Skyrim is the property of Bethesda Softworks. Hey guys & gals thanks for reading. This chapter is one of two going up this weekend. To my followers: thanks for thinking so highly of what I've posted here to be willing to look forward to more. I've said it before and I'll say it again, every follow, fave, and review is deeply flattering.

Even three days later, the aftermath of the Second Battle of Whiterun was still falling out. The Stormcloak army coming from the south had been soundly beaten. Facing a full-strength legion and a dragon working in concert will do that to an army. Its remaining divisions were now camping in the mountain passes to the Rift and to Cyrodiil near Helgen's ruins.

Ulfric's northern army fared better, but without meeting with its southern counterpart, it was not able to retake Whiterun. They contented themselves instead with taking large portions of Whiterun Hold and the Pale, occupying or building various positions in a great arc from Fort Dunstad to the north of the city of Whiterun to Fellglow Keep above the White River.

Nightgate Inn, at the midpoint of that great arc, was a busy place the evening I visited. One of the hastily built Stormcloak forts was barely fifty yards away on the Eastmarch road and the officers camped nearby had adopted the inn as their headquarters. Interspersed with the multitude in blue uniforms were the usual handful of drifters spending the night before moving on. I paused at the door and swallowed hard. The inn was packed with people and noise. I deeply regretted that I wouldn't be able to get drunk.

I looked like one of the many itinerants, but more anxious than some. My cloak and trousers were filthy. My worn leather boots clomped on the floor as I wedged through the crowd to a chair by the hearth. I sat down and allowed my pack to thump heavily on the floor. I only displayed my curved elven dagger. Revenant was buried deep at the bottom of my pack.

The publican brought over my first mead of the night with a plate of bread and cheese. I ate and drank slowly, listening for anyone in the crowd who might be looking for a mercenary sent to menace Aela and me. I did my best not to stare at people drifting too close.

"Eat fast Imperial. There's only so long I can sit down wind of your stench," A deep old voice intruded into my vigil. He was an older man with a bald, egg-shaped head and a magnificent beard inching its way down his chest. He was dressed for the road, but the fur draped over his shoulders hinted at considerable wealth.

A man in a blue uniform brushed by me. I counted how many people I would need to evade to reach the door. The number wasn't good. I sat up straighter and decided to choose my words carefully.

"I'm sorry to be so offensive sir, but if you can tolerate me for a little while I'd be grateful. I broke camp before dawn today."

The old man wasn't done however. He snorted, "Typical Imperial trash then. Coming here like you're among friends, when all you're here to do is steal our history and shit on it in the name of some treaty. I'll not have it Imperial. I won't rest until an imperial soldier lies above my Lilija's grave."

An ominous ring of men and women coalesced around us. Crossed arms concealed closed fists or gripped knives tucked in belts.

I swallowed on a suddenly dry throat and rubbed the old spot on my arm where a red diamond usually sat. A pressure in the back of my mind urged me to keep the old man talking.

Who was Lilija?" I asked, though the answer was easy to guess.

"Lilija was my baby girl!" The outburst came as predicted. The Nord sucked in a breath and slouched in his chair. The inn was silent to hear his story. "I was so proud the day she left home to become a battle-maiden in Ulfric's army. I wish my son had been brave enough to go, but Lilija was always the better Nord. She was killed early in the war. The Legion killed her and burned her body. They killed my baby and didn't even leave me her body!"

Life has since blessed Aela and me with an adopted daughter and a son of our own bodies. But that evening, I could only guess at the old man's grief.

I nodded slowly, "Yes. That is our way. Our enemies rarely get a ride home unless a camp follower claims them."

The circle around us drew tight like a noose.

"So you are a legionnaire! A viper among us. A spy perhaps?"

I cringed inwardly. Telling the truth can get you into more trouble than it is worth. I switched over to half of the truth.

I rolled my right shoulder for effect, "I'm lately of the 25th Colovian Legion, 3rd Auxiliary Cohort. I got my papers and a pension after sword went through my right shoulder. I can't bring that arm above my head now, so I can't throw a spear. If you can't chuck a spear, the Legion can't use you."

The old man sneered at me again, "You should be on your way home then," He pointed south, "You can lead the rest of your fancy 25thLegion over the Jerall Mountains!" He said, much to the approbation of the soldiers around us.

I did my best to look uncomfortable, it was not hard to do. "To be honest sir, there's not much for me back home. No family, all my friends are in the Legion. I thought to head east and settle in the Rift. I'm told it's good farming country out there. I thought I might try a few seasons; maybe plant an orchard."

