Snow practically bleeds from the sky, the weather from Eastmarch coming into Whiterun Hold thanks to a strong wind. The pass below the Throat of the World is the quickest way into Eastmarch, the quickest way to Windhelm. I can't say I'm happy about our time, though.

The province of Eastmarch holds true to it's claim as the snowiest province, though the wind has thankfully died down. The snow's continuing, though, drifting down from the sky peacefully.

Several flakes nestle in my hair, as the metal of helmets, when frozen, can peel off skin when removed, thanks to the bitter cold. I've seen it happen- it's not pretty. Ergo, my helmet is resting on the pommel of my saddle, secure enough with one hand resting on it, the other holding the reins loosely.

The non-Nords, mostly elves, are shivering with cold, the temperature below zero. Those with Nordic blood, though, are perfectly fine, almost sweating thanks to the pace I've set. Although I don't want to do this, I don't want my 'honor guard' to freeze to death before we get anywhere near Windhelm, or Riften, for that matter.

Rikke nudges her horse up, coming to trot beside me. My eyes shift to her, my head following.

She smiles slightly at me. "Well, Dra- Korina, are you trying to hurry the wedding? Eager for your husband?"

"No, I am not. I despise the choice that I am faced with, and I will despise him for it. Who makes your wife, your life partner, choose between you and your selfish desires, or being responsible for hundreds of deaths, perhaps thousands, even beyond that?" I spit out venomously, and Rikke startles, dropping back as she stills her horse.

She shakes it off, and comes trotting back up beside me. "You can't seriously be considering that, though…"

I breathe in deeply. "I never said I was. The preservation of life, is, I suppose, an admirable enough goal to sacrifice my freedom and any happiness I might have in the future."

Rikke stops trying to initiate conversation with me, as we trot along the road, the honor guard following us and keeping me from running straight into a death trap.

I watch from horseback, as a Justiciar and the Thalmor wizard, along with two Legionnaires and a duo of guards from Whiterun make short work of the bandits at Valtheim Towers. Apparently, despite saving the world against an ancient evil that no one else had even a hope of defeating, I cannot fend for myself against simple bandits.

I do, however, appreciate the feeling that I had people who are willing to fight for me.

There is a special satisfaction in watching as an ancient ruin is cleared out before your eyes, the bandits getting exactly what they deserve. Beside me, the stray barks happily, unaware of the fight going on mere feet away from him. Somehow.

Rikke nudges her horse forward, coming to rest beside me. "Korina, we should move on."

"No. I will not dishonor these men who decided to fight for me by leaving them, to not revel in their victory, to not mourn them as they fall, if they should fail," I respond, staring in the direction of the fighting.

"It's not safe here while there's fighting going on, Dragonborn," sounds out Jarl Balgruuf, and I move my head slightly, angling it towards him.

I'm trying to act more like a leader. Zol mul. Most strong. Am I acting more like a dragon, or like a mer? Or a man, for that matter?

It doesn't quite matter. I'm allowed to be an oddity. I'm allowed to grow into my strength. I'm allowed to use it, however I desire.

"Dragonborn, it really is unsafe for us here," the Jarl tries again, and I chuckle.

Rikke looks at me from the side, a bit startled. Why would I laugh at that statement? That's probably what she's thinking.

"I had no idea you were so cowardly, Jarl Balgruuf. Tell me, are you afraid to go into battle too?" I turn my head just enough so I can see him, his face turned ashen with rage.

"I am no coward," he starts, attempting to win back something from me. Perhaps control?

"And yet, you have suggested twice that we are unsafe here, despite being surrounded by Legionnaires, your own guards, a Legate, and Thalmor agents. Despite the fact that you have combat experience, and you seem to not count how I am both a Legate in the Imperial Legion, and the Dragonborn hero of legend, who just killed Alduin, the firstborn son of Akatosh. So, despite the bandits who pose significantly less danger than a dragon, you believe that I am somehow in danger, yet, not even a week ago, you sent me on a quest to kill the leader of the Dov, knowing full well that it was the most dangerous thing you can ask of a person." I take a breath, looking at the Jarl. "So, tell me, Jarl Balgruuf, do you really believe that I am in danger? And that, by extension, you are?"

The Jarl opens his mouth to say something, but I interrupt him.

"If you believe that you are in such danger that we must abandon these people who volunteered to fight for me, then you might as well turn around and run home to your safe little palace, like a craven lord."

Legate Rikke gapes like a fish at my statements, unbelieving that I would dare to speak to a Jarl that way. The Justiciar beside Balgruuf heard every word, and smirks, enjoying this. Nothing like putting a Nord down….

Before the Jarl can respond, if he actually can, the troops come back from the ruin, carrying a chest with a healthy store of loot within.

"Dragonborn, ma'am, the bandits have been cleared from the ruin," says a Legionnaire, smiling.

I return said smile, beaming like a proud mother cat at them all. "Thank you for ensuring the safety of this party, and volunteering for it willingly. Are any of you hurt or injured?"

