Chapter Fifty-Seven:

Two Bulls, One Dragonborn

"Calixto Corrium was the Butcher."

Jorleif paced in front of the throne of the Palace of the Kings with one hand running down his moustache and the other on his hip. Troubled as he looked, his eyes were well-rested, unlike the troupe who'd found the Butcher. Myself, included. I could do with a sleep that wasn't fatigue-induced.

"Ysmir's beard!" Jorleif shook his head. "The man was always a bit odd, but I wouldn't have expected..." Jorleif sighed loudly. To me, it appeared as if he was putting on a show. Fake concern for the Greybeards' messenger. He wouldn't be so lax if I told him I was the Dragonborn, but I wisely kept my mouth shut. Jorleif would tell Ulfric in a heartbeat, and I wouldn't be playing my cards as close to my chest.

"You and your friends have done this city a mighty service, friend," the steward continued with his theatre act done. "I believe you'll find the guards to be a bit more cordial with you in the future. And, of course, a reward for the investigation..." Jorleif picked up a sack of gold that sat at the foot of the throne and tossed it to me. I caught it, but the movement made me wince. My ribs were in dire pain from... from things I didn't want to dwell on. "I hope you'll find that sufficient. Don't spend it all in one place. Unless it's here, of course."

I resisted the urge to glare at the Nord. "Yeah... Thanks," I grumbled, and then spun on my heel.

I took a deep gulp of fresh, frigid air once I left the Palace of the Kings. I couldn't get enough of being outside, and I was looking forward to leaving the city of Windhelm far, far behind me. And I honestly hoped to never visit it again, if I could be terribly honest. The fondest memory I had of the city was the Stormcloak guards leering at me just because I was an Imperial. Oh, the bonding...

"Dovahkiin."

I nearly jumped out of my skin, but quickly had my hand wrapped around the hilt of Dragonbane. I was antsy about people sneaking up on me, so I mentally noted that I needed to find a way to know more accurately when people were going to randomly pop up.

The one who had at that time was Eduard. He was standing near the wall to my right with his hands clasped behind his back. His violet, velvet-like robes still appeared immaculate, and it looked to me that his mask golden had recently been polished. I ignored the twisted feeling in my gut at his sudden arrival. If it hadn't been for him...!

Eduard stepped forward slowly. "May I speak with you alone, Dovahkiin?" he asked, almost cautiously.

I released Dragonbane, but crossed my arms defensively. No way he was ever going to lay a gods-damned hand on me again... "That depends," I replied with a clipped tone.

"I assume you're inquiring about our last brief venture?" When I didn't answer, he nodded. "Well, I'd hoped to... apologize." He said the word like it was some sort of disease he wanted to avoid.

"An apology? From a Dragon Priest?" I reiterated. "And one of Alduin's, no less? This is rich. Who put you up to it and what's your motive?"

Eduard stepped even closer. "Let me make myself clear: I was likely the one who caused you to fall into this Butcher's grasp, and for that I apologize. I see that the event has shaken you, so I have possibly weakened you in the event of fighting Alduin. I would have celebrated this, were it not for a nagging voice in my head that insists Alduin could defeat you eve at your full power, and I have somehow insulted him. But..." I assumed the Dragon Priest was pursing his lips. "No. No buts. I am the one at fault and must take accountability. I saw the others searching for you, and I know that if my father had gone missing like you, everyone who knew him would be searching for him just as they did you. So I apologize for what I did outside the Butcher's home."

I stared at him, taken aback by his suddenness. I honestly didn't know how to react and just stared at him blankly. It looked like Eduard wasn't sure what to do either.

But then he sighed, much less dramatically and more sincere than Jorleif, and brought his hands in front of him. I noticed a soul gem nestled in his palms, and he held it out to me.

"I thought it best to give you a gift to prove my sincerity. And you might find it useful..."

"It's filled with a soul?" I asked precariously.

He nodded once, curtly. "It is. The soul of Calixto Corrium, in fact. I managed to hit him with a spell before you killed him. And now he cannot rest. His soul is eternally yours. Use it to power your enchantments or as a trophy, I care not. Just as long as you have it."

