Skyrim: A Tale of Two Dragons

Chapter 5: A Duel at Dusk

Wulfric had expected Eorlund to help. The man had mentioned his problems with the Battle-Born clan when they had spoken yesterday. What he hadn't expected was for the man to give him the materials for free.

"The cost of steel ingot is not cheap," Eorlund had told him. "But it will be priceless to see Olfrid taken down a peg."

With the basic understanding of how the Skyforge worked – Eorlund's guidance as he tended to some repairs for the Companions – Wulfric was able to begin working and shaping the steel. After a dozen or so blows, he frowned and turned to the older man. "Where are your larger forge hammers?"

Eorlund looked at him confused. "What do you mean?"

Wulfric held up the forge hammer Eorlund had handed him earlier. It looked like a child's toy in his hand, the handle completely enveloped by his fist. "I need one of your bigger hammers. I'd like to keep most of the skin on hand before I fight tonight."

Eorlund shook his head. "I don't have any larger hammers. Those are more or less a standard size," the old Nord told him.

Wulfric frowned again. The orcs that he grew up near had always used multiple hammers, a large one for moving the metal and then a small hammer for the detail work. Bashon gro-Urgash, the Orc Chieftain of his stronghold and Wulfric's original mentor, had gifted his with a similar hammer when he left on his apprenticeship.

A swell of anger pulsed through Wulfric as he realized that his gifted hammer had been taken by the Empire during his capture. He had loved that hammer.

Wulfric looked down at the small hammer and shrugged. "I guess I'll have to make one then."

In a few minutes, he managed to lay a small rod of iron into an iron ingot, giving the large man a hammer much more suitable for him. It wasn't perfect but it would manage for the time being. Staring down at his work, Wulfric was struck by a wild idea.

It was a weapon he had seen in old forging books from his childhood. It had been used in the earlier eras of Tamriel and before but had seen its usefulness fall away as the years grew on. Still, it was a celebrated icon in Orsimer culture, an odd tie to their origins as ancient Dunmer.

The idea of exactly what he wanted to create emblazoned in his mind, Wulfric returned to the Skyforge and began to work the steel as quickly as he was able.

While he did not have the expertise with the legendary forge that Eorlund did, Wulfic made up for it with sheer power and enthusiasm. Nowhere else did he feel truer to his soul than a forge. The metal shaped itself to his desires, the searing heat enveloping him in a tender embrace, the thick smell of burning wood and coal beckoning him to push his skills ever harder.

This is what he was made for. He had known it from the first time he had seen a hammer strike hot steel, sparks flying into the air that had convinced his young mind that it was magic.

It took him nearly four hours of nonstop work but he was finished, plunging his work into a nearby barrel of water to quench it. Eorlund watched him with something similar to shock on his face, the greatsword he had been sharpening slack in his hands.

"What have you made their, boy?" the old man asked. "No one can wield something like that in battle. It will be far too heavy to swing more than once."

Wulfric pulled the weapon from the water. He flicked it once to shake some of the clinging water off before setting it on the stone wall of the forge. Wulfric leaned against the same wall for a moment before slumping down to the floor with a heavy sigh.

Eorlund set the greatsword aside and walked over to the exhausted Nord. After checking to make sure Wulfric hadn't fainted from overexertion – a common thing for unexpected bladesmiths – he took in the massive weapon the man had built in the Skyforge.

It was larger than a standard warhammer by about eight inches and was made entirely of steel. The fact that it didn't have any type of lighter material in its shaft would have made in unusable to all but the strongest warriors. The very bottom of the shaft swelled out into a large orb, a counter-weight to keep the weapon balanced when swung.

What absolutely baffled the wizened old man though was the head of the hammer.

Rather than building it like a traditional Warhammer, a larger flat side for maximum impact and a smaller spiked side for piercing damage, both sides were completely large and flat. The weapon's head was nearly double the size of any warhammer Eorlund had ever made. To use something like this…

"So, what do you think?" Wulfric asked from his spot on the floor.

"What do I think?" Eorlund repeated. "I think you've had a meeting with Sheogorath, boy. You made a maul! A weapon that died out over a thousand years ago because of how unusable they were! How do you expect to wield that thing in battle? It must weight nearly 70 pounds!"

