Chapter 20: City of Kings

Eight horses trotted through the frozen mists of Eastmarch. Each rider held their own sense of trouble at the mission. Each rider endowed in a longing for home, and the plains spread in meadows of thistles. The Circle still rallied in their grief for Kodlak, but strayed from it at the sight of Windhelm far into the white terrain. The whelps excitedly trotted behind, eagerly awaiting their first real mission with the Circle and certain of victory. However, Skjor, Aela, Farkas and Vilkas did not comfort in the unknown of their quest, knowing hope was a lethal concept in times of war.

Skjor led the convoy, with the Circle behind him. He took in the climate of their journey and relished the salmon-coloured skies of early dawn. The air was sharp and frigid, leaving mists of their breath behind them. Skjor enjoyed the brisk of Skyrim winter now, preparing for the possibility of never seeing another spectacle of her beauty again.

They stayed quiet as they came up to the Windhelm stables. The closer they came, the more evident Windhelm's woes were. Smoke still lifted from the docks after recent fire, blood stained into snow like paint, and dead stallions and their Stormcloak riders lay along the main road. The whelps went from rambunctious chatter to stale quiet at the sight of the mayhem. The Circle digested it quickly, Vilkas singularly growing more hateful for the vampires the more destruction he discovered.

They dismounted their horses at the stables, where a Stormcloak soldier came to them and declared, "Welcome, Companions. Please bring your horses into the city. We don't leave our steeds beyond the walls. The bloodsucking scum have seen to that."

Skjor nodded, "Very well. Lead your horses, people. Let's go."

The Circle grabbed for the reins of their horses, following their Harbinger, where the whelps did the same. They walked over Windhelm's stone bridge. Brigades of Stormcloak soldiers walked along the wall diligently guarding. An ocean of voices heard from over the city wall. They came closer to the iron gates of Skyrim's ancient city, and the Stormcloaks raised the portcullis and opened the gridded metal gates. The Companions led their horses inside, where Windhelm's city streets were a bustling panic. Along the centred Candlehearth Hall were crowds in motion. All running and rambling in preparation for a presumed attack. Villagers hoarded supplies of water and essentials. Guards barked orders from across the paths. The frigid stones clacked under in multiple sprawling boots. The Companions were startled to see the city of Windhelm in such disarray, as it was always such a freezing place, those who resided preferred to stay indoors. Everyone in Windhelm was doing their part on protecting the city from another attack. The first being so recent, blood in the snow was still wet.

A man came hollering out to the citizens as he carried a basket of potions, "CURE DISEASE POTIONS! IF YOU HAVE BEEN BITTEN OR SCRATCHED, DO NOT WAIT! CURE DISEASE POTIONS!"

Guards came thudding against Farkas and Aela, who startled and backed away from the convoys of guards racing down into the Stone Quarter.

Skjor grumbled, "We may be too late…"

"Or we got here just in time." Vilkas observed. Their horses were taken down the path on the right by Stormcloak men, leaving the Companions to witness the chaos unfolding in Windhelm in silence.

One Stormcloak paced over to the eight urgently. He didn't wear a helmet but wore the blue robes and cuirass. He had shoulder length blonde hair, a singular braid down his cheek. He had a faded full goatee and warm blue eyes. He came over to the Circle and instructed, "Finally… Jarl Ulfric has been expecting you. Follow me, he'll want to speak to your Harbinger."

Skjor obliged, "That's me. We're ready when you are."

The young Stormcloak led the Companions up to the Palace of Kings, which carried around the bend of Candlehearth Hall, and through a narrow walling homaged to the greatest kings of Skyrim. The whelps giddied at the carnage around them, where the Circle were grim and vengeful to the madness the vampires had brought. The city was the original birth of High Kings, and despite the controversial war that harboured there, its ancient stonework, mazing and narrow pathways, and piercing cold all resonated the true majesty of Skyrim's history.

Stormcloak soldiers took notice of the plucky warriors and began to call out in cheers.

"Hail, Companions!"

"The Best of Whiterun have come!"

"Talos guide you all!"

"When we heard Whiterun had sent us Jorrvaskr," the Stormcloak leading said, "We weren't sure if it was rumour or truth. We've been without hope for days now. Our defences are crumbling. Jarl Ulfric refuses to pull ranks from any of our Holds to defend the city. He knows if he did, he'd leave them vulnerable. So… we handle the threat ourselves. Not that we'd have the Empire at our beck and call, even if we did ask for aid. It's been dicey for the most part. You being here, it's a damn blessing."

Aela asked as she followed up to the palace, "You've been under attack for days?"

"Aye…" The Stormcloak gruffly replied, "They come in waves. Damn persistent pests, aren't they?"

"Damn right." Farkas agreed.

As they came up to the main gates of the palace, a Stormcloak on duty demanded, "What's the meaning of this, Ralof? What's with the brigade?"

