-Before we get into this chapter, happy 10th Anniversary to the release of Skyrim, the game that continues to wow people even a decade later! As such, I very much wanted to get this chapter out on the very day of 11-11-21 in honor of that, but sadly that wasn't to be. Oh well, I hope you'll enjoy the chapter as well as the game itself all the same! Enjoy!-


Shards of razor ice flakes whipped about on the wind. On the worst of days, they seemed to choke the very air itself, making it nearly impossible to see five feet in front. Some had theorized that this harsh weather actually seemed to preserve Windhelm even further, a perpetually frozen city, with a heart of ice. Unless one was a Nord, this was one place in Skyrim that truly demonstrated cold brutality.

As two travelers had very much come to learn.

Windhelm's denizens made it exceedingly clear that they did not look favorably upon the Dunmer people. They were merely travelers, yet the Nords had not discriminated from shooting insults at them at best and issuing death threats at worst. These could've been remedied, but they were under strict orders not to cause any sort of scene in a civilized place. Thus, they were forced to simply swallow their pride and navigate around them and do their best to stay out of their line of sight. Having stepped through the heavy doors that led them out of Windhelm, they carefully navigated their way down the frozen stone steps. One slip or misstep would send them tumbling something fierce. Their first time arriving in this city had made that abundantly clear; Favene still had the bruises on her leg to show for that.

"Be careful Sister, you remember how these steps can be quite-"

"I am very well aware, Brother!" Favene hissed at the other Dunmer, "I am keeping watch over where I step." The two continued to walk down the steps, the stone docks drawing ever closer beneath them, "I will die happy if I never have to endure another frozen wasteland in my life!"

"I would tell you to stop complaining, but I cannot help but agree with you..." the other Dunmer replied, "Skyrim is no friend to the Dunmer, and we should not be here any longer than is required of us."

"And yet, that very fate has befallen Vondeth..." Favene spoke softly and mournfully. Her steps slowed considerably, and the other Dunmer was forced to stop and turn to face her, "Brother... Neldrus... we really did that, didn't we? He's gone, all because we-"

"Sister Favene, silence," the Dunmer Neldrus forcefully silenced her. He reached up and forward to place a hand on her shoulder, "You know it as well as I do; it had to be done. Sacrifices such as that are not only necessary, but they are also practically required for our cause. He knew that, we all know that. Now do you understand?" Favene took a sharp breath of air, which caused her to forcefully cough it as a result. Perhaps it was the sharp chill of snowy air that helped her regain her nerve, but she did give a single nod.

"Yes, yes I understand, Brother..." she admitted, "I guess it just hasn't fully sunken in for me yet... I will be fine, do not worry."

"Mmph, good," Neldrus said before hefting a bag along his shoulder and turning back around to resume his descent.

Within moments the two dark elves had reached the end of the stairs and out into the open. The docks laid out before them, still ice covered and treacherous to walk or stand upon. A small number of Argonians were still seen walking about, working or struggling to warm themselves. When they first arrived in Windhelm through the docks, the sight of their squalor almost drew pity for them. This feeling was quickly shaken off though; the bloody reptiles probably deserved this fate after what they themselves had done. They were also not of any concern to them specifically. Rather, they had come here for something else.

Thankfully, the same vessel used to transport them to Skyrim was still there. 'The Northern Maiden' as its captain had called it. Hopefully they could arrange for passage back the way they had come just as easily.

The two Dunmer made their way past the Argonian workers and the patrolling Nord guardsmen. They instinctively pulled their clothes closer to their bodies, both as a way to ward off the cold, as well as petty protection from any prying eyes. They advanced across the plank that served as the boarding plank for the ship, where thankfully the captain in question was there, rolling rope upon his arm.

"Oh, hail there!" Captain Gjalund Salt-Sage greeted them, "Fancy seeing you again! I trust your visit went well?"

"Visit-?" Favene started, but instantly caught herself; of course, that was the line they had fed this man upon arrival, so they must stick with it, "O-oh yes! Yes, our visit went rather... peacefully. All was well."

"We would now request passage back to Solstheim please," Neldrus said. By now Gjalund had finished winding up his rope and lowered it to his side.

"Are you sure? Didn't I see a third person with you two?" he asked with a tilted head, "Wouldn't he be left behind?" His comment forced Favene and Neldrus to exchange looks between each other.

"That uh, that won't be necessary..." Favene said, "Our... Brother, he decided to... stay in Skyrim in the end. Nothing we could do could change his mind...!"

"He is perfectly fine with our returning to Solstheim without him," Neldrus said. He then reached around to his belt to fetch forth a small coin purse and handed it to the Nord captain.

"Alright alright, whatever you two say," Gjalund said with a wave of his other hand. He proceeded to walk across the ship's open dock towards the wheel, while also turning back towards them, "Just have a seat anywhere, we'll cast off momentarily!" With that, the two Dunmer looked all about the ship's open area to find a seat along the edge. They took a seat next to each other, each one letting out heavy sighs. It had been a long day today, and it felt like the first time they had simply gotten the chance to sit down.

