Chapter 27
"Me ma 'n da are dead, Ralof…I dun wanna see 'm…not like that." The girl cleared her throat and put on a brave face. "And the healer could use me help he said."
"I understand, lass. It's fine."
"Thank you, Ralof. For everythin'." Ralof gave Fjönn's shoulder a comforting, gentle squeeze and shot her a smile. She had been through enough. She didn't have to see her loved ones like that again.
Thanks to Ondolemar, the girl hadn't suffered any injuries, but she was still rather shaken and skittish. Not once had she left the High Elf's side with whom she felt safe and comfortable. She had too little coin to afford a decent burial for her family, but enough to buy amulets of Arkay, the god of the dead, and burial linen. Gjurd, Bronnjulf and Ralof would use these to lay Fjönn's family to rest.
Ralof firmly believed in the cause of their uprising against the Empire, but he was no longer as naive and idealistic to turn a blind eye to the consequences. Women were widowed and children were orphaned. As a consequence, these would end up on the streets, begging for coin or selling themselves. He tried his hardest to push back what fate could await Fjönn once all this was over, but it was likely she would end up likewise, unless someone took her in. Burying her family for her was the least they could do.
The three Stormcloaks rode to where Fjönn's family lay dead and confirmed Ralof's belief it was a good thing the girl hadn't come along as it would have scarred her even more. The Stormcloaks used ropes to secure the linen around the bodies and lowered them into the separate holes they'd dug. "'tis fucking cruel." Gjurd leaned on the shovel and wiped the sweat off his brow. He looked at the three graves where Bronnjulf piled some stones on so there was at least some indication it were graves. "What's gonna happen to her?"
Ralof's face darkened. He raised his hand and shook his head, "Not now. A moment of silence for the dead…" By now, he had buried so many, Ralof felt he had grown rather desensitized to death. Amongst these dead weren't just grown men who fell in battle, but families, whose children clung to their mothers' dresses if they hadn't died from disease or starvation…or worse.
Gjurd and Bronnjulf were no different in that regard. They too had seen much. But this never stopped them from honoring the dead and looked at the graves in a moment of silence before they turned to leave. It was then they saw two horsemen stand some distance away and though they didn't appear hostile, it was clear they were waiting for something, or wanted something of them.
One of the men was sat on an armored horse like the High Elf, Ondolemar had and was clad in dark armor and a hood concealed his face, but even over the distance, Ralof could tell this guy was looking straight at him. The other sat on a dappled mare and was taller than the armored figure, clad in triangular, velvet and fur, hooded robes.
The Stormcloaks exchanged looks, the tension palpable. The surroundings didn't permit for an ambush, so who were these two, who definitely weren't Thalmor, bandits or merchants? And this was no place for a pilgrimage either…Gjurd and Bronnjulf looked at Ralof when the armored figure signaled he and his companion meant no harm. "Stay here and wait. Cover me if needed," Ralof said to them and signaled the same back to the horsemen, walking over to meet them halfway. "Respect for the dead, strangers. What do you want?" He had pulled the hood back not only as a common courtesy, but the head of the bearskin on his head and shoulders prevented him to see who he was talking too.
"Ralof? Ralof! It is you!" The stranger clad in dark armor pulled his hood back and revealed a Dark Elf he knew all too well. The both of them grinned at each other.
"Ganir!" Ralof exclaimed and shook the Dark Elf's hand once he'd dismounted. "It is so good to see you!" He then turned to signal Gjurd and Bronnjulf that everything was all right. "What brings you and this robe here all the way out here of all places?"
"This…'robe' here is Ancano, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold. Let's just say I-, well, we have been…busy." Ralof looked up at the High Elf and though the hood cast a shadow, he could see the silver web-like scars across his face. What happened to him? He wondered. "I'd love to catch up, but listen…a friend of ours was to meet us in Winterhold, but he never arrived. We immediately set out to find him and the trail led us here…We fear the Thalmor may have gotten him."
Ralof spat on the ground. "Fucking elves…" The High Elf scowled and realizing what he'd said, he apologized. "Nothing personal…" he cleared his throat, cursing his tongue before he could speak, though Ganir didn't seem too bothered by it. "The Thalmor are all over the damn place. If they got him…" he shuddered to think. "Are you sure your friend came through here?"
"I am…" Ganir looked at Ralof's men who stood waiting near the graves and he looked over the landscape, scanning the perimeter. "The trail led us here, but it seems to lead…By chance, I don't suppose you know anything? Seen, or heard…?"
