The place is abuzz with chatter after the fight – trial, Hadvar insists on calling it. After washing his face and having his nose and some other scrapes fixed at Hilde's insistence, he orders the legionnaires to start packing up their belongings. While this is happening, the rescue crew manage to send up some of the supplies they've brought along, with Lorius and a few others hauling them up on long ropes.

"Medical supplies, alchemical ingredients, tools, even some weapons," Brand tells me, as Bjorn notes down things in a ledger. "Not to mention the food! We don't usually receive so much, that's why we have our own garden and all,"

"I guess you can relax knowing you've got whatever you need to recover," I say, scanning the rough inventory they've laid out on the ground to sort. Orla, the gardener, is already going over the seeds that have been sent, checking to see what can be planted now and what will have to wait, and I can see Munskr and Lorius both checking out the various tools. Most of the other locals are crowding around the entryway to the path, watching the crew bridge the last few gaps.

The Stormcloaks are in their little camp area, pulling down the three tents and bundling everything up. Skorm, Thelessa, Niom and Kaleb are there, and Skjoren of course – looking more bitter than ever – but there's no sign of Jorell. Skorm glances up, seeing me watching. He says something to Thelessa and Niom before he leaves them, cutting across the clearing to me.

"How's everyone holding up?" I ask him. He shrugs, glancing back at the group.

"Da says we need to get going as soon as the team gets in," he says, his mood clearly fading. "I… I don't think Jorell's coming with us. He's said as much to me, but didn't mention it to Da."

"He's fourteen, Skorm," I remind him. "That whole thing in the Legion camp, it scared him. But it gave him a taste of what to expect."

Skorm is nodding. "I won't force him," he says carefully. "I just want to know he's safe, y'know? That there'll be someone looking out for him."

"I've already told him he's welcome at any of my homes," I reassure him. "You are, too."

Skorm falters, staring at me for a moment. He shakes his head. "I couldn't leave Da like that. He needs us, we're all he's got left. Especially after today…"

He looks back over at where Skjoren is scowling at us, but he looks away quickly. His chain mail is still torn where Hadvar's sword pierced it.

"I just worry that he's gonna lead you into a situation like what Jorell had to go through," I tell him. "We got lucky, that Hadvar was the one in charge and I was there. You might never be that lucky again."

"I know," Skorm looks back to Skjoren, who seems to be doing his usual standover bullshit with Thelessa now. "I know he's not the best person, but maybe if I hang around, if I look after him… maybe he'll change? The Captain seems to think the same."

I can't stop myself from snorting. "You know you don't believe that. I can hear it in your voice." I touch his shoulder lightly, and he looks at me again. "I get that you want to be loyal to him, but some people are just… bad. We can't help that, and the longer we hang around the more likely we are to get dragged down by them. You're seventeen; you don't have to throw your life away just because your dad's an asshole. Remember that."

There's a cheer from the group of people standing near the path as a low rumble sounds through the stone. We both look over as the cheer fades into a hush and people start to step back. I see others, new people, exiting from the path – people in gilded elven armour, and one in unerringly familiar black and gold robes. There's a moment of doubt as I idly realise people are giving him a wide berth, and I hear Skorm suck in a sharp breath beside me, but as the Thalmor turns, looks our way, I feel the biggest, stupidest grin break across my face.

"Ondolemar!"

I don't think I've ever been so happy to see him, as I race across the short gap and throw myself at him in what could be considered an attempted tackle. He takes the full force of it though, returning the embrace.

"Stand down, it's Brighid," I hear him saying to someone, and realise awkwardly that I probably looked like I was attacking him with the way I just launched myself at him. I pull back a little, feeling my chest doing that fluttery thing as he smiles at me.

"I'm so sorry for everything in Markarth, I was all over the place and I wasn't thinking properly and—"

He silences me with a quick kiss, pressing his lips to mine sweetly, chastely. I'm aware that there's a silence around us, but I could care less. He rests his forehead on mine as he pulls away, tucking my hair behind my ear. "You are forgiven," he tells me softly. I look up into his golden eyes, and recognise only the same warmth that was there that first time he confessed to me, told me how he felt. I feel myself smiling in relief as he kisses my cheek, turning his attention to the rest of the people gathered.

