Stendarr's Dragon

by Midnight Coffee 64

I've decided to write a story based on my very first Dovahkiin, the Breton Paladin Cura! Raised in the Vigil of Stendarr, she goes on to save Skyrim in times of crisis in a Season Unending! Humble and meek by nature, Cura finds her values and general disposition challenged by the brutal world around her. *Decided to write this since Skyrim's 10th Anniversary! :)*

153. Promises of the Daedra Part 6

Lucien strolled through Riften, pondering Inigo's experience at the Peace Meeting in Whiterun. Could there really be an alliance between the Legion and the Stormcloaks? He thought it was quite absurd that the Empire hadn't already crushed the Stormcloaks, yet here they were, at this juncture. Cooperation seemed to be in the air, evidenced by Jarl Laila resuming her duties just hours before. Imperial Legionnaires were seen entering the city, quietly collaborating with the Rift Guards to strengthen the city's gates and walls.

Venturing into the back alleys, he came upon a hooded woman in tears before the Shrine of Talos pressed against the wall. As the Soldiers of the Rift worked to remove Talos from his pedestal, her sobs grew wild with despair. Her attire suggested she was a priestess. Moved by her sorrow, he drew near. "Excuse me, ma'am. Are you quite all right?" he inquired with gentle concern.

The woman tensed for a moment before turning to confront him. Her face, marked by the streaks of her tears, was flushed, and her eyelids puffy. As her gaze fixed on him, her eyes widened with fury, and she drew back her hand, poised to deliver a stinging slap. "Imperial Bastard!" she cried out, her voice breaking with a sob.

Her slap was solid and connected with his cheek firmly, causing the Imperial mage to stumble backwards. "Ow!"

"This is your fault! All yours!" she cried out, her voice a blend of anguish and rage as she kept hitting him. "You Imperials stripped us of our rights, you took my daughter away, and now you desecrate Talos!" Her accumulated fury was unleashed upon Lucien, yet the Imperial held back, refusing to retaliate.

"Ow! Please, stop!" Lucien pleaded kindly. "I don't want to hurt you! I... OW!" He took a solid punch in the nose, and blood quickly began to run down from his left nostril. He quickly pinched his nose and cast a Healing Spell. The priestess continued to throw punches at him, and the guards nearby stood against the wall and laughed, enjoying the show.

"You've ruined everything!" The priestess delivered another solid punch to the side of his face, causing him to stumble backward into the fence that bordered the Black-Briars' backyard.

Lucien held up his hands. "I wanted to see if you were all right, but if you're going to be a hateful nutter, you can just rot!"

"GRAH!"The priestess lunged once more, aiming a solid punch that missed Lucien's face and struck the iron gate of the fence instead, producing a resonant clang. The crunch of her knuckles was also audible, and she swiftly clutched her hand, which throbbed with pain.

Lucien shook his head. "You act as though we're these boogeymen, out to destroy you. We're not!"

"I can't believe Unmid let her do it... he let her cave to your thrice-damned Empire!" the priestess spat as she observed her dislodged knuckles which were already beginning to swell beneath her pale flesh.

"Why all the hatred for the Empire?"Lucien felt compelled to inquire, sensing the personal nature of her situation after she mentioned her daughter. Opting for civility, he cast a Healing spell on her injured hand and hoped she wouldn't attempt to strangle him or worse.

The effect was apparent, perplexing the fury-fueled priestess. She observed in bewilderment as her bones realigned under the golden light. Why would this Imperial assist her? Had he not realized that his presence was baleful to her?

"Talos is part of our culture. He's part of our heritage and our tradition. He's Skyrim personified. To suddenly have all that wrenched away is like losing someone you hold dearly in your heart. The Empire already took my daughter from us, but by Talos they will not take our homeland!" the woman tried to regain her calm, at least enough to answer his questions. A wound in her heart reopened as she watched the men heave her god away, carrying his form through the alleys to be likely disposed of, for all she knew. And the Shrine itself would be next, as it appeared the Stormcloaks caved to the damned Elves, once and for all.

A dark day it was.

"Now that the Imperial blight has poisoned Riften, the worship of Talos is strictly forbidden by the terms of the White-Gold Concordat." the Priestess growled under her breath. "They can defile our shrine, they can arrest our people and they can silence our voices, but the Empire will never destroy our spirit. As long as we keep Talos in our heart, his legacy will never die."