"Make way for the Companions," Ralof ordered, "Jarl Ulfric has been expecting them."

The guard flinched and relented, "Oh… I didn't know. My apologies." He pushed open the creaking, tall, metal doors for the warriors to enter.

Inside the Palace of Kings were large blue tapestries of the Stormcloak emblem that lined the large, spacious hall. To the centre was a long dining table adorned with silver plates and cutlery. Ahead of the table was the throne, crowned in oriel windows, and regally carved in ancient scribes of legends. For centuries, a Great Bear of Eastmarch claimed this throne. Now it was the seat of an infamous warlord, a hero and villain among many, a revolutionary— Jarl Ulfric Stormcloak.

His long, bear pelt hung over his shoulder, and yellow hair slicked back his head. Large, engraved rings adorned his fingers, and a shimmering cuirass along his chest. His braids were shackled with small iron bracers, and his voice rumbled the hall as he turned to the Companions, "Well it's about damn time."

Skjor walked before his shield-siblings and slightly bowed, "Jarl."

"I'm not your Jarl, none of you," Ulfric declared lowly, "Balgruuf is your Jarl. I am your client. The one who signs the decree for your pay when you've successfully aided my city. This is business, so let's get down to it."

Skjor resolved from his bow, "Agreed."

A large, hulking Nord man in bear hides and a headdress of a bear's head stood to the left of Ulfric's throne, with another man in fine robes stood to the right.

Ulfric stood just before his throne, gashes and bruises along his cheeks and under his eyes. A large cut across the base of his nose. He placed his hands to each side of his waist and divulged, "I've been informed you all were at the frontlines with the Dawnguard against this menace, making you the most knowledgeable warriors on vampires in the city. We originally called out to the Dawnguard, but they declined— spouting some nonsense their numbers were too few. Needless to say, there's only eight of you, and you all still answered our aid, even given the passing of Kodlak Whitemane… my condolences."

The numbers of Companions wilted their eyes at hearing the words, where Skjor resolved, "Of course. We just suffered the same in our city. These recent depravities of the vampires on your city makes Windhelm our brothers and sisters, our own. We do not shrink in fear from these beasts… and apparently neither do you or your people. It's… a strong resolve out there."

"My men may not show it, but they're scared," Ulfric expressed in his austere tone, "The war has slimmed our resources. We fight with what we have, which isn't much. Last night only confirmed it."

Vilkas said aloud impulsively, "Last night?"

Jarl Ulfric curved his brows at the sudden interruption, making Skjor scramble to maintain civilities, "Jarl Ulfric, this is…"

"Vilkas, yes, I know," Jarl Ulfric claimed, "Slayer of the Greymoor Bandit Clan. Then there's his brother, Farkas, renown for his impressive strength. That… must be Hroldi's daughter, Aela. Possibly the best huntress of wild beasts in all of Skyrim. I know your Circle, Skjor, that's why I called for you in the first place. It's been a minute since we've reddened the plains of Cyrodiil in Thalmor blood, hasn't it?"

Skjor smiled and reminisced, "And look where we are now. Went from witch-elves to bloodsucking vermin in a blink of an eye."

"Time goes by faster as we become wiser in our age, doesn't it?"

Vilkas, Aela and Farkas looked to each other in seldom surprise to know Skjor once fought alongside Jarl Ulfric in the Great War, but even more surprised that the Jarl knew and had heard of their fame across Skyrim. He spoke to the three of them proudly, "Do not waste in holding your tongues, you're all heroes here. If you have to speak, say it freely. So…" Ulfric looked to Skjor and rejoined, "What is happening? You all fought against the vampires head on… so what are they planning?"

Skjor looked back at his earnest Circle and back to Ulfric, "The vampires are being assembled by a man named Harkon… ancient vampire held up in the Sea of Ghosts. He's working to enact a prophecy called the 'Tyranny of the Sun', permanently rendering the sun obsolete. Vilkas, Farkas, Aela, and… Kodlak… they worked to end it, but when Kodlak fell, they retreated to Whiterun. As of now, the Dawnguard is working with one of our own to stop the vampires for good."

The bulky Nord in animal skins balked in a guttural but a strong voice, "Troll's blood. Just when I thought times couldn't get any nuttier."

Ulfric asked, "You're sure of this?"

Skjor looked back to Vilkas, uncertain he was the right one to answer the Jarl's question.

Vilkas stated to Ulfric "Yes, my lord, it's all true. Harkon needs an ancient weapon known as 'Auriel's Bow' and the blood of a Daughter of Coldharbour— an ancient female vampire— in order to complete the ritual. We have someone out in the field trying to stop it as of now."

Skjor declared motionless, "The Dragonborn."

Jarl Ulfric's pensive glare left his face at the name, and Ralof delighted a surprised chuckle, "Mimzi?"

