13th First Seed

4E 211

Windhelm

The Storm Cloud Gathers II

(Frodnar Hodson)

As he sprinted through the corridors of the Palace of Kings dressed only in a loincloth and with a sword clutched in his hand, the only thing Frodnar Hodson could reflect on was how afraid he was. Even at the tender age of twenty four Frodnar had already developed a reputation of a great warrior; he had fearlessly fought off a band of Forsworn while injured, withstood an attack of Imperial legionaries with only half a fraction of their forces, and cleared a drauger infested ruin by himself. In short, he didn't scare easy. But as he barreled up the stairs leading to the upper levels of the palace his heart was racing and his stomach was water with terror.

He cursed the length of the flight of steps as his calves burned and sweat streamed down his face. Behind him four hold guards gasped and groaned, hardly able to keep up burdened as they were with armor and weapons.

"Hurry fools!" Frodnar bellowed over his shoulders. "For the love of Shor move your arses! The High King may be in danger!"

The flight of stairs led up to a corridor and Frodnar moaned in horror when he found the bloodied corpse of another guard. It was confirmation to his worst fear, this far in there was only one thing the infiltrators could be after: the High King of Skyrim. He barreled down the hallway his speed redoubled. If his king was dead…..if he had failed in his duty as housecarl. The thought was almost too much to bear. The king had rescued him from a dull life of logging and put a sword in his hand as well as the knowledge of how to use it. He had allowed Frodnar to live the life that he had dreamed of since childhood. Ulfric was not only his liege lord and king, Ulfric was also his mentor and almost like a second father.

"YOL TOOR!" The sound of Ulfric's thu'am was so mighty that it could be heard from even a floor below.

Hang on my lord, the young housecarl thought as he increased his speed, I'm coming!

Frodnar turned another corridor and sprinted up another flight of steps before finally getting to the hallway which led to the High King's personal chambers. To his everlasting relief the sound of combat was still audible. Talos be praised! Ulfric was still fighting which meant he could still be saved. With his determination burning like the fires of the Red Mountain, he rushed down the last hallway and turned into the hall at the end of which was the doors to Ulfric's bedroom.

His eagerness almost caused him his life.

The candle fire from the wall racks to the side reflected from a glimmer of metal at the corner of Frodnar's eyes. It was only years of training and experience which saved him as he ducked low without missing a beat, the sword whizzed over his head so close that it sheared off his ponytail.

"Killl him!"

Frodnar swerved to the right and brought his blade up to intercept another sword. The impact jarred him to the teeth but he had little time to revel in his discomfort, a shift in the air from behind informed him of imminent death. He whirled around flung his blade downward to deflect a sword thrust from his lower back.

By Oblivion that was three! Judging from the other movements that he was hearing there might even be more. Panic exploded in Frodnar's mind. He was a great warrior he knew, better than most. But the odds of living to tell the tale after fighting an unknown number of assailants almost naked and armed only with a steel sword was not good for anyone not a dragonborn.

"FUS RO DAH!" Ulfric's bellow resounded throughout the hallway.

In his peripheral vision Frodnar watched Ulfric's gilded bedroom doors fly off their hinges with a thunderous boom and crashed into the opposite wall along with the broken bodies of two assassins. The raw force of his shout billowed down the hallway as a lash of wind which almost knocked all from their feet.

Frodnar took the chance and jumped away. It was an explosive and tigerish jump which carried him beyond the ring of enemies that were on the verge of surrounding him from all side.

In the brief loll that his leapt bought him he had a chance to observe his enemies for the first time. Five of them in all. They were all dressed similarly in the trademark green and bronze of Glass armor. From the fit of the armor all five were men and all of them were hooded and wore cowls of black cloth, obscuring all facial features.

A second later there was no more time for observing.

Two of the assassin's came at him, their upraised swords gleaming in the torchlight. He ducked first to the left avoiding an overhead blow that would have rend him in twain then tossed himself to the left to get out of the way of a slash that would have ripped open his belly and spilled his guts. With a shout Frodnar lashed out with his own blade, it whistled in a deadly arc and took one of the attackers directly in the side of the neck. The finely honed steel powered by great Nordic muscle sheared through cloth, muscle, and sinew and a second later a head was rolling on the floor.

Frodnar kicked the headless body into the way of second defender, causing the attacker to stumble back. Before he could follow up on his attack however, a motion off to the side caught his eye. The housecarl leaned his upper body backwards and watched as the sword of another attacker blurred inches away from his face. Without missing a beat he leaned forward sword first, the lunge carried behind it all his desperate strength. It pierced through the Glass cuirass, spitted the heart beneath, and punched through the other side dripping blood. The man gasped once and then stiffened. Frodnar wrenched his sword out of the dead man and brought it up to guard position, splashing his own face with blood.

