All the way from the hold of Haafingar the battle of the Pale could be heard. The collapsing of the mountain resonated over the landscape, and the resulting tremor shook the land and horrified the denizens of Skyrim.
Meridia's statue overlooked the land from Mount Kilkreath, and her Beacon continued to shoot a column of light high into the sky. Her light covered the skies. If Mehrunes Dagon wanted this land, he would face opposition from many corners.
Elenwen stood at the iron barred fences overlooking the valley from the Thalmor Embassy's cliffs. Her thoughts wandered to Cura, and to the relationship they were denied by fate itself. It was odd, especially for her of all people to admit, but she had fantasized of a younger time where she could have been teaching a younger Cura how to wield magic like a professional. She would have ensured that she would have received a proper education in the refined, beautiful and cultured land of Alinor, surrounded by the greatest mages and tutors her influence as First Emissary could buy her.
She dreamed of another life, where she and Cura embraced under the lovely sunset sky, and discussed their days, where Cura would have spoken in great lengths of her hopes and dreams. Perhaps she would have gone on to become a Thalmor Ambassador, herself.
Though, given that Cura appeared to be a lover of History and quite an art buff, from the rumours she'd heard, perhaps she would have gone on to be a great Historian, or Scholar. Perhaps a Chronicler. Though, given her proclivity towards political and lawful nuance, she could very well have ascended the Courts, as well.
She would have loved to see Auridon in all of its marble splendor. Silsailen was particularly beautiful this time of year, and Elenwen would have been more than happy to give her history lessons of the land. She could detail first-experience accounts of the Veiled Heritance's machinations there, as well as the scuffle that occurred. She could even speak of Queen Ayrenn's reign and all that she'd known of that era.
It almost made her feel old - even for an Altmer and master of magickal arts.
Though, Cura's appearance would have needed explanation, and Elenwen was more than certain that the High Archon, as well as her Political Cohorts in the Thalmor would be much less than thrilled to learn that she'd lain with a man and not an elf. It would spit in the very face of what they stood for.
And it did.
Elenwen bearing Cura would have been a massive scandal in the Summerset Isles. Born of casual intercourse between an Altmer and a Nord man. Ulfric Stormcloak - leader of the Elf-hating Stormcloak rebellion, no less.
Was their hate for the other so strong that it drove them together?
It was a difficult concept to wrap her head around, but emotion could seldom be explained. She knew it was forbidden. That love. The child that came of it. It never should have happened to begin with!
She'd spent years convincing herself that it was merely animal attraction; that she could care less about Ulfric, or about the bastard that she left with the Stendarr fanatics, but it ripped her apart from within.
And now, Cura was gone. And she was left here, alone, wondering, fearing what was going to happen to Ulfric. What was wrong with her? This was asinine!
Had circumstances been different; had the history between Man and Mer been different, then perhaps it could have been. The light snowfall drifted past her, surrounding her in the wind's cold, hollow sting.
You could never have that, Elenwen. You know that. You are just being foolish. A tenderheart. There is no place for tenderhearts among the Thalmor. After all, if you could spare even a modicum of care for any Human, it would only stand between your allegiance to the dream and the family you longed for. Love is an obstruction. Love for a Human an abomination.
Would our ancestors have wanted it so? Indeed not. Not when they were faced with persecution on the mainlands. Never forget what the Cyrods have done to our people.
The Nords joined them in that rebellion and slaughter. Drove us to the furthest corners of the continent and into Valenwood. Neither Meridia nor Molag Bal could intervene against the fury of mankind.
Tamriel once belonged solely to the Elves. The Dwemer - the ground-dwellers who prided themselves on their technology; worshipping themselves and their machinations as gods. The Ayleids - those vicious Daedra-worshipping Altmer with blue, white and green eyes. The Snow Elves; white as the frost itself - disintegrated into gnarled, blind, grotesque monstrosities. Maormer, the sea elves who owned the seas themselves. Chimer, later Dunmer, who owned the East with great, wisdom-fueled philosophies. Bosmer, the less savoury members of Elvenkind, who were attuned to wildlife itself.
