I'm tired. Can't ignore it anymore. I just let myself get bodied by a bug not even a centimeter tall and thought falling into a bush was a good idea. That bush was also full of spiders and now I'm hanging upside down caught by their threads. Their eyes gleam in the shade but I am over it. I start growing before the owner of my web can figure out if I'm prey or not and slowly sink down to the ground as the threads and branches start to give way under my new weight. It's a relatively noiseless descent at first but towards the bottom I inadvertently snap a few twigs as I land. One of the guards a ways off notices the noise but quickly turns away, probably believing I'm just a squirrel in a bush. I am squirrel sized at least, so he's half right.
The door I had forgotten about abruptly opens and out steps a lone Justicar . I jump and my whole body goes rigid. I can tell by the smell he's the one who stole Lucia. Despite standing tall in the black robes of his order he lets out a long sigh, palming his beard before moving into the courtyard. I activate my gift from Nocturnal, Shadowcloak, and sprint after him completely invisible across the yard. His strides are huge, and at our size difference very reminiscent of my encounter with the late giantess of Rorikstead. I only manage to catch up when he stops to talk to another Justicar who guards the entrance to the dungeons. The Solarium I believe its called but it's really just a pretty name for their torture and interrogation complex.
"Ah Rulindil! So good to see you, Elenwen is waiting for you just inside. I expect she's waiting for your report, Third Emissary." he says, opening the door with a grin.
"Thank you." Rulindil replies curtly, stepping in with me literally riding his coattails.
"Good luck." the guard says, a hint of malice in his voice.
As much as I hate his guts, Rulindil's appearance was a stroke of luck. I doubt I'd be able to get past that guard while he stood at the locked door, invisible or not, which was probably the point. Inside is just about as pretty as an interior can be by Nord standards. Despite being obviously made of marble and granite most of the stones are roughly polished at best but it has its charm. The windows are all opaque and some are in a stylized pattern of an eagle with many conjoined panels. Tropical plants tastefully adorn the space, likely a callback to their home in Summerset. It's all very nice and I hate it all very much. I can smell traces of Lucia but I don't think she's here, at least not on this floor. Probably not on the upper floor either, since her scent would carry down and be stronger. If she is here she's likely in the dungeon below and for once I actually hope my daughter is in a dungeon. I really don't want to have to backtrack to the main Embassy. Rulindil stops abruptly and I almost fall into his robes while I was lost in thought.
"You wanted to see me, Madam Emissary?" he says stiffly.
"Come now Rulindil, why so formal? Why don't you sit down and we can talk just the two of us."
"If this is about my most recent outing, I think you'll find I've already submitted a report almost immediately after my return last night."
"Yes I reviewed your report first thing this morning but I'm having a little trouble understanding it. In particular I'd like to know what exactly happened to the six soldiers that went with you." Elenwen says innocently, as though they were discussing a misplaced shipment of quills.
"Ah yes, well as you can see in my report-"
"And I'd also like to know how instead of the shop owner you'd set out to retrieve for questioning you ended up with his young niece instead. I can't imagine they look that much alike." she says.
"Well no I-"
As interesting as the conversation is, finding Lucia comes first and I won't have a better opportunity to find her while they have a heated employee review. I slink around, vaguely aware of where I need to go but not quite remembering how to get there. My confusion is compounded by the building being bigger than its in-game counterpart and I'm also the size of a collectable action figure. I eventually come across a chest I'm certain holds sensitive information and after double checking I won't be disturbed with Detect Life, which can see through walls, I break my invisibility and grow to normal size to open the chest. There are a multitude of interesting documents here, in particular the files on Ulfric and General Tullius catch my eye, but I don't have time to comb through it all. I settle for those two dossiers and move on. Not very far from the chest do I find the wooden stairs that lead to the dungeons.
The lower area is almost a different construction to the Solarium above, being mostly wood, metal of various rusts, and rope. Detect Life tells me that there are three people behind the door, two adults and a smaller one I hope is Lucia. The guards are stationed deeper inside so I slip inside, for once in my life praying to Nocturnal for stealth. The door opens up to an upper level of the dungeon that exists in three parts, the one I'm on now that has access to the door and a general view of the dungeon, the one in the center for viewing the cells and the third one which allows access from above to the open cells. There's a guard on the second platform but because that vantage point is only good for watching prisoners they haven't seen me yet. Another one should be patrolling in front of the cells but I can't look over the edge to confirm without being spotted. I can see the hatch I used the last time I was here, reconstructed and with several barrels placed on top to stop any future trolls from busting up from below.
I can't really see any other other option but to kill them. The only question is how to do it without the whole Embassy coming down on my head. Not that I couldn't or wouldn't kill them all but I can't risk Lucia getting hurt. The guard on the upper level has to die first but that means dipping down to the dungeon floor and creeping up the stairs behind her.
The door behind me bursts open and Rulindil stands there staring straight at me looking livid. Before I can compose myself he speaks.
"Both of you, out."
I find to my surprise that I'm invisible again, the Cloak of Nocturnal having renewed itself. I completely forgot it would do that, thinking it was just like the invisibility potions I was used to. Very carefully adjusting my position I watch as the two guards walk past Rulindil and I without a word. When they leave he closes the door behind them and heads down the stairs, looking just as upset as when he entered. I thought his interrogation would have taken longer but I may have spent too much time in the Solarium above with the chest. He stomps his heeled boots on the wood floor with single minded purpose towards the cell at the end and opens it a moment later to muffled screams
"You remember me?" Rulindil says. "Good, then I won't have to explain what I'm about to do to you or why. You should already know you deserve this, or you would if you had been bred with any sense. As it seems you are utterly devoid of any education beyond barbarism it falls to me to deliver the first and last lesson of your worthless life. That lesson being-"
My jaws snap on his head before I know what's happening. I was on him before I realized what I was doing, it just dawning on my conscious mind that I have a screaming Elf in my mouth. Realizing Lucia probably shouldn't see what comes next I pull Rulindil by the head, still screaming into my maw to an adjacent cell before releasing what restraint I had left. I begin chewing his skull like an oversized gumball; he jerks and twists frantically, managing to even summon a sword from Oblivion, but after a particularly loud crunch Rulindil goes limp. I ravenously devour the golden Elf, dimly aware Lucia could probably hear everything but I am too ravenous to care. Transforming again so soon has made my hunger so much worse. Even after devouring a man whole I'm still starving but much more clear minded than before.