"Well, in all honesty, you appearing here explains a lot. Especially after what happened here," Ralof pointed at the graves. "Is this friend of yours a tall, bald High Elf with green eyes and a goatee?"
"Please don't tell me…" Ganir swallowed and looked at the graves. Even the High Elf went pale.
"No, no! Your friend is not dead!" he assured them. "He's all right. In fact…" Ralof told the two elves what Fjönn had told them, which led to the Thalmor to attack and kill her family and how Ondolemar had saved her in time from being raped and murdered. In their attempt to get away, Ondolemar had gotten injured.
Ancano heaved a sigh of relief, casting his gaze up to the sky and no doubt thanking the gods in his own tongue. "Where is he now?" he asked.
"In Windhelm's Bloodworks." Ralof wasn't too surprise the High Elf scowled to his response. "Regardless of what he did for Fjönn, we, nor Jarl Ulfric can ignore the fact he donned Thalmor robes."
"But of course, it's entirely understandable from your point of view."
You cheeky, sly fox…Ganir suppressed a smirk. He had seen the subtle sway of the High Elf's long fingers who barely moved his lips as he incanted a spell to charm the unsuspecting Nord.
"I assure you, however, what competent Thalmor would, in his eyes, waste his time to save a mere peasant girl from his associates? That makes no sense. He is an associate of mine who was working on some delicate matters for the College that required some cloak and dagger."
"Yes…of course, that makes complete sense." Ralof nodded. "When we found him and Fjönn, he was badly injured by one of the Thalmor's arrows and he did say he was on his way to Winterhold. So Jarl Ulfric had a messenger sent to confirm the elf's claim he wasn't a Thalmor…But you've done just that now."
"Is Jarl Ulfric present in Windhelm at the moment?" Ganir asked. "We will need to see him, no doubt, to have Ondolemar released. But there's also another matter I needed to discuss with him."
"Yes, he is. Why would you need to see the Jarl though?" Ralof frowned. "Are you going to join us? We certainly could use the College as an ally!"
Before Ancano make some snide remark, Ganir raised a hand and spoke instead. "No, the College is a place of learning and has no intention to get caught up in politics," he said. "But I'll need you to listen to me for this to make sense. See, not long after Ciri and I left Riverwood and went to Whiterun like we promised your aunt, we got caught up in another dragon attack. We managed to kill it, but something happened when it died…I absorbed its very being into my own."
"Get out of here! You jest!" Ralof laughed. "Are you the one the Greybeards called from High Hrothgar? I can't believe what I'm hearing! I mean, I heard the tales of the Dragonborn being a Dark Elf, but not once did I think…it all makes sense now, though. You were there at Helgen when that huge, black dragon appeared! You've got to tell me everything!"
"I gladly would," Ganir smiled, not sure if the Nord was still under the influence of Ancano's charm spell or not, but he didn't care. They had to get Ondolemar out of Windhelm. "However, time is short and-,"
"RALOF!" They had been so caught up in the conversation that they'd forgotten about the two, other Stormcloaks who now came their way. The bald one with the adorned beard spoke again, "Ysmir's nutsack, you could've called us over instead of hosting a tea-party and keep us waiting. Who are these?"
"Ah, sorry about that." Ralof pointed at the two Nords, "Meet my brothers-in-arms, Gjurd and Bronnjulf. My comrades, meet Ancano of Winterhold and Ganir. He was the one at Helgen…Speaking of which," Ralof turned to Ganir. "What of the elven lass that was with us back there? Cirilonde? How is she? Thanks to her, Igritte lived!"
It was far too subtle for the Nords to notice, but Ancano's grip on the horse's reins tightened and a twitch tugged at his lips and brow. Ganir shook his head and cast his gaze down, "She is dead. But now is not the time to discuss this. We really need to see Jarl Ulfric about Ondolemar…"
"What, you mean they know that elf that saved Fjönn's hide?" Gjurd asked.
"Aye, they do," Ralof confirmed. "Told you he couldn't be a Thalmor. They just confirmed it. We best get going to Windhelm before dark."
The men mounted their horses and rode towards Windhelm, which was quite an odd sight as three burly, battle-scarred Nords rode alongside two elves. "None of this would have happened if you hadn't let him travel alone." Ancano snapped at Ganir. "You're lucky that your average Nord is too dense to realize he or she is being charmed."