That golden age had long since passed.
Though, Elenwen wondered to herself: what was the point? If they rid their world of men, would they just fight amongst themselves instead?
She shook it off: she could not afford to think about that now. Intrusive thoughts only served to distract her from the immediate task: seeking out the remaining Mythic Dawn agents hidden around Skyrim. They busted several of their hideouts over the past few days - as it turned out these self-proclaimed 'Chosen of Dagon' broke under torture quite easily. And then were rewarded by being swiftly sent to their god.
"Windhelm was attacked by Mehrunes Dagon." Rulindil's sudden words sent a shock through her spine as he approached.
Elenwen looked at her subordinate with the corner of her eye. "Wh-what? What happened, exactly? Did they kill Ulfric?" It happened already? She feared to hear the result.
"At the moment, nobody knows exactly what happened, but it is linked to that powerful voice that resonated through the skies." Rulindil continued, uncertain himself. "Though, many of the people believe it to have been Talos' intervention. But we know that is entirely false. Talos is not a god."
"And yet, what if they're right, Rulindil?" Elenwen snapped at him, spinning around on her heel with sudden aggression. "What if they're right, and we're wrong? What then, will Talos do to us? If that truly was his work, hypothetically speaking?"
Rulindil stopped to think of a response, as the notion caused him to grow uneasy, himself. Rather, he posited a simple point. "Remember the Numidium."
"Damn those foolish Dwemer." Elenwen cursed that 'great' elven race on the spot. "They built our death trap. Talos got hold of it, and..."
"Never forget. And never forget what the Alessians did to us. Pelinal Whitestrake." Rulindil sneered and spat into the snow when he said the name. "Mortals cannot accept that Elven supremacy is the only truth, and they have to use powers beyond themselves to wipe us from the face of Nirn. After all, how did that filthy old adage go? 'What child of Man could fail to be in bliss if Nirn were Elven-free?' Tch. I thank the gods I was not born in that era."
Elenwen nodded. Being reminded of such things rekindled in her the flames of disdain. "They really have always gone out of their way to rub Lorkhan's favour in our faces over the ages."
Rulindil leaned against the fence and gazed at the world below - a wide expanse of white woodlands and rocks spread out before them. "In any case; if Talos really did appear in Windhelm, that would mean that somebody there violated the White-Gold Concordat."
"And what do you propose the tremor in the North was?" Elenwen asked, putting focus on another more apparent event. "The Vigilants' headquarters was there, was it not? Near Dawnstar? Perhaps something has happened there, as well."
"Our scouts are on their way to Dawnstar now. I'll report back to you once we have information." Rulindil promised.
"Very good." Elenwen dismissed him. "We will speak again of the case of Talos once the Mythic Dawn cult falls. Their fanaticism knows no bounds."
"Who's? The Mythic Dawn's, or perhaps the Nords'?" Rulindil laughed lightly before returning to the serious matter of them. He readjusted the collar of his robes. " Indeed, Elenwen. The cult's obsession with Mehrunes Dagon and their apocalyptic visions trouble me. They seek to unravel the very fabric of reality."
"Their leader, Mankar Camoran, was a cunning mage. His Commentaries on the Mysterium Xarxes still echo through forbidden libraries. But what do they want now?" Elenwen mused. "Surely it can't just be for the sake of destruction. That would simply be madness."
"All the answers they've given us have been intentionally obtuse." Rulindil admitted. "I believe the bulk of them to be mad. Though, perhaps their former leader long sensed the growing weakness in the Empire. The Great War left scars, and the Dragon Crisis diverted attention. Chaos breeds opportunity, Elenwen. As you know."
"I don't appreciate the rivalry, to be honest." Elenwen massaged her chin as she overlooked the landscape. "I will send an updated report to the High Archon. Return to your duties and inform me of any new developments."
"I shall." Rulindil bowed forward and took his leave, arcing around the solar and heading into the embassy proper.