"Brother," Favene spoke up softly, "Please open the bag: it's still with us, is it not?"

"But of course, it is..." Neldrus replied while also putting his large back in between the two of them. He held the flap and pulled it outwards so that anyone on the ship's open hold could not see its contents. But the two Dunmer were free to see inside clearly: Inside the bag was a book, thick with many pages within, and a multi-colored cover, "See? You worry too much, Sister."

"I know, I just felt the need to make sure we still have it," Favene said as the male Dunmer closed the bag again, "After all that had happened, only to find out that it suddenly wasn't there... I shudder at the thought."

"But now we can say that the hard part is over," Neldrus assured her, "The book is safely in our possession, and our next step is to deliver it to the master."

"Yes, so that Brother Vondeth would not have died for nothing..." Favene said with a sigh, "Now then, let's make this all worth it. For the glory of Miraak."

"For the glory of the Dragonborn," Neldrus replied with equal reverence. With that the two sat in relative silence, even as the ship began to slowly pull out of dock. The great sails of the mast lowered, and the ship began to pick up speed as it departed along Windhelm's channel. It would be a long time before home was reached, which would give them plenty of time to think and ponder.

However, the two were completely oblivious to someone. Among all the ship's workers that were performing various ship related tasks, one person in particular simply sat on a seat opposite the two dark elves. A woman with blonde hair tied back in a ponytail, dressed in leather armor, with a piece of parchment in hand. To the casual observer, she appeared to be doing little more than reading. However, she did more than read what was in her hands; she was observing, listening.

'Hm, Dragonborn you say?' the woman thought to herself, 'So, you people are connected. Who are you, what do you know of the Dragonborn, and what's in that bag...?' Without breaking the image of her reading her parchment in front of her, the woman glanced out of the corner of her eye towards the bow of the ship. She gazed outward at the land they were bound for, where she would hopefully her destination would await her, 'Looks like I'll be getting answers in Solstheim...'

With a small sigh, Delphine returned her eyes to her parchment in front of her, resuming the image of the 'harmless traveling adventurer'.


One after the other, the group of soldiers stomped their entrance into Braidwood Inn. There were at least three men and two women in total. Four of these Nords were clad in armor with pure blue cloth stitched across their shoulders, and full-covered helms. But the one Nord among them that stood out was dressed in a completely different garb. Plates of armor with thick, dark brown patches of fur adorning the top of them, including gauntlets that held a trio of claws atop the palms. His head was also visible, though the top of it held an actual bear's head. This armor combined with his thick arm muscles made him appear vastly burlier compared to his comrades.

"Iddra! Guardsmen!" the differing Nord declared, "We got here as quick as we could!"

"Right, where's that dragon?!"

"I don't care what it is, I'll bash its head in!" The rowdy voices of the stormcloak soldiers talking at once drowned out nearly everything else.

"Stormcloaks? And... Kjarngar Ice-Veins?" the bartender Iddra asked, "What brings you here?"

"We were sent here by Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak," the 'bear armored' Kjarngar explained, "As soon as we'd heard there was a dragon, he sent us out to lend aid and kill the beast!"

"So? Where is this 'dragon of legend'?" one of the stormcloaks impatiently asked. The full-helmet stormcloaks' arms could be seen visibly twitching with their weapons in hand. Each one of them held a different kind of weapon from each other, from war-axes to even a hammer. They were definitely itching for a fight.

"Yer too late though," one of the drunken patrons, Kjeld, called out, "Dragon's already slain!" His declaration led to groans of disapproval from the stormcloaks, their weapon-held arms slacking as well.

"Dead?"

"How?"

"But what could've-?"

"I'm uh, I'm afraid that's true," Iddra clarified, "They dragon was in fact slain, and what's more..." She turned her head and extended an arm towards the trio of women; Siffre specifically, "We have the very savior here now: the one and only Dragonborn!" Her own declaration as well as sudden shift in attention forced an uncomforting light upon the three women. Lydia and Illia in particular widened their eyes in surprise at this, and Siffre herself found herself shifting in place, unprepared for having been singled out in this way.

The murmuring of disappointment from the stormcloaks shifted into intrigue. While they largely remained in place, the burly Kjarngar Ice-Veins slowly advanced forward towards Siffre. He came to a stop when he had reached about five feet away from her before leaning in slightly closer to study her. Siffre and the other two women found themselves studying him in turn as well. The man had a thick, scraggly brown beard which concealed nearly the entirety of his chin. His piercing eyes of light blue also held a deep ferocity within them. Siffre noted that much like her, the man also held a fair number of scar marks in the form of scratches along his left cheek.

"Dragonborn, you say?" the man spoke. His question was directed at Iddra, but he kept his eyes on Siffre.

