Chapter Fifty-Three:

High King Stormcloak

"You left rather early this morning."

I think I nearly jumped out of my skin and screamed like a little girl when Eduard spoke, alerting me to his presence. He was standing around the corner of the entryway in the Winking Skeever while examining his dagger. Corpulus was keeping a keen eye on the armed Dragon Priest in his inn.

"I-I—!" Breathe, damn you! Gods-damned heart needs to restart... I eyed Eduard. Creep. "I wanted to resolve the issue with General Tullius early," I told him. "It'd be best if we had this council as soon as possible. The sooner we can end the conflict so I can find my way to Sovngarde alive, the better."

Eduard tossed his curved golden dagger into the air and caught its hilt, then he pointed it at me casually. "I don't understand this war. Why would you seek to create a truce in such ridiculousness?"

"Because, oh, I don't know, I need to stop people from being eaten by Dragons while they're distracted by arrows careening for their faces."

"To be consumed by a Dragon is an honour. That your life sustains theirs should not be received with fear, but awe."

"Well here's some 'awe' for you: aw, too damn bad!"

Eduard's dagger lowered, but his mask shifted slightly. It was almost as if he was clenching his jaw. "It's this rebelliousness that tricks you mortals into thinking your existence means more than it is," he said evenly. "You are made to be workers to your overlords, the dov. You are to complete tasks that they, in all their brilliance, were not built for. Akatosh saw that they were to be of higher import, and so you and your kin were born. As I serve Alduin one way, you should also serve him."

I rolled my eyes. "Moron..." I grumbled as I tried not to stomp while walking away, annoyed with the priest.

But he immediately kept pace with me. "You are blind to the consequences of your actions," he growled.

"What actions?"

"You would aim to put a stop to or at least delay this petty conflict so you may attempt to defeat Alduin. Yet if you fail, all shall continue as it is now. Alduin's inevitable victory will, in one hundred years, be showing through the few amount of Nords left in Mundus because of their war, and because of the resistance you mortals will enact. But Alduin will not be stopped."

"It was prophesized that Alduin would be."

"By whom? The very first Dovahkiin I knew had no intention of allying himself with those mortals—those so-called 'heroes'."

I stopped and looked at Eduard, suddenly intrigued (as much as I didn't want to be). "There was a Dragonborn in your time?"

He scoffed. "Him, you needn't worry about. He's gone for eternity. But you are his opposite, as similar as you may be. You want to stop Alduin. I am unsure if he ever did, but he was a traitor as it was. And you are an abomination!"

"Thanks. And you're an asshole."

"I assume that is meant as an insult in equating me to the centre of the buttocks?"

"No. It's a compliment. And the best you'll ever get."

Eduard intentionally strode past me while shoving me aside with his shoulder. "Rethink your words when next we speak, Dovahkiin. I respect that you have decided to help me to return to my time, but if you dare speak to me as you currently do again, I will implore Alduin thuri to consume you whole. Overlord."

Ever seen anyone do the middle-finger dance on the docks before? I can honestly say as soon as Eduard's back was turned, it became the dance of my people.

"Your companions get curiouser and curiouser." I spun around, doing my best to hide the new folk dance I'd just preformed, and met Hadvar's incredulous eyes. "I mean, the last time I saw you, it was just the Argonian with you. Now there's a Dunmer, a Khajiit, a Redguard, a Nord, and... well..." Hadvar gestured to the balcony, where Eduard was striding into his room. "Him. Are you some sort of magnet for trouble and people?"

I laughed. "How do you think I managed to meet all them? Same way I met you—someone was trying to cut my head off."

"Ah." Hadvar rubbed the back of his head, clearly a bit embarrassed. "Well, you didn't look like a Stormcloak, but..."

"It doesn't matter, Hadvar." I patted his shoulder. "Now, don't you have duties? What're you doing at the Skeever?"

"Rikke gave me an assignment near Whiterun. I'm sure you know, but it's neutral territory while Balgruuf remains abstinent from the war," Hadvar explained. "I have a feeling we'll be engaging in a skirmish somewhere around the hold, and I know you're heading to Windhelm, so I wanted to warn you. I think it might be best if you head through Falkreath, since the swamps and the snow will only slow you down."

