Chapter 26
Ganir sat perched on the top of the Western Watchtower. Strands of his pitch-black hair swayed gently in the cold wind and it shimmered in the light of the moons. Ondolemar and he both intently watched the lit braziers on Whiterun's walls.
"Do you think they'll come?" Ondolemar asked after a moment of silence.
"We'll just have to wait and see." Ganir replied. "But I think they will…"
After another half an hour of waiting, they both made a little jump to attention and their eyes shot to the city's gates. A dozen of men on horseback rode out down the road to the South-West, but the braziers held their attention as the flames of two out of the three were extinguished the moment the men left the gate.
It was the signal they had been waiting for. "Let's hope for the best," Ganir said to Ondolemar. "Let's go."
They made their way to the base of the tower and it wasn't long before two hooded and cloaked figures approached the tower with the same caution they had practiced. The debris and cover of night and shadows hid Ondolemar and Ganir well. They couldn't afford to just assume these were the persons they were waiting for.
One of the hooded figures produced a stone from his pocket, and rapped a particular, but simple rhythm that Ganir returned from his hiding place. When both confirmed it was safe, the two Elves emerged from their hiding place and the two cloaked figures pulled their hoods back; it were Jarl Balgruuf and his Housecarl, Irileth.
"So we meet again, Dragonborn," Balgruuf then regarded the High Elf clad in Thalmor robes. "Ondolemar of Markarth… I never thought I'd live to see the day to witness dissent amongst the Thalmor. Do you know they are out here, looking for you?"
"I am aware." Ondolemar replied stiffly, concealing his actual emotions very well, but Ganir could tell this deeply troubled him. And with good reason, even if the both of them had known this would come to pass.
"So it is true then?" Balgruuf asked. "Many wild tales circulate about-,"
"We have too little time to discuss rumors, Jarl Balgruuf," Ganir gave the Nord a sharp look. "And you know it is not why we've gathered here."
"You have me risk the necks of my own and that of my family by coming here in the midst of the night, Dragonborn." Balgruuf said in a sharp tone. "You owe me answers whether you like it or not."
"Every second we waste here discussing trivial matters grant Alduin the chance to recover." Ganir's eyes shot from Balgruuf to Irileth. "The Thalmor will be the least of your concerns if Alduin recovers from the battle against me and he destroys this world."
"Alduin?!" Balgruuf's eyes went wide. "You mean the World-Eater? So he has truly returned? Does it not mean it's the end times?"
"It does and as the last Dragonborn, I am the only one who can stop it," Ganir replied. "I fought Alduin on the top of the Throat of the World, but he got away. Only his closest allies know where he has retreated to regain his strength. If I were to trap one of the dragons who serve him in your palace, I will be able to find Alduin."
"Wait, hold on…" The Jarl waved his hands in front of him, frowning and shaking his head as he didn't believe his ears. "Did you just tell me you want to trap a dragon in my palace?"
"You heard right," said the Dark Elf. "I need to find him and strike at him while he is weak. It is my best and only chance to succeed."
"It was here where you defeated the dragon that could have laid my city and hold to waste. For this alone I am indebted to you, but…" The Jarl ran a hand through his coarse, blond mane, clearly frustrated. "The problem is that I cannot help you while Tullius and Ulfric are on my doorstep, just waiting for me to slip up. Do you think either will sit idle while a dragon burns down my city and kills my people? I can't risk weakening the city while we are under such a grave threat..."
"What if you needn't worry about an attack from the Stormcloaks or the Empire?" Ondolemar quipped.
"Good luck with that," Irileth snorted. "The bitterness has run too deep between them. On top of that, the Hold is crawling with the Thalmor who watch our every move…It took a great deal of planning and scheming for us to even sneak out here and meet you."
"Irileth is right," Balgruuf spat on the ground at the mention of the Thalmor. "Even if you were able to get both sides to agree to a truce so you can proceed with your mad dragon-trapping scheme, when the Thalmor find out about your plans, you and I both know they won't shy from any means to sabotage it all."
"If you act with discretion, they won't suspect a thing. Once a truce is settled, the Thalmor won't have a foot to stand on." Ganir could tell Ondolemar was bluffing, but all that mattered now was that the Jarl and his Housecarl were convinced they had a solid plan that would work.
"When we convince Tullius and Ulfric to negotiate a truce, where would we meet?" Ganir twirled his fingers around his beard in contemplation. "It would have to be hosted by a neutral party on neutral ground… Who would have enough sway and influence over Skyrim and is actually impartial…?"