In an instant, the Companions shot baffled stares to Ralof. He obliviously kept a relieved smile and asked, "Shor's bones. She's alright?"

Aela tilted her head and muttered, "You know her?"

"Yes," Ulfric groaned aloud, "We know her. I know her. That girl has a knack for getting herself into trouble. Seems she grew droll of dragons and moved on to slaying vampires. She likes to keep it interesting, I wager."

Farkas snickered and nudged Vilkas's arm, "Yup. Sounds like her."

Ulfric continued, "Well, she's done the impossible before, so who's to say she won't do it again. Least we can do is vanquish the vampire menace that preys on our people as she purges the threat. In the meantime, there is a storm brewing. Windhelm lands directly in its eye. This is Galmar, my secondhand…"

Galmar stated hotly, "Yes. Those bastards are bound to attack again. They were surrounding Windhelm's walls last night— desperately trying to find a way inside the city. Many of the soldiers and citizens in the farms were attacked, many killed. They butchered the horses, destroyed our sea vessels, and now our city is completely cut off from the possibility of evacuating the innocents. Last few nights they've sent gaggles. But last night… last night they brought an army. If it wasn't for the strength of Windhelm's mighty walls, we'd all be under a thick layer of ash."

Vilkas followed up, "They are trying to get into the city?"

Galmar snarled, "Of course they are, boy. They are damn vampires. If you wanted to eat, would you go to an inn, or sit on your arse in the cold outside? They want our people and their blood, and they haven't shown signs of anything else but that."

Vilkas fought the urge to roll his eyes, where Skjor chimed in, "This city is a fortress. The doors are reinforced in metal. The portcullises are lowered. There are no sewage ways accessible to gain entry into the city."

Ulfric informed, "We had a few stragglers fight through the front gates before we lowered the portcullis. You'd be surprised what carnage a couple of vampires can wreak on a city in moments before they are finally slain."

"They are spell-weavers," Skjor admitted, "Making them an insidious force."

Galmar said, "Exactly. That's why we cannot risk them infiltrating the city, at any cost."

Skjor nodded, "That's why you asked for aid."

Galmar crossed his arms and explained, "Bandits we can handle. Even Imperials. But this is a threat we haven't faced. Our people are in grave danger, and the vampires are relentless. We need you and your warriors for the next attack. It'll be at dark. It's been that way for three damn days. They always come at dark, stronger and more annoying than ever."

Skjor queried, "Where would you have us?"

"Your strongest should be before the city walls defending the gates," Ulfric ordered huskily, "The younger faces in your numbers could help defend the city if they managed to breach. I wouldn't want to put your whelps in the frontlines of danger."

"I agree," Skjor relented, "It's a fair plan. However, I wouldn't feel secure in the youngins without a mentor. This is their first real fight besides wolves, ice wraiths and bears… they'll need a guide."

Athis, Njada, Torvar and Ria looked to themselves excitedly and eagerly anticipated the fight they were destined to join. Skjor looked to Vilkas and stated, "You stay with the whelps in the city. If the vampires do manage to find their way into Windhelm, I know you'll vet them in the chaos."

The whelp's excitement went cold and disdainful at the realization they would be led by Vilkas, who closed his eyes in anguish and pleaded, "No… Skjor, please…"

"It's about time you start teaching your whelps, Vilkas. You're the master at arms, now. You make it out alive with all four breathing, I'll know you're doing your job. As your Harbinger, I insist."

Vilkas wanted to throw an array of berating and battling words at Skjor, but given the presence of Jarl Ulfric and his trusted generals, he held his tongue. Skjor smirked and said to Ulfric, "If you can spare Vilkas from the front of lines, I'd be comforted in the knowing he is with them."

Jarl Ulfric obliged, "Very well. I trust you know what you're doing. Now then, I'll have a brigade of men stationed outside the city, with myself and Galmar at the lead. You, Aela and Farkas can be at the frontlines with us. I know the three of you will be a force the vampires tepidly imagined," Ulfric ordered to Ralof, "I want you inside the city, Ralof. Make sure my men are ready for a possible breach. Start gathering the people for the palace before nightfall. Vilkas and his whelps can help you there, I'm sure."

Ralof went from his chipper demeanour to dour obedience, "Yes, Jarl Ulfric, I'll perform my duties diligently."

Vilkas looked along the eyes awaiting an answer and nodded, "Yes, my lord, we'll keep the townsfolk safe."

"Very good," Ulfric commended, "We may drive the bastards back yet. Skjor, join Galmar and I in the war room. The rest of you can aid my people in preparation for tonight. If you're needed— help, if you are not, bolster the supplies of water, food and ailments for inevitable attack. I'll call on you again when it's time… now off with you."

Ulfric and Galmar departed into a hall to the left, following the man in noble robes. Skjor looked to his Circle before departing, "I'm not fond of separating, but we have to follow the Jarl's word in matters like this. This isn't political… this is business. We do what we are asked till the decree is fulfilled. You understand?"