"Quill here got shot with an arrow in his arm, and Elaath got a pretty bad cut in a fight against the Bandit Leader," he gestures to a Whiterun guard and a Thalmor enforcer respectively.

"Do we have a healer?" I ask Rikke, and she thinks about it, turning in her saddle to look behind her at the Justiciar, who shakes his head. The Whiterun guards wouldn't have one, either….

I nod, and dismount my new horse, the dog following me closely.

The contingent who fought for me startles, not expecting this…. Whatever it is.

"Relax. I know a healing spell, it should sooth the pain, if not heal the wound," I explain, equipping said spell in my hands and gesturing for them to come forward. "Don't be a fool; if you're injured, come forward. I'll do what I can, it's the least I can do since you risked your lives for me."

The Whiterun guard steps forward, Quill, though he looks slightly apprehensive of the magic in my hands.

Hovering my hands over the shoulder wound, I let the magicka flow through my fingertips, the hole where the arrow pierced him knitting itself back together easily. He shivers, but smiles, the pain falling off of him as naturally as water falls off a canvas.

"Thank you, Dragonborn," he responds, covering his shoulder up again. No need to expose it to the cold.

I nod at him, and gesture for the Thalmor enforcer to step forward.

The Head Justiciar behind me clears his throat. "The Thalmor take care of our own," he growls out.

"And yet, you do not have the capacity to heal your soldier." I snark back, and the Thalmor steps forward, her left arm bitten into by a particularly vicious swing of the bandit leader's sword.

The Thalmor wizard behind her smiles gratefully at me, the elf's face much more suited to a smile than to a scowl. Thalmor training, for wizards, focuses almost purely on Destruction, a small highlight on Conjuration and Alteration, with some augmented Enchanting and Alchemy being taught as well. No Restoration is taught, something I can never understand….

I hover my hands over it, the wound sewing itself back up. She smiles at me, dipping her head. "Thank you, ma'am,"

I nod back. "Was anyone else injured?"

They shake their heads no, the bandits thankfully untalented in the ways of the blade, at least somewhat.

"Was anyone killed?"

Again, another head shake.

"Good. Thank you for fighting for me. Since you showed such bravery and courage, I would like you to escort me personally, outside of your contingents, to Windhelm."

The Head Justiciar squawks out his outrage, and I shush him.

"You are, of course, free to rejoin your contingents, if you wish, but I would like you to be recognized as what you are. Courageous, loyal, and unafraid of sacrificing yourself for me. I did not expect this, and I wish to show my gratitude by making you a part of my personal honor guard, at least for this trip."

The group looks at each other, eyes growing wide as they realize I'm serious about this. Well, why wouldn't I be? Theoretically, I'm placing my life in their hands. And in the dog, who is very excited at these new people in our 'pack.' He's investigating them and barking up a storm in his excitement. It's sweet.

They smile, though, and incline their heads to me.

"Of course, Dragonborn," says the Thalmor guard, as the Justiciar fumes behind me silently. What will he do? Say that this will not be allowed, and potentially cause an international incident between the legendary Dragonborn hero and the Aldmeri Dominion, over a single guard?

I smile at them all. "Thank you. I appreciate being protected and accompanied by such capable warriors."

I swear, some of them would glow if they could. It's not often they're complimented on their combat skills, I gather. In a smooth movement, or one as smooth as I can make it, thanks to my unfamiliarity with my horse, I mount up again, nodding at my new honor guard. Well, official honor guard.

They form up behind me as I nudge my steed forward, the animal eager to resume movement. The horses of Skyrim are hardy, but few animals like the cold. Rikke falls behind me as well, watching as my honor guard and myself move ahead, following next to the Jarl and the Justiciar.

I'd like to think I'm growing as a leader, but really, I'm just being petty about this.

Can't say it doesn't feel good, though.

Our progress to Windhelm slows, thanks to the pickup in the wind and the snow. I shiver, the cold nipping at my limits. I should have brought a cloak with me to Sovngarde…

We've just passed Fort Amol, I think. The snow is making it difficult to depict the path fifteen feet ahead, so it could be anyone's guess, at this point.

I grit my teeth as a particularly strong gust of wind knocks against us, flinging more snow into our eyes. My beast is no longer as sure footed as he was at the beginning of this journey; although perhaps my own hesitancy has produced that effect.

I pause, when we reach the bridge. I don't know where the rest of my escort went, I just assumed they were behind me this entire time.

Taking a moment, I nod to myself and dismount the horse, glancing behind my honor guard for the small army that was supposed to follow.

I see nothing, though it could just be the snow obscuring my vision. Perhaps we should have rested at Fort Amol. There is still that option….

My guard is watching me, and I sigh. I'm unsure of what to do…. Elaath, the Thalmor, is shivering almost uncontrollably, her Elven blood doing her no good in this climate, or this snowstorm.