The dead man sank boneless to the floor and two other men jumped over his body to get at Frodnar. One dual wielded a dagger and an ebony sword and the other carried a similar sword but backed up with a shield.

"Come on dogs!" Frodnar shouted. "Oblivion waits!"

The two of them pressed into the young housecarl and he met them with all the fury of a Nord in the throes of battle lust.

For a few minutes the sound of combat echoed off the stone walls of the Palace of Kings. The clash of metal upon metal was deafening. Frodnar was a whirlwind of movement as he blocked, dodged, and retaliated with massive hacks and swipes. Yet as the seconds ticked away he found himself doing more blocking and dodging and less attacking. The two assailants were good swordsmen. Alone Frodnar would have soon triumphed but the two of them together; it was all he could do to survive.

A dagger raked across his ribs causing him to cry out in pain, and a sword flashed past his face. His life was only saved by a hairsbreadth by the fact that he had stumbled backwards from the pain of the dagger.

Pain racked his side as he stood with one hand clutching his wound and his back pressed to the wall. Yet he held his sword steady and his blue eyes blazed determination, if this was the day that he would go to Svongarde then he would go as a true Nord. The two man cried and charged him simultaneously. Frodnar's face morphed into a death grimace as he prepared to make his last stand.

Just then the cacophony of armored boots upon stone began sounding out. The guards had finally arrived.

With shouts and war cries the four Stormcloak soldiers barreled into the two assassins who at once turned to meet them. Not forgetting his number one priority Frodnar turned away from brawl and sprinted towards Ulfric's bedroom. He ignored the pain in his side and the blood splashing down upon the stones with each step. His life came secondary to the life of his king. With his heart racing so hard it was painful he burst into the room ready to do battle.

Inside the room resembled a scene from Boethiah's realm of Oblivion. Corpses littered the floor, some burnt into unrecognizable husk and some missing limbs. Blood splattered the walls, floor, and impossible as it seemed the ceiling. He saw Ulfric's great four poster bed collapsed into a heap of wood, mattress, and sheets. The great hardwood wardrobe was also overturned and the king's clothes scattered along the floor. As he walked in the scent of charred meat, voided bowels, and sanguine was almost enough to make Frodnar retch. He ignored it though upon sighting Ulfric who was slumped against the wall beneath the broken bay window. He was covered in blood and unmoving.

With a cry of dismay Frodnar rushed over to his side.

"My king!" He shouted desperately. "Ulfric!"

The relief that he felt when Ulfric's eyes fluttered open was so strong that it was almost physical.

"I'm not gone yet boy." Ulfric Stormcloak gasped in a rough and uneven voice. "Svongarde will have to wait another day."

"Aye my lord." Frodnar said, his voice was raw from relief.

Kneeling at his king's side he at once began examining his liege for injuries. He winced and stared in horror when he saw a great jagged gash along the king's torso from left hip to right chest. It was slowly seeping red and there was no telling how much blood Ulfric had lost already.

"You need a healer now." Frodnar said trying to keep his voice as calm as he could.

Ulfric gave a weak moan in reply, he seemed to be on the verge of unconsciousness. From somewhere behind him there were footsteps. He whirled around expecting more assassins but found two battered looking and bloodied guards instead.

"Get the healers!" Frodnar snapped at them. "Now!"

One of them turned and ran from the room at once while the other hesitated before speaking.

"Captain if you will," The guard said taking an uncertain step forward. "I've got skills in restoration. I could help."

Frodnar turned back towards the guard and took in the person's appearance for the first time. He found a woman standing before him. Her pale skin signaled to Frodnar her Nordic ancestry. She looked around his age if not a couple years younger and just a head shorter. Her chestnut hair only reached her neck, doubtlessly cut short for practicality, and there was a smattering of freckles across her face as well as a nasty hooked scar on her right cheek. She looked anxiously at Frodnar through coffee brown eyes. She was no great beauty, no her features were too homely for that, but Frodnar still couldn't help but notice the way her body filled out the stormcloak uniform that she there was no time to dwell on that now.

"Hurry." Frodnar urged.

The female guard at once moved to Ulfric's side and crouched down. She held a pale hand a couple inches from his rend chest and began muttering under her breath. Her hand began to glow a bright auburn and then Ulfric's chest began glowing in resonance. While the wound did not close; Frodnar noticed that as several seconds passed the seeping of blood gradually tapered off before completely stopping. The light dimmed and then disappeared and the woman heaved a tired sigh, on her brow were beads of sweat. Though Frodnar knew little of magic and had no desire to learn more it was obvious that it had some taxing effect.

"Will he be okay?" He asked glancing anxiously at his still unmoving king. Where were the blasted healers and reinforcements?! If Ulfric died he would have the lot of them hanged.