Aela clarified, "So we're not joining the Stormcloak rebellion?"

Skjor only furrowed his brows at the comment and Farkas answered for him, "We're just killing vampires."

Skjor replied, "What he said."

He left to the war room with the lords, where Aela informed, "I'd wager the troops here know how to fight vampires as much as they do the Imperials. I'm going to see how they handle themselves behind a bow. Give them the 'Durak Training School' that we got. Farkas, you can join me, keeps you away from Candlehearth Hall's wenches and drink."

Farkas smirked dopily, "Oh, come on. I'm not that bad."

Vilkas stated, "You are. Go with Aela and show the rebels the ward spell."

Vilkas looked to his whelps and made a displeased glare. They stared vacantly awaiting orders until Ralof chimed brightly, "Well, kinsman! Looks like it's you, me and your warriors for now. I can show you around Windhelm if you'd like— get accustomed to the city?"

Vilkas irked at the oblivious niceties of Ralof, and his sudden voice clapping in his ear. He grumbled a reply, "I'm familiar with Windhelm, kinsman. Take the witless whelps on a tour if you must, anything for them to do besides clutching to my hip."

Njada reminded, "Is that what Skjor asked of you, Vilkas?"

Vilkas closed his eyes and breathed discreetly through his nose in a dire attempt to control his anger. Ralof chortled lightly, "Your students want to learn from you, I can help if I can. It's a lot easier defending a city when you know how to maneuver around it. Let's go, I'll show you the quarters of the city. Who knows, by the end of it, we may be fast friends!"

Ralof giddily slapped the back of Vilkas, making him flinch. The whelps perked half-smiles to one another in amusement, where Ralof's bright grin was completely ignorant. He briskly walked from the court down the hall, with the whelps following, and Vilkas reluctantly after.

Inside the war room, the three discussed their tactics. Ulfric proposed, "I'll have yourself, Aela and Farkas, on the bridge. That's where they've been attacking for the last three nights. I got my general and his fiercest lieutenants to set up at the docks. Those are the main entries into the city. We protect them diligently, and if our resolve fails, we retreat into Windhelm where our numbers expand. By that time, the vampires will be regretting their decision to ever terrorize this city."

The man in noble robes, Jorlief— the steward, asked in concern, "What will be our strategy if they get into the city?"

Galmar gruffly remarked, "They won't."

"Of course, but if they do?"

Ulfric stated, "Then by that time the townsfolk should already be in safe keeping in my palace. Galmar and his brigade will defend the Stone District, with Ralof and Vilkas's help. The rest of us will defend Valunstrad, and prevent the vampires from breaking through the barricades to the palace."

Skjor inquired, "And what of the Gray Quarter?"

"What of it?" Galmar sneered.

Skjor baffled at the silent glares returned to him. He resolved to disbelief, then anger, "You saying you're going to leave the Gray Quarter undefended?"

"The Dark Elves have refused our help in this," Ulfric grumbled, "They want to handle it themselves, let them. For the loyal citizens of my city, they will have our support. You don't care for this decision?"

"I thought you called for our aid in defending Windhelm?" Skjor clarified again.

Galmar declared, "We did. The Gray Quarter have made it clear they aren't citizens of Windhelm. In their minds, they are still living in that volcanic ashland. We won't retire valuable resources defending those who have never shown loyalty."

"We Companions do not involve ourselves in political matters. All due respect, but if there is a community in danger, Dark Elf or not, we are sworn to protect them. I can send Aela and Farkas down there if the city is breached, but they wouldn't be able to defend those people on their own. They should be backed by a group of Stormcloak soldiers."

Ulfric digested this heatedly, "This isn't politics, this is business, remember? I'm paying for you to be here. I don't feel confident allowing Farkas and Aela to retreat their defences down in that slum, much less my own men. They'd be fighting for those who'd sooner side with the vampires than be accepting of help."

Galmar croaked, "Couldn't have said it better myself."

Jorleif remained silent as the lords argued with Skjor, who stood his ground, "I'm not leaving the Gray Quarter undefended. You can say what you want now, but in the heat of battle, I won't guarantee I'll keep my blade out of that 'slum' no matter what orders you've given or how much you are paying. Might as well delegate some of your men and resources to it now to avoid that from happening, Jarl. You do that, you'll have my blade wherever you need it."

Galmar seethed silently to himself at Skjor's ultimatum. Ulfric reluctantly relented, "Fine. Have Vilkas and his whelps defend the Gray Quarter. I'm sorry but I cannot stray any of my men, the five of your warriors will have to do."

Skjor grumbled, "Of course, bring us to defend what you cannot. Just when I was starting to think Jarl Balgruuf's suspicions were folly."

Skjor's bold words left a bitter glower to Ulfric, and Galmar curved his brows in fury, breathing hard through his nose. He lifted his chin at their displeasure and departed, "Right then, back to business." Skjor left the lords to their discussions as he went to inform Vilkas of the change in plans.