Lucien watched solemnly with her as Talos was carried off. He had never really been well-acquainted with the Ninth, but he knew for a fact that he was true. "I agree with you. It's a damned shame that they're taking Talos away... after what he did for us in Windhelm, he ought to be praised sevenfold."

The priestess was confused hearing him say this. An Imperial, talking up Talos for a change. "Pardon me?"

"Oh, yes. I saw him, you know." Lucien informed her with an honest peer. "When we fought the Daedra. Ulfric called on Talos and he answered his prayer, raining lightning down on the Daedric army and Mehrunes Dagon himself."

"Then... that noise which shook the skies more than a week's time ago..." the Priestess recalled hearing a roar in the skies some time ago, even as far south as Riften. People were alarmed by it, but unable to explain what had occurred exactly.

Lucien agreed with a nod. "It was Talos. His face appeared in the clouds above us. I witnessed it myself. It was astounding," he said. Turning to the Priestess, his face still showing the marks of her fists, he attempted to comfort her. "With or without the statue, Talos remains indelible. He exists not only in your heart but also in the heavens, in the aether. He is omnipresent. Let the Elves believe they have triumphed. It'll only make them complacent for when their reckoning comes."

He spoke with stern conviction, clear to any who despised the Thalmor. He perceived not the swords of a Nord or Imperial, but rather the lethal essence of the Eagle's Talons poised to strike as they battled amongst themselves.

The Nord priestess' expression evolved from a look of ardent shock to grave remorse. "Gods..." she looked at what she had done to Lucien in her blind rage, and was taken aback. He was the first Imperial she'd seen in ages, and she released her anger onto him, for no other reason than his race. She hadn't even factored in the possibility that there could be Imperials who worshipped or at least honoured Talos. "I'm so sorry. Here, come closer. It's all right; I won't hit you again."

Lucien approached her with reluctance, and she cast a Healing Spell on him, healing the most severe bruises on his face. "I... I don't know what came over me. It was very unbecoming of a priestess to act that way towards you. Gods, forgive me." she said. Once she calmed down, her meek demeanour returned.

As he was being healed, Lucien had to ask, "You mentioned you had a daughter who was taken from you... what happened?"

"I trained our daughter Lilija as a healer... to one day tend the Shrine of Talos and replace me as a Priestess of Talos. When the fighting began over the White-Gold Concordat, she ran off to join the Stormcloaks. She had her father's fire, how could I say no?" The priestess completed the healing of his wounds and retreated with a somber expression. The seriousness of the recollection was evident in her tone, and her voice trembled. "She died out there, only having tended to the wounded soldiers for a few months. We never even found her body... the Empire burned all the dead."

Lucien rubbed his temples, a gesture of deep sorrow. The tragedy was immense, an event that should have never occurred. "How many similar tales have been left untold?" he wondered aloud. "Gods, it's heartbreaking. This strife has claimed too many lives—all for that blasted Concordat. A Concordat ought to herald an era of peace. Those rotten Elves knew what they were doing. Their prohibition of Talos worship was a calculated move, aimed not only at severing your ties with us, the Imperials, but also at belittling the very essence of our Empire. Talos wasn't merely our deity; he was the founder of the Septim Empire, the Dragonborn, the Dragon of the North - akin to my friend, in some respects."

"Hold a second - your friend was the Dragonborn?" the priestess inquired. "You're the one helped her fight those damned vampires then, aren't you?"

Lucien nodded. "I am one of the Dawnguard, technically. Yes."

"And you helped her get the means to stop Alduin, too. I've heard of you: Lucien Flavius, right? You helped vanquish much great evil from our world." the priestess sounded impressed. "I'm really sorry for how I acted. That is not how you treat a person."

Lucien scoffed. "Certainly not, I'd say."

The priestess extended a hand for a shake. "My name is Nura Snow-Shod; Priestess of Talos. Talos bless you, my child."

"I sure hope so. I feel these days that we could use all the blessings we can get." Lucien responded dryly. "Especially now that the Thalmor likely know about this peace treaty - or have a finger in it somewhere." he pointed to her Amulet of Talos. "You will need to hide that - I'm sorry to say it. I can hold onto it for you if you'd like, if the Elves come investigating peoples' houses, like they've been known to do."

Nura looked down at the Amulet hung around her neck, and clenched it in her hand. "I cannot do that, friend. I am his priestess. It would be a blasphemy of blasphemies if I forewent it due to fear of the damned Elves."