"Igmund Hrolfdirsson has sent the supplies and aid that was requested," he announces, looking around at the group. I realise that most of them look to be in various states of shock or surprise, staring between me and Ondolemar. "If there are any with severe injury in need of attention, please step forward and Vaaria will assist."

I manage not to let the smile falter at the mention of Vaaria. Of course she'd be here, he never goes anywhere without her. Nobody steps forward, though, which I consider to be something of a relief.

"None at all?" Ondolemar asks, scanning the group again. Some glance at each other, but I still have my arm around his waist and give him a light squeeze.

"Hilde is a very skilled healer," I tell him, nodding at Hilde. She's standing a little further back, and blushes at my comment as Brand steps forward.

"We, er, appreciate the work you've put in," he says, somewhat awkwardly, not really meeting Ondolemar's eyes. "You've truly helped us—"

"I've saved your little village, no need to be modest," Ondolemar replies, "You're welcome. Are you the leader?"

Brand nods nervously, glancing up briefly but not holding eye contact too long. Submissive.

"Sir, there's Stormcloaks here," one of the other elves says softly to Ondolemar, so softly I almost don't hear – but I feel the sudden tension in his back, the way his arm, still around my shoulders, curls in almost protectively. Fuck, I have to defuse this.

"They're friendly," I tell him quietly, moving to get into his line of sight as some of the locals start to filter away. "They've been helping us get by, pitching in where needed…"

The Thalmor soldier that told Ondolemar is giving me a stony glare, but I can't see Ondolemar's expression fully. "They are Stormcloaks," he says softly. "It is tantamount to treason to let them go free, if that is what you are trying to ask for."

I know I'm lying when I say they've been helping – Kaleb and Skjoren have done nothing but antagonise, but the rest of them haven't been terrible. Nevertheless, I want to try and spare them all, including Skjoren; not for his sake, but for Jorell and Skorm's.

"Most of them aren't a problem," Hadvar says, stepping up from the group. I don't know when he managed it but he's in a fresh set of armour and kit, looking ready to go. There's no sign of this morning's fight on him, and I realise he's wearing studded armour – not as light as the leathers he was in originally. "The leader seems to be the most trouble, the rest are… shall we say, losing faith."

"An interesting statement," Ondolemar says, turning to Hadvar. "And you are?"

"Captain Olansson of the Twelfth Battalion," Hadvar replies, using his soldier voice. "We were here for a training exercise when the Stormcloaks moved in. They were unaware of our presence, but had cut off our access. We didn't have the numbers to take them on, and had reason to believe they were keeping the locals hostage."

Ondolemar seems to contemplate this information for a moment, before snapping his fingers.

"Collect anyone in Stormcloak colours, bring them here."

I pull away, moving in front of Ondolemar. "They're not all bad people, they were just following their orders."

"Yes, but as I'm sure you're aware, "following orders" does not hold water in a trial," Ondolemar replies, not looking at me. I realise that Skorm retreated at some point, and he and Thelessa are near the campsite with Kaleb. They start to back away as two of the Thalmor soldiers start towards them. "Round them up, bring them before me."

"Ondolemar, they're not a danger," I tell him, moving to put myself in his line of sight again. I hear someone draw their sword, a shout, and turn to see one of the soldiers shoot a jet of sparks at Kaleb, dropping him. "No, stop! Don't fight them, please!"

Thelessa and Skorm don't need the urging, but I see them look at me, both afraid as they surrender to the Thalmor and get brought over, shoved to their knees. Kaleb puts up a struggle, and I feel my hand wrapped around Ondolemar's arm as I look up to see him watching impassively.

"Here's another!"

I turn, as Kovalt waves an arm at Niom. He's had the sense to leave his mantle off, but he doesn't try to resist Kovalt shoving him forward. People scramble out of the way as he stumbles, raising his hands as another Thalmor soldier grabs him roughly, dragging him over. Julette cries out, but her father pulls her back, stopping her from following Niom.

It takes me only a moment to realise Skjoren isn't here, and I look at Hadvar; he's also noticed. Of all the people to go missing, Skjoren is probably the main one I'd be careful of. I scan the crowd to be sure, most of which are moving back, talking in hushed tones. Jorell is near the back, looking stricken, and I realise I need to try and make sure Skorm survives this. Ideally Skjoren, too, but definitely Skorm.