Once she was alone, Elenwen returned to her pit of wishful dreams. It was, after all, the only place where she truly felt secure these days. Her mind was the last place she could retreat to when the entire world had gone mad.
Inigo stirred lightly from the noises of people chatting around him. When he eventually awoke, the first person to talk to him was Lucien, who hadn't gone far. He tapped his Khajiit friend on the arm lightheartedly when his eyes opened. "Inigo, how are you feeling, buddy? You had us all worried, there! You lost a lot of blood!"
Serana stood beside Lucien and knelt over Inigo. A smile borne of relief and solace spread across her lips. "Hey there, kitty cat. It's good to see you up and at 'em again."
Vilja, Sophie, Aventus and Lilian loomed nearby, as well, and the Bard spoke for herself. "Yeah - we thought you were a goner! You shouldn't have let yourself bleed so much! That was very careless of you."
The children had been running around and playing in the ruins under her watch, but Vilja managed to reign them in at last, and brought them back to the main encampment.
"I am doing better. I am sorry if I worried you all." Inigo massaged his left temple. Though his condition had improved, his head was pounding and stinging within the walls of his cranium.
Galmar stood nearby and came over when he realized the Blue Khajiit was awake. "You're finally up, cat. Good to see!" the berserker expressed a surprising amount of relief in spite of his rude addressing. He gently handed Inigo a bottle of Nord Mead and gave him a congratulatory tap on the upper arm. "Here, drink up. You've more than earned it."
Inigo took the alcohol. "Thank you." he was surprised, but pleasantly so. "Have you... no. You have not seen Jarl Ulfric."
Galmar shook his head. "No; we're all trapped down here. There's no way I could have seen him. Gods protect him wherever he is." the warrior worried for the condition of his leader, but was now wedged into a different situation altogether. He was in charge of the fates of all these people: his citizens and foreigners. From what he could tell, most people were doing all right. They were conversing amongst themselves, and the Argonians who normally worked the docks seemed to be asleep around the bonfire in the north, the Shor's Stone miners were relaxing, the Wretched Spire refugees seemed to be silent now for the most part, and the normal civilians of Windhelm congregated at the east wall.
Tarvyn came over to see the heroes himself. "You lot pushed Mehrunes Dagon away? Colour me impressed! I didn't think it was possible! None of us did!" A few of the other refugees came over to see the heroes who bravely pushed back the Daedric Prince and his forces.
Sunel was also impressed. "I'll admit it - what you fellows did, I could never have dreamt of doing myself. Your courage is incredible. You got in the ring with Dagon and lived to tell the tale. That definitely counts for something in my book."
Lilian looked at Inigo up close. "What did the bad Daedra look like? Was he big and red and scary like the stories say?"
Inigo laughed nervously. "Hehehe... well, yes, yes, and yes. But this is okay - because I am small and blue and funny, so we make good opposites." when he tried to shift his body, a sharp pain pierced his side, binding him back in place. "Ooh... ow."
Serana knelt beside him and quickly began to examine him. "Sigh... they really did a number on you, Inigo. Please, in the future, be more careful. I don't want to see you hurt like this..."
Even though Delphine took the bulk of the stabs, some did manage to catch Inigo regardless, added onto several cuts and arrow wounds that he narrowly escaped fatality of.
Vilja agreed. "Yes! We want you around for a long time to come, Inigo! You still have eight lives - use them carefully!"
"That means a lot to me. Thank you." Inigo smiled. "Though, at this point I am sure I have only three lives remaining. Heh, heh." As usual, he tried to make light of a dark situation, but the return to character was much welcome by those around.
When Lilian stared at Inigo's wounds and at the other injured around her, she ran away, frightened.
"Lilian! Wait!" Vilja hurried after the little girl.
Aventus Aretino looked at Sophie and scoffed. "Guess she's never seen blood before. What a softie."
