi quickly limped out the exit and took in the cool air around her, the soft sunlight on her brow. Before she could breath, the dragon cried without warning and flew above, but took no notice of them. This brief panic went away as the Beast left.
As it passed out of sight, Skathi let out a sigh. She caught a glimpse of soft grass and let herself fall on the knoll. She was free for now and let herself fall asleep, at peace for now.
Jeanne looked out on the city of Windhelm. It had walls of stone and ice, human constructs and the natural weather creating an impenetrable fortress. Watching out alongside the blue-clad soldiers were hawks like gargoyles, built as thought to guard from invaders. Its imposing form, tall and unmoving, gave a sense that this was stronger than any castle or fort she'd seen before. It was a true testament to the Nords' ancestors that it still stood, the first city of Skyrim.
If Windhelm were anything like the Nords, Jeanne would have her work cut out for her. She'd sailed here to join the Stormcloak Rebellion, seeing worth in their cause. She saw their need to fight for their choice in worship, whether she worshipped Talos or not. In truth, she called Mara her goddess and was more devout to Her than any other Divine. Still, if any were to say she could no longer pray to Her, she would raise fire and strife before they had the chance.
The ship docked and a few Argonians came to tie it down. Jeanne was unused to Beastfolk, being a Breton of High Rock, she rarely saw their like in palace courts. As such, she kept her distance as she disembarked her vessel. Granted, it wasn't acceptable behavior, but she did want to get used to them and their fellows.
Out of the corner of her eye, one of the Argonians came up beside her. This was a surprise and Jeanne took a step back. What did he want?
"Ma'am, your captain said you were paying for the journey," he explained in a scratchy voice, "the docking fees are a hundred Septims."
Jeanne took a breath in relief. Of all things, she didn't want to be harassed on her first day in Skyrim. She was an outsider here, so she expected it to happen at least once. If she was frightened by a worker simply asking for pay, then her life as a daughter of House Hawksly had surely left her sheltered. Perhaps too much for comfort.
Once the coin was paid, she walked across the docks to enter the city. She saw few Nords at work, mostly Argonians, and every of the former seemed attached to their own ships. With a workforce exclusively made of a single race, it couldn't help but raise the question why. Segregation seemed most likely, something her father spoke often of, but it wasn't something she was taught was wise. Breed your own workforce and they'll have no freedom and hate you for it, which can only lead to strife.
As she entered the city, there were two paths before her. One had guards on patrol, the other did not. One was bare as the Windhelm walls, the other was covered in torn banners and graffiti. One held seemed safe, the other did not. And to left, by the dangerous road, was a little girl with a flow basket.
"Please," she said in a tired voice, "spare a coin?"
Jeanne look down and saw this girl's pain. She seemed thin, like she hadn't eaten enough. Her left arm was fixed as thought any movement would make it shatter in half. Any life in her skin or hair had been iced like the walls and brittle. Her clothes were rags that held no heat that could be seen. Surely, she deserved more than Septims.
The Breton took ten coin from her pouch and held it out to be taken. The look on the girl's face was pure gold.
"Oh, thank you!" she beamed, "take these flowers!" She took the Septims and gave five blue flowers to the adult.
Jeanne soon left, having said goodbye to the girl, called Sofie. She walked through what she saw as the safe path, only to see a Dunmer flanked by two Nords.
One Nord barked, "You come here where you're not wanted, you eat our food, you pollute our city with your stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks."
"But we haven't taken a side because it's not our fight," the Dark Elf woman replied.
The other Nord chimed in, "Hey, maybe the reason these gray-skins don't help in the war is because they're Imperial spies!"
"Imperial spies?" she hissed, "you can't be serious!"
"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy," the first Nord barked, "We got ways of finding out what you really are."
As the two left, Jeanne could feel bile at the corners of her mouth. Such unrefined and unfounded hate was despicable. From what she heard, High King Torygg brought Dunmer refugees here to save them from destruction at the hands of fire and lava, not to spy on Skyrim's citizenry. One or two perhaps, but not the hundreds that came for shelter.
Jeanne stood beside the woman, but before she said anything, the latter asked, "Do you hate the dark elves? Are you here to bully us and tell us to leave?" She seemed so used to these sentiments that her anger came to her like how to put on her shoes.
"No, I don't hate your people," the Breton replied.
"Then you've come to the wrong city," she said as she left.
Without someone to talk to, and sunset coming soon, Jeanne made her way to what she assumed was an inn, Candlehearth Hall. It fit the architecture well, with hawks watching over and the stone frozen in place. The difference was that it seemed warm, whether in the windows or the shingles painted hazel brown.