Wulfric pushed himself to his feet and lifted the massive maul from the stone with one hand. The giant Nord casually swung it a few times to check the balance before nodding to himself and setting it back down.

"Just a little less than 70, I'd imagine." Wulfric told the gob smacked blacksmith. "And I plan to use it one handed. Just had to make sure the counter-weight in the pommel was heavy enough to keep it balanced."

Wulfric untied the coin purse that Irileth had given him the day before and pulled a handful of coins from it. He cinched it back up and tossed it to the old man. Eorlund caught with a surprised look on his face.

"I don't suppose that you'd be willing to do a leather wrap on the hilt for me. If I don't get some food in me here soon, I'll likely keel over before I even reach the duel."

Eorlund looked conflicted, so Wulfric continued. "Please take the extra as payment for additional materials and the fulfillment of a dream."

The large Nord looked over at the Skyforge as he spoke. Eorlund followed his gaze before nodding. "Aye boy, I'll get it cleaned up and wrapped for you. Just don't go losing on me tonight."

"After all that work, I'd better not!" Wulfric shouted as he began to trudge down the stairs from the Skyforge.

Eorlund watched him go, coin purse clutched loosely in his hands. He glanced again at the maul before sighing. "Gods watch over that man."

The fire was everywhere.

Great burning rocks fell from the sky, obliterating everything they touched and burning whatever was left.

The heat was suffocating. Smoke burned at his eyes even as blisters popped and split on his hands. His clothes smoldered, searing his skin like a sword still red from the forge.

Through his tears he could see him, as massive as a building. Thick ebony scales covered his entire frame, darker than any black he'd ever seen. Almost as if they pulled and extinguished the light around them. Fangs the size of daggers split a mouth large enough to devour him whole. Red eyes glared down at him with disdain, as if his very existence was insufferable to him.

Then black dragon from Helgen, this nightmarish beast from the beyond spoke.

"Ful, thdro los what dii bormah hdro drun zu'u?"

He heard the words but they held no meaning to him.

"Hi dreh Ni Mindok un tongue, Nuz hi fen learn joor. Hi fen rise, dovahkiin, ahrk zu'u fen du hi. Nii los dii birthright. Zu'u fen du fin whole do thdro lein."

More words that made no sense. Pain was everywhere. He tried to scream but there was no air for him to make a sound.

The dragon leaned in, massive head tilting at him as crimson eyes burned into his own. He spoke again, voice lowered and almost intimate, his words clear now.

"None will stop me. I am the World-Eater."

He reared back again, drawing to his full height, before snapping back down at a speed far faster than his size should have allowed.

"YOL TOOR SHUL!"

The great dragon bellowed a flame from his maw large enough to burn an entire city block.

He watched morbidly as his hands were burned down to nothing, the bones scorched the blackened dust that blew away from the force of the dragon's fire. His pain so impossible his mind was unable to comprehend it as the inferno ripped him into nothingness.

Wulfric awoke with a start, wild eyed and covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

He glanced around quickly before realizing he was still in his room at the inn. Trying to calm his racing heart, he walked himself through how he'd gotten here.

He had been far more exhausted than he'd let on with Eorlund. He managed to stumble his way back to the Bannered Mare and paid for another night in his room. After trudging up the staircase, the man had collapsed on top of the bed before he could even get his boots off.

The dragon had spoken to him, calling himself the World-Eater. Did that mean something or was all the stress of the last few days finally beginning to overwhelm him?

Still uneasy but unsure of what else to do, Wulfric pushed himself up from the bed with a pained grunt. Evidently falling asleep in armor wasn't exactly kind to the body. Who knew?

Glancing through the slatted windows, Wulfric saw the it was the late afternoon. He guessed he had about two hours before he would have to go for the duel. The large Nord felt his stomach protest at its emptiness so the he made his way down the stairs to get something to eat. He strode into the main room and saw Hulda, the inn's owner, and another woman restocking the bar.

"Hulda," Wulfric spoke as he approached the pair. "What'll it cost me to get a good, quick meal?"

