Tullius walked down the busy streets in solitude about mid day. It was his day off, and he took in the Skyrim sun along with the smell of street vendors plying their trade with pan and fire. He was wearing a new, functional, style, in red of course for the Empire. Simple straight pants, slightly lose, a simple coat that ended at his waste buttoned up, and a blouse underneath tucked in, sturdy boots on his feet as well. It was a lot less ornate than other examples of finer casual cloths, and he like the pants keeping the Skyrim chill off his legs that would be impossible with the Imperial Kilt. Taarie and Endarie did good work, and they were open to letting the Legion use their pattern as a standard duty uniform, in not as fine materials, for those that didn't need to wear armor of any weight all the time. That armor could be freed for the front, and fabric actually saved over all when one doesn't have to gird their loins to be in proper uniform.
What in the Oblivion would that armor be good for against the dragons anyway. He didn't know what he was going to do, and it was only a credit to people around him that he kept going. Thank the Nine for the few that survived that mess. If it was just a botched execution, a surprise attack by a Stormcloak force that would be one thing. He would take the failure in stride and keep pushing those bastards back before killing that traitor that ruined long standing plans to strike back at the Thalmor. He wasn't a Nord, but Talos was the Divine of all Man, one that stood equally next to his Mer counterparts. He hated the Concordat as much as anyone, for more than just that reason. He remembers like it was yesterday, a junior officer leading the charge with what scraps of units he could put together, breaking the scraps of Thalmor in the Imperial City to force them to terms. Ulfric spit in the face of the sacrifice of those men and women that day, and he wouldn't stand for it.
But what in the Oblivion is he supposed to do against the Divines-damned World Eater himself? He got word that Whiterun declared war, on it's own. He didn't like that either, but he got the word that they slew one along with it. The damned things are killable, and he knew that just from history, but all it took was for Alduin to take the field, and this game was over. He had powerful battle-mages in his personal guard, and they didn't scratch him. He could also know have to work with Ulfric because of Whiterun going rouge, but what in the Oblivion is he supposed to do about it? Them 'going rouge' amounts to freely sharing their knowledge on slaying dragons, and offering to coordinate defenses against a common threat. In the name of Jarl Bulgruuf, he guessed. Let the Jarl age himself against those matters while the General sends representatives to ride on the tails of the Jarl's robes.
Then there was that man, with the last words about a warrior afterlife he's never heard of from history or religion. Valhalla? Is sounds Nord, but librarians he asked couldn't find anything about it. Then he heard the whispers. That the man was Dragonborn. Praise Akatosh, he guessed, for sending one to meet the beasts that vex all, but what in the Oblivion was he going to do about it? What if he joins Ulfric because of his dragon blood and the history of Talos? His armies would be shouted to bits.
He saw the way the man moved as he left with Hadvar. It was with advanced training unlike any seen on this world, that he only recognized from his own experience. Was he a Daedra? From a Plane that just looks like a man? Hadvar assured him that the warrior has honorable, and that he wouldn't be alive without him, the other legionaries said the same. There was more that Hadvar was hiding, more he knew, as they probably talked, but he didn't push it. One wrong move, even a perception that he was moving against people the man considered his friends, and his armies would get shouted to bits. Why in the hell did he try to execute the man for being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Damn those Thalmor for turning us into this, he thought. Just. Like. Them. They won the Great War, in the end.
Tullius had entered a small bookshop in a side street. It didn't produce new tomes and copies, but Tullius found comfort in the smell the used Tomes the shop sold. They also got new ones in as well, things he wouldn't normally think to read, but is always presently surprised when he picks them up. He gave a smile and nod to the Nord merchant-woman behind the counter, one with a bit of age on her like he had, and he had his eye on her. He hopped he had hers too, but wasn't brave enough to try an Amulet with her. She always warmly returned his smiles, so there was that at least.
He paused the shelves for a bit, seeing various tomes both of fiction and non fiction variety. Nothing really piqued his interest on this visit, he was mostly here for the simple presence of the merchant-woman. He did see something of interest when he got around the single shelf of new tomes. 'Recipes of The Bosmer.' He's had Bosmer cooking and it was always good, especially in the field.
Tullius turned to the woman, wanting to speak to her and hear her voice, "Ma'am, may I flip though this?"
She gave him the smile that he loved to see, "Of course, General, you needn't ask, you usually buy what you read here anyway, love."