Lucien tried to find another way to persuade her to wisdom. "No offense, but I think you could do much more for Talos alive than dead. Those Elves will no doubt want your head. And you still have a family right? Don't put yourself in that position. Go inside the Temple of Mara, hide the Amulet with me, and if they see you there they'll assume you're a Follower of Mara, like Dinya and Maramal."

"That may be the Imperial way of doing things, but to a Nord that is a craven thing to do." Nura refused again. "I have to go down a martyr. It's the only way to honour Talos."

"Fine, you'll go down a martyr, but you'll leave your other children behind. And your husband. And then who'll tend the Shrine of Talos when we restore it?" Lucien proposed from another angle.

"If I cower to the elves, Talos will never show his face to me." Nura expressed her deep-seated fear.

"You Priests are always saying how Talos loves the Red Legions. I've heard that Heimskr fellow before." Lucien paced the floor before her, being watched by the City Guards, who seemed to be absorbing his words. They were impressed by his concern, to say the least. "I'm a 'dirty Imperial Bastard' and yet Talos saved me, as well. I was on that battlefield! If Talos would turn his eyes from those who can't follow him because of the elves and their influence, he would have let Dagon just kill me and my non-Nord friends! But he didn't! His voice roared like a tornado and blasted them to Oblivion!"

He extended a hand, willing to accept the Amulet. "Trust me, Nura. You can do more for Talos if the Elves don't realize who you are. Dying a martyr is fine, but you can live with honour too. Don't give them a reason to suspect you to begin with."

Especially now, if they had to cooperate with the elves, this could tear the whole deal asunder. And then Mehrunes would storm in and finish the job. He tried to convey that point, and Nura seemed to finally realize what he was saying. There was a bigger threat in the air, and that's the only reason why they had to work with the Empire and the Thalmor. It wasn't a matter of concession, but of survival.

"You are wise beyond your years." Nura conceded, removing her Amulet from her neck. "Just... take care of it, please. Don't let the elves catch you with it either."

"I promise." Lucien accepted it and wore it around his neck, and then tucked it under his cuirass. "And if they do see it, better around my neck than yours."

---

Inigo entered the underground sanctuary beneath Windhelm after casting a Fast Travel there. He descended the gloomy underground refuge and entered the expansive caverns below, greeted by Galmar Stone-Fist immediately.

"Inigo, you're back. I hope the news is good." Galmar crossed his arms.

"Lots of good news, and some controversial news, I am afraid." Inigo began. "Ulfric is alive, and he went to Riften. Then to Whiterun, and I may have negotiated an alliance with the Legion and the Thalmor..."

Galmar's eyes flashed wildly in that moment as the information sunk in. "Thank Talos he's alive, but... you did WHAT?"

Inigo scratched the itch on his forehead. "Yes... well... we are going to move the Refugees from the Spire to Winterhold's College grounds. Jarl Korir will allow it, and it may be a safer place in the near future."

"Why? What's going to happen in the near future, Inigo? IS it yet another thing for us all to worry about?" snidely asked Vilja from atop an overturned bit of rubble nearby, who was sitting with Carene and the children.

Inigo waved to Vilja, and then addressed her and Galmar both. "The Empire agreed to supply the Stormcloaks with soldiers and weaponry, as well as the Thalmor, so that we can fight the Daedra better. I do not need to tell you how deadly the Daedra were."

Galmar was displeased by these developments. He took off his Stormcloak Officer's Bear pelt and dusted it off. His eyes bored into Inigo's own. "Yes. Don't remind me. We lost a lot of good men and women to those bastards. And now it's the end for us. The Thalmor and the Empire are going to finish what they started against us. Mark my words."

"Ulfric and the others agreed to it." Inigo informed him.

Vilja stood up and walked around the rubble, approaching Inigo directly. "Things must be desperate for Skyrim to join together like that. I never would have expected it. But... how will we bring the people to Winterhold like you said? We can't just magic them there - I don't think you can Fast Travel this many people at once."

"If Jarl Ulfric agreed to it, then I guess I have to get used to it." Galmar agreed reluctantly. "Anyways, these people aren't Horkers. We can't just swim them all the way through the frozen river and around through the Sea of Ghosts to reach it. The Bridge is down, so we can't just usher them across and have 'em go by carriage."

Vilja looked to Inigo. "And you look very tired, Inigo. Obviously you haven't had a good night's sleep in ages, but the bags under your eyes look like potato sacks." She touched his cheek underneath the sagging skin. "Not as tired as I am, though, I'm sure. I haven't slept in... how long have we been down here?" she lost track of the time and faltered in her counting of days; she just knew she'd grown older in that time, somewhat.