The auburn-haired woman looked the man up and down before answering. "A quick meal for you is enough to feed a small family. Give me about an hour and I'll have something whipped up for you. Say 20 gold?"

Wulfric checked the last of his gold after he'd paid for the room. He grimaced. "Best I can do is 14."

Hulda smirked while the other woman continued to fill the bar behind her. "Guess no pie for you then." She snatched the coins from Wulfric's hand and made her way to the kitchen.

Wulfric looked over at the other woman. Despite her hair being the same color as fresh snow, she was still surprisingly young, early 20's at the oldest. "I take it you work here as well."

"Nope," the woman answered, voice flat. "I just do this for fun."

Wulfric rolled his eyes but chuckled all the same. "Fair enough, stupid question. Does the inn have a bath I can use?"

"Aye, just around the back there." she answered, nodding her head towards a back room.

"Thank you. I'm going to rinse off for a bit before going back to the Skyforge. Got something I need to get from Eorlund. If I'm not back by then, please tell Hulda where I've went. Wulfric White-Wind, by the way."

He extended a hand out to her. She shook it with a surprising amount of strength considering their size difference.

"Olfina Gray-Mane. I'll tell Hulda, but could you do me a quick favor when you head for the forge?" She walked to a nearby table and grabbed a small basket off of it. Wulfric could see a small loaf of bread and several cured meats in it. "Could you take this with you? My father gets so busy sometimes that he forgets to eat."

Wulfric raised an eyebrow at her. "Eorlund is your father?"

Given the same clan-name, he'd expected a family relation but not a father-daughter given the large age differences.

As another man entered the inn, looking vaguely familiar to Wulfric. He was tall and thin, almost scraggily, with light blonde hair and a fitted set of iron armor with matching boots and gauntlets. Olfina shot the man a wide smile before answering. "I get that a lot. I was a late gift to my parents or so they say. Enjoy your bath."

Wulfric nodded at her and strode off to clean himself, Eorlund's basket looking like a toy in his hands.

After cleaning himself, he stopped by the Skyforge to get his maul from Eorlund. The old smith hadn't disappointed in his work. Supple leather straps had been woven around the hilt of the giant hammer in an intricate pattern and it had been polished to nearly gleam in the sunlight.

Olfrina had brought him the meal that Hulda had prepared – a roasted fish with grilled leeks - before sliding him a second plate with a slice a pie on it. She's given him a quick wink before leaving him to enjoy the meal in his room.

The large Nord ate the food with little notice of it, mind focused on the duel. It was nearly time now.

Wulfric was not a warrior by trade. Fighting was not something he enjoyed or took relish in, much to the dismay of the Orcs he grew up around. To them, fighting had been an expression of power, joy and almost prayer to their god Malacath.

Wulfric, for all he loved and appreciated about the Orcs, was a proud Nord at heart. Battle was not something he chose to go looking for, but it was drilled into him from a young age at how important it was to know how to fight. Before he was allowed to venture to the woods surrounding their home, both his parents had made sure he knew how to handle himself with a sword and a bow.

Pushing his plate away he stood and quickly began fastening the straps of his armor, making sure everything was properly secure. He re-strapped his boots and even tightened the braided ends of his hair. The slow, steady preparation steadied his mind as the minutes ticked away.

Finally set, Wulfric picked up his maul and dropped its hilt into a strong leather loop in the back of his armor, securing it in place and effectively hiding the size of the weapon with his broad back. Everything in its proper place, he strode out of his room and into the inn. More and more people were beginning to trickle inside but they all gave Wulfric a wide berth as he made his way out into the fading day. He made his way throughout the town with no resistance. The guards wordlessly swung the city gates open for him as he made his way outside, beelining it for the Battle-Born's farm with a determined pace.

It didn't take him long to reach the sprawling estate.

There was a short path lined by small trees and wild flowers that led from the main road up to the farm proper. A long, railed wood fence encased the large farm, isolating the dozens of cattle from the various fields of wheat, potatoes and leeks. Several people were out in the field, some tending to the crops and others putting out hay for the cattle. Further off in the distance, the large windmill spun as it turned the harvested wheat into flour.