I tapped my chin. "I suppose you're right... And we just packed those cloaks in our satchels well and it'll be annoying having to remove them for the cold again..." I sighed. "Falkreath it is. Thanks for letting me know, Hiemdall. You saved me another Imperial ambush where I nearly get my head cleaved off."

Hadvar grinned. "Only doing my job," he said modestly. "Hopefully, I may see you at High Hrothgar. Legate Rikke said I might be coming along. I'm looking forward to meeting the Greybeards."

"This whole thing will be interesting, that's for sure." I shook Hadvar's outstretched hand. "Take care not to get eaten by a Dragon while you're at it."

"There are still Dragons around? You're not doing your job, Dragonborn." He grinned and bade me farewell. As soon as he disappeared from the inn, I took the steps to the second floor two at a time to check my map in my room. No matter which way we went from Solitude to Windhelm, we'd either be slowed by the Civil War, the weather, or the distance. Falkreath did seem like the best choice.

For the love of Talos, can't we just ride Dragons all the way to Windhelm...? I sighed. Oh, I wish...

So we packed up and caught a wagon to take us through Falkreath. The driver grumbled something that sounded like he was criticising my choices, but I couldn't just Shout at him like a two-year-old, so I nodded and "mhm'd" as much as I dared. We had to make a stop in Riverwood for the night, so I met up with Alvor and told him that Hadvar had made it to Solitude in one piece (because telling the blacksmith that Hadvar got there safely was a complete lie). The blacksmith was grateful, of course, and bought us all a round at the inn to celebrate.

Long story short, we ended up sleeping in a few hours more than we'd planned for, but we were on the road soon enough again. It was nearing evening by the time we made it to Windhelm, and by then we were puckered out. I wanted nothing more than to collapse in my rented bed at Candlehearth Hall and sleep for... a century? More? Whatever the case, I wanted to make the visit to Windhelm brief. After all, I could put a stop to the fighting—however brief—to take on the bigger threat. That, and I really just wanted to get everything over and done with so I could go cave-diving with Milos—.

I stopped myself there, suddenly unsure. Was Milos even still up for that? Gods, did he even want to continue on after everything? I couldn't make him be my personal Argonian nanny and keep track of when I'd get hairy or not, and I had doubts he'd want to.

So I paused in my shared room with Milos and Eduard, my mind lingering on those questions that I was afraid to ask. After a heavy, exhausted sigh, I sat up and unpacked some regular clothes we'd stopped to purchase in Riverwood (Lucan Valerius was generous enough to give us a discount while proudly displaying his retrieved Dragon claw). My armour was proving difficult to sleep in, and I'd even offered to purchase something for Eduard (we'd sold a few treasures we'd found from our adventures. Most being jewels that were lost at the bottom of our packs), but the guy gave me the most lethal glare anyone with a mask could give. I figured he liked his robes better than he liked our simple clothes.

I changed quickly into the trousers and heavy tunic while the boys were out, but jammed my leather boots on since they'd been lined with fur to keep my feet warm (and I'd need it in Eastmarch). I had just pulled my hair into a tie when Milos entered with a bottle of Black-Briar Mead in his claws, and he seemed to enjoy it about as much as the Honningbrew stuff.

"Mm?" Milos looked surprised at my change of clothes. "Bed already?"

I shook my head. "No. I'm headed to the Palace of the Kings to speak with Ulfric."

"You really think those Stormcloaks will let an Imperial waltz into the oldest palace in Skyrim?" he asked, a little incredulously.

"Well, no," I admitted, grinning. "I think I'd intimidate them if I waltzed in there. But maybe if I skipped? Or shimmied?"

"Or went all wolfy and ate them?" he suggested sarcastically. Then he paused, and added, "Sorry. That was uncalled for."

I did my best to ignore it. "Well, maybe by adding that I'm half Nord I can more easily get an audience with Ulfric."