"I….I don't know, captain."The woman admitted. "I managed to halt the bleeding at least for the moment. But there's no telling how much blood he's lost already or if any organs were damaged. His breathing is strong at least, that's something."

"What's your name soldier?"Frodnar asked.

"Sofie, captain."

"Well Sofie I thank you. You just may have saved the king's life this day."

"My duty and my pleasure captain Frodnar." Sofie replied touching her left fist to her breast in a salute.

A few seconds later the room began echoing with shouts and calls as an entourage of people came rushing in. healers, soldiers, servants, most half dressed and all raving for answers; it appeared that the entire castle had awoke.

"The king!" Sifnar Ironkettle wheezed. He was an ancient and wizened yet still hale Nord who had been cooking in palace kitchens since the days of Ulfric's father. "What happened? What's going on!?"

"Assassins." Wuunferth the Unliving growled. The old mage glared at bodies as if though willing them back to life so he could kill them once more. His snow white beard almost seemed to curl with his rage.

"Tend to the king!" Frodnar shouted out overriding them all. At once the healers descended upon Ulfric with spells and potions.

"He's badly hurt." One of the healers called out. "And he's lost a lot of blood. But he will live."

Frodnar thanked all the divines all over and laughed aloud in relief.

-8-

The creak of the opening door immediately jarred Frodnar awake from his light nap. He glared around slightly disoriented from sleep. He was in the living quarters of one of the more nondescript apartments in the palace. The room was spartanly furnished; boasting only a pair of old couches, a chandelier, and felt carpets. A thin layer of dust covered everything and little puffs of it were raised every time one stepped down on the carpet, showing that the room had not been used in some time. The smooth and undecorated stone walls were broken by two doors, one leading to the outside hallway and the other leading to the apartment's bedroom. Six men stood guard at the bedroom door, three on either side. They were all handpicked by Frodnar from his own personal company and he trusted each with his life, and more importantly with the life of his king.

Frodnar looked to the open door and took in the man who had just entered the apartment.

"Hroar." Frodnar greeted the man that was walking towards him. "What news?"

Hroar removed his helmet and shook out a mane of golden hair. He was a giant of a Nord, bigger than even Frodnar which put him in the neighborhood of seven feet. He was built like the lion that was his namesake. The blue and brown stormcloak cuirass stretched across his massive torso and shoulders and his arms were as solid and thick as tree trunks. He had cobalt blue eyes that still seemed to retain all the innocence of childhood even though the man was four years past his twentieth winter. A greatsword that was almost as long as the man was broad was slung across the Hroar's back, Frodnar knew it weighed almost three stones but he knew Hroar to wield it as effortlessly as if it were rapier.

"None good captain," Hroar said in his deep voice with a shake of his head. "But some worst than others."

"How fares the situation in the city?" Frodnar then asked before clenching his jaw tightly in agitation. He dreaded the answer. It had been five days since the attack on Ulfric and in those five days things had gotten more out of hand than Frodnar would have ever dreamed. The assassination attempt on Ulfric had whipped the Nordic population into frenzy the likes of which Frodnar had never seen. They had demanded justice on whoever was responsible and in lieu of the actual perpetrators the blame had naturally fallen on Dunmers of the Gray Quarter.

Just three days passed an angry mob of disgruntled and very drunken Nords had stormed into the Gray Quarters where they had savagely attacked any of the gray skinned Elves that they had encountered. Before the guards could restore order four of the grayskins had been lynched, five had been raped, and dozens had been savagely beaten. Frodnar had no love for elves of any sort but with Yrsarald Thrice-Pierced gone he was commander of the city watch and he was not about to have a bunch of drunken idiots disrupting Windhelm's peace. Not when the king was incapacitated and thus the kingdom vulnerable. He had ordered swift and decisive action. Raloff Stonefist, the agitator who had stirred up the mob, had been whipped and imprisoned and several of the attackers accused of the most heinous crimes had been whipped and then banished from Eastmarch on pain of death should they return.

The peace had been kept but at the cost of the smoldering resentment of the Nordic populace, a walk through the marketplace the day after his punishments were meted out proved to him that he was not very popular at the moment. Frodnar shrugged it all off, he was not running a popularity contest after all.

"It's like a tinderbox." Hroar said with a deep sigh. He ran a hand through his mop of unruly blonde hair and looked at his captain wearily. "We're doing everything we can to keep it from erupting but the city is boiling over. Our people blame the grayskins for the attempt on the king and they say…"

"What do they say?" Frodnar asked sharply.

"They say that you had something to do with it." Hroar told him reluctantly. "What with the way that you reacted to the attack on the gray quarters. They say that you are in league with the Dunmers to kill the king and take his throne."