Sophie readjusted the flower basket on her little arm and handed some of them out to the people around. When she handed one to Elda, the older Nord smiled and accepted. "Why, aren't you sweet. Thank you, dear."
"You're welcome!" Sophie smiled, and handed one also to Suvaris Atheron, who was sitting beside the Candlehearth Hall Innkeeper and surrounded by some of the friendlier Nords, Altmer and Dunmer. Ralof sat with them, hanging his head as he mourned his lost brothers-in-arms.
"Er - thank you." the Dunmer ogled the Red Mountain flower, puzzled by its significance. "I suppose I could use this in a brew."
When she saw the sorrow shrouding Ralof's face, Sophie handed him a Purple Mountain Flower as a kind gesture for the soldier and his fallen friends. Ralof accepted it and looked at the innocent girl for a few seconds. His face softened and he accepted the ceremonial plant. "Thanks, kid."
Sophie smiled and continued about the camp, followed by Aventus, handing out her remaining flowers, one to Faltonia, one to Ninette, one refused by Sunel, one to Captain Lonely-Gale, and even one to Filnjar, the lonely blacksmith.
The old man smiled and observed it. The gesture warmed his sullen heart. He'd been seated on the furthest end, near where the bodies of the Blood Knights were burned, accompanied by the other miners of Shor's Stone and the injured Blades Darkeethus and Annekke. Their corner was without a doubt the most peaceful side of this endeavour.
Lilian cried alone behind some collapsed stones, and Vilja found her there. The friendly Bard crouched beside the scared child. "Are you all right, Lilian?"
"I'm scared... I just want to go home!" Lilian cried, crouching into a fetal position with her arms wrapped around her knees and her face buried in them. "Everything's gone wrong! Daddy is dead, and now we're trapped here and everyone hates us and we're going to die!"
Vilja placed her arm around the girl's shoulders. "Who hates you?"
"Ever since daddy found that sword, Wayrest hated us. The Vigilants of Stendarr hate us, the Nords here hate us, the Daedra hate us!" Lilian sobbed bitterly.
"That's not true, Lilian - Rolff is an idiot. Don't listen to him. And not all the Vigilants are cruel - a very good friend of mine was one." Vilja gently rubbed her shoulder.
"Cura." Lilian recalled the name with a sniffle.
"Aye! And she changed many of the Vigilants' minds here in Skyrim. If you can't go back to Wayrest, you can always stay here. It's not perfect, but once the Daedra are gone, you can live in Whiterun!" Vilja proposed, trying to change the child's outlook.
"Whiterun?"
"Oh, you'll like Whiterun!" Vilja began. "It's such a wonderful city, and aside from that pompous jerk Nazeem, it's filled with kind people. I spent a lot of time there." she returned to the current matter. "We're all in a rough way right now, but I promise we'll survive this. And then you and your mother can find your happily ever after!"
Lilian sniffled and raised her head. "Y-you're sure?"
"Positive." Vilja smiled and gave her a friendly tap on the arm. "Come on, we should go back to Inigo and the others." she extended her hand and the frightened child took it.
"Well, he certainly lives up to his reputation. At least we knew what to expect I suppose." Lucien mused on Dagon further. Trying to maintain a vestige of the image of courage, he tried to seem unimpressed. Though it was not an easy facade to maintain, as the mere recollection of the Daedric Prince nearly sent him spiraling into fearful splendor.
His ancestors had to contend with that beast the first time, and the stories they'd passed on about the Daedra were horrific. Perhaps one day, provided they survive, he could tell his grandchildren all about the time he fought for Windhelm against Mehrunes Dagon himself.
Viola Giordano approached Inigo. "I don't know what to say, Inigo. You saved Windhelm again! Maybe they'll finally realize they ought to start letting Khajiit in like normal people."
Vilja returned to the group with Lilian by her side. The little girl was still saddened, but managed to force herself to smile for the group of strangers like she was taught back home.
Inigo agreed. "That would be nice, but without a bridge it will be hard to let anybody in."