Aela and Farkas walked through the frigid air to the gaggle of guards preparing for battle by the main gates. They passed citizens setting up spiked barricades before the path to the Palace of Kings, and through the pathways to the Gray Quarter, the graveyard and Valunstrad. The guards before them spoke irately and rambunctious, speaking over each other. Aela cleared her throat and barked aloud to the men, "Listen up!"

The guards startled at Aela and fell silent and confused, "I'm willing to bet none of you have faced vampires until recently. I'm also sure that you never expected them to be as powerful as they are. You've all had your docket's full of legionnaire blood for too long, and now an ancient being coming out of the woodwork when resources are already sparse is a game-changer. You're scared, I can see it. So were we. Farkas and I— we can help teach you some tricks in defending yourselves, if you're open minded. If not, then I know who the first casualties are."

A sottish Stormcloak lecherously said, "Aye, love, so do we. What are you doing getting those gorgeous hands roughed up? I know something they can caress that's much softer than that bow."

Aela burned in rage as the Stormcloaks erupted in laughter. Farkas yelled, "You idiots, she is a Companion of Jorrvaskr, have some respect!"

"I see…" The Stormcloak stepped closer to Aela undauntedly and crooned, "You got fire… I like that. I take my advice from women in the bedroom, not in the battlefield, love. Go on now, so we can watch as ya leave."

As the soldier stuck his tongue out leeringly, before the Stormcloaks could erupt in mocking laughter again, Aela delivered a sharp blow to the man's nose. It broke upon impact, making a violent crack, and he thudded to his back against the snow. The Stormcloak's went silent, with Farkas silently satisfied. Aela stepped over the aching soldier and pulled him up by the collar, "Casualty number one. First lesson, never get too close to your opponent. Now wipe that drool off your chin before I do it with my boot, you pig. She pushed the man back to the ground— letting him groan and ache before his peers.

She glared up at the confounded Stormcloaks and said, "Anyone else have a burning desire to say anything out of turn?"

One Stormcloak grumbled, "You think we are going to keep sweet silence and obey a gaggle of outsiders from Whiterun? Jarl Balgruuf doesn't wear our colours. So why should we wear yours?"

Farkas barked back, "This isn't about 'colours', idiot. This is about your city being overrun by bloodsucking animals if you don't listen to us. We know vampires, you don't. Deal with it."

Aela projected her voice, "Your Jarl has asked for our aid, so you will grant us with the respect that entails. I thought you all were happy to have us?"

The Stormcloak said, "Of course, as our brothers and sisters in arms, not our generals. Know your place in this city. We fight for Skyrim's freedom, you fight for coin. We are entirely different breeds of warriors."

"The Imperials are no longer your threat," Aela declared coolly, "The vampires are. We do not fight for coin in this matter. We weren't fighting for coin when our Harbinger, Kodlak Whitemane, died defending this land's people. We fight for Ysgramor's legacy— the hero whose name is carved into the very walls of this city. We fight for Skyrim's freedom, and always will. This evil is great, much greater than your rebellion. If you want a rebellion to fight, you'll listen to us so you can continue your cause and ideals, or the only ones who win, are the vampires. Do you all understand now?"

The Stormcloak soldiers divulged with each other for a time. Then agreed, "Fine… we'll listen to what you have to say, Companions."

Farkas interjected, "Or what we have to teach? It's a lot and can save your life. Whatever you learn from us, you should share it with your friends outside the walls. It'll save their lives, too."

"Let's begin." Aela declared, "And barring any Nord stubbornness, what do you all know about warding spells?"

A cloud of loathing and complaining came from the crowd, where Aela looked up at Farkas and hushed, "This may take a while…"

"Yeah, I figured…"

The east of the Stone Quarter, the whelps eagerly followed Ralof down the streets as he gave a brief tour of the city. Vilkas begrudgingly walked behind, internally annoyed but staying silent out of respect for Skjor. The whelps plucked at Ralof's brain excitedly for details on the city.

Ria chirped, "This place is unbearably cold, just as everyone says, how do you all manage it?"

Ralof shrugged as he walked ahead, "You get used to it after a while. I'm from Riverwood, so when I first came here, I could barely take it. I think it weeds out the weak recruits, to be honest. You gonna fight for Skyrim, you gotta be able to take her worst, including the cold."

Torvar asked, "Is it true the candle at the inn has never gone out? Or is that just something the innkeeper says, but secretly, she's lighting it when no one is looking?"

Ralof chuckled in his throat, with Vilkas rolling his eyes in annoyance. "No, it's definitely been going for years. Can't say how long, but I don't think Elda would do that."

Njada queried as she struggled to keep up to Ralof so he could hear her, "I have a question, is it true Ulfric Stormcloak Shouted the High King to death? How is that even possible? Was there like… blood and guts everywhere?"

