In the morning they rose, and found that Erik was already packed and ready to go, jumping eagerly to be off. They continued their way west till they were nearing Ivarstead. On the trail, Erik would make talk of his stories, but in this particular moment, he started asking the Dragonborn about his experiences in the Civil War.
"So, Dragonborn," Erik spoke up.
"Please, just call me Arminius," the Dragonborn said, "or Constantine, which ever you prefer."
"Okay…uh…Arminius," Erik said. "What rank were you in the war?"
"I was a Legate," the Dragonborn replied. He figured to keep his answers short and simple and then maybe Erik will run out of questions to ask.
"How many have you slain?" The questions were beginning to get uncomfortable.
He hesitated to answer, but said, "I don't know."
"What were they like, the Stormcloaks?" Erik asked. "I heard they were fierce, courageous and held honor above all."
"Fierce, yes, they were tough to fight," he replied. "Courage and honor, I'm not so sure."
"What makes you not so sure?" The Dragonborn had to think about it, but it came out his mouth for he had thought it many times over.
"After my experience, I don't necessarily trust people who approach war so casually as though courage and honor had anything to do with it."
"You're saying fighting battles take no courage or honor?"
"You may have heard stories of the Stormcloaks, but you'd have to be there yourself to understand why they don't."
"Well why don't they then? What did they do?" The Dragonborn felt a wave of depressing emotions come back to him, memories of such a tragic time through his life. He closed his eyes, lowered his head and sighed.
Hadvar could see the hurt look in his expression and said, "You don't have to continue, Arminius." He then directed his attention to Erik. "Forgive him, Erik, he's been through a lot that he doesn't like to talk about."
"No…" The Dragonborn sighed. "No, it's okay; I think its best I tell him." Hadvar shifted in his saddle, the emotions that came to his friend stretched to him as well. "After our victory at the Battle of Whiterun, we finally were able to turn the Stormcloaks on the defensive. By the next year, we launched a final campaign on Windhelm, and I led a successful assault on Fort Kastav in the mountains. Little did we know that it was used as a prison camp."
The Dragonborn went silent, hoping he didn't have to continue, that Erik got the gist of it. But he was persistent; "What did you find?" He sighed again.
"Lashes, malnourishment, piled carcasses…" The Dragonborn, now that his visions came out, he looked back up and regained his composure. "They believed that they hated the Empire so much that they would gladly kill an entire race of humans so long as they were all Imperials."
"Was the Jarl of Eastmarch the same? Or was it just them?"
"He was worse," the Dragonborn said. "I met him once, you know? On a diplomatic mission; he liked to speak as though it was poetry, and liked to rant a lot about how the Empire has failed and how much he cares for his people." The Dragonborn scoffed. "He'd have gladly destroyed his own homeland if it meant he could at least be king of its rubble." They group was silent for a moment on the ride.
"Were the Stormcloaks really that bad?" The Dragonborn had many answers, but in all he was honest.
"No," he replied. "They had their reasons, like we had ours."
"What were their reasons?"
"Shor's bones boy!" Hadvar piped in. "You really don't know anything, do you?"
"Free reign to worship Talos," The Dragonborn said. "That's about the only noble thing."
"People couldn't worship Talos freely?" Erik asked, surprised. "That's strange, I've never heard of such a thing and my family worships Talos like no problem."
"Rorikstead must be a huge rock, right?" Hadvar said. "Cause you surely were living under one."
"So if there is a ban on public Talos worship, and the Stormcloaks wanted fee reign to worship…what does that make you?" Erik asked.
"A not proud, loyal soldier of the Empire," The Dragonborn said.
"But do you at least still believe in Talos?"
The Dragonborn hesitated at first, but he stopped himself and decided not to answer, remaining silent for the rest of the way. A matter of faith was too sensitive a topic to discuss; he's been through so much that his trust in the gods has dwindled.
Eventually, they saw the signs of Ivarstead, broken and abandoned as it was. Erik, upon seeing it, was surprised, thinking it would be full of happy little villagers.
As they began to pass through, he asked, "What happened here? Did dragons burn this place down?"
"Dragons are not what happened," Hadvar said. "The Fifth Legion is what happened."
"Legionaries did this?" Erik said. "I thought you said that they were helping Skyrim!"
"I never said such a thing," the Dragonborn said. "The Fifth legion used total war on the Rift, a strategy that wages war on the people, a policy that the fourth legion was very much against. Most of the citizens here didn't even support the Stormcloaks, and yet this happened…"
"It was going to happen one way or the other," Jenassa said, finally lifting her silence.
