The battle was won, not that it warmed Thorunn Stormblade's heart much. She'd took out her frustration on Dominion stragglers, hacking and slashing almost blindly at any piece of flesh wearing gilded armor, but it did little to stifle her rage. Ulfric steered clear of ire and wisely so.

"Stormblade!" someone called from behind her. She was skulking the field, making sure there were no more elves to be picked off. She turned at the voice and found it was Ralof. "Stormblade," he repeated as he slowed to a jog, nearing her. "What happened back there? Wasn't that... beast one of the Companions?"

"Aye," she confirmed through gritted teeth.

"Then..."

"Aye."

He looked down.

"How many did we lose?" she asked.

"We're still counting, but... nine-thousand for us, five-thousand for the Alik'r. I estimate twenty-thousand for the elves."

Fourteen-thousand, then. Fourteen-thousand out of twenty-five thousand. Were it not for Thorunn's mistake and Ulfric's decision, that number would have been four-thousand at most. She looked around, holding her breath as her gaze touched the battlefield. What once was alive with beauty was blackened, turned to a graveyard with a vault of gloomy grey sky hanging over it. Innumerable corpses littered the field, so much so that Thorunn couldn't take more than two steps without having to step over one.

And it wasn't over.

"Dragonborn!" one of their men bellowed from beneath the ridge. "We're moving out!"

She looked back to Ralof, who was watching her anxiously. "After our escape at Helgen, you said you wouldn't have made it without me," she said, her voice low. His anxiety turned to confusion as she took a step towards him. "I don't believe that. No more than I believe that what I just did was forgivable." She stepped past him and began moving down the ridge. "Talos guide you, Ralof. Better than He guided me."

She joined what remained of their forces. From what she could see, most of her personal entourage had made it. Altair was sharpening his bloodied blade and Isha was fletching an arrow. Aela and Vilkas were next to one another, Vilkas clenching his fists and Aela her teeth. Thorunn approached them.

"Where is he?" she asked.

"You should have struck him down," Aela gritted quietly.

Thorunn paused, but only for a moment. "Where is he?" she repeated.

"Gone," Vilkas muttered. "After the battle, he changed back and looked around at what he'd done, and then he ran. I don't know where."

Thorunn knew how to find him, but with her pregnancy... "One of you should transform and find him."

Vilkas rounded on her. "You dare tell us to harbor that curse after this?" he seethed. "You dare?"

She might have stood her ground, if fourteen-thousand men hadn't just died for naught at her behest. She might have took a step towards him, threatening, and spat back,I don't dare, I order.

She didn't. She simply lowered her gaze to her feet.

"Do you know what they're calling this battle?" he continued, relentless in his anger. "The Belly of the Wolf. Not even something related to war, let alone the cause you told us we'd be fighting for. Do you realize what this is going to cost the Companions? They'll lead a crusade against us, Thorunn, they'll torch us and see us hanged and call it justice. Already the men are looking to Aela and I for answers. And we have nothing to give them!"

Her heart felt like it was twisting. Farkas was her brother, the first to welcome her into the Companions, the only one who never doubted her for a second. Just then she remembered the time he'd broken her sword trying to repair it, and brought her fifteen swords for compensation. There'd been cuts all over his arms from trying to carry them all at once. Farkas's heart was always the biggest of the Companions.

And yet she knew what had to be done. "There is something," she said quietly, her heart breaking with each word.

Vilkas's anger shifted to fear. "No," he declared.

Their army was beginning to march. "Find him, Vilkas," she said, and left him.

Ulfric was waiting for her at the city gates. The enormous, gold doors carved from stone were reduced to mere rubble. A trail of Dominion-armored corpses spotted the staircase and led to the gaping maw of the archway leading into the city. Thorunn wondered if these ones were the work of the army or Farkas. She didn't look at Ulfric as she walked alongside him, up the stairs, over the corpses, through the arch, into the abyss.

Market stands were nothing but splinters and dust, but a Stormcloak officer was comforting a woman whose tunic was in tatters, and another was helping a pair of filthy children. Slowly, people were emerging from their homes; Thorunn saw weary eyes through cracks in the doors, watching her and the king pass through and wondering if their suffering was finally at an end. Thorunn touched the Amulet of Talos resting at her chest.

They made way to the Keep, a grandiose castle of stone with intricate carvings etched into the walls and doors. Pillars stretched to the ceilings, made from stone as well. That was Markarth: stone, stone, and more stone, even the beds. It was said that the only thing more cold and uninviting than its walls were its people.

Flanked by an accompanying twelve Stormcloaks and one Galmar Stone-Fist, Thorunn and King Ulfric found Vikkesia Hrethgir chained next to Thongvor Silver-Blood at the foot of the throne. Ulfric didn't hesitate. He marched forth and kicked Thongvor square in the jaw. "Explain!" he growled.

Thongvor grunted and spat blood. "I had nothing to do with this," he insisted.

"He isn't lying." Vikkesia was a pale brute of a Nordic woman, thick of waist and broad of shoulder, ripe with bulging muscles. Her dark hair was cropped short, framing a firm jaw, and her wide-set eyes were a murky blue set atop a sharp nose. A long scar stretched from the center of her forehead to the top of her collarbone. "I let them in. I surrendered."

Ulfric's eyes narrowed sharply. "I'm listening."

She chuckled humorlessly. "There's a first," she muttered. At the king's pointed silence, she continued. "They threatened to attack if I didn't. With Thongvor in Solitude, I had few enough men as it was, and the Dominion already had at least a hundred sleepers in the city. The battle was lost long before it was fought." She heaved a deep breath, and Thorunn saw her exhaustion palpably. "So I did the only thing I could to save my people."

"They aren't your people-" Thongvor started, but Thorunn cut him off with a sharp kick to the throat. The Jarl spluttered and heaved.

"You haven't been absolved of any charges yet, so I advise you to speak sparingly," Ulfric warned. He turned his gaze back to Hrethgir. "Nords don't surrender, Vikkesia. You realize you will face the headsman's axe for this."

More unnecessary, posturing death, Thorunn thought. How many lives does it take to say no more?

Hrethgir laughed bitterly. "Oh, I knew that when I signed my name. Boast about justice and glory all you like, Ulfric. The better of us see right through you, and know the only thing you truly fight for is your own reputation."

Ulfric held her glare for a moment, then looked up to nod at a guard. Vikkesia Hrethgir was dragged away. "What of you? Where did your letter go?" Ulfric demanded of Thongvor.

"How am I supposed to know? I wrote it, I sent it. We all knew the chances of it actually being read by the person it was meant for. Stop this, Ulfric."

"Very well, for now," the king allowed. "You'll reclaim your place as Jarl of Markarth, but you will be watched closely. Unchain him." He watched as the chains were removed and Thongvor stumbled to his feet. "In the meantime, we'll be returning to Solitude to oversee your son's trial. It is far overdue."

"Trial? You still have not let that one go? He has been fighting for you for months now, Ulfric!"

"Many traitors and murderers and men who would be better off beneath an axe fight among my ranks, I suspect. Altair will be put through trial." He turned, and this time he addressed Thorunn. "The Imperials we keep in the cellars are to be put to the axe, as well. No more chances will be taken."

How many lives does it take to say no more? Altair's trial was to be expected, but this... "You pardoned them, Ulfric. You cannot go back on your word on a whim," Thorunn protested.

"No more chances," Ulfric said simply. Axe in hand, he turned and marched down the staircase.