At the center of the grounds was the main house. Large and embellished with every decorative trimming one could imagine, it stood as an imposing display of the Battle-Born's legacy and wealth in Whiterun. It was easy to see why the Battle-Borns were so vital to Whiterun. Wulfric figured that a good quarter of Whiterun worked for the Battle-Born's in some capacity, be it working the land for them or had their goods supplied by them. The type of wealth that Olfrid commanded was not one of overnight success by generations of smart decisions and hard work.

It still baffled Wulfric that in some bizarre way this was technically his legacy as well.

Standing casually in front of his home was Olfrid, looking almost bored as the sun dipped further down the horizon, a goblet of wine in hand. Clad in fine wears again, the patriarch stared down Wulfric as he approached with mock surprise.

"Well, I must say that I'm surprised," the old man said as Wulfric came face-to-face with him. "You look similar enough to your father that I believed you would have inherited his spine as well."

Wulfric snatched the goblet from Olfrid before he could react and crushed it in his grip, the thin metal giving off a light screech as it was twisted into ruin. Wulfric tossed the remains over his shoulder with disinterest, eyes remaining locked on the Battle-Born's leader.

"Just bring out your champion, old man." The large Nord growled down at him. "Lest I take you as my opponent."

Olfrid didn't bat an eye at the threat, instead turning away and facing the fields. Cupping his hands together, he bellowed into them. "Gather round! The Battle-Born's honor has been challenged and will be defended right now!"

The men and women working the fields immediately dropped what they were doing and ran over to line the fence. Whether they were interested in seeing a duel or simply afraid to ignore their employer, Wulfric couldn't determine. He watched the crowd rustle together, lining the road as some of the rowdier men shoved each other for a better view.

Wulfric's patience was waning quickly. He wanted to get this entire thing over and done with so he could finish making his way back home. After Whiterun he had plenty more to talk with his parents about.

Olfrid waited for the crowd to settle, smiling as a younger man emerged from the main house and brought him a second goblet of wine. Wulfric recognized him as the man he'd seen at the Bannered Mare earlier that day.

"Is this your champion then?" Wulfric asked, gesturing to the slender man.

"Who, Jon?" Olfrid asked before laughing. "Of course not! My son's a brave lad but not experienced enough for a serious duel like this. As my heir, his responsibility lies with the farm."

Jon – the apparent son of Olfrid – shot his father a dark look, but the patriarch was busy taking a deep sip of the wine. Olfrid smacked his lips lightly, appreciating the taste before gesturing up to the sun as it was nearly even with the horizon.

"Dusk at last. The duel begins now!"

Wulfric looked around, expecting someone to emerge from the crowd or even the main house. It was only by pure luck that he saw a brief flash of gold ripping through the growing darkness.

On instinct Wulfric threw himself to the side, hearing a dull thunk as he hit the ground. He rolled to his feet and saw a golden arrow embedded into the base of a tree a dozen feet from where he'd been standing.

'Dwarven-made arrows?' Wulfric recognized the golden metal immediately. 'This person isn't messing around.'

"Better reflexes than I thought," Olfrid admitted off-handedly, hardly surprised at the sudden attack. "Wonder if they can keep up?"

Wulfric bit back a snarl and loosened his maul as a second arrow came flying by him. He'd been able to see its flight path this time, tracing it from behind the gathered crowd. He pulled the massive hammer from his back, the crowd gasping at its size. The giant Nord gave a war cry that would make any Orc proud and barreled towards the fence line.

"What in Talos' name is that?!" he heard Olfrid asked as he ran past him.

The gathered crowd let out screams of fear as Wulfric ran towards them, tripping over themselves to grant him a clear path. Wulfric used the crowd as a cover briefly, figuring that his attacker wouldn't risk killing an innocent before vaulting over the fence.

Standing in the middle of the field, surrounded by cattle, was his mystery attacker. It was a Dunmer woman, wearing simple leather armor and holding a long bow with a notched Dwarven arrow ready to let fly. Wulfric recognized her as the mercenary that had been at the Drunken Huntsmen when he'd first met the Battle-Borns. A slight smirk lit her face as she loosed her shot, the first clean one of the day.