"So, you've apparently proven yourselves good citizens," Ondolemar says to the four Stormcloaks as Niom is shoved to his knees. "But good citizenship does not necessitate an exemption from breaching the White-Gold Concordat. Why shouldn't I simply execute each of you here and now?"

"Ondolemar!"

He doesn't look back at me, despite the indignation I can hear in my own voice. I've seen him doing his Justiciar thing before, and this looks exactly like it, but I know that I need to stop him. I can't, in good conscience, let him just end the lives of the people before him.

Thelessa and Skorm look at each other, visibly afraid, though Kaleb is glaring at Ondolemar coldly. Niom has his eyes on the ground, and I see his lips move, hear a soft murmur from him. The soldier next to him cuffs him over the back of the head.

"Speak up, dog."

"I-I renounce the Stormcloaks," Niom says, his voice trembling. "W-worship of Talos is wrong, I've come to understand that in my time here. I wish only to live out my life, if you'll allow it."

"Niom!"

Julette is in tears, still being held back by her father, but I see Ondolemar's eyes land on her for a moment before they fixate on Niom, dark shades of orange betraying his anger. He strides forward, grabbing the front of Niom's shirt and pulling him up, lifting him off the ground. I sense Hadvar beside me as Ondolemar raises his hand, energy pulsating between his fingers.

"Know that your next words will either be the truth or your last. Do you vow to never indulge in Talos worship for as long as you live?"

Niom's eyes, terrified, are fixed on Ondolemar, and as I move to start forward I feel Hadvar's hand on my shoulder, holding me back.

"I vow," Niom says.

"Good," Ondolemar's lips curl into a sickening smile, and he presses one finger to Niom's cheek, zapping him before dropping him. Niom hits the ground with a yelp of pain, hand going to the spot where he was zapped. Near the back of the group, Kovalt cries out sharply, reeling back from Julette as she races over to Niom, gathering him in her arms as she looks up at Ondolemar, in obvious fear. He doesn't seem moved, instead turning away from them and looking at Skorm, Thelessa, and Kaleb.

"Anybody else have a change of loyalty?" He asks.

"So this is your partner?" Hadvar murmurs softly beside my ear. "You've got… interesting taste."

Interesting taste. Wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him. Scared he can't control you. I hear it racing around in my head, the various comments people have said about my relationship with Ondolemar and his position. I can hear my own voice, chanting responses to each. He's not like that. He wouldn't do that. He's different when it's just us.

Maybe it's time to test his commitment.

I shake my head as I hear her voice, but I'm already striding forward and stepping between Ondolemar and the three Stormcloaks.

"Brighid, this is the last—"

"I would be dead if it weren't for them," I lie. I have no idea why I'm saying it, and I know there's plenty of people here who could easily refute that, easily say I'm lying, but something in me says they won't. "I owe them a life debt. You don't have to release them. You can just say you never apprehended them."

"Brighid!" Ondolemar looks scandalised at my suggestiong, and glances around before leaning closer. "It is treason to let them go!"

"You have magic on your side, and you've got a small army," I remind him. "Give them two hours; it's enough time to get down the mountain. Two hours, and then you can have open season."

He opens his mouth to speak, to say something, but it seems to get lost in his throat. I reach out, touching his cheek gently.

"Please, Ondolemar. If you care about us, our future, you would give them that, at least."

It feels low, slimy, gross to use our relationship as a bargaining chip, but I can see the way he falters, the way my statement makes him pause, seem to reflect and re-evaluate his position. He sighs thunderously, pulling away from my touch as he looks away.

"Two hours," he snaps, looking past me to the trio. "You have that long to get away and hide. You will not be given another chance. Let them up."

"Sir?" One of the soldiers looks shocked, staring between me and Ondolemar. "Are you—"

"I gave you an order, I expect to be obeyed."

I step back, feeling the force from his words. The soldiers look uncertain now, but one of them pulls Skorm to his feet and gives him a rough shove.

"Get moving, then!"

Skorm pauses, looking at me, and I can see his fear, his uncertainty. Skjoren still hasn't shown himself, and as Kaleb is dragged to his feet and shoved in the same direction with Thelessa, I remember that command falls to Skorm in his father's absence.