I lumber back to the far cell, looking for Lucia. I would prefer she not see me this way but reverting now might kill me. I look into the cell to find her bound and gagged, shivering in a corner. I move to untie her. She tries to resist but there's such a disparity in our raw physicality it hardly matters. I carefully snip the rope off her arms and legs before delicately removing the gag. She makes no sound, having gone docile knowing that at least for right now I'm not going to eat her.
"Be… quiet." I manage to say, holding a long clawed finger to my snout. "And… stay."
She nods and I walk out of the cell looking for the old trap door. I find it's been repaired and then hastily fortified with some barrels on top. They are heavy, even for me, but I push them aside to reveal the trapdoor. Pulling a little too hard I accidentally rip it clean off with a loud screech.
"Come." I grumble to Lucia with a hurried look towards the door. Lucia is thankfully obedient, even taking my monstrous clawed hand as I delicately lower her down, my massive limb long enough to avoid needing a ladder. I suppose a monster looks human compared to the Thalmor. I squeeze through the opening into the cavern below. Smelling around I can tell the old troll that used to inhabit this cave hasn't been around for a long time. My ears pick up sounds from above and I quickly scoop up Lucia to leave. Navigating the rough cavern is a breeze when you're a werewolf so I carry her all the way to the end of the cave mouth before setting her down. I can't smell anything worrying on the wind and the cave is quiet at the moment so we should be safe for a moment.
"Um, excuse me?" Lucia asks timidly.
"Yes…"
"Are you a werewolf?"
"Yes…"
"Oh. Okay. Cool! So what now? Are you gonna bite me and turn me into a werewolf?"
"What!... No!..." I bark out, shocked she would even suggest it, though it makes some sense she would think that. "Now… we… just… leave…. Climb… on… you… ride…" I say as I lower myself
"Oh, okay. Where are we going?" She asks nonchalant as she starts to climb me.
"Solitude… closest…. Lydia… there…"
"My mom?"
"Yes… hurry…"
Even with my best attempts to flatten myself she still has some difficulty climbing onto me, enlarged mound of werebeast muscle that I am. I feel little tugs on my fur and feel strangely guilty that I don't have better handholds on my body.
"Okay, I'm ready." she says, opting to hold the longer fur growing around my neck and nape.
I gingerly test her assertion by slowly crawling. It's a bit awkward but only because the werewolf form handles slower speeds better on two legs instead of four. I gradually pick up the pace and find my gait evens out and Lucia has an easier time staying attached with my better balance. I'm actually able to gain considerable speed, certainly beyond what a two-legs could muster, before I feel my daughter's body start to rise slightly with each gallop and decide to set my pace here. It's oddly comforting having her weight only me like this, gently bobbing up and down, and for a moment I allow myself to enjoy the thought that I am currently playing the best game of horsey that any father has ever played with their child.
Then the hunger hits. Great and terrible pangs knock the wind out of my sails as we speed through trees and down the mountain. I cannot hunt right now and my body is already overtaxed from overusing the blood so soon but we are so close right now. I just need a bite, a mouthful of flesh and I'll be able to keep going just fine. Then I'll be able to keep hunting and really fill my belly. There's just nothing around that's close enough, not even a rabbit. The girl on my back is the only tender flesh for miles. That must be why I brought her; a little snack to prolong the hunt, stave off the hunger…
Pain. Pain and hunger. The beast recedes not voluntarily but because my body is no longer able to host it. My body shrinks and with every lost inch the beast's vitality goes with it, letting the rebound have its way with my flesh. Everything's beyond sore as if I had visited a gym for the first time and did every piece of equipment there to failure. My bones ache to the point of being kind of itchy and my stomach is giving me the kind of hunger signals that makes tree bark look edible. Lucia stands in front of me, eyes wide with mouth open. I don't remember how she got there, but I do realize that I'm naked. I try to cover myself but sharp muscle pain just makes my attempt look like a lazy twitch.
"Papa?..."
"Hey Lucia…" I respond, struggling to lower myself gently down to the earth. "Did I scare you?
"A little bit. I didn't know you were a werewolf."
"It's a recent thing. It let me chase you and that Elf when I found out what had happened." I say, propping myself against a tree. I can see Lucia eyeing my body, oddly bruised and strangely emaciated now. "It's a rebound effect, little one. I used the Beast too often without feeding properly and now I'm paying for it. I'll be fine in a minute, just let me catch my breath-"
I earn a hug for my troubles, thankfully a gentle one. No, she's smart enough to see I'm pretty delicate right now. She's getting so smart so fast, leaving her childhood before I could even properly spoil her. Now she will have to grow up even faster with the loss of another parent. Her embrace starts to relax and I realize that she's starting to sleep on me. Not wanting to succumb myself I jostle her awake despite the pain.
"Lucia we can't sleep here. Let me clean up and we'll find somewhere safe to nap."
"Okaaa~ay." she says yawning.
I waste no time when she moves, mostly because I'm tired of being in excruciating pain. I pop a health potion and most of the soreness vanishes instantly. My bones still itch but the muscle soreness has gone to stiffness, like I have old leather strips for muscles. I conjure out some College robes as they are not only the easiest things to wear by design but if we get attacked I can only really go for broke and enlarge myself. Fully clothed I whip out some bread, goat cheese and mead and tear into it. Even chewing is harder now but starvation gives you a different kind of energy for food. I catch Lucia eyeing me eat and hand her her own bread, cheese and a low alcohol ale I know kids can drink.
I'm so hungry I could probably eat all the food I have in my vast inventory, but I think we both would have passed out had we eaten our fill so instead I produce some honey nut treats that we can eat while we walk. It's basically a trail mix bound into balls, glazed with honey and roasted on sticks. We devour quite a few of them as we walk to Solitude and for the first time in what seems like forever I feel happy again just holding my daughters hand.
-
Stormcloak sentiment is at an all time high in Whiterun. Balgruuf to his credit publicly declared the Thalmor were no longer welcome in any part of the Hold, though stopped well short of any kind of support for the rebels. It may or may not matter, given that such a declaration is a direct challenge to Imperial authority. There hasn't been time yet for an official Imperial response to reach our ears yet, though I would imagine that they are more upset at possibly losing another Skyrim Hold than anything else. The Jarls court remains stacked with staunch Imperial supporters so it may be that he's only pandering. Lydia and I have talked at length about whether to stay in Whiterun. She's obviously been more protective these past few days but I was still shocked when she suggested leaving. I had been having similar thoughts but didn't expect a native daughter to come down so harshly against her home. There's still every chance that when pushed Balgruuf will side with the Empire and that means the Thalmor will be able to do more than just walk around Whiterun.
