Chapter Fifteen - Song And Dance
The dark stones of the causeway leading up to Windhelm seemed to stretch on forever in front of Laurelin. As they approached, her steps slowed. Vilkas finally turned her about to face him.
"Does your leg pain you, love? Maybe we can see a priest in the city once we get there."
"My leg aches aye, but that isn't it." She gazed with furrowed brow up at the imposing walls of Windhelm. Last time she had been through was before she had become Guildmaster. After that, she had avoided coming here because it made her furious to see the prejudice towards mer of any race, but particularly the Dunmer. Not to mention the ban on Argonians and Khajiit in the city. Now more than ever, she wanted to turn around and walk away.
With a small groan, she started forward again, swinging her stiff, injured leg carefully. They had been in the midst of fending off the attacks of a pair of ice wraiths when a troll had happened on them and entered the fray, swinging its claws viciously to and fro. Laure was caught in the first attack and hurled back, three deep lacerations encircling her thigh. She landed heavily nearby, clutching at her wound.
Furious, Vilkas leaped on the troll and drove it to the ground, pinned his sword through its neck and then punched his dagger through each eye. Wrenching his sword free, he turned from the quite expired troll and scattered the two wraiths, slashing at one, grunting as the other landed a stinging hit on his shoulder. Ignoring it, he struck the first one again, watched it shatter, then blocked a flurry of attacks from the surviving wraith.
By the time he finished it, Laure's hands were covered in blood and it was running into her boots, but she had used her magic to heal the worst of her injury and was fumbling in her pack with slick fingers for a potion. They scrubbed the blood off with snow and rags as best they could, then Laure harvested the chilly teeth of the ice wraiths and they continued on.
They finally made it through the gates and headed straight for Candlehearth Hall. There they rented a room, cleaned up, and headed back out, both ready to be done with this as soon as possible. This city had a miasma of misery clinging to it that made their eyes smart and breathing difficult. Down one long set of twisting alleys, she glimpsed gaunt Dunmer hunched over fires made of refuse, eyes vacant of any spark other than resentment.
She shivered. The Grey Quarter in all its piteous misery, full of dejected people who lacked home or cause, stripped of pride. Forced to live in squalor, eking out what small subsistence they could by doing menial tasks for their "benefactors." She hated it. Seething quietly, she picked up her pace.
When they marched past the guards at the tall doors leading into the Palace of the Kings, Laure came to a halt, glancing around. The main hall was quiet, dominated by a long wooden table. At the far end, on a low dais, sat Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak, conferring with a few men nearby. She skirted the table, moving purposefully toward the man who wished to be the next High King of Skyrim.
Coming to a stop side by side, Laure and Vilkas laid eyes on Ulfric, waited for him to finish his conversation. His eyes flicked over the two Companions, then back to the man he spoke to. The man bowed and turned away. Ulfric stood up, and strode over to them, his large frame moving with a slow grace, his voice warmer than she remembered.
"Companions, welcome to Windhelm. Do I have the honor of finally meeting the Dragonborn Skyrim has been singing about? I was pleased to learn you would finally be gracing us with an audience," he said with mild reproach, although he offered his hand to both and clasped wrists, a small smile on his face.
Vilkas spoke first. "I am Vilkas of the Companions and this is the Harbinger and Dragonborn, Laurelin Vo'Shai."
Ulfric had her wrist still, and he was staring intently at her. Finally he released her hand, saying, "Aye, now I remember. You were the one who almost got away. Was the dragon your final escape plan?" He meant it lightheartedly, but regretted his hasty words immediately.
"My escape plans involved running and hiding, not burning a village, my Lord. Eventually the running and hiding worked for me."
"I hope you will understand that I jest. I was in line for the headsman same as you. Fortune and the light of Talos preserved us that day; hopefully so that we might carry on the fight. But come, let us speak of such things later and find you refreshment." He led Laurelin and Vilkas to the table, where they all seated themselves and the steward poured wine before retreating a respectful distance away.
Ulfric raised his goblet, "To the Dragonborn and the end of Skyrim's foes." He was playing off lyrics from the popular song being sung all over the realm, but the Companions only smiled and raised their own.
"There will be a grand feast in your honor tonight, Dragonborn. I wish to show you the hospitality of the Palace of the Kings. Perhaps at some point we might hear the tale of your escape from Helgen."