She entered and took a seat at the bar. She ordered some cooked beef and grilled leeks when soldiers entered. Their armor was torn and rent, themselves seeming soaked to the bone. Two carried quivers that each held one or two arrows left. One seemed to have a scabbard with no sword. It looked as though they had been through Hircine's hunting grounds.
The trio set their helmet's aside and blobbed onto a bench by the bar. Jeanne got a better look at them and they were neither male nor Nords. The was a Redguard, swarthy, lean and a cold look in her eyes. In the middle was a High Elf, golden skin and golden hair. Last was one closest to the door, a Dunmer, with gray-ish blue skin and eyes full of the night skin.
"Who might you three be?" Jeanne inquired.
The High Elf leaned forward. "I'm Eoni Half-Good," she explained, "The one to my right is Ravani, she'll kill Rolff Stone-Fist for justice. And to my left is Mikaela, who'll kill Rolff Stone-Fist for fun."
"Truly?" the Breton asked.
"No," Eoni explained, "but I like the idea of it getting back at Rolff and it scares him into becoming devout."
A waitress came by and took the trio's orders. They each had cabbage soup, much to their chagrin, and Ravani had an entire jug of milk. She came back with the food on a tray and a man lugging the milk behind her. Ravani took the jug with both hands and drank down the whole thing in one swig. An impressive feat to be sure, if perhaps not a good idea.
Jeanne saw these soldiers and thought to her own ambitions. She wanted to fight for what she thought was right, but these three seemed to do so with hardship. Even if they weren't survivors of some sort, they were filthy and worn, no glory or song to their names. Jeanne wondered how hard she'd have to fight and if she would even survive.
Suddenly, a soldier burst through the door, torch in hand. "Ulfric Stormcloak lives!" he belted, "but a Dragon shadows his trail!"
The trio sighed and took their helmets and unfinished food in hand. With that, they were off. Whether the Dragon was real or not, they stilled headed into the fray again. No word of protest or cry of indignation; only cold resignation. No rest for the weary, no glory to grunts or funeral for the unmourned.
"It's their lot in life," the barkeep remarked, "Be glad you're not one of them."
But that's what Jeanne came here to be. And to fight and die for this lot turned her stomach. She bought a room and laid without sleep in contemplation. She hoped not to waste her time or life with the wrong cause, but she was here and had few options. Perhaps in the morning, she would know the right choice.
It was becoming a long day for Rena. The leader of the Stormcloak Rebellion was captured, a Dragon emerged from the annals of mythology to interrupt his execution, the city was set ablaze and the garrison had to retreat, refugees in tow. It was not over yet though; they still had to get to Falkreath to rest and resupply from the long trek to Solitude.
They were still reeling from the attack, both soldiers and civilians. Injuries permeated so many, with barely a horse or strong lad left unoccupied by two wounded, maybe three if there was a child. The charts were overfilled with more. Battlemages tried to use their limited healing abilities to mend them, by they were tired and drank Magicka potions, ravaging their own health in the process with that damn Haafinger brew. Some fell, not from the pain, but from having to carry the injured for so long.
Rena rode in front to guide the convoy and guard them from wild beasts or opportunistic bandits. She was remarkably unscathed from the experience, but she'd gotten a terrible cough from the ash. A battlemage offered to check it, but she refused, telling them to deal with the more grievously wounded. In truth, she always had a terrible cough, especially around Spring, but it seemed to have gotten worse with the attack. She kept it as quiet as humanly possible, but it could still be heard fifty heads away.
"We should be close," the lieutenant beside her reported. Rena couldn't respond; her attempt to maintain her breathing meant she didn't speak.
Sure enough, Falkreath was just a few minutes away. It was a quaint little town. It didn't feel like a city, nor hold capital, by any means. Wooden walls were usually reserved for villages, not the center of an entire hold. The low buildings and claustrophobic roads didn't help the feeling it lacked the breath of other capitals. Still, it had a homely atmosphere, which was probably more comforting than anywhere else in Skyrim.
On the way, a purple clad guard ran up to Rena. "Soldier, did you see a dog while you were out there?" he asked.
Rena shook her head, still holding her breath.
"Well, it was worth it to ask," he said as he left.
She dismounted and leaned on the hitching post, her horse having been tied up. She was ready for the healer's touch, cool drink and warm food. She took a free battlemage aside that had been pestering her before about it and nodded. He sighed, but still applied healing to her lungs and throat. She coughed for 'round a minute before she finally felt confident that she could speak.
