The Dragonguard were less chipper the next morning, donning their armor in near-silence. None of them acknowledged how no more dragons had landed yesterday or through the night, though Ysdor dared to make an aside of how the Dragonborn's group must've decided the Forsworn were such easy targets that they'd gone ahead to purge the rest of the camps on their list. Ulfric was glad he did; the mood lightened with others asking if they could try and finish all four camps today, lest the other Dragonguard come back too cocky.

Uthgerd and Ulfric shared a tense glance as he mounted Soskendov to lead the group towards Red Eagle Redoubt, their argument about continuing with the planned schedule versus going to help at Hag Rock fresh in his mind. Ultimately, he had begrudgingly agreed that, as Hag Rock was much further than Bleakwind, they'd likely decided to stay there for the night rather than fly in the dark, given that Lost Valley Redoubt was just as far from Hag Rock as it was from Sky Haven. More, the dozens of dragons that flew with the Dragonborn were made up of those however slightly higher in the dragons' own order of subservience, for whatever negligible difference that would make against a camp of Forsworn caught off guard.

And he reminded himself that the Forsworn fell easily on his blade, on dragons' breath, as they eased their way through the Redoubt, the cave mouths large enough for the smaller dragons to crush through, tearing rivers of flesh and blood and gore in their paths. She-the Dragonguard-would be alright, they would find-had found easy victory. For all he knew, they'd destroyed Hag Rock within an hour, speeding along to Lost Valley just to get ahead of schedule. A Forsworn twitched in death, Ulfric stabbed down into its heart through enchanted fur armor just to be sure no necromancy would see it fighting again, his ebony blade glancing against solid rib just enough that his arms shook with effort to crack through to soft lung, heart beneath.

Another easy victory. And then onward to Broken Tower Redoubt, a sprawling ruin of a fort just off the road to Karthwasten, where the Forsworn had long posed as simple bandits, taxing merchants who traveled through 'their' territory. He'd set up a camp of Stormcloaks not far down the road simply to monitor their movements, to climb onto the cliffs and fire arrows stolen from the Legion at them. His plan had worked well enough; traders and troops had to go the long, dangerous way around through the Druadachs, delaying whatever support the Empire and Solitude could bring to the front lines in the east, his own scouts siphoning a pittance off of Legionnaires that damned them in letters to superiors as a second set of bandits not worth the sweat to take down for all they took.

For all the good it'd done him. He stomped down on a gasping head, over and over until it was a puddle of gore beneath his boot.

The Dragonguard shouted their totals across the cave at each other, their steady voices carrying below shrill screams and roaring dragons, each trying to outdo the other and no doubt exaggerating how many Forsworn they were actually killing. Dragonguard, Stormcloaks that somehow still looked to him for leadership, still reported to him in pride. As much as he wished the dragons would hurry up with their savoring of the massacre, an ever-growing part of him thrived on the feeling of leading, on the respect he'd never thought he'd feel he deserved again a scant week ago.

Blood splattered sashes gathered around him, faces glowing red with exhaustion after they'd searched every dead end and false cavern in the Redoubt, pretending to hang on every triumphant word Uthgerd said, waiting for him to speak. To give a victory speech. His second today; these two camps smaller than Karthspire, less of a fortress than Bleakwind, they'd finished well before mid-afternoon. Two more massacres against the Forsworn.

It wasn't their victory, not really, Ulfric had decided at Karthspire, perhaps even before. The dragons were even more useful than the Dragonborn had insisted they'd be, leaving only the panicked and useless and near-dead for the Dragonguard to cull. But it was easy enough to pretend, to cheer along with the Dragonguard-Stormcloaks-as they huzzahed the end of yet another settlement of Forsworn. Easy enough to fall back into that place he'd refused to let himself miss, letting celebration and praise fall from his mouth, convincingly enough that even Uthgerd smiled and raised her fist in tandem.

He wondered what the Dragonborn would think at how simple it was for him to rile up his soldiers, few as they were, to convince them that he was worth fighting alongside, for. She'd either raise her chin in an arrogant aside that it wasn't worth getting excited for, she could do better with less, after all, or she'd soften her eyes the way she did when she wanted him to trust her and plaster that self-righteous smirk all over her face and Ulfric couldn't decide which he wanted her to do less.