"Shall I tell the part where you declined to free my hands after freeing everyone else?" Laure asked sweetly after tasting her wine. Watered, but high quality. She ignored the swift inhalation of her mate, kept her gaze straight and level with Ulfric's. The jarl cleared his throat and swallowed, face flushing a charming shade of pink under his whiskers.
"That was a misjudgment that I regret. I do not wish for there to be enmity between us. Allow me make it up to you with this feast. The kitchens have already begun, and the orders for drink have gone out."
"Very well. We will feast and be merry, and then when that is over, you will tell me what you really want." She drained her goblet and set it down. "If there was nothing else, we will need to polish our armor and the like. It would never serve to be feasted in dirty armor. We will be at Candlehearth Hall until then. Good afternoon, Jarl Ulfric." She and Vilkas made their way out, not waiting for Ulfric's response, past a pair of guards, stopping to give a beggar woman a coin. She blessed them for their kindness, eyes agleam in her filthy face as she tucked the coin into her rags.
Rather than head straight to the inn, Laure turned down into the Grey Quarter and ducked into a shallow alcove, pulling Vilkas in. He was about to question when she shook her head. He clamped his lips shut, and waited. A moment later the beggar woman sidled into the alcove with them. Her gaze flitted suspiciously over Vilkas.
"It's safe, Silda. He's with me. Why so nervous?"
"Haven't you heard? There is a madman roaming the streets, killing women at night. No one knows who it is, and the jarl is too busy planning his rebellion to do a damn thing about it. Throw that on top of the fact that the Argonian dock workers aren't getting their pay, the Dunmer are desperate for anything that will get them a bit of coin, and well, it ain't pretty." She turned and spat into the sooty snow before continuing. "Ulfric is barely able to keep things skimming along in the city. How in Oblivion is he supposed to manage a whole bloody kingdom?"
"That is a fine question. Any other news for me?" She slid a heavy purse into the other woman's hand, and received a scrap of paper in return. Vilkas sighed and looked the other way. Paying for information wasn't a crime, but meeting in a dark alley to make the exchange was pushing the boundary a bit.
"It's pretty quiet most of the time. Be safe, m'lady." Silda vanished into the shadows, with Laure following a moment later. They made their way to the inn, where they bathed and scrubbed ruthlessly. They were polishing armor and boots when a knock at the door caught their attention. Sunset was approaching, and they figured it was a messenger from the palace.
They were correct. The messenger came with arms bundled high with paper wrapped parcels.
"Gifts from Jarl Ulfric to his honored guests. He hopes they will please you, and you will honor him by wearing them tonight. He wishes it to be a formal gathering. A seamstress will be along shortly to see to any last minute alterations." The boy laid the parcels down and bowed, retreating once more. Laure and Vilkas wiped the oil from their hands and tugged the ribbons holding the paper closed. Inside were finely tailored garments that had them both looking at each other with raised eyebrows.
"I guess we should at least try them on," Laure finally ventured, running her fingers over the smooth fabric of her outfit. Vilkas shrugged and they began dressing. When done, Laure had to admit they looked ready to attend a party with the nobility. Vilkas was wearing a dove-gray tunic with blue piping that brought out the silver in his eyes, with a long, black sleeveless vest buttoned up across his broad chest. Snug gray and black trousers were tucked into his boots.
Laure had been given a simple chemise of a blue that matched the piping on Vilkas' tunic, with a long, pale-gold surcoat that was open at the sides. The sleeves of her chemise were lightly flared and trimmed with dark ribbon and gold thread.
"Well, he got the sizes and colors right at least, even if the style is a trifle extravagant for my tastes," observed Laure as she gazed downward. The long, full skirts felt unfamiliar, and she felt vulnerable without her armor. She felt as though she was headed into battle, and you didn't go to war in a dress.
"You look astounding," he said.
"What if we're overdressed?"
"Such a small thing to be concerned about. Come here." He gathered her into his arms, brushed her lips with his. His arms tightened about her waist, sliding along the smooth fabric of her dress. A tiny sound escaped her lips, but before he could think about anything more, another knock sounded at the door. Reluctantly relinquishing his hold on her, he opened it.
The seamstress bustled inside, basket in hand. "Ah good, I see you've tried them on. Very good. Now, we'll just tighten up a few things . . ." The plump little matron set straight to work, adjusting a number of things Laure and Vilkas would never have noticed. In short order, she clapped her hands, packed her needles and thread away, and breezed her way out again, exclaiming, "An honor, milady, a real honor to have sewn for you. Bless you and your husband!"
"He's not my husband. But thank you for the lovely clothes."