Rena sauntered into the inn, the Dead Man's Drink. She ordered the freshest steamed mudcrab legs and a pitcher of water. While she was waiting, General Tullius came to her table. He looked grimy and whipped, not at like the pristine officer from Helgen. He'd been riding at the back of the convoy, making sure everyone was safe. She didn't expect that of him.
"Mind if I join you?" he asked.
"Go right ahead," she replied in a raspy voice, not quite used to speaking again.
He set down next to her as Rena's order came. "What will you have, legionnaire?" the waitress, Narri, asked. She was wearing a quite revealing outfit.
"You got any apple pie here?" he asked, "I'd love some."
She winked and left.
"I talked to the jarl," Tullius explained, "He's an arrogant little bastard, but he agreed to care for the refugees and injured."
"Good," Rena replied. At least she could stop worrying about them.
"Have you seen Captain Virata?" he asked Rena. She shook her head no. "Well, there goes one good officer. I intended to reform the garrison into a company under Tribune Solana Barsotti for the war effort. Looks you'll be a captain under her."
Rena was surprised. "General, I don't think you're thinking this through," she said, "I'm a bastard, I haven't been in the Legion a year, I only barely got through training."
"And you're still here," Tullius replied, "Virata had been in the Legion six years and we don't even know where her body is. War doesn't give us the best and brightest to lead the next battle; only survivors." As Narri brought his pie to the table, he explained, "Something tells me you'll survive longer than I will. My wife would sure think so with how I've been eating."
Rena stewed over this. She'd joined the Legion because of duty, honor and family. Her mother's family had a proud military heritage and she herself felt compelled to join. She fought her health and the Legion's prejudices against her bastardy to be here. And what was she given in return? The most horrifying experience of her life. If that dragon is still here, the battlefield would be deadlier than before with a force that saw either side as an ally.
But she still would not leave. The Empire needed Skyrim. If they lost Skyrim, they would lose High Rock. And if they lost High Rock, they would be surrounded. Cyrodiil would fall with no allies to call upon. They lost too many miles for her to let an inch stop her. She would still serve her people, as hard as it would be.
As she came to this, a thundering echo galloped into town. Rena came to the door to see a full company of mounted Legionnaires arrive into town and stop where the maybe forty Imperial soldiers still lived. At the front was a man she could not tell if he was from Skyrim or Cyrodiil, but she could still tell his presence demanded the ear of Divines.
"Is General Tullius here?" he said in a commanding voice that felt like the northern winds.
The general came out, holding his pie. "Present," he said, "And you are?"
"Captain Ansgar, Knight Errant of the Imperial Legion," he explained, "We've been called away from hunting the Forsworn to make sure Ulfric is returned to captivity or executed before he reaches Windhelm." He inquired, "Are there any soldiers ready to ride?"
Rena bolted to her horse and mounted up, ready for battle. She was ready to serve right now. Following her, twelve of the uninjured men took steeds, a few tossing a coin purse to the stable boy. At least there were souls still ready for battle.
"You go," Tullius said, "I'll watch over the refugees and injured."
"Yeah, eat your apple pie," a voice said, "We'll go win the war for ya!"
Ansgar was annoyed by this. Rena could only hazard that there was a joker in this company. He still seemed determined and rode off, the rest leading behind him.
The mounted company flew like Kynareth was with them. The wind was behind them, the rain barely catching them. The earth beneath them bounced against their hooves, specks flying around them. As mud formed, it made no difference to their speed and maybe they even gained some ground.
They would not stop. Rena would not stop. She would end this war now or die now. May Stendarr be with her, Kynareth guide her and Arkay take her if she fails.
Ravani rode against the wind and rainfall across the road. She was tasked with extracting Jarl Ulfric from his pursuers. She might've joined his cause, but not for him. He could live or die for all she cared, but his death would bring an end to rebellion, so it was out obligation she was out there. All she wanted to do was to not live under a corrupt empire and this was the way to do it.
Beside there were eleven other riders, all experienced in their own rights. There was no margin for error here, for it may surely mean their leader's death. The weather may drain them, but they were still stronger warriors than Imperial regulars.
To her left was Eoni Half-Good. She joined on the pretense that she was doing this for her half-Nord heritage, which earned her that nickname. Nobody believed this, but she still found kinship with the other Stormcloaks. Every smile she gave seemed fake to Ravani, but maybe that was just her.
To her right was Mikaela. It was not known why she joined the cause. They knew she was from outside of Skyrim, but not which province. From her actions alone, she believed in the Stormcloak cause, but that was most people that joined. She rarely talked about anything or could be seen outside the barracks. She was a mystery, no question.