"Half Nord? You?" Milos barked with laughter. "Divines and Daedra! You can't expect them to believe that without being able to lift a greatsword over your head!"

I waited for the Argonian to finish laughing. "It might be true, though."

"Really?" he asked. "What makes you think that?"

I sighed and grabbed Dragonbane. "... Kodlak figured he was my father."

Milos, who had taken a quick swig of his mead, nearly spat it at me. I laughed at his inflated cheeks as he struggled to swallow the honeyed alcohol. "K-Kodlak?!" he exclaimed, wiping some dribbles of the mead from his maw. "The former Harbinger thought he was your dad?! What did he have to go on?!"

"My stunning good looks and sharp tongue," I replied sarcastically. "Well... Actually, that's mainly what he had to go on. I look a lot like his dead wife."

"He was married?!"

"He said so." I stood, securing my belt around my waist while making certain Dragonbane was firmly connected in its sheathe. "Anyhow, I guess we'll never know. His wife ran off with a newborn and disappeared around the Throat of the World."

Milos handed me the mead. I took a quick sip. "The Throat of the World, huh? Wasn't it the former Madame of Anvil's orphanage that said you were dropped off by a man with a grey beard?"

"Yeah, but it doesn't make any sense why a Greybeard, of all things, would take a vacation down to a Thalmor-infested port city in the corner of Cyrodiil to drop off a kid, does it?"

"But it'd explain your lycanthropy, for sure. Speaking of which, should we be telling Prince Eduard about that?"

I held in a laugh, and managed to suppress it with mead. "It's prince now, eh?"

"Never seen a common man act like he does."

"Not even sure if he's a man..." I sighed. "Best not to say anything for now. He'll be gone soon enough, as soon as I figure out a way to send him back to his time."

"You might require an exorcism for that one," Milos commented dryly.

I grinned. "Well, I'd better get going. I'll see you later tonight."

"I'll probably be asleep by the time you get back. But take your time."

"Stick with Hiemdall if you're going anywhere, all right?" I said. "I don't want the Nords here trying their luck with fighting you quite yet. I'm not keen on getting thrown out of Windhelm so soon."

Milos smirked and saluted. "Will do, Miss Whitemane."

I shivered as I left the room. That name certainly didn't suit me. Besides, I'd barely touch it with a ten foot pole, and that was only if I absolutely had to.

I took the steps up to the palace two at a time, the cold biting at whatever exposed skin I had. I managed to slip inside with relative ease, and then noticed how few guards there were. Maybe they were all in Whiterun?

The throne room was wide and spacious, with a very long table at its centre laden with all sorts of food and drink. A few soldiers dressed in various skins were feasting at it, singing their song, "The Age of Oppression", and toasting each other. I noticed they were eating over banners of the Empire, intentionally staining them with mead and beer and various greasy foods while the blue banner of the bear hung proudly all through the palace.

"Balgruuf won't give us a straight answer."

I stopped suddenly, the rough voice at the end of the hall sending chills down my spine. Whomever had spoken was wearing bear furs all over his body, and wore the head of a bear as a helm on top of his head. He spoke with a man I recognized walking into an adjoining room to the hall. I quickly followed after them.

"He's a true Nord," Jarl Ulfric replied to his apparent lieutenant. "He'll come around."

I'd only really heard Ulfric speak once before (weeks ago back in Helgen), but it wasn't a voice one would easily forget. It wasn't at all like Tullius', who had the voice of a seasoned soldier—raspy from giving out orders. Ulfric's demanded respect, and it sounded like he'd never get on his knees to beg for any. This was truly the man who was seeking to become High King of Skyrim.

"Don't be so sure of that," his lieutenant replied. "We've intercepted couriers from Solitude. The Empire's putting a great deal of pressure on Whiterun."

I peeked around the corner. Ulfric and the Nord in bear skins were haunched over a smaller table than the one General Tullius and Legate Rikke had been perusing over, but it had the same map of the province of Skyrim.

Ulfric was staring the man down. "And what would you have me do?"