"The Greybeards, of course, Dragonborn," said Balgruuf, slightly annoyed as it lay so beforehand. "They are respected by all Nords and their monastery is neutral territory. If the Greybeards were willing to host a peace council, then maybe Ulfric and Tullius would have to listen. But that still does not eliminate the danger of the dragon burning down my city. My men are brave, but they're not equipped to fight a dragon and despite all his research, I don't think Farengar is capable enough…We would need a powerful mage, or multiple, to protect our city."
"Ancano, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold," Ganir said after he and Ondolemar met eyes. "He is most capable and experienced in both affairs of magic and dragons."
"I don't like the sound of any of this…Trapping a dragon in my palace? A truce to end this war?! But as a son of Skyrim, I cannot ignore the prophecies about Alduin or the news of his return. I trust you to fulfill your end of the bargain, Dragonborn. Alduin must be stopped, if such a thing is even possible…" Balgruuf's hard, blue-grey eyes met with the Dunmer's dark-red ones. "I will prepare my men to grease the chains of the trap while you arrange for the Stormcloaks and Imperials to convene at High Hrothgar and negotiate a truce. We will be ready."
"Very well," Ganir nodded. "I shall contact you as soon as possible when I know more."
"Until then, Dragonborn. The fate of the world lies in your hands." With that, the Jarl of Whiterun pulled his hood back over his head and walked out.
Irileth seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then let out an irritable sigh. She unclasped her hooded cloak and tossed it to the High Elf, who caught it and shot her a questioning look. "You stand out like Rockjoint on a whore, High Elf," Irileth said. "I've diverted the Thalmor's attention to the south-west where they pursue the claims of Talos-worshipping bandits. And speaking of rumors…" She looked at Ganir. "The tales of events that surround you are vague and contradictory and I don't know what to believe or think of them or you as of yet. But know that the Jarl has placed a great deal of trust in you and is placing the fate of Whiterun and its people in your hands. Act with discretion, or the Thalmor will act before you can achieve anything. They are on your trail."
The Dark Elf's face contorted as a sour, foul and bitter taste filled his mouth, but he nodded nevertheless. "You should be on your way as we will be on ours."
With that Irileth turned and walked away to rejoin her Jarl, who had waited outside. Only when the Jarl and his Housecarl were out of earshot, did Ondolemar speak. "We'd waste too much valuable time travelling back High Hrothgar together," he said. "You should ride back to the monastery and I'll ride back to Winterhold so I can inform Ancano."
"I know you're right, but…I don't really like the idea of splitting up. Not one bit." Ganir grumbled.
"Neither do I…" Ondolemar said. "But if we split up…like Irileth said, they're looking for the two of us and they're off south-west. It will buy us both enough time."
"Then we best hurry." Ganir said and with a nod, the two of them rode off on separate ways once they reached Fort Amol, where Ondolemar would ride further east through the barren wastelands marked with hot springs that reeked of sulphur. He left a trail of dust in his wake as the hooves of the stolen horse stomped down on the cracked, dry earth and he was determined to make it to Winterhold at least by dawn. He had been riding for a good hour or so when his ears rang from the sudden loud cries and screams somewhere nearby.
The Altmer swore under his breath, startled just as much as his mount who nearly threw him off, but he managed to calm the equine with a simple spell. When the screaming didn't stop, Ondolemar was briefly caught in a conflict. He had to make it to Winterhold as fast as possible, but against his better judgement, he couldn't carry on in good conscience, knowing someone was in danger and he dismounted.
"Get away from me! Leave me alone!" The girl who had screamed had all reason to be as distraught and terrified as she was, surrounded by three Thalmor soldiers. At her feet, lay three dead Nords, a man and two women. She had to be about sixteen years old and her red hair was a tousled mess. Ondolemar didn't have to guess what had happened. He knew how the Thalmor operated and had most likely thrown an accusation, or anything to have an excuse to blatantly murder what in their eyes, were lesser beings. Nuisances. Vermin.
The red-haired girl held a bloodied axe in both her shaking hands in a desperate, futile attempt to make a stand and keep the elves away from her. The Thalmor soldiers laughed and exchanged their words in the Altmer tongue. "We should gut and hang the mongrel for the locals to enjoy," said one of them.
"Or we just rape her and let the shame do the rest…" A malicious smirk crept on the lips of the second.
"Could you honestly bring yourself to touch something that…filthy?" The third one's expression was one as though his comrade had just suggested he eat dung.