"That's right; we owe her our lives! All three of them in fact!" Iddra clarified. The Dragonborn in question found herself a little uneasy at this sudden intense scrutiny she was under. To her side, Lydia and Illia also bore looks of uncertainty. They felt they had to say something, but rather chose to hold their tongues. Just what was to happen now that this was out...?

The face of the bear-armored man before them suddenly broke. His frown quickly turned into a wide grin, and he let out a hearty laugh. The three women were nearly taken aback by this sudden action.

"Really now? The Dragonborn, straight out of song and legend? Right here in the flesh!" Kjarngar exclaimed, giving a rather hard clap on Siffre's shoulder, "Wasn't expecting it to be a woman though, but no one has seen a Dragonborn for many years." Siffre rubbed her shoulder that had been clapped, a small beginning to creep up. The burly Nord's eyes briefly looked to the side at Lydia and Illia, "And are these companions of yours?"

"Yes, Lydia." the housecarl courteously introduced herself.

"I-Illia..." the mage replied, much more nervously in comparison. Her reply caused the man's smile to lessen somewhat in response. He just as quickly looked back to Siffre, where his grin returned in full.

"Dragonborn? Like 'the' Dragonborn my grandmother used to tell me of?" Behind them the stormcloaks could be heard approaching closer to them and the bar.

"Oy Iddra! How about a round or two for us! We're parched!" one of the female Stormcloaks declared.

"Ah, of course," the bartender said. As she moved to provide the stormcloaks with tankards she spoke over her shoulder, "You know, your tab is running rather high. When will you be paying back what you owe me?"

"Come now, woman! We're out there risking our lives every day for the cause!" one of the male stormcloaks said.

"Fighting to free Skyrim from the Imperials! I'd say that earns us a free round or two, am I right?!" another one added. This was earned with a round of cheers from the stormcloaks, followed by a few cheers from some of the Kynesgrove people as well. The bartender however let out a small groan in response. As she moved to grab the tankards, she was stopped by the sight of Kjarngar holding out a hand to halt her.

"You'll get your proper payment in due time, Iddra," the stormcloak commander said, before turning back to face his underlings, "And besides! We didn't come here to get fuzz-headed! We've got a job to be done, under the Jarl's orders!" This time the round of groans came from the stormcloaks.

"Blast it Kjarngar, not even just a little...?" one of the women pleaded. The burly man shook his head.

"Prepare to move out! That means you too, Hergrune!" he commanded. More groans could be heard from the rowdy soldiers, but they nonetheless made for the door they had entered through. Kjarngar turned his head to one of the local guardsmen, "Will you be able to continue to watch over this place?"

"Yes sir, Kjarngar Ice-Veins!" the man replied with a fist over his heart.

"Good..." the stormcloak commander said. With that, he turned his head back in the direction of Siffre, Lydia, and Illia, "As for you, the Dragonborn. Would you mind showing us this dragon?"

"H-huh? Me?" Siffre questioned, "Um, can I ask why...?"

"Well, since it was you who slew the beast, as these people claimed," the burly man waved a hand to indicate to the people of Kynesgrove, "I'd just like to make sure for myself that the creature is truly dead. Something to report to the Jarl, you understand."

"Oh, I see," Siffre said, "Well, I suppose I could show you..." She looked back to her two companions, "That's alright with you two, isn't it?" The two women in question simply shrugged their shoulders in response, "It's up at... that dragon burial mound, up the-"

"Yes, I'm familiar of where that is," the stormcloak interrupted. He walked towards the door himself, waving a hand in indication for the three women to follow, "Let's be off then!"

"Um, alright. I guess we're really going then..." Lydia said to herself as she walked. Before they crossed through the door outside, Illia cast one more look towards the Dunmer in the tavern area.

"Thank you again...!" she quickly tried to say, along with a wave of her bandaged left hand. In her hasty motion, she couldn't quite see if Dravynea gave any reply of her own. It was probable that she did though, or at least in Illia's mind it was.

At last, the three women and the group of stormcloaks had emerged from Braidwood Inn and stepped out onto the hard ground. They were immediately hit with the sharp chill of surrounding snowfall that still fell from the air. Or rather, Illia began to shiver hard herself, while the Nords themselves barely seemed to notice it.

While the Imperial herself hastily rubbed the sides of her arms as best she could to ward off the chill, Lydia and Siffre took the time to undo the sleeve ties on their armor, thus letting the wool fall down. Their bare arms were now covered in wool sleeves, reaching all the way up to the base of their gauntlets. They felt personal relief as the immediate sting of the snowfall could barely be felt anymore.

Illia caught sight of the two Nords adjusting their armor. Their armor that came with sleeves! Sleeves that were thick and wooly like animal fur! Something that she very much wished she had on her. The mage outfit was a marked improvement over the simplistic robes she had been wearing, but she would've preferred something in addition to keep the chill warded off even further. The only thing she was able to do was pull up the hood on the outfit to keep her head marginally covered from the whipping ice winds.

