Only two prisoners were suitable enough for their purposes, according to Mulnak's judgement. They were both female, one a Khajiit named Dra'hana and the other a Dunmer named Volediri. Dra'hana was slim in figure with scraggly chestnut fur and expressive brown eyes. She had entered Whiterun without leave, which was a crime due to the tendency of her kind to be thieves. Not to say that that crime was justified, of course. Skyrim had no shortage of superstition and racism. Volediri was short and curvaceous, a stature not commonly associated with her people, and her long black hair hung in dreads decorated with red beads that clanked quietly whenever she moved. She was a cutpurse who'd assaulted a guard when caught. There was no honor in her crimes, but it was more humane than most of the other prisoners they had to choose from.

Thorunn couldn't fight with her wounds, so she spared a couple moments for the Kynareth priests. They healed her to the best of their abilities with the short amount of time she gave them. By the time they finished, she could walk relatively straight and the pain was dulled to a tolerable throb. Black spots still coated the vision of her injured eye, but they told her a scar wouldn't linger too prominently. She wasn't worried about physical appearance as much as she was worried about her eyesight.

She wasn't at her best, but it would have to suffice. Isha was restored to full health, able to walk without assistance and more than eager to sink her arrows into more Altmer. She'd thanked Vunthar repeatedly for carrying her and vowed to repay him, to which he shrugged off and muttered, "Just doing my job." Thorunn noted with a sly smirk that his cheeks were flushed.

They were on the road again within the hour, traveling by moonlight and torches. In total, there were thirteen of them. Not an ideal total to take on an army, but Thorunn's hope was that the wolf-blooded would make up for it. Would that she could transform herself.

As for their newcomers: Where Volediri was quiet and observant, Dra'hana liked to comment on just about every strand of discolored grass. "Dra'hana knows this flower," she'd say, followed by what uses the flower offered. Dra'hana knew this tree, and that butterfly, and this farm. Dra'hana knew the stars and the crypts, as well as the wolves and the sabertooth tigers (they kept their distance, but even so, the large cat allowed them to pass without so much as a sniff, which Thorunn thought was peculiar).

Dra'hana reminded her wistfully of Tinsley, a talkative and energetic man who'd died while under Thorunn's command at the behest of Altair, who had then been nobody. This time, Thorunn tried to appreciate Dra'hana filling the silence. Mulnak even commented or asked the khajiit questions sometimes of the things she knew, which Dra'hana was absolutely delighted by. The two were fast friends.

Volediri hadn't said a word since her introduction. There was a quiet intensity to her that made Thorunn wary. The rest of their company was no less than their usual. Vilkas and Farkas bickered while Aela fought to quiet them; Thongvor and Kottir talked war strategy and the strengths of weaknesses of different crafting material; Vunthar and Isha chatted amiably while the Nordic woman Thorunn had yet to place a name to occasionally joined in.

"Been a long time, eh?" said Ralof quietly as they walked on tired legs.

"Too long," Thorunn responded. She kept her eyes on the road. "What have you been up to all this time?"

He smiled. "I was part of the background noise during the war against the Imperials. Ulfric gave me a unit of my own and promoted me to Snow-Hammer. My boys and I took down a lot of forts that made all the difference in your larger scale battles."

"You have my thanks."

He bowed his head modestly. "But the war wasn't all." He tugged at the gauntlet on his hand and held up his fingers, revealing a simple gold band around his middle. "Married a girl from Winterhold. Cold as snow and fierce as fire, the best woman in the world."

Thorunn smiled. "I don't remember receiving an invitation to the wedding."

"We didn't have one." Disappointment twinged with sadness laced his tone. "Things were too chaotic with the war and the dragons. We said our vows while covered in blood and on our last breaths." He chuckled fondly at the memory.

Thorunn thought she would have liked a wedding of the same make. Unfortunately, that wasn't allowed for kings and queens. "That sounds charming."

"You have a wedding of your own on the way, I hear."

"You hear correctly, though it's consistently delayed by one mishap or another." Much to her annoyance.

"Damn the war," Ralof said. "Our loved ones are who we're fighting for. Lives are hard and short these days. I say you should just say to hell with it and marry him on the spot."

"If only it were that easy." She smiled faintly. "I'm of a mind with you, Ralof, but now isn't the time for my life to adjoin with Ulfric's under Mara's gaze." She had a hard time coming up with a reason why, however.

"Well, when he comes to his senses, I'll be expecting an invitation." He smiled playfully, which Thorunn returned.

Their travel wore on. Multiple times the others suggested they stop for a rest, but Thorunn insisted that enough time had been wasted already. By morning, when the sun was just peeking over the edges of the horizon in orange and pink hues, they neared the Reach.

The smell was the first thing that hit Thorunn. Death, followed by burning flesh. With the smell came sight, and that was when Thorunn saw the stacks of bodies being took to the torch. Some were robust and dressed in blue garb while others were slim and armored in gilded breastplates. The blue ones outnumbered the gold by far. The wide open field was eerily silent, unaccountable for even the chirping of birds or the breathing of Thorunn's companions. All that remained was the crackling of fire and the desolate battlefield before them.

Holding her breath and fighting against a knot welling up in her throat, she slowly started moving forward, scanning her eyes over each face she passed. She feared the next would be one of her friends.

A soft whimpering sound reached her ears. Thorunn sharply turned her head towards the noise. Her eyes widened. "Eriswe," she breathed, hurrying over to the girl.

The Altmer sat crouched on the ground, rocking herself back and forth and covering her ears with her hands. A dagger lay next to her, coated in blood much like Eriswe's hands. Before her was a Dominion soldier with a sloppy cut circling his neck and blood seeping from its jagged slits.

