I don't own any of this, pls don't sue me.
It's been like 3 years since I've touched this fic, lmao. Also if there's any jarring differences in writing style, it's because chunks of this chapter are 4 years old, and other chunks I finished out today. Hopefully it's not too bad to read but (I hope) there's some differences in how I write now versus how I did back when I first started this thing. Also, let me be a beacon of hope that perhaps one day you too will have a long gone author return from the grave and get back to work on the story.
Next chapter is probably going to be from Ulfric's POV (or at least partially)
So be still when the darkness closes in
And tremble when the winds lay waste again
- Houses, Tenderly
The guards were a bit more whiney than the ones in Whiterun but let her in without too much fuss.
If she was being honest, Asta was... well, a little underwhelmed. The city looked to be in disrepair, for lack of a better term. But then, not every town could be Whiterun.
"You come here where yer not wanted. You eat our food, pollute our city with yer stink, and you refuse to help the Stormcloaks!"
Eyebrows furrowing together, her attention was immediately locked onto two Nord men who seemed to be trying to corner a Dunmer woman.
"We haven't taken a side because it's not our fight."
Asta turned her entire body towards the trio, watching very carefully. None of them seemed to notice her in the slightest, but she was very aware of the Dunmer trying to inch away.
"Hey, maybe the reason these grey skins don't 'elp with the war is because they're Imperial spies!"
What on Nirn did she just walk into. Granted, she had been witness to stranger scenes than this, but this man was practically doing everything he could to justify lynching this woman- there was no way a rumor of an Imperial spy would be taken lightly in the capital of the Stormcloak rebellion.
"Imperial spies?! You can't be serious!" Her voice was as incredulous as Asta felt.
"Maybe we'll pay you a visit tonight, little spy; we got ways o' findin' out what you really are."
That was enough. She'd be damned to Oblivion before she allowed this go on.
"Is there a problem here?" As she spoke, Asta subconsciously drew herself up, head held high, shoulders back and holding eye contact, daring him to run his mouth.
Then again, as far as he knew, she was just another woman- There was no way for him to know the Dragonborn was challenging him.
"You a dark elf lover? Get out of our city you filthy piece of trash."
This man was either incredibly stupid, or incredibly brave. If there was any chance of him being able to put up a fight, it might be refreshing to be challenged by someone she could consider her equal. A reality check, it could be called.
The dragon blood in her roared that he was weak; do like the dragons. Set an example with the first, and the rest will fall in line.
All in all, she really wasn't impressed with this first glimpse of the city.
"And why, may I ask, do you hate the dark elves?"
"They're parasites. They're livin' in our city, under our protection, but what do they do for us? Nothing! I know the High King invited 'em here, but he didn't ask me or anyone else first. Maybe he should have."
This peaked Asta's interest; and not necessarily in the good way. Why would the Jarl extend an offer of protection to the Dunmer, yet do nothing when his own people were harassing them? The woman hadn't seemed surprised in the slightest when the two Nords cornered her, though had obviously been trying to shift away from them. Or, maybe he did do something about the racists. This did not sit well with Asta and she would get to the bottom of it.
"Do you really think they're Imperial spies?"
"Wouldn' surprise me. 'ey've done nothin' to help in the fight fer Skyrim's freedom. Those Thalmor 're elves too. I bet they're workin' together. Maybe I shoul' round up some men and take us some prisoners to interrogate."
Seriously? The lengths some people would go to just to justify their hatred for another race... Well, she really ought to nip this one right in the butt. Otherwise Windhelm was going to wake up to the body of a dark elf one day- if they hadn't already.
"I don't like your attitude." Voice was still calm and level, but shorter and more clipped.
He scoffed at her; again, the dragon blood roared in her ears, demanding she put the insolent bastard firmly in place. His friend had wandered off, but the Dunmer woman was watching from a safe distance.
"Don't like it? Too bad! This city is ours! Don't think I can take you?"
Oh, she knew he couldn't take her. If he wanted to challenge her to a brawl, then that was fine with her- knock some sense into this one and maybe the rest would think twice.
"One hundred septims says I can punch you back where you came from."
"Alright, you're on." She tried her best to sound bored; maybe he'd back down.
"All right. Fists only." Well, there went that idea. "And none of that magic stuff, either! Let's go!" Oh well.
Asta sighed, but put her fists up. While she might not have been able to match the strength of his punches blow-for-blow, she was smaller, faster, more agile and most importantly- much more sober than he was. A few blows landed, most glancing off of her shoulders or catching on her forearms. They would bruise and she'd probably be a little sore the next day, but she'd had worse. The aches probably wouldn't be worth wasting a healing potion in the morning.