Wulfric jerked to the side, the arrow grazing his upper arm as it passed. Wulfric ignored it and raced towards his attacker. The Dunmer scowled and dropped her bow, pulling out a pair of steel daggers as Wulfric closed in on her and the nearby cattle scattered.

Wulfric swung his maul sideways, aiming for her hips. The Dunmer ducked under the hammer, aiming to slice at his unarmored legs but received a knee to the face for her troubles.

Going with the motion, she tucked and rolled backwards away from Wulfric. Righting herself with practiced grace, she spat blood out of her mouth before dropping into a fighting stance and lunging at him.

'She's fast!' Wulfric thought as the Dunmer darted into his guard. She backed off quickly, avoiding his maul and leaving him with two shallow but long cuts on his upper right thigh. The Nord hissed in pain as his pant leg started to stain red. 'Too fast. Wasn't planning on this. Going to have to improvise.'

Wulfric feinted a swing, stopping before it even reached halfway. The Dunmer bit at the fake, trying to lunge under his guard again. Realizing she'd been had, the woman tried to move back but it was too late. Wulfric slammed the hilt of the maul into her chest viciously, staggering her backwards.

The Dark Elf clutched at his chest, breaths coming in short gasps. Wulfric figured that he'd broken something in her chest, if not outright pierced a lung. He pushed forward into the growing darkness, maul at the ready.

'Best to finish this now before it gets too dark to find her.'

The mercenary wasn't finished yet. She hurled one of her daggers at Wulfric's head. The larger man swatted it away with his maul but it gave the woman enough time to down a quick vial of red liquid, a healing potion.

Reinvigorated, the Dark Elf charged at the Nord. She feinted to the right before sliding between his legs, her long dagger slicing into his left calf.

Wulfric howled with pain as she turned her slide into a roll, regaining her footing. Despite the impressive maneuvers, Wulfric could see hear her labored breathing and watched her wince with every inhale.

Both legs compromised, Wulfric was left to wait for her to engage again. If he tried to press the attack, she'd cut him down easily the moment he left an opening.

Evidently, she recognized this just as much as she slowly began to circle around Wulfric. He shuffled his body continuously to keep her in focus. Every step felt like being touched with a branding iron on his legs. Already he could feel his left boot filling more and more with blood. He wouldn't be able to keep this up forever.

Time for improv.

Wulfric purposely left a slight opening on his right side. Instantly, the Dark Elf blitzed at him with a yell. Rather than try to defend, Wulfric tossed his maul at his sideways, like tossing a broom to a friend. The mercenary was so caught off-guard that she nearly stopped, instinctively trying to catch the giant hammer.

Before she could even realize what she'd done, Wulfric was upon her. A massive fist slammed into her chest, forcing every ounce of air from her lungs. A vicious elbow to her temple caused stars to flash in her eyes. Out of her feet, Wulfric lifted off the ground by her throat before slamming her down to the Earth with everything he had.

Wulfric stared down at her, breathing heavily. The only sign she was alive was the slight rise and fall of her chest.

Eyes never leaving her, Wulfric grabbed one of the daggers from the ground and sliced though the straps of her armor. Without the tightly bound leather pressed to her chest, the Dunmer was able breath a bit easier.

Wulfric tossed the dagger aside and stood to leave, lifting his maul with him. His legs screamed in protest but he refused to show weakness.

'Olfrid can deal with his mercenary now.' He thought. 'I'm done with this shit.'

It was pure, stupid luck that sheathing his maul saved his life.

Wulfric felt the air rush from his lungs as he tumbled across the ground, the sound of steel-on-steel clanging in his ears. Disorientated, the large man felt his instincts screaming at him to move. Wulfric rolled to his left just as a steel sword dug into the earth where he'd been, dusting kicking up from the dry ground.

He managed to stand, lungs still trying to suck in air as he watched Idolaf rip his sword free from the ground. They burned as he inhaled the dusty air with a grimace.

"You didn't think that was your duel, did you bastard?" The man sneered, clad fully in his Imperial light armor. He gripped the Imperial-stylized sword fiercely in his right hand, the left holding a matching shield of wood and steel. "You can't settle a Nordic blood feud with anyone not involved in it directly. You would know that if you were a proper Nord, but blood isn't always equal I suppose."