Vilkas finally snapped, "Will you morons shut up! We didn't come all the way here for a lesson on Windhelm's history!"

Ralof looked back at Vilkas and reassured, "Don't worry, kinsman, it's fine. They are curious, that's all," he said directly to Njada, "That's just a rumour. Truth of it is, Jarl Ulfric finished off Torygg with a sword. I don't think even Ulfric could Shout a man to death. Not even the Dragonborn can do that. I mean... I don't think."

Athis asked in a smug tone, "So, Mimzi, how did you know her?"

Ria added, "Yes! She knows the Jarl, too. What's all that about?"

Vilkas kept his scowl, but inwardly asked the same question. Ralof answered with a smile, "Ah, Mimzi and I go way back. Jarl Ulfric and herself attended that 'peace meeting' up at High Hrothgar months back. She managed to talk both the Jarl and General Tullius into coming to that negotiation. Can you believe it? She's a wonder, isn't she? She kept me guessing the entire time I knew her, and somehow, I'm grateful I did. Now she's a Companion. Somehow, I'm not surprised at all, I knew she'd be great."

The whelps looked to each other suggestively. Njada boldly asked, "Did you fancy her? Or did she fancy you? Did you two have a… thing?"

Ralof nervously muttered, "Uh. No, that's…"

"Alright, that's enough," Vilkas barked at his curious whelps, who silenced quickly, "Chattering of hens, all of you!"

Suddenly, Skjor appeared before them with a sternness. Ralof stopped abruptly, where the others did so in turn. Skjor called out, "Vilkas, there's been a change of plans."

"What's happened?"

"I need you and the others in the Grey Quarter if there is a breach," Skjor explained, "The Jarl and his pet troll are more than happy leaving the Dark Elves to their fate. I need you to make sure that doesn't happen. Can you do that?"

Vilkas befuddled at the news, looking to Ralof who wore Ulfric's blue robes with a glare, "Of course. The Gray Quarter will have our swords at their back, you can count on it."

"Good man," Skjor amended and looked to Ralof, "I suppose you won't be burdening yourself with it. I'm sure your Jarl has other plans for you."

Ralof thought for a moment, "Nonsense. I was actually worried about the Gray Quarter defences, myself. I'd be glad to show you around down there. I haven't seen much of it myself, I'd like to be prepared."

Vilkas said to Ralof, "Ulfric Stormcloak would have other means for you."

Ralof shrugged, "Well until he does, I'm more than happy to offer help to the Companions."

Vilkas crossed his arms and began to say, "We don't need your…"

Skjor interrupted, "Your help is invaluable, soldier. Thank you for the consideration."

Vilkas bit his lip to keep the words behind his teeth. Ralof saluted Skjor, "I am honoured, Harbinger."

"Very good, I'll return to the Jarl," Skjor nodded farewell to the whelps, Vilkas and Ralof, and left them to their task.

Ralof placed his hands at his hips before stating to Vilkas, "We'll have our work cut out for us. Jarl Ulfric wouldn't dare having the Dark Elves in the palace. He's a good man with a heart for battle and love for his people. Anyone else he doesn't trust with an inch of his life, including the Dunmer community. He feels they are patiently awaiting the first opportunity to take over the city… but…"

Athis interjected hotly to Ralof, "And how do you feel about it?"

He sighed in deep thought, looking down to the cobblestone, "Not good, but I didn't join the Stormcloaks to exile the refugees. I joined to free Skyrim of oppression from the Empire. Despite the downsides of Ulfric's ideals, he's right about this war, and about Skyrim's independence. I know you all cannot side in the political climate, but I just want to make it clear I hold no grudge against the Dark Elves."

Athis crossed his arms bitterly, "Hmph. Yet ignoring the problem is almost as abhorrent as participating in it. You turn a blind eye as my people are forgotten. That doesn't make you better."

Vilkas groaned, "Athis…"

Ralof replied, "Maybe so, but I'm one of many who joined this war for Skyrim's people, without prejudice to the elves. If we abandoned the cause, who would be left? I'm sure the Dark Elves would have far more to worry about, then."

"You were going to take us down there?" Vilkas reminded dourly.

"Of course," Ralof pardoned, "I digress. Follow me."

The five followed Ralof down declining stone steps that led into a narrow, unkempt alleyway, brimming in crowded, run-down buildings and waste. The alley was hollow— nearly void of life, and smelt of rot. The whelps were left in shock at the disarray of the quarter. Vilkas was singularly bothered at the barren guard presence down in the streets. Windows were cracked and broken, bottles of ale and debris of old barrels lay in way of the path. Even Ralof was left aghast at the total disrepair of the community, and irked in shame knowing people had to live in the filth.

Athis glowered, "This is disgusting."

Vilkas broke a sigh, "This has to be one of the worst skeletons in Ulfric's closet, yet. He knows it's like this?"