The guards did nothing aside from watch with some interest; while a small part of her nagged they should be attempting to break the brawl up, on the other hand she really wasn't in a position to complain. If this man had been sober, it would have gone in a completely different direction. Quite obviously the average Nord woman was at a physical disadvantage against the typical Nord man; Honestly, the idea of being beaten didn't scare her as much as it should have. The dovah in her was growing more dominant by the day and practically begged for a challenge. Very few things got her blood racing anymore, and while she supposed there should be some gratitude in her abilities, she was aware this reinforced feeling of invincibility would one day get the better of her. Nothing reminded one of just how very alive they were without death narrowly missing them- as Asta had learned the hard way with Helgen.
The little voice in the back of her head whispered to her that it would be so easy to just Fus-Ro-Dah him- The logical side of her brain immediately silenced the voice. That would be absolute insanity. Effective, but insane.
He was starting to wear down; the man had been half way to smashed anyway, and Asta dancing around him in circles to avoid be hit (the ones he did manage to land hurt like Oblivion) wasn't doing him any favors. A few more solid blows had him knocked completely off balance and sprawled on his back in the snow.
"Dat wasn't a fair swing." the man coughed as he staggered to his feet.
"You lost."
He huffed and tossed the coin pouch at her feet before toddling away silently. Sighing softly, Asta snatched the thing up. Part of her wanted to push on and head up to the Palace of the Kings- the logical part acknowledged that while her horse had only been walking and a slow trot for the most part, the woman had spent the majority of two days in the saddle. Pair that with the brawl, and she was just about ready to collapse.
Standing still for a few moments, Asta zoned as she was prone too, staring at nothing in particular. It wasn't until she finally noticed a hand being tentatively waved in her face. Eyes snapping to the owner of said hand, she realized it was the Dunmer woman.
"Are you alright?" There was an obvious questioning tone to her voice- not pondering Asta's physical condition, but her mental health.
"Oh, yes, I'm fine. Sorry... Do they do that often?"
"What, threaten us in the streets while guards look the other way? Yes."
A frown etched itself into her forehead as the Dunmer woman wandered away, leaving Asta alone in the snow.
The sun would be setting soon. It was late- too late to barge into the Palace of the Kings and attempt to see what was going on with the Stormcloaks. Looking around her, Asta found what she could only assume was the inn; it was nicely located right in front of the gate.
When Asta had started walking she must have zoned off again, entranced with the view and still chewing on the fact that the Dunmer could be so easily preyed upon.
This city was... well, so much more desolate than she would have imagined the 'rebel' headquarters would be. But then, maybe it was a reminder of what once had been. Or maybe her exhausted brain was struggling to find meaning in a place where there wasn't any. After all, this area of Skyrim was not known for its hospitable weather. No doubt it weathered its buildings just as harshly as it did its people.
Speaking of hospitable, the Inn was looking decidedly more and more inviting the more she looked at it. If Windhelm was this cold in the evening, it must be horrendous at night. Opening the door to the hall, it was... well, quaint was not the word for it, as it was one of the larger inns she'd seen in Skyrim.
The woman at the inn was happy to sell Asta an empty room for the night. But then, coin was coin and it was doubtful that she'd care too much about who was doing the renting so long as they didn't trash the room.
Slowly trudging her way after the woman's directions, Asta unceremoniously dumped everything right beside the door way no sooner than she had entered. Kicking it shut, the door hit the frame with a soft slam. Everything was starting to protest from the ride and subsequent fight. Specifically her back and knees- the glories of aging.
Stripping out of her clothes, Asta heavily contemplated if she had the physical capacity to change or just wanted to crawl under the covers and deal with the cold. Logic eventually won out, changing into sturdy leggings and a tunic- warm enough to keep her going through the night and more comfortable than sleeping in armor.
Asleep as soon as she was in the bed, Asta was confused when her eyes opened a moment later (or so it seemed). Rather than seeing early morning streams of light or (what she'd expected) to find she'd slept until mid day, it was still pitch dark out. Frowning, she sat up in the bed, casting a glance out the window. She'd gotten a few hours of sleep obviously, but had expected to be out for longer.
Oh well. There was no drifting back off for her.
The idea of sitting around on the bed was not one that appealed to Asta- hopefully if she wandered around the city, the exercise would remind her body that it should probably require more than a mere few hours to recuperate.
Dressing once more, she merely hoped she could pace out the energy from her. The blood was a fickle creature, keeping Asta up for days on minimal sleep before having her crash for long intervals.
It was better if she didn't fight it.
Arming herself lightly with her enchanted daggers, she slipped out of the inn quietly and into the streets. The city could have been beautiful- looking past the worn stone and cracks, the architecture would have once been stunning.