But what he surely wanted her to do most was return to Sky Haven Temple safely. He kept assuring himself it was because she was his one ticket back to prominence, to power, but a flutter in his throat kept him swallowing any other reasons he had for staying in the courtyard upon his return, watching the horizon for any sign of blood-red scales and snow-blinding wings. He wiped the blood from his armor, the Dragonguard armor, swords, axes, maces, listening to the dragons rinse themselves in the river below as he kept glancing to the sky, even as the evening turned to dusk, to dark, to a glorious late-spring night where the stars glistened brighter than torches and there wasn't a cloud overhead.

This far south, insects dared to come out for more than a few weeks, buzzing and chirping and croaking at each other in the brush on the cliffs, though it was too early for torchbugs, Ulfric noted, though he doubt he would've noticed, with his sight firmly gazed on the Eastern sky.

Something had gone horribly wrong.

He felt the thought churn in his stomach with each passing moment, each soft breeze that wasn't a harsh wing-beat heralding the Dragonguard's return. Even after Uthgerd had chastised him for letting his own nerves get to the recruits-she truly had trained with the Companions, he'd thought, after that rant, he'd kept his vigil on the courtyard, swearing up and down it was to enjoy the rare weather that Windhelm never saw.

Late evening turned to a deep, unseasonably warm night, and Ulfric prayed and paced for the others to leave the courtyard and stop their incessant singing and storytelling and hovering, trying to get his damned attention, for what, for what, what did it matter that they wanted him when he was nothing more than a disgraced general, disposed Jarl, without his Dragonborn to convince the world that he was worthy of a throne and crown he barely believed he deserved-

Had the Forsworn somehow gotten word to the other camps that dragons were attacking? That their very existence was at risk? He knew certain wizards had their ways of sending messages instantly to their apprentices, but such a skill was rare, according to Wuunferth, and came at a blood cost he knew the Forsworn would have no qualm paying. It would be their luck that there would be a pair within Karthwasten and Hag Rock Redoubt, and a few hours preparation would-

No, what would a few hours do against a few dozen dragons?

He was surely deluding himself, he had to be, the Dragonborn was simply enjoying the destruction of the Forsworn as he ought to be. As she expected him to be.

This was her present to him, after all.

And he spent every death thinking of her, instead of them. No, instead of himself.

Why wouldn't she leave his thoughts?

Slow, slow progress.

But it was progress, Nariilu swore to herself as another wet spray of blood filled her panting mouth with warm, earthy flavor that nauseated her instantly. She spit to the side, glad that the Briarheart was dead before her and yet another room in Hag Rock was still and theirs. She did the mental geography; the large banquet hall was nearly opposite from where they had entered the Redoubt from the top of the tower, the box canyon courtyard was surrounded by a spiral of rooms that made the fortress. She looked up at the ceiling, trying to calculate how many more rooms they'd need to clear if the spiral had a constant grade to it.

It was almost encouraging to capture another room, not that Forsworn hadn't cleaned it of anything of use as soon as it's capture was imminent, just as the last dozen, not that all the doors out weren't surely barricaded and warded with Nine knew what, not that…

"Why are we even here?" A Dragonguard complained, not quite under her breath, and Nariilu whipped around. Annekke Craigjumper clutched her left arm close to her chest, wiping her sword on a corpse's fur armor. One of the more vocal of the Dragonguard, Annekke claimed some familiarity with Nariilu, not that she particularly remembered recruiting her from Blackwater Cross or Darkriver Mines or wherever she'd said and she surely hadn't had the time to check her journal, but she played along well enough in letting the former adventurer go along third behind her and Salma.

A Shout shook the mountain; Nariilu watched as everyone else had to adjust their stance and stumbled. The Dragons were trying to bring down a section of the Redoubt to open up the way for them to devastate the Forsworn as they had in Karthswasten. The Dragonguard had to distract the Forsworn enough to keep them from killing a second Dragon while they coordinated their Shouting. And, they might open up a new pass to Hammerfell. With no windows this far into the mountain, they couldn't see any destruction, but the elongated shaking had to be a good sign.

"Honor and glory, my girl," a man, Cosnach, muttered. Nariilu didn't like his tone.

Halnion, the Bosmer archer, took a quick look over Annekke's arm and dismissed her wound, packing his medicine pouch away. "Sprained. Stretch it out."