"She is right," Hadvar added. "When there is war, there is misery."
"Is war really like that, Dragonborn?" Erik asked, leaning over to look the Dragonborn in the face.
"Erik, do you want to remember something?" the Dragonborn asked, and Erik reluctantly nodded. "Wars should be avoided at best; but when they are started, they need to be fought so they could end. I believe that in all our hearts, we wage war so that one day they won't ever have to be waged again." Erik sat back on his horse and looked down and pondered on the little wisdom that the Dragonborn gave him.
"Come on, we're nearly to the bridge," Jenassa said. They crossed the rest of the old destroyed town and found themselves crossing the stone bridge that leads over the raging narrow river. On the other side would be the very base of the mountain, and the beginning of the stone steps that would lead them up to the temple of High Hrothgar.
What you see now is the Imperial city, and it is slow to reconstruct; however, most has been rebuilt to fit the living needs of lower and middle classes. It has been around 30 years since the sack of the city, and it has had time to heal.
In the residence of higher class, it was like it never happened. The fountains ran once more, the grass lawns were a healthy green, the statues were resculpted, and the manors were lively and rich.
A section of four manors on the stone street of a circle stood, and few came by. A rich red horse drawn carriage came strolling by, surrounded by mounted legionary vanguards on each of its corners. At some point, the carriage stopped and the one who had control of the reign hopped down onto the stone paved street. As the vanguard stepped down as well, the driver opened up the door to the side of the carriage, and on either side the four vanguards stood at attention staring straight ahead.
Out of the carriage stepped two high class men in formal attire, one Breton with long brown hair tied into a pony tail, and the other a High Elf with long white hair that was silky straight. They both looked around at their surroundings and then dead ahead was a large gate that led to the garden of one of the large manors opening. Toward them came a grizzly, yet noble looking orc with his two bottom teeth sticking out like a usual of his kiin would have. When he stopped in front of them, he bowed with politeness.
"Greetings, Councilors," he said in a gritty orc voice. "I am Yasug gro-Magah, the head servant to the house of Master Scipio, and it is an honor to receive you as his guest for dinner this evening. If you may, please follow me." The Orc servant, Yasug, turned and made his way back to the manor with the two Councilors and the vanguards following close behind.
The High Elf Councilor leaned over to the Breton and said, "I never knew Orcs could be this refined; not even our own Borumag and Lashz are like this."
As they passed the gate, the vanguard to either side of them turned and stood side to side next to the gate, and it was closed.
It was dusk now, and dinner in the Scipio manor had been served at a large table with a long red table cloth decorated with the Dragon symbol of the Empire. The councilors, who had greeted themselves to be Amaund Motierre, the Breton representative and Mearanil, the Alinor representative, were seated at the table and awaited for Scipio to enter the room.
In moments he did, hands raised and a slight smile on his face, yet it was ruined by his eye patch. He greeted them; "Welcome, welcome! Gentleman, Councilors; it is my pleasure to have you in the company of my home tonight for this 'feast of kings', shall I say?"
Mearanil, noting the food, said, "I can see you spared no expense to give us such a banquet for just the three of us, General; I can hardly say Motierre and I would be able to finish all this on just our plates."
"It is nothing to worry about, Councilor Mearanil," Scipio said. "The motive for me and my servant staff is to keep my guests lazy and happy, so be thankful for my generosity and eat away, and we shall discuss what we shall discuss."
Scipio himself sat down in the chair at the very end of the long table and cut into a piece of steak with his silver knife.
"So, General," spoke Councilor Motierre, "Your campaign against the barbarous rebels, I see that has worked out for you well in the end."
"It has," Scipio said. "The only way to fight barbarianism is to use barbarianism yourself. Fight fire with fire as some would say."
"Is your Legion still controlling the Rift now?" Councilor Mearanil asked.
"It is," Scipio replied. "Under competent governance of my trusted High Legate Hardeen; a proud Colovian that one is. With his help, all the businesses we have control over will supply us with the funds necessary for my plan." The councilors stopped cutting into their steaks and looked up at Scipio.
"What is this plan you speak of?" Motierre asked. Scipio set down his utensils and laced his fingers together, as he gave a snaky smile.
"A Plan to further Thalmor interest across the Empire, which I am sure would capture your utmost attention, would it not?" Scipio said. The two Councilors looked at each other and then back to the one eyed General. "I assume that means you two: full supporters of Thalmor expansion, are interested in what I have to propose?"
"Then what is it that you propose in the good name of the High Elves?" Mearanil asked. Scipio smiled more now and he leaned into the table, ready to speak his mind.