"Well what's he waitin' for anyway? Good night. Mercy, sewing gowns for Dragonborn now . . . won' let it go t' my head now. Mercy no . . ."
Bemused, Laure and Vilkas shook their heads and finished getting ready. A short time later, Vilkas took her hands and looked earnestly into her eyes. "Love, you realize that this dinner will be as dangerous as a battlefield. You have valid reasons to have a grudge against him. But tonight, we have to be cautious. Insulting him to his face might be accepted when no one else may bear witness to it, but if you pull a stunt like you did earlier-"
"Vilkas, I'll mind my manners. I just need to find the appropriate time to tell him I'm not interested in his war. I'll tell the same to the Imperials. I'm just worried he's going to try to use this public setting as a way to . . . to use the people and the situation to wrest support from me and the Companions."
"Of course he is. What else would his goals be? Laurelin, why does this man twist you so?"
"The whole damn situation makes me extraordinarily angry. Half his city is destitute, he throws this feast in my honor, but it's all to play a game. And setting himself up to win is his only goal!" she exclaimed.
"Play his game and beat him. I thought that was what you did. He wants to have you in his ranks. Deny him that, but not outright. You can do this, Guildmaster." His fingers lifted her chin and made her look him in the eye. They were narrowed, and she was chewing her lip.
"You called me 'Guildmaster.' I never thought I would hear you say that without grinding your teeth." A small smile quirked her lips up finally.
"Much as it pains me to say it, I think that is who you are comfortable being in these situations, aye? Be the Dragonborn, but don't forget what else you are, and don't let him make you commit to anything you aren't comfortable with. That's the game for the evening." He watched as a mischievous smile lit up her face.
"When you put it that way, it sounds simple. Well not really, but you're right. Challenge accepted!" She turned and ran a hand through the tresses that she had shortened in Riften but that remained longer than her old chin-high length. "What do I do with my hair?"
* * *
Laure readjusted the circlet Vilkas had trotted out to get for her just before leaving for the palace.
"You look like a queen; now, stop fiddling with it. Here he comes." Her mate squeezed her hand as Ulfric rounded on them. His finery was far more elaborate than theirs, and contrary to her concern, they were not even close to overdressed. Windhelm's nobility and upper crust had all turned out, dressed in lavish clothing, dripping precious baubles and bits of sparkle that tested Laure's resolve to not give into her larcenous impulses.
"Ah, I'm pleased you decided to wear my humble gifts. Will you take a goblet of mead? The meal will be served soon." An adolescent server appeared with goblets and a brimming pitcher of mead. When Laurelin and Vilkas had been served, Ulfric began to guide them around, introducing them to the other guests. Soon they didn't need to move at all; everyone had flocked around the jarl and his guests. Laure and Vilkas shook hands and traded pleasantries, smiling for the nobility when they jested, hiding their discomfort admirably behind goblets and polite words.
Laure had of course spent considerable time in the presence of several of the province jarls, dining and drinking with them, working for them. She was no stranger to court. Vilkas had nearly as many dealings with court as she did of late, often employed in her stead to complete a task she was unable to make time for. Right now, neither one of them could shake the feeling they were being led around and shifted into just the position the jarl wanted them in.
Vilkas watched as she drew a whole different persona over herself. She smiled politely, gossiped about fashions in the different holds and her homeland, and deftly avoided pointed questions as to her thoughts on the war with talk of art and her recent travels.
They were soon sitting at the long table, Laure being seated prominently close to Ulfric, Vilkas at her other side. Ulfric stood, and his guests immediately quieted. His deep, measured voice resounded through the great hall, and Laure caught the slightest timbre of his Thu'um.
"This evening is a special occasion. As you all know, tonight we are honored by the presence of a woman whose deeds are rapidly becoming legend. Please raise your cups to the Dragonborn, Laurelin Vo'Shai. Windhelm welcomes you to Palace of the Kings." Everyone raised their silver goblets and toasted the Dragonborn.
As she glanced down the table, clutching Vilkas' hand under it's linen cloth, she was blindingly aware that everyone at the table–herself excluded–was a Nord, and probably a Stormcloak supporter–excluding her mate. She was going to need to watch what she said, every heartbeat. Sipping lightly at her drink, back straight and chin high, she forced herself to smile brightly.
Soon an array of dishes was pouring from the kitchens, servers and bearers and cooks bustling about with steaming platters and joints of roasted meats. Ulfric served her first, with his own hands, which raised an eyebrow or two, asking, "Do you prefer your beef bloody or well done?"