Inigo pulled back lightly. "Yes; and it feels as though there are needles in my eyes. I slept a little bit the night before, but it was nowhere near enough."

"Do I have bags too, Inigo? Don't be afraid; I can handle it." Vilja raised a torch which was lain on the stone nearby to her face, casting light over it and revealing her own unkempt visage.

"Er... yes. You do." Inigo said nervously, uncertain as to how she would handle it.

And sure enough, he had a right, as Vilja immediately soured. "You jerk! You weren't supposed to actually say it!" she admonished him furiously. "You try staying awake with three children for a straight week and few days!"

Inigo was taken aback by her hostility, but felt a wall of frustration push his tongue forward. "Oh yeah? You try losing your best friend, being forced to kill the mother of a nice mage girl, being forced to mediate between hostile thick-headed pigs, fighting Daedra, and travelling the hostile landscape, and then come whine to me!"

Vilja's jaw fell open in that instant, and the peering eyes around them were fixed on her and Inigo under the silence of the caverns. She retorted quickly. "Hey, Cura was my friend too! Do you think it didn't affect me?"

"You did not know her!" Inigo threw back at her. "You were with us for a little period of time and all you did was nag her and demand we help you with your problems!"

Vilja squeaked with offense. "How dare you! I was just as much a part of the team as you were! I helped her on the Wyrm hunt!"

"Yes; when she did not need your help; and you act like your problems are the biggest, even now!" Inigo snapped at her. "You asked me a question, I answered it, and you get angry with me. I do not know what your problem is!"

Vilja growled angrily and slammed her foot on the ground. "I have been trapped underground for a week! A WEEK! For the love of Mara, have a little compassion!"

Tarvyn, the leader of the Wretched Spire residents, stood up and walked over. "She does have a point; I'm pretty sure it's safe to go back up there by now, isn't it?" he asked Inigo directly.

Inigo was not entirely certain, himself, but all he'd seen of Daedra were the ash piles left on the fields. "Yes; I saw no sign of Mehrunes Dagon anywhere."

"Then we should get going to where - Winterhold, was it?" Tarvyn tried to recall the name.

The gambling fools Ninette and Sunel immediately began to cheer. "WOOHOO! WIN-TER-HOLD! WIN-TER-HOLD!" Their reactions confused Inigo greatly and Tarvyn clarified.

"They plan to open a Gambling Hall there eventually." he explained.

"And I hope you will graciously allow me to run the Tales of Tribute tables?" Helvia Muco, an Imperial commoner spoke up from the eastern corner of the Spire camp. "For real, Sunel - you can't just leave me out of this gig. Please?"

"You are serious? A Gambling Hall... in Winterhold?" Inigo asked, recalling the desolate landscape surrounding the college. "Er, well; you do you I guess." Though, seeing the Dunmer faces in the crowd, he couldn't help but think about how happy Azura would be to see her people return to Winterhold from the cliffs above.

"We're still not talking." the Dunmer responded coldly to the other refugee, crossing his arms and looking away from her, spurning her again.

Ninette scoffed at her. "Yeah - take a hint. You said he was obnoxious and foolish. You wished the Bladebearers would cut him in half."

Helvia looked perturbed by the notion. "I didn't actually mean it. We had an argument! By the Eight - over that, you would keep me out of such a fun venture?"

Vilja crossed her arms and huffed away from Inigo, opting instead to rejoin Carene, Lillian, Aventus, Grimvar, and Sofie. Inigo was still upset by how callous she had acted, but at the same time felt a semblance of guilt for how he overreacted. He was tired, and the frustration crept up on his back like a Frostbite Spider. He addressed Galmar again. "Ulfric will likely be back in Windhelm soon and he will figure out how to get you out of here with the Legion's help - everybody needs to go inside the city now - take in some of the sunlight. You all could definitely use it."

Orthus Endario and Adelaisa Vendicci of the East Empire Company, surrounded by the Argonian Dock workers, overheard what they were saying. Adelaisa spoke her piece. "You said the Legion and the Stormcloaks are allies now? Good; that should make it easier for shipments to arrive. We may be able to bring in proper ships and carriages. Unfortunately, I can't write to my superiors in the Imperial City at the moment, but no doubt they'll know what to expect if Ulfric really decided to cooperate." The Legionnaire herself seemed a tad unconvinced, even in spite of the fact Ulfric allowed her and Orthus to take refuge under the city with his citizens.