"B-bridge? What do you mean, 'without a bridge?'" Viola grew immediately anxious when she heard this.
Lilian's eyes widened. "What happened to the bridge?"
Vilja looked at Lucien expectantly. "What happened up there, Lucien?"
Lucien rubbed his hands together nervously by the fire they sat around. "Well... we kind of... sort of... had to blow up the bridge...? Yes, I know it seems quite unorthodox, but -"
Rolff Stone-Fist shot up from his seat immediately, his black eye glistening with hate under the orange glow of the bonfire. "You blew up the damned bridge?! You stupid bloody foreigners! How are we supposed to get in and out now? We're all gonna die down here!"
As soon as he said it, the other citizens of Windhelm began to clamour angrily, and the underground refuge was filled with furious and confused murmurs.
Brunwulf, who was still recovering from his scuffle with Rolff and Agrenor, stood up as well, with his own share of words. "These people risked their lives to save us all, and this is how you intend to repay them? Where is your Honour? This is Windhelm, City of Kings! Here we give respect to those who aid us!"
"Speak for yourself, Snowback!" Agrenor spat in his direction.
Decanus the pilgrim stood up and walked towards the center of the room, between all of the groups and surrounded by collapsed rubble. "It is an unfortunate circumstance, but it surely was the will of the gods. Trust in their judgment, and move forward with grace."
Jora nodded her head and spoke loudly from her place near the western bonfire. "I agree. I don't doubt that the Daedra would have swarmed the walls if the bridge was still standing. Talos be praised that we're still alive, and that we still have time."
Jora's husband, Lortheim, also spoke up. "Let us use this time wisely - no more fighting amongst ourselves. If we are to survive we will have to work together," he immediately fixed his gaze onto the stubborn Rolff and Agrenor. "whether we like it or not."
Galmar scratched the back of his head. "Talos appeared to us! The pilgrim and the priestess are correct. Our god smote much of Dagon's forces with a voice of thunder. We saw it happen!"
Jora spun around to look at the Stormcloak General, and quickly surmised he was serious when she saw the unwavering look in his eyes. She turned back to the bonfire and smiled happily, overcome with emotion, knowing now that she was justified all this time. That sound that shook the land above was Talos!
Carene walked up to Galmar. "If we were to escape this current situation, where will we go? Will nowhere be safe from the Daedra?" she pulled her hood back and massaged her right temple, which was aching. "My daughter and I have come all the way here from Wayrest, but we have no reason to stay in Skyrim. Not anymore. But we cannot return home either."
Galmar scratched his white beard as he considered what she was saying. "I can't promise you safety anywhere you go. Especially after what I saw out there." his stitched arrow wounds were plain to see through his shredded armour. "Those Daedric bastards don't have a shred of mercy in 'em. No offense." he gestured towards Lyranth, the weakened, yet only present Dremora, and she simply acknowledged it with a nod.
"I would teleport you out, were I not so exhausted." Lyranth confessed. She was worn to a frazzle, and the last of the Bladebearers on Nirn at the moment. The others would need time to reform in the Deadlands before becoming active again.
Faltonia and a couple of the other Spire residents sympathized with the Dremora, giving her some mead and allowing her to sit by the fire. They were undisturbed by her presence, which made the citizens of Windhelm feel uneasy all on its own.
Rolff Stone-Fist bellowed again. "No - I think you, these bastards, and the Khajiit and his friends want us all to starve to death an' kill each other! They're probably all in cahoots with the Thalmor and the Daedra!"
Galmar was upset with himself. He failed to protect his Jarl; a disgrace to any Housecarl. He leaned back against the wall and kicked a stone away and admonished his obnoxious younger brother. "Rolff, shut your damn mouth." his spirits were at an all-time low. His cause was a sham, the Empire was a sham, and the Daedra seized that opportunity to sweep them all off their feet with a violent push. If Windhelm would have known sooner, they would have focused on guarding Red Scar Cavern. They would have kept a closer watch on the Daedra Worshippers in the hills.
The Vigil of Stendarr was right.