Ralof pried his eyes along the chaos, "I don't know. We soldiers are never posted down here. I honestly didn't think it would be this bad."

Ria, Njada and Torvar kept glances to Athis, who was superiorly troubled to the state of the Gray Quarter— his own kind forced to live in a slum.

"These people fled from the eruption of the Red Mountain," Athis spoke dejectedly, "… and atrocities of the Argonian invaders… they watched their families and loved ones perish before their very eyes. Windhelm was their first glimmer of safety, and Jarl Ulfric thinks this is suitable retributions for their suffering? Azura's star… why are we even here defending this frozen chunk of rock?"

Vilkas said, "If this is too much, Athis, I'd feel better with you up in the Stone Quarter with Aela and Farkas. We can handle things down here."

Ralof bowed his head and crossed his arms, deeply contemplating the cause he vigilantly fought in for years— now regressed to bitter doubt. Athis released his clenched teeth and exhaled deeply through his nose, shaking his head to the floor. He glanced back up at Vilkas, who kept patiently awaiting Athis's answer. He resolved from anger and turned cold, "No, master. If I'm going to fight for this city, I'll fight for those who need it the most. I want to stay."

"Good. Let's spread out and see where the community needs us."

Ralof added, "The New Gnisis Cornerclub is run by Ambarys Rendar, a Dark Elf with his opinions on Nords… might be best Athis takes the lead in there."

Vilkas ordered, "In that case, you four can handle the locals at the inn. Just see if they have a cellar or reserves of essentials in case the vampires get in the city. I'll consort with the rest of the quarter, make sure everyone has a plan in an emergency. Needless to say, don't offend the refugees. We want them to be accepting of our help, and it won't encourage them to cooperate if they feel we are part of the common prejudice here."

"I'll come with you," Ralof chimed to Vilkas, "You may need a second set of hands."

Vilkas pinched the bridge of his nose and relented, "Fine. Do what you want. The rest of you, you know what to do. We'll report back here at dusk."

Ria, Torvar, Njada and Athis ambled into the New Gnisis Cornerclub, being met with the stench of dry rot. Vilkas and Ralof watched as they went inside, and Vilkas promptly left down into the quarter with Ralof at his back.

A Dark Elf walked from a shop— locking the doors behind him. Vilkas walked to this Dark Elf urgently and spoke aloud, "Greetings. I am Vilkas, I'm with the Companions. We are here to fight against the vampire threat. It's only a matter of time before they attack again, so we're here to ensure your community stays protected."

The Dark Elf scoffed, "Hmph. Who sent you? Ulfric? Who am I kidding. The man wouldn't dare allow my people refuge in his palace if the vampires managed to get inside. So why are you wasting your time?"

"I don't give a damn what the Jarl thinks," Vilkas bluntly said, catching a glare from Ralof, "We're not Stormcloaks, we're Companions. I don't consider safeguarding you and your people as a waste of time."

The Dark Elf raised his chin, "Strong words given your present company," he glanced over to Ralof and said, "I can't imagine why you'd have a Stormcloak at your back if you don't care about Ulfric's ideals."

"This man? He's following me on Ulfric's orders, probably a spy, but his reporting to Ulfric won't change my mind."

Ralof took abrupt offence, "Whoa! That's a load of…"

Vilkas interrupted, "What would you have me do, sera?"

The Dark Elf smirked and crossed his arms, still keeping his chin held high to the Nords. He glimmered a small smile at Vilkas's respect, "Very well, you can start with making sure the Gray Quarter is properly barricaded. We have a plan to hide in the cellar at my shop— Sadri's Used Wares. Would be nice if we didn't starve or go thirsty under there in the height of war. So… perhaps some healthy reserves of food and water? We don't have much down here, and we'd likely starve in a few days underground. I know you Nords have heaps to spare in the higher quarters. Probably best to be discreet when taking them."

Vilkas agreed, "It shall be done," he asked as he glanced along the other torn homes, "Who is all down here?"

Revyn Sadri listed off names, "Well, there's Ambarys, Aval, Faryl, Belyn, Idesa, Luaffyn, Malthyr, and Suvaris. We're the only Dunmers stubborn enough to stay down here. We've all met, and have agreed to seek refuge in the cellar. Believe it or not, we're not entirely hapless. We've been doing this a long time, and know what to expect in times of peril. We stick together, so naturally, all we need is a replenishment of supplies. Of course, if the vampires find a way into the city, it would be a great relief to know someone was at least protecting the doors to the shop."

"Not just someone," Vilkas corrected, "They'll be six of us ready to lay down our lives to protect you and your people. So don't worry, we'll keep the shop guarded."

Revyn praised, "Very good, indeed. We'll also have Brunwulf in the cellar with us. He agreed to keep us safe, as well, in case the vampires find their way to us. Very good Nord man, and as unbiased as they come. He has a mind for war, so perhaps you'll want to speak to him more on this."