Orthus felt the need to call her attention to that fact. "Jarl Ulfric sheltered us from the Daedra Threat, as well, Ma'am."

Adelaisa paused for a moment before speaking again. "That may be true - but it was likely a strategic show of goodwill towards the Empire rather than any charity on his part."

Galmar crossed his arms and shook his head. "No; we had no intention of surrendering to the damn Empire - or even this weird fever dream we've entered into now. Jarl Ulfric saved your sorry hides and the lizards, because you live in his city. And technically out of it in the lizards' case."

Hearing that claim, Adelaisa was surprised. "Really?" Galmar nodded to reassure her rather than speaking about it again, and it began to sink in. "I... I suppose I may have misjudged him."

Rolff Stone-Fist spoke aloud, over the broken architecture and around the gathering crowd of Windhelm Citizens, war survivors, and Spire Refugees. "Hey! Are they all leavin'? Good! I'm glad to be rid of all these damn foreigners!"

Captain Gjalund, who stood nearby with his crew, shook his head disapprovingly at the ignoramus. "And I'm sure they'll be glad to be rid of you, too, loudmouth."

Faltonia, the innkeeper from Wretched Spire, nodded with amusement as she continued to shine a tankard with a cloth beside Brunwulf Free-Winter. "Won't be rid of me, though. I think I might stay here in Windhelm after all."

Tarvyn seemed surprised, given that this Winterhold city seemed to be all but a promised land for them. "Really? You don't want to come with us to Winterhold?"

Faltonia shook her head. "I rather like being in a city that has big walls at a time like this." Her statement garnered a response from Vilja, who hadn't been far from their general area.

"You'd prefer Solitude, then, trust me. Imperials have a much warmer welcome over there!" the Nord bard informed her frankly.

Rolff Stone-Fist sneered at the snobbish Imperial woman. "Yeah, I think I'd like you better if you were in Solitude, too. Or Winterhold. Just anywhere but here. And what's this crap I was hearing about an Imperial-Stormcloak-Thalmor alliance? Have you all lost your damned minds? How about we all just lie down wit' our asses hangin' off a bed for the Empire? Think they'll be gentle?"

Galmar shook his head. "Ignorant, as always. We adapt, Rolff. That's what we do; what we've always done. We do what we have to do for the good of Skyrim... as much as we might hate it." He gestured towards the Spire refugees. "And these lot have come a long way to be here, sanctioned by the Dragonborn, apparently. They've gotta adapt too. So far, next to our own citizens, they've been the best behaved." he glared at his brother and Angrenor specifically when he said this, noting what he'd heard about and observed of their reactions towards the people.

Tarvyn echoed his sentiment. "Having another chance at life is a special gift; as hard as it will be, we'll do what we can to help this land. You have my word." the Dunmer held a hand over his chest as he declared this, calling to mind his own father's sentiment from the day their settlement was yanked into Oblivion. "I will forever be grateful to the Dragonborn for this second chance she's given us."

Stighelm sat cross-legged on the ground, his back to the refugees. He looked up at Galmar. "I'm a Nord, same as all of you, but from your Ancestors' time. My blood flows with the ice of Atmora, and my lungs blow the frigid winds of Eastmarch. I'm no foreigner - I've just been away for too long."

Decanus rubbed his hands together near the fire, which was beginning to wane. The cool air was creeping in, and the kindling was dwindling. "I sure hope the rescue arrives soon. Otherwise it may grow much colder down here."

Inigo scoffed at him, speaking up at last. "Then you definitely will not like the world above ground. Heh, heh. It is freezing out there. I am thankful that the gods have given me fur."

Brunwulf turned to Faltonia, his curiosity piqued. "When all this is over and done with; the Daedra put down, order restored... what do you plan to do?"

Faltonia glanced at Brunwulf, then at the Windhelm locals huddled further down the ruins. Their fire was flickering out, and their faces were blurring into the shadows. "Well... if Elda's swamped at Candlehearth Hall, I could chip in. After all, I've done my time in a tavern for what feels like eons. I do miss the Splintered Tankard a tad. Perhaps Candlehearth Hall could be my new haunt... along with its regulars." she mused, tracing her fingers along Brunwulf's arm, circling his tricep, then coiling her wrist around his forearm, resting her head on his shoulder.