I had meant that statement as a compliment to Skyrim, but my interviewer took it in another direction entirely. He gestured expressively and threw his head back, "Wonderful! Maybe you can be a neighbor for my worthless son! How imperial! First you take Talos, then our lands, one of you even tries to take the Dragonborn from us. Damned imperial lies! I'll see ev…"

His rant was interrupted by a man sitting down to his right.

"Father, the quartermaster gave us his order. Perhaps we should be early to bed and early to rise?" The newcomer proposed.

The old man was in more control than I gave him credit for. "Perhaps you're right boy," he said this to a man my age, "If Ubba and his lot had done their job they'd have been back by now," he turned to sneer at me again, "You watch yourself you greasy-haired spear chucker. Don't think you're welcome in Skyrim. You ain't."

With that he rose unsteadily to his feet and led is son to their room. The crowd evaporated.

I sagged into my chair and took a long, grateful pull from the bottle that materialized in my hand. I placed my feet back up on the hearth and began to digest the gold mine's worth of information the father-son team just placed in my lap. Exactly where the mercenary told me were two men from Riften who were taking equipment orders from the Stormcloak Army. Where and from whom in Riften would they be getting their inventory from? I wondered to myself.

I was about to get up and put a few coins down for a bedroll when a Nord soldier slid into the old man's chair.

"Ralof of Riverwood," I acknowledged carefully,

"Ieago of Kvatch," he said in the same tone. "I go by Ralof Stormblade now. It's been a long time since Helgen."

"And you've come a long way," I replied. Ralof's appearance told the story. There was a quicksilver axe at his waist. Silver and gold bands decorated his shield arm. He had become a warlord, high in Ulfric's favor to be outfitted so richly.

"So was any of the bullshit you fed Master Vulwulf true?" He asked me.

I rubbed the back of my neck, "It wasn't total bullshit. The 3rd Aux of the 25th was my cohort, all of Kvatch's guards belonged. I was honorably discharged years ago. I do have a stab wound in the top of my right shoulder, but that's from a draugr, and I can still throw a javelin just fine."

Ralof gave me a sidelong glance, "Why are you really here Ieago? And don't tell me you're a farmer."

I shrugged, "I was raised on a farm. I'm here because behind that Vulwulf's 'sad old man' act is someone willing to pay men to break into my house and try to kill me and my wife."

Ralof looked more closely at me, "So you are the one who claims to be the Dragonborn."

I took another pull from my bottle before replying, "I can back it up," I said soberly.

"So you really did it? You traveled to Sovngarde and killed Alduin?"

I nodded and by turns Ralof and I spent the evening going over every detail I could remember of my quest to slay Alduin. Over the years I would discover a reluctance to tell the story. Somehow my memory of that last battle became more unpleasant with every retelling. From my duel with Nahkriin at the apex of Skuldafn; to the terror of Alduin bearing down on me in the enervating mists, his black-within-black maw wide open. You tell your interviewer everything they want to hear; but it's only people like Ralof and Hadvar, who have done exceptional things of their own; or the handful of people who actually shared my adventures, that understand that you don't adventure for the stories. You don't always feel proud of what you've done, however worthy your deeds might seem.

Ralof understood only too well what it meant for me to face Alduin. He couldn't understand my reasons for taking up the Empire's cause.

"I can't believe you, Ieago! After the way the Empire treated you at Helgen? Now you fight for them?" Ralof shook his head in disbelief, "I thought you of all people would know the true face of the Empire."

"And I thought you would have seen Ulfric's true face that day," I shot back.

"Tullius was going to kill you out of hand! No Stormcloak would…"

"Ulfric's a coward! He left your shield-siblings to die!"* I yelled. I slapped my hand over my mouth, realizing too late what I'd said aloud in a building full of Ulfric's men.

Ralof glowered at me for a moment in the deathly silent inn. "You should leave Dragonborn. Right now," he said in a cool tone.

I reached into my bag and clipped Revenant to my belt before standing in the quiet room. "I dread our next meeting, Stormblade," I said formally, "Had things been otherwise, I would we have been friends."

It is to the Stormcloaks' credit that I was not attacked on the way back to Whiterun.

Honest to God, when I first heard about the plot for Skyrim, I wanted to be a Stormcloak. I was like 'People trying for political self-determination? I'm American, it's in my national heritage! I'm on board with this!' Then I got lost and wound up following Hadvar out of Helgen. While it's never explicitly stated, I got the idea that the Stormcloaks you fight were a rearguard for Ulfric, who later asked me to betray Jarl Balgruuf, my favorite character in the game. I did it, but it felt dirty. The next Empire-leaning play through was far easier on my conscience.

Thanks again for reading and more will be up tomorrow evening.