Grimacing, Wulfric pulled his maul back out. Near the middle of the shaft was a large gouge in the steel where it had deflected the cutting blow from Idolaf, stopping the cut of the blade but unable to hinder the impact.

"Just for that," Wulfric snarled, voice low and raspy. "I'm going to crush your skull."

"We'll see about that," Idolaf spat back, sword and shield at the ready. The darkness was becoming thicker and thicker now, the sun completely dipped below the horizon. "For the Empire!"

Idolaf was faster than Wulfric expected. He attacked with swift strikes of his sword with practiced skill, forcing the larger man back on the defense. Wulfric parried nearly all of the Battle-Born's blows but the shaft of his maul was taking a beating, dents and divots littering it. Both arms bore small cuts from times he had been a second too slow.

Wulfric parried another blow away from himself, this time swinging around in full circle, bringing the hilt of the maul at Idolaf's head. He was too slow though as Idolaf just managed to get his shield up in time, the force of the blow staggered him backwards instead of killing him outright.

'I can barely feel my legs.' Wulfric through grimly. 'If this goes much longer, I'll bleed out before anything.'

Running on adrenaline, Wulfric surged on the attack, thrusting the mammoth head of the hammer at Idolaf like an extended punch. The Battle-Born blocked again but Wulfric heard a loud crack and saw the man stumbled back with a cry.

From the immediate drop of his shield arm, Wulfric could tell that he'd broken Idolaf's arm.

Wulfric tried to press the attack further but his left leg gave out underneath him. Idolaf, heavy grimace of his face, roared as he attacked the downed Wulfric.

Wulfric continued to parry the blows from a single knee, holding the maul out like a staff as he blocked each blow. Idolaf, while impressively tough, was clearly slowed by his broken arm.

Fighting off his own wounds, Wulfric saw an opportunity and seized it instantly, blocked a sword chop from Idolaf before slamming the top of the maul onto the man's boot. Idolaf howled in agony, dropping his sword as he stumbled backwards. His entire foot was essentially shattered inside his leather boot.

Wulfric didn't let up there.

From his knee, the large Nord reared his hammer back over his head before hurling it with all his might at the injured Battle-Born. Idolaf barely managed to raise his shield again before the weapon slammed into him like a giant's club.

The Battle-Born was sent flying backwards, landing in heap nearly six feet from where he'd been. Idolaf tried to move but managed little more than a whimper.

Feeling as though his body weighed a thousand pounds, Wulfric stood and limped over to Idolaf. Night had fully set now, the only light coming from the bright moon overhead and various lit torches across the estate.

The Battle-Born was still clutching his shield, now shattered and splintered into a useless mess of wood and steel. His damaged boot was soaked with blood. Wulfric ripped the remnants of the shield off of the beaten man and tossed them away, Idolaf howling in agony as the bastard Battle-Born yanked his broken arm around.

Wulfric staggered away, grabbing his maul from where he had thrown it. Using the weapon as a makeshift cane, the large Nord limped back over to the fallen man. He slammed the head of the hammer inches away from Idolaf's own. Despite his pain, the beaten Battle-Born glared up at him defiantly.

"You are beaten. Revoke your claims about my parents and yield." Wulfric told him; voice weary but determined.

Breathing ragged, Idolaf sneered. "I would rather die, bastard. You may send me to Sovngarde, but you will never call that home. You will die as you lived, like your mother, a stain upon my family's history."

Wulfric held his rage in check, but barely. He hadn't expected anything different. He looked over at the nearby crowd, most of them looking on in a hushed silence. It didn't take long to find Olfrid near the front of the pack, his golden adornments gleaming in the firelight.

Wulfric called out to him. "Would you rebuke your slander to save your kin's life?"

Olfrid seethed at him but said nothing, turning his head from them.

"Fine, have it your way." Wulfric hefted his maul up and raised it over his head. It would be a quick death; he would make sure of that. Below Idolaf closed his eyes and waited.

He swung the hammer down as the crowd gasped. He heard several women scream.

"Stop!"

It was only Wulfric's great strength that allowed him to force his swing to the side, crushing the ground inches away from Idolaf's head, imbedding several inches of the steel into the ground. Wulfric looked away from Idolaf to see who had called a stop to this.

