Zezot left her room in the inn, finding Lydia in the main hall, eating. They shared their meal before heading out.
"Where are we off to, my thane?"
"I've heard of murders in Windhelm, and as much as I loathe that city, I feel I should take it in with my own senses."
Lydia nodded, preparing Zezot's horse for the journey. "Ulfric Stormcloak lives there," she said. "He's quite the nord."
"For divines' sake, Lydia; you don't have a crush on the man, do you?" Zezot raised an eyebrow.
Lydia looked as if she were going to laugh, but then attempted to neutralize her expression. "No, my thane; I have feelings for another. Valieth, an altmer who has the title thane of Riften."
Zezo held back her grin, and mounted her horse. "I wish you both happiness. If you ever need to leave my service, I understand."
"Thank you, my thane."
The journey to Windhelm was long and hard, the snow whipping at their faces angrily, much like the people living in the area.
Zezot had only been to this city once before, and it was brief; only long enough to purchase a horse from the stables outside of it's walls. She was grateful that she hadn't stepped foot inside of the horridly racist city.
Immediately upon entering the gates of the city, Zezot witnessed a fellow dunmer being harassed by a nord man and his friend. She wasn't certain about what he was saying, but she could tell the sentences were threats and very offensive.
"Lydia."
The housecarl didn't need to hear anything further, she nodded and walked up to the man and his friend and grabbed his friend by the shirt. "You call yourself a nord?" she questioned. "A nord would have some honor."
"You better get out of here before you wish you had," Zezot hissed, pushing the man Lydia wasn't grabbing out of the way. She walked past him as he stumbled backward and then fell as Lydia tossed his friend into him.
After speaking to several dunmer in Candlehearth Hall, Zezot decided that as the dragonborn, a very important figure, she had to take it upon herself to speak to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak on behalf of the dark elf people living in his hold.
She knew she'd regret her decision the moment she entered the Palace of Kings to hear Ulfric and Galmar speaking very loudly about Balgruuf the Greater. Galmar suggested they shove a sword through his gullet; Ulfric stated that it would make a better point to take his city and leave him disgraced.
Zezot hated them both.
She cleared her throat as she walked up to them, but neither of them even spared her a glance. This was a bit unusual since it had become more well-known that she was the dragonborn.
"Excuse me," she finally started from behind Ulfric. He turned, an annoyed expression on his face.
"You should talk to Galmar. He can decide how you'll be of use to me."
"I am not here to take part in your ridiculous war," Zezot said, exasperated. "I am here to help the people of your city. The nords are harassing the dark elves and it seems nothing has been down about it."
Ulfric scoffed. "Have you elves not gotten the hint that I have more important matters at hand, like a war?"
Zezot raised her eyebrows, completely astonished that a Jarl claiming to be the leader of a rebellion for freedom could be this much of a racist asshole. Ulfric turned back around, resuming his conversation with Galmar.
Zun Haal Viik!
The expression on Ulfric's face as his sword flew from his waist and clattered to the floor was delicious. He turned on the dragonborn, obviously offended.
"You dare shout at the true High King?!" Galmar shouted, drawing his weapon.
Ulfric extended his arm, barring Galmar from striking Zezot, which wouldn't have worked anyway, because Lydia had already stepped in front of her with her own weapon drawn.
"Dragonborn?" Ulfric asked, sounding vaguely disgusted.
"Yes."
A voice spoke from behind them, "But she's not a nord… Can she even be the dragonborn?"
"Yeah, and the dragonborn can't be a woman; right?" a voice accompanied the first.
Zezot, hearing this quite often as she was both a woman and a dunmer, sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Well, are you going to help your people, or not?"
"Even if you are the dragonborn, that doesn't change that I am fighting a war for my people," Ulfric bellowed, going into speech mode, which he seemed to be quite fond of given how often he gave speeches.
"You're right," Zezot decided, shrugging. "Sorry to bother you, Oh Great Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak."
Ulfric did not respond, turning to speak to Galmar again about war tactics.
Stupid nord, Zezot thought.
Once she was fairly sure that Ulfric wouldn't notice her, she began shoving food from his table into her bag. She made sure to leave no crumb unstolen, even going so far as to take the plates, platters, and goblets. When she had taken everything from the surrounding tables, she snuck up to Ulfric himself, reaching into his pocket to find… Nothing. The "True High King of Skyrim" had nothing in his pockets. No gold, no jewelry; nothing.
"Let's move out," Zezot spoke to Lydia as she made for the door.
"Will you carry this?" Zezot approached Lydia, holding her bag open.
Lydia made a face, terrified of holding stolen goods from the Hall of Kings. "... I am sworn to carry your burdens," she finally managed.
Lydia took most of the items in the bag and they headed off, not wanting to linger in this murder-filled city any longer.
"Where are we headed, my thane?"
"I'm not sure…" She thought her options over, none of them sounding quite right. "Perhaps home, actually."