"Doesn't matter. Just think of your finest Alinor courtesan…" The girl must have known she would never make her mark because the soldier easily slammed the axe out of her hands before he backhanded her. She began to scream and cry for help when he grabbed a fistful of her red hair and forced her to the ground. Her fists made no impact whatsoever because he was clad in armor and he pinned her down in no time, tearing at her bodice with a dagger in such an expertise fashion it sickened her to the stomach. She didn't even dare to beg for mercy in fear of throwing up but even as she protested, all she could manage was whimper and cry.
When he forced her legs to part, she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew what was going to come but didn't want to see, praying she would pass out so she wouldn't have to suffer through the pain and humiliation that would await her…if they didn't kill her.
What she did not expect to hear or feel, however, was the sudden thunder of hooves that shook the ground. Of the two Thalmor that had looked on, one fell dead to the ground as a blade lashed over the weak spot in the back of his armor, crippling and bloodying him. The other threw himself out of the horse's way and to the ground lest he get trampled. The horse was now headed for her and the elf who had intended to rape her, leapt away. In that moment, the girl's eyes opened and went wide. The armored stallion closed in on her, kicking up the dirt as the hooves beat down like a drum. On the majestic beast's back rode a tall, hooded stranger, clad in black and gold. He steered the horse to the right last minute and leaned forward, stretching his arm out for her to grab. The choice was easy; life or death and she stretched both her arms out and the stranger pulled her onto the horse's back in front of him. While she tried to seat herself properly, the stranger held her tight so she wouldn't fall off and he raced off with her.
"You're safe. Just hold on tight and I'll get us out of here!" The man glanced over his shoulder and when she had a gander herself as well, she saw that it wasn't over by far as the remaining Thalmor had recovered and were hot on their trail, also on horseback.
"They got bows 'n arrows!" She told him.
She had heard the tales of elven marksmanship, how they could even fire arrows on horseback and she watched how one of the Thalmor soldiers knocked an arrow and pulled the string back, ready to fire.
"Stay low!" The stranger pulled her back, shielding her with his body and pushed her down onto the horse. She heard the whistle of the arrow and screamed when it nearly hit them. The dead tree's bark splintered when the arrow lodged itself into the wood and they kept riding. "We'll get out of this, I promise."
The stranger's robes and cloak billowed around them as they rode at full speed, making it hard for her to tell what was going on. "Don't let them get away!" She heard a Thalmor yell from the distance. "Get him!"
But the stranger did not relent or give up and pushed the horse's limits, forcing it to jump over dead trees, creeks and through the thorn bushes which tore away at her hair and judging by the stranger's swearing, at his face. The ground below her was a blur and all she heard was the thunder of the horses' hooves and her heart. She dared look up and past the horse's neck. "Tha's a Giant's camp! Steer the other way! They'll smash us to bits they will!"
But the stranger only urged the horse to speed up. The giants, native only to Skyrim's wastelands, were a peaceful lot as long as they did not feel threatened and one did not harm their mammoths whom they treated with fondness even if cattle.
One of the two giants sat at the fire rose to its full length when it saw the elves rode towards his camp, far too close to his mammoths. He was a good twenty feet tall, with leathery skin and a beard decorated with bones and skulls of all kinds. His bright eyes narrowed and grabbed hold of its crude, massive club which he raised in warning, accompanied by a series of heavy grunts and growls. When the stranger did not relent, the girl threw her arms around the horse's neck, bracing for the impact of the giant's club, but the stranger was a skilled rider, and the horse too fast. The giant missed.
The Thalmor in pursuit of them were less fortunate, however, because when the archer fired the arrow, the Giant flew into a rage as it whistled past him by mere inches. He turned around and swung his club at them. Though she could not see what happened, judging by the horses' whinnying and their cries, he had hit (one of) them. But another cry came from behind her as the stranger swore profoundly and reached for his back. An arrow had struck true and had penetrated the thick layer of leather and wool.
"We got ta stop!" she said to him, trying to look him in the eye.
"No. Can't risk it…" he grit out. "Got to keep going…to Winterhold…"
"Winterhold?! Is tha where yer' takin' me?! But-,!"
"Not the time to argue…" The stranger panted, his breath growing ragged. With every step the horse took, his body tensed from the pain and he struggled to stay conscious. The arrow had to be buried deep! "…Ganir's counting on me."
"Look. Me da's taught me how ta ride," said the girl. "Just lemme take the reins from ye and I'll take us there!"