'Figures I'd be a mage that mainly uses ice spells, yet cold like snowfall would freeze me...' she thought to herself.

"Alright Kjarngar! Where are we going?" one of the stormcloaks announced.

"Well Dragonborn? Lead the way..." Kjarngar said. The way he spoke rather expectedly had both Siffre and Lydia frowning a little. Still, the Dragonborn made her way forward towards the inclining pathway she had travelled earlier. The stormcloaks and Lydia and Illia travelled behind her, the latter mage sticking a little close by to Lydia. Suddenly Illia caught a whiff of something; a scent that smelled rather... well, like very pungent body odor. A few more silent sniffs and she deduced the source: the stormcloaks themselves. Her eyes narrowed and she pulled herself away from them as best she could.

"Lydia...?" she whispered to the female Nord, "Are these people really these... 'stormcloaks' I'd heard about?"

"I believe they are..." Lydia said, casting sideways looks off to the soldiers, "They're certainly a rowdy sort."

"Oh yeah, definitely that, but..." Illia trailed off, causing Lydia to look back to her out of the corner of one eye, "Do they usually... well... stink?" Even from the way she looked at her, Lydia could catch the faintest sight of the mage wrinkling her nose. She herself suddenly had to catch herself and stifle a quick laugh. That was such a random thing to point out, but not without merit. She'd heard the rumors herself, but never actually had the pleasure of experiencing this in person.

Against her better judgement, she slightly leaned her head closer towards the stormcloak closest to her. It was a subtle action, at least she hoped it was. Hopefully it would be close enough to-

"Urgh...!" Lydia had to suppress her volume at the same time she pulled her head back. There was no mistaking it, the stormcloak in question positively reeked! When was the last time he had bathed? Any of them?

"You're... you're right...!" Lydia silently affirmed to Illia. The two women shared a quick smile between themselves for both having endured an assault on their nostrils. With that they continued to march along with the stormcloaks... albeit at a decent distance between them.

Within no time, the group of people had finally made their way up the winding pathway and up to its flattened land above. Snow continued to fall in a thick flurry all around them. It was positively blinding as it was freezing, with Illia continuing to rub the sides of her arms as often, and as carefully, as she was able. However, the thick flurry of snow falling from the sky did nothing to conceal what still lay on the ground before them.

There, still above ground, lay the massive bony dragon skeleton. A number of gasps and murmurs sounded out from the stormcloaks, with Siffre, Illia, and Lydia themselves remaining silent. The group of Nords clearly had not seen such a sight before, but the three women were with their own thoughts upon looking at the corpse of their once adversary.

"Shor's bones!" one of them exclaimed.

"More like 'dragon's bones'," one of the women added, "Look at the size of this thing!" A number of them spread outward to investigate the mass of bones. Only the three women, Kjarngar, and one of the stormcloaks remained in place, eyeing it from where they stood. Suddenly, the stationary stormcloak spoke up.

"Hold a moment," he said, "How do we know this is genuine?" his inquiry earned him looks from the higher-ranked stormcloak and Siffre and her friends. The latter three's eyes were widened in surprise, while Kjarngar's eyes narrowed.

"What? You don't believe this?!" Lydia said.

"Yeah, this thing burned me!" Illia added, pointing to her bandaged left arm.

"No one cares, imperial," the stormcloak spoke with visible disdain. It was not the first time Illia had been spoken to in this way for simply being what she was, but this time felt different. It felt like the stormcloak was actively speaking harshly to her, with his words biting a little deeper. Her head suddenly perked when she saw movement. Siffre took a single step forward, in front of them and towards the stormcloak.

"Don't talk to her like that..." she commanded. The vibrations in her voice were felt potently as before, "And we did fight this dragon... all three of us."

"How do we know that?" the stormcloak pressed, crossing his arms over his chest, "In fact, that big hole in the ground there- how do we know the very bones of this creature weren't simply dug out from it and brought here into the world?" At this point, the other three stormcloaks had ceased looking all around the dragon's bones and turned their heads towards their fellow soldier.

"Hm, that is a good point," one of the men said.

"I don't know, Eirend," one of the women soldiers said, "This whole thing is rather heavy..."

"I can't believe this!" Lydia practically exclaimed. The things she was actually hearing right now, this complete denial! How could these stormcloaks be so thick-headed?! "How can you actually claim that we hadn't fought this thing?! It was brought to life by another black dragon, came out of the ground, and tried to attack us! So, we had to kill it ourselves!"

"Yes, exactly...!" Siffre chimed in, while also pointing a finger back towards the pathway, "And the people down there... Kynesgrove; they extended their gratitude to us!"

"Hmph, that's quite the tale you're all spinning," the one stormcloak, Eirend, spoke with sarcasm yet again, "I wonder if your imperial friend came up with that whole thing for you...?"