Nariilu had never seen anyone stretch with such frustration before, but Annekke let it show more than any pain with each movement of her arm and torso, save for a grimace when she twisted her shoulder. Salma frowned. "The rest of you, too. Quick stretch." She cast a glance at Nariilu and then at the door with the nastier-looking barricade-surprisingly a side room instead of the one that ought to lead further into the Redoubt. Salma dropped her voice low. "We should turn back and check on the Dragons' progress."

"We can't risk losing this position."

"Do you really think anything is getting through this?" She gestured at the ward. "If we can get back to our dragons, we can at least go back to Sky Haven and regroup."

"So can the Forsworn," Nariilu argued. She felt the edge of Thu'um in her throat-how dare Salma, the Dragonguard question her? She is the commander. Somehow, she kept her voice calm.

Salma took a step back, her eyes wide. Perhaps she hadn't kept her voice as calm as she thought; the Dragonguard weren't pretending to not listen to their conversation anymore. "We weren't prepared for this! We expected some resistance, but not an all-out siege! We haven't trained for this!" Salma had dropped all pretense of being quiet.

"I have. I've trained thousands of soldiers to fight in dozens of sieges and by the Gods if I have to do it again right now, I will. By the gods, I already have been. Do you think we could've made it this deep into the Redoubt without being capable of taking the entire fortress? Have you been counting the bodies in each room? Fewer and fewer. They're retreating. Running out of bodies to defend their own fortress." All the more reason to retreat now and refresh ourselves, she could hear the complaints before they were even spoken. "The more time we give them in their own territory, the more difficult we make it for ourselves if we have to return."

Nariilu gestured to the wards around the barricade. "I can dispell these. If you give a hagraven an hour instead of ten minutes to cast a rune, I might not be able to." She paused to let everyone find their footing as the mountain shook again, stronger. She was the one who ought to be begging for respite; the magical knowledge in the group was novice, and no one could help her dispell the wards. Outside of the small bursts of fighting when they broke through the hasty barricades, their 'siege' was nothing but long stints where the Dragonguard did nothing but sit around and listen to her mutter spells under her breath. In other words, not much different than most sieges she'd been a part of, and dreadfully boring at that.

She continued, "The Dragons are getting close. The Blades ended with a massacre. The Dragonguard begins with one."

Silence. The Dragonguard still looked tired, frustrated, hungry, but…not quite as defeated and ready to leave. Not refreshed, no. She was never very good at motivating the lowest of her soldiers; she never interacted with them much except for when they acted as messengers on the battlefield, and messengers rarely needed a pep talk to move a letter. But, as Legate, she was expected to make speeches every now and again, and she did what she could to make them flashy and hopefully enough to keep her Legionnaires from pissing themselves.

Another shake. How long does it take to bring down a damned mountain? Surely a day and a half-had it truly been that long? Her internal clock had gone astray with concentration and spending so long in the windowless rooms of Hag Rock-was more than enough for two dozen or so dragons to get the job done.

"Any blessed questions?" Nariilu asked. She was more than glad to explain all the reasoning behind her decisions, and then at the end she could say that they'd all had a nice rest while they'd listened to her talk and surely they were ready to keep going, right?

But it was silent. Nariilu inhaled to huff and get started dispelling the wards around the barricade down, but then-

"Do you think they'll come looking for us?" Annekke asked.

Nariilu blinked. Would they? They'd been gone for at least a day, with no sign of any Dragons flying in from the East to save them. Would she be worried if the other Dragonguard didn't show up for a day? No, she'd assume they'd gone on ahead to the next camps, because the first one was easy, or, assuming that they'd also gotten caught up with their Redoubt like them-

They could be worse off right now, and Nariilu would have no idea. Half of her Dragonguard could be dead, two dozen of her Dragons, gone. All that work she'd put into fixing up Ulfric-

She blinked again, her mind suddenly racing and too still all at the same time. She forced his face from her mind, his name from her mind. "They'll finish their half of the camps before they send anything, I bet. And then they'll brag about having to save us, so let's not give them that satisfaction, alright Dragonguard?"

Scoffs and chuckles rose around the room, and again as Nariilu faked losing her balance when the Dragons Shouted again. "Excellent. Rest up and stretch up while I dispell these Wards. Shouldn't take too long. Cosnach, sing that drinking song Halnion hates, if you don't mind."