Brunwulf was open to the suggestion. "Elda probably won't fuss about it, considering your help. Plus, a dash of elegance is just what Windhelm needs," he said, stroking her cheek tenderly while the onlookers executed an eye-roll with such impeccable timing, it could have been choreographed.

The atmosphere became increasingly uncomfortable as all eyes were trained on them. Faltonia withdrew and started to fan herself with her hand. "My, it's hot in here."

Inigo swiveled from the silly romantic comedy amidst the rubble to tackle the pressing issues, "How is Delphine doing?"

Galmar shook his head. From his expression alone Inigo could surmise that the news wasn't the best. "Not very well; she's stable, but... well... you'll see. They're near the back, with the other... what'd they rebrand themselves as, now? Skyguard? Yeah - Annekke, Stenvar and Mjoll and the other ones. And the Shor's Stone miners."

Nurelion and Quintus Navale, the apothecaries of Windhelm, stood over Delphine, and the aged Altmer looked distressed. "Quintus, could you fetch me a copy of The Firmament? I need to compare the old star charts to today's."

The young Imperial furrowed his brows. "Did they really record the star positions from Curalmil's tomb? There's no way it's that precise."

"Confound it, boy, I know what I'm doing. It will help me determine the season of his burial, which I can cross-reference." Nurelion snapped at him as he noted down a location on a map he was holding in his hands.

"I... I apologize, master." Quintus lowered his eyes.

"Don't waste time apologizing, just find the book!" the old Altmer snapped at his protege as he continued to obsess over his markings. "Hmm... no... maybe a tad over to the west, by 30 yards. Yes, that would make more sense."

Quintus looked through a knapsack beside an apothecary's satchel, and he fished out a book with a purple hard cover. He quickly held it under a Candlelight spell so that his master could single out a place on the map. As he flipped through the pages, the elder tweaked his coordinates based on the season and alignments of the elusive Serpent.

"She needs it, or she'll die. In fact, if I could just get it... we could save people indefinitely - there'd be no lack of Health Potions if I..." he immediately began to cough into his hand, and his knees buckled.

Quintus quickly came to his aid and lowered his feeble teacher to the ground, easing him into a seated position where his weary legs could settle. He warned him with prudence, "Master, you're far too old for this sort of journey. We don't know what's inside..."

Nurelion refused his aid, attempting to stand immediately. "I'll... I can... just..." his knees buckled again, and with a painful grunt he tumbled into his assistant's arms once more.

"You see, you're not well! Have a seat and I'll fetch you some tonic." Quintus noted towards the satchel nearby lain upon a piece of broken building as he ushered him to the floor adjacent to Delphine and Esbern, laying his back to a stone for support.

Nurelion shook his head and waved his arm. "Bah. If there was a tonic that could help me, I would have found it by now..." Exhaustion settled in, and the stale air was doing him no favours either. He observed the wounded surrounding him and shook his head sadly. "Doesn't matter anyways. We're all going to die."

Filnjar offered the old man some water. "Here, quit your bellyachin' and drink."

Esbern observed Inigo's arrival and shook his head, a mix of relief and annoyance crossing his face due to Inigo's extended absence. "You've been away for quite some time, Inigo... I trust you bring us good news."

Inigo grit his teeth and shrugged. "Well, it seems to be as good as you want it to be. I successfully made a peace treaty between the Legion, the Stormcloaks, and the Thalmor in dealing with this Daedra crisis."

Esbern had mixed feelings about it, and it was very much evident before he could open his mouth. "It's a fine thing you've done, halting the bloodshed between Skyrim's factions, but... the Thalmor will not bode well for us. Surely you must understand that. Delphine and I have been wanted by the Thalmor for decades. And given our current conditions, you may very well have doomed us."

"I know. Do you think I wanted it to be this way? No. There was no other choice." Inigo spoke with conviction as he watched Delphine, who lay before him in a pitiable state, her skin growing pale, sweat chilling her brow, her hair disheveled, and her body swathed in numerous bandages. He never intended to bring doom upon their doorstep, yet the Thalmor would have emerged as a latent threat or discovered them in their weakened state eventually, regardless of his actions. At least now that they had an alliance, tenuous as it may be, he could perhaps hold some say over their fates, as he had with Heimskr, at least, he hoped. "She is still unwell?" It was evident to him that her condition had deteriorated since he last saw her.

Esbern shook his head regretfully. "She's dying, Inigo..." His disposition was lowered; defeated, causing a cold chill to ride up Inigo's spine. "Nothing we've done has worked. The Daedra's weapons have scarred her too deep; ordinary Healing Potions have little effect to stall the bleeding."