For now though we pick up the pieces as best we can. Camilla's funeral was shockingly short compared to my earth funerals but I didn't hate it, burnt out as I was. I did hate the stench of death coming from her shrouded corpse. I'm sure the Priest did a great job masking the smell from normal mortals but not from my wolfish nose. Camilla was entombed in the Hall of the Dead afterwards and we were encouraged to visit her as often as we liked, an idea which I absolutely hated. The thought of visiting Camilla's moldering corpse just to have more of her scent tainted by rot reviled me, but Lucia seemed comforted by the idea so for now I'll pretend to like the idea of regular visits. I did not see Lucian.
Lydia and I got married the same day, under the Gildergleam, since the Priest of Mara would be leaving town anyway. There were a lot of reasons to not do it right then but we both wanted to be married before something else insane happened. It felt weirdly wrong to push it off again when Camilla had fought to give our family a chance to be happy. It was just us, the Priest and Dorthe to witness the vows but it was about all the attention I could stand. I'm ashamed to admit the ceremony was much longer than it should have been thanks to me breaking down multiple times. Thank the God's for Lydia, I don't know how she keeps it together the way she does. I cried so much that I must have watered the Gildergleam for the next month.
Alvor and Sigrid's funeral was strangely harder than I thought. Not only do we have to cross the site of the attack but poor Dorthe has to watch her parents burn on a pyre. We couldn't get Hadvar on such short notice but that was to be expected given the war. We've sent a letter explaining everything, including our desire to adopt her should he be unable, but who knows when he'll even be able to write back. He could be KIA for all I know. For now we're acting as if he can't be here, cleaning Alvor's house and storing his blacksmithing material for the day Dorthe can return. Knowing a locked door will probably not be enough I scratch a Shadowmark in the corner of the door, the Thieves Guild marking system, protecting the house from any thief with common sense.
Before we leave we try to call on Lucian. After receiving no answer at the door I pick the door to the Riverwood trader and open the way to an empty store. Anything that could be considered merchandise was gone. Searching the place yielded no clues but the townsfolk did mention they had seen him leaving not too long ago, to what they thought would be Camllia's funeral. That filled everyone with unease, especially me. I may just have not been paying attention but I would probably have noticed his scent on the long journey had that been the case. Whatever the case he's a grown man so I'll leave him to whatever fate he's chosen. We collected Sigrid and Alvor's ashes and leave town with nothing left for us in Riverwood.
-
"Can I be a werewolf? Pleeease!"
This is about the twenty-fourth time Lucia's asked me this. I suppose I should be happy she's bounced back so quickly but I wished she could be obsessed over something a little more harmless. She's become a werewolf maniac, even going so far as to reinvent tag into a game called 'Wolf' where whoever is the wolf runs around 'saving' the others and eating one unlucky kid who becomes the wolf the next game. It would be cute if I didn't get complaints from parents about the kids biting each other.
"When you're older. I told you your body can't handle it right now."
"But maybe you could nibble on me a little and I would be like a little wolf?" Lucia suggests hopefully.
"That's not how that works at all, little cub. It's all or nothing. And even if it did work you might end up eating your friends."
"Oh… okay…"
"Don't give me that. If you want it you've got to earn it by growing up big and strong. Shouldn't you be with your mother for training, young miss?"
"But it's so stupid! Why do I need a sword when I'll have giant claws to rip my enemies to shreds?"
'What enemies?' I think to myself as I reply "Is that what you're going to tell Dorthe when she gives you the first sword she's ever made?"
"Ah… no."
Lucia's friendship with Dorthe is one of the few things that keep her from flying into the clouds with her fantasies. We had a conversation about her future and Dorthe still wants to follow in her father's footsteps. I told her I'd see about getting her an apprenticeship and failing that building a forge behind the house where I'd teach her what little I know. I got a hug out of that, fair payment I'd say, and Dorthe promised Lucia the first sword she'd make would be for her. That was before I'd capitulated and agreed to eventually turn Lucia into a werewolf.
"Besides you saw what happened when I abused that power. You can't only rely on the Beastblood to save you when things get tough. You'll thank us one day."
"I guess…"
I'm not overly opposed to her adopting the Beasthood, just not yet. I haven't explained that not only will your eternal soul be promised to the demon God of the Hunt forever but you'll also gain an undeniable urge to eat your loved ones. I'm personally getting ready to cure myself of the blood but I want to try something before I do. I'm going to try to gain an audience with the Hunt God and see if he won't relinquish the leash on me and my pack. But that's for later.
"The go. If I hear good things from your mother I might consider taking you with me on a hunt soon."
"Really?"
I nod.
"Promise?"
I nod
"Okay, I'm going right now! Bye Papa!"
I'll have to make a mental note to remember my latest faustian with my daughter. It might be quite some time before I can make good on my promise. Hadvar's reply came today basically granting us custody of Dorthe, but making no mention of whether or not he was considering leaving the Imperial army. I've written back more forcefully to press him on the issue but his initial reply means I have no more excuses. I'll have to leave for Windhelm soon to join the rebellion. It'll still be awhile before the war touches Whiterun but I won't rest until my city and my family can sleep without worrying about the Thalmor attack. Or at least I can sleep without worrying.
-
The air on this particular morning had an unmistakable chill, an end to summer despite the hot days. Already some people in Whiterun were taking bets on which week the first frost would come. One notorious drunkard had bet that snow would come before frost, to the amusement of the inn where he placed his bet; a single unusually shiny septim. The agitation over the Riverwood massacre had by and large subsided, as time does, replaced by final winter preparation and renewed worry over dragon attacks. Major cities appeared to be safe but every week another piece of Skyrim seemed to be claimed by one of the winged horrors, some remote and others claiming entire roads. In the face of this the civil war had all but forgotten.
But one citizen did not forget. This chilly morning she had returned to her city, unrecognizable in new armor and newfound girth. A solid metal helm shaped like a bear head partially obscured her face, with eagle head pauldrons adorning her shoulders. The rest of the armor was just as decorated, but bore no more artistry. The plates were thick and lined with what looked to be bear fur. A fearsome visage, combined with her increased size, make her seem a stranger in her own city. Marked a warrior by the thickness in her limbs alone, the rest of her was just as solid. Her breastplate, one solid piece, could have easily been soup pots if the bottoms wear flattened out. Her backside was modest only by comparison, despite being substantial it lack the contrast that gave away thieves for what they were.