At the front of the pack was Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's chief lieutenant. He was a soldier long before Ravani could walk, even when he surely needed retirement. He was in the Great War with Ulfric and continued to serve his good friend, perhaps onto death. He was a brusque person, but that was no surprise given his military history. That did not mean he should be that way all the time, especially to the Dunmer.
As the weather reach its zenith, they spotted about four figures, indistinct at this distance. They could still tell that three were clad in the blue Stormcloak colors, one in black at the centered. If it were not their missing comrades, it was a surely strange coincidence.
On approach, it was them, though soaked to the bone. Ulfric's furs took on the size of weasels instead of wolf heads like before. He did not have the miserable expression the soldiers had, only the look of someone who had been waiting patiently. He did have faith in his old friend, so perhaps he expected this rescue.
"Good work, Galmar," the jarl said, mounting on his friend's horse.
"Is this all that's left?" the lieutenant inquired.
"The headsman took Fareolf to Sovngarde," Ulfric explained, his voice heavy, "The dragon took out Tolskar. I don't know what happened to Gunjar and Ralof."
So, the dragon was real. She read the Nord myths from books and storytellers but ignored them. The next thing you'll be telling her the Nerevarine was real. Still, if it was real, it would take more than her bow to kill it.
From the other end of the road, they heard a thundering echo like five hundred running warriors in steel plate. Before long, they saw a mounted company galloping towards them. The Legion had followed them. The survivors mounted up, the Stormcloaks bolted, Ravani following suit.
"Into the trees!" Ulfric commanded.
The riders veered into the forest and thick brush. The foliage was a good place to lose them, but also each other. If they were unlucky, they would be separated with ten riders on each of their backs. Ravani could still see the others, but the maze of oaks was throwing her off.
The Imperials were still behind them and loosing arrows upon them. One struck the back of one of the survivors and their health was failing. Ravani drew her bow and loosed her own replenished supply of arrows. They hit a few riders, but none were dismounted, and her position meant she was missing several times.
"Mikaela!" she called, "Dismount!"
The two launched off their saddles and onto branches. If Ravani could be certain of anything about her Redguard comrade, it was her skills. She, like the Dunmer, was an archer with the acrobatics of a circus performer and could lose herself in the shadows when needed. Ravani's skill came living in the Gray Quarter and evading corrupt guards, but who knows where Mikaela got hers.
They rained arrows onto the mounted company, their torchlight an easy guide with the nightfall. This stability was helpful in comparison to horseback. Several targets fell, killed from the impact if not the arrows. Some tried to shoot them down, even stopping for better aim, but they usually missed or died from the quicker Stormcloak archers.
Soon enough, the Imperials seemed fed up and threw torches onto the tree. The two were careful not to hit any of the torchbearers for fear of forest fire. This was what they wanted to avoid. Fortunately, the rainfall kept them from spreading far, but they should not tempt fate. Ravani poured her freshly filled canteen onto the pile of torches.
As the Dunmer was doing this, Mikaela jump down onto one of the riders and forced him off his mount. One of his comrades tried to avenge him, but he lost his head. She motioned for her shield-sister to jump on the freshly painted horse and ride with her. As they were at the back of the pack now, they could not do much here to help, so Ravani leaped from her perch and onto the stead.
They quickly saw that the rest of the company was far in front of them. The only thing they could do was trail behind them and take potshots. With their relative uselessness silently understood, they turned back into the road. No one would be there right now, so it was safe to travel.
Ravani threw her cloak up to save her from the rain. Riding so fast for so long with the weather what it was, she was soaked to the bone. She was ready for a simple ride down the cobblestone path.
"You think they'll be alright?" the Dunmer asked her comrade.
The solemn figure simply said, "It is irrelevant to our predicament; we need to find shelter."
Ravani thought about settlements close by. "I think our best bet is Kynesgrove, if only so we don't have to ascend the Rift."
"If only," Mikaela replied, "Ride."
And so, they cantered down the road to Kynesgrove. Ravani hoped the others survived, if only for the cause. They were needed for the cause, but she wondered what good the cause was now? A dragon was here! She trusted the fighting might of the Imperial Legion more than the egotistical Nords to handle this new paradigm. Still, she could not defect without a show of good will. People left the Empire to join the Stormcloaks, not the reverse. It would take some thought.
She contemplated it the entire ride before arriving in Kynesgrove. She paid for the night and a midnight snack before turning in. Her mind was still in conflict.