Ondolemar grabs my arm roughly, pulling me close. I can sense his frustration, the barely-concealed fury that's turning his eyes darker. His thin fingers dig into my arm painfully, but I manage not to show it.

"I hope you realise what you've just done," he hisses at me. "If this gets reported, it is on you."

I know I lied, but given the circumstances I thought he might be more… well, not so quick to anger. Happier to see me. I know what he's putting on the line for me, though, and I look down.

"I'm sorry,"

"Let's hope Elenwen extends such forgiveness," he says through his teeth, letting me go as he turns back to the few others still standing around.

Movement.

I see the shadow but it's too late – Skjoren has leapt from the rocky crag he was hiding behind, hurling himself at Ondolemar, sunlight flashing off the blade of his axe. People cry out, scrambling back as he lets loose a war cry and swinging at both of us. There's a force against my side, and I'm thrown clear as Skjoren screams, thrown back from a blast of storm magic. Hadvar is there, pulling me up as Skjoren staggers, Ondolemar hitting him with lightning again, holding the surge long enough to make Skjoren fall to the ground. He stops, advancing on Skjoren, kicking the man's axe aside as he tries to scramble for it, and then kicking him over, onto his back.

Ondolemar's expression is cold, apathetic as he presses the heel of his boot against Skjoren's throat – but then he looks up at me. Thelessa, Kaleb and Skorm are still there, backed against the stone, and I can see Jorell, moving forward, watching as his father is struggling on the ground, Niom holding Julette against him as he tucks her head into the crook of his neck, forcing her to look away. Skjoren is gagging, choking as Ondolemar presses down with his heel, looking almost bored as Skjoren, weakened by the storm magic, struggles.

I know the Thalmor can be brutal, but I didn't realise they were this bad.

"Does your forgiveness extend to this one?" Ondolemar asks almost mockingly as he looks at me. I stare at him, my brain taking a few moments to catch up. Hadvar's arm is looped under mine, still there after he pulled me up, but as the realisation hits me I feel my knees go weak.

Ondolemar is asking me permission to kill.

I don't want to give the order. Is it murder if I tell someone else they can? He'd do it if not for the concession he gave them at my insistence, so does withdrawing Skjoren from that count as killing him myself?

He was trying to kill someone.

Hadvar is watching me, and I feel his arm tighten around me reassuringly, eyes locking on to mine briefly before he looks over to Ondolemar.

"Execute him,"

I don't know what I expected – a sword through the torso, an axe removing the head, hell even a fireball. I don't expect him to use storm magic again.

I can't watch. The screams, choked and strained by the pressure on his throat, still manage to echo across the mountain, and I feel Hadvar pull me against his chest, curling himself around me protectively. I can still see past his shoulders, can see Jorell held back by Brand, turned away like I am. I see Brand glance at us, see him nod, feel Hadvar nod back silently. Others are in similar poses, people unable to look or forced not to look as the slow, torturous death is handed down.

The screaming eventually fades into a choked series of gurgles, before finally stopping; though it feels like it takes ages. I realise I'm clinging to Hadvar, nails digging into his armour as I bury my face in his chest. I can feel the dampness on my cheeks as I pull away, the bitter mountain air stinging the tear tracks as I look around.

"Let that be a lesson on how the Thalmor handle Talos worshippers – and Stormcloak rebels," Ondolemar says, speaking loudly and clearly as he addresses the audience. I look up to see Skorm, devastated, rooted to the spot. Thelessa is clinging to him, though Kaleb is gone. The pair of them still stand with their backs to stone as Ondolemar turns towards them. "You are wasting your precious time."

Skorm looks past him, at me, and I nod, softly whispering go. I can't imagine anything worse than being electrocuted to death, but to have seen your father killed like that… I want to hug him, want to go comfort Jorell, but I know that, at least for Skorm, time is running. I gesture with my head, telling him to go, and he seems to come to his senses, glances at Ondolemar fearfully, but allows Thelessa to pull him after her.

Ondolemar looks around the group, impassive gaze scanning everyone as though he can see right through them. And maybe he can. I stare at him, feeling a deep nausea in my stomach; I didn't know he was capable of that level of brutality, but it seems I don't know Ondolemar as well as I thought I did.