Frodnar issued a noise of utter disgust but tried his best to reign in his rising temper. He would not allow the agitators to get to him.

"They can say what they want." Frodnar answered dismissively. "So long as they do not attack the Gray Quarters again."

"The damn Elves aren't making it easy." Hroar said with a dark look.

"What do you mean?" Frodnar asked in concern.

"The attack pushed them over the edge it would seem." Hroar told Frodnar with a shake of his head. "Since the day before yesterday they've began fortifying the gray quarters and some have openly taking to carrying arms. What's worst Angrenor Once Honored was murdered yesterday. Needless to say who everyone thought did it."

He ended by giving Frodnar another dark young captain swore viciously and fought off the overwhelming urge to hit something. This was just what he needed, his king grievously wounded and the city.

"They're demanding that Rolff Stonefist be executed for his crimes." Hroar added in an undertone.

"Out of the question." Frodnar stated firmly. Much as he would love to see it himself, he bore little love for the rash and violent Nord, he could not hang Rolff without serious political repercussions. Rolff was the younger brother of Galmar Stonefist who was one of the most decorated war heroes of the War of Liberation and also the best friend and past housecarl to Ulfric as he had been to Wulfred, Ulfric's father before him. That aside, Rolff was well liked and popular among the Nordic population in his own regard. To kill him for the death of Elves could spark a full fledge riot within the already on edge city.

"Send in negotiators," Frodnar ordered. "The best we've got. Give them anything they ask within reason. Let them know that Rolff will be punished but there shall be no death."

"I doubt that they will accept that." Hroar said cautiously. "They really seem up in arms."

"They had better." Frodnar retorted angrily. "If they seek to disrupt the peace in my city I'll have their heads." Hroar nodded his head in understanding.

"How goes the investigation?" Frodnar asked while desperately hoping for good news. "The quicker we can mount some skulls on the pikes of this keep the better it will be for us all. The attack on Ulfric made us look weak and if we do not take action soon our enemies will be emboldened."

"We still have no idea who was behind it, captain." Hroar admitted frustrated. "It was definitely not the Dark Brotherhood."

"That much was obvious." Frodnar snorted. The Dark Brotherhood was not known for sending assassins by the gaggle.

"Whoever was in charge was no less devious and well funded though." Hroar continued. "The different guards who had gate duty recall seeing many of the assassins when they first entered the city. Apparently they were trickling in for the past two weeks in different guises such as fishermen and caravan guards. None of them were armed and armored then."

"Meaning they had inside help," Frodnar snarled.

"Aye," Hroar agreed nodding his head. "With septims to spare as well. They all wore completed outfits of glass armor and all carried finely wrought steel weapons though without any markers to indicate the smith or casting place. We estimate the full value of their arms and armor to be in the range of sixty five thousand septims."

Frodnar whistled appreciatively. It was a king's ransom. That in and of itself meant what Frodnar had suspected all along. The look on Hroar's face informed Frodnar that his lieutenant had come to the same conclusion.

"Its either the Empire or the Dominion." Frodnar announced. "Ulfric's got plenty of other enemies sure, but I doubt any of them could put up that much money." Hroar nodded his head in agreement.

"I want them found." Frodnar demanded. "Do whatever it takes but I want those responsible. I'll have their heads on pikes, I swear it on my honor!"

"Aye captain." Hroar said with a salute. "There is just one more report. Balgruuf struck once more."

Frodnar growled in weariness and exasperation. Just how much bad news could one take in a day?

"Where?" He asked crisply.

"They sacked Mistwatch," Hroar said with a slight smile. "All were killed and the fort itself sacked."

"Then why do you smile?" Frodnar asked suspiciously. "

They did not count on General Ralof being in the area with his battalion." Hroar said with a flourish. "He has taken up the chase. The last runner arrived only hours ago and reports that the general is hot on their tail. They're making a run for it but the general swears that they will not escape. Not this time."

At last some good news, Frodnar thought with a wide smile. If anyone can get that traitor its uncle Ralof.

"Do not underestimate them." Frodnar cautioned his lieutenant. "I want a detachment sent out to reinforce him at once. I want Balgruuf captured if possible but tell my uncle not to hesitate if there is no other choice."

"At once, captain." Hroar said saluting once more. He then turned to carry out his captain's various orders.

Frodnar turned his back and stared at the bedroom door beyond which his king laid in a drugged sleep. He yearned to wake him and tell him the news. Balgruuf outnumbered and pursued…the capture of the former jarl of Windhelm would be one of Ulfric's greatest joys. There was no bigger domestic threat to Skyrim than Balgruuf the Greater. Come to think of it, to see his traitorous head on a pike would make Frodnar happy too.

Its all up to you Uncle Ralof, Frodnar thought as he headed towards the bedroom to check on his liege once more. Don't let us down.