The man in bear skins growled in response, "If he's not with us, he's against us."

"He knows that. They all know that."

"How long are you going to wait?"

Ulfric watched his lieutenant. "You think I need to send Balgruuf a stronger message."

"If by message you mean shoving a sword through his gullet," the lieutenant sneered.

Ulfric grinned, and began toying with the grey flag planted on Whiterun as opposed to the blue of the Stormcloaks and the red of the Empire. "Taking his city and leaving him in disgrace would make a more powerful statement, don't you think?"

"So we're ready to start this war in earnest, then?"

"Soon," Ulfric said softly.

The lieutenant plucked the grey flag from the map as soon as Ulfric released it. "I still say you should take them all out like you did Deadking Torygg."

My brow furrowed. The man in the bear skins hardly seemed like a man to root for his leader in a formal, noble battle... Especially since Torygg was relatively young for a king. He and his wife had barely hit thirty.

"Torygg was merely a message to the other Jarls," Ulfric explained evenly. "Whoever we replace them with will need the support of our armies."

Smiling, the lieutenant crushed the flag in between his fingers. "We're ready when you are."

"Things hinge on Whiterun," Ulfric continued as the lieutenant let the flag fall from his fingers and onto the map. "If we can take the city without bloodshed all the better. But if not..."

"The people are behind you."

Ulfric's gaze lingered on the city of Solitude. "Many, I fear, still need convincing."

"Then let them die with their false kings!" the lieutenant snapped harshly.

Ulfric turned from the table and walked towards the window behind him. "We've been soldiers a long time. We know the price of freedom. The people are still weighing things in their hearts."

"What's left of Skyrim to wager?" the man in bear skins countered.

"They have families to think of."

"How many of their sons and daughters follow your banner? We are their families."

"Well put, friend." Ulfric turned and faced his lieutenant. "Tell me, Galmar, why do you fight for me?"

The man in the bear skins, Galmar, puffed out his chest. "I'd follow you into the depths of Oblivion. You know that."

"Yes, but why do you fight?" Ulfric pressed as he made his way back into the hall. I beat a hasty retreat for fear they would catch me eavesdropping, but then slowed and leaned casually against the wall. Running would only serve to gather me attention rather than dispel it. "If not for me, what then?"

Galmar stomped ahead of the Jarl and faced him. "I'll die before elves dictate the fates of men! Are we not one in this?" he hissed.

Ulfric furiously shoved Galmar backward with a strong, weathered hand. "I fight for the men I've held in my arms, dying in foreign soil!" he shouted at his lieutenant, his blue eyes betraying rage while his voice carried across the hall, becoming louder with each word. He advanced on Galmar. "I fight for their wives and children, whose names I heard whispered in their last breaths! I fight for the few who did come home, only to find our country full of strangers wearing familiar faces!"

Galmar's head bowed, and he stepped out of the way of Ulfric so that he could climb the steps to his throne. The other Stormcloaks at the table had gone silent with awe for their leader.

"I fight for my people, impoverished to pay the debts of an Empire too weak to rule them, yet brands them criminals for wanting to rule themselves!" Ulfric stood at the top of his stone throne, ahead of his seat. "I fight so all the fighting I've already done hasn't been for nothing! I fight...!" Ulfric grabbed the axe sheathed at his side and slammed it into the arm of his chair, the blade sinking deep into the stone. Then Ulfric collapsed into his throne, staring down the wavering eyes of Galmar. "... Because I must."

"Your words give voice to what we all feel, Ulfric," Galmar assured his frustrated leader. "And that's why you will be High King. But the day words are enough will be the day when soldiers like us are no longer needed."

Jarl Ulfric effortlessly ripped his axe from the arm of his seat and quietly examined the blade. "I would gladly retire from the world, were such a day to dawn," he admitted once his soldiers began to feast again.

Galmar lowered his voice in reverence. "Aye. But in the meantime, we have a war to plan."

The Jarl's steward approached Ulfric and handed him a new axe while taking the other, and then whispered to Ulfric. Immediately, Ulfric's eyes set on me. I couldn't stop myself from gulping. Then the steward turned on his heel and met me at the wall.