But it was not these features that startled the townsfolk, nor was it her armor that rattled the guardsman. Rather it was the blue scarf around her neck, flapping gently in the breeze, that alarmed the whole city. Every street she walked and every district she climbed was hushed by her coming, and when she left only murmurs dared spring up for many moments afterwards. They knew that the blue cloth meant that the war had finally come to Whiterun.
The guards at Dragon's Reach offered no resistance to her entry, knowing her purpose at a glance. Though she bore no less than three axes openly on her person they understood that their Jarl was under no immediate threat. Two war axes graced her hips whilst one much larger great axe rested on her back, each of Nord make, though the greataxe seemed to be of a higher quality even to someone who knew very little about weapons. She was allowed an audience straight to the Jarl even while he took morning consul with his court.
"...our provisions are running dangerously low. Our stores of meat, wine, and grain are all but depleted." the Steward Proventus said with some urgency.
"Purchase more supplies, then. That's your job as Steward, isn't it? Why do you trouble me with these details?" replied Jarl Balgruuf irritably, shifting in his throne.
"My lord, due to recent events, the cost of goods has doubled. I'll need more coin if I'm to provision us properly."
"Our coffers are nearly empty. I can scarcely afford to pay the guards, and we need every one of them in these troubled times. You'll have to make do with what we have, Proventus."
"Yes, my lord."
Their meeting was cut short, punctuated by the loud footfalls of the woman in blue. Her heft aiding in the impacts so that even without her garb she would have commanded the attention of everyone in the hall. The court shifted nervously, having recognized her blue sash, but their Jarl was not so easily cowed.
"Who's this, then? Are the guards just letting anyone in these days?" Balgruuf growled. There were murmurs of agreements from his court and now it was the guards turn to shift nervously.
She approached the throne, hand to one of the axes at her side. Irileth's eyes narrowed as they often did when someone seemed to be threatening her charge, but then they opened wide with shock as she recognized the person underneath the carved bear helm. The woman loosed the war axe from her belt and presented it to the Jarl, handle first.
"Ulfric gives you his axe." she said.
The court began murmuring at once, though much of it was exposition on the significance of the gesture just performed. Many were not natives and even a few who were did not understand, being products of the homogeny of Empire. Irileth however did understand what it meant and was now looking at the woman with something close to hatred through her the slits of her red eyes. If Jarl Balgruuf was surprised he did not act it, instead talking as though he had been asked for a cup of sugar.
"Did he now? Ha! The man is persistent, I'll give him that. I suppose it's time I give him an answer..." Balgruuf mused, holding the axe. "Proventus, what do you make of all this? If Ulfric were to attack Whiterun..."
"As in all things, lord, caution. I urge us to wait and see." Proventus replied.
"Prey waits." Irileth spat, never taking her eyes off the woman in blue.
"I'm of a mind with Irileth. It's time to act." Balgruuf affirms, drawing murmurs of approval from his court.
"You plan to march on Windhelm?" Proventus asked worriedly.
"I'm not a fool, Proventus. I mean it's time to challenge Ulfric to face me as a man, or march his Stormcloaks up to the gates."
"He'll do no such thing! A dagger in the back is all you could expect!" Proventus counted, fear uncontained.
"He was rather straightforward with Torygg." Irileth remarked, hand on her sword.
"Torygg? He simply walked up to the boy and murdered him!" Proventus cried, starting to sweat.
"That "boy" was High King of Skyrim." Irileth countered.
"I'm not the High King, but neither am I a boy." Balgruuf says, interrupting his advisors with a raised hand. "If Ulfric wants to challenge my rule in the Old Way, let him. Though, I suspect he'll prefer to send his 'Stormcloaks' to do it for him."
"True." Irileth affirmed. "He's already proven his personal strength. Now he seeks to prove his army's."
"Then might I urge you to consider General Tullius' request? I mean, if you are bent on offending Jarl Ulfric..." Proventus suggests, a bit calmer now.
"Ulfric is the one who has offended." Irileth says, correcting Proventus. "But, Proventus has a point. Ulfric has made it clear; in his mind, to refuse his claim is to side with the Empire."
Balgruuf goes uncharacteristically quiet, examining Ulfric's axe. Other than being well made there is nothing else special about it but Balgruuf regards it all the same. Head in one hand he seems to have his thoughts read by Proventus.
"What harm is there in letting a few Legionnaires die in place of your own men?" he asks.
"It seems…cowardly." Balgruuf begrudgingly admits.
"Was it cowardly then to accept the White-Gold Concordat?" Irileth rebukes, fire in her voice.
"This again?! That was different! Was I given a chance to object to the terms of the treaty? No. The Jarls weren't asked. We were told. And we had to like it." Balgruuf replies with flared temper.
"The chests of gold didn't hurt." Proventus admits, although a little quieter than before.
"Damnit! This isn't about gold!"
"It's time to decide."
"Lord, wait. Let us see if Ulfric is serious."
"Oh, he's serious. But so am I."
"Finally."
With the Jarl's mind made up the rest of the murmurs begin to die down. Most of Dragonsreach is quite happy to side with the Empire, though some are happier than most. Hrongar, the Jarl's brother, practically beams at the news his long standing desire for war finally realized. Despite the enthusiasm all are silent to give Jarl Balgruuf the space to officially declare what they've been hoping for for years.
"So, about this axe… you can return this axe to our friend. The esteemed Jarl of Windhelm has my answer. Make sure he gets it." Balgruuf says, returning the axe to the woman in blue. "Proventus! Bring me my pen. And the good parchment."
"Are we writing a letter, Lord?"
"Yes, to General Tullius. I need to make a few things clear before I accept these Legionnaires of his."
"Before that-" the woman in blue speaks again. "I have another axe for you."
She takes the other axe from her right side and presents it to the confused Jarl. It's not dissimilar to Ulfrics but it's different enough that Balgruuf vaguely recognizes it as one of his. He reexamines the woman in blue and realizes his who he's been dealing with.
"Dragonborn…"
"Traitor…" Irileth remarks softly.
"I cannot be your Thane any longer." Alex says. "The Empire will hand over my family and others like them to the Thalmor on a silver platter. If you won't protect Whiterun I'll find someone who will."