"Elaath," I say, and they take notice, turning to the Thalmor, who looks up at me in surprise. "Come here,"

She obeys, and I guide her to my horse. "You are unused to this climate. Please, rest yourself as we journey onward." I offer the reins, and she looks at me in disbelief.

"Dragonborn, I…. I cannot… It is your honor…."

"And my legs are telling me that I'm tired of sitting on him and doing nothing. Get on the horse so you don't drop dead." I pressure, and she gives in, nodding, with chattering teeth.

I smile softly, and help her onto the horse, settling her in. The heat from the animal should help her, and not expending her energy in walking should do the same.

I turn to the rest of the guard. "We'll continue to Windhelm from here. If you become too cold or tired to continue, tell me. I will leave none of you behind."

They nod, and form a closer barrier, one of them taking the reins of the horse so that Elaath could actually rest, following the honor guard rather than leading it. She nods at them, the Whiterun guard, who nods back. Nonverbal communication seems to be much more efficient in snowstorms than I thought.

I lead the way into the wind, growling at it and cursing in intervals. Hopefully, we're the only ones stupid enough to be out in this storm.

While everyone's tired and chilled to the bone, it feels… right. Like this. To have a close group of good warriors, maybe not the best, but definitely fighters. I have no idea if the Dragonborn should have something like an entourage, since the Blades have lost their way, but… it does feel right, like this.

Maybe I should keep them around, even after this hell of a journey.

"Dragonborn, we should be reaching a mill soon!" the guard I healed, Quill, yells at me, shouting above the storm's level of noise.

I nod, exaggeratedly, so that he knows I heard him. We could stop, rest for a little while, and then either ask for shelter or push on. Although I would like to continue, get this over with, the idea of staying and enjoying even a few more hours of freedom, even unconscious and sleeping, appeals more than I can say…

The road beneath our feet is slippery, covered in a thin layer of ice in some places, only snow in others. Why is this hold this way?

Some small buildings, about twenty feet away, become more than outlines in the snowstorm. The mill! Never have I been so glad to see a simple mill.

I lead the way to an area behind one of the buildings, the wind and the snow abating slightly, enough that only slightly louder than normal voices were necessary.

"How far is it to Windhelm from here?" I ask, above the slightly diminished roar of the wind.

Quill, apparently more familiar with this region than anyone else, responds, "About an hour in this weather, ma'am,"

I think about it, considering the options. I doubt we could get inside these buildings, let alone be invited in by their owners, who are probably tucked safely in bed, unlikely to hear knocks on their door, and even more unlikely to hear them over this wind.

However, an hour's journey in blistering cold…

"We have no choice but to continue. We'll rest here for a few minutes, then continue." I shout, and the guards nod, one of them helping a rejuvenated Elaath off the horse.

"Dragonborn, please use your mount. It is your steed," she tries, and I shake my head.

Critically, I survey all of my guards. The Nords shiver the least, the cold of their homeland a welcome comfort. The Legionnaires don't look terrible, and as far as I can tell, only Elaath and the Thalmor wizard are severely affected by this, though both can walk still. If they cannot go on, then onto the horse they'll go. I've no doubt that, at this dismal walking pace we've been going at, the horse can carry two elves.

This cold, though, prompts several of the men to search their small packs for mead, one of their staples and the only thing that can really 'ignite a fire in your belly,' according to most Nords.

I watch, amusement flickering on my face, as I try and school my features as to not show it. If I am to be zol mul, then why not start by being a leader of men as well as the Dov?

The dog, though, has other plans, and whines at my side for attention, the mutt doing fine in the cold, though there is some frost buildup on the tips of his fur.

I grant him the attention, petting his head and along his body gently, clearing the frost buildup. Everyone around me cracks open a bottle of mead, the Whiterun guards passing out excess bottles to those 'unprepared' for this journey, even giving me one.

Wordlessly, we raise our bottles in silent salute, although I'm unsure of what it's for, and down at least a couple gulps each.

Absentmindedly, I pet the dog beside me, as my honor guard drinks their mead. If we were in an inn or tavern, undoubtedly, they'd be laughing and joking. However, with the snowstorm, the ability to talk and joke is…. Rather impeded.

After a few minutes, the last dregs of mead are swallowed, the bottles safely capped and stored away in packs. Our company stands, helping others up and stretching, as Elaath mounts the horse, nodding gratefully to me for my 'sacrifice.' I wouldn't call it that, I feel fine, while she's shivering and chattering so loudly I'm slightly afraid that a bear will hear her and attack.

I'm not that familiar with bears.

A Legionnaire takes the reins from her, and she smiles at him, something I'm sure would be a full beam if she were able to move her frozen face muscles more.

My guards nod at me, not collectively, but enough so that I'm aware that they're all ready to set out again.

Turning around, dog at my side, I start walking along the path again, the wind biting sharply into me and the cold stinging my exposed cheeks.

This will be a long walk…

(A/N: Still need a name for the dog, please suggest.)