"Like I told you a thousand times since we left Winterhold; I. Am. Sorry." Ganir snapped, clearly frustrated this was brought up again and he rolled his eyes. "Irileth told us they were looking for the two of us and we thought it wise and safer to travel separately so I could go back to High Hrothgar while he went back to Winterhold to inform you. How was I supposed to know he would run into that situation? And that girl was almost raped and murdered, Ancano. What was he supposed to do? Ignore it and ride along?"
"I don't think you quite realize the severity of how this could have ended." Ancano's eyes shot fire at the Dark Elf. "Had they known who he really was, they would have killed. Him." The High Elf heaved a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose when Ganir looked rather miserable as this realization dawned on him. "Let's just…get to Windhelm and get this over with, but care to explain what business you have with Ulfric?"
Staying out of the Stormcloaks' earshot, Ganir told Ancano what he hadn't been able to tell just yet. Upon arriving at Winterhold, Ancano had come outside, asking where Ondolemar was. Furious with the knowledge Ganir had let Ondolemar travel alone, he had saddled Fiona while berating the Dark Elf and stormed off to find his friend so there had been no time to tell him all about Blackreach, the Elder Scroll and the fight against Alduin on the top of the Throat of the World.
"Have you lost your mind?!" Ancano exclaimed with a hiss. His eyes then shot to the Stormcloaks ahead of them to check if they had heard anything, or weren't eavesdropping. "Trying to gather the Empire and the Stormcloaks at High Hrothgar so you can play 'trap the dragon'?! Have you even thought-,?!"
"Ancano." Ganir interrupted him. "Just…trust me on this, all right? Ondolemar and I have a plan best not discussed right now."
The Altmer made no effort to hide his agitation and rolled his eyes. "Auri-El preserve me. What did I do to deserve this…?" he uttered in his own tongue, casting his gaze up to the sky, even if he agreed now indeed wasn't the best time to argue. I just hope you're all right, Ondolemar…he thought, unaware that Ganir felt the exact same way.
There wasn't a cloud in the sky and as the sun set the horizon became a gorgeous canvas with a red-golden glow, marked by numerous stars to herald the coming of the night. Windhelm's silhouette was a harsh, dark silhouette against the beautiful view. The buildings were crude and angular. The city's atmosphere was grim and was surrounded by thick and black, stone walls built to withstand a long-term siege. Windhelm was accessible only by crossing the long, stone bridge built over the White River. Ancano and Ganir knew right away, that had they not been in the company of the Stormcloaks, they wouldn't have received a warm welcome, if permitted to enter Windhelm at all. The Nords who lived in the city glared at them with suspicion and disdain, spitting on the ground as they passed, muttering curses and racial slurs under their breath.
Ganir knew many of his people inhabited the city to escape Red Mountain's trail of destruction, but he caught a glimpse of them in what was labelled the 'Gray Quarter'. Ancano noticed as well and shared the distaste. "So just is his uprising, for the sons of Skyrim alone, of course," he sneered sarcastically in a barely audible tone.
"Not now, Ancano." Ganir hissed in a hushed tone, barely moving his lips. "Try to mind that tongue of yours lest they cut it out. These Nords have even less of a sense of humor than you do."
The High Elf's eyes shot fire, but he heeded the warning nevertheless. And I thought Winterhold was a desolate, depressing place…he thought as he looked at the city and its people. Dark Elves made their way to the Gray Quarter, carrying goods and while some tried to keep their chins up, some walked with their heads hung low and looked defeated. What he noticed above all else, aside from the Nords' disdainful glares to them and the elves, was how no one (wanted to) acknowledged the homeless, the urchins and the beggars stood and sat around the braziers around the city. They rode further towards the Palace of the Kings that shadowed over all of the city's quarters, but they found its name rather inappropriate as it looked more like an ancient Nordic fortress and Barrow in one. Not that they knew Windhelm was so ancient, that the Nords of old, led by Ysgramor himself, built this city.
Scowling, intimidating statues of warriors guarded the palace's courtyard. In the center stood a fountain of which the water was frozen. The cobblestone was covered with snow and mud. Tattered banners hung from the walls with the silver-painted heads of bears on them.
They all dismounted and headed inside. "Go. I'll be with you shortly," he told Gjurd and Bronnjulf, who were more than happy to retreat to their barracks to the right of the entrance for some food, mead and rest. Ralof motioned for Ancano and Ganir to follow him into the throne room.