"The measure of a man is taken at the moment of his death. And know this for truth, the ghosts of many heroes walk among us." Galmar tried to find the light in the darkness surrounding them. He pointed at Inigo, then at Lucien, and Serana. "The Dragonborn walks with her friends, even now. You really think that they would plan to destroy us? Take the stick out of your ass and calm down."
"The Dragonborn's a damn Elf!" Rolff spat back. "And look at her company - an Imperial Spy, a dumb Cat, and a damned Vampire! A Vampire! Hel-looo!"
Serana came out of the shadows and held a hand on her hip. "If I were the kind of vampire that you think I am, I would have made lunch of you a long time ago. Maybe actually look with your eyes before snapping to a conclusion."
"Imperial Spy! Of all the nerve!" Lucien sulked angrily.
"Keep speaking and I will give you a finger lobotomy." Inigo growled at Rolff. He thought he'd put the fool in his place before, but it was clear that he had a very short memory.
"Why are you like this?" Faltonia asked Rolff rhetorically. She'd spent an eternity in a Daedric land, and comparatively, they were friendlier than this one Nord.
Rolff had no real answer to give, save for more hateful personal rhetoric. Brunwulf stood between himself and the sharp-tongued Imperial woman, so there was not much he could say or do at this point without recourse.
"Sit down." Brunwulf commanded him, and the bigot reluctantly did as he was told, if only to avoid another brawl. He was antsy, however, and the hours upon hours underground were taking their toll on his psyche. As he saw it, there was no escape from all these people, and especially all these foreigners. The Windhelm Citizens seemed to be embracing the situation and remaining calm for the most part, and he could not understand how they could tolerate these circumstances.
Elda Early-Dawn shook her head at Rolff. The situation was bad enough, but this fool only seemed to make it worse by the minute. The other citizens of Windhelm were largely keeping to themselves at this point, because of the circumstances.
During wartime, the worst thing to do was fight amongst each other - and this was common knowledge for the Nords and the Imperials and Elves both.
Esbern continued to attend Delphine, and was cornered together with the other Blades. The situation was incredibly dour.
"If she dies, what will we do next?" Erik asked. He sat nearby with his back pressed against a slab of broken stone, beside Marcurio, who was now reading "The Waters of Oblivion."
Esbern shook his head. "I'm doing my best to keep her alive. Sweep the thought from your mind. We mustn't give up like that." He took a cloth and dipped it in a bucket of water and wrung it out before placing the damp cloth on Delphine's forehead to reduce the fever she was developing.
"Delphine, you're tough. You'll get through this." he encouraged the Grandmaster as he continued to dress the numerous stab wounds on her forearms and upper arms. He'd gone to work on the holes in her back and side. To call the way the Daedra maimed her horrific was to put it mildly.
Stighelm returned to the camp from a long walk he'd taken around the city's ruins. He felt his entire childhood amidst the stones and buildings. He looked much happier now. "It's really Windhelm down here. This was my home! It's horribly sad, but... it brings back memories, you know?"
Faltonia scoffed at their local drunk. "And where did you prance off to, Stighelm? You missed a lot of drama down here!"
Stighelm looked at the wounded, who were lain on the walkways on sleeping bags, and then he looked at the injured Rolff, Agrenor, and Brunwulf. "I guess I missed a lot, eh? For the best, I think."
Galmar's eyes bore the weight of loss and survival. He was trying to collect himself as he supervised the groups around. His mind was in a bit of a fog and exhaustion was creeping on him. Merely standing there was becoming a challenge. His knees felt as if to give out any moment.
Decanus brought Stighelm over to the fire, where he clued him in on their current situation with the locals and with what he'd learned about the battle.
"What news do you have, Stighelm? If it's nothing of value, maybe just sit down and shut up like the rest of us." Tarvyn grunted, his voice hoarse from days of neverending battle.
The words stung, but Stighelm spoke up anyways. "Nothing of value to you, perhaps. But it means the world to me. Though I discovered something very disquieting in the further chambers of the old Asylum. There were Vampires there, too!"