The stranger laughed. "I'll be counting on you then…?"
"The name's Fjönn. Just don't go dyin' on me, all right?" Fjönn tried to sound brave but she was terrified and still so upset and confused. And they were still in danger! She fumbled to take hold of the reins. "Winterhold…Winterhold…"
"Just keep heading North," The stranger said to her, who tried not to lean on her too much. "Past Windhelm, just keep…North."
"Aye. You just save yer strength eh?" She said to him. "Stay with me."
A grimace graced the face she could not see. "I'll try."
They kept riding, but were not far from Kynesgrove when the stranger's body slumped against her, but Fjönn noticed too late and couldn't grab onto him in time. With a loud thud, he fell unconscious and off the horse.
"Caaalm down…Oi! Calm down!" It took Fjönn effort to calm the horse down, but when she hopped off and took the horse's reins, turning to aid the stranger, her blood ran cold.
No…Impossible…What in the…With shaking hands, she pulled the stranger's hood back. She had recognized the robes he wore; a Thalmor, and the stranger who had saved her was a High Elf. But why…? Who are you?
Her mind reeled with a dozen of questions as she stared at the elf's handsome face. If he was a Thalmor, why had he just attacked his own comrades to save her? 'The best knife-ear is a dead one' her da would say. But this elf…he was different.
"Oi…wake up…" With shaking hands, she gently slapped him on the cheek, but the elf did not wake, his face contorted into a grimace. "Please don't be dead…"
Relief washed over her when she found that he was still breathing and felt his heartbeat, but he needed help, and fast! She pulled her hand back as if burned when she made to lift him onto the horse's back again. The blood had drenched the back of his robes and now stained her hand. She looked back to where they had come from, fearing that the Thalmor would close in on them any second and in the distance ahead of them, where she could see the shadow of Windhelm.
Because the horse was giving her a hard time, she first had to tie its reins around a nearby tree branch so it would hold still. But then there was the next challenge. She was a hardy girl who had lived her life on a farm, but to lift a full-grown, tall elf onto a horse, that was another story. She had no idea how she managed and as unceremonious and ungraceful as the elf lay swung over the saddle, the horse could carry him now without him falling off. It would just have to do.
"Just hang on…Please, by Talos just hang on. I'll get help." With that promise made, Fjönn walked off towards Windhelm. Ma…Da…As she walked towards the dark, ancient and stone city, the reality of all that had just transpired hit her hard.
Her parents were dead, murdered by elves who had made the most ridiculous and false of accusations. Yes, they supported the Stormcloaks. Yes, they worshipped Talos, but they were farmers and had no means to smuggle weapons! When the Thalmor threatened to hurt her and her mother, her father had stepped in, but he was struck down. It was disgusting and terrifying how easily and unflinching the elves had killed him and how she had stood staring in disbelief, frozen as the life left her da's eyes.
The screams of her mother still rung loud in her ears, telling her to run and shoving her in an attempt to urge her daughter to do so. She squeezed her eyes shut and cursed herself for crying, wiping the tears away but her shoulders shook with sobs and her legs almost gave. No. Tears won't solve a thing. She berated herself. But I can't do this alone!
"Anyone! Please just anyone help me! I can't do this alone!" She cried through her choked sobs. The cold lashed at her skin. She tried to cover herself up and shield herself from the elements but her dress was torn up and her legs wouldn't cooperate. She was nauseous to the core and every sound made her jump, fearing the Thalmor had caught up with them.
"Ralof! Come look!"
She hadn't even heard the three men who came running and she let out a small cry, startled by their sudden appearance. "S-S-St-Stay back!" She gripped the reins of the horse so tight her nails dug into the palm of her hand and her knuckles had gone white.
"Hold on lass…" Of the three men, all clad in the same armor, this one had to be the most friendly-looking. He had to be about her father's age with blond hair, blue eyes and a braided beard. The armor he wore was made of padded leather and bear fur with a blue tabard. "Calm down now…What in Talos' name happened to you now?"
"Lookit this…" said the bald, battle-scarred oaf. "Looks like she got one of the fucking knife-ears."