"Well, some people just give a girl a flower as an apology, but... If you insist, I'll take the soul of person who knocked me out and tried to use me in a freaky necromantic ritual."

Eduard snorted when I took the soul gem and looked it over. I could feel the stone pulsating steadily, like a heartbeat. "A flower? Ridiculous. Flowers die. At least you can cause this thing eternal suffering."

The priest made his way back to the inn while I watched him, completely dumbfounded. And then I shook my head and jogged after him.

"Hey! Eduard!"

The priest may have hesitated in his step, but he slowed and turned to face me under the arch that introduced one to the palace. He didn't say anything, just watched me.

"Look, I-I understand that an apology might taste like lead on your tongue, but... I'm not ready to accept it."

Again, Eduard nodded. "I expected as much. Good day—."

"—But I wanted to let you know that I really do appreciate that you'd still try, and... it's not every day someone can get an actual apology from a Dragon Priest, so... I-I'm going to do my best to get over it. All right?"

Eduard huffed. "If that's what you wish. But when Alduin defeats you there'll be no point to it."

"Then there was no point in apologizing, was there?"

The Dragon Priest shrugged and resumed his trek back to the inn. I smirked and stuffed the gleaming soul gem into a pouch on my belt. The less items I could jumble in my pack, the better. Besides, if Calixto's soul was in there, I wasn't about to just use him on my sword. Hopefully an Oblivion gate would pop up so I could toss him into molten lava...

I followed Eduard back to the inn where I helped everyone pack up their things and get ready for the peace summit in High Hrothgar. It'd take place a day after we arrived, even if everyone was already there. I knew for a fact that Ulfric hadn't gotten his Nordic tush out of his city already, so hopefully I'd be able to mentally prepare myself for the bickering between the Empire and the Stormcloaks.

Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place...

It goes without saying that Milos and the others (besides Eduard, obviously) were a bit more uptight when it came to me wanting to do whatever I wanted all alone. Even when packing up to get ready for the trip to High Hrothgar I nearly had to knock somebody out just so I could use the bathroom in peace. But I understood why they were worried, and I was glad they were. (Still, they could stand to take a few steps back.)

And while my wounds were still agitating me (I couldn't reach very high, a fact made known to me when Milos decided to hold my bag above my head), they were healing quickly. This caused me a fair amount of horror, considering the unnatural lack of time it took for a simple cut to heal. Javin was bouncing like a toddler and wanting so badly to take me to Winterhold (less than a day's trip away) to study the "phenomenon", but word around Windhelm was Ulfric would be leaving for High Hrothgar soon. As the ones who invited him it would be rude of us to arrive late, so our course was set and Javin just had to watch (stare) from a distance.

The trip to High Hrothgar from Windhelm took us a day and a half with a wagon. The reward we'd collected from catching the Butcher made us feel generous, so we tipped the driver upon our arrival to Ivarstead. As can be imagined, by that time we'd become familiar faces around the usually quiet village. But our visit there was short-lived; in the far distance I could see Imperial troops marching towards us. Eager to let the Greybeards know (and hoping they'd prepared something in the least bit suitable for the high-maintenance guests. We'd bought a few bottles of mead and wine, as well as ale for those so inclined), we climbed High Hrothgar in record time. By then I could reach pretty well and was quite happy with the whole healing thing.

But still, it's disturbing.

Needless to say, we were glad to be out of Windhelm and—Divines bless their hearts—the Greybeards let us take over their beds again.

After some well-earned rest we waited in the expansive entrance hall where I'd first learned to Shout for the arrival of the Empire. Or Tullius, rather. Aldren wisely stuck to the deepest shadows he could find (he did admit to killing the emperor, after all).