The Palace's interior was a stark contrast to the exterior and the rest of the city. Though the walls were of the same dark and weathered stone, the throne-room was well-lit and the marble tiles were polished. The walls were decorated with tapestries and banners that all bore the colors of Windhelm and the Stormcloak family; blue and silver.
Ulfric would have made more and better of an impression on Ancano, even for a human, were he not seated in a slumped, bored fashion, looking completely disinterested in the councilors and the nobles he was listening too. At his side, stood a massive Nord who could easily have passed for a bear. Ancano knew exactly who that was; Galmar Stone-Fist, Ulfric's second in command. Compared to him, Ulfric looked even more like an arrogant whelp.
"All right. I heard enough. Be on your way," Ulfric snapped and though not too pleased by the fashion how they were dismissed, the nobles and councilors did as they were told. In passing, their whispered their gossip and shot their disdainful glares at the two elves that had been brought in. Ulfric shifted in his seat, straightening himself and leaning forward. "What is this now, Ralof, that you bring elves to your Jarl's court?"
"My apologies, my Jarl," Ralof bowed, holding his right fist against his chest as he did. "But these aren't just elves. Surely you remember Ganir Mathendis of Helgen? He is here with Ancano, the Arch-Mage of Winterhold."
Ulfric's interest was definitely piqued as his sharp, blue eyes regarded the two elves. "Ganir Mathendis. Yes…I remember you. We were fortunate to make our escape that day with Igritte. Why have you come here?"
"I'm here for my friend, Ondolemar, whom you've detained in your Bloodworks." Ganir said. "I understand your caution, but you have my word of honor that he is no Thalmor and I want you to release him."
"You have gall to walk into my palace and make demands…" Even Ganir disliked the arrogant tone in Ulfric's voice. "Especially since this is Ondolemar of Markarth you speak of, commander of the Thalmor's Justiciars. Why should I release him for you? He has crimes to answer for. Saving a peasant girl does not grant him absolution."
Ganir swallowed, crossing his arms over his chest to hide the clenching of his hands into fists.
So Ulfric knew exactly who Ondolemar was…and judging by the fierce glare, he also knew exactly who Ancano really was. If they so much as laid a finger on Ondolemar…But this would definitely complicate matters, but he wasn't about to give up, because he had a trump card that would get Ondolemar out. No one, not even Ulfric Stormcloak, would cross the Greybeards or the Dragonborn.
She had visited Windhelm only twice in the past, riding on the wagon at her da's side. They rarely ever really needed something from the city as the farm provided all they needed to live. As happy as Fjönn had been with a simple life, she had often dreamed of living in the city, even if only for a little while, or to travel and go on an adventure of some kind.
Now, she wasn't so sure…nor was she certain of anything…Fjönn wrapped the thick shawl around her and shuddered. Being so close to the sea brought in a chilly, salty wind no clothing could withstand. She looked out over the central city square where at its center, stood Candlehearth Inn which didn't look all too welcoming as it was surrounded by drunkards and beggars… She could soon stand amongst them…
For now, she was permitted to stay in the palace's Bloodworks with Ondolemar as she was a witness, but Fjönn knew that once it was over, she was kicked out to the streets. She had no family left to turn too and she wasn't permitted, as she was underage, to return to the farm and live there alone. And she was 'too old' for the orphanage.
She didn't even dare to think of asking Ondolemar for help. After all, what could he do right now? And he didn't owe her a damn thing. But for a High Elf, he was surprisingly kind to her, even more so than the Nords, who treated her as another lost cause; a victim of the 'fucking Thalmor' and would fuel their rage to continue the war.
Head hung low, she got up and made her way back to the Palace of the Kings, walking through the door to the immediate right of the Entry Hall to the Barracks. The men didn't even acknowledge her as they were far too busy with eating, drinking and playing cards if they weren't asleep.
She made her way down the stone staircase to the 'Bloodworks'. Gods, the Stormcloaks liked their dramatics to even name the dungeons so. There were only three cells in total, of which two were occupied. One was locked, where Ondolemar lay sleeping on the cot and the other had been made 'free' of sorts for Fjönn so she had a place to sleep. It wasn't much, but still better than the streets, she thought.
She had moved her cot to stand against the bars of Ondolemar's cell so she could watch him and feel less lonely and scared. When she lay down, suddenly so tired, the High Elf stirred and propped himself up on an elbow. "What is it, Fjönn?" he asked, gentle as always. He still looked weary and a bit pale. "Your family. Have you been able to…?"