Lyranth, the Bladebearer Dremora, chimed in from the shadows. "Mehrunes Dagon has been plotting this assault on the mortal realm for hundreds of years. Ever since his humiliation by the spirit of Akatosh. His Dremora Kynvals wield weapons burdened by the hatred of man, designed to stall healing effects. It is truly dastardly. Rynkyus and the others had spoken of hearing about this, but it appeared to simply be rumours. We remained at Wretched Spire to guard the mortals there in case of such a thing: should the Kynvals decide to experiment on them."

Nurelion coughed violently, his head throbbing after each expulsion of air. Quintus decided to speak for him, "Master Nurelion believes the White Phial could save her."

"Yes... I am certain of it!" Nurelion wiped the excess saliva from his mouth and addressed Inigo's confused look. "It... is just a man's life work, is all. I've finally derived the location of the White Phial, but this doting busybody won't let me get it." he pointed a sharp finger at his apprentice. "If anything could save us all at a time like this, the White Phial can."

Inigo waved his hands expectantly. "What is this White Phial?"

Esbern listened intently, as well. It was something that eluded his own wisdom, which was vast in and of itself.

Nurelion seemed to perk up when it came time to explain. He clasped his hands together as he painted a picture. "A legendary bottle, forged in the days when Skyrim was just starting its turn to ice. A small container, made of the magically infused snow that first fell on the Throat of the World. It is said that the Phial will replenish whatever fluid is placed inside of it. For an alchemist like myself, it is the most pure expression of my art. To create from nothingness is... poetry."

"Wait... an infinite supply of potion, you mean?" Inigo was shocked to hear it. "That really would be helpful!" Especially with the dwindling resources all around, it would be great to have such an artifact on hand.

"I have spent my entire life searching for it. It brought me all the way to these frozen reaches from the warm embrace of Summerset Isle." Nurelion spared no charity in addressing Skyrim, but given its frigidity he could hardly blame him. "Entire years spent in libraries. Seeking out tiny villages with local legends that contain but a whisper of a hint of the Phial. I even named my shop after it, hoping that it might attract anyone who had heard of it. And now it's within my grasp... but the Eight, it seems, have chosen me for their amusement. ... for in my current condition, I'll never be able to lay my hands on it."

Inigo could care less about his gripes given the current situation all around them. His eyes narrowed in on the comatose Delphine. If anyone would have suggested that he would volunteer for something akin to what he was about to in the past, he never would have believed it. "If you tell me where the Phial is, I will go and get it."

Nurelion's jaw nearly hit the floor. It was the best thing he could have heard all week. "You would do that? It's good to know there are some people out there who are willing to help an old man. It's buried with its maker, Curalmil, in a long forsaken cave to the west of here."

Inigo nearly choked. "Excuse me? Can you say that name again?"

"Curalmil." Nurelion repeated with exasperation.

Inigo sounded it out, in disbelief. "Cura-l-mil. Wow, irony, you are a sick bitch sometimes." It's fascinating to consider the likelihood that the keeper of the White Phial, a legendary and ancient artifact with the potential to save countless lives in these desperate times, would bear a name beginning with 'Cura'.

Nurelion continued, "Curalmil was a crafty one, even in death. You would need the skills of a master alchemist to reach his resting place. Luckily for you, I've already made the mixture." he gestured to Quintus to remove a green, luminous mixture from his satchel and hand it to Inigo. "Here, take it. Please... don't dally. I've wasted enough time arguing with my useless assistant here." the old man clearly hoped to use the Phial to save his own life, as well.

Though it may seem unlikely, if it were true, there would be ample potion for all. Nurelion handed Inigo a map, indicating a marked cavern. "Curalmil's tomb lies there; track the River Yorgrim westward from Windhelm and keep to the north bank. Get going, quickly!"

Inigo rolled up the map, and looked down at Delphine. "I hope this will work... I dislike you, Delphine, but I do not wish to see you dead. Even if you are a stubborn ox-headed oaf sometimes." He quickly departed, heading off to the ruins entrance, when Vilja accosted him.

"I'll go with you." Vilja suggested with a hint of sourness tainting her voice. "Since you're so tired and all, it might be a good idea not to go alone. Right?"

Inigo was surprised to hear her volunteer in spite of their argument, but he wasn't ungrateful. He lightened up and agreed to bring her along without hesitation. "That would be a good idea. I will accept your aid."