But waiting for the general and Ulfric to arrive actually gave me time to sit down and think about how completely out of my comfort zone I was. Convincing the two bulls to stop butting heads for a while... that gave me no time to stop and say, "Hey Taryn, what if they actually agree to the talks? With the Greybeards? And, oh, I dunno—the Dragonborn?!" So, me, who felt completely out of her league with crashing a not-so-simple party with the Thalmor and the majority of Jarls in Skyrim (and "special" guests) had little-to-no hope when the time came for sitting down and trying to convince said bulls to chill the hell out for ten seconds so I could focus on not dying when I would attempt to capture a Dragon to make it take me to Sovngarde (the land of the honoured Nord dead, if anyone was curious) and fight another Dragon that is devouring the souls of these honoured dead to become supremely powerful and rule the world.

... Oh Gods I'm a moron.

"Dovahkiin? You're rocking back and forth."

I immediately leapt up and faced Arngeir, my face a bright shade of red. "I-I wasn't rocking. I mean, I-I was but not too badly... right? ... Please say I'm right."

With a knowing and very grandfatherly smile, Arngeir gestured for me to sit on the cold, hard steps of the entry hall. He did the same, albeit slower than I, and then massaged his neck.

"You appear nervous," he observed astutely in his chattering voice. "You should not be. It was you who called them here. That must pronounce some sort of confidence within you, Dragonborn."

I sighed loudly and rubbed my eyes. "I... Arngeir, I never said it was me. I said you and the others summoned them..." I looked around, a bit embarrassed, but noticed that the room laid empty except for us two. I didn't know how long it had been like that. "I never mentioned I was the Dragonborn..."

He nodded slowly. I guess I expected him to be cross and say something like, "How dare you be so irresponsible, you Dragon-idiot!". But Arngeir pushed something into my hands. "Then you have an advantage," he noted slyly, a glint of mischief in those old eyes of his. "You should hide yourself from their eyes. I've heard from your Argonian friend the trouble you've recently kept finding yourself in since your arrival in the province."

Thanks, Milos, I thought begrudgingly. I looked at the item in my hands. "What in the name of the gods is this?"

"There have been many an enemy come to slay Paarthurnax," Arngeir told me softly. "In our youth, as apprentices to the former Greybeards, Wulfgar, Einarth, Borri and I faced these men and the daedra they summoned, but they were no match for our combined Thu'um. The full sets have been stored for decades, but they are always ready for immediate use. In this case, for a cunning disguise."

I probably could have crushed Arngeir in a hug.

Daedric armour. And I was holding the closed, horned helm.

I grinned at the Greybeard. "Thank-you, Arngeir. I owe you."

"Alas..." Arngeir slowly stood and dipped his head. "It is our duty to aid the Dragonborn, young one. Perhaps you can aid us by helping these talks go smoothly."

"Yes, by looking as threatening as possible." I poked a stair with my boot. "It's not the general and Ulfric I'm worried about though. I'm wondering if Tullius will be forced to bring a Thalmor along."

"Then use it while the elf is here. I have a feeling they will see their time better wasted elsewhere once we are finished."

And with that, Arngeir left to do whatever he usually did, but only after pointing the way to the rest of the armour. It was hidden in a trapdoor beneath one of the various bookcases in the Greybeards' quarters. Luckily I had enough privacy to change immediately, and considering the Imperial envoys would be arriving at any moment...

The chainmail was a nightmare to properly equip and the entire thing made me feel like a clown, but I'll admit that I was a very comfortable clown. Comfortable, as in I felt like a battering ram. To be honest it weighed on my shoulders and I was quite clunky walking around. I didn't put the helmet on yet since I was having some trouble breathing with it on.

I met with the others in the room where I'd first met Eduard and had spoken with Arngeir about the Dragonrend Shout. There was a ridiculous amount of giggling and snickering at my new (and very temporary) appearance, but they understood why. (Let's face it: Eduard didn't even make a sound. Neither did Aldren.)

And not a moment later, there was a heavy knock at the doors to High Hrothgar.

I fitted the daedric helm around my head and shrugged my shoulders to check for what room I had. Then, steeling myself and patting Dragonbane at my side for some form of comfort, I left for the entry hall.

It was time to settle some grudges as quickly and efficiently as possible.