"Excuse me, Imperial." The steward inclined his head. "My name is Jorleif. I'm Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak's steward. Jarl Ulfric wishes to speak with you."

"Uh..." Huh? "I-I was just going to ask if I could speak with him, too..."

"Good. Then it's settled." He spun around and began leading me towards Ulfric. Galmar, I noticed, was glaring at me. "What's your name? Do you have a title?"

"Taryn Greystone. That's it."

Jorleif nodded, and as soon as we reached Ulfric's throne, he bowed. "Jarl Ulfric, Taryn Greystone."

"Thank-you, Jorleif. You can go now," Ulfric commanded him.

Jorleif bowed again, and then made for the other end of the hall. Ulfric balanced his chin on a hand while he watched me.

"I remember you..." he said quietly. "You were at Helgen with us! Come to join the war?"

"That's not why I'm here," I interjected, hoping to quiet him before he continued.

Galmar bristled at my interruption, but Ulfric ignored it. "I'm sorry to hear that," he admitted. "If you change your mind, speak with Galmar. What does bring you to me?"

I gulped again as Galmar took a more offensive stance, but calmed myself. I could just Shout him away if I had to. "I have a message from the Greybeards."

"It's about time they turned their gaze from the heavens, back to our bleeding homeland," Ulfric growled. I now had his full attention, as well as Galmar's and the closest feasting soldiers within earshot. "What do they want?"

"They want to negotiate a truce until the Dragons are taken care of," I explained calmly. "Halt the war until the Dragons stop killing the people of Skyrim while its defenders squabble."

"You watch your tongue, you—!" Galmar was silenced with a wave of Ulfric's hand, and a very pointed glare.

"I have the greatest respect for the Greybeards, of course. And the Dragons are a growing plague. But the political situation is still delicate. Not all the Jarls are fully committed to supporting me as High King. I can't afford to appear weak. I can't agree to this unless Tullius himself will be there."

I grinned, thankful that I'd gone to Solitude first. "General Tullius has already agreed to attend. I spoke with him yesterday."

Ulfric nodded curtly and ran a large hand through his blonde hair. "Good. We still hold half of Skyrim despite everything the Empire could throw at us. I doubt the Empire has the stomach for much more bloodletting."

"But you'll come?"

"Yes," Ulfric replied. "I'll give Tullius one more chance to quit Skyrim with his tail between his legs. As for you..." He leaned forward. "What business does an Imperial like you have with the Greybeards? During my time with them, I never knew them to welcome outsiders."

I shrugged. "I'm no one special, Jarl Ulfric. Just an Imperial from Anvil who found her way to Skyrim. Besides, who was going to deliver the message? Arngeir?"

"I suppose not..." Ulfric leaned back leisurely in his seat. "I will be at High Hrothgar within the week at the earliest time allowed to me. Let the Greybeards know, aye?"

Nodding, I retreated out of the palace and took a deep, long breath in the cold air outside. I couldn't hide my surprise when I saw Eduard strolling from Valunstrad to the Grey Quarter, past the Palace of the Kings. He was admiring the architecture, and then I realized that Windhelm may have been around during his time. Was it very much alike?

I caught up to the Dragon Priest. "Eduard?"

"Hm?" I realized it was the first time I caught him while he was deep in thought. "Oh. Dovahkiin. You've finished with the usurper?"

A Stormcloak guard within earshot bristled, and made to come after us, but I quickly led Eduard into the Grey Quarter.

"I've finished with Ulfric, yes," I replied quietly. "You've heard about Torygg, then?"

"I have heard a great many stories of the fall of High King Torygg, both here and in the city of Solitude," Eduard said as we passed under a house that acted as an archway. "It depends on how one views Ulfric and Torygg, but I see nothing more than an opportunist in this Stormcloak man. I don't dislike him for that. It's what I'd do."

"You support murder to try and take a high rank?" I asked distastefully.