Laurelin smiled over the rim of her goblet. "Why, bloody of course." The feasting began in earnest then, and a bard in the far corner played softly on her lute, although the noise of the place swiftly drowned out her musical voice.
Ulfric held her attention most of the time, telling stories of his childhood and his time with the Graybeards. The servers kept the mead flowing, and soon the feast had been reduced to bare platters and scraps. Laure and Vilkas both drank sparingly, unwilling to overindulge with Ulfric, who was seemingly biding his time. The jarl would allow the topic of the war and politics to briefly surface, and then he would deftly change the subject again.
After the dining was over, numerous people approached Laurelin, hoping to find out if she was joining the jarl in his rebellion. Ulfric would appear at her side and brush away the questions, claiming, "Tonight we do not speak of war; there will be time for that later."
The two Companions could not help but notice that Ulfric allowed them to ask, but intervened before Laurelin could respond. Soon enough, the chatter had turned to other topics again, and the residents of Windhelm shifted to the topic everyone was eager to hear about: the dragons. What was being done to stop them? How many had she killed? Was it true she could Shout, just like Ulfric? What did it feel like to absorb a dragon soul? Did it scare her to fight a creature so mighty?
These were questions Laure was infinitely more comfortable with, and she was able to relax a trifle in between sets of questions and telling the tales of her recent adventures. She was pressed into telling the tale of her escape from Helgen, which she gave a spirited but abbreviated version of to an enraptured audience. Wisely, she refrained from mentioning Ulfric's choice to leave her hands bound while she leaped from the broken remains of a tower through the collapsed roof of an inn, twenty feet below.
Listening to the story again, Vilkas realized how swiftly time had turned. He had met Laurelin the day after the attack on Helgen. When she had first appeared in Jorrvaskr, nothing about her had made him think her extraordinary. Tiny, clad in ill-fitting, mismatched armor, she had looked like a waif from the streets. Smiling ruefully to himself, he knew he'd been a complete ass the first few weeks after she had joined, even though she had fit so comfortably into the Companions and done everything asked of her.
He was standing next to her after she finished her story, holding a glass of water out for her, when Ulfric asked if she would share a dance with him. Vilkas' fingers clenched around the cup involuntarily, but waited to see what she would say.
"Jarl Ulfric, I am honored; however, I must decline. Earlier today I took a wound that I confess still pains me in spite of having been healed, and I am near falling down tired and inebriated. I fear I haven't the Nord tolerance for strong mead." She smiled gently, hoping to not cause insult.
Ulfric's face became a mask of concern. "Do you need it tended to again? I can fetch a priest from the temple right away if you need."
"My thanks again; your courtesy is limitless. Perhaps I could sit a while instead and rest my leg."
"Of course, allow me." Ulfric guided her to an empty seat and helped her settle in it, ignoring Vilkas with his cup of water. "Perhaps a healing potion to ease the discomfort?"
"Just water will do, thank you," replied Laure. While Ulfric turned to search out water, Vilkas quietly stepped in and passed her the cup he'd been clutching. She sipped it gratefully, asking her lover, "How are you?"
"I should ask the same. The questions never end."
"No, they don't. And the most crucial one still hasn't been voiced." She rubbed her thigh with her thumbs, feeling the dull ache in her muscles. They really did ache, and she was tired. Tired in body, in mind. Tired of the song and dance with Ulfric and wishing he hadn't maneuvered her into this spot at all. You agreed to this farce; it's your own damned fault. At least the evening is almost over.
Ulfric returned at that moment with a pitcher of water and smiled ruefully when he saw Vilkas crouched at her side, her sipping the water he'd anticipated she would want. "It seems your protector knows you well, Dragonborn." There it was again, the title. Little recognition that she was more than that title. Dragonborn.
"Oh, he knows me better than almost anyone, Jarl Ulfric." She smiled fondly up at Vilkas when he stood and faced Ulfric, his heavy hand curled protectively over her shoulder. If their little display of affection discomfited Ulfric at all, he hid it well.
The jarl tugged his long braid thoughtfully as he gazed around the hall. More and more people were taking their leave, the hour late and many goblets of mead having been imbibed. Laure hid a yawn behind her hands, but Ulfric spotted it anyway.
"You have been most gracious to let me keep you from your rest. I can have quarters prepared for the both of you here in the palace. Perhaps we might have a more private audience tomorrow?"