Tullius returned the smile. He did have a chance, he thought, and his next visit on his next day off he would finally have the courage to meet her honestly. He began flipping though the tome. To his pleasant surprise, the tome wasn't just a cook book. In Bosmer fashion, the thing was a hunting guide that took you though Bosmer culture and history, and then at the back of the small dissertations, it has the recipes to cook and preserve the meat. This could be excellent for the Legion! Ever unit could have a copy, and it would give every unit a full survival and mess guide all in one! He could perhaps contract with the author to make a truncated version for military use!
The woman saw his internal excitement, "Just got it in, love. Just published too. Alyn of Ivarstead, its written by. Legion would like it, I reckon."
Tullius absentmindedly nodded, thinking of the problems this one book could solve. Then he got to the last page and almost fainted. The woman chuckled a bit and made a show of trying to catch him.
She said, "You alright, love?"
He hesitantly said, "Yeah, thanks. Lot's of war on my bones. Sometimes it's a heavy burden."
She gave him a sympathetic, almost beckoning look for the warrior to find comfort in her embrace. Tullius was nearly sweating. At the top of the page read 'Pemmican," and wondered how in the Oblivion no one else came up with this. Three simple ingredients that Skyrim, near everywhere, had in abundance. Dried meat, any, even a mix will do. Tallow. Dried berries, preferably juniper. The stuff could be made by the brick, and stored dry for months by the crate, without enchantment even! It even makes a specific note to it! Nearly every one of his logistical problems would be solved by this one page, and the rest of the tome covers when it doesn't! An army fights on it's gullet, after all.
The last line of the last page was also of great interest to Tullius. It said, "Ancient recipe of the North American Tribes, friends of other woods."
Did the people of the North American Tribes go to Valhalla when they died, he wondered? Tullius said, "I would like ten of these tomes, if you can order them for me. I would also like to marry you."
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Wilhelm was standing over his ledger at the main counter of his humble inn during a very slow period. The town had died back down to the usual din it had after the couple days of party in celebration. The Dragonborn had personally saved the town, and that was worth a good party. Even if most never saw him, they heard his Thu'um in the forests. Both to draw the beast away, then kill it.
Wilhelm smiled. He saw the Dragonborn. This was the Dragonborn's preferred inn in Ivarstead. If he didn't respect the man, not god, and his privacy he would put up the biggest sign he could buy and advertise it, and let the coin just roll in. Doing so would anger his regulars though, town crowd and drifters. Nay, the Dragonborn was just one of his usual drifters, and that spoke of honor and glory for the simple innkeep on a deeper level then just trying to make coin and boast from it.
The moment he had expected arrived. Three men in iron plate and arms walked up to his counter. He eyed them hard, steel, real steel, underneath his counter ready. The lead said, "You been givin' away free mead mate. Maven don't like that."
He nodded easily and leaned in for a more quiet conversation. He said, "I don't think what Maven think is really relevant. I think what's relevant is who I gave the free mead too."
The thug humored the innkeep, and leaned in with him. He said, "I don't think it does, mate. You're bold, I'll give it to yah. My orders were just to teach you a lesson. Now I think me and my boys will trash this place, maybe do more than teach. Maven won't mind. She can't be disrespected like that. Worth a little lost coin to prove it."
Wilhelm said, "Oh I think it does matter, when the person I gave the mead too was the Divines-blessed Dragonborn."
The thug scoffed, "Mammoth shit."
Wilhelm held up some placating hands, "That's your prerogative to think that friend. But before you do anything rash, go outside for a moment. Pull anyone, I mean anyone, aside and ask them about the dragon attack a few days ago. Most will tell you that he moved on after slaying the beast, in the five or so minutes it took. What I will tell you is that he came here, and ordered enough mead to quietly get him and his Housecarl drunk. I assure you, it was a lot. I'm also pretty sure she's his shield-maiden now. So, what exactly do you think is going to happen to not only you, but Maven's operations when they pass though again and find their favorite inn trashed, their favorite innkeep injured or dead? Over a few bottles of Black-Briar horse piss? Hmm? Ask yourselves that relevant question gentlemen."
The thug's lip twitched, but he saw the truth in the innkeep's eyes. He would still confirm the man's story however. He said, "This ain't over mate."
Wilhelm didn't hesitate. He didn't think the Dragonborn would mind invoking his name for these purposes. He would probably encourage it. He said, "You tell Maven it is over. I'll sell wherever Divines-damned mead I want here, now get the fuck out of my inn."