"Nay…I couldn't…" She shook her head and looked at her hands. "Ralof and the others buried me family. I wanna remember 'm like I knew 'm back home."
"There's nothing wrong with that," Ondolemar assured her, wincing when he sat upright. On the back of his robes was a dark stain where the blood had soaked through. They definitely wouldn't have made it past Windhelm. He would have died from the loss of blood.
"Let me have a look?" Fjönn was thankful when he accepted and unclasped his robe. Below, he wore a stained, black tunic, which he also carefully removed to avoid opening the wound again by accident. It never ceased to amaze her how the bodies of Men and Mer held so many similarities, but could be so different all the same. Ondolemar's body was far more smooth and beautiful…she couldn't really think of a better way to describe it.
"That stupid hag…" she grumbled, eying the wound with distaste. They had been so sloppy. "Does it still hurt?"
"Just a bit," Ondolemar admitted with a wry smile.
"I'm going to have to clean it. That old bat couldn't stitch up a horker… And those herbs…they weren't even dried properly enough." She ran her hand through her thick, red curls and sighed, clearly annoyed. It was a miracle it hadn't gotten infected...yet. She walked over to the nearby fire where she had hung some rags to dry after washing them earlier this morning. She filled the kettle with some water and waited until it had heated up some and poured it into a tankard.
"An aspiring healer and alchemist?" he smiled at her as the girl began to pick the wound clean with precise care.
"Not really. Me gran knew a lot…or well, until she went loopy of old age. Could go on rants about the 'eternal night' when 'the sun was purged'." Fjönn shook her head. What she wouldn't give to have it all back. "I think the fumes got to her. She brewed potions for the Imperials in the Great War, you know…"
"Do you…have any family?" Ondolemar took a sharp breath. Fjönn had chewed up some herbs and the moment she applied it to the wound, it began to sting. She shook her head as she did so, "So…where will you go…? Do you have a place to go?"
Fjönn could tell they had both wanted to avoid this subject. For now, Ondolemar was safe, but she had seen the way Jarl Ulfric and Galmar Stone-Fist had glared at him. But they had given him a chance and sent a messenger to Winterhold to verify his claims. If no word to confirm this returned…She didn't want to think of it.
At first, she thought one the guards were brawling with one another after one of them was caught cheating, but when they both heard the most strange shouting and yelling that even made the walls shake, Ondolemar and she exchanged looks, their brows knitted together. "What…was that?"
"You know the guards…nothing but brawling drunkards who can't hold their drink as well as they claim." Though Ondolemar knew the racket came from the throne room, he didn't want to upset Fjönn. The girl had grown on him and he felt protective of her.
When the door to the Bloodworks opened and Galmar and Ralof came walking down, however, Ondolemar couldn't suppress the instinctive tensing of his body. This couldn't be good…
"What was that just now?" Fjönn asked the men. "Did something happen?"
"Nothing to concern yourself with, lass, you can go," Galmar glared at Ondolemar. "You're free to go, elf."
The Altmer's brows furrowed, confused. There was no way any messenger could've made it back and forth between Windhelm, Winterhold and back within a day, no matter how fast the horse and it's rider's skill. What in the hells…? Regardless of this, Ondolemar wasted no time before they could change their mind and he put his tunic back on. He had barely grabbed the overcoat of his robe when the Nord opened the door to his cell and yanked him out, shoving him towards the steps. "Get a move on, knife-ear. Don't test me."
"B-But wait!" Fjönn protested. "Can't I say goodbye?"
"You just did, girl." Galmar snapped. "Escort her out."
"What?" Ondolemar turned on his heel. "You can't just throw her out to the streets! She's barely-!"
"Don't. Test. Me." Galmar growled. "It would be a shame if you were to slip on the stairs…"
Fjönn frantically shook her head, pleading for him to keep quiet. Ralof gave Ondolemar a nod, squeezing the girl's shoulder and they were led up to the throne room in silence.
Somehow, deep down, Ondolemar had known, but logic had told them it couldn't be possible for Ganir and Ancano to receive word of his predicament so fast, and arrive here in time, but there they stood, near Jarl Ulfric's throne. The Nord looked positively livid and his blond mane was disheveled.
Ondolemar had read the Thalmor's dossier on Ulfric that Ganir had taken from the Embassy and he put the pieces together that Ganir, no doubt, had shown the Jarl the power of his Voice.