"We have a room at the Candehearth, but a meeting tomorrow is acceptable to me. Thank you for having us, my Jarl." Laure rose to her feet; and when Vilkas looped his arm through hers, they took their leave, falling into step behind the bard who had just been dismissed. The guards nodded as they opened the tall doors, then shut them again hastily against the frigid winds outside.
The Dunmer bard glanced fearfully from side to side as she paced ahead, clutching her instrument close to her chest. Laure looked to Vilkas, who shrugged.
"Would you care for an escort to your home, gentle bard?" called out Laure as she quickened her step.
The musician turned, face a cautious blank. "M'lady, it would be most welcome. The streets aren't safe after dark anymore." Her reddish eyes searched out the shadows nervously.
"I had heard the same. I am Laurelin, and this is Vilkas; we would be happy to walk with you."
"I am bound for the Candlehearth. My name is Luaffyn."
"Excellent, so are we. Do you play there as well?"
"Aye, when Rolff Stone-fist doesn't chase me out."
"I see. Well, shall we, then?" Laure flanked the bard on the left and Vilkas to the right. It was a short walk to the inn, but when they finally stamped the snow from boots and stepped inside, the warmth sent needles through chilled fingers and noses. They went upstairs long enough to have a tankard of mead and hear the bard sing a few songs. When it didn't look as though Rolff would show up, Laure and Vilkas retreated to their room.
Undressing, they said little. Vilkas watched from the bed as she carefully folded her clothes and wrapped them back up. When she finally slid into bed and snuggled up to him, he was nearly asleep.
"It was interesting to see you act so differently tonight. You did well, considering how much you wanted to duck out the whole night."
Her eyes drifted closed as she mumbled fuzzily, "Couldn't have done it without you, although the real game will be played tomorrow. This was just him softening me up."
Vilkas knew she was right. Ulfric had been thoughtful, charming and gracious the whole night. When would the ruthless man who was bent on further fragmenting the empire emerge? He sighed deeply and tried to dispel his uneasiness and relax with her tucked into his arms. Instead, they both tossed and turned, plagued by the unending questions.
* * *
The next day saw them leaving Candlehearth Hall shortly after breakfast. Marching purposefully, they entered the palace once more, fully armored this time. The hall was empty but for the two guards standing at the front. Still, Laure and Vilkas could both clearly hear the voice of Ulfric as he spoke with his housecarl. Whether it was a trick of acoustics or just their exceptional hearing, they could make out every word spoken as if standing next to the speakers. They slowed their steps, unwilling to interrupt the two men.
"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer." grumbled Galmar.
"He's a true Nord. He'll come around," Ulfric replied in a placating tone.
"Don't be so sure of that. We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."
Laure and Vilkas eyed each other. They had been unaware of the severity of the tensions between the various jarls to date.
"And what would you have me do?" queried the jarl of Windhelm.
"If he's not with us, he's against us," asserted Galmar, without really answering his lord.
"He knows that. They all know that," responded the other, with a hint of bitterness flavoring his sardonic tone.
"How long are you going to wait?"
"You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message." This not a question, a statement from Ulfric.
"If by 'message' you mean shoving a sword through his gullet," retorted Galmar.
"Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"
Both Companions froze in shock. Ulfric was talking about more than just demanding fealty from the other jarls. He was planning to sack the city of any jarl not allied with the Stormcloaks.
"Sweet Auri-El, we-"
"Laurelin, listen-"
"-can't let that happen, Vilkas!" she finally whispered.
"-remember, we can't get involved, beyond warning Balgruuf-"
"You lost?" came a question from behind them. So wrapped up in their furtive discussion were they, that the cranky court wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving, had completely snuck up on them, taking them both by surprise. However, when he recognized Vilkas, then Laure, the mage smiled. "Apologies Dragonborn, I didn't recognize you without your finery."
"Curious, I hardly recognized myself in it," laughed Laure. "I find myself in steel more often than silk." The two visitors heard the voices of Ulfric and his housecarl pause, then slowly draw nearer.
"Sounds as though the Dragonborn has arrived, I should go greet our guests."
"Well I suppose I could enchant you some robes to protect you against any manner of enchantments-" offered the mage.
"I don't trust this woman as far as I could throw her—"
"Galmar, we could toss her around like a toy, even in armor she's still-"
"-light as a feather and warm as can be-" continued Wuunferth.
"Hush my friend, we could benefit from an alliance with her," whispered Ulfric.
"-and since you are such a good friend to the people of Skyrim, I would do it for the paltry sum of-"
"-Horse shit. How do we know she isn't working for the Thalmor?" Galmar whispered right back.