"Ugh!"

"OH! The ladies are bawdy and buxom and big-"

The night sky felt empty without the aurora in it, Ulfric thought, as he donned his armor. Even the insects had quieted, but the winds kept howling this high in the peaks, muffling any noise his ebony made as he donned his armor and crept down the cliff faces to where Soskendov had waited like a golden statue since they'd returned, scales glowing in the moonlight.

The rope was still in place; all the Dragons agreed it was less annoying to deal with the indignity of keeping it on for a few days rather than the indignity of being tied up daily. "Soskendov," Ulfric said, tinting his voice with hopefully enough Thu'um to gain the Seventh's attention and respect to avoid being eaten on the spot. He spoke in Dov to help push the point that he was an ally further. "We're leaving."

Soskendov's giant green eye shot open and landed on Ulfric like an arrow, striking him with just how foolish this plan was. "The Dovahkiin's slave comes to give orders to her own kin. Interesting."

"We're leaving," Ulfric repeated. Uncooperative Dragon or not, he just knew the Dragonborn needed help. If she'd cleared her camps early, she'd be back early to brag. He'd never seen her more thrown than when her plans were changed, even by one step. Something had gone wrong, even if it was just the wind was in the wrong direction. She needed help.

"We're leaving in two hours for Dragon Bridge Overlook, then Bruca's Leap Redoubt." Soskendov closed his eye. "I obey those above me. You are outside of the Hierarchy. You do not give orders. I'll do what I was ordered. No more, and no less. Do not bother my meditation again, mortal."

"I speak on behalf of the Dragonborn," Ulfric protested, "and you and I will be flying to Hag's Rock-"

Ulfric stumbled back as Soskendov turned his head to face Ulfric, faster than he could see any movement, both eyes open and piercing. "Ahh, so you worry for the Dovahkiin. Perhaps I was wrong to name you a slave, loyal Dragon Priest, for what slave worries for its master? Certainly not I." His wings flared and settled in a half-opened position Ulfric had seen him take before flight. "It would be a violation of my honor and the Hierarchy to defeat her while she is…indisposed, but not to ensure that she is no longer a risk to my position. I will soon be Sixth again. Let us taste the skies."

Ulfric hesitated. "You've been ordered to help the Dragonguard end the Forsworn," he said, slowly, choosing his words too carefully. Dov was an ancient language, the connotations the Dragons spoke with lost in the ancient texts written by mortals. "No other may come to harm unless the Dragonborn orders it."

"If she lives."

"If she does not, Odahviing would no longer be bound to her, either. Where is he, then?"

If Dragons could smile, Soskendov was coming as close as he could. "Yes, Odahviing would be free upon her death. He could revive her body in Thrall to him. Take revenge for his enslavement."

"Necromancy?"

"A small matter to a Timeless, deathless being as a Dov." Soskendov ruffled his wings again. "It will be a rare occasion I ask a mortal to ride on my back. I wish to see what has become of the Dovahkiin, as do you."

Ulfric took a step forward and placed a hand on the rope, stopping just before climbing on. If the Dragonborn was dead, he was dead, too. Soskendov didn't seem to be the merciful type, and seemed far more interested in reveling in the death of the Dragonborn than delivering him anywhere safe-not that there would be anywhere safe for him without her. But he just had to know if something had gone wrong. Well, he already knew that, in his stomach, but he had to be able to help, as much as one Dragon and a Man could.

He'd be a bit late for the morning's camps, but he knew from both his failed campaign and more recent intelligence that the more northernly camps were sparsely populated compared to the mountain fortresses and redoubts; the Forsworn populated the Reach, but didn't usually care to spread near its borders. Uthgerd would be pissed at the note he'd left her, but would be just as if not more capable at leading her own soldiers than he.

But he couldn't shake the feeling that he had nothing to lose by going after her, and everything to lose by staying.

He climbed on, Soskendov already in the air by the time he reached the apex of his neck to wrap his hands around the rope.

Sorry for the wait life is crazy but who cares also i have half the next chapter written and ive been playing mad osr dnd and i want to rewrite all of conquest but im going to finish this one first and outline the rest of the series before i rewrite this lol anyways love ya next one prob wont be too much of a wait