"It's no 'tale' being spun; it's truth!" Siffre declared again.

"A-and I can speak for myself, thank you!" Illia herself protested.

"Enough! Enough I say!" Kjarngar Ice-Veins' voice boomed. He stood in between the warring sides of Siffre and the stormcloak soldiers with two clawed hands held out before them. With that, the two were silenced, but still continued to stare the other down, "Now then, if you'll both shut up for a moment and listen to me? Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak dispatched us here to protect Kynesgrove from a dragon. However, seeing as there's no threat of a dragon to the settlement, I'd say all is well for the moment."

"That's almost too bad; I'd have like to have introduced a dragon to my axe here..." one of the soldiers could be heard speaking softly, with a gentle gesture towards his holstered weapon.

"There is however, one other thing..." Kjarngar lowered his hands and looked in Siffre's direction, "This one here, the one claiming to be this mythical Dragonborn...? I should very much like to know if that is true at least."

"Honestly, more denials..." Lydia spoke with a groan.

"I assure you, that about me is absolutely true..." Siffre spoke earnestly, "What must I do? Shout for you?"

"As a Dragonborn of old is said to be able to do?" the burly leader said, "Yes, I'd say doing that would prove it." His comment caused the stormcloaks around him to murmur in agreement. Siffre's eyes narrowed, but she nonetheless shrugged her shoulders a little.

"My thane... Siffre," Lydia quietly spoke beside her, "Is this really necessary? You're not actually going to humor them, are you?"

"How do they not see it...?" Siffre replied, a small edge of frustration, "I might as well do it, if only to prove it to them."

"You're going to use that voice magic of yours?" Illia said as well.

Siffre herself simply stood with her body facing an open section of the land, where none of the other people were standing. It wouldn't be good if anyone were to be caught in the wake of her Thu'um, intentionally or not. She took a deep breath of air in, followed by a slow exhale. The air she breathed in was crisp and cold, a perfect symbol of what exactly she was meaning to do. Breath, and focus, as Arngeir had told her... and finally-

"Fo... KRAH!"

Just like before, a burst of swirling ice blew forth from Siffre's mouth. Everyone watched as this mass of icy air stretched outward about ten feet away from her, before fading in strength. The ground itself that the ice did touch was coated in a thin layer of frost, similar to a frozen, dew-covered morning in Skyrim. The snowflakes that were falling from the sky also seemed to be swept in with the force of the cold air. Almost as if they were being pulled in to merge with it.

Then, as quickly as it began, Siffre's little demonstration was over. She herself turned back to face the dumbfounded stormcloaks, "Believe me now...?"

"By the Gods!" Kjarngar nearly exclaimed, "So it's true then, you really are Dragonborn!"

"A breath as cold as three Skyrim winters!" one of the stormcloaks added, "Incredible! Straight out of the old legends themselves!"

"I... don't even know what to say," the one stormcloak Eirend spoke softer. Despite his face being concealed by the helmet, his more slacking stance suggested he had been humbled by what he had just seen. His helmet turned its face slowly towards Siffre, almost out of shame, "F-forgive me, Dragonborn... forgive me for having ever doubted..."

"Hmph, well I'm glad you do see..." Siffre replied.

"But... how?" one of the stormcloak women spoke up, "I mean, Dragonborn, for you to be here, now. What brings you here? Where did you come from?"

"Yeah! And what more are you capable of Shouting?" another soldier chimed in.

"Come now, no need to pester the Dragonborn with endless questions," Kjarngar interjected.

"Kjarngar? Aren't you the least bit curious as well?" one of the soldiers asked. The heavily bearded Nord shook his head.

"I'll not let curiosity overshadow my duty as a stormcloak commander," he spoke to his subordinates, "You'd all do well to remind yourselves of the cloth you wear as well, and what exactly you fight for."

"For Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak," one of the soldiers said.

"The true High King of Skyrim," Eirend added. One by one, they all placed a fist over their chests, with Kjarngar giving a single nod. Siffre, Lydia, and Illia watched their display of loyalty before them.

"Hey, wait a minute!" one of the stormcloaks suddenly spoke up, "Dragonborn! Why don't you fight for us? Join our cause and fight for Ulfric?" This random outburst of a suggestion was met with all heads snapping over to look at the soldier. The eyes of the three women especially were widened in surprise.

"What?!" Lydia exclaimed. He couldn't be serious, could he? Asking her thane of all people to fight for the stormcloaks?! Even swearing allegiance to another Jarl? Becoming a champion to Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak of Windhelm?

For some reason, Lydia felt a deep weight in her stomach.

"I'm not so sure about that," Eirend said, "The Dragonborn and that one are clearly Nords, but they've an imperial with them!" The man practically spat the words as he indicated to Illia. His rude comment was met this time with a frown from the mage, as well as harsher glares from Siffre and Lydia.