"No! That's not it at all!" Fjönn slapped the oaf's hand away when he reached for the elf, much to their confusion. She then grew painfully aware that her under gown was rather visible and she tried to pull her dress back in order to a degree to cover herself. "He saved my life. Don't y'dare lay a finger on 'm!" Her voice shook. "Had it not been for him…" she choked up. "They would have…r-raped me…murdered me. Ma…'n da…"
"You sure you didn't get knocked over the head girl? Ya know what this is? A ploughing Thalmor!" The other Nord was bald with a tattooed scalp. Blue beads and silver Talos charms were woven into his braided, brown beard. He spat on the ground at 'Thalmor', glaring at the Elf, before he furrowed his brow at the arrow that protruded from the elf's back. "Ralof…Ye should have a look at this here."
The kind, blond-haired man gestured for Fjönn to stay calm. "We won't hurt him, all right? I'm just going to have a look…Gjurd…give her your cloak. The poor thing's freezing."
Fjönn's grey eyes shot fire at Gjurd and though she was freezing, she did not trust these men, even if they were Stormcloaks. She wouldn't let them kill the man who had saved her life. Ralof's eyes shot from the girl to the arrow lodged in the elf's back, furrowing his brow. "That's a Thalmor arrow all right. Poisoned. Just what happened girl? What's your name?"
"Fjönn…" She could no longer hold back her tears. "Please…help 'm…He's gonna die if ye don't…"
"All right, all right… Calm down…" Ralof made to comfort the girl, but pulled his hands away from her when she stiffed at his touch while he had but intended to rub her shoulders to warm her up. "What happened to ya lass? Did he…?"
"Ulfric will have yer head if ya brought the bastard to the city..." Said the bearded Nord.
"I doubt this one will give us trouble Bronnjulf and something tells me this one's not a friend of the Thalmor…" Ralof's brow remained furrowed as he tried to figure out what had happened, but he was certain Fjönn would tell him if they helped her unexpected savior. "Come with us, lass. We'll help your friend. We won't hurt you, or him…I promise…"
When Fjönn frantically shook her head, Ralof smiled in an attempt to be of comfort. "It's all right, you can stay with him if you like. You ready to go?"
When she nodded, the oafish Stormcloak, Bronnjulf lift the elf over one of his massive shoulders. To him, the elf must've been a ragdoll weighing no more than a mere sack of flour and they walked through Windhelm's city gates.
When Ondolemar came too, his vision was initially blurry, but this soon faded when his stomach churned and he 'graciously' keeled over the edge of the cot he had been laid on to vomit. If this wasn't enough, the unexpected movement and tensing of his body had him burst out in a colorful variety of swearwords, which were drowned out as he puked again from both nausea and pain, which tore at his shoulder.
"Careful! Do you want to rip yer stitches out?" Fjönn's voiced carried a mixture of relief and concern. The young Nord girl knelt down at his side and helped the elf back onto his side onto the cot. "Healer said 'twould happen…That you'd puke your guts out, but…urgh…"
The red-haired girl covered her mouth, gagging when the stench greeted her nostrils. For a moment Ondolemar thought she had run off to retch herself, but she returned with a bucket and cleaned the mess up. "Where…Where are we?" he asked, propping himself up on an elbow.
"Yer in Windhelm. Had I gone on to Winterhold, you wouldn't of made it. That arrow was poisoned." When the High Elf's eyes widened, she reassured him, "Don't worry. I told 'm you saved me life, but…who are you really? You ain't a Thalmor…"
"I was…" Ondolemar's smile was bitter. "I'm Ondolemar. I-,"
The both of them looked up at the heavy door that was swung open. Three men stepped in and though Fjönn had told the Stormcloaks that Ondolemar had saved her life, Ondolemar wasn't so certain it would be enough. The man to the right wore steel, Nordic armor of which the ornaments had worn off from battle. The fur of a dead bear rested on his shoulders and head but it was his appearance as a whole that made him so intimidating. His broad, strong jaw went hidden under a thick, kempt beard. It was the man in the middle, however, that had Ondolemar worried the most.
"Ulfric Stormcloak…" Ondolemar grit out. "We meet again…"
Ulfric's eyes narrowed. "You have a lot of explaining to do, elf."
xxx
I'm not going to lie. I wasn't sure how to go about this chapter because I was hesitant to introduce yet another original character, but I think you'll like Fjönn and she fits well. After all, Skyrim was never safe to begin with, and with the Thalmor all over the place, how would it possibly be safe for Ondolemar, as capable as he is, to travel alone?
It's all going really fast now as everything starts to connect, and even more will connect for Ancano soon as well. I promise we'll see more of him! Please let me know what you though of the chapter, as always, it helps. Thanks again for taking your time to read, favourite, follow and comment. It's really appreciated. I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter.