"I… understand how you might feel that way. What happened to your family was a tragedy but make my words many more innocents will be lost in Ulfric's crusade. There's no piece of Skyrim he won't bleed to for power."
"At least he protects his people from outside invaders. The Empire lost the Great War long ago, and the Thalmor prowling Skyrim are proof. I'm sorry it has come to this but unless the Empire abandons the Concordat nothing you say will persuade me."
"Then... there is nothing left to say. Go then. Don't expect to be welcome here if you return with with a Stormcloak invasion."
The now former Thane turns to leave with one less axe. Filled with determination she went, not expecting anyone else to stop her one her way back, but she had forgotten Hrongar; then man she empowered to protect the city seemingly a lifetime ago.
"Is this how low you've fallen Dragonborn, to side with criminals and bandits instead of your own people?" Hrongar calls as Alex reaches the palace exit.
"Half my people are dead, Hrongar." Alex replies, pushing past to open the palace door.
Down below in a home called Breezehome a Housecarl and two girls work to pack for what they hope will be nothing. Alex walks down the perilous steps from the palace, steps heavy, knowing she will have to disappoint them.
-
The Palace of Kings could not be more different from Dragonsreach if it tried. Almost entirely constructed from ancient stonework, darkened by age, the table in the center of the hall counts for the majority of the organic matter in the space. Whereas Dragonsreach had levels, just like the city below it, the Palace of Kings is rigidly flat; save for the throne. It sits much like a monument at the end of the hall, glorifying whomever sits on it. And currently Ulfric Stormcloak sits on it. A robust Nord with a mane of brown hair and a face that wouldn't look out of place on an action star from my homeworld. He is flanked below by Jorleif, his Steward, a Nord of humble disposition and possessed of a glorious handlebar mustache. Whatever conversation they were having ended almost as soon as I entered.
"That armor fits you well, friend. Tell me, what news from Whiterun?" Ulfric says, straightening on his throne. His voice is almost as I remember it from the game, a low baritone growl that oozes charisma.
"Jarl Balgruuf returns your axe." I reply, holding back my own disappointment.
"Then I was wrong about him." Ulfric says, displaying the disappointment and anger I felt. With a sign he rose from the throne and made his way to the adjacent war room where an old grey Nord wearing a bear for a cloak leaned against a table with a tactical map of Skyrim. Ulfric lets out another, smaller sigh, before greeting the old man.
"You were right, Galmar."
"Again?"
"I'm in no mood to joke."
"Give the word, my lord, and Whiterun is yours."
Galmar is commander of the Stormcloak rebellion and Ulfric's Housecarl. An old bear of a man would be an accurate description, though not just for his size. Grey and grizzled, every syllable he speaks has impact, like a brick to the ears. Rather than my solid plate armor it's leather armor with strategic metal throughout. Conan the Barbarian style but much more covered and a bear pelt draped like a cloak. The skull of the bear has been partially preserved (I think) so that the teeth overlap the front of the helm for a fearsome visage.
"Whiterun is only a means to an end." Ulfric replied, his slow voice contrasting the directness of Galmar's.
"I've toured our camps." Galmar says, pointing down at the map. "We're ready, Ulfric... Whenever you are."
"Is any man ever ready to give the order that will mean the deaths of many?" Ulfric replies, also leaning heavily on the table, eyes on Whiterun.
"No." Galmar says, straightening up to look at Ulfric. "But neither is every man able to give that order when he must. But you are that man, Ulfric. You've been that man before, and you'll be him again. And these men and women―they call themselves Stormcloaks because they believe in you. They are the meanest, toughest sons of bitches Skyrim has to offer. And they want this. They want this as much as you do. Perhaps, they want it more."
"You're certain we're ready?" Ulfric says, straightening up to meet Galmar's gaze. "Whiterun's army will no doubt be bolstered with Legionnaires. And those walls around Whiterun are old, but they still stand."
"We are ready." Galmar says resolutely. "And I might be old myself, but I'll kick those damn walls down with my bare feet―if you would only ask me to do it!"
"Ha! And I'm sure you could do it, too. Alright. This is it." Ulfric inhales and his demeanor changes slightly. Before he had been speaking as a man among equals. Now he was speaking as a Jarl and leader of a grand rebellion. "Send the word. 'A new day is dawning and the sun rises over Whiterun.'"
"Aye, and the children of Skyrim will greet that dawn, teeth and swords flashing." Galmar proclaims with contained glee. Ulfric doesn't seem to share his excitement, his countenance darkening with the weight of what he's just done. He turns to me, a look on his face I've not seen in all the weeks since I entered his service. Not quite pleading, but close.
"So it begins. Go with Galmar, Dragonborn. Your place is on the battlefield, I can feel it. I need you there. We need you there. Go with the Gods."
-
Fire.
We scarcely arrive and already Whiterun is on fire, homes blazing against the night sky. Catapults from both sides hurtle fire at each other in regular intervals in a medieval artillery battle. Several of the grain fields outside the city are ablaze, as well as no few farm structures. A billion thoughts swirl through my head, of doubt, regret and shock. The kind of thoughts that get you killed on the battlefield. I harden my heart and devote my mind to taking the city as quickly as possible, so that I might minimize the casualties of my adopted home. The focus calms me and prevents the effect that overstimulation might have otherwise had.
The majority of the Stormcloak army are waiting at various locations just outside enemy catapult range, mostly massing for a frontal assault. The rest I watch with Ralof as skirmishing units fight and die to probe Whiterun's defenses or attend to the catapults which by definition have to be within the enemies range. Everyone is restless and excited but I can't say many are happy. There's a big difference between a good old man to man skirmish and the siege of a major city, where your greatest contribution might just be being meat. I haven't seen Ralof this unnerved since we raided a haunted old tomb for a mythical crown.
"Does your mouth taste like metal?" he asks me out of the blue.
"What?"
"Forget it. I'm sure it's just the nerves." he says, wiping his mouth.
He doesn't appear to be bleeding from the mouth so maybe he's right. I wasn't a doctor in the old world so I couldn't even begin to guess what was wrong. I can't pretend like I'm not seriously shitting my own pants right now. I'm definitely regretting my choice to not use my giant powers but I still think it's the right move. I'm not big enough to just end the conflict ( I'm barely half the size of Dragonsreach) and there's no point in this rebellion if it can't do anything by itself. The whole point of me being here is to leave Whiterun in the hands of people who can and would defend her in my absence.