"I believe I said to not speak ill of her like that..." Siffre spoke low and dangerously.

"If this is how you recruit people for your cause, it clearly isn't working," Lydia found herself adding.

"Eirend!" Kjarngar harshly chastised the stormcloak. The burly man pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers for a second, before finally looking back up at the three women, "Hmmm... he does bring up an... interesting idea, however. Dragonborn, I would recommend you go to Windhelm." He held up a hand to silence the three women before either could speak, "Not simply in the interests of recruitment. But rather, because Jarl Ulfric himself would wish to hear his town of Kynesgrove is safe, preferably from its savior." Just as quickly, Lydia calmed down a little, relaxing her stance.

"A report to the Jarl, telling him his Hold is safer?" she spoke. There was rationality and merit in that suggestion, she had to admit, "That... that's actually something I would be fine with."

"It would be?" Siffre asked.

"Of course," Lydia replied earnestly, "No matter who it may be... news like this, any Hold's Jarl would definitely need to be made aware of." Siffre gave her a look for a second, almost studying her and her reasoning, until she finally nodded.

"Alright, I understand..." she said, before looking at Illia, "That's alright with you, too?"

"Um, you mean going to Windhelm?" Illia spoke with a hint of nervousness, "The place filled with the 'hardiest of Nords' in Skyrim? Sure, I mean what could be wrong with that...?"

"Don't tell me you're letting the imperial come along with you," Eirend practically spat as he yet again indicated to the mage, "I say she'd be best coming to the city in irons, lest she try anything-"

"One more word out of you Eirend, and it's you who'll be thrown behind bars," Kjarngar effectively silenced the subordinate, "Honestly, you're letting one eye-sore cause more bellyaching than a bad batch of Honningbrew!" The stormcloak in question did not reply nor retort, but the sounds of grumbling could be heard from underneath his helmet even as he turned his head away. Kjarngar looked back to the three women, but with a stern expression gracing his features as well, "Suffice to say, keep your Imperial friend under tight watch, if you know what's good for her..."

"She-" Siffre started but stopped herself. She let out a sharp exhale of breath, through gritted teeth, and forced herself to speak again in a calmer tone, "We will..."

"Alright then, Windhelm's back down this pathway and to the right. Follow us..." the stormcloak commander's voice rang out professionally. With various affirmations from the other four soldiers, the stormcloak group proceeded to make their way back down the trail, with Siffre and the others trailing close behind them. As they began to walk, Lydia quickly remembered something. She advanced up to Siffre's side.

"Siffre..." she spoke softly as an almost whisper, "About following these soldiers..."

"It'll be fine, won't it...?" Siffre whispered just as softly, "You said it was alright-"

"No, that's not what I mean," Lydia cut in, "It's just... keep your distance from them a little? Because, well... they reek... bad."

"Reek-?" Siffre's brow furrowed in confusion. Her head looked back towards the oblivious soldiers still marching on before them, "Um, alright... whatever you say, I guess..." Siffre's eyes remained narrowed as she turned her head to face forward again, but she seemed to maintain distance from the stormcloaks as Lydia had advised. That was definitely for the best; almost every one of them could use a thorough bathing... or two.

The group finally reached the end of the descending path, with Braidwood Inn on their left again. With Kjarngar leading them all, they took a turn to the right this time, along the larger pathway which the one leading to the Inn branched off from. Upon this pathway, a glance off to the left side showed a large river rapid of rushing light blue water. The group took care to stay within the center of the road and away from the dipping edges; Illia especially doing so herself. While snowflakes continued to fall around them, by the time they had made it to the larger road, the appeared to be falling in somewhat lesser concentration as before. The wind had died down a little as well, which meant not as much whipping of razor ice winds in their faces as they walked. But more importantly, their fields of vision were not horribly obscured as to prevent them from seeing where they were going.

The three women shivered their teeth silently, while the stormcloak aligned soldiers were making casual small talk in between each other as they walked. It was very much as if the cold didn't seem to bother them, or they didn't even notice it.

Eventually, upon the road the group walked upon, the three women noted snow; thin sheets of white blanketing the ground and wrapped around nearby trees. The transition from dry cold to frozen ice-land was all the more obvious, with the visible snow only growing more thicker as they walked. For the imperial however, seeing and feeling all this cold snow around her, she was reminded of something.

"Say, Siffre?" she spoke as she walked, "I was wondering something..."

"What is it...?" the dragonborn asked.

"Well, um..." Illia said, "Since when... when have you been able to... to produce ice magic?"

It was a legitimate question; the only times she had seen her produce that strange voice magic- or this 'Thu'um' as she'd heard it be called, it was most definitely of a different effect. Her power seemed to be able to just 'blow stuff away' before her, not anything else. And certainly not producing of any elemental effects, such as ice.

Something she considered herself proficient in herself...