"I guess Inigo and the others dispatched them." Decanus wondered. If so, that was quite impressive.
"We're trapped on our little plot of land and we're doomed! Doomed! We're all gonna starve!" Rolff began to panic, unnerving the others around him.
Lilian raised her hand. "Couldn't we go out by the boats?"
Everybody turned their attention to the little girl.
"Come again?" Agrenor wasn't sure he heard her right.
Carene saw her daughter standing near all these strangers and came to her side. "Lilian, what did I tell you about strange groups?"
Lilian ignored her mother's chastisement and walked up to Galmar. "We came in with Carcette by a big river with docks. Can't we use boats if we need to leave?"
The Spire residents looked at Rolff and then at Galmar. Tarvyn called him out. "It's true, isn't it? I've seen the river on our way here. You have piers on the eastern wall, don't you?"
Galmar was impressed at the girl's memory, and a little embarrassed that it hadn't donned on him sooner. Though with his exhaustion there was really no wonder as to why he was slow to think of it. "We do. Could be difficult to ferry everybody back and forth, but we could try it."
"Where's this Winterhold I kept hearing about?" Ninette demanded to know. Sunel stood beside her and nodded as she spoke, her partner in crime. "We want to go there. Sounds like a place brimming with opportunity!"
Rolff laughed and slowly shifted his face her way. "You're kdding. Right? But hey, if it gets you outta my face, power to ya."
Lucien couldn't help but interject. "Not to be a damper, or anything, but wouldn't it be better to wait until after Dagon is defeated? Going to Winterhold now, you may as well just hold up a sign saying 'Take me!'"
Tarvyn agreed. "The boy's right. We'd be sitting ducks for Dagon. Need I remind you of how cruel he really is? We have to stay here in Windhelm for a bit longer. At least until the coast is clear."
Faltonia massaged her brow. "Ugh. From one prison to another. I'd rather take my chances with Dagon than stay here a minute more with that buffoon."
Rolff spat in her direction. "Yeah! Get lost, you Imperial Witch. The wilds claim you!"
The barkeep abruptly stood up from her seat and began to head for the door, when Brunwulf pulled her back. She immediately tried to wrest out of his grip, twisting her arm and thrusting away, but going nowhere. "Unhand me! I'm leaving this depressing junk heap! It wasn't beautiful, but Wretched Spire at least had atmosphere, and at least I had a place of belonging there! This city is lousy! I can't stand it! If I get captured and killed by Daedra - I don't care."
Whether she was being hyperbolic or not about her stance, Brunwulf refused to loosen his grip. "No - that's where you're wrong. You should care! Life is a precious gift. Don't throw yours away because of the goading of the village idiot."
Rolff took offense to the insult, but those around him found amusement in the statement. Its veracity was the funniest part.
Faltonia stared at the Nord for a few moments and slowly ceased resistance. The large man slowly loosened his grip as she grew calmer. She shook her head. "I don't get it, Brunwulf."
"Don't get what?"
"This - I'm not sure how to put it - hopeful outlook you have. About life. About people. I don't understand it." Faltonia admitted under the watchful eyes of all who'd shared in her eternal suffering under Dagon's radar. "Why do you care whether I live or not?"
Brunwulf scratched the back of his head as he tried to articulate an answer. "Because there's been too much killing in these lands already, if you ask me. And I'll be damned if I'll just sit back while a lovely maiden such as yourself goes out there and gets slaughtered by those bastards on account of the words of a hopeless moron."
With that, her face turned a shade of red that could rival the crimson tresses of her gown.
Some of the Spire residents began to chuckle and she waved them off aggressively.
"Well, I..." her thoughts were clouding the more she considered Brunwulf, that fox.