"THIS IS IT MEN!"
Galmar stands on an old chopping stump, bellowing to as many Stormcloak ears as he can reach, fighting the din of the battle below.
"THEY SAY THAT OUR CAUSE IS FALSE AND THAT WE ARE NOTHING MORE THAN THIEVES, THUGS AND MURDERERS! BUT NO! WE ARE FARMERS! WE ARE CRAFTSMEN! WE ARE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF SHOPKEEPERS, MAID SERVANTS AND SOLDIERS! WE ARE THE SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF SKYRIM! AND WE HAVE COME THIS FAR BECAUSE OUR CAUSE IS TRUE. BECAUSE WE FIGHT AS ONE! AND BECAUSE OUR HEARTS ARE BURSTING WITH ANGER! WHAT WE DO HERE TODAY, WE DO FOR OUR COUNTRY! FOR ALL THE TRUE NORDS OF SKYRIM! WHITERUN'S WALLS ARE TALL, BUT THEY ARE OLD AND CRUMBLING, LIKE THE EMPIRE WHOSE LEGION LINES THEM. SMASH THEIR GATE AND THE CITY WILL BE OURS! LET'S SHOW THESE IMPERIAL MILK DRINKERS WHAT TRUE NORDS LOOK LIKE! WITH ME! FOR SKYRIM!"
A roar erupts around me, which then turns to rolling with thunder as boots start to hit the ground. It's not lost on me that I am not a Nord but I roll with them down the field with them anyways, Skyforge great axe in hand. Though the Companions will not take a side in this war it seems fitting that I try to use the same kind of weapon Ysgramor did millenia ago when his kinsmen were threatened by Elvish supremacists. I know his heart and Harbinger Kodlak will not thrust the Companions into any war for anything less than their immediate survival, no matter what I might try to tell him about the Thalmor.
We descend on the first ruined gate as a sea of angry blue barbarians. No formations, no shield wall just roaring Nords crashing battlements like human siege weapons. The Imperials set up makeshift barricades at the first gate (since it lacks a door) and in the various spaces of the crumbled walls to create some semblance of fortification. It's here I realize why no one bothered with a shield wall; most of my comrades who take a hit simply ignore it and keep going as if they had been hit with a toy arrow. Not all are so lucky though, some get overwhelmed by bolts or foiled by a critical hit, but an arrow here in this world is hardly the devastating thing that it was in my world, at least to seasoned warriors. A few of my shield siblings do react the way you'd expect, crippled or dead from just one shot, but the majority of these casualties are skinny greenhorns. How these sprouts got onto this battlefield is beyond me, but it seems a waste to me. All the more reason to hurry.
Crashing the makeshift barriers is almost too easy but we soon find we're stuck without a way to lower the drawbridge. It's pretty evident that the attempts to fortify the pitiful outer gate was just a trap to lure us inside a space where it would be difficult to escape, a killbox. My armor, a unique gift from Ulfric, already attracts a larger than normal amount of fire. I'm tempted to blow the defenders off their perches with the Voice but I don't want to crumble the structures around us and cut off our path inside. The drawbridge gate and the inner walls are more substantial than the outer gate, but that's not saying much. If I remember right there should be a way behind the gate to throw the lever but with the battle around me it's really hard to look at anything without losing an eye. I think I could grow it back but I really don't want to risk it.
"Look! There!" Ralof says, grabbing my shoulder and pointing to some hastily constructed battlements. "Looks like they've got a path for their archers over there that might lead somewhere!"
"Go!"
We dash away from cover toward the archer platform. It's more like a crumbling wall that the Imperials built platforms over to make it stable for their troops. Across the way I see more of our fellows climbing a similar path of rock and rubble, though their way looks far more treacherous as it wasn't intended to be a path. Both are narrow, making what I thought was a tactical oversight a clever choke point to delay the Stormcloaks. They'll want to bleed us while we lose time fighting one at a time. I try to be the first to climb the rampart but Ralof pulls me back unexpectedly.
"Ha! Too slow! Can't let the might Dragonborn have all the glory!"
He then proceeds up the battlement like a whirlwind with his dual war axes flying through the Imperials. Stormcloak is a fitting name as I watch Imperial after Imperial get surprised or overwhelmed by Ralof's fury. I hold Firebolt and Healing Hands but I hardly needed either. In no time at all we've reached the top. An Imperial Officer with heavy shield and armor goes to stop Ralof but in his haste makes a fatal positioning mistake. With a heavy kick he gets thrown off the rampart, two or three stories down. Unbounded we pour over the top of the wall thanks to a roaring Ralof, happily tearing into our opponents after being denied action for so long.
Remembering my mission to shorten this siege I ignore every enemy I can to head to the drawbridge mechanism. The defenders haven't given up yet and it takes more than a few cleaves of my axe before I reach the switch, even with my reckless abandon. Ralof made it look easy, almost every one of these Imperials or guardsmen is a worthy warrior, each requiring my full attention to at the very least dispatch swiftly. Somehow the battle for the gatehouse is taking longer than the rampart, the fight devolving into an ugly slug fest. Only when I reach the mechanism and drop the bridge does the enemy break, a feat I could only accomplish thanks to my thick armor and repeated casts of Fast Healing; a new Restoration spell that gives a large burst of healing that i can pop like a potion
With the drawbridge down the remaining defenders flee behind a rapidly closing gate. Any stragglers are caught or killed and a ram is wheeled up. They cannot touch us here, the walls are simply too weathered and neglected to line defenders with, so fragile we only use fire for fear of crumbling the wall if we used rocks. The gate fairs little better despite being the newest part of the wall. I had hoped for a little more time, I've only had time to tend to one wounded before the gates splinter open and the blue roars in.
We rebels pour into the city and very quickly any semblance of order is broken as we fill the Plains District like wine to a goblet. It's jarring to enter my adoptive home like this and I reflexively do a double take of Breezehome, even though I know nobody's home. I push the thoughts of familiarity out of my mind and head to the Wind District, the second tier of the city. The lower district is mini battle after battle as barricades and entrenched Imperials clog the streets everywhere nowhere more so than the entrances to the Wind District, home of the Gildergleam. I briefly debate whether or not to use the Voice to clear the path but just stopping briefly to consider the idea lets in the screams of my burning city and the decision is made for me. I only wait long enough for enough shield siblings to gather around me for a charge before unleashing the Thu'um.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
Materials and Imperials go flying backwards, leaving plenty of space for the blue rebels to flow upwards. We've come from the market and find ourselves fighting under the largely untouched branches of the Gildergleam. Advancing this fast cuts off a large portion of the Imperials guarding the more affluent homes of Whiterun. Or it would if any Stormcloak bothered to head in that direction, instead we could be looking at a counter attack if we turn our backs on them to assault Dragonsreach. Galmar must have thought the same thing.