The Nord Bard looked relieved upon hearing Inigo's willingness to take her along. "Oh, good! I have had enough of the gloomy darkness. I need some sunlight. Look! Look at how pale I'm getting! Soon people will mistake me for a vampire." Vilja shuddered at the thought as she gestured to her whiter-than-normal arms, stretching them both forward to show Inigo the pale undersides.

Lillian ran over to Vilja and wrapped her little arms around her. "You're leaving now? Please don't go, Vilja!"

Vilja gently pried the girl off of her. "It's all right - I will be back; I'm just going out for a little while, is all."

Carene called her daughter over, "Lillian, please settle down. She has important things to attend to - it's for all of our good, I'm sure."

Inigo nodded reassuringly. "Yes; what we will find can turn the tides of this conflict if it proves to be true. See you soon!" he quickly dashed through the doors before he could be held back with questions from Galmar or the others, and Vilja sprinted after him for the same reason.

Adelaisa and Orthus exchanged glances, and the Legionnaire came up with an idea. She addressed Galmar directly. "Now is the time. We're going to slowly move everybody above ground. Have them return to their homes and stores - we'll let the refugees stay at the Cornerclub, Candlehearth Hall, the Pit Arena, and the main hall of the Palace of Kings. I'll stay by the docks with Orthus and some of the City Guard, and we will watch for Legion Soldiers and the Jarl's arrival."

Galmar watched her silently in that ephemeral moment, studying her body language for a hint of deception, but finding none. He conceded. "All right, then; when Jarl Ulfric returns I suppose things'll become clearer." He clapped his hands together with a great, thunderous slap, garnering attention from everyone as the sound reverberated through the caverns. The berserker barked loudly at everybody, "LISTEN UP! IT'S TIME! HIDING'S OVER! WE'RE MEN, NOT SKEEVERS! GATHER THE INJURED, GATHER YOUR THINGS, AND FOLLOW US!"

The refugees of the Wretched Spire all perked up upon hearing this, and quickly began to stand behind Tarvyn, their defacto leader. A mixture of puzzlement and relief swamped the group as they headed upwards to their uncertain future.

The citizens proper of Windhelm began to assist the wounded, with some of the remaining Spire residents ordered by Tarvyn to provide aid. Stormcloak soldiers who were able-bodied helped the Skyguard, as well as their own comrades, and the people of Shor's Stone helped carry supplies in bags. Filnjar and Quintus helped Nurelion up onto his feet.

Sylgja helped her mother Annekke to walk, and Annekke persisted in grabbing bags, even with her arm in a sling. Darkeethus, sore and in great anguish was assisted by Suvaris Atheron and some of the other Dunmer and Altmer of Windhelm helped Delphine and Esbern, as well as Erik and Marcurio as the underground was emptying of its citizens.

Lyranth helped gather food, water, and remaining firewood with the others as well. She was no mortal herself, but she was aware that they needed these things to survive with their fragile forms.

Rolff Stone-Fist and Angrenor led the children and Carene out safely, surprisingly enough.

Once everyone had evacuated, Galmar closed shut the door to the ruins and ordered a couple of guards to remain down there to keep watch in case of anything unexpected; after all, Inigo and the others did say they'd fought vampires in there, and they had seen the bodies. If that could be down there, who knows what else could enter the Old Windhelm Ruins? He'd rather not think of it; just cordon it off as a precaution.

Inigo and Vilja reached the docks of Windhelm and looked at the empty space where the main bridge would have been, east of where they faced. Inigo looked upon the broken ice rifts and mess in the river. "Wow... it is just so bizarre to see Windhelm without that big, obnoxious bridge."

Vilja agreed. "Yes; it almost feels like a different city without it. I hope they rebuild it." She looked at a lone canoe in the water, strapped to the docks and felt a shiver go down her back. "Yikes... I feel like we shouldn't stay out here too long; we're exposed, outside of the City walls. I'm afraid that a Daedra horde will just come running down the - oh..." she then noticed the flat plain directly ahead of them. "Wasn't there supposed to be a bunch of hills there?"

"There were, but no more." Inigo explained. "The jolly red giant saw to that."

"Gods... he could flatten the landscape? That's frightening." Vilja sat down in the canoe and took a pair of oars into her hands while Inigo unravelled the rope and took the other pair. He gave the wharf a good push, setting the small boat on its way, down the river.

"You don't know the half of it."