Her eyes, for the most part, were as always on the sky. Dragons still roamed the land and though their numbers had dwindled. She'd taken a harsh stance on the dragons, as strict as any gardener pruning a rose bush. Those who did not meet muster were eliminated. The dragons who disagreed with how Asta handled them, or Paarthunax kept quiet. The knowledge of how she'd killed Alduin was still fresh. None felt bold enough to outright challenge her or their new lord. Dragon sightings continued, the creatures staking out territories amongst word walls or burial grounds, but left the humans be. Had they not, she would have caught wind of the news on the breeze and dealt with the offenders quickly.
Hours passed quietly, Asta not seeing a single soul aside from the occasional guard who regarded her with a curious expression before continuing on about their rounds, no doubt due to the late hour. Finally the exhaustion started to creep into her bones slowly but surely.
The fatigue of the days' travel was setting in and Asta had almost made it to the door of the Inn when she heard it. Over the wind, faint as it was, she could hear the well defined sound of a shrill scream.
Her body protested violently, desperate for a chance to just curl up and not do anything, but Asta's slightly eschew moral grounding wouldn't allow her to ignore the sound.
All she wanted was to curl up under some covers, rest and recover- on the other hand, her being sleepy did not justify sitting by and simply allowing whatever was happening to come to pass.
Rushing towards the sound of the scream, Asta struggled to keep her balance between the snow and ice-slicked ground, and her own body threatening to give. Completely blind as to what she as about to walk into, Asta could feel her magic thrumming in her veins.
Turning a corner, just as Asta came to a flight of stairs, she found herself... in the graveyard? A body was spread out on a tomb stone, in nothing but her smalls and covered in wounds which had stopped bleeding. No stranger to death, she still felt a slight twist in her gut- it was one thing to find bandits dead (or actually doing the bandit killing herself), but it never did sit well with Asta when innocents were turned into victims.
A small gathering were huddled around the corpse, a guard among them. As she approached, the guard noticed the latest bystander to this crime;
"Hold it there! Keep your distance."
Eyes traveling from the large guard to the woman, she refocused her attention on him. "What happened here?"
"Another girl killed." His tone was softer this time, the regret obvious. Not oblivious to the another in that sentence, Asta waited for him to finish speaking. "This is Susana, from Candlehearth Hall. Served me a drink just a few nights ago. I can't say I knew her."
Asta couldn't get past his wording. "Another? Has this happened before?"
"Susana's the third. It's always the same. Young girl, killed at night, body torn up."
Aedra, Daedra and minor saints.
"Are the murders being investigated?" She watched keenly for his answer.
Had he merely said yes, but their efforts hadn't been enough, Asta most likely would have been able to accept that. However what she had not been expecting was the next words out of his mouth.
"We're stretched thin enough as it is with the war. No one has the time to spend on this. Unpleasant but it's the truth."
What the oblivion kind of answer was that?
No doubt her displeasure was written across her face but the Nord kept her mouth tight and expression neutral. "Could you use some help?"
The guard looked relieved, and Asta felt a slight...pang of something. Obviously the effort was more than welcome from his face. But what the Oblivion was Ulfric doing if his troops were so thin he couldn't even keep his own city in check? Or be bothered to inquire about a serial killer? How many more women needed to die before they finally held his attention?
"Ask some of these gawkers if they saw anything useful. I'm going to examine the body before the rats can get to it."
Asta did as bid, inquiring with the three bystanders. The man, whose name she did not inquire and he did not offer, unsettled her. Something about the way he was looking at Susana didn't sit right with her.
But then maybe she was just being paranoid. Most folks weren't used to the sight of a dead body.
All in all, no one was any help. The priestess who was tending to Susana made the observation that it was not money the killer was after. So they weren't robberies gone wrong. While not a definitive answer, it did help her in a way by crossing out one sort of motive.
Huffing, aggravated that no one had seen anything concrete other than that the figure was male, she returned to the guard.
"I've spoken to them. They don't know anything that could help."
The guard's tone was frustrated much akin to Asta. "Just like always. Nobody saw anything useful. Bastard escaped again."
She paused, debating how she wanted to word her next response. "There might be more to this, if you'll let me help."
Apperantly not the right thing to say, as the guard's frustration with the situation turned to aggravation at her. Tersely informing her that she needed to speak to Jorleif, she was effectively dismissed.
Jorleif, most likely, was sleeping. It would not do for Asta to earn the man's ire by rousing him. As much as it burned her blood (she never had been a "hurry up and wait" sort), she gave one last look to the crime scene and made her way back to Candlehearth.
The fatigue was gone and she was wired. It'd be another sleepless night.
First thing in the morning she'd make her way to the Palace of the Kings.