"I do. And it is what I did to achieve what I have. All who have fallen in my path I've stepped on. All who dared stand against me I cut down. It's a natural way of life. The weak either make way for the strong, to be led with a shield, or must fall and die at the edge of a blade."

I glared at him. "Your interpretation of the world sucks. Honestly, where the hell did your optimism go? Was it sucked out of you and into your unnatural purple robes? You wear a cheery colour, but you're not cheery."

"No, I am not 'cheery', Dovahkiin. I am in a familiar world, trapped in familiar surroundings, with the faces of the weak pretending to be strong around me. And those who are strong squander whatever strength they have garnered. Feasts? Drinking? They should be more disciplined—more focused. I feel a stranger's eyes on me for every corner I turn. In my time, no one would have dared meet eyes with me. But soon, I will gladly pluck those organs out of their heads. And you can thank me then."

"You're a regular saint."

"And you're an incompetent fool." We stopped in front of a shop called "Calixto's House of Curiosities" so I could face him and hope that he wasn't smirking under his mask. "You ought to have just killed all the soldiers here, or in Solitude. The war would have ended. You could have addressed your 'Dragon Crisis', and then finished dead or alive. And believe me this, you would be dead if you were to face Alduin's might. A scrawny, belligerent village idiot like yourself couldn't ever hope to match Alduin in combat!"

Put a cap on your rage, or you might eat him... But I am seriously considering eating him at this point. I took a deep breath. "I matched him pretty well on the Throat of the World, didn't I?"

"He was not yet at full power. Such massive stores that he contains had yet to be filled. It's understandable."

"A pompous, frilly ass like yourself would of course take the side of the bastard who's trying to eat us!"

"To fulfill a prophecy—!"

"Aren't I filling one, too—?!"

The next thing I knew, my left cheek was flaring with pain. I had barely any time to register that in my head before Eduard's hand was on my throat, and he shoved me against the wall of the shop. I grabbed for his wrist, but then felt the sharp point of his curved dagger against my abdomen.

"I ought to just kill you now, you foolish woman," he hissed. "Maybe then you will get to see Alduin's power, and you can get to Sovngarde easier. I'd practically be doing you a favour."

I glared at him. I hoped that I'd be able to hide the tears of pain that were welling up. I hadn't been slapped like that since Anvil! Brought back a lot of memories...

"Then why don't you?" I asked him quietly. "Are you afraid that my soul will be able to defeat Alduin? Or do you wonder if he'll even be at full power?"

"No," Eduard replied in a low, menacing voice. "I'd just be taking the pleasure from Alduin himself. And I would not have him despair that the Dovahkiin did not die by his fangs, but rather, my own." He withdrew his dagger and released me.

I was shaking in rage at the Dragon Priest, but tried to reign it in when I heard the door to the shop open next to us.

"E-Excuse me..." a late middle-aged Imperial man poked his head out of the shop. He had tanned skin, which most common Imperials had, and dark eyes that almost matched his skin tone. He also had medium-length slicked back hair that matched the grey tone of his goatee. "Is everything all right here? What's going on?"

"Nothing," Eduard replied curtly to the old man. Then he glanced at me once before huffing and muttering something about the docks.

The old man whom I decided was Calixto smiled warmly to me. "Are you all right, miss?" he asked softly.

I nodded, resisting the urge to massage my neck. "Fine," I mumbled, mentally hoping that my neck wouldn't bruise.

"Would you like a drink before you go, miss?" Calixto prompted. "Maybe I can show you some of my curiosities? There are some very interesting artefacts that I've collected. Some date back to the Merethic Era!"

I sighed. "A-Aren't you closed...?" I asked.

"Only closed when I'm asleep." He smiled. "Would you like to? Sometimes old things like these can take your mind off of a lover's quarrel."

"He's not my lover," I insisted almost immediately. "But if it's all right with you, I will take you up on your offer." I offered him my hand. "Taryn," I said.

"Calixto Corrium," the Imperial replied promptly, smiling as he shook my hand. "Please, come inside. I have a great many treasures that were hidden from the public eye, once. But now, they rest easy here. Like their proprietor."