Thorunn knelt before her. "Eriswe," she repeated, reaching out to the girl.

Abruptly, the girl collapsed and threw herself into Thorunn's arms, sobbing against her chest and clutching her tightly. Thorunn didn't know what to do, so she patted her back awkwardly and held her while she cried herself dry. Thorunn presumed that the corpse bleeding out before them had been Eriswe's first kill. The first kill was always the worst. Thorunn still remembered her own vividly.

She'd been fifteen and her parents were off fighting in the Great War, leaving their only living child to her own devices. As a result, Thorunn had been a rambunctious girl with little to no discipline. She cut a boy's finger off at seven because he'd called her a meathead, and assaulted a guard for taunting her with food she couldn't afford. These instances were only brushing the surface of all her girlhood wrongdoings. Nan did what she could to tame Thorunn's spirit, but it'd been too late.

It was shortly after the signing of the White-Gold Concordat and henceforth her parents' deaths. Thalmor agents were running rampant in Skyrim, rooting out Talos worship and being as aggressive as they willed in the process. When they came to Falkreath, residents began squabbling to hide their Amulets of Talos and erase any trace of Him in their homes. The Jarl (who'd been Dengeir at the time; he'd had no good standing with the Imperials like his nephew) had even issued a decree, stating that the Thalmor was on their way and it's well advised to retire the evidence.

Not Thorunn. She wore her Amulet of Talos above her tunic for all to see, damned the consequences. When the Thalmor arrived, she didn't shy away from their ire and cower away in her home like the rest of Falkreath. The Thalmor remained in Falkreath for the proceeding month- one by one, residents started disappearing. Old Faregun was taken on the first day for a shrine to Talos being in his home. Gretika was taken on the second day for speaking out against Thalmor supremacy. Then Mavegarte, Savul, Haglmer, Urfred, Hursten, Elssine. By chance of fate, Thorunn's amulet went unseen for weeks.

Instead of banking on that invisibility and letting herself go unnoticed, she grew impatient and began egging the Thalmor on. She'd call them names when they passed, she'd spit at their feet, pickpocket their coin. They'd laugh at her, which made her even more angry. Looking back on it, she was certain someone had been looking out for her and paying the Thalmor off so they'd ignore her. But they didn't ignore the amulet when they laid eyes on it.

It'd been only one elf that first discovered it. He was lounging in the tavern while Thorunn swept floors for Valga Vinicia. She recalled his exact words had been, "Bring that tray of wine over to me, girl, and hope it tastes better than the piss you people usually pass as drink." Scowling, Thorunn did as bade. When she leaned over to place the tray on his table, that was when he saw the amulet.

His first move? To hit her. Thorunn had been keeping a dagger on her ever since she was old enough to hold one, and that coupled with the respite that was building up over the weeks led to her pulling it on him. One swift moment later, he was on the ground choking on his last life essence, a dagger sticking from the slit in his throat.

The difference between Thorunn's first kill and Eriswe's first kill was that Thorunn didn't shed a tear. She didn't look away, either, or feel any sort of remorse. This elf had contributed in taking away her friends, he'd taunted her for weeks, insulted Skyrim like it was the only sort of talk he could spill, and he'd tried to assault her. And now, thirteen years later, Thorunn only wished she'd made his death hurt more.

Consequences followed that kill, but Dengeir was quick to sooth the Thalmor's wrath. He paid them all he had and made Thorunn sit in the cells for two months. She thought it was worth it.

"Eriswe," she said gently. "Eriswe. Do you know what happened to the others? Altair, Rayya, Kemaan?"

The elf sniffled and shifted in Thorunn's arms. Wordlessly, she fumbled at the pocket of her skirts, pulling out a roll of parchment with trembling fingers. She covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob as she handed the scroll to Thorunn. The seal bore the gold eagle of the Aldmeri Dominion.

Eriswe scooted away from Thorunn as she unrolled the parchment, holding her breath. She read it aloud.

A message to Thongvor Silver-Blood:

It occurs to us you have one of our turncloaks in your custody. That is all fine and well; we are more than happy to donate our kind to the less fortunate. Even so, we lay respect to the superior race, henceforth it falls unto her to deliver this letter.

Your son is in our captivity. Bend the knee, swear your men to our service, and he may yet live. If you refuse, the blood of him and many others will flow through this city thicker than the silver its renowned for. If you accept, approach the city alone, unarmed, and give your name to the guards. You have half a moon to decide.

Act wisely.

General Arelon Highlock

Thorunn slowly lowered the letter, her knuckles white with their grip.

"Cursed elves," Thongvor swore through gritted teeth. "What am I to do with this?"

That was a good question. Thorunn cared for Altair, perhaps even loved him, but was he worth nearly half of Skyrim? If Thongvor bent the knee, Ulfric would brand him a traitor and undoubtedly execute him at first light. Thongvor's life was in his own hands, however, and it was up to him to decide whether it was worth the life of his son's.

Thorunn's eyes ran back to 'half a moon.' That gave them two weeks; enough time to trek back to Solitude for Ulfric's counsel and back again if they were swift. That would be a waste of time, Thorunn thought. He'd certainly be angry if they made weighty decisions regarding the fate of one of his regions, but he would understand given time.

A part of Thorunn already knew what the right choice was, no matter how much love she bore for Altair. She closed her eyes. Breathe, she told herself.

She opened them. "Markarth is too valuable to yield in exchange for one life," she said, hating every word that came from her mouth. She stood, her unsteady balance not from her weak leg. "If the Reach falls, the rest of Skyrim will follow. We will not bend."