"Stay here with us. Maybe when things calm down, you'll find a place here in Windhelm. Talos knows Elda could use help running the Candlehearth Hall, and you seem to know what you're doing. Don't be so hasty." Brunwulf led her back to the bonfire and sat her back down, red-faced and all. Faltonia's hand found his, their fingers entwining like roots seeking water on the stone beneath them. Brunwulf gazed into her eyes, his stare almost hypnotic.
Galmar slowly shook his head as he watched the display, and Inigo took a mental note of Brunwulf's moves for a potential future date should the opportunity arise. Rolff recoiled in disgust, but Agrenor watched them curiously.
Vilja was dumbstruck. "What just happened...?"
Lucien was confused himself. "I... think he may have cast an Illusion spell on her. Does he know magic?"
"The magic of the mind." Inigo laughed before gripping his side again when the pain punished him for daring to find humour in life.
"So, about the boats. What do you think, Inigo? It sounds like a good idea, at least for us. We could go out and warn the rest of Skyrim about what's happening." Serana proposed. "If you think you can walk, of course."
Inigo stretched his legs and nodded. "Yes, I think that would be a good idea. I do not know where Mehrunes Dagon will attack next, but we all need to be on guard. We should go to Winterhold and warn the Mages. They could certainly help in a crisis!"
Serana nodded. "I'm sure they already know, but it would be good to share with them from our first-hand experience."
"What about you, Vilja?" Inigo asked their friend. "Will you be coming with us?"
Vilja looked over to Lilian and the children and then shook her head. "No - I'm needed here. Don't worry about me, Inigo."
Inigo shakily stood up again and limped over to where Delphine and Esbern were. "How is she?" he couldn't exactly explain why, but a deep sense of guilt convicted him.
"Focus more on yourself, lad." Esbern deflected upon seeing Inigo's limp. "I am doing my best to keep her alive - you're in awful shape, yourself."
Inigo sighed. "I am, but I will be leaving to Winterhold. We have to warn the College and the Jarl, which I am not looking forward to. The man bellows harder than a Dragon's behind."
Lucien almost choked on his spit and began to cough. Serana tapped him on the upper back to assist him in breathing.
"You're in no condition to go anywhere! Look at you!" Erik exclaimed in shock as he observed Inigo's gait. He himself was bandaged up from the battle, and would not do too much at this point in time.
"I will learn from Cura's example." Inigo stated. "Whether injured or not, if something must be done, I will do it."
"Whoa, there! Even Cura took time to rest when she was badly injured." Serana pointed to the time after the Redwater Den incident with the Dawnguard. "You're sure you can get around like that?"
Inigo nodded. "Yes. I can still move, so that is good enough."
Lucien nodded. "Well, buddy, if you're that determined, I'll watch your back for you in case of anything."
"Thank you, my friend." Inigo said and he headed for the exit, only to be stopped by Galmar.
"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing?" the large Nord asked him with a hand outstretched. He blocked the exit door firmly. "We don't even know if the Daedra are fully gone yet. You'll risk your life for nothing."
"They need to know in Winterhold and the other cities." Inigo informed him. "We will have to get all of Skyrim on board with this."
"Then go to the Rift instead." Galmar informed him. "It's likely they might be the next target for Dagon and his scouts. You said the portal was in Red Scar Cavern, yes? Since we scared 'em it's possible the Daedra will try and head to the South next. Jarl Laila needs to know what's going on."
Inigo looked at Serana and then at Lucien. "What do you think?"
Serana proposed an alternative. "I'll go to Winterhold, and the two of you can go to Riften. I think the faster word gets out, the better."
"Agreed." Inigo was on board immediately. "We can Fast Travel to Riften - I have been there more times than I can count." As soon as he said it, Galmar moved to the side.
"Take care of yourself, Inigo." Galmar said kindly. "I do not want to hear about Daedra making you into a cape."
"I do not want to look like the bear you are wearing, Galmar. Believe me." Inigo made light of the topic and the trio walked through the door. Though each step was a searing dagger in his leg, Inigo climbed the stairs.
His fear of what was coming drowned out the pain his mortal body was facing. There was much to be done and no time to dally. He had work to do.