"You mean the Frost Breath?" Siffre said, "That was the new Shout I had learned... From the dragon. Don't you remember...?"

"No, I don't remember much," Illia reminded her.

"Oh, that's right..." Siffre said with a shake of her head. She quickly rubbed her chin and jawline from the sharp nip of cold, "Do you... you remember that ruin? In the steam area we visited first...?" Illia nodded, "Well, that was where... where I learned the Words. Words of Power; ones that translated to mean 'cold', you know..." Illia gave a careful, delicate rub of her left bandaged arm with her right hand to ward off some of her own cold as she listened, "I learned what the Words there were... but the dragon... it helped in unlocking how to use them..."

"S-so, you got a dragon to teach you how to breath ice?" Illia spoke in a half-joking tone.

"Well... yes, I guess you could say that..." Siffre replied to Illia's surprise.

"Oh, really..." she said, looking forward and a little down at the ground as she walked, "So... you're capable of producing ice magic, just like me then." Out of the corner of her eye, the imperial could see Siffre nodding her head in confirmation. This confirmation filled her with a strange sense of... something. Perhaps it was irony, being that she was an Imperial in the presence of a race of people who might as well have been born in ice themselves. Of all spells, ice magic was what she held a fascination, as well as passion for. And having seen Siffre practically 'shout' a burst of cold air from her very mouth, suddenly her own spells she was capable of didn't seem all that impressive.

Fortunately for her, this comparison would not be getting her down; not when she was planning to improve her own potential, however she could.

The group continued to trek onward, now through the snow-white blanked ground of the land. With how thin the snow was, there was no crunching sounds from each step taken. Still, the sound of eight people walking at once still created plenty of noise. The path itself began to level out from its sudden ascent, while still curving gently around a land-rise to the right. The river to the left continued to flow onward. From careful observation, the water flowed in the direction that they walked as well. And from looking on at where the river flowed towards, another sight met their eyes.

"Finally! Windhelm!" one of the stormcloaks spoke, "I'll be glad to be back inside its walls, let me tell you!" As the city in question drew closer, its size grew ever larger. Siffre and Lydia could see that this city also held large walls of stone. Unlike Riften however, the bare tips of buildings that could be seen within were made of stone rather than wood. The ice-stoned city was also perched on the opposite end of the river, with a massive stone bridge connecting its entrance to the other side.

The group finally arrived at the base end of their end of the bridge, where a short set of steps lay before them. A couple of men could be seen at the base; a dark-skinned man chopping wood at a chopping block, and one with fair skin and hair standing next to a horse carriage warming his hands. The nord looked up and lowered his hands upon seeing the party arrive.

"Hail there, Stormcloaks!" he greeted with a small wave.

"Alfarinn..." Kjarngar politely regarded with a gentle wave of his own hand, "All goes well I assume?"

"Eh, winds came down just as razor and icy, but not too bad," the carriage driver admitted. His eyes suddenly narrowed and they looked to the side behind him, "Of course, the problem lies with that caravan over there..." The group looked around him to look at what he indicated to. Off to the side of the stables and off the main road, a couple of tents could be seen, with a number of people walking about them. However, they were far from any nords or imperials; these people were very much cat-like, with fur, ears, and tails made blatantly obvious amidst their ordinary clothes, "Them beast-folk won't clear out like I tell them to!"

"Mmph, damn Khajiit..." Kjarngar spoke in low tone. He turned to his stormcloak fellows, "You lot can clear them off of Ulfric's land, then go on back to the barracks. I'll pass on word to Ulfric myself." With that, the group broke in half as they prepared to go different ways.

"Aw, I'd have loved to tell Jarl Ulfric of us fighting a dragon, singlehandedly!" one of the women could be heard saying.

"Singlehandedly?" one of them added, "You hardly did anything; none of us did...!"

"Eh, kicking out these cat-folk will have to suffice for now..." Eirend's voice could be heard. From then on, no more of their banter could be heard between the other four people. Kjarngar led the way up the short set of stairs, with the three women following behind him. As opposed to him focused on walking straight forward however, the the women themselves were sparing glances back behind them, in the direction of the caravan of Khajiit. Frowns graced their faces as they watched what they could of the stormcloaks advancing towards the caravan, before they disappeared completely around the stone corner.

The group of four then proceeded to walk straight forward. What lay before them was the stone bridge across the river. The rather large stone bridge, only appearing that much longer in width as they stood and gazed upon it from up closer. At frequent intervals were burning braziers of bright orange fire, still burning warmly amidst the sharp chill of the cold around them. At the walking speed they were going, they'd probably reach the doors to Windhelm itself in a minute, maybe two.

"Excuse me... Kjarngar," Siffre spoke up. The man himself gave only the faintest movement of his head turning to look towards her as he walked. This was enough indication for Siffre to continue speaking, "What exactly are they... well, what are those soldiers planning to do? With those... Khajiit?"