"Where can I find him?"

"Up in the Stone Quarter," Revyn informed, "By the front gates. He may be home or may be out in the skirts of the city helping Belyn Hlaalu at his farm. All his livestock were eviscerated, and crops left to ash. You have any idea how hard it is to grow anything in this cold? I'm sure he would have rather given his own life than that of his crop. It is his life's work. Of course, the Stormcloaks couldn't be bothered. They are more than happy to buy from the cheaper stocks of a Dunmer, but turn their backs when those same stocks are destroyed. Without the relief of the East Empire Company, you'd think they'd want to safeguard the crops they do have here."

Ralof interjected, "Did Belyn even ask for help?"

Revyn blew from his lips, "Pfft. You think if he asked you rebels for help, you would? He turned to Brunwulf Free-Winter, the only Nord in town with our interests in mind."

Vilkas glared at Ralof and said to Revyn, "Not the only Nord. I'll speak to Brunwulf, urgently. Thank you for your cooperation, sera."

Meanwhile, in New Gnisis Cornerclub, the whelps walked inside to a rotted and crumbling inn. One Dunmer sat behind the counter, carelessly cleaning glasses. He looked up to them with a scowl and snarled at Athis, "I'm not taking any more patrons today, sera. Take your pale-skinned friends to the Candlehearth."

Athis stepped to the counter, "I'm not here for that. Perhaps another time. I'm actually here to help, as are my 'pale-skinned friends' here."

Ambarys flexed a scowl, "What could you lot possibly help me with?"

The inn's help, Malthyr, peeked around the corner clasping a broom, and listened to the conversations. Athis continued, "We are the Companions, ser. We are here to offer our services in protecting the Gray Quarter from inevitable vampire invasion. Something Windhelm's Jarl should have sought to, but ultimately failed. Just tell us what you need us to do."

Ambarys cackled in mocking laughter, "What makes you think we need protection? You think just because we live in this cesspool, we are blubbering infants without a thought? We know how to protect ourselves down here, and I ain't too concerned on a fictitious vampire threat. If they do get in, they'll sate their appetite on the fat Nords before they even manage to find this gods forsaken slum. Now like I said, I ain't entertaining patrons. Get out."

Njada couldn't bite her tongue, "An attitude like that, it's no wonder the Nords treat you all like scum. We are trying to offer help, you nitwit, we're on your side."

"You keep comfort in your knuckle-dragging pets, sera?" Ambarys snarled at Athis, who glowered dejectedly. "You may be a gray-skin, but you align yourself with animals like this, you're a traitor. I don't care what you are, Companion or not, it's just more Nord nonsense."

Ria shrilled, "The Companions are not just 'Nord nonsense' that's a truly ignorant thing to say! By the Eight, you're unpleasant."

Athis implored patiently, "Please, sera… The vampires are a very real, very powerful threat. You didn't escape the horrors of our homeland to die in this unforgiving city. We can help you— all of you."

"You daft?" Ambarys raged, "What about 'get out' do you not understand? We can handle ourselves, guard presence or not, it's the norm down here. So, I'll say it one more time for you all to get out, or I'll take it upon myself. Trust me, I've done it before."

Athis looked to his fellow Companions and motioned for them to leave. The inn's helper still kept a weary glare from the crack of the door as the Companions left the inn. Torvar blurted out as he went last, "Good riddance! I'll bet your ale tastes like piss, anyway!"

As they left the inn, an urgent presence bursted out the doors behind them. Athis startled at Malthyr behind in heavy breath and large, crimson eyes. He asked to the fellow dunmer, "Are you alright?"

"Yeah…" Malthyr breathed, "Just couldn't risk Ambarys seeing me leave… but… I heard pretty much all you said in there. Ambarys is cold to most, especially anyone who isn't a Dunmer. He's had it with this city. He used to be the one who'd fight for us, but every attempt he made in trying to make life better for us, he was met with the same answer. Nothing. He's frustrated and bitter… but… I'm not there yet. I heard your offer, and I wanted you to know we accept. Ambarys was the wrong elf to ask, but anyone willing to fight for our protection is welcome in the Gray Quarter."

Athis peaked a smile, "We're here to help anyway we can."

Malthyr thankfully grinned and clasped Athis's hand, "Thank you, sera, thank you. We need food, water and potions terribly. Last night we were holed up in the cellar nearly the whole night— went through most of our supplies. I don't know if we could survive for more than a week underground."

"We'll bring what we can," Athis vowed.

Ria asked curiously, "Where can we find what you need?"

"If we could afford to give you coin to buy some, we would. We don't have much. But… the gates to the docks are always brimming in goods. I'm sure the Nords won't even realize things are missing."

Athis assured, "Don't worry about it, we've got you covered. Let's go all of you, we don't have time to waste."