"Come on men! The Imperials are experts at backstabbing, don't give them the chance!" he says diverting men into the back of the Imperial held district.
Despite the diversion, even more Stormcloak brothers and sisters continue to make their way under the Gildergleam. Many are already fighting their way up the many stairs to Dragonsreach. I cast a glance back at Jorrvaskr. Many familiar faces guard the entrance but none of them have so much as nocked an arrow. They appear to be keeping neutral as I'd hoped, but any one of them has the right to participate in nearly any cause they choose, as long as it's not evil (or the Thieves Guild). I'd rather not fight any one of my Shield Siblings right now, so I'll count my blessings.
"What are you waiting for, a scented invitation? The Jarl's palace is right there, let's go." roars Ralof.
We head to the steps that climb several stories to Dragonsreach. It's like waiting in a strangely violent line at a theme park, where everyone is armed to the teeth and covered in blood, dirt and sweat. Though the line is making a good pace I'm a little disturbed to note that quite a few blue bodies are being thrown back down onto the rocks below. Not a one to one ratio but not a ratio that suggests we are winning up there. When we reach the top I realize why
"I've been waiting for you, Dragonborn!"
Hrongar stands at the end of the bridge to Dragonsreach, flanked by the members of his order. He had a Stormcloak shield maiden by the throat and chucks her into the pool below at the sight of me. That pool feeds the water that flows through the whole of Whiterun.
"The Steeds of the Kynareth stand watch over Whiterun to defend her from any threat: men, dragons, even accursed man-dragons will be laid low!" Hrongar says, pointing his wicked orcish greatsword at me. "I know not what madness has possessed you but I promise your evil ends today. Lay down your weapons and I will quickly end your suffering."
"Big talk from a milk drinker!"
"If the Dragonborn has come for your city then you should know it's over for you and your Empire!"
"Suck my dick!"
The Stormcloaks around me roar back at Hrongar, hurtling all manner of retort back at the Jarl's brother. The fighting actually slows down a bit just so each side can insult the other between blows. Space is limited on the bridge and though there are paths that circle around the pool those are even less spacious than the bridge. I get a bit of a shock as my own size starts to fight against me. I thought it would take longer but this is a battle for space more than anything. I can get to Hrongar or his men and they keep healing any damage they take. Finally I give up and leap into the pool just to get away to somewhere I can move.
The pool isn't terribly big but it is deep so I sink to the bottom. I realize I've just traded one slow problem for another as I walk along the pool floor to the nearest stairs on the Imperial side. I can hear the muffled battle above and while I don't run out of breath it still seems like I'm taking too long under the water. When I surface the battle has tremendously progressed with everyone space out better, thanks in part to new corpses on the ground. On the bridge I see Galmar pushing through his own soldiers to get to the front, but no Ralof on my side. I've surfaced on the right side of the pool and set to work hacking into the unfortunate Imperials on this side who did not expect an amphibious assault. Perhaps I just got used to fighting them but these Imperials seem weaker than those at the gate and we clean them up quickly. When I turn around to try and enter the front door I can see by the traffic that it would be pointless so I head for the dungeons instead, which I know connects to the palace. Others follow me and I lead them down and through the dungeons, which are predictably unguarded during the siege. In no time at all we surface right beside the throne.
"Find Balgruuf so we can end this!" Galmar shouts in the center of the hall even as he fights two yellow clad guardsmen.
All organized defense has broken down and now its single combat all over the hall. The kitchen is better defended, but I see Ralof fighting there so I move on to look at the court wizards' open chambers. A door I recognize going to Farengar's tiny sleeping quarters is shut closed but other than that there's no room for a Jarl. Balgruuf is either down past the kitchen or up past the war room. If he went through the kitchen I'll bet he slipped out a secret passage so I head up the stairs. A few Stormcloaks are already hacking away at the door to the Great Porch. I decide to help them along and shoo everyone out of the way.
"Fus Ro Dah!"
The door blasts open in a crash of splinters and timber. I gaze now at the last of the defenders, at least a hundred men and women guard Jarl Balgruuf, such is the size of the Great Porch. Balgruuf wears a full set of winged steel plated armor, the closest thing Skyrim has to a set of medieval knight armor, flanked by Irileth in her usual leathers and Hrongar with only two of his followers left. There's a terrible gash straight through his sash that looks suspiciously like it would be the perfect match for Galmar's old war axe, though he's long since stopped bleeding.
"In the name of Jarl Balgruuf the Greater I command you, halt!" Irileth shouts, voice revebing off the ceiling.
"It's a bit late for that, don't you think?" Balgruuf remarks venomously, advancing with blade drawn.
"Stay back my Lord!"
"I'll be damned if I let this rabble take my city without at least drawing my sword!"
"Protect the Jarl with your lives!"
I didn't think it was possible for there to be even more chaos but that last statement unlocked something in the minds of everyone here. It's a brawl, pure and simple, egged on by the size and unique dimensions of the Great Porch. Built to originally catch a dragon alive the space is gigantic, and would even make me look small if I were to grow to my full height. Adding to the fun are two platforms on each side of the ancient dragon trap to allow for maintenance or adjustments, now a firing platform for archers. At the end is a wide half circle porch more than big enough for even the massive Alduin to swoop in and land. I'd love to go for the leaders in the center but space is starting to become a luxury again. I content myself simply with forward motion, chopping into foe after foe until I've found that I've cleared the upper right level of archers. Despite the tenacity of the defenders and the crack of Chain Lightning from Irileth the Stormcloaks are experiencing similar levels of success against the beleaguered defenders across the porch.
"ENOUGH!" cries Balgruuf. "Enough!... I surrender. Everyone, stand down."
"Drop your weapons!" Galmar calls and a din of clattering metal follows, filling the porch. Imperial and yellow guards alike drop their arms, save for one.
"You there, I said drop it!"
"Hrongar, drop your weapon, it's over." says Balgruuf, turning wearily to his defiant brother.
"No! As long as I have breath I will fight for this city!" he says, clutching his bloodied Orcish sword tightly.