"I am a man of my word, Dragonborn, but know that I expect much from you when we meet in High Hrothgar," Ulfric said to Ganir. He then glared at Ondolemar, narrowing his fierce, blue eyes. "Consider yourself fortunate, elf. You are free to go…"
Ancano and Ganir had noticed right away that Ondolemar was so happy and relieved to see them and that he was safe now, but they too had seen the girl. "I am glad we could come to an agreement, Jarl Ulfric. We shall be on our way." As courteous as he was, Ancano's tone, while silk an smooth, held venom.
"See to it that I do not regret my choice, 'Arch-Mage'. Be on your way."
The three elves were more than happy to leave, despising not only the Jarl, but the city as a whole.
"That girl…was that Fjönn, who saved your life?" Ganir asked as they walked down the steps of the palace's courtyard to the city's main square.
"Yes, she is," Ondolemar said. "Ancano, I know it was foolish of me to travel alone and all, but-,"
"I can wait until we're in Winterhold to chastise your stupidity," Ancano said. "So yes, she can come along with us, provided she studies and earns her keep."
"She will, I will make sure of it myself," Ondolemar said and he immediately set off to find her, followed suit by Ganir and Ancano.
"Ondolemar, I am so sorry you got hurt because-,"
"Because of a choice we both made," Ondolemar said to Ganir. "Right now, I just want to find Fjönn and go home." The three of them stood in the streets of the city's central square, looking at the back of Candlehearth Hall Inn. Now that night had fallen and the streets were only lit by braziers and the torches carried by the guards, it would prove a challenge to find Fjönn amongst the beggars, drunkards and the countless people heading home or towards the Inn.
"Spare a coin for a veteran?" Ganir wasn't sure whether the man, who was missing teeth, an eye and certainly had his fair share of scars was truly a veteran, but if life had taught him anything, it was that beggars had eyes and ears everywhere.
"How about a trade," he suggested, making the man's eye narrow with suspicion. "Ten coin if you can tell me where the red-haired girl went."
"You mean the one they threw out of the palace?" he asked. "My memory's a bit fussy."
"Pushing it…" Ganir growled. "But fine…Fifteen."
"She went to the marketplace, but that's all I saw last o' her." The beggar grinned wide, eyes lighting up when Ganir handed him the coin as promised.
"Disgusting," Ancano sneered as they walked over to the marketplace west of the Inn. The three of them minded their step and coin purses as they made their way through the crowd.
But the beggar had not lied, because they found her sat near the Blacksmith Quarters, sat near the forge which was still tended too by a bearded, balding Nord and his female, black-haired assistant.
"I'm sorry lass, I have no work for ye. I already got an apprentice," the blacksmith said to the girl while hammering away at a plate of steel. Midswing, he halted and looked past the miserable girl at the three elves who had walked onto the marketplace.
Fjonn followed the smith's gaze and wasn't sure what she felt when she saw the three elves. On one hand, she was happy and relieved that he indeed had been released and sad because he probably came to say goodbye now.
She fidgeted with her shawl when she sat down on the nearby wall and Ondolemar joined her. "So, this is it, eh? Quite the adventure we had, all right…" she smiled to hide her quiver of her bottom lip.
"Are you going home with yer friends? To Winterhold?"
"Well, that depends on it," Ondolemar said with a smile that made his green eyes shine, "Are you coming?"
"Wh-What do you mean? If I..come…along?" she stammered.
"If you want, that is. Ancano will want you to earn your keep and study, but…" The High Elf was nearly sent toppling over the ledge when the girl flew her arms around his neck, burying her face against his chest and crying with relief. She wasn't going to be left alone!
"You know…" Ganir said, cocking his head slightly when Ondolemar grinned at them over the distance, "I've noticed something as of late…"
"What?" Ancano asked with a raised brow.
"You're getting soft."
The High Elf's expression was priceless along with the soft pink glow on his cheeks and his glare was anything but intimidating now. "Hardly," Ancano said haughtily," After all, she can use your room until further notice."
xxx
Hello there everyone. If you made it here, that's the end of the chapter. Thank you very much for taking your time to read another installment of the Unlikely Companions,. I hope you enjoyed it. Please let me know what you thought of how I portrayed Ulfric Stormcloak and what you think of Fjönn for so far, or well, you know, just a general comment on your thoughts. It's all appreciated either way!
I hope you enjoyed reading and have a nice day.
P.S : 30-10-2015 I added the part where Ondolemar takes Fjonn with him to Winterhold. I don't know what my half-sleep depraved me was thinking, so I added that part now. Sorry!