The young man from the Bannered Mare – Jon, Olfrid's son, if he remembered right – shoved past Olfrid and walked up to Wulfric. His father looked incensed behind him but the younger man paid him no mind.

"Enough of this! I am Jon Battle-Born, heir to the Battle-Born family," the younger man declared to Wulfric and to the crowd at large. "On behalf of my clan, I revoke the slander spoken against you and yours. You have defeated Idolaf, my cousin, in a duel according to the traditions, despite how some may have twisted them."

He spoke the last sentence with a glare at Olfrid. The old man's face twisted as if someone had shoved an entire bucket of lemons into it. His glare lit into his son but Jon ignored it entirely.

"Do you accept our apology or do you demand further payment for our failures?"

Wulfric looked down at the beaten man at his feet, eyes drifting to his maul, stilled imbedding into the ground. He was silent for a moment before yanking the maul from the dirt and re-attaching it to his armor with a sigh.

"Your apology is enough to prevent any further bloodshed," Wulfric told him. "Instead, I want a form of monetary payment for your slander against my parents and myself."

"Will 500 Septims suffice?" Jon asked. Olfrid squawked with outrage.

"700." Wulfric answered.

Jon nodded. "Done. I will personally deliver it to you tonight at the Bannered Mare."

Jon looked out at the crowd and called out. "Alright you lot, the show's over! The day's done so get back to your homes. Filnner! Go and fetch the healers from the temple. Tell them we have two injured warriors that need immediate attention. Larskar! Get a few of the men to get my cousin and Janessa somewhere to rest until the healers arrive."

Wulfric watched as the crowd broke apart, making their way back towards Whiterun while a man – Filner, Wulfric assumed – took off sprinting. A moment later two groups of farmhands came and retrieved Idolaf and the Dark Elf mercenary, ushering them to the main house.

Jon approached Wulfric, keenly aware that his father was thundering towards him as well. Wulfric watched as Olfrid grabbed Jon's shoulder and spun him around, the two of them erupting into a hushed war of words. Wulfric caught snippets but paid it little mind, choosing to focus on repairing his damaged leg and wrists. The healing was slow and left him feeling even more drained but he managed to at least stop the bleeding.

The golden glow was just fading when Jon approached him again, Olfrid nowhere in sight.

Exhausted from the fights and subsequent healing, Wulfric wasn't looking to have a long conversation, but he was certainly intrigued by the issues between the father and son.

"I wanted to personally apologize for my family again," Jon said. "Things have been…tense since the war started. Despite not being involved in the battles, it's clear that bloodlust is settling in on some of us."

Wulfric nodded, taking his words in. "I appreciate it. I've only been in town for a few days and even I can tell that trouble's brewing. I'm surprised you usurped your father though. I thought he was the head of the family?"

"He is," Jon acknowledged with a sigh. "And he will be until he either dies or bequeaths the title to me. Still, he was actively bringing shame and dishonor to the clan and that had to be called out. No single man is above the betterment of the clan as a whole."

"Speaking of," Jon continued, breaking into a wide smile. "It's nice to finally meet you, cousin. Please introduce yourself."

Despite his weariness, Wulfric chuckled. To be claimed as a cousin after fighting a duel as a bastard. "I am Wulfric White-Wind, son of Vulwulf and Sonir."

"While I cannot accept you as a Battle-Born, I can accept you as a cousin." Jon held out his hand, a clear peace offering.

Wulfric smiled despite himself and shook it, Jon's hand nearly disappearing into his own. The two men shook heartily, a new understanding formed. Wulfric frowned as Jon's hand went slack in his own before he vanished into total darkness.

Even to Wulfric's exhausted mind that set off alarm bells.

He spun and saw a great shape approaching from the mountains, nearly blotting out the moon from the sky. It sailed above them, becoming more visible as it passed, making way for a watchtower in the distance. Wulfric could only stare in disbelief as his nightmare became reality. He stared at it in a stupor before a shout brought reality crashing down on him.

"Dragon!"

So that's chapter five!

Sorry about the longer wait for an update. Work has been especially brutal lately.