Laure shook her head and politely declined the old man's offer, having difficulty focusing on what she was saying when a part of her was hearing the approaching jarl and Wuunferth at the same time. Ulfric rounded the corner and spotted his court mage bowing to the mer then retreating toward the kitchen, muttering to himself about people who couldn't see the advantages of a nice set of enchanted robes.
"Good morning, have the two of you broken your fast yet?" Ulfric graciously inquired. When they both affirmed having eaten, he continued, "Perhaps if you will join me, we might speak privately?" Laure and Vilkas followed Ulfric back the way he had come, into what was clearly Ulfric's war room. The large map spread over the table that dominated the center of the cramped room was covered with markers, indicating the current locations of forces for both sides of the civil war.
"So today we get to, how did you phrase it? Me telling you what I 'really want.'" Began the jarl as they settled around the table. "Not everyone can say they made it out of Helgen, Dragonborn. You have just as much cause as I to despise the Empire after Helgen, no? I understand you and my man Ralof escaped together."
"They only wanted me because they thought I was involved with you, but we both know that. Why did you ask me here?"
"So you will make me ask. I understand you weigh in your heart whether the price we would all pay for freedom is worth it. I assure you it is. But the price is a sad toll of many lives. Lives given willingly so that others might see the justness of our cause and carry on the fight. Please understand, I fight so that all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing."
"So you will bleed the country you claim to love so much and throw the lives of yet more of your people away in hopes that you will achieve something that has meaning? Like what?" she asked incredulously, her tone rising slightly.
"Laurelin, mind your temper, love," warned Vilkas softly. She smiled briefly his way and shrugged an apology.
Ulfric ignored her slight and responded, "For freedom from tyranny. I thought you would understand this. Do I really need to explain this to the woman who works to free us all from the terror of dragons? Join us in this other battle, and the independence of Skyrim would be assured. The people would rally behind us and rise up to throw off the chains holding us from our heritage and right to self-rule!"
"Pretty speech; was that just for me? The answer is 'no.' I won't join your rebellion. All I see is you wanting to break things apart with nary a plan to repair that which you break. Look around your city, Ulfric. You won't even take the time to tell someone else to go hire extra guards to protect the women of your own city! Fuck me, Ulfric–I won't even bring up the other issues."
"I have a plan, you insolent woman, one that will be instituted when I have the resources and time to-"
"Were you going to wait until the last of the refugees has frozen and starved to death, or were you waiting until this butcher is done with the girls and starts thinning out your young men as well?"
"You will address Jarl Ulfric with the proper respect he is due, woman," growled Galmar darkly.
"Enough, Galmar. Wait for me in the throne room." The housecarl nodded shortly and bowed before leaving. "What are you talking about? Has there been another murder?"
"Aye, just this morning another girl was found. I understand this is the third or fourth."
"Damn." Ulfric raked his meaty hands over his hair. "I just don't have the resources to devote to hunting this lunatic down."
"Ulfric, I can assist with civil matters, and I will gladly help the citizens, but I will not support the war on either side. Not until I see solutions, not more bloodshed. I get enough of that already."
"Please reconsider, we could do much good-"
"Might I suggest you begin doing such on your own? And allow me to investigate these murders in your city. I happen to be at a lull in my work schedule currently. Aye, that would be a good starting point for us, I believe."
"Would you make me beg, Dragonborn? What else is as important as ending this conflict?"
"Alduin. The World-Eater himself, Jarl Ulfric. Dominion, Empire, elves and men. He would see us all destroyed. Do you think he came back just now by accident? He represents the will of the gods, and they are testing us! So do we continue to tear the world into tinier and tinier bits or do we prove to the gods that we are fit to continue?"
"I . . . I can't argue with you about that. Should you change your mind, the Palace of the Kings is always open to you. Please remember, even being able to say the Dragonborn supports our movement could mean a swift end to the conflict and save many lives on both sides. We could begin rebuilding."
"Ulfric, first you must either finish knocking down that which you have damaged, or simply attempt to repair what is left. There is no swift resolution," Laure replied sadly. "With your leave, I will begin investigating the murders."
"Do as you will; plainly I can not sway your opinion. Report your findings to my steward, Jorleif. Good day, Laurelin Vo'Shai." He turned away, hands clasped behind his back as he looked out one of the narrow frosted windows.
Laurelin followed Vilkas out, quiet, trying to prepare herself mentally for the task ahead.