"You've never fought for this city a day in your lives." Galmar growls, pointing a thumb to his chest. "You fight for the privilege to be the favorite puppets of the Emperor. Don't make me cut your strings."
Hrongar grits his teeth but does not lower his sword. Galmar and a few others start to close in on the beaten warrior, weapon out, like wolves circling prey. Hongar backs away, all the way, to the edge of the porch, where I'm sure it's tens of stories down at least.
"Hrongar, please." begs Balgruuf.
"I won't give these faithless dogs the satisfaction. My life belongs to Kynareth and her city. And so… into her realm I commit myself." Hrongar says, to everyone's brief confusion.
Then he tips himself over the porch edge. Kynareth's domain is the sky after all.
-
Clean up after a siege takes a lot longer than games or movies would have you believe. It's not just the wounded or the bodies, it's little things like just clearing the roads and bringing in enough food so the city populace doesn't starve that slows progress. Everyone, winner or loser, is too exhausted to move very fast, particularly for manual labor. That doesn't stop Galmar from removing Balgruuf and his loyalists out of the palace as soon as possible. They were given only an hour to collect their things and leave but the surviving Imperial soldiers were taken prisoner instead, as Balgruuf could not speak of them. I saw Ralof leading a battered Hadvar away not too long ago, much to my delight and sorrow. The sight of my old friend broken and bleeding put a damper on any feelings of happiness I could have had about the day. Assuaging the guilt I played healer to any who needed it. I healed quite a few friends and foes but my ministrations were cut short by the arrival of the Gray-Mane clan with Vignar at the head.
"Good, you're here." Galmar says shortly. "Everyone say hello to the new Jarl of Whiterun. I hope you're ready, Vignar, we've got a lot of work to do."
"Aye, it's well past time to restore order." Vignar says, making his way to the throne, which somehow was largely untouched by the battle. His clan spreads out around him, visibly filling many of the roles that were just vacated by Balgruuf's court less than an hour beforehand. Avulstein, Eorlunds son who asked me to rescue Thorald from the Thalmor at Northwatch Keep where I went on my first giantess rampage, stands as Housecarl. Vignars manservant Brill, a mild mannered middle aged Nord, is Steward now. The rest of the clan seems to be parsing out how best to fill the rest of the court, though that seems to interest Vignar little.
"I was hoping you would be here." A voice says to me, which turns out to be Thorald. Thorald is the spitting image of his father, and to me seems the most even tempered our of all the Grey-manes. "No doubt we've saved Whiterun thanks to you, just like you saved me not too long ago. I never thought I'd go from prisoner to prince, but now I'm next in line to be Jarl. Ever since you entered our lives it's felt like we've been living through an epic of old. We have something for you. Come, let's see my Uncle."
I approach the throne with Thorald, his compliments making me suddenly weary. The court of grey cease their chattering at our approach, and when I remove my helm most break out into a smile. Even those I do not recognize know I am the one who saved Thorald from a far off Thalmor slave pen.
"So this is the one who saved my darling nephew and this city, twice over? And a Dragonborn to boot? Eh, honestly you don't look like much but your deeds speak for themselves. As my first official act as Jarl I name you Thane of Whiterun. Looks like Balgruuf got somethin' right. I'll have my brother whip you up an axe first thing for your badge so look forward to it."
Any celebration that would have broken out is stifled by the descent of the now former Jarl of Whiterun, who balks when he sees the throne.
"Gray-Mane! You were noticeably absent from the battle. Now I know why. Wouldn't a dagger in the back have sufficed?"
"You think this is personal?" Vignar says looking over with a face of genuine surprise. "The Empire has no place in Skyrim... not any more. And you? You have no place in Whiterun anymore."
"A convenient position to hold now." Balgruuf seethes. "But mark my words, old man, in the days to come, Ulfric will spread his rebellion thin. And what then? We need the Empire, as much as it needs us. We Nords are the Empire! Our blood built it. Our blood sustains it! You of all people should know that."
"If this was my Empire," Vignar retorts, standing up. "I'd be able to worship whoever I damned well pleased. You wish to see an Empire without Talos? Without its soul? We should be fighting those witch-elves, not bending knee to them. The Emperor is nothing more than a puppet of the Thalmor. Skyrim needs a High King who will fight for her, and Whiterun needs a Jarl who will do the same."
In my hatred of the Thalmor I had forgotten people cared about Talos. The Gods are tangibly real in this world and that means their relationships to those Gods are real too. Talos is like a great ancestor to many Nords.
"That's enough!" barks Galmar. "There is a burning city out there that needs a government. Get Balgruuf out of here!"
Stormcloaks move to escort them out. Balgruuf starts to oblige, followed by his loyalist when he sees me.
"And you," he points accusingly. "a Stormcloak?! I thought better of you. How many of those corpses lining our street wear the faces of men who once called you friend? What about their families?"
"I said get him out of here!" Galmar shouts.
"This isn't over!" Balgruuf says shouting over the soldiers pushing him out. "You fools hear me?! This isn't over!"
I endure one more hate filled glance from Irileth before the battered door closes on the old regime.
"Good riddance." Galmar says, turning towards me. "Gather yourself and get to Windhelm. Tell Ulfric of our victory here. Talos guide you."
I nod and leave Dragonsreach, walking slowly so as to not catch up to Balgruuf but I needn't have bothered. It seems he and his friends are keen to leave the city now that it's overrun by Stormcloak barbarians. I feel abnormally tired, unable to pick up my pace from more than a casual walk, examining the destruction I took part in. It's fairly minimal all things considered, save for the heaps of bodies. Balgruuf's final words echo in my head.
'How many of those corpses lining our street wear the faces of men who once called you friend?'
Except for the Imperials, all of them did. I wonder if therapy is a thing in Skyrim.
Probably not.
-
Ulfric's message will have to wait. I had originally just intended to pay my respects to Hrongar's corpse when I recovered it but a thought entered my brain that gave my steps a new vigor. If I could survive an impossible fall, why couldn't others, especially Hrongar. I've searched the rocks beneath the Great Porch outside of Whiterun but only found lots of blood and no body. Hrongar is still out there, and that is unacceptable. Balgruuf may have accepted surrender with a promise of some far off Imperial vengeance, but Hrongar is different. He has the power to take matters into his own hands. He has to die now before he can find safety and start machinations against me. I tear off in the direction of his scent, mouth snarling and body cracking.