"It's simple, them cat-folk travel here uninvited to Jarl Ulfric's Hold, so they'll be driven off," Kjarngar Ice-Veins spoke with rather cold disdain, "They should be thankful that's all they'll be getting off with."

"They're driven off? All because they weren't invited?" Lydia spoke.

"And Ulfric's got the right of it I say!" Kjarngar replied rather heartily, "Wretched cat-people are likely assassins and thieves that would stick a knife in your throat while looking right at you! Better that they not be allowed near good, honest Nord folk!"

"That's... horrible," Illia spoke, "It's a horrible thing to-"

"You got something to say, imperial?" the stormcloak actually stopped in his tracks to level a harsh glare towards the mage. Illia felt her insides shiver in tandem with how her outside body was shivering to the cold. Only one of the burly nord's eyes was staring at her from the angle he had his head turned, but held the same intensity as having two upon her. Illia found herself transfixed on this piercing eye that practically bore into her being, unable to move herself. Lydia and Siffre instinctively stopped walking and took a position on each side of the mage. They too leveled their own glares at the man, but did not say anything. After a moment, the male nord turned his gaze downward to look at the ground, his eye still holding that same fierce glare, "Don't mistake the fact that you're not dead as hospitality. You'd best keep your thoughts to yourself, if you intend to stay that way..."

Without waiting for any further input, from either of the three women, Kjarngar continued to walk onwards. They stood their almost dumbfounded for a moment, until one by one they followed after him, with Illia pulling up the rear. By now they had reached the midpoint of the stone bridge.

"So... 'stormcloaks', eh...?" Siffre whispered in between Lydia and Illia.

"Loud, smelly braggarts that hate anyone else? Sounds like it," Lydia equally whispered, out of earshot of the male nord in front of them. She glanced towards Illia, "And you'd best stay close to us. Don't say anything that could get you hurt; Windhelm's probably filled with 'em..."

"Er, yeah, no need to repeat that..." Illia struggled to maintain her whispering tone as soft as the other two. The three continued their walk behind the stormcloak, finally reaching the other end of the bridge.

Before them now stood the massive doors to Windhelm, flanked on both sides by both two sets of burning braziers and two guardsmen. Their uniforms also bore a cloth of sky-blue stitched to their armor, similar in color to that of the other stormcloaks seen earlier. Both turned to regard Kjarngar as he approached closer to the doors.

"Welcome back, Kjarngar," one of the guardsmen spoke, "All was well in Kynesgrove?"

"Indeed, there is no more dragon to threaten that place anymore," the nord replied.

"We'd heard the roar of a dragon from all the way here, at the gates!" the other guard, with a woman's voice replied, "By Talos we'd feared that it might actually come here!"

"So you did see this dragon?" the other one inquired, "Tell me, what was it like? Was it as big as a mountain? Scales as hard and sharp as iron?"

"Hold on- who are these three with you?" the woman suddenly asked. The attention of the three shifted towards them, and the mage felt herself shifting under their gaze yet again, "Two warriors, but that mage... Imperial? What's going on, Kjarngar?"

"These people here..." Kjarngar glanced back at the three people in question, "Jarl Ulfric will want to speak with them, for their involvement with the dragon... Even the imperial." For a quick moment, Illia felt breath rising in her throat, but caught herself at the last moment. She wanted so badly to set the record straight with these... these brutes! To let them know that she did in fact have a name, not simply 'imperial'! She stopped herself however as she recalled Lydia's warnings from before to her about 'speaking out of turn'. There was also the fact that those weapons these nords held were looking mighty sharp, and threatening. Next to them her own dagger might as well have been good for little more than cutting butter.

"I see..." the guardswoman said, "Well then, head on in. Talos guard you." She spoke reverently with a fist over her heart. Her actions were quickly mirrored by her fellow guardsman and Kjarngar himself. With that, the two reached over to their respective doors and pulled, opening the way to enter the city. Kjarngar entered first, with Siffre, Lydia, and Illia following close behind. The doors closed behind them with a deep creaking and a boom. Illia herself nearly yelped at the loud noise the doors themselves created upon closing, her head snapping back to look behind her on instinct. She forced herself to calm down upon realization.

'Come on, Illia! This may actually be the unfriendliest place you could be but get a hold of yourself!' she mentally berated herself, 'And hey, maybe the exact people aren't like the soldiers, and-'

"DIIIIEEEEE!"


-So yeah, happy tenth anniversary to this truly fantastic game that even to this day people are still playing. I've had many urges to make varying Skyrim stories on fanfiction in the past before, but never did I think any of them would grow into something large and meaningful; least of all this one! So again, thank you so much to everyone who takes the time to read, review, favorite, follow, all that good stuff. It means so much to me that my hard work is paying off in a way that people are enjoying it as they do! I promise to keep making A Silent Thu'um one of the best things I'm capable of making as a writer! Anyway, I'll be back real soon; keep on reading! -